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Jubilation and Reprieve Part 2




The usual swagger of the Orsimer huntress had been hijacked by an uneven, wobbling gait, but Mazrah managed to maintain her unflappable and graceful air as best she could. She had briefly left the party to go to the toilet somewhere and to freshen herself up, as the moon sugar would have otherwise knocked her out cold if she remained on that floor. On her way back to the conference room she came upon Meg, who looked just as out of it as she was. Mazrah hadn’t talked to Meg before but there was an open, earnest look to the girl’s face that she interpreted as inviting, and Mazrah ran over and gave her a big hug.

“You’re at the party too!” she said loudly and planted a kiss on Meg’s cheek. “I don’t know your name, but you look nice. I’m Mazrah,” she explained, slurring her words, and pointed her index finger at her chest, “and you are…?”

It took a moment for Meg to find the words, shock by the sudden ambush, even if it was an extremely friendly one. "M-Meg," she replied, a little embarrassed and perturbed by the orsimer but wishing to hide it as well. She wasn't as drunk as before, having freshened up and guzzled a glass full of water, but she was still on the tipsy scale. "I mean, tha's the short version- m'whole name's Megana. You're... Mazrah, right?" She stepped back a little so that she could look at Mazrah properly and gave the much taller woman a smile. "Shakti'd told me yer name couple days back. Nice t'finally meet ya!"

“Oh, Shakti!” Mazrah said and looked like a woman who had just seen the cutest puppy in the world. “I love her, she’s so precious. Yes, I’m Mazrah, I also just told you that,” she smirked and wagged her finger admonishingly. “I think someone has maybe had a tiny bit too much to drink! But that’s okay, I won’t judge you. Hey now, what’s this?”

She touched the amulet of Mara that Megana wore around her neck. “I know what that means,” Mazrah said slyly and tilted her head, her eyes going up and down Megana’s form. “Are you looking for looove?”

Meg flushed. "Sorry, I'm still kin'a tipsy righ' now," she admitted before looking down at her amulet. "Oh!" This was the first time anyone had actually noticed it on her, or at least mentioned it to her, aside from Zahir at the market yesterday. "Uhm, well... it's more a keepsake? A friend gave it t'me a long time ago." It seemed the Nord was still a taken by how forward and fierce Mazrah seemed- it was almost enviable to the friendly but still introverted Nord.

“Awh, you got my hopes up there for a second, young lady,” Mazrah teased, her lips turned down in an exaggerated pout. Her eyes betrayed her jest, however. She was still a little flustered from the effects of the moon sugar and her embrace with Raelynn on the floor of the conference room earlier, and Megana looked very cute. “How has your evening been so far? You okay?” she asked, adopting a slightly more serious tone in case there was support to be provided to a sister in need. Meg must have had a reason to be stepping out here.

"Oh, it's been good so far," Meg replied. And she supposed it had, so far, despite her sulky mood that had her leave Jude's table, or her nosiness being halted by Jaraleet's words... Well, truthfully, it still irked her a little, and now that she thought of it, there was a small crease on her forehead.

"Say..." Looking at the Orsimer, she decided maybe having the opinion of a third person wasn't too terrible. "Uh... can I ask you a question?"

”Yes!” Mazrah said with enthusiasm and stepped in line next to Meg before hooking her arm through hers. “I will marry you! Oh, I’m so pleased,” she swooned, before she laughed and winked. “I’m kidding. Fire away, Meg.”

The sudden impulsive reply took Meg by surprise, though this time she couldn't help but laugh as well. She could tell Mazrah was a rather fun and funny individual; she would have to make sure to get to know her when she wasn't drunk or already mentally preoccupied.

"Well," she started when she finally composed herself, "say y'got someone y'really like, an' somethin' unfair's happened to 'em. They're tellin' you it's fine... but y'still wan' t'do somethin' at least..." Her voice trailed; she was being vague on purpose, and she wasn't sure if she made any sense.

“I understand perfectly,” Mazrah said with sudden clarity. “That’s the whole reason I’m in Gilane in the first place. A friend of mine was groped by a filthy drunkard and she didn’t tell me about it until days later. I had to really work it out of her, she was so ashamed,” the Orsimer said tersely. “She begged me to just leave it, but not on my watch! I tracked him down here and I beat him up. That’s how I met Sora, she happened to be in the neighbourhood and wanted a piece of the action.”

"Woah, now tha's impressive." Meg stared at the orsimer, the words she spoke resounding in her mind. Was this the same sort of situation? She wasn't sure, but the fact was that Mazrah did something for a friend in need, even when said friend didn't wanted her to leave it be. "Yer a good frien'." She wanted to be a good friend to, the best even. With all eyes narrowed in his direction, wasn't it fair that at least someone stood up for the argonian?

"I'm thinkin' I gotta clue what I havta do then," Meg muttered, mostly to herself though she was audible enough that Mazrah would be able to hear her. That said, she looked up at the orsimer and gave her a grateful smile. "Thanks. Looks like Sora really knew what she was doin' when she brought y'here. Nice t'have you part of our group!"

That prompted another hug from the Orsimer. “You’re so sweet, Meg! Glad to be here,” Mazrah said and grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, by the way, but whatever it is, go get ‘em.”

This time Meg reciprocated the hug; if she was sweet then Mazrah was by far an even sweeter person, in her opinion. "I know, sorry 'bout that, just askin' ye a weird question outta nowhere... can' really say wha's what but... well I know what I gotta do, an' y'helped me." She was nervous, sure, anticipating negative reactions from more than a couple of people, but in her mind, there was a single course of action she had to take.

"Hope t'chat with ya soon then, Mazrah," she added as she broke the hug. "Hope y'enjoy the rest of the party!"

“I will,” Mazrah said and waved Meg goodbye, before she headed back to the party herself.




Anifaire, after wandering away from the table she’d shared with Alim for a time, was set on making her way for the table covered in liquor bottles. She hardly knew what she would find in any of them, but considering the words of the Khajiit earlier and her enjoyment of two glasses of mead with Alim, she was interested in finding out.

She stepped up to the table, eyeing bottles and reading labels. She’d heard of their names, of course, but it gave her little insight into what she was actually supposed to do with the contents. Hesitantly, she picked up a bottle, uncorked it and sniffed.
“Auri-El,” she swore, placing it back on the table. That wasn’t like the mead she’d just enjoyed.

“Not too used to drinking, I take it?” Jaraleet asked the Altmer woman, having noticed her reaction to the smell of the content of the bottle she had just picked up but a few seconds ago. He approached the table and, with his free hand, picked up the bottle that Anifaire had put down. “Ahhh, rum. Not sure from where, but probably a bit too strong if you are just starting to drink.” The Argonian said after sniffing the bottle’s contents.

“It would probably best if you started with something lighter, like ale.” He said, bringing up the bottle of ale that Meg had left with him. “Like the one in this bottle.” He said with a smile before chuckling as he remembered something. “But where are my manners, I think I'm getting ahead of myself. After all, I don't think we've been properly introduced.” The Haj-Eix said, bowing his head slightly in Anifaire’s direction. “My name’s Jaraleet, pleased to meet you.”

“I am Anifaire,” the Altmer replied. She was a bit startled by the Argonian’s arrival, but she did her best not to show it. Judena was the first one she’d ever spoken to, and that had been a surprise. But this one seemed a bit different, in a somewhat intimidating way. Still, he was showing her kindness, so she would be polite as well. “Yes, I’m not accustomed to drinking. I’ve only ever had wine, and mead, just a moment ago.”

“Oh, good!” Mazrah said as she appeared from somewhere behind Jaraleet, a look of marvelous revelry on her face, holding two bottles of something or other in her hands. “I love being there for someone's first time,” she added with a sly grin. “I'm Mazrah. Your name I just caught, Anifaire, but who are you, bright scales?” Maz asked, looking at Jaraleet with curious eyes, wondering if he was anything like Judena.

“As I was telling Anifaire but a few moments ago, my name is Jaraleet.” The Argonian replied to the Orsimer, turning to look at Mazrah. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mazrah.” He added, smiling at the Orc. “Did you too come in search of a drink?” The assassin asked curiously, looking at the pair of bottles that Mazrah held in each of her hands.

Amused, Mazrah rattled her bottles and shook her head. “No, Jaraleet, I’ve got the booze already covered. I came over because I haven’t met you two before and I’m drunk and high as a kite and I want to make friends. So, by my decree, us three are now friends!” she declared, beaming a tusky grin, and raised one of her bottles in a toast. “You’re very polite, Jaraleet. That’s nice. How about you, Anifaire? Are you polite or are you like me?”

“Well, I… I would never be rude,” Anifaire answered hesitantly. Wait, she wondered, was that an insult? She was taken aback because of the orc woman’s approach.

“So, Mazrah, how are you enjoying the party so far? I understand you are one of the more recent additions to our little group.” The Argonian said, having noticed Anifaire’s sudden confusion and, slight, discomfort. He doubted that the Orsimer war truly having any problem fitting in if the disposition that she had shown so far was any indication, but he figured that a shift in topic would probably be a welcome change for the Altmer woman.

The visible confusion on Anifaire’s face was cause for Mazrah to chortle shamelessly. “Of course you wouldn’t, you’re a proper lady. I’m not! You can tell the folks back home that you met a real barbarian, they’ll love that,” the Orsimer said with a wink and a nudge before turning to address Jaraleet’s question.

“Oh, the party’s great! Did you see me rolling around on the floor with Raelynn earlier? She’s real cute, that one. And yeah, I’m new. Only thing I’ve done so far is helping out with one of the missions. We freed Shakti and a bunch of other prisoners. Look, Shakti is right over there!” Mazrah pointed at the Redguard girl amidst the other people, still looking quite drunk from her earlier encounter with Daro’Vasora and Mazrah herself. “She’s cute too. Lotta cute girls around here, actually…”

Anifaire looked over where Mazrah pointed, noticing a Redguard woman she hadn’t met before. The group was growing so much so that Anifaire found she couldn’t keep up, but to her relief, she didn’t find the influx of strangers as alarming as she would’ve at the beginning of this mess.

“It is nice to meet you, Mazrah,” Anifaire said. She wondered why she felt, while a bit on edge, a bit more relaxed than she would’ve usually. Was that what alcohol does? Wait, cute girls? She couldn’t keep up.

“No, I didn’t notice that. Raelynn must have been quite intoxicated, it’s hard to imagine her doing that.” Jaraleet said in response to Mazrah’s question, laughing slightly. He was glad to hear that Raelynn was seemingly enjoying herself after their conversation, she deserved that after what she had went through. He nodded when the Orsimer huntress mentioned that she had freed a bunch of prisoners, one of which had also joined their ranks.

“Ah, I didn’t knew about her. It is good to see that she had joined us.” He said, looking at the Redguard girl that Mazrah had pointed towards. “I’m glad that mission was a success, there’s nothing more abhorrent than denying someone their freedom. To treat them as if they were cattle.” The Argonian said somberly, a hint of anger in his voice. Shaking his head slightly, the Argonian poured himself a glass of rum with his free hand and raised it on an impromptu toast. “To you Mazrah, and to the success of your mission.” He said, smiling at the Orsimer. He usually wasn’t one for such gestures, but slavery of any kind was something that the Haj-Eix loathed to his very core and he was glad that the Dwemer’s prisoners had been saved.

Anifaire turned to the table, glancing around for something that didn’t smell too bad. She picked up a taller bottle, by the smell of it, it was wine. The wine was of good quality, definitely enjoyable, and she took a few drinks of it.




Once more making her way into the conference room, Meg scanned the entirety, trying to pin down the Imperial man who had joined her and Jude earlier. Granted he wasn't hard to miss, so it wasn't long before the nord woman made her way to Gregor, a little relieved he was by himself so that no one else would accidentally overhear the conversation.

Of course this relief was largely overshadowed by trepidation. She knew she had to know, if only for herself, but who would take kindly to being accused of lying and being a murderer? Don' be stupid Meg- that isn' what yer gonna do. She hoped, anyway.

"Heya," she called as she neared him. "Uh, sorry 'bout just leavin' you an' Jude earlier."

Gregor watched as Meg approached, having spotted her eyes looking at him from the other side of the room, and wondered what she had to say to him other than an unnecessary apology. He had made himself comfortable on a chair, his left leg laid across the knee of his right, and rested his free arm across the railing of the chair next to him. “Don’t worry about it. Come, sit with me,” he said and gestured with his hand for her to occupy the free seat. Some insidious instinct in the back of his mind, probably after having picked up on the hesitation on Meg’s face, told him that he had to be alert. If Meg took the chair his arm was draped on, she would immediately be in his physical sphere of influence. It was a power move Gregor wasn’t even consciously aware of. “Speak your mind.”

"Uh... yeah, sure." Meg looked down at the chair he had gestured to and nodded, settling herself down without really thinking about it. He seemed perfectly friendly to her, and if anything her nervousness settled the slightest bit. "Well... I've been wantin' t'ask 'bout that mission y'all went on, y'know, the one on the last of Last Seed?" She slouched over slightly, looking at her fingers as they splayed over her knees. "I talked t'Jaraleet the other day... he tol' me he wasn' the one who offed the dwemer... why'd ya say t'was him then?" She finally looked away from her hands and up at the Imperial man.

Divines bless her, Gregor thought and smiled condescendingly. “I see there has been a misunderstanding.” When Jaraleet brought the topic up and indirectly accused him of lying, Gregor had been concerned and felt cornered -- perhaps bolstered by the wine, Gregor did not see Megana as a threat at all. She was a simpleton who had too much to drink and who failed to understand the subtleties of the game Gregor had played. This would be easy to defuse. The Imperial patted Meg’s shoulder reassuringly and continued. “Jaraleet interrogated the Dwemer. He used some… less than pleasant methods. Nothing that should have killed him, I agree, but unpleasant all the same. After the safehouse was besieged by the Dwemer’s allies, I was left behind to undo his shackles and get him moving. That is when he just… died. I tried to save him but whatever happened to his heart was beyond my skill. There is a principle in philosophy called Ocato’s Razor, named after the Elder Councilman. It says that the most reasonable and probable explanation is the one that is most likely to be true. Considering the circumstances, I said my best guess as to the cause of Nblec’s death was the interrogation he suffered at Jaraleet’s hands. Stress can kill a man, did you know that? And Nblec wasn’t a warrior, he was a soft magistrate who spent his time making friends with the locals.” Gregor paused to take a sip of wine and watched Meg’s reaction closely. “Do you understand?”

In her current still fuzzy state of mind, it was a lot to take in and process. Blinking, Meg looked away from Gregor, trying to wrap her mind around what he was saying. So he too didn't believe Jaraleet killed the dwemer, rather it was his techniques? But... ain' tha' the same thin'? She frowned, trying to piece her thoughts together as well as remember what her friend had told her two days earlier. "But... Jaraleet tol' me... he said tha' he was sure what he did wasn' the reason." She looked around the room, trying to see if she could catch sight of the argonian. "He was tellin' the truth... he was sure it was somethin' else. An' I believe him. I don' think it's right people thinkin' he killed the dwemer if it was somethin' else." Her eyes returned to Gregor, unsure of what he might be thinking.

“I’m sure that’s what he believes,” Gregor said and let the words hang in the air for a few seconds, nursing his wine, before he continued. “Accidents happen. Jaraleet is a professional. I’m well aware of his service with the armies of Argonia and his position as a torturer and a killer.” Half gamble, half educated guess, Gregor allowed himself a small smile at the manipulation. It was obvious that Meg considered Jaraleet to be her friend and he figured the peasant girl wouldn’t like hearing such things about him. “Still, that does not make him absolutely right all of the time. He never meant for the Dwemer to die and his techniques should not have led to Nblec’s death, but here we are. Jaraleet tortured him and then he died. These are the facts. Like I said, my best guess was that one thing led to another. I never outright claimed that it was his fault. It just strikes me as the most probable explanation. Stress kills people, like I said. Some men are born with weak hearts. The Dwemer spent six hundred of their years in a pocket realm of Oblivon; we have no idea what that does to someone’s body. And so on and so forth,” the Imperial elucidated, his tone languid and relaxed, as if they were talking about strange weather phenomenon, deliberately showering Meg with knowledge she would have no way of knowing, trying to drown her doubts in a torrent of information.

“Either way, you have to consider that it is in Jaraleet’s own best interests never to admit that Nblec’s death was his fault, regardless of the circumstances or the truth. Do you really think he would readily accept responsibility for such a thing? If I killed him, I wouldn’t sit here and confess that to you either,” Gregor said in a low voice, his eyes black and depthless. It was easy to lie when you technically spoke the truth. “That said… Jaraleet and I already talked about this. He understands that my first reaction was to blame the interrogation, and he forgave me. I told him that I know that, whatever did happen to Nblec, it wasn’t intentional and I don’t hold him responsible. Other people might, but I don’t control their opinions. What more is there to be said about this?”

Meg's hands were now gripping her knees tightly, her shoulders hunched and head drooping to such an extent that her hair swayed forward, partially hiding her face from view. She didn't want to hear what he was saying, not after it had taken two days for her to finally accept what she had learned about the torture and push it the back of her mind. Once again she was being shown the truth that she knew nothing of the cruel ways of the world, she knew nothing about her friends. Her eyes stung- she quickly brought her hands up and pressed the back of her thumbs against her eyelids, refusing to let any tears escape.

It was her own fault after all. Jaraleet had told her he was handling it- why hadn't she listened to him? All this encounter had brought forth was realization of how naive she truly was. It brought a terrible taste to her mouth, overriding her drunkenness so that she felt that she could finally see everything clearly.

"I... guess yer right... really ain' anythin' more t'say." Meg let her hands fall loosely to her side as she rose from the chair. "I'mma take my leave now."

“One last thing, before you go,” Gregor said and held up his hand. “Don't be too hard on Jaraleet. He is a good man who means well. His methods are a product of his past. The war between the Argonians and the Dunmer is famously cruel, Megana. The unfortunate reality is that we find ourselves fighting a similar war now against the Dwemer, a race who did not hesitate to butcher defenseless citizens in the Imperial City. If Jaraleet kept things from you, he did that because he wants to preserve your innocence. It is a beautiful thing that should be nourished because once lost, it can never be regained,” Gregor explained, his voice somber. “You have a sweet heart and I admire that.”

What was she supposed to say to that? Meg didn't know, so she remained silent. She felt hurt and yet she felt guilty at feeling that hurt. What Gregor was telling her was true, and for the time being her previous intentions of confronting him were just fading memories in her mind. Did she really have a sweet heart? She didn't think so, not with how much judging she was doing.

"He... told me t'leave the matter be," she finally replied, voice rather dull and lacking any of the vibrance from when the party had started. "I shudda listened t'him." Her hands clenched into fists. "G- goodbye for now."

No longer having the heart to party any longer, Meg made a beeline for the conference room's door.




“It appears that almost everyone has gotten themselves well and drunk.” Nanine noted wryly, sitting down next to Jaraleet. She had a small plate of food, and a cup of water. She wasn’t fully prepared to let go of her senses just yet. And besides, if she drank she would sing and if she sang everyone’s eardrums would begin to bleed. “I don’t believe we’ve ever gotten the chance to properly say hello. Nanine Tilhart, former Legionnaire. A pleasure to be involved in an extremely dangerous and likely highly foolish endeavour like this with you.” She took a small bite of food, before continuing.

“Have you heard anything about what the Poncy Man has planned next? I presume it isn’t to cut his losses and dump all of us into the sea, since we’re having a feast right now. But neither have I heard of any other missions he might have planned.” It had been bothering her since the near failure of their own mission, and the failures of the other missions.

“That would seem to be the case, yes. Fairly standard thing that happens at parties, as far as I understood it. Never been in too many.” The Argonian replied, chuckling slightly at his own comment. “But that’s a rather obvious thing for me to state, isn’t it?” He added, taking a swig from the bottle of ale that Meg had left in his care. “And, no, we’ve never had the chance to have a proper introduction. Jaraleet, former soldier of the An-Xileel’s armies.” The Argonian said, the lie rolling off effortlessly from his mouth as if what he was saying was the truth and not a mere fabrication with which to protect his identity.

At the mention of the Poncy Man a frown worked its way into Jaraleet’s face, causing the Argonian to make a clicking sound with his tongue. “No, I haven’t heard anything from him.” He replied after a second, placing the bottle of ale down in the nearby table. “Why so worried about him?” The Haj-Eix asked, wanting to somewhat steer the conversation away from the topic of their host. “I thought this party was, much like Daro’Vasora said, to celebrate, no? To forget both the past and the future and focus on the present, a sentiment that I wholly agree with.”

Nanine shrugged. “Once a soldier always a soldier, I suppose. Spent a few years in Skyrim worrying about what would happen next, and the next mission, sorta became ingrained. Its part of the reason why I argued Mazrah into wearing a disguise rather than walking around as a giant easily identifiable beacon That was exhausting, believe you me.”

Jaraleet did have a point though. Perhaps she should give her concerns for the future a rest, if only for a moment. Perhaps not a rest. Just less focus than she normally did. Slightly less. She gave a small grin, looking over at him. “Besides, I’m doing you a favour. If I get too relaxed, I’ll end up singing. And if I end up singing I promise your eardrums and at least three other people’s eardrums would burst, and then Raelynn and Brynja would have to sober up to fix it. Really, I’m protecting you.” She looked over the room, chuckling quietly to herself. At least everyone else was fully enjoying themselves. “I have ten septims that say Raelynn is the first to pass out entirely.”

Jaraleet laughed slightly at Nanine’s comment about her singing. “Really, that’s your excuse?” He said to her, a look of amusement on his face. “I think we’ve all dealt with things far worse than terrible singing, oh sure a few might complain but I don’t think it’d be the catastrophe on par with the Oblivion Crisis that you are making it out to be.” He said, chuckling slightly and taking a swig from the bottle of ale. “Speaking seriously, you do know it’s fine to relax right now, no?” He said, more quietly and with a more serious tone to his voice. “If something was going to happen, it’d have already happened. If the Dwemer had attacked us, well we would probably be on the run at this very moment. And if the Poncy Man had deigned to get rid of us via this party, I’d wager we’d all be twitching on the ground poisoned.” The Argonian said, looking at the partygoers and smiling slightly.

“A soldier who is constantly on the lookout, always expecting an attack, will burn out sooner rather than latter. They will become useless, like a sword that wasn’t properly maintained and which broke mid combat.” He spoke, shaking his head slightly and letting out a sigh. “It’s fine to take a moment to relax, go and grab a drink or something.” Jaraleet said, taking one final swig of the ale that Meg had handed to him and placing the, now empty, bottle on the nearby table.

