Daro’Vasora got to work immediately, and within a few short hours, she’d sat down for a chat with the Legionnaires, telling her of her experiences going as far back as the Imperial City, her findings and Elenglynn, and sharing some of the information from her notebooks and speculations. A scribe wrote furiously to try and keep up with the young woman who had managed to both fight and survive the Dwemer, as well as had a background studying their artifacts and ruins. She was all too happy to accept the fresh food they provided as she recounted her story, told of weaknesses she’d noticed, and the curious observation that on the whole, there didn’t seem to be any functional improvements on the Dwemer designs. For her troubles, she was given a surprisingly hefty coin purse and a Legate began to relay instructions to scholars and the combat engineers that populated the outer works. For her part, Daro’Vasora felt somewhat validated after the failures she’d endured since this whole mess began. Maybe people who were trained for this sort of thing could make use of what she knew. 

For now, the first time in Alkosh knows how long, she was alone and not beholden to a group or another’s whim. What was going to be a lucrative contract turned out being an endless nightmare that cost Daro’Vasora her mentor, her home, and very nearly her life. She felt vulnerable and lost, but it wasn’t the first time she had to start from scratch. Zegol’s loss was the hardest, but she still had family back in Leyawiin. Maybe it was time to visit them? 

[I]One step at a time, Sora. You don’t have to decide anything today.[/I] she reminded herself, walking through the city gates and into the deceptively tranquil city proper. After the past few weeks, anywhere that wasn’t in the midst of a crisis seemed to be impossibly normal. Vendors were set up, mostly with wares designed to lure in tourists, and a few enterprising fishermen even brought up their catches from the docks to be the first ones people would run into. Jewelry was common, but what she really needed was some new clothing; most of hers was positively ravaged since Imperial City. 

Walking the warm-breeze infused streets in search of a suitable place, Daro’Vasora’s eyes caught a sign that looked like it was likely copied from a dozen more successful businesses, and when she entered the shop, the clerk behind the desk appraised her disdainfully. Her words followed suit, to her credit. The Khajiit hated when people minced words. 

“Beggars aren’t permitted here.” The greying, crow-eyed Breton’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Please leave before I call the guards.” She stated.

Daro’Vasora didn’t heed the words, instead approaching the counter and slapping her mace down on it carelessly. It had obvious signs of being recently used. “People tend to look this way when you’ve been on the road and fighting a war you probably don’t think exists in your perfumed cadaver of a body. Look, I’ve been on the road since Skingrad, kindly pull that, ‘I wish I was highborn so I’m going to act like I think highborn behave’ act out of your ass. I’m a paying customer, although I can easily take my coin elsewhere and laugh when this place can’t make rent next month because lady, you need the business.”

The shopkeeper leered at her, appeared to consider saying something caustic, but between the mace, the Khajiit’s disposition, and the coin purse that was held aloft, she relented, instead offering a pen-thin smile that opposed her actual thoughts. “Very well, what can I do for you?”

After twenty or so minutes, Daro’Vasora managed to trade 45 Septims and one of her Dwemer-made bangles for a sleeveless embroidered scarlet tunic with black trim, a pair of simple black trousers, and a pair of sandals. Most of her coin from the guard was gone, but wearing something that made her feel like a person again was invaluable. It put her in a good headspace, she felt. Her old boots and more rugged clothing was now in a bag, carried in the same hand as her mace. Now she had to find somewhere to sleep for the night and find herself a bath to wash of the offensive reek that she was sure lingered in her fur.

There was a public bathhouse that the Khajiit recalled from one of her earlier visits to the city. Deciding that she could spare a few coins for the chance at some fresh water that wasn’t a lake or river and maybe, Divines willing, some soap, was worth it. It took another hour to find the place, and gladly walked inside, paying the entry fee of 5 Septims, shoving her belonging into a footlocker while picking up a bathrobe, a bar of soap and a key on a rope about her neck and heading into the large open-air, circular basin and stepping into the perfumed water, letting the grime and stress wash away as she sunk into the water, allowing her head to submerge for as long as she could fight her natural buoyancy. It was a sensation she’d gone far too long without, and almost symbolically, she drowned the road, the war, everything awful with it and emerged anew when she broke the surface to take in air. 

After a few minutes of scrubbing down, a voice descended upon her. “Is that Daro’Vasora? My, it’s been quite some time.”

Knowing immediately who it was, her immediate loathing of Rhea was put aside in favour of the all-too-familiar piece of shit who was approaching her to the left. A ruggedly handsome Breton man with slicked back blonde hair, a square jaw with a neatly trimmed beard and an impossibly white smile to compliment his sea-blue eyes settled next to her, like nothing absolutely rotten happened between them. “Fuck you, Roux. I prayed to Baan Daar that you shattered your femur or got consumed by trolls, but I can see the Divines don’t give a shit about justice. Leave me in peace before I decide to claw your eyes out.” Her voice dripped with enough malice to stop a charging bear, but Roux wasn’t a bear. He was so much worse.

“That was so long ago, my dear. I can’t say I regret leaving you behind to claim the spoils myself, but I’d like to think the lesson was one that served you well. Can you say you’ve never done the same?” he asked.

“I’m not [I]you[/I]. We both would have been rich off of that scepter, and it was my research that got us there.” She replied, remembering all too well that this was the same man who taught her the hard lesson about being able to cut ties, to expect betrayals, to never drink enough to lose your judgment. She’d learned a lot of hard lessons from Roux, and she got a damn lot more talented at her trade because of his betrayal. In a way, she became as talented and effective as she was because of him. She sunk down in the water deep enough that only her eyes were above the surface, a series of irritated bubbles popping in front of her.

