[center][h3]Swords & Smithies[/h3]
An Amaranth and Dervs collab


[i]Gilane Streets, 1st of Midyear, Late Afternoon[/i][/center]

After her meeting with Megana, Daro’Vasora hurried back to her quarters and retrieved the sword she’d obtained from the prison officer and decided she needed to move quickly with it before things got worse in the city; she wanted to get a new scabbard for it, or a decorative box, at the very least, and have a blacksmith appraise it for value and point of origin. It was a curious thing, one that even without a smithing background, she could appreciate the fine craftsmanship to it; had it been discovered as an antiquity, it would have been one of the nicer finds she’d ever made.

Its design philosophy seemed to be primarily following Yokudan or Redguard preference for curved blades like scimitars, which offered an incredibly long and effective cutting edge that wasn’t ideal for heavy armour, but given the climate where full plate seldom made an appearance due to heat, it was a great weapon to use, especially from camel or horseback.  However, there seemed to be some Akaviri inspiration on behalf of the creator; the blade was long, and its curve wasn’t nearly as pronounced as a scimitar and it was somewhat narrower, like the katanas that the Tsaesci, the snakemen, of Akavir who had once been predominant in the Empire and the founders of the Blades, who continued their weapon and armour tradition of Eastern philosophy. It was possible that the weapon had once belonged to a Blade, or a former one, and had brought it to Hammerfell after he had left his service. An exile or defector, perhaps, from when Hammerfell broke free of the Empire? The Khajiit was fairly excited; there was a lot of personal history to this piece, but what?


The leather grip, perhaps stingray, was done in katana style but the pommel and general shape of the grip was done in a very scimitar-fashion where it was clear the weapon was meant for one-handed use, although the raindrop-shaped pommel was wide along long enough to allow for extra grip should the user need the leverage; the brass was worn down and encased over the iron, likely to imitate a much more expensive and ornate design which might have used gold plating instead. However, the entire weapon was clearly well cared for and made with an eye for detail, and on top of that, it had clearly been used by an experienced swordsman; it was a tool of conflict, not a show piece. 

Latro was going to love it.

As she walked through the marketplace, she carried the weapon easily at her left side and had her features concealed under a long cloak that was to conceal her features, namely her snout and tail, and hopefully was inconspicuous enough that guards who were looking for her might overlook her appearance. They were, afterall, probably after a Khajiit with a mace, and not a Redguard blade. 

Shakti had resolved to get her sword back. She was going back to the prison complex and retrieving her sword, Dwemer be damned. She might need to be rescued twice, but if she came out of it with her father’s sword, it would be worth it. She was not going to be the Nasaaj that lost the familial blade. She’d rather die. Literally. The young Redguard stalked through the sunbaked afternoon streets, her messy hair being made messier by a cool breeze that snaked its way through the buildings and alleys of the town. She had tucked her temporary dwemer shortblade in through the back of her belt for quick access. Not that she wanted to use it. Some superstitious part of her felt that the more she got used to that blade instead of her blade, the less likely she would be to find it. 

She did need to find the prison again though. Thankfully the outdoor market she had wandered into was fairly populated and so asking for directions would be a breeze. Shakti approached the first fellow Redguard she saw that looked friendly enough to chat up and began, “Water and shade to you friend, do you think you could point me to the prison? My friend is being held and I need to post bail for him.” She put on her warmest smile and tone of voice as she asked her question and the merchant smiled back. “Water and shade to you, young lady. Of course I can point it out. I’ll do better and draw you a map.” The man sketched out a crude map and marked the prison with an x before handing it to Shakti, who gratefully accepted it. Something caught her eye though. She couldn’t be sure but… “I must go before he goes stir crazy!” The young nomad said as an afterthought as she disengaged from the merchant and darted her way past a crowd to try and catch a glimpse of what she had seen. 

The blacksmith was just ahead, if the sign of a sword superimposed on an anvil was to be believed. Bellows of dark smoke came from the back, suggesting that its furnaces were well underway. The Khajiit entered the shop, which had its heavy doors open inward to allow whatever breeze could be caught to help cool down the stifling building. Daro’Vasora approached the counter, setting the blade down on the counter and waited for an attendant or the smith himself to appear.