“You seriously underestimate the catastrophe that is my singing voice. I was banned from singing during my time during the legion after one night of one to many ales.” Nanine laughed quietly before leaning back. “Perhaps you’re right Jaraleet if bad things were going to happen, they already would have and worrying about them might just end up with me breaking when I’m needed. Then again, I haven’t broken yet. I’ll trust you to drag me to a tavern and forcibly pour ale down my throat if you think I’m getting too burnt out. Don’t worry about me too much until then. I’ll be fine, promise. Been a while since I’ve had an actual mission and group to worry about anyways.” She waved a hand, downing another piece of food. “Legion’s honor. I’ll be fine.”

Jaraleet shook his head, laughing slightly at Nanine. “Again with the excuses, do I need to call Sora over here and have her bring over a bottle of Stros M’kai rum?” He asked her, a look of amusement on his face. “I meant what I said, you'll end up breaking down sooner rather than latter if you don't take a moment to relax. Doesn't has to mean you have to get drunk enough that you’ll wind up doing something monumentally stupid...just something that'll take your mind off of what's going on. No Poncy Man, no Dwemer, nothing. Just this moment of peace and, well, not quiet but revelry, I suppose.” The Argonian said, shrugging slightly.

“Please, Sora is too busy to heckle me into relaxing by her standards, but your threat is taken well within warning. I’ll try and ‘relax’ a bit Jaraleet. Maybe not going so far as to take Moon Sugar, but I’ll think less about the job. If only for tonight.” She stood, her plate finished, and smiled at him. “Thanks for the advice, Jaraleet, I think I’ll go and mingle a bit to see if I can’t make it work. See you around.”




After Ani had wandered off, Alim decided to lounge where he had planted his ass. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, sighing.

Feeling the comedown kick in, Raelynn spotted Alim sat in the corner, free of Anifaire’s company - and as she sashayed her way through the tables she decided now would be a fantastic time to say hello. She waved at him from a distance, actually taking some of the food now - a sweet platter of bite sized pastries and sliced fruits.

“Alim!” She called with a beaming smile, before placing herself in the seat beside him and letting the fruit platter sit on the table.

Alim had a nice buzz going. He wasn’t without his wits. He never lost his wits. But he wasn’t crisp either. “Hey there, pretty thing. How’re you?” he asked her, taking one last sip of his third mead, placing it on the table, drawing his eyes from her to the fruit platter. “Ooooo.” His low, smooth voice curling into a satisfied ‘yes’ as he plucked an apple off of the platter.

“Well, I feel like I’m floating on a cloud-” she chortled agreeably as she leaned forwards against the table - as if stretching. “Hungry though… Got an empty stomach problem right now, thought I’d share some fruit with you since you were kind enough to when last we met.” Even when drunk, she kept a formal way of speech - it just sounded a little more slurred and blurry around the edges as her eyes skimmed the room, glazed over from the substances she’d been feasting on. “So, you and Ani tonight…”

“I think she had fun.” Alim replied. “She likes mead quite a bit. Though she’s the kind of girl to stay proper about it. Like you in a way.” He chuckled at the thought and closed his eyes as he lounged. “We had a good time. Now the party is winding down. If I had just arrived I’d try to sleep with someone around now but, I think I’ll just relax.” He bit into the apple, his bejeweled rings glinted in the firelight.

“Me? Proper? This evening?” Raelynn chuckled and clutched her chest, nudging Alim in the side. “I’m… I’m a little bit sure that I almost had a romantic liaison with our new Orc friend…” Her eyes narrowed, already the memory was foggy but the imprints of Mazrah’s fingers were still on her skin tingling away as the moon sugar wore off. “So I’m not all that proper, apparently,” A strawberry caught her eye and she lifted it to her lips for a bite, “but thank you for being so honest about that one Alim, and for thinking I’m proper.” She gave him a cheeky smile. Something about alcohol made people feel so free to just be themselves.

Alim gave her a smile that showed his teeth, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Anytime, beautiful.” he replied casually. “You can usually count me to be honest with people I enjoy. I only lie half of the time.” He said, finishing his apple lazily, and with a subtle movement of his muscled arm, he tossed the core into the bin past two other tables. It made it in, albeit barely. “And usually it’s to people who I want something from and have no real care for.” He paused for a moment, and then rubbed his face with his strong hand. “You know the funny thing about being proper is how unwound you get when you let yourself be unproper. I think for Ani it’s all she knows. You though...you’re a lady of the court.” He spoke as if he had met and dealt with many court members before, an earnest surety in his voice.

“Ahhh, Alim I know not what you mean. I know even less of Anifaire and perhaps I may catch her for a quiet conversation before the night is through… Do you like her more or less after tonight?” she asked, skirting around what else he had said of her. Lady of the Court she thought to herself, her drunken mind not entirely able to dissect what that meant. She was going to let it go, but the champagne wouldn’t allow it - “what do you mean I’m a Lady of the Court?” She stretched her elbows out over the table and placed her head into her hands. It was starting to feel heavy now, and so were her eyes. She hoped that the food would give her a second wind, and so she turned back to the fruit and picked up more of the strawberries.

“Oh, sorry.” He said, realizing he had been thinking aloud. “I meant that you know when to be proper and when not to be. And you know how to use it to help you in situations. It was a compliment.” Alim called for some water, two cups, to be sent over. “I learned how to be that way but I never got used to it. You make it look easy and I admire that.” Once the water was sent over, he took his cup and nodded. “As for Ani, I think I do. It’s a bit early but, I do feel very protective of her, and she’s as cute as a button.”

She mulled over his words momentarily as she helped herself to more fruit from the plate. “You know, if you get a chance to meet my father while we’re here, you’ll get a masterclass in being that kind of proper…” she smiled as she thought of him, it had been good to see him. Even if he was incredibly tense. She turned back to face Alim with a friendly smile as he spoke about the Altmer, but the expression turned to confusion when he described her as ‘cute’. Not a word I’d use she thought, her thoughts turning to words that tumbled from her mouth - albeit more tactfully (slightly) “You… you know she’s a lot taller than you, right?”

Alim looked at Raelynn. “...Are you saying I’m not cute since I’m bigger than you?”

“That’s not it!” she laughed, pulling herself from a slouch to an upright sitting position. “You’re cute in your own way, I suppose if you can see it then that’s what matters, it’s cute that you think she’s cute… so that makes you cute and I guess her too?” A bemused look creased over her face as she thought about it, “I don’t know… I think…. Cute.”

Alim sipped his water as he watched her tackle this philosophical subject, brows raised. He quenched his thirst when she was finished and simply said. “Thank you.” he said. “I don’t know. She’s taller than me and very pretty, but I think of her like she’s a cute...4 foot tall girl who’s learning about the world, it’s adorable.”

He picked up one of the strawberries too. “Anyway, sorry about vaulting between you and Gregorian earlier. Has he lightened up?”

“Don’t apologise,” she began in a light tone “it’s a party, and yes I think he has. Although I must admit I haven’t seen too much of him. If anything, I am the one who needed to lighten up - or cheer up - or one of those things, probably both.” She picked up one of the glasses of water and took a sip - it was icy cold and refreshing and exactly what her body needed at that moment. “My goodness, I’ve never had such nice water…” she mused to herself before placing the glass back down.

“No I was…” he stopped. Clearly she had no idea about the chat he’d had with Gregor before. Best to keep it that way. “Yeah the water’s great.” He took a big sip. “I think I’ll go to the beach sometime soon. Maybe bring Ani. Gilane’s coast is beautiful.”

“What are you talking about? You keep trying to tell me something Alim, you did it the other day too.” Her voice was suddenly sharp like a razor and she changed her posture - straightening herself up, between Alim hinting at something, and Gregor giving him an apology earlier - she could sense that something was amiss. Alcohol was making her feel bold. “You don’t like him, do you?” she asked, a defeated tone underpinned the statement.

“Oh I think he’s a big asshole.” Alim retorted casually. Then he realized he probably should elaborate. Great, my mouth opened. He sighed and set his drink down.

“Look, back when we first came to Gilane, I sort of stumbled upon him and we had a chat. Granted I didn’t know him very well, or your relationship with him back then so I wasn’t the best sport either. But…” he took a deep breathe. “I just mentioned your name and he got very...defensive.” Alim didn’t want to make her lover to be the bad guy. Even if he had qualms about him, it was her choice. Still, she asked. “I guess I was being curious and slightly protective. It was probably my old tendencies to act the part of a Knight showing its ugly head. Anyway, when I grew curious he became defensive and called me a bastard, telling me I wouldn’t know anything about loving a woman like you and I stole his wine and wasn’t very helpful defusing the situation. Yada yada yada…” He shrugged. “Long story short, I left before things got too heated and I slept on a roof that night.”

She didn't know what to say. But the more that Alim shared, the more her face dropped and she shrunk away from the rogue, her arms wrapping around her torso as if to deflect it. She knew the story was true, she knew both Gregor and Alim well enough that such a heated conversation could happen between the two of them. “Woman like… me?” The words just hovered there, and all signs of mirth left her as she thought on them. “What does that even mean?” The way the words stuck around made her feel dirty - exposed.

“I… I am sorry he said that to you.”

She unwrapped her arms and gazed down at her hands, and the scars and bruising there. “I know that you… think that of him, but… He took my pain away, Alim, he forgets himself, yes, but he is a good man.” Her voice cracked as she spoke the words, realising how grateful she was for Gregor - and Alim too. “I only hope that you can see that one day, my friend, you're important to me too. A different way, yes, but what you think of me - it matters.” She tried a smile, and brushed some of Alim’s hair back behind his ear. “You don't do you? Think less of me?”

Alim felt her fingers brushing his hair, and he looked her way, silent for a moment. “I don’t think less of you.” he said, honestly. He couldn’t say anything else about what she had said, because he couldn’t tell her what she would want to hear. For now this would do. But he did want to add. “I don’t hate Gregor, by the way. I’m used to people who think that way. There’s rough sorts, there’s people who let their demons take over every now and then. It happens.”

“We all have our demons, some are worse than others… I don't know Alim.” She placed her head into hands and sighed, unsure of whether this was more alcohol related silliness, a post moon sugar lethargy, or the weight of thinking about two of her dearest companions having tense words over her. She picked up a small square of chocolate from the plate and ate it slowly. “I don't need everyone to be friends, but I don't want to feel caught between my friend and, my boyfriend.” She knew that Gregor would be irked to see them together, even if Raelynn did look like she was moments from passing out.

She snapped out of it, the sugar hit from the chocolate reawakening her and dragging her back from the gloom. “So I'm not!” she declared, with a tiny giggle. “I want to see to it that you find a love of your own with Anifaire after all!”

Alim looked at her wide eyed. He had no idea how she got from him and Gregor to him and Anifaire. Then again, he did smell some moon sugar wafting from her and he placed a hand on her shoulder. Love!? “Sloooow down there.” he laughed. “It’ll work out, and you’ll have a front row seat. But let’s give it a little time.” He looked at her, wondering if she was a bit too ‘drugged’ (for lack of a better term) to stay awake much longer. “You ok? You think a nap might be good?”

“No, there's no time to wait you goof,” she replied with another titter of laughter. Raelynn pulled the hand that was resting on her shoulder around her, skooting her chair closer to his. The breton placed her head against his shoulder. “I don't need a nap, I just want to watch everyone be happy. Maybe tomorrow we’ll all be dead or somethin’...” she sighed contentedly before chuckling mischievously - “Hey! Would a lady of the court do this?” before he would have a chance to react, she swung her legs up onto the table with such gusto that the plate went flying to the floor with a clatter. “Oops!” She sat up from the hug and looked at the mess on the floor.

As she picked up the tray and returned it to the table, it seemed that Alim was himself dazed, and so she took the opportunity while he was elsewhere to weave her way back through the crowd once again. ··




Gregor came to up Daro’Vasora with a big grin on his face and grabbed the Khajiit’s attention by tapping her on the shoulder. “Did you see what Raelynn and Mazrah did with your moon sugar?” he asked, all previous tension between them forgotten in the amusement of the moment. “I didn’t think Raelynn was capable of such untethered revelry.”

Daro'Vasora's reaction to the touch was much more muted and lethargic than usual; she was well and thoroughly intoxicated. Having found herself a nice and large floor cushion off to the side where she could nurse herself with food and water to dilute the… she wasn't even sure what she was drinking at this point. She looked up with a half smile before registering it was Gregor. She blinked, surprised.

“Oh, hey.” she said, her happy visage returning a few moments later. “All according to plan. I wanted to see who would get it and let Sheggorath reign for a bit.” she giggled in a surprisingly feminine and girlish way as her tail swept the floor behind her, an appendage she no longer felt. “Raelynn exceeded expectations… I'm surprised you were okay with that. Mazrah would have been happy.” she observed, her normally fluid mind articulating in stuttering blocks. She was too drunk to properly care.

Gregor, having also drunk quite a lot at this point to help forget his conversation with Megana, pulled up a chair while he laughed to himself. “I feel comfortable enough in my relationship with Raelynn to have her frolic around with a giant Orcish woman for a bit, yes, though I did intervene eventually. But, to be honest,” he said and leaned forward with a sly grin, “it was quite an enjoyable sight. Mazrah was very happy, as far as I could tell, and with good reason.”

Daro'Vasora frowned. “She's very pretty, you know. Raelynn. I'd always grown up wishing I looked like her. After I left my cozy little city and found out what life was like everywhere else.” she pulled her tail in front of her, grooming it. “This always kept me behind, sneered at. Few people trusted me.” she looked up at Gregor's face. “There's a darkness to you, I don't know what, and that's fine. Just… promise me you won't hurt her. She needs you.”

Gregor met Daro’Vasora’s gaze silently as his grin melted away, his knee bouncing up and down and fingers fiddling with his ring, for a long time before he spoke. “I’m not going to hurt Raelynn. I’m going to hurt the people that do. That darkness you see in me… it’s what’s going to keep her safe. I’m a killer, Daro’Vasora. My hands and my blade are stained with the blood of dozens of monsters. I am that which the nightcrawlers fear. The Khajiit that captured and tortured her? I will find him and I will kill him too,” he said quietly. “I would never hurt Raelynn. I love her.”

“I don’t know what any of that means, just that it worries me.” Daro’Vasora said with a shake of her head. “What makes any of that different from any of the people you’ve gone after? I’ve sensed this hunger to you that consumes you, and I think it has the reigns. These things you say… do you even know when to stop?”

Gregor frowned. Was she daft? “They prey on the innocent, I put them to the sword. One is a crime, the other is justice. You do realize that jarls and counts pay money for such a service, right? When I talk about monsters, I mean vampires, outlaws, Daedric cultists, necromancers… vermin that need to be exterminated. Tolerance of intolerance isn't tolerance, it's weakness. Every society needs its own monsters to hunt the ones lurking in the night,” he said, gesturing animatedly while he talked. “Surely you understand that?”

The Khajiit rolled her eyes. “And maybe even some doughy deep elf administrator.” she shot back tersely. “You paint yourself like you're a mercenary, some paragon for virtue and S'rendarr’s mercy, but there's more to it than that, isn't there? I'm met my share of sellswords, even worked with a few… even a Dawnguard lady once. None were like you, Gregor. The drink peels back layers so whatever lurks beneath your pleasant veneer shows itself. I have no clue what it is, and I don't want to know. Just don't let it out.”

“No, not Nblec,” Gregor parried and held up his hand admonishingly. “I resent that statement. He was hardly a monster. We never meant for him to die, and I’m still not sure what actually killed him.” Wilfully ignoring her comment about alcohol, Gregor took a large swig of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten our conversation in Anvil. That’s what ‘lurks beneath’ the surface, as you so flatteringly put it. I’m afraid of what’s waiting for me,” he said and sighed. “That’s all.”

“So… what is it?” she asked with a resigned sigh. “Look, we all have things we want to keep others from finding out, I get that.” Daro'Vasora's mind fluttered to Latro's confession for a moment. “All I care about is each and every one of us making it home when this is all over. I never thought I'd be saying that, but these guys matter to me.”

The Khajiit looked up at Gregor with a slow blink. “And Raelynn in particular trusts you, loves you. She told me that much tonight. I just want to make sure that the part she sees isn't the part I see. What does it mean for the rest of us if you lose your shit?”

Gregor was lost for words for a moment. Raelynn had told Daro’Vasora that she loved him? No, not exactly, he realised. Just that much. He opened his mouth to respond to and closed it again, unsure of what to say, and instead let the rest of what the Khajiit said sink in. “The part that you see,” he repeated. “I don’t think you understand Raelynn all that well. She’s seen much more of that part than you ever will. And you know what?” he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She loves it. The power, the rage, the violence; it’s what she wants. It’s what makes her feel alive, and safe. We have our tender moments too and I swear to all the gods above and below that my feelings for her are very much sincere, but the things that frighten you just drive her mad.” He paused and smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. Raelynn and I are perfect for each other, in every way.”

Daro'Vasora sighed, slipping a bone between her teeth and grounding away at it. “A fire is always comforting when you are at camp. It means you are warm and safe, it keeps predators at bay. But when a freak wind comes through and blows the flames onto something dry, you cannot contain it. It spreads and consumes everything. This… thing, it's a wildfire waiting to break out. The fact you readily admit to it being there and something you lured her in with strikes me as particularly careless, like you're flaunting it. You didn't survive all these years by being careless, did you? None of us did, especially now.”

“You make an awful lot of assumptions for someone so young,” Gregor said; he sounded amused. “Fire is mindless, uncaring. A poor analogy for someone like me. Perhaps you haven’t lived long enough or seen enough of the world to know that aggression and violence are useful tools that can be honed and controlled by a man who needs them. You’re right, I survived all these years, and I wasn’t careless. I was prepared, always evaluating and learning, and I faced foe after foe and I survived. But I was alone, Vasora. Even if I was working with other people, I did not belong with them. When they died, I survived. Now I am no longer alone. It changes things. And besides, what harm is there in being honest with an honored friend at a pleasant party?” Gregor asked, tilting his head. His smile had not yet left his face. “Why would you call that careless? Are you plotting against me? Have I something to fear from you?” He waited just a second, almost as if he was expecting a reply, and then cut off anything Vasora might have said by dismissing his own questions as rhetorical. “Of course not. We are allies. I can trust you.” There was a twinkle in his eyes and the implication was unmistakable.

It sent a shiver down her spine. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she glanced away. “I've seen enough of the world to know what it's like, Gregor. Where do you think my sunny and welcoming disposition comes from?” she asked sarcastically, but not bitingly. “I'm just deep in the drink and not weighing my words like I should. I really want to trust you, that whatever you have going on is a force of good for everyone here that won't ever be unleashed on any of us. I've never seen you anguished or furious, and that's what worries me. What happens then? It's one thing when you're in control of yourself, it's another when hard emotions take over.”

She shook her head, a slight smile crossed her lips. “Even if I wanted to be dangerous, I'm not really built that way. I've hurt my share of people with my mace, sure, but that was always to buy time to get away. I'm a treasure hunter, not a fighter. I'm used to being alone, like you, and expecting absolutely everyone to betray me. This is the first time I think I've had to really consider others’ needs before my own.” she hesitated, wringing her hands. “That's what really scares me. Everyone here, they look up to me to guide them. I just stumbled into this and I have no idea if I'm doing it right or I doomed us all.”

Satisfied that he had disarmed Daro’Vasora’s suspicions for the moment, Gregor exhaled slowly and let the anger he had felt at her prying and prodding melt away. She was right, they were all drinking and not making entirely sound decisions. He could forgive that. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing well,” Gregor said kindly. “I asked one thing of you and you brought me to the headquarters of an active resistance against the Dwemer. It’s all I could have asked for.” He laughed and took another sip. “I don’t envy you your position, though. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be responsible for so many people. It’s something I have actively avoided throughout my life. I didn’t inherit my father’s business, I never actually joined the Vigil, and I dodged the draft during the civil war in Skyrim. It’s admirable that you’re even trying in the first place.”

He rubbed his chin, combing through his beard, and appeared to deliberate for a few seconds. “But I have been around the block a few times. I have fought many fights and won every time, one way or another. I don’t mean to imply that I think you need it, but if you seek advice, I’ll help you think things through.”

“It just occurred to me we really don’t know much about each other.” Daro’Vasora replied, thankful for that cloud having drifted over. This was the side of Gregor she thought she could actually befriend. “I had no idea you were really a part of all of that in your personal life, or maybe you did say something in Anvil. Memory’s not all that sharp right now.” she smiled apologetically before shaking her head.

“It’s a strange feeling, I understand Rhea better now than I did before because I can see exactly how the stress and fear tore her apart like it did. I didn’t exactly try to fall into this role, I just happened to have the right connection and everyone kind of looked to me to lead when Roux and I had our little plan. Now I’m just trying to inspire people and bring out the best in them, I’m just terrible at it, as you probably guessed.” she chuckled, pulling the bone from her teeth, looking over its knurled texture. “And honestly, if you’re offering training lessons for how I can be a better fighter, I’d be grateful for the opportunity. I had a sparring session with Latro that ended wonderfully, but it occurred to me how woefully unprepared I am to even hold my own against a one armed, one legged Redguard who’s half blind and deaf in a duel.”

“I don’t think I did,” Gregor said, thinking back to their conversation in Anvil. “I am quite secretive about my personal affairs with most people. Well, the short version is that I’m the son of a prosperous merchant from Bravil. I was apprenticed to become a jewelsmith. My father died from a terrible illness when I was twenty-eight summers old. It’s possibly hereditary,” he said, deliberately downplaying the truth, “so I left home to find a cure before the same fate could befall me. That’s what I was talking about, back in Anvil. I discovered my true calling as a witch-hunter and that is how I’ve made a living the past decade.”

He smiled and pressed his fingertips together. “As for a training session, that’s not entirely what I meant by ‘advice’, but I don’t see why not. I can’t help you with your mace, though. My father insisted it was an uncivilized weapon. Swords only, I’m afraid.”

That made her laugh. “Oh, but didn’t you know civilization was built on the back of clubbed weapons and then spears? Besides, all you need to do is smack someone hard enough and all the fancy plating in the world doesn’t matter. I always liked the idea of a 50 Septim mace destroying the value of a 5,000 Septim suit of armour, it’s humiliating.” She grinned, absentmindedly reaching to where her weapon would have been at her hip before realizing she didn’t wear it to a party for some reason.

She thought over Gregor’s story, surprised by the candor of it all. She blinked, thinking of what to say. “Is that why you’re here, with us all? To try and find a cure and hopefully the Dwemer in all of their fancy technology came up with medicine we can’t even dream of?” she asked, not insincerely. “I am sorry about your father, and your family. I truly am. But forgive me for saying so, but I can’t imagine you have delicate and dexterous enough fingers to craft jewellery.” she said with a grin.