“True,” Roux conceded, “But alone I was quite a bit richer. You grew from the experience, I trust. I’d apologize, but we both know that would be empty. However, in my recent expeditions, I’ve discovered that good partners are hard to come across, so while we can’t change the past, perhaps there’s a way to alleviate the indignation at my hand. I’ve a proposition for you, if you’re willing to suffer me a few moments. I’ll make even speaking worth your while.”

“Leave me alone, you’ve got nothing to offer me.” Daro’Vasora shot back, ears folded back and teeth bared. “You’re a backstabbing piece of shit who can’t do anything without riding off of others’ success.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. What isn’t deniable is that I’m wealthy and well connected, but here isn’t the time or place to speak of business. I’ll leave you to your thoughts, but I trust you need a place to stay tonight?” he raised a hand to cut her off from retorting. “I’m not offering to share a room, or a hotel. Simply offering a small concession for your time, is all. Meet me at the [I]Frisky Dolphin[/I] in two hours. I hope you’ll permit me the chance.” He said, departing Daro’Vasora’s company by departing the bath and gathering his own robe. She hated that she was even considering what he had to say. 

 [hr]

Daro’Vasora walked through the doors of the [I]Frisky Dolphin[/I] and seated at a corner table was Roux, who was with a pair of associates who met his gaze and stood up to leave, passing by the Khajiit on their way out. He raised a heavily ringed hand in greeting; knowing him, every single one of them were enchanted. Daro’Vasora pulled up a seat, and a waiter came over immediately, placing a glass of brandy in front of both of them. True to his word, Roux shoved a large pouch towards her. Opening it revealed a mixture of gemstones and coins, the value would be quite substantial. 

“There’s more where that came from, provided you agree to what I have to say. I’ve heard about what happened to Imperial City, and I see that you’re here alone, so I wanted to offer my deepest condolences and hope that this stipend could help you find your footing again. I am truly sorry for your loss,” he bowed his head respectfully. “Forgive me if I’m mistaken or running to inaccurate conclusions, but you’ve lost your mentor in the attack?”

The Khajiit nodded slowly, mixed feelings filling her heart. Roux, to his credit, actually looked genuinely crestfallen. “I’d feared that, and couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you today. I’d hoped you’d been on a new expedition when the attack happened, but I can see in your eyes you were in the middle of it all. I won’t pretend to know the pain you carry, and I’ve never wished you ill or ruin. I was selfish, and I can’t say I wouldn’t make the same decision today, but I always felt you were far too trusting. Greed got the better of my judgment, and since then, we’ve often competed for the same prizes.” He grinned ruefully. “It’s been a compelling and lively rivalry, wouldn’t you agree?”


“The only difference is I’m better than you ever were. I just never cared about the coin like you did.” Daro’Vasora stated, her fingers drumming irritably on the wooden table, her nails clicking with each tap. Roux’s grin didn’t falter. 

“Perhaps you are. Regardless, I’m pleased you’ve become quite capable. It’s that capability that I’m counting on. You’ve always been something of an expert on the lost elves, whereas my specialty has been the world of men.  What if I proposed to you that I’ve a lead on one of the first great Yokudan settlements in Hammerfell, and that I’ve reason to believe that it may contain artifacts belonging to the Sinestral Elves?”


“Why should I believe anything you’ve got to say to me?” Daro’Vasora replied warily.

“Because I believe in second chances, and I’ve tried to present myself in as good faith as possible. I’ve been honest and didn’t lie about my past actions to try and alleviate the blow.”

“You literally said you’d likely pull the same stunt again.” She retorted.

“True, if we were in the same position we were in back then. Now I’ve begun to see value in how you always sought accreditation rather than pursuing wealth, and after enjoying the spoils of my finds, and other partnerships over the years, I’ve come to realize that wealth on its own can be somewhat mundane; experience and knowledge are a far more valuable resource. I wasn’t actively searching for you in particular, but I’ve been in need of someone who understands lost elves better than most, and I’ll be damned if you aren’t one of the best at navigating ruins. What I propose is this; should you join me, I will give you claim to all of the Sinestral elf artifacts that may be present, and if not, you may have your pick of any of the Yokudan artifacts present.  It would be my way of apologizing for earlier in a tangible way, and perhaps open the doors for future partnerships.”

The Khajiit grunted, staring off towards the room’s central firepit. “I don’t trust you, and I’ve just come out of a rather disastrous partnership. My trust doesn’t come easily.”

“Of course, and that is why I will give you three days to decide. I have a modest ship, the [I]Cypher[/I], docked. At sunrise in three days, I will be departing with or without you. If it helps you, you may bring any associates of yours you may have that you trust.” He exposed the palms of his hands, as if to reveal he was concealing nothing. “There is nothing more I can do to express my intentions. Consider my proposition at your leisure, but in the meantime, I will leave you to your own devices.” He stood, raising his glass. “To Zegol and our potential partnership.” He toasted. He drank the glass back, whereas Daro’Vasora didn’t touch hers. Roux straightened out his tunic and gestured to the clerk.

“I’ve taken care of your accommodation for the next three nights, I told the clerk I don’t wish to know the room number and only you will know it when you tell him your name. I’m staying aboard the [I]Cypher[/I] should you require me for any reason.” With a bow, he departed, leaving a small stack of Septims on the table to presumably pay for a meal. Either he was genuinely trying to help, or flaunting his success. It wasn’t until after he departed that Daro’Vasora waved the barkeep over, saying simply, “Menu, please.”