[i]Evening, 21st of Second Seed, 4E208
Anvil, inside the Frisky Dolphin[/i]

Still lost in thought, Gregor found that his wandering feet had taken him to a tavern and he blinked a few times to let his eyes acclimatize to the moody lighting inside, the door swinging shut behind him. He cast a practiced, habitual glance at the patrons and took a double take when he recognized someone -- the Khajiit from their ragtag group, the same one he’d tended to at Elenglynn and who had fallen out with Rhea so ferociously outside the city gates. She looked the way he felt. Unaware of the conversation that Daro’Vasora had just had with Roux but intrigued by the pouch, the modest tower of coins on the table and her brooding appearance, Gregor approached at a languid pace and offered her his most winning smile. 

“Hello again, Daro’Vasora,” the Imperial said and inclined his head in greeting. “May I sit with you?”

Looking up to see Gregor approach, one of the few survivors from the Rangers, Daro’Vasora was surprised to see him appear to be so… cheerful. She gestured across from him as her eyes scanned over the parchment in front of her, deciding what was worth eating and what was likely to cause gastrointestinal distress the next morning. “Be my guest. To what do I owe the honour?” she asked flatly, glancing up only occasionally from the menu.

Gregor accepted graciously, sat down opposite the Khajiit and began to relieve himself of the swords he carried on his person, setting them aside beneath the table. While the unhurried and pleasant expression on his face remained, his slow and cumbersome movements betrayed more weariness and fatigue than he was readily willing to admit, and there was no hiding the bags beneath his eyes. Gregor noticed Daro’Vasora had obtained new clothes -- his own outfit and armor remained the same, immaculately cared for; the stains of Dwemer blood had been washed out already. 

“Coincidence, really,” he said and settled into his seat properly. “I wasn’t looking for you in particular. Now that you’re here, though, I do have a question for you. You see, I’m a little… lost, myself,” Gregor continued and he rubbed his brow with his left hand. “I wanted to fight against the Dwemer and help defend my homeland but recent events have made it perfectly clear such thoughts are wishful thinking. We are not prepared for this.” He paused and cleared his throat -- he looked much more serious now. “I’ve gathered you’re something of an expert on the Dwemer. What do you think? What are you going to do next?”

Propping an elbow up on the table, she rested her cheek against a balled fist. “The sentiment is similar. I’d forsaken rationality for the sake of vengeance, and in the end, what did we accomplish? Wipe out a minor scouting outpost? As soon as they were prepared for us, it was like Imperial City all over again.” She sighed, glancing around for something to chew on. “The Legion’s best in Imperial City was discarded like a plaything, I think the idea of changing tactics to more hit and run style was worth a shot, but ultimately, the risk is too great. We lucked out because they got complacent, and we figured we’d had a shot against them, but now we’re fighting on their terms, and every time that happens, there’s no winning.” 

Deciding on a few gulps of brandy, she mused for a few minutes, trying to figure out how to answer his next question. “I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do now. I lost mostly everything, and I want to regain some sense of normality. I just don’t know how to do that with what’s going on. You? What would you do in my situation, or your own?”

While Daro’Vasora thought about what she was going to say, Gregor ordered something to drink (wine) and a bite to eat (a cheese platter). He was polite and well-mannered enough to simply let her think, so he leaned back in his seat and folded his hands in his lap until she spoke and posed a question back to him. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance but he managed to keep his expression in line. She was steering the conversation away from what he wanted by implying that she wanted to escape from the conflict. [i]Coward,[/i] a cold (and somewhat hypocritical) part of him thought. 

“You won’t find that anywhere,” Gregor replied darkly and took a slow, measured sip of his wine, staining his lips crimson. “Tamriel is at war. The Dwemer won’t stop at Cyrodiil. We’re not capable of fighting them now but that is no reason to attempt to retreat back into your old life.” He paused, frowned, and when he continued, his pleasant tone had disappeared entirely and been replaced by something hard and unyielding. “I’m disappointed, Daro’Vasora. You’re an accomplished dungeoneer, highly knowledgeable about the Dwemer, which means you’re far more important to the war effort than the average Khajiit, and here you are instead, thinking about the things that you’ve lost instead of the greater good. I’ll readily admit that the Dwemer that came back are a far cry from the ones that left Tamriel all those years ago, but who’s to say that the secret to defeating them doesn’t lie in their past?” 