Gregor nodded in response to her summary. “That’s right,” he said softly. “The ecclesiarchy, the College of Winterhold, alchemists, researchers, old books, my father and I tried everything and came up with nothing. If anyone in Tamriel developed the means to cure us, it would be the Dwemer. So for that, I am grateful that they have returned, but it is a selfish gratitude. I know that the world would be better off if they were gone again, so I am trying to combine my personal quest with their defeat. Perhaps if we ever capture Rourken I can force the truth out of her, or something. Anyway,” he said quickly, eager to move on to the next topic, “you insult me, madam.” He took off his ruby-studded silver ring, like he had done earlier, and gave it to Daro’Vasora to inspect. “I’ll have you know that is my handiwork.”

She took the ring with care and began to appraise it like it was one of her finds in some Nordic barrow; much to her surprise, the work was detailed and exquisite with absolutely no tooling marks or scratches, and it was uniform in shape and material consistency. It gave her a newfound respect for the man; he certainly was capable of creating something beautiful.

“Well, colour me impressed. It’s beautiful.” she admitted, handing the ring back with care. “Maybe when this is all over, I’ll ask you to do something nice for me. I do have an eye for the finer things in life.” she smiled, shifting in her seat to a more receptive position, her body language looser. “I promise I’ll try and help you the best I can, to find something, anything that can lead to what you’re looking for. I guess years of learning how to read an undead language is going to pay off, huh? You know, as weird as it sounds, I actually know what you mean, the gratitude for them being back. I’ve studied them for a lot of my life, along with other dead civilizations, and it always fascinated me how advanced they were while we might as well have been struggling to master mud huts. I thought it was tragic they all vanished, no one should have to face annihilation like that. This is a second chance for them, and they’re doing it all wrong.” Daro’Vasora frowned, rubbing the back of her neck, feeling how numb her extremities were. “I don’t think they’re bad people, just that they’re scared and angry. What did you think of the Governor?” she asked.

It was a strange feeling to rope Daro’Vasora into a quest he had no intention of actually pursuing. It was idle hope to think he could get the Dwemer to divulge their medical secrets, if they even had a cure for such a thing. The dishonesty of it made him hide behind his wine for a bit while she talked, and he was glad that she asked him about something else.

“Governor Rourken,” Gregor said, tasting the name and title in his mouth. “Very intelligent, very capable. Her presence and her authority are undeniable. I think she is dangerous and not to be underestimated, but perhaps her desire to integrate with the existing Redguard population is a weakness that we can exploit. You could interpret that as sympathetic but I think that’s naive. The Dwemer are an existential threat. In short, I should very much like to kill her and hope that someone like her never returns to Tamriel again. For our sake.”

“I…” Daro’Vasora said, her face scrunched in consideration. “I don’t think she’s wrong? At least, her aim. This was her home; Gilane is the city where Volundrung fell and her clan settled, it’s why the province is called Hammerfell. The Dwemer never met the Redguard before they vanished; The Yokudans didn’t come over until after they vanished. I wonder what they thought, finding entire cities just empty. I would have thought the entire land was cursed.” the Khajiit smiled sadly. “I thought she was a very impressive woman, someone I would have liked to meet under better circumstances. I just don’t think killing her will be a smart idea… she said what happened in Imperial City was the work of another clan, another warlord. What if in her absence someone like that takes control of Hammerfell? I just… I don’t know the answers here. I just think this whole thing is tragic and horrible all around.”

“She is arrogant,” Gregor said with finality. “The Dwemer were gone for thousands of years. I don’t care that it was merely centuries for them. That is still a very long time. They are refugees, Daro’Vasora, not the rightful rulers of these lands, but they are too prideful and obsessed with dominance to see that. If they had come in peace, their knowledge and skills would have made them welcome guests across the breadth of Tamriel. The dark elves fled Morrowind with nothing and the High King of Skyrim still gave them Solstheim and made sure they were allowed to live in Windhelm. Are their lives perfect? No, far from it, but they are strangers in a land where life is hard enough as it is. Such are the cards they have been dealt.”

He shrugged. “Do you see the difference between them and the Dwemer? They walk and talk like it is somehow perfectly natural that they are master and commander in Hammerfell again. I spoke to one of them on the day we arrived and she welcomed me to ‘Volenfell’, as if I was the biggest stranger of the two in these lands. It’s simply unacceptable. I don’t think she’s right and even if she is, it’s not some ideological dispute. They threaten our way of life. And by ‘our’, I mean everyone on Tamriel. The Dwemer don’t belong here anymore.”

“I don’t dispute that, it’s why I’m here bumbling in an insurgency instead of heading home to my family, but… well, that’s the word. Refugees. All of those people outside of Skingrad, did they not deserve to live, as well? Rourken told us the plain her people were banished to is dying, and this is their one shot at trying to survive. While individuals are capable of great evil and cruelty, I don’t believe it’s right to condemn an entire race to death because of their leaders.” She thought about the children playing in the streets, their harried mother, the boy who called her pretty. It was all so damn relatable. “They couldn’t have just shown up and been welcomed back, it’s like you said, it’s no longer their lands. I doubt anyone would have welcomed them back or accomodated these strangers showing up in their borders, it would have been another Saarthal all over again. It’s not an easy situation and I don’t really think there’s a right answer, but I refuse to believe the only solution is genocide. We have to be better than they are.” Daro’Vasora said with an air of determination, looking over at the rest of the party guests.

“Everyone here has a family, a story of their own. Those are what we’re trying to protect, Gregor. They give our lives context and meaning, and these deep elves, as misguided and destructive as they are, they too have their own stories and families. I can’t stop thinking about Nblec; he sounded like he was a good man who genuinely wanted to fit in with the locals. I think about the boy and his mother, just people, Gregor. Not monsters that come down from the sky and slaughter my uncle in his own store, not creatures that forced me to abandon everything I worked for in my life. I cannot forgive those who wronged me, and I will see this through because of it, but I don’t see why one day, we can’t coexist. This war really isn’t any different from all the others, it just hurts more because it’s happening to us now.” the Khajiit said, grabbing for her wine glass once more.

“Don’t do that,” Gregor said. There was a hardness to him now, and his voice rang with the implacable nature of steel. “Don’t humanize them. We don’t have to be better than them, we just have to survive. You said it yourself; we fight for the lives and stories of the people we know. You cannot simultaneously consider the tragedies that will befall your enemies. Nblec told us he had a daughter. Perhaps she is an orphan now. It changes nothing. He wasn’t supposed to die but I shan’t lose any sleep over it either. The die has already been cast, Vasora, and it was cast by them. Blood begets blood and it won’t end until we fully subjugate them. They will continue to resist our efforts to recover our sovereignty until they no longer have the means to do so. Maybe then we can think about coexistence. But for the time being, while they are still our tyrants to be overthrown, do not empathize with them.” He looked at her intently, as if he was trying to drive this point home with more than just words. “Or you will find yourself faltering at a critical moment and they will strike you down without a thought.”

Daro’Vasora stood, her face impassive as she gazed out into the gathered people, mingling among themselves and washing away the hardships of the past several weeks through revelry. “‘Don’t humanize them. We don’t have to be better than them. Do not emphasize with them.’” she repeated Gregor’s words as if they they were mantra. “I wonder if that was the same speech that the commanders gave their soldiers before they sacked Imperial City? What you say is exactly the kind of thing that allows those kinds of atrocities to happen, and violence begets violence. I’ve read enough history and studied enough ruins that contain entire people’s final moments that I know how those ideas can spread like a miasma. One crime leads to one in turn, which escalates until such a point that no one can inherit the ruins that are left behind.” She looked back at him, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. “If you wish to defeat your enemy, understand them. Find what drives them, and then dismantle that. If you go in blind with nothing but hatred in your heart, well… you were a Ranger, briefly. Try not to make the same choices they did.” Daro’Vasora said, tidying up her dress.

“Ask Latro what he thinks,” Gregor said and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Perhaps he will do a better job at convincing you of the necessity of cruel methods than I can. He was the first to agree with Jaraleet when he suggested that we interrogate Nblec, you know. The look Latro had in his eyes then -- I’ve seen it before, but only in people who know war.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him all about it when we next rendezvous, I assure you. You know, I’ve seen the future; it’s written all over the walls of those who died centuries before, and I’ve sold their priceless possessions for a thrill. History is a giant cycle, if no one learns from it. The only thing that changes are the faces of those who refuse to get off. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Gregor, I’ve got to go freshen up. Enjoy the party.” she said, stepping away with even strides as she headed to clear her mind.




After his chat with Nanine, Jaraleet had decided to head towards the area were the assorted food and pastries that had been gathered for the party lay in their trays. He had been drinking sporadically since the start of the party and while he still wasn’t inebriated, the Haj-Eix thought it best to prevent such a thing to come to pass. And so he found himself in front of the food trays with a plate on one hand, picking up a few pastries to eat.

With a cup in her hands Judena saw Jaraleet eyeing the sweets, she called out in Jel. “I wouldn’t have taken you to have a sweet tooth, Jaraleet.

An empty plate to her left, a pitcher of wine to herself. On her third goblet, beginning to feel the edges of her vision smooth out, taking it slow - tempted as she was to try and keep up with the younger members. While Jude joked at length of her age, there were only a few things where she stubbornly stuck to a pace she set only for herself.

Come spend time with this certain honoured elder. Come, come.” She beckoned.

Smiling, Jaraleet went and sat next to Jude. “I’m not one to normally indulge in sweets.” He replied, easily switching back to their native Jel. “But, well, I decided to indulge tonight. I’ve been drinking a fair bit and I thought it could use something that would give me some energy.” The younger Argonian said, chuckling softly. “Feel free to take some if you wish, it’s not like there aren’t trays and platters full of them next to us.” He said, chuckling lightly before taking one of the pastries and taking a bite from it. “How have you been Jude? Enjoying the party?” He asked once he was done, remembering that it had been quite a long time since he had talked with his fellow Saxhleel.

Yes! While my dinner companions ventured elsewhere, the food and wine has been delicious. A real treat!” She took a generous sip, “All healed up from earlier this week, lessons with Anifaire, enjoying the sea where I can. Nothing of real significance. Taking Daro’Vasora’s warning of sticking in pairs to heart. I wonder why such a warning was administered even with the success we saw helping the Peculiar Man.

She pondered with a shrug, “There is probably a reason upon further examination but there has thankfully been many other things to distract myself with.” Tapping a nail against the cover of her logbook. “I take comfort in your presence here Jaraleet.

If anything were to happen to me there is someone here to read my words without a problem.” She noted sincerely, in spite of darker meaning - it was true. She would be happy knowing if she were to pass on while they were all together as a group someone would be able to understand her logs. “Thank you.

Jaraleet had been listening to Jude’s words with a smile, happy to hear that the older Saxhleel was having a good time. However, when she said that she took comfort in his presence he was taken aback, his surprise only growing with each word that Judena said. “You….you do me an honour that I don't deserve.” He replied, bowing his head slightly, his voice choked up ever so slightly. “I promise you Jude, that as long as I'm here nothing will happen to you.” The Haj-Eix said softly, voice solemn, before falling silent as hesitation entered his mind. “But….should something happen, I will make sure to protect your history, your logs. This I swear.” He said, giving Jude a small smile.

Reaching to cup his face she held him there for a moment, “Thank you. I’ll hold you to that promise.” Squinting contentedly. “I believe in a great many things but I firmly believe you should always speak truthfully and immediately of your feelings for others. Good, bad, complex. Speak them with honesty.

For you Jaraleet I feel comfort, solidarity. I see in you embodying home, our home in every sense of the word.” She said her tone adopting a more serious note. Speaking of Argonia earlier had set her thoughts to how she grappled with homesickness for Soulrest but she felt that same longing for her other home she built with Leonora. In Jaraleet she saw everything about Argonia being carried on the shoulders of one soul. “The good, bad and complex feelings we all share for our homes.” She echoed.

Jaraleet was surprised when Jude reached to cup his face, but did nothing to pull away or stop the motion and let the elder Argonian do as she wished. He was touched by the words that followed, by the fact that she felt comfort and solidarity from his presence. And yet, those same words unsettled and confused him greatly. He smiled sadly when she echoed her earlier words, unsure of what to say next.

You...you do me a kindness that I'm unworthy of.” He finally said, his voice choking up again as he spoke, before falling silent again, unsure of how to continue speaking. Of what he should say.

She patted his cheek in somewhat admonishment, brushing away the mere concept. “Your worth was established when you were brought from the depths of the Hist. It is simple as that.

Jude sat back with a smile, she drank her wine. Words she sometimes struggled to believe herself, but in Jaraleet she saw familiar conflict she wished to help him quiet.

Jaraleet fell silent once more as he considered Jude’s words, a troubled look settling on his face. “Thank you Jude.” He said finally, looking at the older Saxhleel in the eyes. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I think I will excuse myself from the party, enjoy the rest of the night.” He said, smiling at Jude, before standing up.

He needed some air, some quiet, to think for himself. He had also seen Meg leave the party in what seemed to be quite a distressed state, something that worried him as well and that, now that he was leaving the conference room as well, he fully intended to check out.




Gregor had found Raelynn again in the buzz and excitement of the party and this time he grabbed her hands. “Gotcha,” he said and pulled her in, a warm smile on his face. “You’ve been floating all over, haven’t you? Like a radiant butterfly. Come, sit with me.” His voice was soft and low, meant only for her ears, and he gestured towards two free chairs towards the back of the room.

She didn't speak, and instead enjoyed the feeling of his hands against her. Following him to the chairs, thankful to at last be brought back to his side after an evening of laughter and joy, and new experiences. He seemed full of it too, the light and airy feeling that followed letting yourself unwind. She sat back in a chair tucking one leg under herself, the other hanging freely.

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when he realized they had nothing to drink. “Hold that thought,” Gregor said and closed the distance to the bar with long strides, had a quick conversation with the bartender and returned with a bottle of Cyrodilic wine and two glasses. “There we go,” he said as he sank back into his chair and poured them both a drink. He took a large swig immediately before he placed his glass back down on the table and looked at Raelynn intently for a few seconds before he resumed

“I was born in Bravil, but I weathered the worst of the Great War in Bruma. My mother took me there to stay with her family after my father went away to fight. I don’t remember much from that time, but I do know that my mother did her best to make it as happy and carefree for me as possible. Despite her best efforts, my earliest memories have a cloud of uncertainty and fear hanging over them. It frayed her nerves a little and I don’t think she ever fully recovered.”

Gregor paused and took another sip; he seemed to be staring over Raelynn’s shoulder at something in the middle distance. “My father made it back home in one piece and we all moved back to Bravil. The city was ruined by the siege and subsequent occupation by the Dominion, but my father was a smart man and he made a fortune as a merchant during the rebuilding and revival of the city. We were wealthy -- well, reasonably so, I don’t think my father’s business could ever compare to your family’s, but I wanted for nothing. Then my brother, Marcus, was born, and a few years later my little sister, Julia,” he said, speaking with a deliberation and intonation that betrayed that this wasn’t a spontaneous story; Gregor had been planning to tell Raelynn about this for some time now.

“We were happy. My father came home from his work with a smile on his face every day and my mother coddled us. She was patient and loving and perceptive in those days. Sometimes she’d know something was bothering me before I knew it myself. There were… moments that she would snap, and retreat back to her reading room with migraines, but I don’t blame her. Like I said, the war did a number on her. She feared every day that she would receive news of my father’s death and that she would have to raise me alone.” Gregor cleared his throat and met Raelynn’s gaze. He was smiling, but there was a sadness in his eyes that looked it came from somewhere deep within him.

Raelynn just listened while holding the glass in her hand, and Gregor sat close to her. It was quiet back here - a sanctuary in which he obviously felt safe to share his story with her. She tentatively took a sip of wine, wary of whether to continue drinking, but she did anyway. Knowing that he wanted her to. There was an intensity behind his eyes as he recollected his memories, and the picture that he painted for her was the colour of melancholy. She took slow breaths before placing her hand on his leg, breaking eye contact only for a moment so that she could find the best place to comfort him. She was instantly reminded of their first night together - squared away at the back of the inn by the fire with a bottle of wine, their bodies growing closer. Only now they were as close as two people could get. That evening in Anvil he had shared a secret with her, but now he was baring his soul.

Her fingers caressed him and she gave him an encouraging smile, both interested in his story and knowing that this was his life, and that he wanted to share it with her. “I can’t imagine it, Gregor. She sounds like an incredibly strong woman…”

He laughed. “She was.” Gregor ran his finger along the edge of his wine glass and took a moment to recollect his thoughts. It was getting harder to think straight. “My brother always wanted to be like me. You know what children are like. He grew up to be different, though. I never had any desire to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a merchant, so when I entered an apprenticeship to become a jewelsmith instead, Marcus took his chance and replaced me as the heir of my father’s little mercantile empire. I don’t think he ever understood why I wouldn’t want to become the new patriarch, but he continued to respect my wishes, and I know he was envious of my… personable character,” he said and smirked. “My sister was a sweetheart, through and through. Always playing with dolls, stuff like that. She wanted to be a mother more than anything. She…” Gregor paused and swallowed hard. He laughed again, but it was strained this time, and he looked away. “She probably is, by now. I imagine Marcus married too. I’m an uncle and I don’t even know it. I left them all behind ten years ago without telling them anything, Raelynn.”

Even though she hung on his words, part of her was meditative in thought on how much Gregor had to tell. She had always known he was older than she was, that he had seen more than her - but the gravitas of his story now picked at her, and made her feel in some way, insecure. He had siblings, maybe nieces and nephews. Here she was, alone. Just her father and mother and experience as an apprentice mage. The only significant chapters of her life so far. The way he described his family made her realise how little she had done with her own life, how few marks she had left anywhere. She turned her head away selfishly as her brow furrowed, but she continued to touch him, to draw it out of him. She took a deep breath and returned her gaze to him, against the hearthfire he looked so captivating. Her immaturity in life made it hard for her to find a point to relate to him, she couldn't find the words to say to him, only nods and hums of acknowledgement; “ten years is a long time to be away… I'm sorry…” was about all she could muster to say to him.

Gregor nodded slowly. “We used to throw parties too. You know, for family and friends. I can still see my mother,” he said, and his voice was thin and shaky, and it was as if he was following her with his eyes as he cast his gaze slowly through the conference room, “walking, no, floating through the house, her dress billowing behind her, making sure that everything was just perfect. She would be done preparing the house hours in advance and still she would move the floral arrangements this way and that, sometimes just an inch, polishing the silverware, telling us all not to touch anything, and then she’d give me a kiss on my forehead and send me outside to play until the guests arrived.” He bit his lip and blinked a few times, fighting back tears. “She had long brown hair and green eyes, the color of moss, and her smile lit up the whole room.”

“She sounds a lot like my mother…” she said with a sigh, thinking of her, what she would doing. It had been a few years since she had seen her - but not ten. Her mother hadn't been of a nervous disposition either. She understood Gregor's pain then - even if it was only a minute fraction of it she felt it. “I think you would like my mother,” were the words she said as she let her fingers intertwine with Gregor's, to remind him she was here, to anchor him back from the sadness he was wading in. “She is feisty, like a tigress,” she whispered with a smile, leaning over to Gregor to plant a sympathetic kiss on his cheek. Raelynn lingered there as she caught her own breath back, feeling his emotions spill over into her. She pictured the scene of Gregor's childhood home, his mother whirling around to make things beautiful. “She sounds wonderful, I'm…” unable to think of anything else to say, she simply resorted to pulling him close and allowing her fingers comb through his hair comfortingly.

Her touch, her words and her breath on his skin brought him back to the here and now and Gregor chuckled at the way Raelynn described her mother. “With a husband like that, I expected no different from your mother,” he said and gave her a kiss right back. “And you’re right, my mother was a saint. My father’s death, it… well, it broke her,” he whispered and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He was vulnerable now, more than he had been in many, many years, and it scared him to break down all of the walls he had built around his previous life. But Raelynn deserved to know. She needed to know. Like a monsoon, an immense pain moved over him and he felt drenched in the sorrows of his regrets. Gregor looked down at his shaking fingers, casting his face in shadow, clutching Raelynn’s left hand tightly while she ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair, and saw through blurry eyes that a tear dropped down from his eyelashes and onto her skin.

He breathed in a deep, shuddering breath, like a soldier gasping for air through a sucking wound in his lungs. “I had a wife,” he managed through trembling lips, and the agony was unmistakable. His skin burned where it had been inked in her likeness.

If his agony was unmistakable, then hers was silent and locked away tightly in the moment. She didn't flinch. Maybe this was because she had known all along, she had made note of the woman on his arm their first night together. Suddenly the insecurity she felt rose to the surface, sitting in the form of tears in her eyes which she allowed to fall noiselessly. She dare not even breathe in this moment. Everything lately had been so much for her. But the one thing that had been keeping her above water, were the growing feelings for Gregor. Falling in love with him, surrendering herself to him, losing herself to him, rebuilding and transforming to someone better because of him...

That he would be her first love was magical, but knowing in complete certainty that she was not his bruised her heart and all it once she felt a cold hand clutching at it violently, stopping it from beating right there.

“I…” she eventually began, him squeezing her hand kept her steady. She focussed on the twinge of pain that it caused her wounded nerves, instead of the pain ripping her chest apart. It was a selfish feeling, truly. He was older, he'd had a life and she knew it. She knew this from the moment they met. So why did it sting so? “I know you do…” she said mistakenly - she turned to face him with a smile and a masked expression upon her face as if it was okay, and that she understood - even if everything inside was the opposite. “I know she must have been wonderful too…”

“No, no, Raelynn,” Gregor said after looking up and he shook his head, trying to guess what she was thinking. His cheeks were wet with tears. “I did. After I read the journals my father left behind and I learned of the Sibassius family curse, as it were, I did not tell her anything either. She was a lot like you,” he stammered and laughed. “So, yes, wonderful. But she would not have understood what I was setting out to do, nor would she have accepted it. You’re different. Leaving her without so much as a note was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was… necessary,” he said with finality and nodded to himself. “In my darkest nights, I wondered if I was wrong, but… well, what’s done is done. She would have stopped waiting for me years and years ago.”

He looked up at the ceiling and sniffled, questioning if he was doing the right thing, looking for mercy from gods he did not believe in. “Her name was Briar.”

What Alim had said now made sense to her a woman like me is different to her… True or not, it was the winding path that insecurity and self-consciousness were dragging her down. Still, she remained graceful in her posture, in the way that she touched him, in the way she smiled. She did not for one second stop touching him. She couldn't, it was too late for that. She would not show Gregor what she was thinking, not now. She would show him only dignity. She could barely hear him against the thundering sound of her own heart in her chest. But she heard the name, and instantly offered him a smile when he shared it; “like a wild rose,” she remarked, feeling the thorns of that rose cut her deep.