It turned out the smith was a swarthy Redguard woman. Daro’Vasora pulled down her hood, as to not hide her features and draw suspicion of the smith. “Hey, I recently acquired this blade on an expedition to the North, and it seemed to be quite a bit different to most of the other blades I’ve seen people in this region carrying. I was wondering if you could appraise it, or tell me something about it.” she asked.

The smith picked up the sword, studying it appreciatively. “It’s been around for quite a few years, I can say that much. It’s definitely not a military or guard sword; it lacks proof marks and it seems a bit too personalized to fit in with any outfit I’ve come across. The steel looks like it’s high-carbon, which tells me the owner was really wealthy or had quite the benefactor for it. I can tell you that the craftsmanship is rather exquisite, but there’s a lot to this sword that doesn’t seem like any of the other smiths I know or work I’ve seen in Hammerfell.” she looked up with a concentrated pout. “Without knowing the history about this thing, I can’t really give you a price point for what it’s worth on a market, but I’ll tell you this; it was definitely worth something immeasurable to the owner. Are you planning on selling?” the smith asked.

Daro’Vasora shook her head. “No, I was planning on gifting it to a suitor who is quite a swordsman, he saved my life on one of our expeditions gone quite awry. I was hoping to have a scabbard for it, or at least some kind of decorative box. Seems like a bit of a shame to carry this thing loose out in the open.”
The smith nodded in agreement. “Doesn’t take much to embolden a thief, flash a bit of wealth and it’s like bleeding by sharks. Although, with the Dwemer curfew, my shop’s been safer than ever.” She snorted. “At least that’s one of the few good things to come out of all this. Tell you what, it’s a strange curve to the blade, but I might be able to find something in the back for it if you can wait a short while.” She gestured at a table off to the side. “Warm wine, but if you’re parched, please welcome yourself to it.”

“Please, take your time.” The Khajiit said with a smile, and she left the counter as the smith took the blade.

Shakti pushed her way past a haggling merchant and would-be customer as she struggled to tail the figure that seemed to be carrying her blade. She could not properly tell who it was, but it was someone, and it was her blade. She would recognise that unusual curve anywhere. “Gods above!” She swore under her breath as the figure disappeared into what seemed to be a smithy. She reached simultaneously for the door and her blade but exhaled and realised she should not be so hasty. She took a step away from the door and decided to peer inside the window. 

Her eyes grew wide in horror and disbelief as she managed to catch a glimpse of the smith taking the sword, HER SWORD, into the back of the shop! “Desert take all of you!” She swore again and decided she really shouldn’t be tarrying around out here while her sword was due to be melted down into horseshoes. Shakti opened the door to the smithy, as calmly as a pot of water about to boil over could manage and slipped into the shop. She cleared her throat and tried to put on her best ‘Don’t-mind-me-I’m-not-about-to-lose-it’ voice, “Water and shade to you, stranger. Pardon my interruption but, that blade. Where did you get it?”

Daro’Vasora looked at the newcomer, a young woman, quizzically. She hadn’t seen her when she entered the shop, she was certain. Maybe just someone who caught sight of it in the street?

Honesty probably wasn’t the best option here; telling a stranger you broke a guard’s arm and stole it from him wasn’t a very wise thing to do. “I was on an expedition to the North, got jumped by bandits. One of them had the blade, I thought it looked valuable, so I brought it in to be appraised. Do you think it would be a nice gift for someone?” she asked cordially.

So she was lying. Interesting strategy. Shakti took a deep breath. She realised that this conversation was like a duel. Her knowledge that this Khajiit stranger was lying gave her the upper hand, and losing her cool would cost her momentum. She had to play it slow and carefully. Strike with intent. First, she would test her opponent’s defence, “That is not where you really got it, is it? Come now, where did you [i]really[/i] acquire it?” She tried to keep her voice cordial and warm but some simmering annoyance and evidence of her thread-bare patience boiled through. Perhaps speechcraft was harder than swordcraft.  

The Khajiit shrugged, the girl was being a pest right now. For all she knew, she was a kid who was bribed with the barest minimum of coin to rat loose tongues out to the guards.

“Believe it or not, I don’t really care. Why the interest?” Daro’Vasora asked, drinking from the glass provided. She really wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated by a teenager.

“I am simply interested because it is my blade. It has been in my family for generations and I would like it back. I know you stole it from the prison guards, who stole it from me.” Shakti’s tone changed from friendly to neutral-bordering-on-hostile in an instant, her facade of friendliness dropped like a piece of meat in a duneripper’s lair. 