He shifted in his seat and pushed away his cheese platter so that he could lean forward, resting his elbows on the table, his dark eyes gazing intently in Daro’Vasora’s. It was obvious now that Gregor’s sheepish uncertainty of earlier had been a facade -- he knew exactly what he wanted. “In your situation I would put that clever wit and knowledge of yours to good use in deciding where to find the answers we need. I certainly wouldn’t turn my back on the Empire in search of ‘normality’.”

The Khajiit’s expression remained impassive, she just slowly emptied the glass as Gregor went on a suddenly impassioned tirade to, what, goad her into action? While she considered herself culturally Imperial, Gregor perhaps embodied the over-zealous nature that seemed all too common in the guards. “Oh, so you’re the expert now; you know exactly what range and capabilities they have. You should know one thing about armies, it’s that they shouldn’t overrun their supply lines. That alone tells me they can’t be everywhere. Save your disappointment, it’s unbecoming for a stranger to try and pressure someone to die for a cause that only they believe in.” she rolled her eyes, watching as a small loaf of bread and a serving of salmon were headed her way. The waiter put it down before her, and refilled the brandy. She slid a pair of Septims his way, which were taken with gratitude before he disappeared to the back.

“What is the greater good, hm? An Empire forged from the bones of Tiber Septim’s ruthless conquest, or maybe the Dwemer see themselves as the heroes for reclaiming their birthright? I heard a phrase long ago when I was a child that always resonated with me; Wars only work if both sides think they’re righteous.” She picked off a chunk of the bread and chewed it for a few moments, staring Gregor back in the eyes the entire time, unblinking, no passion of fires behind the feline slits. 

“I’ve passed on what I know to the Legions, you’re also making some rather rash judgements on what the Dwemer are and aren’t capable of; their technology isn’t remarkably different than what historical artifacts suggest. The only thing that makes this particularly brutal is that nobody alive has ever had to fight it. I do best when I’m digging up old artifacts and making sense of my discoveries, not waiting to die as sword fodder for someone else’s war. I don’t wear the armour of the Legions, I didn’t swear fealty to Emperor Mede, and I certainly don’t owe allegiance to lofty ideals set by those who lord over us. Songs are written about conquerors and great heroes, not the thousands that died for them to achieve that dream. Go ahead, name any random conscript from the Great War. Unless you know them, you can’t. 

“And that’s the problem, Gregor; I’m not prepared to be forgotten to history because someone else’s war fell on our doorstep. I’ll honour my mentor by doing what  he taught me to do, and maybe if I find anything worthwhile, I’ll pass it along to the war effort. You don’t become an expert at something if you just… don’t do it in favour of some foolish notion a war can be won entirely by sword and shield.” she said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

Like snow melting in the sunlight, Gregor's chiding look vanished and was replaced by a smile from one second to the next. “Fair enough,” he said casually and moved his cheese plate back in front of him as he relaxed into his seat again. He broke eye contact to pick at the cheese with his fork and took a few bites, appearing to thoughtfully evaluate his food. Internally, he was screaming. Daro’Vasora had no idea who she was talking to, being the next person in a long line of people over the last decade to be deceived into thinking he was an upstanding citizen -- that was precisely his intention, but Gregor was tired and pulled taut and a part of him yearned to interact with someone earnestly instead of always having to play these games.

The Pale Reaper hushed him to be quiet.

“I'm not suggesting you should be a soldier, by the way,” Gregor said at length and looked up again. “You would obviously be wasted as sword fodder. I'm just saying the Empire needs all the capable help, in any capacity, that it can get. You're smart, Daro'Vasora, you know the Dwemer better than most. What are their weaknesses? Where did they come from? Where would you go to find out? And if you don't care about the Empire, fine. Care for its people. My family is in the line of fire, for example. But disregarding even them -- do it for yourself. You know who won't be forgotten to history? The treasure hunter who discovered how to beat the Dwemer. History doesn’t remember the countless dead, true, but it also doesn’t remember those who ran from the great conflicts of their time.” Gregor's smile widened and he took another long sip of wine, carefully observing her reaction over the edge of his goblet. 