That prompted a smile in return. “My mother said the exact same thing,” Gregor said and squeezed Raelynn’s hand. “I didn’t mean to spoil your mood. I tell you these things now, my dear, because I think you should know them. You deserve to know about my past and about the decisions that I’ve made, to know who I am. No, sorry, who I was. You already know who I am today.”

“You haven't spoiled my mood.” Raelynn said with warmth, pulling him to her again, placing a kiss on his forehead this time. “I know that…” She thought of her words carefully, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck as she did so, “I am not as experienced in life as you, but I'm trying to understand you because… Because you're right, it is important to know all of who you are.” With one more long breath she tried to let Briar go from her own thoughts, to return herself to Gregor fully. She couldn't stand to think of him seeing her weak or hurt anymore, Gilane had been so hard in so many ways, this was just another thing that she would have to let go of. She gripped Gregor tighter and smiled at him, arching a brow playfully in his direction, “I was almost married myself you know…” she quipped, just wanting him to smile.

That caught Gregor by surprise. His smile turned into a grin as he processed this revelation. “I should have known I wasn’t the first to pursue you,” he said and playfully elbowed Raelynn in her side. The monsoon had passed; the walls had been knocked down and he had survived. He wiped his own cheeks dry first and then did the same for Raelynn. “Tell me that story.”

She closed her eyes and pictured her would-be groom and smirked, “it's a short story I'm afraid. My parents tried to arrange for me to wed a butcher boy named Lazenne.” Her hands found their way from his neck to the centre point of his back between his shoulder blades where she began to draw circles and lines as she spoke. “He was, rather bland and so I refused. The end.” She began to laugh at how ridiculous it must sound - he had shared such a beautifully rich story and this was all she had to regale him with. “In hindsight, I don't believe they were serious and I do believe this was their last ditch effort to have me on my way out of the family home.”

“So cruel,” Gregor chuckled and his eyelids fluttered as he enjoyed the sensation of Raelynn’s fingers on his back. “How long was that before you did leave?” His eyes shot open and he suddenly looked concerned, like a man who had been caught doing something improper. “I just realized I don’t really know how you ended up in Cyrodiil in the first place.”

“Hmmm" she began to think about it, making note of Gregor's enjoyment of her touch, and so she scratched a little harder in the spot and let her hands travel lower. “It was about eight years ago, actually. I took myself to the College of Winterhold and studied there for some time. Eventually I grew bored of the stuffy walls and well… I lived in Skyrim until just mere months ago when the winds of change and ambition blew me into Cyrodiil.” She freed her hand from his and waved it around, as if to mimic her floating on a breeze from Skyrim to The Imperial City. “So much has happened since then, I almost feel like it's been years since I left…”

“Tell me about it,” Gregor mumbled and slowly wrapped his arms around Raelynn’s waist, rubbing her spine with his thumbs. He moved in closer and his lips found hers and he kissed her with all the love and tenderness he could muster, trying to convey through touch alone that Briar was just a memory and Raelynn was all he wanted. “You still taste like moon sugar,” he whispered and laughed.

She pressed her forehead to his, and brushed her fingers over his lips gently. With her eyes closed she blacked out all other thoughts and let herself feel every touch he placed on her skin. She found herself speechless - something that was happening more and more where Gregor was concerned. She had no moon sugar to give him, but she knew of other ways to help him see the stars.




The festivities had gone on for a long while as Latro watched from his seat, easy and contented smile playing about on his lips. It warmed him so much to see everybody amongst each other, old faces and new talking up a hubbub among the room that was cacophonous in the best way. Laughs, smiles, loving caresses, it reminded him of good days spent with Francis and the travels he’d had to meet his many interesting friends.

One thing remained to be said though, there was an elephant in the room. It was the very reason that until now, he had kept himself from mingling with the others. At every point he caught sight of Calen, it brought back the memories of the safehouse raid. The terrifying fight, the hasty and bloody retreat. How he’d had to dig Calen’s blood from under his fingernails and how it tainted the water red when he bathed the first time after the mission. The feeling of it still wet on his skin and damp in his clothing, the way his shirt stuck to him before it dried and flaked off with the itching.

To think hard words over a disagreement could have very well been Calen’s last memories of him. His only impression of Latro to be someone so quick to condemn someone out of spite for their views that weren’t so different from his own in all honesty. He finally rose from his seat, approaching the man in question until he stood before him, clearing his throat sheepishly before speaking equally as such, “Calen. I’d like to talk, if you’ll have it.”

Calen was sitting at a table and was caught off guard in the midst of his daydreaming, and looked up with surprise to see Latro looming over him. He stammered, “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Please sit.”

The night had been somewhat uneasy for him. Usually he was the life of the party, the one jumping on top of the table and belting out a drinking song or two having the time of his life. Now, he was just filled with aches and pains he thought were supposed to have been cured. He felt exhausted despite the fact his last few days were spent resting. Even the champagne, even as delightful as it was, didn’t taste nearly as good as the water did. He spent all night watching the others instead, occasionally finding a moment to feel like his old self again, such as singing a few verses with Alim or sharing stories with Shakti -- but shortly after, he’d find himself grappling with his own mortality again. Watching everyone enjoy life, he realized that he was a hair’s breadth of away from not being able to see or experience any of it again.

With all this on his mind, he felt like he needed an outlet. He felt like he needed a way to express how haunted he felt, but instead, he looked at Latro and asked, “How are you enjoying the party?”

Latro chuckled half-heartedly in the midst of Calen’s gaze, all at once both jubilant, wistful, and grim. It reminded him too much of Raelynn, too much of himself at one or another point in his life. To see the carefree man now haunted by too many things to care about, it was as if his last hope in his own chance of being the easygoing, run-of-the-mill traveling bard had died with Calen’s eyes. Such was life amidst this Dwemer business, he supposed. He raised his glass of champagne and drank the last of it, “I’m enjoying it well enough.” He said simply, words going unsaid playing across his face, perhaps betraying themselves to the other man. Instead, he listened to the other part of himself, the one that wanted to pretend that this was just a party for the sake of friends coming together, and not what it really was. Or at least felt like to Latro, “What of you? I saw you with Alim, I’d have liked to join but, um,” He threw the thought of not wanting to ruin Calen’s time by butting himself into it over his shoulder, “I was busy talking amongst some others.”

He could feel the weight in his chest with every word that wasn’t the most heartfelt apology he could muster until it felt as if his ribs would implode into themselves. Anxiety set his leg to bouncing and his lip to getting chewed until he finally just threw it out onto the air, “I’m sorry, you know.” He began, finally getting the courage to look Calen in the eye, “I should’ve visited you.”

“Why should you have?” Calen casually remarked. There was a hint of humor in his voice, though his eyes were aimed away from Latro’s. “The room reeked like antiseptics.”

After a brief moment of awkward silence, Calen continued, finally taking Latro’s sentiment seriously, “Don’t worry about. I… I understand why if you don’t like me. You and the others have lost a lot, and I… I don’t know, I would probably feel differently if we traded places.”

Latro smiled crooked at that, nodding his head, “Maybe you would.” He said, shrugging, “I know what I said to you, I remember how I felt saying it and after everything. I felt like I owed it to you to come visit you in your room.”

Latro looked at the ground, idly flexing his fists before he spoke again, “Truth be told, I don’t hate you. I don’t even dislike you. I know everything that’s happened so far has been a shock to you, I know it wasn’t a leisurely time for me. I’m sorry for the way we started out.”

Latro offered his hand to Calen, “As long as you’re with us, you’re a friend of mine.” Latro had his easy smile, but his eyes told of different feelings, “If you’ll have me, of course. I don’t know many people that would do what you did for me during the raid. Thank you.”

The Nord looked up and gave him a half-hearted smile as he clasped his hand around his. He replied, “Even after almost… well, dying -- it’s still weird to think about and hear myself saying it -- I can’t really say that I, well… feel any differently. Maybe you’d call it a weak heart, but… I still believe there could’ve been a better way. I believe that there still is a better way.”
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2nd Midyear, Afternoon

The street was in a state of quiet business. It was mid-afternoon, so many people were working, though Anifaire watched a few hurry about other errands from shop to shop along the street. She reclined on the bench; it was one down the street from the inn, but still in sight if she leaned. It was a comfortable space she'd started frequenting since their arrival in Gilane. The day before, she'd felt nervous as she sat there, trying to relax, but each time a Dwemer passed, she felt as though they knew her part in the prison raid, and she squirmed. She'd returned to the inn room, defeated, and slept away most of the day. The mission had been exhausting in a way she still wasn't used to.

Under her arm was a small bag, inside some parchment and ink, which she’d purchased with the last of her coins. In the back of her mind, she wondered where she would get money again, but for the time being she tried to put it out of her mind. Perhaps with the letters she intended to write, she could gain some funds, even if it took a long time to arrive. No one seemed interested in dealing with Thalmor bank accounts at the time being, so she’d have to go directly to her parents if she wanted family money.

But that wasn’t why she had decided to write home. No, that was because of the thought in the back of her mind which she couldn’t fight off since the Imperial City: her family must think her dead in the Dwemer attack. The image of her mother’s devastated face crossed her mind and she frowned. Parchment was expensive, but she couldn’t wait any longer. They’d soon give up on expecting to hear from her.

She had only two pieces of parchment, so she sat, her leg folded up as a table and her quill hovering over the page, for quite some time, trying to decide what to write.

Anifaire didn’t know what to tell them.

She considered the things she needed to tell them about: the Expedition; the attack on the Imperial City; the banks refusing her; staying with the group into Gilane, which is occupied by Dwemer.

But they weren't the only things she wanted to say. There was more: about a Khajiit who was leading the group; or, a strange Argonian who also does Alteration magic; or perhaps kind Nanine and Brynja; or... Alim. She considered their reactions to these tidings, and knew they wouldn't care about the details of this groups' lives. It wouldn't be a priority.

Her mother was going to worry when she received the tidings, but hopefully she would just be glad of Anifaire's survival. She wondered if they were going to demand she return home, because she had realized recently that she didn't want to yet.

Pondering over the sorts of things she couldn't say to them, Anifaire finally scribbled a few sentences on the page. Idly, she thought about her elven dagger, once a gift from her parents, now lost somewhere in the Imperial City. She didn't miss it, exactly; it had gotten her strange looks on occasion. Still, she felt like her father would be upset it was misplaced. She wrote out the last few lines of the letter. It had been so long since she'd last put a quill to paper.

The letter was difficult to write. It felt as though she'd forgotten how to talk to her parents, and each word was difficult to formulate. She kept the letter concise, thinking that at the least they would know she's alive.

She leaned back on the bench, the letter finished, idly toying with the fabric of her new clothes. She smiled, thinking of Alim buying it with a stolen jewel. She could hardly believe he'd really stolen it from someone, but the idea made her laugh a little bit. It seemed like something out of a book.

The Altmer watched as a Dwemer idled by, not a guard, just a regular Dwemer woman, purchasing foods from a Redguard vendor. It was a fascinating sight she'd never thought she'd see in her life, however simple the interaction. She'd never expected to find modern cultures as interesting as she did historical ones - research in those areas was negligible in the Dominion - but somehow, she did. Yes, she thought. I like Gilane.
Dear Father and Mother,

My apologies for the delay in writing to you. I have been through a tumultuous series of events.

The events began when I signed on with an expedition into a Dwemer ruin. After the expedition ended, I returned to the Imperial City in the company of the rest of the expedition group, and when the city was attacked, I was able to flee with the help of the same group, specifically an Altmer named Durantel has been helpful in watching out for me.

From there, we ended up in Anvil for several days. While I was there, the bank refused to honor my signet ring and I was left without funds. I stayed with this group and I am now in Gilane, which is under the control of a Dwemer faction.

I am safe and it seems that so long as I remain with the expedition group, I have been able to eat and have a bed to sleep on. Still, any help you could provide with the banks would be helpful.

Please pass on my greetings and well wishes to Saurelar and Valisara. How is Cirendar?


The bottom of the letter was signed 'Anifaire Mirlinde' in nearly illegible handwriting, and across the front of the sealed letter, the destination was printed: Aronar Mirlinde, Alinor, Summerset Isles.
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Mortarion

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Courtyard Admissions


5th of Midyear, Early Morning
Three Crowns Inn, Courtyard

After leaving the conference room in which Daro’Vasora’s party had been hosted, Jaraleet hadn’t wasted time and had gone looking after Meg. Her sudden departure from the party had him worried, it seemed something utterly uncharacteristic of the Meg that he knew, and luckily, thanks to the help of a few of the Poncy Man’s employees that were still up, he had managed to easily locate Meg in the courtyard of the inn. He stood paralyzed for a few seconds, still not noticed by the Nord woman, as he wondered what to do. He wasn’t the best at approaching sensible topics, his chat with Raelynn back at the party had made that rather abundantly clear, and as such indecision paralyzed him as his mind thought about what to do.

In the end, he decided to clear his throat loud enough to catch Meg’s attention. “Are you ok Meg? I noticed your...sudden departure from the conference room and I was worried.” The Argonian said, opting to breach the topic at hand head on, as he slowly approached the Nord woman, his mind still unsure if what he was doing was the right thing.

Meg had been sitting on a low wall that closed in a few exotic trees, simply taking in the fresh night air as she watched the fountains nearby. Her talk with Gregor had her feeling all sorts of wrong, and she didn't know where one started and the other ended. It wasn't just confusing, but the assault of guilt at multiple things as well as not even finding out what she had wanted to made her feel like a failure.

She looked up when she heard the familiar voice; it was clear from the streaks on her face and her slightly swollen eyes that tears had been shed in private. "Oh... Jaraleet." Managing to crack a ghost of a smile, she scooted to the side, just in case the argonian wished to sit down as well.

"I..." Averting her gaze, she looked to the ground, ashamed but also scared he would get angry. "I'm sorry... I... I talked t'him."

It didn’t take too long for Jaraleet to figure who Meg meant when she said that she had talked to him. Gregor. She had spoken to Gregor in spite of what he had told her. Part of him was angry, angry of what this might mean come the future, but the sight of Meg’s tear stricken face made that feeling quickly evaporate. “It’s fine.” He said in the end, letting out a soft sigh.

He moved to the spot where she was sitting and moved to join her. “What happened?” He asked her softly once he had sat on the spot that Meg had made for him. “Is he the reason why you left so suddenly?”

Meg managed to lift her gaze from the ground so that instead rock she was now looking in the argonian's direction... barely. She was relieved; even though she knew he had a right to be angry with her for breaking his trust and doing what she told him she wouldn't. Even just thinking about that caused her mouth to quiver and her eyes to sting.

"I left... I jus' didn' know what t'say anymore. His words... They're... They jus' made my mind confused. He kept tellin' me about you... An' that I shouldn' think badly of you... But... I never- I told him I knew you didn'-" She grasped for words, struggling to make sense but not being able to, and it had her feeling not just frustrated but dimwitted as well. "I should've listened t'ya." Her voice cracked and she looked back down again. "I'm sorry, Jaraleet."

Jaraleet listened in silence, slightly taken aback by the confusion, by the hurt, in Meg’s voice. “By Sithis, what kind of mind games did you play with her Gregor.” The Argonian thought, mentally cursing the Imperial in a brief fit of anger. “It's fine Meg, what's done is done.” He said in the end, letting out a sigh. “I'm more worried about you right now.” He said softly, moving slightly closer to the Nord woman and placing one hand on her shoulder hoping that the act would, at least, bring her a measure of comfort.

Why was he being nice to her? It was like that day in the training gym, except she was the one who messed up this time. She didn't know if she was just too tired or mentally drained or perhaps all the alcohol she had drunk was still affecting her, but Meg couldn't take it any longer, breaking out into quiet sobs as she hid her face in her hands. Shoulders shuddering, she tried to stop herself, even gasping in her attempts to, but it seemed the dam that was her heart had finally broken.

When Meg finally started crying, all thoughts going in Jaraleet’s mind suddenly stopped as he tried, in vain, to think of something that might comfort the grief-stricken Nord woman. In the end, as his mind continued to refuse to provide an answer, Jaraleet moved the arm he had placed on Meg’s shoulder previously so that he was now holding her shuddering form, pulling her a little closer and hoping that, somehow, that'd be enough.

For a split second Meg stiffened, but in the next moment she turned into the hug, still hiding her face though it was against the argonian. It had been a very long time since she had cried like this, perhaps even over a year. By the time she was through she felt rather drained and empty, though not necessarily in a bad way.

She finally moved back; looking at the damp mark on the argonian's shirt, she felt a little embarrassed. "Uh... sorry. Yer shirt's wet..."

A split moment of worry crossed Jaraleet's mind when he felt Meg stiffen after he had hugged her, but he relaxed when he felt the Nord woman turning into the hug. He smiled softly at her, shaking his head slightly, when she apologized for crying into his shirt. “It doesn't matters, don't worry.” He told her softly.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked her softly, concern in his voice. “You know you can talk to me about what happened, right?”

Meg nodded, scooting a little closer to the argonian and resting her head against him despite the wetness from her tears. She didn't think he'd mind seeing his arm was still around her, and if she was being honest with herself, she wanted the closeness and comfort. "Aye... I know I can," she replied. "An' I am feelin' a li'l better... thank you."

She was quiet for a little moment before finally letting out a breath. "He said he was the las' one there, with Nblec... he was s'posed t'take off the shackles? An' that Nblec just... died. Like... he was weak hearted an' whatever y'did t'him was why he died." She tilted her head so that she could see his face. "It was like... he wanted me t'think it was yer fault. Oh- an' he said y'both had talked 'bout it."

“I'm glad to hear that Meg.” He replied when she said that she felt a little better, smiling towards the Nord woman. He didn't mind when she moved a little closer, albeit he wasn't expecting her to rest head against him but, in the end, it didn't bother him. He fell silent as she continued to talk, a frown drawing on his face as Meg mentioned how it seemed like Gregor wanted her to think it was his fault.

Seems like I'll have to have a chat with him again.” The Argonian thought as Meg mentioned that Gregor had spoken about the chat they had about Nblec’s death. “We had a talk about it, yes. There were a few things that made me wary….but nothing truly conclusive.” He said to her, shaking his head slightly. There were still many things he didn't know about why Gregor had killed Nblec, but the Haj-Eix was determined to find out the reason behind the actions of their unpredictable Imperial comrade.

“I'm guessing it was what he said that made you feel like this?” He asked her softly, concern once more in his voice and a look of worry on his face as he waited for Meg’s replies.

"Yes an' no," was Meg's reply. It was hard to explain, but she felt she needed to make the effort- Jaraleet deserved that much, seeing how concerned he was. "It's ... when I went t'speak with him... I was gonna tell him I thought it was him, an' that he wasn' right puttin' the blame on you ... but I didn' even get t'that." She looked at her hands, remembering how tightly they had gripped her knees. "His words... the way he spoke... He wasn' mean or cruel, nothin’ like that- it was almost nice. It jus' made whatever I was thinkin' feel so stupid. Like, I knew nothin' 'bout anythin'. I jus' felt stupid, a li'l girl who knows nothin' 'bout the world.

"An' maybe he's right." She sighed softly before continuing. "He said that you'd want t'keep things hidden from me t'keep my innocence intact." Like I'm a wee child. "Is that true?"

Jaraleet listened in silence as Meg spoke, letting out a soft sigh when she mentioned that Gregor had said that he'd want to keep things hidden from her so as to preserve her innocence intact. “No, it's not exactly that. I'm not sure how to explain it….” He said, closing his eyes and falling silent shortly afterwards.

The seconds of silence stretched by and when Jaraleet next opened his eyes, there was a distant look to them. As if his eyes weren't looking at the courtyard of the inn but rather at some other, distant, place. “I do not speak of those things not because I believe you are some innocent child Meg….it's just, they are things best left not known.” He said, shaking his head slightly. “The things I've seen...that I've done, they could destroy people. They aren't things that I wished to learn, to have to do, but I just...had to.” He said finally, unconsciously pulling Meg just a bit closer as he closed his eyes again as if to ground himself in the moment.

"I get ya, honest." She glanced at him; the look on his face made her stomach clench and heart ache. What could have happened to him to make him seem so... vulnerable right now? It almost reminded her of her father and his refusal to speak of his days as a soldier. She hadn't been as considerate towards him as she was being towards Jaraleet though.

Meg reached out and took hold of his free hand, squeezing it a little as she spoke, the earnest look on her face matching her voice. "An'... I get that you'll pro'ly havta do what y'do again... not 'cause you wan' to, but because it has t'be done. The world's just like that, ain' it?"

“Yes, it's unfortunate, but that's how the world is.” Jaraleet replied finally, nodding to Meg’s words. “Thank you...for understanding.” He said softly, managing the ghost of a smile before he closed his eyes again and let his head rest back against the nearby wall. He just felt so tired all of a sudden. Maybe it was all the drinking throughout the night, or maybe it was the conversation he just had with Meg but, in that moment, Jaraleet suddenly felt so very tired.

“I should be the one thankin’ you,” Meg replied, smiling as well, though it wavered when she saw how tired the argonian looked. Another pang of guilt twisted at her- she had caused him worry and concern. And yet… she was also happy. It felt nice that somebody cared about her enough to worry like that. “Y’came all the way out here just t’see if I was doin’ okay. I’m lucky t’have someone like you around.”

With that said, she gave his hand one last squeeze before carefully letting go. “Y’look tired… you should sleep. Me too, truth be told. Mara knows it’s been a long day.”

“There’s no need to thank me Meg, I’m just glad that I was able to help you.” He said, smiling at the Nord woman as she squeezed his hand yet again. “Though, you are probably correct in that we should go to sleep.” He added, letting out a soft sigh. The mention of sleep reminded him of the upcoming day, of the mission that he was to undertake with Gregor for Salasoix.

“Come, shall we go to our respective rooms? I can accompany you to your room if you’d like?” Jaraleet offered.

Meg finally stood up from her seat on the wall, stretching out her arms before quickly stifling a yawn. "Soun's like a good idea," she replied with a sheepish laugh. "Hrmm... next time y'see me with a bottle in m'hand, do me a favour an' snatch it away real quick, eh?" Saying that, she reached out with her hand, not that he'd actually need help off the wall.

“Duly noted.” He replied to Meg’s comment, laughing, before he took her offered hand and then stood up from his spot against the wall. “Come, let’s go.” He said once he was standing up, making his way out of the courtyard. Soon enough they were in front of the room that they had been assigned to back when they first had arrived in Gilane and met with the Poncy Man. “And here we are.” The Argonian said, turning his back to the door so as to look at the Nord woman. “Goodnight Meg and, hey, if you feel….like that again, come and talk to me, ok?” Jaraleet said, speaking the last few words before his mind could process them.

