[H3]Bending Until it Breaks[/H3] [i]Fox and I wrote stuff[/i] [I]10th of Last Seed, The Howling Wolf Inn, 10am[/I] “Ashav’s dead.” It was a statement, some neutral utterance that had as much sentiment as proclaiming that the market had run out of apples, or that rain had cancelled your outdoor plans for the evening. Do’Karth hobbled into the room, using his staff as a walking stick, and set down a cloth bag filled with inexpensive groceries; some cheese, a flank of mutton, a small bag of tree nuts, a dozen eggs and a bushel of apples along with a pair of unlabeled wine bottles that he set next to the groceries. He sat down upon a wicker chair, it creaked in protest under the Khajiit’s sudden weight pressing down on it, sounding as tired as he felt. The Redguard commander of the company died last night, Do’Karth had heard from others in the company who had been at the market where he overheard. Past a nasty fall and possibly a stab wound, the Khajiit recalled little of the particulars and he was surprised to find that he simply didn't care of the drunkard’s fate; so many more deserving people had perished under his bastard rule that the man hardly seemed to care for those who died serving him, let alone notice they had perished. His loss was one that would not be mourned. However, it might present an opportunity. What kind, Do’Karth could not say. Everything still hurt, and the only reason he was up and moving about was because he insisted he try and keep his body strong to Sevine; death would not give him time to heal if he grew complacent and assumed that danger wasn't always imminent. Ever since Windhelm, he had been hyper vigilant and prepared to fight and move out at a moment's notice, but in the months since, after crushing loss after crushing loss, Do’Karth felt tired to the soul and angry beyond what his words could convey. There was no justice and dignity to be found anywhere, and the dead kept piling up. He’d lost Jorwen and Solveig, and his heart ached for them. When he awoke from the brink of death at sea and discovered Roze’s fate, he sobbed openly; his friend had died gruesomely and without dignity. Her beautiful and hopeful face destroyed like a fetid piece of meat along with the rest of her body, crushed under the weight of a monster he was supposed to stop and instead he failed to protect anyone, and instead became a liability. Adaeze and Ashna he managed to say funeral rites for, as much as his body screamed in agony for daring to move, but Roze… he couldn't speak for the words turned to cement in his throat and he became overcome with emotions. She was his friend, and for Sagax, she was perhaps more. He’d seen that face before on Sadri when the Dunmer lost Solveig, and he understood full well the weight of the loss he felt. Looking Sevine in the eye, Do’Karth knew she was the last thing of value he held in his life and as much as he prayed to Mara and S’Rendarr, only silence answered him. The amulet about the Khajiit’s neck felt like a lead weight without a soul to it now, and try as he might to meditate, his restless soul only kept him in a state of indignant fury and loss. “Good riddance.” he spoke after a length, burying his face in his hands. His body trembled, and Do’Karth felt as if he were back in the grave, deciding if he wished to live or die more, and why he deserved a chance to make things right. Everything he tried to become in the years since he redeemed himself was eroding around him, and he did not see the path forward any longer. Sevine remained quiet. She had found some solace in her solitude while Do’Karth had ventured out for food. The time alone had given her a chance to reflect on the events since leaving Solitude. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped before her with her head hanging low. [i]Ashav is dead. Good riddance.[/i], His words struck her like the wind being knocked from her chest. Her eyes burned with hot tears, as she gritted her teeth. The blatant disregard for his life, rocked her to the core. “How can you say that?” She whispered, her voice low as she struggled to keep her head level. “How can you not?” Do’Karth countered, his ears pulled back and pupils narrowed. “How many times does this one have to barely escape death before he would be appreciated by those who own us by decree of a damned piece of parchment that we signed? How many friends have we lost, how many others? Ashav did not even blink at any of those, he did not mourn. He received a funeral, which is so much more than everyone who died under his command received. The man was a drunk, one without a clear mind or a good heart. He pushed us further and further, doing that damnable Gustav’s bidding without once considering the welfare of those who took up arms for him. “We’ve done things that ten times our number should have taken care of, but