[i]8th of Last Seed, 5 AM[/i]

Tsleeixth had found it difficult to get any sleep throughout the night, frequently waking up as the ship was rocked by the waves as it made its way to Jehanna. And so the Argonian found himself on the upper deck of the ship, leaning against the handrail and gazing towards the horizon as he tried to order his errant thoughts. Could he have done something different? Was the main thing that he pondered, his nails digging further and further into the nail of the rail the more he pondered the question. He didn't doubt that going up into the airship had been the correct choice, not in and of itself, but rather what [i]he[/i] had done once inside of Tmeip'r’s mobile base of operations bothered him. Maybe if he had forged on ahead instead of waiting for the rest, or if he had personally helped in the battle against the Sload necromancer rather than letting his thrall support Sadri and Alim, things might have turned out differently. 

The spellsword let out a sigh, followed shortly afterwards by a mirthless chuckle. Different. That word seemed to be on his thoughts a lot as of late. If things had been different maybe he wouldn't have been nearly killed by an angry mob and left crippled...if things had been different Roze would still be alive. Another sigh left his mouth as he thought about the Breton, his hands balling into fists as frustration surged within him. "If only we had taken care of Tmeip’r sooner..." Tsleeixth muttered bitterly to himself. He had learnt of the Breton's passing a short while after he had returned to the [i]Kyne's Tear[/i]; following his escape from the airship, he had been too exhausted and had quickly passed out as soon as he was back in the, relative, safety of the ship and had only learnt of the gruesome news once consciousness had returned to his body. 

He had been amongst those who had volunteered for the gruesome task of gathering the Breton's remains so that she could receive a proper burial. He hadn't been as close to Roze as others in the company had, not like Sagax and Do'Karth who had also volunteered for the task, but the Argonian still felt it was the least that he could do for her. She had helped him, back in Bthamz when he had been wounded trying to negotiate with one of the Ashlanders, and they had shared drinks while in Windhelm before the Kamal had invaded....and part of him felt guilty for her death. As his mind liked to remind him constantly, he had been on the airship and had been part of the group that had confronted the Sload so, in his mind, part of the blame for her death lay on him. It had been a gruelling task which had been done in silence by those that had undertaken it with their only communication being the occasional glances that they had directed towards each other. 

The way that Sagax had acted after they had been done with their grim labour hadn't gone unnoticed by Tsleeixth, it was clear that the Imperial wanted to be left alone and, as such, Tsleeixth hadn't approached him. Still, he felt guilty for not being able to support his friend in his time of need like Sagax himself had done back when they had been in Solitude. "[i]Maybe once we are in Jehanna he'll be more open, more ready, to talk about what happened.[/i]" Tsleeixth thought, letting out a soft sigh and shaking his head. There was no point in speculating about what would happen or how anyone would feel in the future. All that any of them could hope for was that there would be no more troubles during the rest of their voyage towards Jehanna. 

Moving away from the handrail, Tsleeixth turned his back to the horizon and began making his way back to the interior of the [i]Kyne’s Tear[/i]. He knew that sleep would continue to elude him for the rest of the night and that the same questions that had drove him to head to the upper deck for fresh air would continue to haunt him incessantly. “Perhaps I should see if I have something to drink.” The Argonian muttered quietly to himself as he made his way towards his allotted hammock, the thought of passing through the rest of the night in blissful, drunken, stupor sounding more and more appealing with each second. 

[hr]
[i]10th of Last Seed, 10 AM[/i]

He had debated internally whether or not to go to the funeral service that was to be held in the local temple of Arkay but, in the end, Tsleeixth had decided to go; even if he didn’t believe in the Divines, he still felt the need to pay his respects towards both Roze and the recently deceased Ashav. And so Tsleeixth found himself standing in the back of the temple, head bowed low and silent, tears streaming from his eyes as the high priest performed the final rites for the two departed members of the company. In the end, he was amongst the last of those remaining in the temple before he approached the two caskets. 

“Goodbye Roze, I….I wish we could have known each other better….that I could have repaid you for saving me back in Bthamz before Sithis called you back to the void sister.” The Argonian spoke quietly to the casket. “May the Hist embrace you as you rejoin the one.” He finished before moving to the casket that held Ashav’s earthly remains. “What happened to you Ashav? I’m no fool, it was all too easy to notice the change that took ahold of you after Dawnstar….the way you began drinking more and more until it seemed like there wasn’t a minute were you weren’t drunk. And yet I still find it difficult to believe that you’d….do such a thing as the one you did.” Tsleeixth said quietly, shaking his head slightly. “Would you really take your own life? Maybe I’m a naive fool but, no matter how much I think about it, I can’t picture you as the kind of man who would do something like that.” The spellsword continued on, letting out a soft sigh. “In the end it doesn’t matters, what's done is done and you are no longer among us. I only hope that you've managed to find your peace in the afterlife.” He finished, stepping away from Ashav’s casket and towards the door that led outside of the temple. Tsleeixth gave one last look to the coffins before he crossed the door’s threshold back into Jehanna’s streets. 

