[center][i]Morning, 10th of Last Seed 4E 205[/i] [i]Arkay Temple, Jehanna[/i][/center] [hr] Stifling a yawn behind a hand, Redguard mage caught a whiff of particularly strong incense and nearly sneezed. Waving her hand about for a seconds before loudly sneezing. Others around her shushed her, the High Priest continued uninterrupted with the rites, professional. Maj looked down upon the bodies of former members of the company. Those that were previously burned had their faces covered with cloth, sparing those from having to see the gruesome sight. Their bodies prepared by expert hands but as far as the former-corsair thought was an outrageous waste of good salt. She turned her lip up at the idea of being buried, her father adamant on how he wanted his body to be treated after death - drumming up a deep seated fear of necromancy early on for his children. Maj fully recognized as a school of magic - conjuration flirted with necromancy and its history was rooted in breathing artificial life into the dead. The thought of being raised by some half-cocked necromancer sent shivers down Maj’s spine. She hoped to be so lucky to have a choice in her death, it was never a worry sailing with the [i]Scarlet Harpy[/i] everyone had funeral arrangements decided before boarding. Grim but necessary to pay proper respects to any one crew member. Arguably their bodies would be safely buried in the Temple of Arkay, after hearing stories if Windhelm being sacked by the Kamals. Places of worship mattered as much as the brothel. It was foolish to believe a graveyard wouldn’t be used against the local population. She rubbed her arms a chill settling into her. When the reading rites were complete, she bowed her head respectfully. Others were clearly far more upset at the loss than she was, she made for a quick exit not without clapping Gustav on the back. A sobering sight of Wylendriel praying for the dead, after a few days of rest the priestess was on her feet busy tending to the injured as soon as she was able. Maj glanced away. Miss Fontaine tugged on her arm passing a bag of gold and a lengthy list of errands to run on her behalf. Whispering instructions. Carefully rolling the list up and pocketing the gold she retreated. Outside the temple she breathed a hefty sigh, taking a quick sip from her wine skin she shuffled to the side pouring a little out. “Hard-lee knew Ye.” She rhymed off, capping it off before heading into the city to shop. [hr] [i]Streets of Jehanna, Noon[/i] Maj hefted a heavy sack over her shoulder, one of the several ‘ingredients’ Ariane requested struggling in vain at the bottom of the sack, a small foot occasionally kicking out against her shoulder. In her other hand she held a basket overflowing with various herbs, flowers, jars filled with a mysterious pitch liquid. Some relatively normal items like sprigs of rosemary and bushel of mint nestled among the strange. Wrapped in paper was a small bouquet of columbine flowers pastel blue and yellow petals it’s bloom in the shape of a trumpet. Those she bought for the injured but she hoped Wylendriel would notice as well, she may not have cared for the dead but the ones alive still mattered. Maj learned over the course of their short trip to Jehanna that Ariane, much like other mysticism mages - no matter their outward appearance (well made up as she was) they were the very definition of [i]eccentric.[/i] It was great fun to conduct experiments with the highborn mage, discovering the note from Tmeip’r wrote, what banquet did they refer to? What in the fresh plane of oblivion was a [i]mix tape?[/i] The Sload used a bizarre language. In her free hand she held the list, scanning down it. She entered into one of the local inns - the Dirty Golem, the instructions mentioning the cook there used a specialized spice unique to him and his dishes. Outside the inn was a [i]Tamrielic Gazette[/i] stand selling the latest news. Inside she walked under an arc of stone-faced gargoyles, carved eyes staring intensely at every patron passing under them. The atmosphere was dreary, long black table cloths, the signature Jehanna red lamps cast an eerie glow mixing generously with natural light. Polished candelabra sat, unlit, center of the tables in a wreath of nightshade, dark heavy curtains open over the windows. Maj looked quite out of place strolling in. Moving with purpose, she went straight up to the counter plopping none-too-gently her sack to the ground. The sack resident squeaked an exotic whistle in protest. Maj frowned then returned her attention to the inn keep. A tall pale green orc with small tusks, expertly