no… our numbers are always low and pitiful because Gustav is too damned cheap to pay for a proper company, and Ashav has never stepped in to tell him no. Do’Karth is tired, Sevine. He has volunteered for every job, every thankless task to try and protect those he cared about. We have barely been paid for our efforts, and where was Ashav when this one was scraping what remained of Roze off of the fucking deck? Passed out drunk!” The Khajiit exclaimed furiously, throwing one of the bottles of wine against the wall, a shower of crimson splattering the room. He breathed heavily through his teeth. “This one is slowly dying. He no longer knows who he is, compassion smashed against rocks, drowned beneath waves. Why? What is this all for?!” he demanded. Sevine rose up from the edge of the bed, her hands curled into fists. She had not flinched when he had thrown the bottle, though her face twisted now in anger, “You ask why? [i]Why?[/i] This is to protect Skyrim and all of Tamriel. Every soul lost is a tragedy, and to speak ill of the dead is uncouth, even under the eyes of Mara. You should be [i]ashamed[/i].” “Do not think for one minute, that [i]I[/i] have not suffered equally as [i]you[/i]. My sister is the only family I have left, she is All. I. Have. [i]Do’Karth[/i]. We are paid for our services, and [i]I[/i] can leave any time I want. There is war. I would rather be home, looking after my sister, she is with child.” She took a deep breath as her head began to spin from the anger boiling inside her, anything to calm her nerves. “I do not have to stay here. I [i]choose[/i] to, on my honor as a Nord. For my country and home. To do everything I can to bring an end to the Kamal. If you cannot handle that, then maybe you should leave.” “All you have left.” He repeated the words slowly, looking the Nord in the eyes as if for the first time. “This one sees. He was a fool to think otherwise.” raising up laboriously, he shook his head, the anger dissipating in ebbs. “Go then, to the only one you have left. Do’Karth will take his leave.” he said quietly, composing himself and straightening out his budi. He turned, to look at the door, and it seemed so far away. His feet began to take him there. “Leave. Get out of here, Do’Karth.” She said, her teeth were clenched hard, she thought they would crack from the pressure. Do’Karth reached for the door, gripping the handle. He stopped, looking over his shoulder, his gaze stoic and cold. “You speak of protecting Skyrim from the Kamal, and yet here we are, further and further from them. You are a fool to think that this company is going to protect your home; we fled as soon as it stopped being profitable for Gustav.” he said, his voice low, a cold anger coming out as almost a snarl. “That same paper that just casually let Niernen know her entire family has been murdered by her government also said that Sea Elves are enslaving and consuming Do’Karth’s people. He hears there was even recipes. Perhaps he should worry about his own people rather than those who hate him.” Reaching about his neck, Do’Karth pulled the amulet of S’Rendarr from his neck and held it at arm's length in front of him. His fingers unfurled and slipped through his grasp, landing on the wooden floor. The Khajiit pulled open the door and stepped through the portal, the door closing gently behind him. [hr] A glass tapped down on the bar counter, perhaps with a bit too much force, but Do’Karth was past the point of caring. The bartender approached, looking down at the Khajiit with distrustful eyes. For his part, Do’Karth did not look up. He simply uttered, “Another.” “That’s three so far. You need to slow down.” The bartender urged, not even reacting when Do’Karth slapped a few more coins on the counter. The Breton man sighed, shaking his head. “Let’s get you something to eat first. I can tell it’s been one of those days for you.” He replied, turning away to turn to the back. Do’Karth did not move, and instead stared straight ahead at the mesmerizing candlelight reflecting on the neatly lined-up bottles ahead. His head was spinning, and he felt numb, but mostly disappointed in himself. Fury had overridden the calm reassurance he’d always tried his best to show, and by lashing out at Sevine, it all but ensured he’d destroyed her trust in him; her final memories of him would be of a cruel and callous Khajiit that would rather feed his anger towards the pieces of shit that ran the company rather than find a way to reassure her, she was suffering from the ordeals they’d survived as much as he had, he knew that. [I]So why does this one feel so invalidated for expressing how he feels? Should it not be her that is more understanding?