Meg blinked at him before smiling. "Aye, I will." She had learned in the last couple of days that with some people it was best to keep quiet, but with others, it made a big difference to speak what was on one’s mind. Even if others thought negatively of him, Meg wasn't about to let their views mar what she thought or felt for Jaraleet. One mistake was enough.

"Thanks, an' you sleep well too." She gave him one last hug before opening the door and heading into the room.

“Good, good.” Jaraleet replied, smiling at Meg. He was surprised when the Nord woman hugged him but he quickly returned the embrace, nodding when she wished him a good night of sleep. “Thank you Meg.” The Argonian said as she returned to her room. Left alone, his mind quickly returned to its usual state and then it hit him what he had just told Meg.

He had told her to come to him if she ever felt like that again and he didn’t regret his words, and yet he couldn’t quite piece what had prompted him to say that. He frowned slightly to himself and began to make his way towards the room that had been assigned to him. He had a lot to think about, ranging from Judena’s words to him to the conversation that had transpired between him and Meg in the aftermath of the party. He had the sinking sensation that, for the first time in a long time, he’d have trouble falling asleep.
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Old Ghosts...


4th of Midyear, 4e208
Gilane, Hammerfell

Smoldering Bridges, Soot Fingers...




The Indrik was like all the ships in the Dominion navy dating back to even before Tiber Septim. Resplendent in glory, adorned with banners of coats-of-arms of the captains all the way back to the first. It had sailed the seas longer than most men had lived, holding true against the years just as well as against tempests and rogue waves and boarding parties. Tonight, it was Gilane’s honor to have her make port in its harbor. A couple guards with the misfortune of drawing the shortest straws for nightwatch sat on the topdeck, sharing a bottle of wine. They had been laughing about something or other for the past hour now. So hard and so drunkenly, that neither of them noticed the dark mass that silently slipped into the ship’s underbelly through the hatch in the deck.

Moving like solidified shadow, the crew slept soundly over his footfalls. One roaming crew member had the misfortune of wandering into his path. Dumbfounded, he locked eyes with the Khajiit. The hazel eyes were level with his own, cold, flat. That was the last thing he saw before a flash of movement and then all was void.

Sevari had prepared himself months in advance for this mission. Going over the overarching goal of the operation, going through his compartmented section of the entirety of the Penitus Oculatus’ mission here, and completely fixated on this single night. Emissary Syintar’s father had been one of the Thalmor responsible for the death of his brothers back in Elsweyr, ordering the Bhaanu Sasra assassination and the public display of their bodies, bloated and stinking from the lamp-post in front of the local tea shop they had all favored as a meeting spot after assignments that would have them going abroad.

It was a message to Sevari and Suffian. A message, those long years ago, that if they knew what was good for them they would leave forever or be killed brutally and savagely. It was Sevari’s turn to see Fangalto Syintar drop to his knees at the sight of his son’s naked and gutted form swaying in the breeze of a Gilane street. Called from his home in Alinor to Hammerfell just to drop to his knees and plead the Gods for mercy on his son’s soul. To bear the weight of a father who had to bury his son, and not the other way around, until he joined his wife in the next plane at the end of Sevari’s blade.

It was a thought that set Sevari’s lips to smiling for the first time in a very long time as he stalked the halls of the ship, the creaking of the wood hull rocking with the night tides lending an ambience to the scene. Finally, at the end of a long hallway, the gilded doors to Erincaro’s chambers. Always one for opulence and splendor were the Altmer. Sevari took a step forward before he heard the door opening from the other end of the hall, and then a few high laughs, kept quiet like two giggling child crushes not wanting to wake anyone. Sevari leaned out of his hiding spot and squinted, seeing Erincaro tip-toe out of his room with a Khajiit in tow, both of their heads of hair mussied up.




It was an unconventional, and somewhat taboo, relationship that had the seeds planted when she was very young and first conscripted into the military academy where Erincaro had been one of the instructors, teaching military history and diplomacy in lieu of martial prowess. The young Khajiit had taken well to her training; already a scrappy fighter from her time on the streets, having a warm bed and three proper meals a day revitalized the young girl in ways that broke morale on the other cadets. She blossomed into a rather striking young woman, with amber eyes and a chocolate coat of fur and an ornately braided mane atop her crown, the Khajiit had grown powerful and decisive, favouring a greatsword above other weapons and becoming one of the academy’s most promising students.

The Altmer had forgotten when their forbidden attraction came into fruition. Perhaps it was the late nights speaking of literature, her willingness to take on other lessons, a mutual appreciation for one another’s people. Although he was a member of the Thalmor, it was more for political clout than sharing a worldview with the more mainline party members; Erincaro loved the Aldmeri Dominion, and although he came from a refined upbringing, his heart always yearned for the wild lands and people of the Altmer’s princinpal allies, the Bosmer and the Khajiit. They were new, exotic, and the more he was stationed in Valenwood, Anequina, or Pelletine, he grew to appreciate them even more. It was so much more exciting than the boring class hierarchy of Summerset, and the obsession with perfection and the trite propaganda decrying the races of men as wrongful usurpers to the natural order; he discovered among the rest of the Dominion a sense of joy and wonder that he often tried to share with his fellow Altmer, to various degrees of success.

So when he came across a scrawny girl fending off a half dozen trained and armoured guards after they caught her stealing food, he knew that she was going to be something special.

And so she was. Now she was 38 years old and an accomplished infantry commander and now personal bodyguard at his request for this particular assignment, she had given the Dominion as much as it had given her, and even her Thalmor superiors respected her capability and capacity for duty, as well as begrudgingly tolerated her lack of deference towards political machinations. She simply could not be bothered with anyone unless they proved their worth in a tangible way; for someone who was born on the streets, someone who grew up with a silver spoon lodged up their ass didn’t entitle them to respect. Their ability to get things done did.

They were a kindred set of spirits, he knew. For a while, it had been a hush hush romance, behind the scenes as if it were shameful, but as word got out and repercussions were not severe, it became an openly known thing that they were an item, and they crew of the Indrik didn’t suffer for it.

“Feeling better after your failed meeting with the governor?” she asked him, trying to tidy up her hair as she walked. Her stupidly large sword was a constant companion, even to the bed chamber, and a dagger was strapped to her waist. He knew she was equally proficient with both.

“Oh, perhaps a few more nights of this, my love.” he snickered and leaned in for a kiss, which she returned. “We just have to act in good faith until she sees our intentions are sound.”

“Hopefully sooner, rather than later. I’d like to stretch my legs and see something other than the docks.” the Khajiit mused, stretching out a kink in her arms.

“Well, I must retire for now to compiling my report.” The Altmer rolled his eyes. “I’ve put it off for far too long. Rendezvous in an hour or so?”

“Agreed. I’ll be topside, the night air will be good, I think.” she said, heading down the hallway, and leaving Erincaro to his work.




Sevari sat and waited for the small commotion to die down. Perhaps for longer than he would have if he hadn’t heard something familiar in that Khajiit’s voice. He had a job to do, this night was years and years in the making. Finally, he pried himself from his hiding spot after he heard the doors to Erincaro’s chambers click shut. Noiselessly, he bounded down the hall, assisted by a muffle spell. Now, he stood before the door to his goal here. It would only take a turn of the handle and then a few seconds to slit Erincaro’s throat at his desk. But that Khajiit. He felt a wrenching at his heart the more he thought on where he’d heard that voice before. He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding against each other as his hand hovered over the handle of Erincaro’s door.

Only a few centimeters more and this could all be set in motion. His revenge here in Hammerfell would be underway. He lay his hand on the handle and breathed a sigh onto the stagnant air of the ship’s halls.




The night air was cool, and above, no clouds marred the brilliant night display of stars and gassy clouds far up in Aetherius that captured the Khajiit’s imagination as she leaned against the gunwale, staring wistfully at the endless expanse above, much as she had done ever since she was but a cub and wishing for greater things for herself. The trip to Hammerfell, or Volenfell, the same name by different tongues, was a nice break from the usual tedium of garrison duty and long range patrols near the Cyrodiilic border. For one, she didn’t have to wear her armour all of the time, and another it was almost like a working vacation for her and Erincaro.

If they’d just let her into the city. She sighed, looking towards the dim glow of street lamps of Gilane’s streets, the province of Hammerfell a mystery to her, but an enticing one. It was like Senchal, but without the filth and reek of desperation and corruption. However, she knew it was just because of her predisposition to hating her “home”; you don’t grow up a starving orphan and have fond memories of waking up in the gutter.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” A voice came from behind her.

Turning around with her blade at the ready, the length of it resting on her arm, the Khajiit faced the voice that came out of the dark. She didn’t recognize it as one of her crewmates, and it was certainly a peculiar question to ask.

She took in the face of the newcomer, an Ohmes-raht with a shaggy head of hair and tired eyes. No weapons were held at the ready, but he was dressed almost like the locals.

“Everyone’s someone to somebody. You’re trespassing, stranger.” She replied coolly, staring suspiciously at the face. There was something familiar about it, but her mind wasn’t lighting up.

“I don’t blame you, Marassa.” Sevari’s voice almost faltered at saying her name, knowing what he saw. She was in such love with the son of the man who’d ordered his brothers slaughtered, not even like lambs. Like pests. It didn’t make him hate her, oddly. It made him want to just give it all up and sink back to nothingness. “Your brother didn’t recognize me at first either.”

A long and slow blink crossed her eyes and the blade faltered for a moment; memories of a lifetime ago came rushing back. The boy she loved as a girl, now a man, and in Hammerfell of all places.

Wait… brother?

“Sevari?” she spoke the word, as if remembering what it sounded like, the entire situation seemed impossible, stupid even. There was no way this was real. “This is a long time coming. No visit, no card? ” she asked sarcastically, the scorn came naturally to her; it was like when they had first met. Her face contorted into a scowl when she saw her necklace she gave him so long ago. “So, you held onto it after all these years. Here I was thinking you feared commitment so you ditched me without a word. Why are you here, what is this about my brother?” she demanded.

Sevari looked away from her, almost in shame as he rolled his shoulders back in a vain effort to hide the necklace. After all the things he did to try to stay true to his family despite the things he was forced into, it was thrown in his face. If he were a younger Khajiit, perhaps he would’ve met her anger. But he only shook his head, “He also had the same scorn.”

“I didn’t believe him, you know, the first time he told me about how far you’d gone.” Sevari said, “I know you’re angry, I know you hate me. I just wanted to see if it was really you.”

And at this time? He chided himself, so unprofessional when vengeance was so close, the thing he wanted most in life, the thing he thirsted for, starved for, tossed in his dreams about. But looking at the bridges burnt, looking at what he sowed, right in the eyes and having it stare him down.

For some reason, hearing the same anger and resentment from Marassa hurt that bit more than from Zaveed, as shameful and wrong as it was. “Why him?” He whispered out. “Of all people?”

Marassa scoffed at him. “Oh, was I supposed to stay single and celibatete in case you returned to me? We were bloody children, Sevari; you being upset at my choice of lovers is just pathetic. I found a kindred soul and turned what could have been a terrible situation into an actual life, is that what you're jealous of? That I made something of myself?” she tossed her arm out and bashed it into her chest. “You wanted to know if it was me? Well here I am. Life moves on, Sevari; maybe you should have stopped dwelling in the past.”

“A fucking Altmer.” He grit his teeth, “You two have changed so much, your brother and you. I don’t blame you for finding another lover. To be honest, Marassa,” he sighed, feeling all too sheepish at all this, “I’m happy. But not about him. His father killed my brothers.”

“I shouldn’t have even talked to you.” He shook his head, “My only regret is if I don’t do this tonight, there will be others coming for him, your Knife-Ear.”

“For what it’s worth, I was going to kill him even before I knew you two were involved.” He breathed in and then out slowly, feeling the familiar tingling numbness of a mage armor spell envelope him.

The sword was held at the ready. “Oh, so you became an assassin. Isn't that charming.” she replied, beginning to pivot herself toward the door that led below deck. “I shout, you die. You cannot judge a man for the crimes another commit, but thanks for the warning. I guess I'll have more assassins to put down when the time comes.” she stood her ground, her stance lowering. “Do not make me kill you, Sevari. It would put quite the damper on our reunion.”

“It was ruined when I knew you liked Knife-Ears. You always did have a knack for being angry at almost everything that comes across your path. We were so alike.” He scowled, forgoing the drawing of his own blade.

He wouldn’t kill his old love, but what were a few bruises if she was so set on doing her job. He felt like a fucking child letting resentment like this grip him with such steadfastness, but there was a job that needed doing, “Shout, then. This isn’t my first time facing down shit odds.”

“This is your first time facing me. You won’t like those odds.” Marassa promised. She shook her head, annoyed. “You know, this wasn’t how I pictured our reunion going. I thought you, Zaveed, and myself would meet up one day, and laugh like we were young because of all of the divergent insanity our lives became. Who do you work for?”

“Oh, trust me, I thought the same before I found out you were fucking the son of my brothers’ killer.” He spat, “Sometimes life gives you the shit roads. I’ll tell you this much about why mine has brought me here, my friends don’t like yours.”

“Some friends, you look pretty lonely and you’re moping about a girl you ditched decades ago. You sure this isn’t just a suicide mission? It looks like the only thing you cared about is what happened to your brothers so very long ago. I’m telling you, Erincaro isn’t his father. Don’t be an idiot, Sevari; I do not wish to kill you.” She replied tersely. “Wouldn’t you rather spend more time making snide comments about my life choices like I give a shit about what you think? A much more productive use of both of our time than me bisecting you.”

“I’ve had a lot of people tell me they were going to be my killer.” Sevari threw his hands out beside him, shrugging, “Sevari yet lives, unless I’m his ghost. Either way, I could give a shit if Fangalto’s son was a choir boy in a temple. He’s a means to an end.”

“Lower your blade,” he said, putting a hand out, “If I wanted Erincaro dead tonight you would’ve slipped into his chambers and cuddled a gutted man. I saw you and I wanted to know the woman you’d become.” He looked her up and down in her clothes, strong like she always was but beauty had replaced her adorableness as a child, “It seems the Dominion even took my street family. I’ll tell it like I told your brother, the Bhaanu Sasra didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye. For what it’s worth, and probably shit all to you as it’s been for your brother, I would’ve never left you if it was my choice. We wouldn’t be eyeing each other’s blades.”

“Fuck the Bhaanu Sasra and fuck you, Sevari. You don’t get to decide that you felt bad about leaving us, leaving me, and not even doing anything. Shout, kick at us, wake us up. We thought you died, and until tonight, I accepted that. Look at where I am now; I was actually given a life by this Dominion you hate so much, and here you are threatening the family that took me in when you left me. It’s your loss, Sevari, not mine.” Marassa shot back caustically, reluctantly lowering her sword. Her hand clenched into a fist before she released her tension. “So, my brother, huh? Is he here, too?”

“I doubt you’d like what he’s become, either.” Sevari shook his head, “But at least you two are on the same side. He’s not the sweet boy anymore but who of any of us can say we’re still what we were back in Senchal?”

“He’s a whoring, sadistic, ruthless prick of a man but I’m still trying to be his brother through all of this.” Sevari said before he continued, voice heavy, “But that’s never going to be an option for us two, is it?”

“I met him six years ago for the first time since I was arrested, actually. He’s all of what you said, and more. Our duties took us separate ways, but he actually made an attempt to find me again… he just needed his own ship before that was feasible.” She extended out her hand to him. “Come on, let’s end this. Give me a chance to prove to you that I’m in a better place and this fool’s errand you’re on can die. It took me time to get over you being dead, so please don’t make me go through that again. We can start over, maybe not the same way, but you can actually belong somewhere. If anything we had meant anything to you, here and now, then please let this go.”

Sevari shook his head, sighing long, “You and I both know that with you is the last place I can belong.” Sevari said, looking away from her and out at sea, “The Dominion still wants me dead for murder of more than a few Thalmor, for desertion, for treason, espionage for a foreign enemy. My being with you would benefit you more if instead of a tight hug it was tight chains. At least then maybe you’d be richer for it.”

“You think we can’t get you new documents, a new life?” Marassa shot back, stepping closer to him. “And who do you think I am? I’d never turn you over, not for anything. The only reason we’re talking is because I want to get through your big, thick head of yours that what we had, some of that still matters. I can make it work. I will make it work. You just need you to say yes.”

“No.” Sevari whispered, and for the first time in years since they’d seen each other, Marassa could see wet at the edges of his eyes, “I can’t just walk away, pretend to be someone else under the thumb of my brothers’ killers. My mother’s killers, I still haven’t forgotten what they did to her.”

“So, no, Marassa.” He put a hand on the hilt of his curved Torval blade, looking at the ground and breathing heavy, “Shout if you want to.”

He didn’t give her the chance to, letting go a strong burst of magicka from his palm that coalesced into a bright magelight spell, ducking and launching himself to Marassa’s left, looking for an opening for the door below deck.

It was a trick she knew too well; she had done it enough times to shield her eyes when the first hints of white had appeared in Sevari's palm. She heard his steps rushing past, and towards the sound, she let her greatsword sink through the air. “We've been boarded!” she shouted, “To arms!”

Others who had been on the deck immediately sprung into movement, heading towards Marassa's call. She found the door below opened; time was running short. Sevari was going to murder Erincaro, and she would not tolerate the attempt.

She raced down the corridors of the ship, shouting for the sailors and marines to take up arms, and her eyes scanned the dark corners for her former lover and current murderous madman in the belly of the Indrik, praying he wasn’t already successful in his plot. There was a chance the boy she knew still existed, deep down, but all of that wouldn’t matter if he killed Erincaro. She’d see him flayed for that.

She reached the cabin at the very end where Erincaro was last seen, and he stepped out, partially armoured and a conjured sword in hand along with sparks in another. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

Marassa’s heart skipped a beat when Erincaro emerged, unscathed. “Oh, you know, ex-boyfriend got jealous and wants to murder you for your father’s crimes.” she responded flippantly, ushering him back into the door. “Stay in there, let me keep you save, as I’ve always done.”

The Altmer didn’t question any of it, although as he stepped back, he said, “You’re going to have to explain all of that to me, because this is nonsense.”

“Believe me, I know.” Marassa agreed, a ward coalescing in her hand as she took up position before the doorway. “Now shut up and don’t die, sir.”




Sevari watched them scurry about like ants from his perch. Klaxons were blaring all the while. He couldn’t believe it, to see Marassa so grown and yet so in love with a Thalmor Emissary. The son of the man who ordered his brothers killings. He shook his head, the weight of the years between his disappearance and their reunion bearing down on his shoulders. It hurt him to know that there would always be an enmity between him and Zaveed, but seeing all this made him all the more heartbroken.

It wouldn’t be good when they found out that the Emissary was not dead tonight, but not all was lost. They’d have other chances, if Sevari didn’t scare them off with this damned stupid wasted reunion. For so many years he had been the heartless professional. Adding family into the mix was breaking that from him, it seemed. He sighed once more, before disappearing back into the night. Zaveed would want to know about his sister’s whereabouts.
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Swallowed by the Ocean


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6th Midyear, 4E208, Early Evening, Gilane Commercial District…

The streets of Gilane were golden at this hour as the sun was winding down on the horizon. The ocean was ablaze with a vibrant vermillion right at its edge which faded out into oranges and golds, to yellow and then back to a lush blue. A beautiful sight that the young Breton appreciated as she stared out towards it. She had always loved sunsets and sunrises, something about the familiarity of them reminded her that the world would always keep turning, no matter what was happening on the surface. She sighed dreamily and continued on her way, parchment in one hand of a map to a warehouse, and a package she was couriering in the other.

Today she had managed to work up the effort to indulge in herself, she had bathed, had been massaged by the handmaidens of the Three Crowns, and they had even styled her hair. It was a common theme for Raelynn. Her method of cleansing herself of pain and upset was to put on a pretty new dress, don a new hairstyle, douse herself in fragrance... Today, every detail was merely a mask that coated the torment that had well and truly seeded itself inside of her, it had taken root and was growing every day. The longer she left it, buried it, ignored it… The more she seemed to feel it later. Her lip trembled at the beauty of the sunset, just watching it brought her a temporary relief.

But, she had a job to do yet. As she walked with languid strides throughout the district of warehouses,her eyes glanced from the map to the path in front of her, the distraction so consuming that she hadn't realised how far out from the busy streets she had gotten.

A fool's error.

Eventually she found it, she was surprised at how derelict it looked from the outside, windows boarded over and cracks in the walls. Her father had said his buyer would be inside, and she knocked on the door before stepping inside. If the outside was bad, the inside was worse. Dusty, dark, and even damp too. The sound of water dripping somewhere. A strange combination of things set her on edge and she immediately felt that something was amiss, knowing that she had been stupid to come here alone.

The door closed behind her, the dark concealing the features of the one who had shut off her escape. “Hello, my dear.” a familiar feline voice drawled from the darkness. Zaveed stepped towards her, hands resting on his axes, an upturn on his lips suggesting either a smile or a smirk. “I see your father met his end of the bargain. Cooperate so I may meet mine, yes?”

She knew the voice straight away and hearing it here cut through her like a knife. She spun on her heel, finally looking upon his face. The face that had eluded her and yet had haunted her so prominently since the last time she had been with this Khajiit. Her face fell and her voice shook as she began to back away from his approach, “no, no, no…” was all that she could muster to whimper at him, fumbling backwards through the dark. “My father? No… He wouldn't do this.”

“If it’s of any comfort, he did it to protect you… and him. The price was simply an exchange for your little group.” Zaveed said, bringing a finger up under Raelynn’s chin to force her to meet his eyes. “A pleasure to finally meet you properly. No harm will come to you, so long as you play your part. You may even get to return home properly by the end of all of this. Come, have a seat.” he said, gently guiding the Breton towards the center of the warehouse with a hand on her shoulder.

Even though he was guiding her, she pushed back against him. A slight show of resistance as her heart raced in her chest. Part of her was ready to fight her way out and the other was accepting of it. “What do you mean?” she asked, “an exchange? Why? Tell me what's going on.” While she couldn't understand her father for doing this, she had to trust him, trust that he knew what he was doing. He would never put her in real danger. She let the thought of him having planned something settle her nerves just enough so that when she sat in the seat, she wasn't as shaken.

The Khajiit pulled up a chair, setting it across from her and he set himself down with a sense of gravity, scratching his neck before resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. There wasn’t an intensity to his eyes, and in a lot of ways, the way they darted around made him seem distracted or at least unfocused. Eventually he turned his gaze back towards Raelynn slowly. “Your friends, the terrorists. Things are being set in motion that you are powerless to prevent, but are instrumental in seeing through. Soon, the entire house of cards will come tumbling down; we know about the Three Crowns, we know your leader is Daro’Vasora, and she’s on her way as we speak. I paid your father a visit the night after I let you escape… you led me right to where he was. Did you know he is an affiliate of the Governor?” he asked quietly.