How on Nirn did she know about the raid on the guard outpost raid? The Khajiit stared back at the first girl and her sudden hostile infliction, tempting to snap back that it was no longer her sword. Instead she pulled the Redguard to the side, keeping her tone low. “Shut it, or we're both in a world of hurt. You cannot trust people to not be sympathetic to the wrong people now, understood? Tell me how you know about that particular ordeal. As for the sword, I'm only going off of what you tell me, so who are you?”

“Whoa!’ Shakti exclaimed involuntarily as she was swung to the side by the Khajiit woman. Her hand instinctively grasped for the Dwemer shortblade but she restrained herself when it became obvious the Cat-woman wasn’t going to shiv her in the stomach with her claws. The Redguard girl talked fast, keeping her voice low, “I am Shakti of the Alik’r, I was imprisoned before being freed by an Orcish woman. Her name is Mazrah. She told me about the other raid. She even suggested one of you might have taken it. I did not believe her. I appear to be wrong.” 


“Mazrah.” Daro’Vasora replied, shaking her head. It certainly was a figure that left a bit of an impression, and it certainly lined up with what she’d heard. Still, news of this Redguard joining the ranks was completely new; the Khajiit had no idea.

[I]Then again, I was the one who brought Mazrah into all of this without saying a damned thing to anyone.[/I] Daro’Vasora reminded herself, clearing her throat.

“Well, that checks out. Who else was there, where are we staying? Do you know who we work for?” Daro’Vasora asked, desperately wanting to believe that this girl was authentic. 

“I do not know who you work for, I have not spoken with any others. The only other I interacted with was an Argonian, she carried a staff and freed me from my shackles with some sort of magic. Your base is at the Three Crowns Hotel, that way. I have a room there as well.” Shakti jabbed her thumb in the direction of the hotel as she finished her rapid fire answers. She felt like a cornered Mitana-cat, like the ones she had seen in cages on the docks of Sentinel. She even felt the hairs on her neck standing up. 

The Khajiit sighed, her posture going loose, and a chuckle escaped from her throat in relief. “Well, isn’t this something. I believe you, we could have avoided this particular engagement if someone had elected to tell me about you. You’ll have to excuse my Argonian friend, her memory isn’t what it used to be, even before I met her. Truth is, you’re right how I came across the sword. I was attacked by an officer trying to find a manifest and I took it from him when I managed to take him by surprise, because it is a nice blade and I didn’t want him running me through when my back was turned.” she glanced towards where the smith had disappeared. “And don’t worry, I’m not getting it melted down or whatever you think I’m doing. I was going to give it to someone I cared about… I didn’t expect its owner to show up.”

Shakti’s face lightened up and tension seemed to leave her stance, an audible sigh of relief escaping her lips. “Oh good. I was afraid you were going to sell it. It’s not like I have the money to buy it back.” Her tone had reverted to its usual friendly and sort-of-melodic-but-not-quite-in-tune state and she offered a grateful smile to the Khajiit. “I, er, hope you weren’t expecting me to pay you for it.” She quickly added, realising that perhaps expecting the Khajiit to just give it up for free might be a little [i]too[/i] naïve. Shakti reached behind her back and pulled out her Dwemer shortblade and offered it to the other woman, hilt first. “I know it is not quite equal but perhaps you can still give your friend a gift.” 

The gesture was of kindness and utterly unexpected. The Khajiit’s hands wrapped around the offered scabbard and she offered a slow blink as she processed it. “You… you don’t have to do this.” Daro’Vasora said, unaccustomed to generosity from strangers, especially when she clearly was in possession of the girl’s rightful property. “Don’t you need this, why don’t you sell it?”

“It seems our paths were woven together for a reason. I think you should have it. “ Shakti encouraged her with another smile and pushed the blade fully into the Khajiit’s paws. “I don’t need any other blades, and I do not need or want the gold. Besides, I just took it off of a guard anyway. I cleaned it and sharpened it as well.” 

“Well, that makes two of us, yours just might be a tad more sentimental, however.” Daro’Vasora said, accepting the blade outright and fastening it about her waist. She noticed the smith coming back through the door with the Redguard’s blade. “At least allow me to return the generosity.” she said, approaching the counter. 