Once he was outside, Tsleeixth began to walk away from the building at a brisk pace. He had no place in his mind to go, only a desire to put as much distance between himself and the Conclave of the Golden Tomb as possible. He wasn’t sure for how long, or exactly in what direction, he had been walking but Tsleeixth was brought out of his stupor when he heard a voice announcing the latest issue of the [i]Tamrielic Gazette[/i] as loudly as possible to stand out amidst the chatter and other assorted noises that filled the air of the city. “[i]Maybe reading something will help me, get me to focus on other things.[/i]” The Argonian thought, a sense of dread and nervousness quickly growing within him as he became more and more aware of the high number of Nords walking through the streets by each moment now that he had been brought out of his stupor and was aware of his surroundings. 

Much like it had happened when he had wandered through the streets of Solitude, thoughts of Dawnstar and its mob of furious citizens began bubbling up within Tsleeixth’s mind second by second the longer he stood in the busy streets. “Yes, yes, I definitely need something to distract myself.” He muttered to himself, letting out a nervous chuckle. It wasn’t too difficult to find the source of the voice, which belonged to a Breton boy as it turned out, that was peddling the newspaper and even less difficult to secure a copy for himself. 

Taking a second to orient himself, and paying the Breton boy a few septims to ask for directions just in case, Tsleeixth began making his way back towards the [i]Howling Wolf Inn[/i] while leisurely reading the articles as he walked. Much like he had hoped, the gazette provided a much needed distraction for his thoughts something which, in turn, allowed him to calm himself down. That is, until he reached the section dedicated to Skyrim and he read a particular bit of news.

[i]Stormcloak hardliners seize Dawnstar. Local guards, leaderless with Skald's death, either defected or retreated to Whiterun. An extremist group known as the Neckbeards (responsible for slaughtering Argonian refugees) have been appointed as the town militia, replacing guards in law enforcement capacities.[/i]

The world seemed to freeze in place as he processed the information, and Tsleeixth found himself reading through the article one more time as if he wasn’t sure that what he had read was true. But, no matter, the article remained the same. Part of him wanted to weep openly in the streets, from sorrow, fear, or outrage he wasn’t sure, and another part of him wanted to laugh like a maniac at the mere thought that the bastards who had nearly murdered him and who had slaughtered his fellow Saxhleel were now in control of Dawnstar. So absorbed in his thoughts as he was, Tsleeixth didn’t notice the pair of Nords that were approaching him until they clashed against him. 

He stumbled back due to the impact but managed to catch himself before he fell into the ground. Unfortunately the two men that had bumped into him hadn’t been so lucky and fell to the ground on their behinds. The reason for which became apparent in a second as Tsleeixth saw a pair of bottles rolling away from the outstretched hands of the pair of Nords but he didn’t have much time to think, or do, anything before the pair in question was standing up once more, a look of frustration written plainly on both their faces. 

“Look at what you made me do you filthy lizard! You made me drop my drink.” One of the nords, a blonde man with a broken nose, slurred drunkenly at him. “What the fuck do you think you are doing standing in the middle of the street anyway.” The blonde continued on, giving Tsleeixth a push for good measure. 

Tsleeixth, for his part, remained silent as memories of the events that had transpired in Dawnstar started flooding his mind at the aggressive look that the two Nords had regarded him with. Had something like this occured but a few months prior, Tsleeixth would have stood his ground against the two drunkards but, as things stood, he stood rooted in place with nary a word leaving from his lips a fact that didn’t escape the two Nords despite their drunken state. 
“What’s the matter, not gonna say anything?” The second Nord, a brutish man with a mane of red hair, growled at him, pushing him much like his fellow drunkard had done but a few moments ago. “Think you are better than us or something? Is that why you aren’t saying anything lizard?” The redheaded drunkard growled, growing more and more frustrated with Tsleeixth’s silence as the seconds went by. 

“You and your fucking kind are always making trouble for us Nords, just like the damned cats and Dunmers.” The blonde drunkard spat as he approached Tsleeixth, giving the Argonian a punch in the face that sent the later to the ground. “C’mon Hrol, let's teach this lizard a lesson.” The blonde Nord said to his redheaded compatriot. 

“Heh, read my mind Haening. We gotta teach this lizard well and proper so an accident like this one doesn’t repeats itself, don’t we?” Hrol said to his blonde friend as he cracked his knuckles, prompting Haening to let out a sinister chuckle before nodding in ascent with his friend. 