[/I] he thought bitterly to himself, working his fingers in and out of a fist, the points of his claws digging into his palm. Do’Karth had never known love before, so this was all such uncharted ground for him. Often leaving before he formed attachments in his own journeys, Sevine was the reason he stayed with this forsaken company, fighting a war that was not his own for people who wished him ill. The voices of Mara and S’Rendarr grew quieter as the weeks went on, and now after so long of a stretch of silence, it was clear they had abandoned them or he had failed them. The result was fundamentally the same, he decided. Was this punishment for daring to fall in love, that being given a second chance was already too much to ask of the Divines? It felt that way, and he would only bring Sevine shame, regardless. Nords and Khajiit didn’t mingle, the Divines saw to that; when he befriended Jorwen, the warm-hearted giant was taken by the Kamal and terrible things done to him. Do’Karth’s fist was so tight that he felt the pain of his claws pressing in, but dared not release it. Why had he abandoned Jorwen? He meekly went along with what the likes of Ashav and fucking Cat-Kicker wanted, it was shameful and it was wrong. Do’Karth would head South, but there was something he needed to do. He needed to at least try to find his friend, even though he was likely dead. “Was this what you wanted?” he asked his patrons if they hadn’t truly abandoned him. The voice that replied was not the calm feminine embrace of Mara nor the authoritative but fair infliction of S’rendarr, but rather a brusque man with a hostile intent. “No, I want you fucking cats to get the fuck out of my tavern, out of Jehanna, and go back to the shitty huts you crawled out of.” The voice snarled. Do’Karth didn’t turn around, seeing the vague outline of a large man behind him reflected in the glass. “Go away.” Do’Karth replied. He was in no mood to suffer fools, especially since he was all too familiar with the vitriol men like this had shown his kind. However, a firm hand grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to turn around to face the Nord robbed Do’Karth of the option. He stared up at the man defiantly, an ugly bearded thing with narrow, dumb eyes and a dagger on his hip. [I]That dagger…[/I] “You don’t get it, do you? Leave or I’m going to make you wish you had, you-” The man’s voice was lost as Do’Karth stared at the blade. It was silver, with a red ribbon tied to the hilt, a relic from his past. It was the very same one that he’d been given, when the order was given in Torval, the order to- A fist struck him across the face, the sharp pain of it dulled by the alcohol and the fury already pent up within Do’Karth. Without thinking, the Khajiit lashed out his leg into a strike into the man’s knee, buckling him over towards him, where Do’Karth grabbed the man’s curly hair and smashed his face off of the bar counter. The man had a companion, an equally repugnant looking creature, who went for a blade of his own. The reflex was automatic; the Khajiit grabbed one of the steak knives on the counter and flung it at the man, burying it into his shoulder with out-of-practice but skilled precision and he was up, confronting the man, who was trying to remove the knife, but found a heel strike to the nose for his troubles, causing a cascade of blood to erupt from his face. The man tried feebly to strike with his wounded arm as his good one was closer to his chest, only for Do’Karth to deflect it and drive another palm into the blade’s hilt, causing the Nord to bellow out in agony. Another feeble attempt to grab at Do’Karth’ budi ended up with a flat handed strike into the man’s throat with extended claws, puncturing the skin on his neck with repeated jabs before twisting the blade and pulling out out with a flourish. The original Nord was back up, teeth chipped and he tried to bullrush the Khajiit, who stepped into the momentum and let the blade cut into the man’s flank as his momentum did the work. As he closed into the man, Do’Karth reached over the Nord’s neck and drove the blade into his shoulder, burying it deep in the blade before sweeping the man’s legs out from under him, driving the man face first onto the floor. The Nord had no chance to recover; Do’Karth was upon him and pulled free the silver dagger, holding it in front of the man’s eyes for him to see. The Khajiit’s face was a mask of cold death. “This one knows you killed one of his people for this blade. You are a fool to wear it so openly as a trophy. The Renrijra’Krin is everywhere.” He held the blade aloft, about to strike down into the man’s throat, staring down at the terrified green eyes. He saw clearly the blood, the damage he’d already inflicted, and the blade suddenly felt heavy in his hand. Like the amulet of S’rendarr, his grip loosened and the dagger clattered on the floor in a deafening thunk. “This one is Dar’Turga.” he whispered to himself, staring in despair at his shaking hand.