applied swipes of eyeliner and a bold red lip, she wore a elaborate black silken dress with a low cut frock, she regarded Maj and her assorted shopping basket. “Good afternoon madam, my name is Shara welcome to the Dirty Golem. Wow can I be of service?” Probably the friendliest aspect about the establishment. She brought out the list, reading the next set of instructions. Ariane warned that this ingredient was entirely secret, few knew of it’s existence and it’s special qualities. Maj gestured for the orc to move closer to whisper. Brow furrowed she leaned forward, “Better not waste my time, mage.” Maj whispered, “I’m here for the Miracle Spice. I’ve been trusted with [i]the[/i] code.” The orc’s eyes narrowed, immediately suspicious. “Get it wrong and you’re dead meat.” Maj nodded, about to speak when she was interrupted by a long howling shriek followed by heavy thuds above their heads. Shara hardly batted an eye, Maj clamped her hands over her ears looking to the stairs. “Son of a fucking knave! What was that?” She shrugged, “My guess being a banshee experiment. You know how it is, mage.” The thudding continued for a few more stomps before ceasing completely. Her imagination ran wild. Recomposing herself she recalled the instructions warning of how they cautiously guarded their secret. She whispered, “Alright here goes.” Taking a deep breath in she recited the password, “Septim edible centaur regretted echoing truth, spriggan astutely useful centered earring. Oh and this,” She quickly angled her arms away from her dipping her head into her right elbow. She straightened, Shara watched then huffed through her nose. “Okay. One moment.” She disappeared from the front counter walking down to the cellar, carefully hiking the hem of her skirt. Maj glanced around seats were empty, she guessed their regular patrons were sleeping the day away. Shara returned, in a concealed velvet case she slid it across the counter. “Two servings with kind regards from the Chef. Please, enjoy.” Maj eyed the trunk pawing it off the counter to nestle it into her basket, “Thanks.” She quickly exited slowing to a stop at the Gazette stand. She dropped her own septims into the open palm of the seller, taking a copy. Unfurling the paper her eyes scanned across the headlines, taking a break on the benches - noting the green ivy draped over the walls, local flowering bushes nearby, trimmed with care. The city felt manicured in that sense. The political atmosphere of High Rock was always changing. Being back on dry land she was once again in direct proximity to the gossip and news. Opening the paper she read through it properly. The headlining story for Morrowind caught her eye reading through of the news, the ashen Dunmer siblings. Their entire family was executed as traitors. She sat back taking a moment, she sucked the edge of her scarred lip biting it in thought. Resolving to keep her distance from the pair of them, there’s no telling how they’d take the news. She flipped the page finally to High Rock, her eyes drifted leisurely, a frown formed with the furrow of her brows, her grip tightened on the paper as she read the devastating news. She stood up slapping the paper to the bench, “[i]Fuck![/i]” The Republic! Her contacts, allies, it was all gone! She slumped to the bench cradling her head in her hands, without a bid for a proper crew from the Republic she was going to be forced to start from scratch. That was assuming she could find where Nephelle or Captain Sette were hauled off to. Were they in Summerset? Did they get sold off to High Rock or Hammerfell? Were they hung for their crimes? Maj dragged her hands down her face cupping her chin in her fists, eyes closed - thinking, her leg bounced. The Corsair Republic was a constant for nearly sixteen years, it’s grip on the Iliac Bay unshakable. Red-Blood Nate had been skirmishing with the Republic for years, searching for weak points, building a quiet rebellion in Wayrest. She snatched the paper back up reading to the end of the story. The Banquet, the very same Tmeip’r referred to in his decoded message. She folded the paper back up tucking it into the basket, angry - wrestling with intensifying hopelessness. Her resources drying up in a few passages. What was there to do? The only option for revenge was allowing the attack to happen with no warning, even as the self destructive thought crossed her mind she couldn’t find refuge in Wayrest now, she knew her father would drag her out the streets again to be hanged for her piracy. She headed to drop off her haul, the creature in the sack quieted, whimpering. “Yeah... I know.”