“Sora? She is coming?” She asked with a wide eyed, fearful expression before quelling it with a seperate thought. Of course he'd allied himself to Rourken. He was the perfect mole. Just hearing it from Zaveed first worried her but she was able to brave a smile instead, “of course I did.” She lied convincingly, noting the Khajiit's posture, a strain in his face. If he wasn't going to hurt her, she saw no harm in pressing him. It was a risky move but she was going to take it.

She rose from her seat and walked to him, her breaths slow and steady as she placed her trembling hand on him. “And what of your own house of cards? What does Rourken hold on you?” she of course knew, but she wanted to hear him say it.

Zaveed allowed her to approach, and he tensed at her touch. “It matters not. I don't harbour loyalty to her, or the Dwemer. It simply wasn't my choice.” his jaw rolled, and he worked out a kink in his hand. “I do not wish to partake in this particular venture, but it is this or languishing in a cell or dying with the odds stacked against my favour.” he paused, his gaze meeting her own. The tension on his face was chilling. “I never play poor odds, understand?”

He reached out and took Raelynn's hand gingerly in his own, observing the residual bruising and scars. “You could have had this healed properly. Why didn't you?” he asked.

She too was forced to look at her hand as he touched it. Something about him touching it turned a knot in her stomach and she pulled away. The reason being that the days following the attack had been too difficult. Her father and Zhaib had done the best that they could, but they had no magical ability - and after that, she had been too scared to show anyone else. She’d done the best that she could do with her own skills, but it had been too late to stop scarring and completely mend the nerves. “I thought the scars would… look good. I’ve never had one my whole life. I thought it was important to keep this one,” she lied again, bringing it back behind her in a fist.

She realised how close she was stood to him, and her nervous disposition in the face of her torturer made her step back, her eyes fell to the floor. “We all land in positions with unfavourable odds at some point, I --” she stopped herself, changing the subject, “you know, I still don’t even know your name.”

“Zaveed, of Senchal.” there was no hesitation in his reply as he stood to face her properly, not closing the distance. They both knew she wasn't going anywhere, and his posture was relaxed. “You are more right than you know, I've had a lifetime of unfavourable odds that I had to surpass, often such messy and brutal events that have formed me into the thing that's kept you up at night. No one dreams as a child they will one day be responsible for the torture and murder of others, and I do not take pleasure in it most of the time. It's simply something one has to do if it is required.” he looked down for a moment, his fingers tapping upon the blades on his hips.

“Why are you involved in all of this?” he asked suddenly, scanning her face for answers. “You don't seem to be the kind of person who willingly walks into this sort of affair, this subterfuge and murder and torture. I make no apologies for what I am, or what I do, but you must be aware that the people you work with have far worse creatures lurking under their floorboards than I.”

“Truthfully?” she began with a sigh, before taking her seat again, sitting in as ladylike a posture as she could, legs crossed and back straight as an arrow. “I don’t know. I guess I got swept up in this growing hurricane of events… I used to be a simple tavern healer in Skyrim until I wanted a change of scenery. One of the terrorists saved my life in The Imperial City, and I’ve… been with them all since.” She smiled as she thought fondly of Alim, and their first foray into danger. She placed her hands neatly in her lap and looked down, a smile still on her face. Forgetting for a moment where she was. “To me, you’re a terrorist. To you, I’m a terrorist. Morality and right and wrong is far more grey than that though, isn’t it, Zaveed?” She emphasised his name.

He remained standing for a few moments longer, chewing over her words. “It has been my experience that morality simply is too simplistic of a perspective, we each have in us the capacity for great altruism and great cruelty. It's our environment and the people around us who shape that, defining us along the way.” he returned to his seat, throwing an elbow over the back, a claw digging thoughtlessly into the wood. His face remained impassive as he lost himself in the sea of thoughts and memories.

“You understand, then, how a fateful event or encounter can change your life in ways you could never fathom. I grew up as a street urchin, my mother was a prostitute in some Septim a dozen brothel and my twin sister and I were discarded when her master decided we weren't worth the fish and bread to keep alive, so barely old enough to feed ourselves and suddenly, it was to the streets.” he exhaled through his nose, his lips creasing in annoyance. “I've seen people's callousness to the poor, the starving, even if their eyes hold pity, it's their lack of action and love for the filthy creatures that matter in the end. It was after my brother left us and she was caught by the Dominion that I took fate into my own hands. It was a decision that would turn a scared boy who wanted nothing more than to be an entertainer to make people smile at him into what you see before you.” he pulled his claw free, gazing disdainfully at the wood grains upon it. “You find yourself in a not dissimilar journey to the one I underwent.”

Raelynn listened to Zaveed’s story. It wasn’t too dissimilar to her having listened to Gregor’s story. Zaveed’s words did not poke at her insecurities, however. “I will not become like you…” she hissed, “I may be greedy, and manipulative, and, God’s… Mean! But I have real compassion. Nobody ever showed you any love did they?” Raelynn wanted to smirk, she wanted to wound him with her words but it was too dangerous a game to play. Instead, her tone fell halfway between genuine concern, and somewhere along a line of taunting malice. His story pieced together the puzzle that was Zaveed, though, and she understood and in some way felt the pain of it with every word he was speaking. It only made her realise that the two of them had a connection that was forged in violence. She looked at her hand again, gasping.

The Khajiit chuckled and winked. “Oh, I’ve been shown love, it just depends on how much they decide to charge for the night. I’m sure I’ve unintentionally sired a few more stories just like the one I’ve told you in the making, but perhaps they’ll fare better than I.” he said, his eyes taking on an impish glint. If her words tore at him emotionally, his face didn’t register it. His expression softened when she regarded her hand once more, the mark where he’d nailed her to the table changing her forever exposed to the world. “You may become like me, you may not. But I can see a look to your eyes, you’re changed now and there is no going back. You will not allow another to harm you like that again, you will do unspeakable things to ensure that.” He smiled, reminiscing about something or another that called to that particular experience. “If you wish to survive this war and weather the atrocities you have and will continue to witness, you will have to adapt. The fact you can sit here and even look at me, chatting away like we’re old acquaintances instead of something decidedly darker tells me enough. You are already adapting to unpleasant circumstances, am I wrong?”

“You don’t know me Zaveed,” her tone suddenly defensive and sharp, she leaned forward in her seat, her posture dropping. “Stop addressing me as if you do, as if I’ve been a project for you. I simply have trust that whatever this plan you have is, that it is not going to go the way you think.” She laughed quietly before leaning back in the chair once more, hands returning to her lap. Inside, she felt a searing, angry pain and feared that was going to simmer over at the surface before long. He thought that she was stronger, and changed. She was, but it was currently concealed under layers of pleasantry and a fake smile. She would not be able to hold this position for much longer. Being in his aura was enough. She closed her eyes and thought of Gregor, of his beautiful rage and violence.

“Everything will go as I will it. It always does, even setbacks only prolong the inevitable conclusion.” Zaveed replied as he gazed at her with steady eyes, but his tone was one not of a boast, but almost as if it were resignation. “I was ordered to take you to her, the Governor. I've let you make the choice to go free, and I regret that you must spend time in my company in this manner once more. This… is a strange thing to admit, but I've never quite been in this position where I can see the aftermath of my actions quite so clearly. Life just simply moves on, but here I am forced to linger on it.”

“How truly benevolent of you...” she said with an ounce of spite to it. She ran her tongue over her lips and opened her eyes again. “I don’t think you see quite clearly enough what lies ahead of you. I really don’t think you know anything.” Her face darkened, and something in her eyes changed, while he seemed to soften and resign, she only felt more powerful in her position amidst the storm brewing within, she placed a finger in her mouth and bit down on it with a wry snigger. “What do you want from me here, Zaveed? You act as though you’re doing me favours and kindnesses. I don’t see it that way. You are going to pay a heavy price for what you did to me, even more so for having the sheer audacity to do it again.”

“Oh, nothing much. You will sit there and watch the spectacle unfold. Then maybe, if you’re good, you get to leave.” Standing up suddenly, Zaveed was suddenly towering over Raelynn and he placed a hand on the back of her chair to lean over her, the other resting on his dagger at this back. “You can perceive me any way you wish, I am simply passing time until she arrives. Personally, I’d prefer a polite conversation to the tedium of silence, but it is what it is. You overestimate your allies and your sweet, darling Gregor.” A cruel grin crossed Zaveed’s countenance. He leaned further down and whispered in her ear, “What do you suppose the mad bull will do when he finds you’ve fallen into my clutches again? Will he plot his next steps with care to lure me into a trap that is to his advantage, or do you think he’ll charge after me with reckless abandon where he will be completely at my mercy?”

The way the Zaveed towered over her like that rattled her enough to unshackle something within, it was just like before - trapping her where she sat. As if by instinct she swiftly lifted her left leg and smashed his knee with the bottom of her boot with as much force as she could gather from her inferior positioning. In this situation of fight or flight, when threatened - Raelynn chose to fight. “Back off!” she snapped. They way he spoke about Gregor like that, it riled her up. She used her right leg to stamp down upon his foot. His intrusion upon her personal space - his threat - his words… “You will be at his, if you’re lucky.” She leaned up to meet his face - a fury coloured her eyes even in the darkness, and she began to wave her hand, summoning Magicka into her palm. “I tire of you now,” she spoke softly, almost seductively at him.

A bit of fight, that was good. The kick to Zaveed’s knee stung, but the adrenaline was enough to dull the worst of it, but the stomp down on his foot was enough to hobble him momentarily; enough for him to catch a glimpse of the spell forming in her hand. He rolled his eyes, irritated as he closed the distance, dagger in hand. “This is why I don’t behave civilly most of the time, my dear.” he said, grabbing her wrist and smashing the pommel into her temple, making Raelynn’s vision start to blur. He caught her as she stumbled, and almost tenderly the Khajiit settled her down into the chair once more as her vision began to fade. “Stupid girl.” Zaveed muttered, the dagger slipping back into its sheath as the world went black.




Earlier that day…

Couriers seemed to have this uncanny ability to find people anywhere, any time. So when Daro’Vasora, disguise and all, was back in the marketplace looking for oil suitable for opening doors silently, the man approached her from the side as to not alarm her.

“I’ve been looking for you, something I’m supposed to deliver - your eyes only.” The man said, handing a parcel to the Khajiit before suddenly taking off back the way he came, as if she was one of many deliveries the man had to do today. She stepped off to the side into the mouth of an alley so she was out of the way, curious as to what the parcel was and who sent it. Anyone she knew from back home wouldn’t have known she was there, and the Poncy Man would have likely send a missive in the Three Crowns. It was something of a mystery, and at least it would be easy enough to solve.

Unwrapping the package’s carefully tied string with impeccable measurements and even lengths on each end that had been done by skilled hands, she found a small box inside where something definitely heavy was shifting inside. Curious, she lifted up the lid and nearly dropped the box when she saw the contents.

A pair of severed fingers were seated on a strip of burlap and upon one of the fingers was a ring she recognized immediately; it was Roux’s. Her heart sank, and a feeling of intense remorse and fear filled her as she dared herself to look at the package once more, seeing the corner of a note sticking out of the corner of the burlap strip. She carefully plucked the parchment out with pinched claws and unfolded it, and read the message.

Composing herself, the Khajiit closed her eyes as she folded the note and slipped it back in the box. There wasn’t much time to prepare for this, and the letter made it very clear that if she didn’t come alone, Roux was dead. A part of her still resented and hated the man, but after their history and time together, it was hard to set aside the stronger feelings that lurked in her core.

“Damn it all.” Daro’Vasora muttered.

She knew she was going to be walking into a trap, and she was going to have to go anyways.




Now…

Daro’Vasora scouted the outside of the warehouse thoroughly, looking for guards, lookouts, or even alternative entrances. The building lacked windows, save for small slits in the limestone that weren’t even large enough for a child to slip through, and apart from a pair of side doors on either side of the building, the main entrance way was a set of double doors large enough for a wagon to fit through comfortably.

Side door it was.

She worked the lock carefully, lubricating it and the hinges as she worked to reduce the amount of noise she could before opening the door, where it slid open nearly silently due to her precautions. She picked a door that was on the North side, away from the bright sun, and she slipped inside the building cautiously, mace in hand, and so began the nerve wracking steps into the unknown.

Nothing seemed amiss, just lines of shelves and packaged goods that one would expect from such a building, and the lack of enemy presence made her fur stick up on end; something was wrong here, she knew she had the right place but nothing so far even made a peep.

A groan caught her ear and cautiously, she moved like a serpent from cover to cover, her footfalls silent as she went. Rounding a corner, her eyes caught two figures tied to a pair of chairs.

It was Roux and Raelynn. Her heart pounded like it was going to burst; Raelynn was captured again? She had just seen her earlier, everything seemed normal and the Breton girl actually seemed happy for a change after the party.

Daro’Vasora looked around for a sign of danger, the trap waiting to be sprung she was sure was there. Maybe whoever it was had stepped out, their timing off? No, she thought, feeling very exposed all of a sudden. They were very specific for the time. she thought, which is why she arrived hours before it was indicated. They had to be here, but where?

She pulled her dagger free from her wrist, deciding that if she was quick and quiet enough, she could probably cut their restraints quickly and have them out in only a few seconds. It was a risk worth taking; standing around and deliberating was only playing into the enemy’s hand.

Riddle Thar, guide my steps. Daro’Vasora thought, and she headed into the opening, closing in on the pair of captives.

Something clicked above her and to the right, and the Khajiit turned to the sound. From the top of one of the shelves and concealed between boxes came a figure that had one of the Dwemer pistols trained on her. “I see you received my invitation well.” he said, climbing down with relative ease and not taking his eye off the Khajiiti woman for a moment. She took in his full measure; he was a tall, handsome Khajiit with grey fur and a black mohawk of a mane and a pair of piercing blue eyes that were hard to turn away from. She turned to face him, both of her weapons at the ready; she didn’t like the odds; he could shoot her at any range and those axes on his hip were definitely something he knew how to use far better than she could fight with a mace. She gestured towards Roux, who hissed at her, “What are you doing here, Sora?! You fool!”

“Why did you let your fingers get cut off and your stupid ass tied to a chair?” she snarled back, looking back towards the Cathay. “Well, I’m here. What do you want?”

Zaveed grinned, gesturing towards her. “Your presence, of course. With that delivered, I suppose I don’t need quite so many guests. Only two hands, you see.”

“So let them go; I’m here, do a trade. Take me instead.” She hissed. Whatever the outcome came today, she knew it would be a disadvantage. She knew what happened to Raelynn, and this was likely the same Khajiit that tortured her before. She was really banking off of the idea that he’d be treating her with a bit more kindness; they were both of the same race, after all. Khajiit had a hard time finding kinship outside of their enclaves, she felt. Maybe it wouldn’t be different with him.

The sound of Sora’s voice, and of other voices pulled Raelynn back to consciousness - and her eyelids fluttered momentarily before she opened them fully to survey the room again. This was different now, she was bound to the chair which instantly caused her heart to pound in her chest, and returning anxiety pulsed through her with every heartbeat. This was as she had been before, she began to whimper in confusion and fear, turning her head to look at the blurry figures around her. She counted three.

“I could, but the Governor wants both of you lovely ladies in her company in an expedient manner, but accidents do happen.” Zaveed mused, stepping over to Daro’Vasora. “So, allow me to make this plain; you have a decision to make, Daro’Vasora. Which one of your friends will be coming with us? Your former lover and expedition companion, Roux, or your new friend and ally, Raelynn? It sounded as if you two left quite an impression on our dear Governor, she would really love the matching set.”

Daro’Vasora’s ears pulled back and her eyes narrowed. “You’re asking me to pick who dies. Are you fucking mad?”

Zaveed shrugged. “No, just a pragmatist. You’re a leader, you make difficult decisions all of the time. This is but one more, is it not?”

She looked to the two Bretons aghast. Roux shook his head. “Sora… I’m so sorry for everything. If anyone has to die, let it be me. I… I told these bastards too much, they did…” he scrunched his eyes, recoiling at the memories. “This isn’t a choice. Take her and go!” tears flowed down his face as he fought feebly against the restraints.

“Roux, I…” Daro’Vasora began, her eyes darting to Raelynn.

She had paid attention to the conversation, and in this state, the concussion, the pain, the tension in the room -- her lips formed words she didn’t think about fully before they fell, exhausted and desperate; “It’s okay if it’s not me…” She could only just start to make out the figures now. Zaveed, Roux, Sora. She knew that she was looking her Khajiit friend in the eyes, “it’s okay if you have to save him, I understand… It’s okay if it’s not me.

“Shut up; you’re concussed.” Daro’Vasora said to Raelynn, her mind frantically trying to find a way out of the predicament. There was only one way, she decided. “No one’s going to die here today, I promise.” the words were empty, but this was no time to give into fear, nor madmen.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, girl.” Zaveed said, stepping closer. “Choose, or they both die.”

“Fuck. You!” Daro’Vasora shouted, and suddenly she turned on Zaveed, swinging her mace to bring it down upon his crown, to which he easily sidestepped the swing, grabbing her arm in his hands and using her momentum against her, flipped her hard onto her back, winding her. She barely had time to gasp when Zaveed pulled her arm tightly into a bad angle.

His boot came down a second later and a sudden blinding pain caused her to scream out in agony, accompanied by a sickening crunch.Tears streamed down her face, and for a few moments, she couldn’t make out words, just the impossible ringing of her brain trying to process what had just happened. She managed to get to her knees, sobbing as her arm hung limp at her side, and she feebly clutched at the throbbing pain.

“You bastard! You fucking piece of shit!” Roux screamed at Zaveed, trying to wrestle his way out of his restraints; blood was pooling around his wrists as the rope grew tighter.

Zaveed crouched down beside Daro’Vasora, yanking her ponytail back. “It’s time to make your decision.” He purred.

She screwed her eyes tight, not daring to look. She was hyperventilating, not daring to condemn either of them. “Please…” she pleaded. “Don’t. Please. Leave them.” her words came out as if they weighed as much as a bullion of gold a piece.

“Sora.” Roux spoke softly.

Her eyes opened and she focused on him through a veil of tears.

“I am so sorry.”

Zaveed released her suddenly, almost affectionately touching her shoulder. “I see you’ve made your choice.” he said, walking over to Roux, dagger in his hand.

“No! Fuck, no! You can’t, I didn’t!” Sora was suddenly very lucid and trying to get to her feet against to do anything she could. “You bastard!” she screamed. Zaveed turned and kicked Daro’Vasora hard in the chest, causing her to sprawl out across the floor, clutching her arm as she let out a pitiful moan.

Zaveed turned back to Roux, leaning over him and grabbing him by the shoulder. His expression was soft, thoughtful even. The Breton bared his teeth at him. “Do it, you fucking coward.”

The knife slipped in between his ribs a few inches, and Roux felt the sudden blinding pain acutely. Zaveed whispered softly into the man’s ear. “I have punctured your heart. You only have a few moments to say what you need to before you lose consciousness. Use them well.”

Withdrawing the blade, Zaveed stepped aside, cleaning the blade on a cloth.

Daro’Vasora looked up at Roux and the crimson pool forming on his chest. “No, no, no…” she pleaded. Roux smiled sadly, almost dreamily at her.

“It’s okay, Sora. It is. I get to see my wife and little girl again.” He coughed, wincing at the sudden explosion of pain. “If I could go back and change everything I did to you, I… I would have, Sora. You never did wrong by me and I fucked up, I got… so… so greedy.”

His eyes grew heavy and he struggled to keep them open and his head upright.

“You’re… better than I ever was. For me, be better than us both.” he said, a weak smile forming on his lips as his eyes shut for the last time. “May your roads…”

And he was gone.

Daro’Vasora screamed and Zaveed stood impassively, not looking at any of the figures in the room. “He was brave, even at his worst.” He said solemnly, as if for his own benefit. “It’s time for us to depart, my dear.”

He walked behind Raelynn, and the knife cut into the rope at her wrists, enough that a bit of work would do the rest. “Your chance is coming.” he said quietly to her as he walked away, scooping up Daro’Vasora’s dropped weapons as he sheathed his knife and holding her mace as he pulled her up to her feet. “Well done.” he said to her, forcing her to walk towards the double doors, which now opened up to reveal a troop of Dwemer soldiers.

“Zaveed?” The sergeant at the front of the column said, looking at the mess behind the Khajiit. “What happened here?”

“Things got a bit out of hand; this is their leader, Daro’Vasora.” He smiled at her. “She resisted.”

“Very well. What of the girl?” the sergeant asked.

“Guard the building, and clean up the mess. I will be back to interrogate her later. I believe she has more information and leverage that will draw more of her associates out of their holes.” Zaveed pushed Daro’Vasora forward, past the sergeant. “No one lays a finger on her without my permission, understood?”

The sergeant muttered under his breath. “Fucking goon.” before issuing orders to his troops. Four fell into line with Zaveed, and they stepped out into the Gilane evening.
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A Profitable Misadventure

By Greenie and Stormy



5th Midyear - Morning
Salosoix Hawkford’s Residence


Meg stood outside the Hawkford residence, feeling slightly out of her depth. It wasn't as if she'd never visited a wealthy person's house in the prospect of a job, but in those days that seemed so long ago, she'd had a partner who could speak much more eloquently than she could. J'raij had always had something of a silver tongue that charmed others, where Meg's words simply told tales of how she was a country bumpkin. She had at least made sure that her clothes were clean and wrinkle free, and she'd actually combed her hair back, hoping to make a favourable impression. Goodness knew she needed the coin. She had to admit she wasn't expecting to be approached by Raelynn, but the thought of delving into familiar territory was much too tempting to refuse. With Zahir's knowledge of the city and a little help from those passing by, she had found her way easily enough.

Taking a deep breath, Meg counted to three before knocking on the door. And then, she waited.

The door was opened by Zhaib, the imposing Redguard bodyguard of Salosoix. His eyes fell down upon the young girl in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow - he had started to get rather arrogant the longer that he worked with Sal.

“Who is it?” came the voice of Salosoix himself - who was sitting at his desk, as always, with a quill in one hand, and a glass of water in the other, he gazed out as far as he could see. His spectacles were sitting on the tip of his nose and he narrowed his eyes as if it would help him to focus.

“Some girl,” said Zhaib, very matter-of-factly. “Well, bring her in Zhaib. She’s here for a reason, don’t make the girl wait for you to size her up!” He sighed and shook his head with a laugh of disbelief. The Redguard sidestepped to let the girl in, before closing the door behind her.