The smith was holding a scabbard that almost looked like it was an exact fit for the blade, and its finish even mirrored that of Shakti’s sword, as if it came from somewhere similar. “Well, it took a few tries, but I remembered this one came in a few months ago and never seemed to belong to anything. I thought the curious blade might belong to it, and what do you know.”

Daro’Vasora smiled, reaching for her coin purse. “To what do I owe you for this?” she asked.

“40 gold, it’s pretty nice, but it’s not much of a use to me if I can never find a blade to seat in it. Usually I’d charge three times that rate for something of this quality and scarcity, but honestly? I’d just be happy to have the shelf space back.”

A few heavy coins were placed on the counter in a stack, which the smith took. “Would you like a receipt?” she asked.

“No, I can’t imagine it’ll be returning any time soon.” The Khajiit said, placing her hands together and bowing. “You have my thanks, and may Zenithar look over your business.” she said. The smith smiled, slipping the coins in her apron before disappearing to the back. The Khajiit turned to the girl.  Taking the blade in its scabbard and offering it to the Redguard, she asked, “So Shakti, was it?”

The Redguard girl could barely contain her delight at seeing her beloved sword again. She was practically bouncing up and down at the prospect. And that scabbard! It was a perfect fit but, it was nicer and in better condition than the old one. Where did the smith get such a thing? It was very similar to her old sheath as well, and yet slightly different. There was an air of familiarity to it, for certain. Shakti knew it from someone or somewhere. She had seen it before, but the memory was like an early morning fog over an oasis in the Alik’r. She watched the Khajiit pay for the scabbard and eagerly accepted the blade when it was offered to her. “I know this sheath,” the Redguard girl mumbled under her breath to the nameless gods of the desert, “But from where?”

It didn’t matter, at least for the moment. Shakti held the sword up to her face and pulled it halfway from its sheath, inspecting the blade to make sure it was still in good condition. Satisfied, she returned it to its place and hung it, blade up, from the empty baldric around her torso and waist. The familiar weight did more to ease her than a million mulled wines or Potions of Calm Mind could ever do. 

Shakti mussed up her own hair and responded to the Khajiit. “Well, my real name is Tariyeh, but don’t tell anyone else that. Shakti is my middle name. What’s your name?”

“Daro'Vasora,” the Khajiit said, offering a hand. “Or Vasora, if you prefer. It's good fortune we met today, I just would have preferred knowing you were with the company before showing up at the smithy.” she replied with a smile. “If you're hungry, I'd be happy to grab something to bite with you to hear your story, Shakti.”

Shakti shook Daro’Vasora’s hand and nodded in agreement. “I am glad we met as well. Sorry we were not introduced before. Things at the hotel seemed busy and I tried to keep out of trouble.” Also she had a wounded arm, but that wasn’t the point. “I would love something to eat. Do they have goat’s milk around here?” 

“Only about as much as sand.” The Khajiit grinned. “Come on, let's see what catches our fancy. At least the occupation hasn't spoiled good cuisine.”

Her sword in its rightful place, Shakti led the march out of the smithy and back out into the hot afternoon bazaar. The smells of a hundred different foods wafted and mixed freely, but Shakti could pick out a few that she recognised. She smelled roasted duneripper steaks and goat legs, she spied fresh dates and was further drawn to the bleating of goats and the promise that it made. 

A few minutes later, the two were seated at a shaded table with a pitcher of goat milk between them and a pair of lamb kebabs a piece with some honey dates on the side. Daro’Vasora started off with the dates; she always liked food she had to work through. “So, you’re from the Alik’r?” she asked.

In between bites of date and sips of goat milk, Shakti found time to answer. “Yes, I’m from a tribe that lives in the Alik’r. We move from place to place, all around the desert. It’s our home. Where are you from? Where do you call home? Many Khajiit come to Hammerfell for the warm climate.” 

“Leyawiin, in the far South of Cyrodiil, it’s pretty close to being tropical swampland, but I’m still not quite used to this dry desert heat. I can’t imagine living out in the desert like your people or the nomads of Anequina down in Elsweyr. I never had many occasions to go to either here or there because it’s simply not a good place to look for ruins, you run out of supplies chasing rumours.” Daro’Vasora explained between bites. 