Her eyes widened, disposition changing to something decidedly more childish and excitable. “Oh, really? Maybe they’ll make me a statue and children will pretend to be me when I’m long decomposed!” she let out a feminine giggle before her face returned to its default sardonic expression. “You completely misunderstand my point. People get goaded into this shit all the time, all across history, because the very small handful of leaders and divinely chosen heroes make promises of glory and honour, riches, a nation of their own, women, blah blah [I]blah.[/I].” she rolled her eyes, taking another large bite out of her meal.

“Look, Gregor, I really don’t care about what happens to most people because everyone dies eventually and trying to stop major regional events is like standing in front of a boulder that’s crashing down a hill to save your friend. You may believe you can stop it, and who knows? Maybe a few trees will catch it and change its course. But more often than not, you and your friend are going to die. 

“I’m pragmatic; I care only about my little world. If it’s not some damned deep elves, it’ll be the Dominion, or a future Emperor with a mental tick and delusions of grandeur. All of them will be washed away in time, for someone like me to dig through their precious junk and pawn it off like it’s worth a few drinks and maybe some new clothes. Sentiment is meaningless, but people pay a lot for it.” she paused, swirling her glass in  thought. “So tell me; do you honestly think you’re going to stand in the way of an army from hurting your family, or would the smart thing to do would be beat them to it and get them away before the storm hits? How many Legionnaires do you suppose marched off to war to find out they can’t rush home to protect their family from a well-executed counter offensive? What are you going to do that saves your family?” she asked, starring with interest at the Imperial’s face. Was he all hubris and nationalism, or was there a sense of self in there, she wondered.

Gregor has obviously spent too much time in Skyrim, he realised. Daro'Vasora's pragmatic  cynicism was the polar opposite of the reckless and daring Nords that he had become used to. Gregor hated it. She was being smart and careful, which meant she was entirely uncooperative, and she had interpreted his words in a way that made her think he was an idiot. He said nothing at first as a look of simmering resentment passed over his face, his exhaustion preventing him from masking his emotions as he usually did. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth and then finally sighed relentingly. 

“It’s more complicated than you think,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning in closer. “I have my own, very good reasons to stay involved in this war. The Dwemer… have something I need. Something valuable that they’re not very much willing to part with. You know what they’re like.” He opened his mouth to continue but closed it again. How could he explain this to Daro’Vasora without actually explaining it to her? He looked more forlorn than ever. “I can’t tell you what it is but I need it to save my family and myself from a fate worse than death. And I need help.” 

That certainly hit a nerve, and while Daro’Vasora was content to bask in a smug victory against the blatant manipulation attempt, his sudden earnestness caught her off guard. She regarded him with a steady gaze, attempting to scry Gregor’s rugged features for more deception. She came up short.

At last, she replied, “What could the Dwemer possibly offer you that you cannot find elsewhere?” she asked. “Why do you think this could save your family, and why come to me for this? I studied the ancient ruins and technology, all of this living Dwemer business is entirely new and unknowable for me as it is for you.” she replied, shifting in her seat and feeling somewhat taken aback by Gregor’s change of tact. This didn’t feel like him trying to change tact to convince her to join him, instead it felt like he pulled back a layer of himself and exposed a raw part of his being for her to pry into. While she understood that having someone with some familiarity with the Dwemer was probably a wise course of action, what she couldn’t figure out what was exactly he was after. 

