[i]21st Second Seed[/i]

Rather than things improving like they had almost seemed to be in their first successful counter-attack against the Dwemer, the next few events went greatly downhill, particularly for Sol. While he avoided death or injury in the second attack with the Rangers, the journey back to Skingrad had been a harrowing one. Barely anything to eat or drink, and not a second wasted on sleep in the hurry to return to the safety of stone walls. A false hope really, considering how easily the Imperial City was taken... but it was better to forget that fact when the relief washed over you as you spied the castle in the distance. This was how Solandil felt, despite his exhaustion - exalted to be back to a city he didn't know nor care for, just for the false safety it provided.

Of course, this relief swiftly ebbed away as he caught wind of it's newest protectors. Before the word "Dominion" could even come from Pollux's mouth, Sol's facewraps and helmet had taken up residence on his his head once more, hiding a very stricken, pale face. These coverings stayed there for the next 24 hours and beyond, out of sheer paranoia of being recognised by any of the soldiers patrolling Skingrad. He could only find relief in that fact that his group were all leaving for Anvil on the morning, but even so, he couldn't relax. He failed to find any sleep that night, despite his exhaustion, and didn't rest until the group were well away from the fallen city. Sol couldn't quite balance the two schools of thought running around his mind - that the Dominion never gave a shit about him in the first place so wouldn't waste time and effort on bringing him to justice, or that they'd do anything to put down the abomination he was.


The arrival at Anvil finally prompted Solandil to free his head from hiding, and breathed a weary sigh of relief for it. Several days with his skin and hair utterly covered had left him sodden with sweat, and all he truly desired was a bath, a soft bed, and something beyond scrappy barbecued meat to eat. Unfortunately, those three things weren't going to come to him without money. As Daro'Vasora had so promptly put, the group were not going to be paid their promised amount. Sol could have threatened Rhea for his payment as he had with reluctant employers in the past, but he just felt too tired to do so. Rhea looked too tired to even feel intimidated by him. In fact, everyone he looked at seemed tired, barring the blase Anvil residents who hadn't been affected by the budding war so far. Hopefully they wouldn't be too frightened of a grubby snow-white Altmer asking them for a job. Whether they were involved or not, war always made people skittish.

As the group dispersed, Sol left wordlessly, picking a random direction and not looking back. He was surprised to find himself disappointed. Though he hadn't spent much time with them, the group had been a good one to travel and fight with. It had been diverse, and filled with capable men and women. One woman in particular had struck him more than the others, but now he supposed they wouldn't cross paths much again. Once more, disappointment hit him. Attempting to shake off the feelings, Sol affixed his usual grim visage as he entered the nearest tavern. Bartenders had plenty of word of mouth about tasks around the city, and looking like a forlorn pup wouldn't do him any favours in getting any.

[hr][hr]

[i]22nd of Second Seed[/i]

Trudging along the muddy backstreets of Anvil, Sol's lip curled as he squinted at the piece of parchment in his hand once again. This had been one of a dozen odd-jobs he'd picked up in the past two days, and was still being paid a pittance for it. Some old lady had lost a ring while out walking her pet rats, and had employed him to find it. He didn't even want to know why she had made such awful creatures her pets, and was fairly certain that one of them would have just gobbled up a shiny object if it had fallen in front of them. Whatever the case, he had nothing else better to do than to trawl back alleys for something of the ilk. Chances were the decrepit Dunmer would just find it in her jewellery box or something.

As the alleyway emptied out into a modest courtyard, Sol took note of the two men standing at the other entrance. They were lingering in the dark, and as he made his way forward, noted with narrowed eyes as they copied his movements. The slightest noise behind him caused his head to whip around, and there stood another man, stepping out behind him. Clearly, it was an ambush of some kind. 

"Yes?" He sighed, coming to a halt in the center of the courtyard as the men formed a triangle around him. A particularly ugly one stepped forward, offering a grin that was missing several teeth.