Meg entered the house, relieved that she wouldn't be deliberated about while standing about awkwardly in the heat. She was tempted to look around at her surroundings, but she remembered being told that it was always best to seem impartial when taking a job. So, she rested her eyes on the man with the spectacles instead. "Yer-" she paused before attempting to speak in a clearer fashion "- You are Salosoix, righ'? Raelynn sent me yer way. She said that y'might have a job for me. I'm Megana Corvus, one've her companions from Cyrodiil."

“Ahh, my Raelynn did? Well then - you can be my esteemed guest this morning, in that case!” He said with a genuine smile, a tension unwinding from his posture as he nodded in her direction. “Forgive me, Megana, but I’m not sure of your skillset you see - I have a number of things that I could have someone take care of…. But I’m not sure where to start you.” He shrugged as he spoke and waited for her to share something about herself. At first glance, she didn’t appear to be much - but it was often the small and unassuming women could get into all kinds of trouble. The kind of trouble that paid well. There was an instant spark behind the eyes of this Nord too, that Salosoix detected immediately as perseverance and a desire to do good.

Meg had honestly expected a stuffy man, and perhaps even a scary man, truth be told. Seeing Salosoix's friendly and open demeanor put her a little at ease as well- the knots in her stomach that she hadn't even realized were there began to unravel as a smile found its way on her face.

"Well," she started, "I'm somethin' of a treasure hunter, y'could say." Yes, that most definitely sounded better than a thief. "Before comin' 'round here, for the most part I'd be headin' down into ruins and findin' artefacts to sell." She thought a little more. "'Sides that, I'm pretty good with a sword an' bow, used t'go bounty huntin' before decidin' to go after treasure instead." Waiting for a reaction, she hoped she hadn't overselled herself, or worse, the opposite.

Salosoix smiled at her story and nodded along as she spoke, his guard down - she was not a threat to him. In fact, he was largely enjoying her company, indicated by the fact he had not broken eye contact, and was smiling so much that the crows feet around his eyes were joyfully prominent. “Ahh, you're a girl after my own heart - when I was a lad I dreamed of being a treasure hunter. Alas, I never did master combat, only diplomacy and so I settled to trade in antiquities instead. Still, I got a few rare opportunities here and there to see some action.” He sighed and gazed off into the distance before his brought himself back to the moment, his smile fading and a colder exterior presented itself.

“There is actually something I'm wanting to get my hands on, it's a sword… A small sword, in fact it would be perfect for the dainty hands of a woman…” He stood from his seat and moved over to a chest of drawers in the corner of the room, taking from the top drawer a fine shortsword, which he held in his two hands. “It's much like this, in fact I believe it to be the…. Twin sister of this blade, I'd very much like to add it to my collection but it seems as though another pesky merchant has already gotten their hands on it, and that hardly seems fair, don't you think?” Salosoix carefully placed the blade down in front of Megana, waving his hand across it's length. “Wouldn't you agree the swords should be together?”

Meg looked down at the blade, admiring its beauty. It was certainly better than her own sword, though she wouldn't trade hers for the world as it had been her mother's; she took care of that blade as if it was the highest quality ebony blade that gold could buy.

As for Salosoix's words, despite the fact the fact the he was eloquent and almost pleasant to hear -Meg was reminded of J'raij's silver words for a moment- she wasn't quite sure if she agreed with that sentiment. One blade was enough for a person who did not even engage in combat. However, her opinion on the matter was neither here nor there; he was going to pay her for her services and that was what mattered.

"This merchant," she started, looking away from the sword and up at Salosoix instead, "I'm assumin' the sword's with him? So you'll be wantin' me to take it from him."

The elderly Breton narrowed his eyes and gazed off into the distance, thinking about it. A long sigh followed. “I suppose that is what I'm asking, yes,” he responded with a smile. “I believe that it will be moving soon, as cargo on a caravan heading deeper into Hammerfell. I really don't want that caravan to leave with my sword.” He spoke with such confidence that the sword was already his, and once again smiled, but this time it was a half-smile. “I don't really need to know how you plan to get it, but if you can somehow bring it to me - there are one hundred septims with your name on them. What say you, Megana Corvus?” A glimmer of mischief appeared in his eyes, and he relaxed into his chair - the half smile growing into a smirk.

A hundred septims? Surely the job was worth more than that. Meg's eyes followed the older man as he sat down in his chair, though her mind was occupied with thinking the proposition. J'raij had always managed to haggle his way to getting a better price or pay. On the other hand, a hundred septims were better than the near none she had right now. If she made a fuss, it could very well be that he'd simply tell her he didn't need her services anymore. Right now, she was the one in need, not him.

Maybe if she got this job done, he'd find even more lucrative avenues for her to pursue?

She finally nodded, making her decision. "Alrigh' then," she finally replied. " I'll take the job. I'll be needin' some details though, his name, how he looks if ya know it, that sorta thing."

“He looks like a merchant, of course!” laughed Sal, almost mockingly - before thinking better of himself, she was only young. “He's a Redguard, older fellow, has a bit of a crooked walk and uses a cane.” He hoped the description was enough, knowing that there weren't many limping merchants in Gilane. “He's an easy target probably, but that means you might have to use your smarts over a sword… Sound good?” he asked with a friendly smile, even if behind it he was masking a whirlwind of turmoil at that moment. His patience for the girl in the room was growing thinner. “I’ll trust your judgement, just bring me that blade, Megana. There might be more than a handful of coin in it for you.”

He had judged a disappointment on her face, and thought better than to be cheap with a woman. He had jewels aplenty he could pay her in, afterall.

Mentally noting down all he was offering as a description, Meg gave the older man a nod. "Soun's good," she replied. "I'll get to findin' that sword for you then." If she needed a little extra help, she figured she could retain help from her young street savvy friend Zahir; surely he would be familiar with an older, limping merchant, right? "I'll be takin' my leave then."



The small reprieve from the heat was lost as Meg exited the Hawkford Estate. Waving a hand before her face, she didn’t waste time in seeking out the shade of the buildings and stalls of the marketplace where she had asked Zahir to wait for her, hoping he hadn't wandered away too far that she would have to wait for for him. The last thing she wanted was for the caravan to have already started its journey. The idea of stealing from the man was up for debate as well, but the pay was worth a little risk. It wasn't as if she hadn't done anything dangerous or questionable lately…

Trying to ignore the tinge of guilt that still accompanied her for not listening to Jaraleet the previous night, Meg searched through those passing by, looking for the familiar face of Zahir so they could finally head off. Her breath was quick and she could feel her heart beating quickly. Nervousness? It would make sense, she hadn’t been on a venture like this in over a year. Calm down, she ordered herself, sounding rather stern in her own mind. Y’know what t’do, done it many times b’fore.

There was a tug on her arm, causing Meg to look down. “There you are,” she grumbled. “Talos knows how long I’ve been waitin’ here for ya.” It was indeed Zahir who was busy munching on an apple, seeming rather relaxed and not too worried about the Nord’s weak ire.

“It was boring just waiting in one place,” he explained. “I got us some apples!” He reached into his pocket and pulled one out for her.

There was still a grumble to Meg’s words, but she forgave him nonetheless; food was a pretty legitimate excuse in her eyes to wander off. “Fine. Thanks.” She deposited it in the satchel hanging to her side before snapping her fingers. “Now, ‘nough of that. We have stuff t’do, Zahir.”

“The rich man gave you a job?” The boy looked at her curiously, perhaps almost hopefully.

"Aye," Meg replied, "an' I'll be needin' your help to find the mark before he ends up givin' us the slip. Let's see if ya really know as much as y'think y'do." She promptly described the merchant in the same words Salosoix had used, hoping for some reaction from Zahir. At the outset there was nothing, until she mentioned the crooked walk and the cane.

"Oh, oh!" Zahir tugged at her arm, ignoring the annoyed looked Meg cast his way. "I think I know who that man is. Zunair At Tushr, my father used to take the fruit cart past one of his shops almost every day. It was quite large- That shop sold carpets I think."

"Shops, huh?" Meg's forehead creased a tad bit as she thought that over. "A'ight, take me t'his shop. I don' think he'll be there, but we can maybe find out where he is a’ least." She was wishing she had kept her bow on her now, just in case. There weren’t supposed to be any casualties, but if push came to shove, it was obviously better to have a ranged weapon on a stealth required mission. Well, there was no way she was heading back to the Three Crowns Hotel now.

The first of Zunair's shops did not yield much information as to the merchant's location. In fact, it seemed to her that perhaps Zahir would get in trouble by asking too many questions. Managing to summon him back to her before matters could turn a little too shady, Meg was then lead to an inn and tavern that proved much more profitable. Drunken men had loose lips, and it wasn't hard to gain information of the merchant's residence.

It was precisely what she expected from a rich old merchant's house, a large house with at least three stories, elaborately carved archways that lead the way into the house, beautiful fountains decorating the courtyard and surrounded by gardens of tall trees and exotic flowers of different shapes and colours, all of which was protected from outsiders by a large wall that ran the expanse of the manor, the gates of which were guarded by a couple of large men in armour. They didn't seem to be Redguard, so Meg was assuming they were mercenaries hired to keep away people like her.

"Go back to the market now," she whispered to Zahir. They were both huddled in a side street that wasn't exactly the safest place to hide from alert mercenaries. "I'mma meet you by the barber's."

"You can't just go by yourself-"

"Don' be an idiot," she snapped at him under her breath. "You'll jus' get in m'way, an’ I don' wanna see you gettin' hurt. Now go."

A look of indignation was followed by one of worry as the boy eyed Meg, not quite expecting the harsh or caring words. A few terse moments passed before he finally nodded. "Fine, but... you better come back quick!" Meg returned a confident smirk in his direction before giving him a nod. He lingered for only a couple of more seconds before hurrying away from the nord in the general direction of the market where he hope he would meet up with her once more.



Once he was finally out of her line of sight, Meg looked back to the manor, or rather the walls surrounding it. She knew she wouldn't be able to deceive the guards into letting her in, so she needed another way to get into the walled area. Fortunately for her, her time in Riften was a well of resources for all sorts of shifty, shady business. It took a little while, but her slow and steady creeping finally lead her to realize she had already seen her way in.

Hiring mercenaries was well and good, but if climbing up a tree was all it took to evade them, then Meg didn't believe they deserved whatever coin they were receiving for their service. Or perhaps it was the merchant's own fault for not taking into account that greenery grew and if someone very well wished it, they could easily climb a tree and drop onto his properly. Even so, Meg had to be very careful as she made the climb- a single glance her way and she could be visible-

Shit! She had nearly made it up to where the foliage would finally cover her when her foot got caught on a stray branch, causing her to nearly slip. Snapping her hand forward she grabbed onto the branch she had been meaning to climb to and pulled herself up, heart beating wildly at nearly giving her position away. Holding on tightly, she forced herself to remain still, as if she was merely part of the branch itself. In the distance she could hear footsteps and curious voices.

"I thought I heard somethin’..." Only her eyes moved as the Nord woman tried to make out the position of the man approaching. If she could stop her heart from beating, she probably would have, just as she forced herself to breath slowly and almost noiseless.

"Get back here Drevin! We don't have time to waste behind every little leaf you hear falling to the ground." The man grumbled under his breath before continuing. "Probably just the wind. Come on. Zunair's already itching to leave as soon as possible."

"Fine," the man named Drevin replied. "But one day you'll all regret not listening to me. Just you wait..."

It felt like a lifetime before the men were finally out of Meg's sight and hearing. She was still a little shaky over her mishap as well as a little upset with herself at being so clumsy. Thankfully the men were idiots and hadn't thought of actually investigating the sound, but she couldn't assume everyone would be like that. Well, at least one thing was for sure- the caravan hadn't left yet so the sword still had to be here.

Carefully lowering herself down from the tree onto the wall, she looked down, taking note of the shrubs and various flowering bushes that she could easily hide herself among. After another quick glance, she jumped off the wall, landing on her hands and feet. Ignoring the sting of sharp grit against her palms, Meg followed in the direction the two men has walked off in, and it was to no surprise that they were heading for the merchant's house, where the garden she was traipsing through gave way to a dusty forked pathway, one leading to the doors of the house whilst the other lead out to the gates.

There before the gates stood three large, covered wagons, each of them holding quite a few chests as well as other items of interests including barrels of wine, carpets and sacks filled with... well, Meg couldn't tell from here. What she did know was that her prize was sitting cozy in one of those chests, and if she didn't hurry, she would end up failing her mission.

As soon as the man named Drevin and his doubtful companion entered the house and the doors closed behind them, Meg made a quick dash for the nearest wagon. With no one else there save the horses, she could only assume that those very two were the only ones who were loading the wagons. Dumb luck, she thought to herself, allowing a small breath of relief before looking to the two chests that were sitting among the barrels of wine. Her forehead creased; who would they be so stupid as to keep a prized sword, even protected in a chest, among wine? Gritting her teeth in annoyance, she tiptoed to the edge of the wagon and peeked out. There was still no one there. Good. Meg hopped off back and quickly stepped closer to the next vehicle, peering into the back. This too had mostly food and wines, and it took only a second for her to mentally shun it and rush towards the last wagon, which she know realized was also the largest one.

Yer a fool, Megana Corvus. Even as she leaped in, she could pretty much guarantee this was the wagon she should have approached first. It had three chests and quite a few rolls of carpet that looked very pricey indeed. Righ', let's get this done an' over with- The thought had barely formed when she heard footsteps once more, and this time more than just a couple of sets. There were at least four to five men, with one talking particularly loudly, as if he was the most important person in the world.

Of course, Meg had no time to process this as she realized she was as trapped in this wagon as a skeever in a well. Before panic could set in, she hid behind the closest roll of carpet, barely hiding in time as two men stepped in, carrying in yet another chest.

"Careful with that!" she heard the loud man call out as the chest was set down on the floor. Even though she couldn't see him, she could heard the sound of something wooden hitting that ground in time with the footsteps as he came closer. This must be the merchant then.

"You would not believe the trouble I had in procuring that sword." A heavy chuckle left the merchant. The wagon shook momentarily and Meg could hear somebody settling down on the bench in the front; as he continued to speak, she realized it was the merchant who had climbed up. "I managed to buy it from right under Salosoix's nose." He sounded quite thrilled with himself.

"What use do men who don't even use swords have for them?" muttered one of the men who had carried the last chest in as he and his partner stepped off the wagon.

"I heard that," Zunair called out. "It isn't always about having a use for something. But what would an imbecile like you know? Now then, it is time for me to leave. I expect my house to be in order when I return or you all shall know the taste of my cane." Meg could hear the same cane being thumped against the footrest at the front of the wagon. "Until then."

There was a lurch as the wagon started moving; Meg had to hold on to the roll of carpet so that she wouldn't topple over and give herself away. After cursing multiple times in her mind, she finally decided this was probably for the better, she wouldn't have to deal with most of the mercenary goons nor the servants.

Nocturnal, I know I don' call on ya much, like say Talos an' Mara, but I could really use some've yer luck right 'bout now. She opened the eyes she'd scrunched closed for those few seconds of supplication and looked at the last chest that had been brought in. Righ' then, y'ready t'tell me yer secrets? Very carefully, she left the safety of her hiding space and moved to the chest, kneeling down before it as she pulled out her lockpicking set.

It wasn't a surprise to her when the first two picks broke, but she was still fairly irritated with herself. She hadn't been fully concentrating, trying to remember the directions and turns the wagon was taking as she worked. Finally giving up on that, she focused her full attention on the task at hand. Slowly but surely she had the pick in the right place- the steady clicking sound was like music to her ears. After stowing away the rest of her lockpicks, Meg then quietly grabbed onto the lid of the chest and opened it.

Relief and excitement flooded her when she saw, among other weapons, a long and thin cloth sack laying snug in the bed of hay lain within to keep the items of value safe. It was clear to the eye that this particular sack contained a sword, but there was no way she was going to take a chance. Reaching in, she took hold of the sack and pulled it away to reveal a sword in a scabbard. Still paranoid, she took hold of the scabbard and the hilt and pulled them apart, at last revealing the sister blade to the one Salosoix had.

Meg let herself grin, but only for a moment. She had found her prize, but now she needed to escape. Casting a glance near the front of the wagon, she could barely see the back of the Redguard merchant's turbaned head. Without any further delay, she pushed the sword back into its scabbard and pulled up the sack to cover it once more. With that done, Meg stuffed it under her belt. Her prize acquired, she remained on her hands and knees, crawling to the back and peeking outside. Blinking against the light, she could see they had certainly left the busy city and were, as Salosoix had mentioned, heading further into Hammerfell.

Where I bloody don' wanna go. There was literally only one option for her if she didn't wish to leave Gilane, and that was to jump off the wagon. The only problem with that was that Zunair was sure to have guards accompanying him along with those who were leading the other wagons. The wagon travelling right behind the current one was being handled by a large man who she was quite sure was a Nord, judging by his light complexion, fair hair and the rather large ax resting next to him.

Shit. What t'do, what to... Her eyes widened and she turned around once more, heading back for the chest, opening it and looking inside. Her lips twitched to a smile when she saw a bow, an elven one if she was correct. She wasn't surprised, seeing the merchant had a penchant for expensive weapons he'd never use. As luck would have it, there was a quiver with arrows as well. Good. She snatched it and quickly slung it over her shoulder. It wasn't long before she crawled to the back of the wagon again, this time armed and ready.

It took two shots to end the man. Meg was lucky that the speed of the wagons wasn't so fast that she had a hard time aiming. Her first arrow hit his throat, followed by a second arrow that hit the man in the chest. Her third arrow was aimed near the horse, hitting the ground by its hooves. The horse reared in panic- a second arrow was sure to have it run out of formation, so Meg finally let the fourth arrow fly and hit the ground near the horse’s back legs.

Shouts could be heard as the poor animal bolted away from the rest of the caravan, pulling the wagon behind it, the dead Norse mercenary still seated on the bench in the front. "After it!" she heard Zunair yell. "Somebody calm that damn horse before my merchandise suffers!"

Distraction in hand, Meg waited for the wagon she was in to start after the wayward horse before she jumped off. Wasting no time, she ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction, not stopping until she came upon a small lone well that had probably seen better days. Slumping down against it, she wiped the sweat off her dripping forehead in vain, panting as she tried to catch her breath.

"I did it... Talos, I did it!" A strangled laugh escaped her as she leaned back against the dusty stones. She had to get back to Zahir and then Salosoix... but first she needed a rest.



By the time Meg reached the Hawkford’s residence, the sun was making its daily decent to the horizon. She hadn't thought she would reach before curfew came in, so she was rather glad to be proven wrong. Unlike her first arrival here, her clothes were now rather dusty and her whole countenance seemed rather worn out. Still, a look of pride practically radiated from her, and unlike the nervousness she had felt when she first came here, she was now brimming with confidence.

Salosoix had been pacing the room, fraught with worry over other things when Megana had arrived back at his front door. As had happened earlier, Zhaib let the girl in. On his desk was a pouch of coin for her, but he was too busy moving around the room, a glass of wine in one hand, and his free hand running through his hair. He hadn’t noticed the girl’s arrival just yet.

"Good evenin' sir," Meg greeted as she was ushered into the room. She could see he was restless and decided not to waste any time in giving him the good news. "I got your sword here." She pulled the cloth sack from beneath her belt and presented it to the man so he could take a look.

Her voice roused him from his thoughts, and just like that he changed his demeanour and posture - smiling outwardly at the girl, he cast his eyes over the blade, before motioning for Zhaib to take it from her and store it. “Well done,” he said, his eyes showed his excitement. “This will be a marvelous addition to my collection. I hope you did not go to too much trouble to obtain it?”

Trouble? "Not any more'n usual," Meg replied easily. She only had to kill the one man- normally it was hordes of draugr, though she had to admit she actually preferred the undead. "Oh-" She pulled the bow and quiver of arrows from her back, showing them to Salosoix. "I had'ta borrow these- dunno if you'll be wantin' to keep these too?"

As Zhaib placed the sword away, Salosoix motioned towards a Spell Scroll sat on the desk too, a quick motion of his eyes communicated to Zhaib that it must also be put away out of site. “Ah, my dear. I have no use for arrows and quivers. Keep it - do with it as you please.” He moved to grab the coin purse for her, and as he picked it up he tossed it in the air just enough so that she would hear the weight of it, and know that it was as promised. “I added in some extra for your time, Megana…” His voice was suddenly low with an eerie undertone, “and for your silence, I hope you understand…” He placed the bag in her hand, holding onto it with his own as he shot a powerful and imposing stare down at her, waiting for her acknowledgement and understanding before he let go.

Meg looked up at the man; the look in his eyes was enough to make her nod. She wasn't intimidated per say, but even she knew that some things were better kept under the wraps rather than announced to others. "Aye, I understan'," she replied, giving him a nod. She hadn't been planning on telling anyone even if the amount of coin was exactly as he had mentioned earlier, but the added gold was certainly appreciated. "It'll be somethin' only I'll know about. Thanks for yer generosity."

Salosoix smiled and pulled away, “and thank you for your time. You have no idea how much it means to me…” He made his way back to his desk before residing back in his seat as Zhaib opened the front door. An air of impatience lingered, “now - go enjoy the beautiful evening Megana. You’ve deserved it.” Something in his tone was almost patronising, perhaps not intended - his mood was tense, as evidenced by the force in which he was gripping his wine glass with. “Until next time…” he said with a long sigh.

"Aye, an' a good evenin' to you as well." Meg gave Salosoix a polite nod before heading out of the door. Once she was out and the door closed behind her, carefully put her bow and quiver back on her person before stuffing the pouch of money in her pocket. She would enjoy the evening indeed, perhaps buy some of those dripping with syrup cakes for herself and Zahir, and then head back to the hotel for a good night's sleep.

And a bath. Definitely a bath.
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With Friends Like These…


6th of Midyear, 4e208
Gilane, Hammerfell
Three Crowns Hotel, Gymnasium

So, the Reachman says to the Argonian…




The halls of the Three Crowns were eerily quiet at night. It almost seemed to be a hotel only in name, but Latro supposed that after the Dwemer killed the beating heart of the entire fucking Empire and set the world ablaze in a bloody return of iron-fisted rule and slaughter, people tend to put vacations on hold. He moved through the halls unimpeded by even a fly until he stood, staring down the stairs to the gymnasium. Even now, he could hear the movements and breath of someone there. The only person who seemed to ever make constant use of this room, and the only person he trusted with the task he had on his mind tonight.

He held the piece of paper that had been left on his bedside table to his eyes again. Tonight, it said. A single word that only held meaning to Latro, a meaning that weighed down on his chest like boulders. He crumpled the paper and tossed it down the stairs, following soon after. He stood in the threshold to the gymnasium, watching Jaraleet for a time and half-expecting him to say something like, ‘I could hear you from down the hall.’