And there they were, the prying questions Gregor had dreaded as soon as he had finished speaking. There was no other option than to lie about it -- he only needed to get close enough to a Dwemer lord, after all. The precise details of what he was looking for [i]could[/i] be fabricated, if he was able to think quickly now. As if on cue he was struck by a jolt of inspiration and Gregor moved conspiratorially even closer to Daro’Vasora before answering her questions. “A cure,” he whispered. This wasn’t strictly true, of course, but it was the ultimate goal of his journey, and he had discovered previously that lies worked best when they contained a coating of truth. “My family is cursed with a degenerative disease that robs us of our minds when we reach middle age. I watched my father waste away because of it. He died within a few months after his brain forgot how to breathe. The priests call it Vaermina’s Theft. The alchemists have a… different name for it. And even the mages of the Arcane University know of it. What they all have in common is that they have no cure. My father’s last few years on this world were spent exploring every available avenue to him, to no avail. The last thing he found before he died was an old book about the Dwemer,” Gregor lied, his speech quickening as he wrapped himself up in the deception he was conconcting, “that claimed they were capable of great longevity [i]and preservation of their minds.”[/i] 

Gregor’s index finger had tapped the table with great force repeatedly to emphasize his last five words, and the feverish look in his eyes affirmed the utmost importance he placed on this (fake) discovery. “That’s what I need. I didn’t come to you specifically, Daro’Vasora -- I just ran into you here -- but I need the help of every expert on the Dwemer that I can find. I [i]need[/i] to get my hands on an ancient Dwemer lord of some kind, one who might be likely to know their secrets. And then all I need to do is reach in,” he said breathlessly, his hand contorted into a claw-like shape, his gaze staring into the middle distance, “and take it.” 

 
Reflexively, Daro’Vasora straightened her back as Gregor drew closer, finding the suddenly closing distance between the two somewhat uncomfortable and his words, [I]reach in and take it[/I] made a chill run down the Khajiit’s spine. In all of her travels and studies, she had never come across anything resembling what this book Gregor claimed to have read contained, and for all she knew, it was a convincing fable or a fake that he had latched onto in desperation. Something in his tone and the intensity in his eyes startled her, and she found her hand resting on the table knife out of reflex. This was a side to the man that she had no idea lurked beneath the normally tranquil exterior, and she had no idea if it meant he was a crazed man or not. She had no reason to doubt that his motives, protecting his family were genuine, but something about him made her feel like he’d latched onto the most obscure thought out of desperation and reason had left him somewhere along the way. She could sense that the man was dangerous, and not just with his prowess with the large sword he carried.

“A cure.” She replied, looking around both in thought and for a potential escape route, if the need arose. She hoped that Baan Daar would provide an escape if needed and that she was misreading the whole situation. “Look, I sympathize with how you feel for your family, I’d just be careful not to put too much into an unverified source.” She said delicately, not wishing to trigger an intense reaction. “I, too, wish to see the Dwemer pay for what they’ve done, but I’ve never encountered anything like what you’ve described, and… ancient Dwemer? There’s no way of knowing if these are the same ones who disappeared ages ago or their distant ancestors without careful research to corroborate this thought. I feel you might be going about this irrationally, or with false hopes that your problems will find a tidy solution under a strict form.” Her teeth grounded together, and she definitely felt a bit nervous being across from him. What was this man willing to do to chase what might have been a false lead as if it were the only truth? “Please, do not be rash or think that you’ve found an answer without knowing for sure. Maybe they [I]do[/I] have some sort of medicine you need, but that wouldn’t require anything more than finding one of their doctors. I’ll think about what you’re asking, but I really need to consider what my own family needs, and a fool of a daughter who is chasing the intangible certainly isn’t that.”

Gregor sighed. “Very well,” he said and sank back in his seat, suddenly deflated. “You said you’ll think about it, and that’s all I ask.” He sounded exhausted now, as if the impassioned confession had drained him entirely, and looked down at the table. After a few seconds, his eyes snapped back into focus and he saw the cheese platter he’d ordered and only taken a few bites of. He set about to devouring it now and interspersed his voracious bites with big swigs of wine. It seemed he had nothing more to say.