"We've been lookin' fer you." So... not a random attack due to bad luck then. Sol didn't really need two guesses as to who had sent them, and once again, he was very disappointed in his sister. Even after all this time, she found the lowest of the low to try and kill him. Not once had he had a Dark Brotherhood or Morag Tong pay him a visit - just mercenaries who had happened across his bounty papers, of which several had been randomly sent around the continent from Alinor. She just didn't seem to learn.

Sol regarded the three uncouth attackers with about as much interest or alarm as he would a bird pecking at the floor for scraps. The three were leering and jostling their swords foolishly, possibly in the hopes of intimidating him but only appearing more inept as time went on. Their grip was flimsy, their manner thuggish, and they all reeked of filth and pickled... [i]something[/i]. Fair to say, Sol wasn't exactly shaking in his boots.

"Let's get this over with then. I've had a long week." He said in a bored, tired tone as he lazily drew his swords. All he really wanted was a warm bed at this point, but didn't exactly have the money for it, even after all of the jobs he'd taken on. He brightened up slightly as he realised that these idiots would at least have some coin on them. If not, there'd be plenty of merchants in the streets that he could hawk their items to. The trio looked at him uneasily, but still advanced with a hearty bellow. Sol stayed unmoving, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

[hr]

Naturally, the fight hadn't lasted very long, but Sol was still displeased with the lack of money the three had carried between them. There was enough for a room at an inn for perhaps three days, food and drink included. Not enough left over to send a certain package back home to his dear sister, to yet again remind her of her pathetic failures to end his life. He pondered between comfort and petty revenge, and logic eventually won the former choice. He'd have to wait until next time to send her another broken toy. After counting up the coin, Sol took the men's swords and knapsacks, sighing heavily as he continued on his way towards the closest inn. Hopefully, wherever it was had a bath. His once silver hair was beginning to turn black.

[hr][hr]

[i]23rd of Second Seed[/i]

Half-submerged in a steaming tub laid Solandil, enjoying his second bath of the week with a content smile. The Flowing Bowl had been more than accommodating to him despite the filthy state of his body and fresh blood on his swords. A room with a steaming bath had been provided swiftly, along with some well-earned hot food and wine. His first bath had quickly turned brown with the layers of grime on his body, and the luxury of his room was quickly forgotten as he fell into a soft bed, still half-naked from being too bone-tired to get dressed. The next day, another bath was called and paid for, and this time Sol made sure to enjoy it as much as possible.

Bathing was nearly always a luxury for adventurers and mercenaries such as himself. Spending so long on the road meant a lack of resources for such a thing, and if one was in a city long enough to enjoy one, they clearly weren't earning enough money from work. But especially for Sol, he couldn't even enjoy bathing in rivers or waterfalls in the wild. Self-conscious of his own body, along with the paranoia of someone noticing his unique colouring and the Dominion receiving word of it. This meant bathing in private was almost impossible for the Altmer. But not now, in his own little room.

As he reached for a glass of wine he had left nearby, his eyes were drawn to the knapsack he had taken from his attackers yesterday. A cursory look through had revealed food, a tinderbox that was nearly empty, and a sheaf of bounties, some of which had crudely been crossed through. Ironically enough, they had crossed his out... far too prematurely, as their corpses would show. Reaching from the tub and grabbing the strap, Sol tipped it upside down on the floor beside him, looking through the remainder of rubbish that the thugs had accumulated. They truly seemed to have picked up every little thing they had come across. Scraps of paper, shiny rocks, wooden ladles, a rusted old dagger... nothing of any use. 

Just as he was about to turn away, a small item glinting amongst the rubbish caught his eye. Brushing away a pile of feathers, Sol's expression turned incredulous as his long fingers delicately picked up a golden ring, embedded with an emerald.

"Well, I'll be. Looks like the old woman was right." He murmured, turning the ring over and over his palm as he examined it. It definitely matched the description she had given him, and he'd even found it in the alleyway where she had claimed to have dropped it. It appeared that the looting of his thugs had been far more lucrative than he could have ever imagined. In no time at all, Sol had sought out the old woman with her missing heirloom, returning to the bar of the Flowing Bowl with reward money in hand and feeling more content than he had in days.