As the pair of Nords had become progressively more aggressive, Tsleeixth’s mind had begun to recall the memories of Dawnstar with more and more intensity. Lost in his memories as he was, Tsleeixth didn’t do anything as he was kicked and hit by Hrol and Haening his mind torn between the assault he was currently enduring and by the memories of the one that had nearly cost him his life but a month ago.

The beating continued on for a few more minutes until both Nords stopped for breath, exhausted by their vicious attack on the defenceless spellsword. “Pathetic.” Haening said, spitting on Tsleeixth’s face. “If they are all as pathetic as this lizard here it’s no wonder they got butchered at Dawnstar. They probably dropped to the ground and started whimpering at the first blow.” The blond Nord mocked cruelly. 

At the mention of the massacre of the Argonian refugees something within Tsleeixth seemed to snap and the world suddenly became clear as the memories of the beating at the hand of the mob receded to the depths of his mind. “What did you just said?” The Argonian hissed, standing on wobbly feet and regarding the blond Nord with a look of pure hatred. 

“I don’t like the look you are giving my friend here, maybe we should extend this lesson a bit more.” Hrol said, throwing another punch in Tsleeixth’s direction which the Argonian easily sidestepped. 

As the redheaded Nord tried to regain his balance after missing his punch, Tsleeixth took ahold of his wrist and began channeling magicka to generate electricity. He made certain to control his output so as to not cause any permanent damage but, to Hrol, such distinction was unnoticeable as he began to cry in pain as the electricity course through his arm. 

Haening, at seeing the pain in which his friend was, let out a cry of rage and charged at Tsleeixth in a blind fury, causing the Argonian to let go of Hrol’s wrist. “Fucking lizard, you are one of those damned mages.” The blonde Nord hissed in contempt, eyeing Tsleeixth warily as caution and fury battled within his mind; in the end, fury won against caution and Haening charged towards Tsleeixth once more. 

With his mind now clear, Tsleeixth easily incapacitated Haening, in much the same way that he had done with Hrol, in the span of a few moments. “Listen to me clearly.” The spellsword hissed, grabbing the blond Nord by his shirt. “I want you and your friend to be more careful with your drinking habits in the future.” He continued on, voice cold and full of fury. “And I don’t want you to say such vile things like the ones you said about the murder of my brothers and sisters again. Am I clear?” The spellsword finished, his eyes burrowing into Haening’s. 

When the blond Nord nodded in agreement Tsleeixth let go of him and, after giving the pair of Nords in the ground one last withering look, turned his back to them and began walking away in the direction of [i]The Howling Wolf Inn[/i]. The day had given him ample things to think about and he’d need some privacy to think them over. 

[hr]
[i]10th of Last Seed, 5 PM[/i]

The sound of a bottle being placed down reverberated throughout Tsleeixth’s room, promptly followed by the sound of a sigh. After his altercation with Haening and Hrol it hadn’t taken too long for the Argonian spellsword to return to the inn and Tsleeixth had headed for his room almost immediately, his only detour being the purchase of a bottle of alcohol from the bartender. 

After that, he had sequestered himself inside of his room and had begun drinking. He let his thoughts wander more and more freely with each sip of the bottle’s contents and yet they kept returning to Dawnstar, the confrontation with Tmeip’r, and his recent altercation in the streets of Jehanna. And as he thought more and more about those events, a sense of bitterness started gnawing at him with each second that passed. 

Yes, he was bitter. That much had become clear to him. He was bitter at himself, at his powerlessness, at his weakness. The events that had recently transpired stood as a testament of said powerlessness, of the weakness that plagued him. He clutched the bottle again and took a long swig, letting his mind focus on the burning sensation of the alcohol as it passed through his throat for a brief moment. 

If only he had been stronger, he’d have been able to prevent Skald’s death and the massacre that ensued. If he had been more powerful they’d have been able to take care of Tmeip’r without incurring so many losses. If he hadn’t been so weak he wouldn’t have become paralyzed and let Haening and Hrol beat him for so long before fighting back. These thoughts, and more like them, dominated Tsleeixth’s mind. 

“Never again.” He vowed quietly, taking yet another sip from the bottle. Never again would he find himself in that position. He wouldn’t let his weakness, his powerlessness, drive him to those situations once more. Never again would he allow himself to be in the place that he had been in the aftermath of Dawnstar or of the battle against Tmeip’r. This was the conclusion to which Tsleeixth had come. And for that, he needed more power than what he had now. 

In the depths of his rucksack, as if reacting to the thoughts of its new owner, the coral necklace that had once belonged to Tmeip’r briefly pulsated with a baleful red light before falling dormant once again.