The shift in intensity was certainly welcome, although Daro’Vasora couldn’t help but feel pity for Gregor’s predicament. They sat in silence for a spell, and the Khajiit’s thoughts lingered on her sister, who was going to visit later in the month. Her family probably didn’t know she was still alive, and the realization stung. Picking up a fork, she took a few more  bites from her meal before returning her gaze to Gregor. “It’s plain that your family’s dear to you or you wouldn’t be going through this insane quest of yours. Tell me about them.”

That made Gregor blink and look up. He thought for a few seconds, swallowed, and said: “My father’s name was Hector. He died… ten years ago. My mother, Gaia, I think is still alive, but I honestly don’t know. I haven’t been home in a long time. My younger brother Marcus took over my father’s business. And I have a sister, Julia. They’re good, honest, hard-working people. Our parents raised us well.” Then the image of a raven-haired woman with eyes like sapphires flashed through his mind’s eye and he visibly winced, absent-mindedly scratching his left forearm as he did so. “I left everything behind after my father died. As the oldest son it is my duty to finish my father’s quest and find a cure for us. It was his last request. If I don’t succeed, we’ll all end up like him, and that’s… I can’t let that happen. My family doesn’t know that’s why I left. They wouldn’t understand that this is what it takes. My father knew that only I would be capable of doing so, which is why he left this task to me.” Gregor smiled sadly and shrugged. “You must think I’m crazy. I promise you that I’m not. I know what I’m doing.” 

“I don’t think you’re crazy, but the focus and drive might be. I understand and sympathize, I truly do. I just think that you may be so fixated on one potential option that you’re failing to see the danger, or discounting other courses of action.” she replied, blinking slowly and letting out a long exhale. “Perhaps there is merit to what you are proposing, and I don’t fault you for what you feel is the only shot at saving your loved ones, but take it from me; it’s when the treasure is in sight when you must truly be the most vigilant. If you let your guard down thinking you’ve overcome all of the obstacles, you may lose everything before you even touch the prize.  I’ve plundered enough ruins to have known that’s a universal lesson that doesn’t just apply to treasure.”


Reaching over, the Khajiit placed a hand over Gregor’s, the pads of her hands resting gently upon his much smoother skin.


“All I’m trying to say is don’t act before knowing all the details, or you’ll have spent years away from Gaia, Marcus, and Julia for nothing and lost what little time with them you could have had left. I can’t promise anything, I need to do some soul searching to know what path I should take, but if I do decide to continue taking up arms against the Dwemer, I will help you try and find those answers you seek. Be brave, but not foolish.” she cautioned, her tone gentle while her gaze remained stern. She wasn’t one for smiling, so it tended to misdirect genuine sympathy for bluntness.


Part of Gregor felt like a young man again, the jewelsmith apprentice who lived in a cozy house with a wonderful wife in Bravil, ignorant of the hardships and cruelty of the world, when Daro’Vasora laid her hand on his and spoke her words of wisdom. He wanted to listen to her, to succumb to someone else’s ideas, let them take the lead in determining what the possibilities were and what risks he should take -- it had been such a [i]heavy[/i] burden. But the iron core inside his mind wouldn’t allow it. That other part of him knew that Daro’Vasora’s advice was worthless. She had no idea what she was talking about. There were no other options left or Hector would have found them before he died. The lie that Gregor had spun for Daro’Vasora was actually somewhat plausible, now that he stopped to think about it, but she was right that it was a gamble and probably not even true. She didn’t know what Gregor was really planning, however, and that meant she was giving advice blindly. And that really annoyed that other part of him. Gregor could feel the resentment and the indignation simmering behind his eyes: who was this cat practically half his age to warn him of anything, who knew nothing of the true nature of his cause? If Gregor faltered now, he did not only risk his own family’s fate but also that of his very soul, for the gods would not be kind to him after everything that had happened. For a split second he imagined slamming Daro’Vasora’s arrogant face into the tabletop and condemning her to an eternity of suffering in the Soul Cairn. The moment passed as soon as it had come and Gregor, shaken, averted his gaze while pulling his hand back and into his lap. 

“Of course,” he said softly. “I must keep an open mind. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” she replied, gesturing to the food. “Might as well eat. It’s not getting any warmer.”