Shakti tapped her chin, “I’ve heard of Leyawiin once or twice. I should like to see it one day.” She finished her glass of milk as Daro’Vasora elaborated. “The desert can hide many secrets. I’ve seen many tombs and been in many ruins in the Great Alik’r. I know a man who lives in one… under the sands! You must know that the desert does not like thieves and if you take, you must give in return. I have borrowed a few books from ancient places but I do my best to put them back when I pass by again.” Satisfied with her answer, Shakti went back to happily munching on her meal. 

The Khajiit allowed a smile to purse her lips, knowing full well her typical expeditions were not of the respectful sort the young Redguard abided by. “Probably for the best, it’s been my life work to rediscover artifacts lost to time and procure them for clients, historical collectors, nobility, ancestors of sorts, simply rich people. We Khajiit tend to have this way of looking at the world where if something is left unattended, it’s unwanted and it’s a shame for it all to go to waste. So, if some ruby inlaid sword that was held by some Emperor eight hundred years ago commands a price equivalent to some patron’s happiness, I provide that service. I’ve always loved history, the stories of the world. There’s nothing like that rush of discovering something that you only read about in stories and holding it with your own hands, knowing you were the one who made that discovery.” she held her hands out in front of her for emphasis, looking at a pair of Dwemer soldiers marching past with rifles slung over their shoulders. “And sometimes, history shows up in the most unlikely of places.” she murmured.

Shakti nodded grimly. She understood that some people had to do unsavoury things to make ends meet. Still, disturbing the sacred dead to rifle through their possessions, only to pawn them off to some rich noble? The thought was nigh unthinkable. Surely the dead would rise from their graves before they would let some adventurer cart off their prized helmet or sword. She had felt anxious merely borrowing texts from ancient temples, let alone marauding a crypt! With actual dead in it! However it seemed like not the wisest decision to verbally chasten her new friend (who had explicitly mentioned it was her life’s work) about her job, so the Redguard girl held her tongue. Surely they wouldn’t make HER maraud a tomb? Would they? She internally shuddered. 

“Yes, I see what you mean. It isn’t something I would choose to do, but not everyone is me thankfully. Did the Dwemer [i]really[/i] come marching out of the ground after all this time?” Shakti asked in a hushed tone.

Daro’Vasora rapt her claws on the table, feeling somewhat uneasy of how much she should tell the new addition, or even admitting that the Dwemer returning and occupying Shakti’s country and killing her people was likely the fault of her new friends, so she decided to feign some ignorance. Wasn’t it enough to be actively trying to fix the problem? 

[I]It’s not like you’re the one who activated the damned device, Sora… but you didn’t exactly try to stop Rhea, either.[/I] she thought grimly.

“I have no idea where they came from, the ground, the sky, some rift between worlds… You’d have to talk to someone who spent the better years of their lives studying the theoretical causes of their disappearance that one. The others and myself, we saw the Jerall Mountains erupt in a cascade of energy, and a few days after returning to Imperial City, airships swooped in from the sky and Dwemer troops overwhelmed the city, killing everyone who got in the way, and many who didn’t.” Her rapping turned into digging a gouge with a nail on the limestone as her voice grew terse. “But yeah, it’s them all right. I studied their ruins for so long I was able to cross reference what I found with the new materials these ones brought with them… they’re basically the same as when they disappeared in the First Era.”

“That’s… horrible!” Shakti exclaimed, her voice getting a little louder than she intended. “I can’t imagine what things you’ve seen. I had hoped this was the only place they had occupied. “ She took another bite of her food, “I’m sorry to have brought that up. Surely the memories it brought up were not pleasant.” She could tell by the look on the Khajiit’s face that they were not. “Let us speak of nicer things. Have you traveled much? I’ve never been outside of Hammerfell, I would love to hear of things beyond the deserts.”

Daro’Vasora waved a dismissive hand. “Look, it is what it is, and everyone’s got an awful story from the past couple of months. It’s why I’m doing what I’m doing, why I’m trying to find ways to bite back at the Dwemer. The prison break, rescuing you from a transport, capturing an administrator… bits and pieces to see what starts to break. But I’ve been around, mostly around Cyrodiil, but I’ve been in Eastern Hammerfell once or twice, the sites of a couple of the old Orsiniums, High Rock, Skyrim, Morrowind. Always wanted to travel to the Dominion to see how the Ayleids changed when they went to Valenwood, or the traces of the Aldmeri heritage in Summerset, but it’s hard to get a visa as an Imperial citizen, even if you are practically neighbours with people who are supposed to be your mortal enemies… never stopped father from trading with Dominion merchants, even after the Great War cost him a leg.” The Khajiit smiled, remembering her father’s endless tenacity and unflappable spirit. “The world is a big, incredible place and it’s strange to think of how much the world can change moving even a few miles from home, but even halfway across the continent, people are still people. Even the Dwemer remind me of people that I’ve met in my travels, I’m not sure if that makes it easier or harder for me.”

“You really have seen most of the continent!” Shakti’s face lit up in amusement and excitement, “Has everyone in your group traveled as much as you? How long have you been in Hammerfell?” She felt a little guilty about bombarding the other woman with so many questions even though they had just met, but… but she just [i]HAD[/i] to know! “You are right, these Dwemer don’t seem too different from any other elves. A man I know who fought in the Great War told me it reminds him of that. Just different elves, he says.” The war technically ended in a stalemate, although most Redguards considered it a victory by another name. Was this one going to end the same way?  

Shakti’s enthusiasm was infectious, to say the least, and Daro’Vasora found her heart a bit warmed by this girl who seemed to be bright eyed and full of wonder while everyone else in her life seemed consumed by despair and anger; it was a good reminder that people like Shakti were worth all of the hardship, they were the ones who were going to put the world back together in the end. “Honestly? It’s only been a few short days. We arrived near the end of the month and immediately fell into what has had to been going on since the occupation started. The Dwemer here are different than those we fought in Cyrodiil… a part of me almost feels guilty about all of this.” she said, remembering what happened to Nblec Mazrak, who seemed to have been a good man who was tortured to death by people she had started to consider friends.

“Oh so you have only seen Gilane?” Her eyebrows raised in surprise, “You’ve yet to see so much! I’ve only been in Gilane a few days myself, a few of which were stuck in prison, but I already miss the open dunes of the Alik’r. There is something magical about the sands. I’ve spent my whole life out there and I still have not seen all of it. I doubt the Dwemer have either. The desert makes easy prey of the unprepared. Still, I am glad these Dwemer seem less likely to, er, kill then the ones in Cyrodiil.” 

“Hasn’t been much of an opportunity to leave, I’m afraid.” Daro’Vasora admitted, looking towards the crowds passing in the street. It all seemed so normal, even with Dwemer mucking about and guards questioning people as they passed. She turned her gaze back to Shakti. “Magical, huh? You must be pretty in tune with your surroundings to get that sensation, I just see a uniform sea of dry death. I suppose it’s partially my duty to let you appreciate the wonders of a city; your experiences so far haven’t been stellar, it seems.”

“The true beauty of the desert lies below and above the sands. The stones in the desert are truly beautiful. And the way the dunes shimmer like a sea under the twin moonlight! Oh you should see it!” If nothing else, Shakti’s passion for her home bled out of her words. “What do you think is beautiful about the city?” 

There was an artist to Shakti somewhere in there, it was hard not to smile. “Perhaps you can show me one day, when things are less… adversarial. Gilane is beautiful, I admire the way it blends ancient Yokudan sensibility with Dwemeri architecture and modern Redguard sensibilities, like the domed roofs and stained glass, how everything seems to catch the light and show a certain illuminessence. It’s far more beautiful than home, and most of Cyrodiil, truth be told.” Daro’Vasora replied, taking a thirsty drink of her own milk, which stayed on the fur on her lip.

“I’ve never really liked the city, but… but I think you are right. It does have its own charm to it. It feels like you could disappear in the crowds and no one would know.” Shakt tapped her chin as she took a bite of a date and finished her thought. “I suppose we should head back to the hotel soon, we’ve tarried long enough.” 

“You are probably right. Well, cheers, to making new friends in unlikely places.” The Khajiit replied, raising her cup.

“Yes, cheers!” Shakti agreed, matching her cup to the Khajiit’s. They both took one last sip of goat’s milk and Shakti sighed contentedly. “Just when I was getting used to sitting down it is time to keep moving. We will speak again soon, I am sure of it. Oh, and tell me how your friend likes the gift.” The Redguard girl placed two of her three coins on the table and watched as Vasora did the same. 

Offering one last bow, Shakti turned and headed back towards the hotel, father’s sword at her side.