As much as he was getting used to people being arrogant when sneaking up on them failed the Argonian said nothing, just the rhythmic in-out of breath as he hung from a bar bolted to a wall, hauling himself up and then down repetitively. Finally, Latro spoke, “I have a request.”

“Hmmm? Must be something important.” The Argonian replied, stopping his exercise routine to approach the Breton man. “So, what’s this request that you have for me? No one’s awake right now, so when I heard you coming I half expected it to be a Dwemer agent….or someone who works for our gracious host.” The Argonian said quietly, pausing for a second to cross his arms. “Whatever brings you here must be something that troubles you greatly….and that you don’t want the others to know about, no?”

Latro nodded, easy smile on his lips. Or at least as easy as it could be, given tonight’s things to do. “Raelynn was kidnapped by the Dwemer agents. I’m sure you’ve seen her lately.” He shook his head, remembering how she was in the infirmary, “Well, I know at least what race at least two of these agents are- Khajiit. The one that took Raelynn and the one that came after me a couple days ago.”

“The one that came after me gave me two choices.” Latro held up two fingers as he spoke the words, he wiggled his forefinger, “I meet him when he beckons me-” then wiggled his middle one- “Or he tells the Dwemer where we all lay our heads at night. Here.

“You’re the third person to hear about this from me. The only others are Raelynn, when she healed me from the wounds that the Dwemer agent gave me, and Sora.” His finger brushed the hilt of the Dwemer sword she’d gifted him, “Now you, as well. My point is...”

Latro pursed his lips, “I’m going to meet him. I need someone with feet quiet as mine to come with me. I want to hear what he has to say, and if he tries to take me, he won’t know you’re there. Might be we get to do the interrogating.” He said, “If not for Raelynn, if not for me, then just do it so we know that much more about our enemy when the time comes.”

“What say you?”

Jaraleet was silent for a second before smiling at Latro. “I will help.” He said, nodding at the Breton. “It is troubling that these agents are so easily able to find us, and so we must take steps to resolve this issue.” The Argonian continued, moving towards the staircases that led out of the gym. “Let me grab my weapons and I should be good to go. Then we can have a...chat with this agent.” The Argonian said before beginning to ascend the stairs. “I shall meet you at the entrance of the hotel, alright?” And with those words, the Argonian disappeared from Latro’s view.




It was only a few minutes before Jaraleet returned, clad in his armor and wearing the same cape that he had worn during that fateful day when they had captured Nblec. “Let’s go.” He said quietly, waiting for Latro to start moving before he began following at a slight distance.

Latro nodded, hoping to all the Gods there were in the heavens that Shiburi wasn’t following them this whole time. If he saw Jaraleet following him, things could get complicated. Bloody complicated. Much to his relief though, his scanning of the rooftops and the shadows on the streets held no sign of him. Though, the Khajiit’s first impression was that of a man who could best him at anything, pop out of anywhere. Were it any more absurd, he half-expected Shiburi to be dressed in Jaraleet’s clothes with the Argonian nowhere to be found when he turned around. Thankfully, his fears bore no fruit, as Jaraleet was walking up to him from his following distance when Latro stopped.

“We’re nearing the meeting place. You should keep yourself far enough away to be out of sight, but close enough to be in reach if I need you.” With that, the two separated. Beneath everything the past few days’ events brought, Latro took solace that bad memories of being violated as a whore in that Wayrest tavern weren’t the only ones. Ones of stalking the streets of Markarth, of setting up ambushes along the Reach roads, of being a knife in the shadows of halls his enemies thought were safe. He was no stranger to things like this, and he was sure Jaraleet wasn’t either.

It was why he was his first choice.

Jaraleet nodded in silence at Latro’s words, deciding not to answer to them as a measure of precaution. He was sure that the Breton would understand, after all he was starting to become keenly aware that the seemingly-delicate Breton man and him were very similar creatures. For one there had been his unhesitant backing of his suggestion to interrogate Nblec and now, looking at the way Latro walked, it became more and more apparent that the man was used to walking silently and infiltrating other places quietly, much like Jaraleet did in his line of work. He supposed he and the Breton should have a chat about that at some point, but for now it would do him no good to be distracted. They had a target to capture after all.

Latro ducked into the alleyway zen garden, lagging at the last steps, stopping to focus on hearing any movements from inside. Nothing. Either he wasn’t there or he was waiting in stillness. The darkness gave the Khajiit the advantage, neither Jaraleet or Latro being able to see all too well. But any movements, even the slightest shuffle would reverberate off the walls. Even so, Latro stepped cautiously, silent as a graveyard wind. “I know you’re watching me.” He said simply.

“I could sme-“

“You could smell me, perfumed soaps, choices. Fuck you.” Latro said, a face that told Shiburi he was in no mood to have a duel of cursing regarded the Khajiit as he dropped from his shadowed hiding place- more than a few feet up a wall, of all things. He didn’t make a sound as he dropped, not even his robes flapped in the wind. A muffle spell. “I’m here. If this is a trap, spring it.”

“If this was a trap, you wouldn’t have even seen me. It’s good that you’re here,” Shiburi said as he stepped fully out of the shadows and into the moonlight. “I trust you didn’t come alone. I never said you had to, but I pegged you rightly.”

“As what?”

“As somebody who isn’t as frail and naive as you’d have everyone else believe. You were dressed as a woman because your features allow you to pass as one when I first met you. It was hard to pick you out but you always walk the same.” Shiburi smirked, “Are you alone?”

“Yes.” Latro lied, straight-faced. “Get to the point of all this.”

“I will. Like I said, I was sent to Hammerfell before Tamriel all went to shit. I had a task to fulfill from some very important people. Your end of this bargain is to deliver a letter to someone named Hassiim. He and his brother, Saffi, are my friends. Or friends of the Dwemer.” Shiburi said, producing the letter from a pocket inside his robes and offering it to Latro. “You have gloves?”

The Reachman eyed the letter with caution. It could be poisoned with paralysis or any matter of something more deadly. He’d used tricks like that before. He slipped on a pair of leather gloves before taking the piece of paper gingerly, aware of any small needles or just a fine residue of poison that could be activated by sweat or the oils on his hand. Shiburi smirked as if in appreciation of his forethought. “That’s it? You want me to be a fucking courier?”

“For now. I need to know if I can trust you to do simple tasks before I ask bigger things of you.” Shiburi said as Latro’s face screwed up in annoyance. “I’ll say this. Keep those gloves on. Now go. He’ll be waiting at the docks. He doesn’t know the man he’ll be taking this letter from is a wanted terrorist, you’ll have an easy time.”

Without word, Latro backed away from Shiburi, facing him until he finally sank back behind the wall obscuring the zen garden from the streets. After a while of walking away at a hurried pace and feeling his thumping pulse in his neck, he heard Jaraleet fall in step behind him. “That’s what he looks like. Did you see?” He asked his compatriot.

“I did, yes. I’ve already thought on how we might capture him.” Jaraleet replied quietly to Latro. “I also overheard the conversation between you two, if you’ll pardon me. I must say that I agree with this Khajiit.” The Argonian said quietly, easily keeping up with Latro. “There’s more to you than meet the eyes. I suspect you and I are much alike Latro, or am I wrong?”

“I wasn’t always a bard.” Latro said, “And I had no doubt that you had something to hide about yourself from the time we set out on that mission together. Not many people kill without blinking.”

His eyes scanned the streets for watchmen, or Shiburi himself, “First things first, we deliver this letter. If Hassiim really is a friend of the Dwemer, I’d take him in place of Shiburi if we can’t get him.” Latro said, “But, no, Jaraleet. You’re not wrong, and with your tight lips about yourself, I doubt you’d let anything I tell you to slip, no?”

“Hmmm, it would be best if we could capture the both of them, but if this Hassiim really is a friend of the Dwemer that makes him a much more valuable target.” Jaraleet said, nodding slightly at what Latro said next. “Yes, of that you can be assured. All that I ask, of course, is that you do the same.”

“After this, we won’t be able to tell the others anything about what we’ve done or talked about tonight. This never happened.” He said, “Shiburi told me to keep these gloves on, so I wouldn’t doubt this envelope is laced with poison, likely deadly.”

After a while of walking, Latro finally asked, “So, how do you know the things you do? Poison, interrogation, killing. Not just any type of person remains calm on nights like these or on assignments like that day with Nblec.” Latro had his easy smile, “Fact for fact, truth for truth. You’re the first to have to answer.”

“So be it.” Jaraleet said, letting out a sigh in resignation at the fact that he was the one to have to reveal his secrets first. “The An-Xileel were the ones who gave me my training, they were the ones who endowed me with the knowledge of how to interrogate a man, how to kill them. Same with my knowledge of poisons, but that isn't something as uncommon as you might think when one lives in a place like Argonia. You could find elders who have much more knowledge than me and who haven't held a blade in their lives.” The Argonian said, shrugging slightly before speaking again. “Your turn.”

“So you’re an agent of Black Marsh?” He said, looking his companion up and down with interest. What the Argonians wanted in Cyrodiil or Hammerfell, Latro didn’t know, and he felt a supreme curiosity niggling at the back of his mind, “Sora knows this, no one else but you and her now. We’ll keep it that way, though.” He began.

“You’re not wrong saying that there’s more to me. You’re not wrong saying that you and I aren’t all too different, either. I learned how to wield axe and knife together, to set traps and raid in the dead of night from my Clan’s warriors in the Western Reach. When I was but a boy, I found myself in the Eastern Reach- in Skyrim.” He said, reluctance holding his tongue, and a bit of guilt too, “It was there that I became Forsworn. I was their knife in the dark, a poisoner. All times must change, and I saw my fellow Reachmen embedded in Markarth hunted and hanged. All but me.”

They continued walking for a short while, nothing between them but the soft winds of a Hammerfell night. Soon enough, they’d made it onto the harbor and standing on one of the docks was a lone Redguard, idly smoking a pipe. Latro could smell the tobacco on the breeze as he ducked behind a building, out of view. “He’s only expecting one. Maybe I can lure him here and we can capture him.”

With that, Latro rounded the wall and began his walk towards Hassiim. Every step set him more on edge, his throat growing drier and heart beating faster all the way up to his throat. He stopped for a second, took a calming breath and continued on before raising his hand, “Hassiim!” He whispered harshly.

“Shut up and get over here.” Hassiim waved his hand towards himself, beckoning Latro. When they were finally standing face to face, Hassiim held his hand out, “You have the documents?”

Latro nodded, completely unaware of any documents but continuing on with nothing but hope protecting him. And an An-Xileel assassin, “Yes. But I was followed, you have to come with me.”

“Just give them to me, quick. We’ll part ways in a second, come on.” Hassiim said, his voice devoid of patience.

Latro swallowed, “Fine.”

That wasn’t exactly his plan, but it was Shiburi’s. He handed the envelope over, the paper exchanging hands and… Hassiim nodded at him. “Good.” Without incident, Hassiim tore open the envelope and revealed the contents inside- a folded paper. “Bring me to the alley?”

Hassiim gritted his teeth and his hand shot for his dagger, but instead fell limp at his side as if the life in it vanished. “Wha-?”

The Redguard stumbled back, looking around him in confusion before he crumpled to the dock. “I… you…”

He fell completely still. Latro stood there, the absurdity and suddenness snatching his words away. After a moment, he leaned over to get a closer look at Hassiim. He wasn’t a corpse after all, the subtle rising and falling of his chest gave that away. Paralysis. Latro grabbed Hassiim by the collar and hauled him up, dragging him back up the dock and towards Jaraleet. When the Argonian arrived and lent a hand in carrying the Redguard, Latro shook his head, “It was a note. Paralysis poison, we have to bring him to the alley, the note said.”

“Hmmm, it seems we might have stumbled on something bigger than we might have thought initially.” The Argonian replied as he helped to haul Hassiim’s paralyzed form. “There's bound to be more risk involved than what he had originally prepared for...but we could learn a great deal more.” He mused out loud. “What say you Latro, are you willing to risk more than we might have bargained for?” He asked the Reachman, he was after all the one who had come up with the idea of this mission of theirs.

“I was neck-deep in it from the start, my friend.” Latro chuckled ruefully, “Shiburi might come after us if we foil his task this far into it, let’s see where this leads.”

He huffed, grunting as he helped carry the dead weight of the Redguard back to where this all began…




The Redguard crumpled to the ground at Shiburi’s feet. Latro and Jaraleet stood shoulder to shoulder opposite Shiburi, the paralyzed Hassiim between the two parties. It was a tense moment, a choking silence, Latro’s sweaty palms almost shooting for his sword. Then Shiburi spoke, “Damn good.” The Khajiit said, “Follow.”

They followed the Khajiit, exchanging glances all the while. They had the advantage of numbers, but after Latro’s first run-in with the Khajiit, he was still a bit intimidated. He absolutely hated it. “What are we doing with him?”

“You’ll see.” Shiburi said, “But in all honesty, you’d have to be touched in the head to not figure it out.”

Latro shot Shiburi a scowl. After a while of walking, they’d made it to a house in the slums of Gilane, a run-down, destitute thing with boarded windows and a door that looked like it would fall apart under the stress of a particularly hard sigh. Shiburi opened the door after undoing an amount of locks protecting what looked like what nobody would want and disappeared inside, beckoning them in. Latro looked to Jaraleet with raised eyes and an expression that asked the question his tongue didn’t.

He had been surprised when Shiburi hadn't made a comment about his sudden appearance, as if his presence had been a factor that he Khajiit had anticipated beforehand. “Could he have known about my presence?” Jaraleet thought inwardly, frowning slightly. Between him and Latro he was sure that they could take the Khajiit head on and subdue him but if his presence had been anticipated, then it was likely that Shiburi had prepared well in advance for any potential double-crossing from Latro’s part.

He helped Latro carry the unconscious body of the Redguard until they both stood in front of a house in Gilane’s slums. “We have to, if we want to accomplish our goal.” The Argonian replied quietly to the unspoken question that Latro had made to him. “You leave what is to come to me, if you'd prefer, and try to get information out of our other friend here.”

Latro nodded at Jaraleet offering to do the violence for him. His morals were yet intact and that was something he took solace in. “Alright, then. Let’s go.”

They both entered the house, Latro’s skin prickling, expecting a knife to the throat or a crossbow bolt to the forehead. When none came, he let out a long breath from his nose. He took in the space before him and found it surprisingly quaint. The table in the corner looked to be incredibly expensive and something straight from an aristocrat’s tea room, the accompanying chairs no different, if not mismatched. Around the barred windows were curtains that obviously held little purpose other than making the space more homely. The fireplace was going, firelight spilling out onto a fur pelt rug that looked to be from a big game animal. “I wasn’t expecting you to have a taste for the finer things.” Latro said humorlessly.

“It isn’t mine.” Shiburi responded, “We’ll keep our friend here. His brother doesn’t know about what he does when he isn’t bending knee and bending over for the Dwemer.” He said, “It will take a while for him to break. But he will. You can do the honors-” he nodded to Jaraleet- “Since you’re so set on crashing mine and Latro’s bonding time you’d best pull your weight.”

Shiburi gestured to a couple small crates opposite the chair he was using next to the fireplace, “Sit. It’s time I told you at least something.”

When they took their seats, Latro wasted no time in loosing his question, “Who are you really?”

“One of my names is Shiburi ibn Sev’Ahmet. That much is true and it’ll have to be good enough. I did come to Hammerfell- sent here- with a task to do.” He said before raising his hand to Jaraleet, “There are tools in the corner, get creative.”

“A very important person visiting here soon must die by my hand. I was pressgang’d into Dwemer service, like I told Latro, but it’s only all the more better of a position for me to do my job.” Shiburi continued as he turned back to Latro, “One of these tiny goals I must reach in order to make sure this very important person dies and my mission is completed in full is that I know where Hassiim and his brother live, his activities, his friends.

Hassiim was already beginning to stir, albeit in futility as Jaraleet bound the Redguard to the chair he’d been unceremoniously dropped in. “What is this? Who are you?”

“Hello, Hassiim.” Shiburi rose from his seat, taking the one opposite of Hassiim at the table. Latro could see Hassiim’s balled fists shaking in rage, “My new friends here are going to help me ensure that Hammerfell lives forever a prosperous and autonomous nation-state.”

“Sevari?” Hassiim said, teeth clenched.

“Sevari is another of my names. The real one, actually.” Shiburi- or Sevari- shrugged.

“I still don’t have clear answers.” Latro rose, fists clenching as anger took over his senses. He could feel the heat in his face, teeth clenching.

Sevari only raised his hands, “I was pressgang’d, sure. But I wasn’t sent to Hammerfell to be pressgang’d. The Dwemer arriving suddenly muddied up the water for me, but the reason we are all here now was decided even before this Hammerfell-Volenfell business.” Sevari looked at Latro’s fists and smirked, “You really want to do that again?”

Latro’s lip curled in contempt as he worked to control his breathing. It seemed every damned step forward only brought him more questions and he did not appreciate participating in these games if he didn’t know the prizes. Sevari reminding him of his beating didn’t help the matter. It was quickly becoming the obsession of a man who finally had a rival. “I want answers.”

“The Poncy Man must remain as the sole opposition to Dwemer supremacy in Hammerfell. Your friend, this Poncy Man, has deals with important people far to the south.” Sevari began, “There was a time that the Poncy Man and his merchant guild reigned supreme, second only to the Caliph himself. The Caliph’s sons liked the Knife-Ears- and don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about-and their shiny gifts.”

“The difference between the Caliph’s sons and their late father though, the heirs were willing to strike deals and appease the Dominion outright. The Poncy Man, though? The Poncy Man is a patriot to an independent Hammerfell, through and through.” Sevari nodded and then gestured to Hassiim, positively fuming just next to him, “Hassiim was one of the late Caliph’s most trusted spymasters, a high-level Officer in the Eyes of Ra Gada. Oh, how we have all fallen from grace with the appearance of the Dwemer. Isn’t that right, my friend?”

“Fuck you, Sevari!” Hassiim screamed at Sevari’s beaming grin.

“Hassiim works to find the sons of the Caliphate, the ones who survived, at least. Hassiim wants to put them on the throne again and overthrow the Dwemer in the name of a Thalmor-appeasing regime of weakness and puppet-strings.” Sevari scowled then, hand shooting out and slamming Hassiim’s face into the table and creating a racket all the more violent in the stillness of the room, “I don’t like Thalmor. My friends south of here, they don’t either. You’re going to give me every name of your surviving connections and maybe I won’t have to yank your teeth out one by one. Speaking of teeth, I think I loosened a couple.”

Sevari turned to Jaraleet, “Well, let’s get to work, shall we?”

Jaraleet had remained silent as Shiburi, or Sevari as it turned out, spoke to Latro, making sure that Hassiim would be bound well enough so that he couldn’t escape unless he managed to, somehow, cut the ropes that had him bound to the chair in which he currently sat. “Let’s.” The Argonian said, tone cold, as he stood up and went to retrieve the assortment of tools that Sevari had stashed inside of the house.

Placing the tools in plain view of the captive Hassiim, Jaraleet knelt in front of the Redguard before he turned to look at Sevari. “Do you want to start?” The Argonian asked, still not having the full measure of the kind of individual Sevari was and, thus, opting to act with a measure of caution.

Sevari nodded, “Okay, Hassiim. Now is where you choose whether you survive or get thrown to the wolves.” Sevari leaned forward in his chair, “I know you were trained to withstand torture. That’s not surprising at all for a man of your former position.”

“Do you know what the Bhaanu Sasra is, Hassiim?” Sevari asked. Hassiim didn’t answer, instead glaring holes in Sevari from his seat, “It’s the Thalmor puppet agency that silences dissenters and major criminals. I learned everything I know about this craft we share, fieldwork, cloak and dagger from them. I was good at what I did.”

“At what I do. Let’s find out if my Bhaanu Sasra interrogation skills can hold up to the test of your torture resistance.” Sevari stood, cracking his knuckles by making a tight fist, “I always win in the end, Hassiim.”

Hassiim laughed a cruel thing out onto the still, dusty air of the safehouse, shaking his head, “That’s it? I expected more out of you, Sevari.”

“Pray to whatever God you Redguards have that you don’t see more.” Sevari frowned.

“I don’t pray.” Hassiim scowled, leaning towards Sevari. Sevari took his moment, sliding a pair of leather gloves onto his big hands, slow and casual, stroking one of Hassiim’s bearded cheeks.

“I suggest you start.”




Latro stood just outside the door to Sevari’s safehouse. Where the Gilane he had known for the past few days was lively, clean, and beautiful this place was everything but. Prostitutes wandered about with their chests exposed, skooma dealers and skooma addicts both roamed the streets, mingling among each other as they are wont to do. After a couple hours of waiting, Latro had seemingly befriended a street cat. With its appearance and tolerance of him, he was reminded of Sora, and that at least brought a smile to his face. The two of them had sat playing with each other for the last half hour or so, but as all good things must end when Sevari enters the picture, the cat scurried off when the door to the safehouse creaked open. “We’re finished, come inside.”

Latro nodded. Arrayed on the table was an assortment of cruel looking devices that Latro had not even seen before, onlynmade more crude by the blood caking half of them. Sevari busied himself with cleaning them, rubbing them with an alcohol-wet cloth. He talked as he worked, “Your Argonian friend is handy. I just might be starting to like the both of you. Neither of you seem new to this kind of work,” Sevari gestured to the crumpled mess that was Hassiim in the corner, “Speaking of work, I’ll need you to take him somewhere after a few days. Either one of you.”

“We weren’t able to squeeze much blood from this stone, but he doesn’t know yet how persistent I can be.” Sevari said non-chalantly, as if torturing a man and reducing him to the most base and animalistic he could be was a nice hobby like fishing or sewing, “I managed to get one name out of him though, Khesh. Keep your ears open about him. I know I will.”

“Sevari,” Latro swallowed, taking another step towards the Khajiit. “Who are you?”

Sevari stopped putting his tools back in the pockets of his leather roll he kept them in. Turning around with his usual frown, “The Thalmor sought to make an example of me back in my homeland for betraying them. By killing my brothers and I, they were looking to send a message to other would-be defectors.” Sevari folded his arms and nodded, “Now, I am a message to them.”




Latro and Jaraleet shut the door to Sevari’s safehouse behind them. The walk back to their side of Gilane was quiet, filled only with the sounds of night bugs and breezes. Latro was the first to speak, “You’re an agent of Argonia? The An-Xileel.” He began, running his fingers through his loose hair, “Why are you with us now?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Jaraleet replied when Latro said that he was an agent of Argonia, of the An-Xileel. “Believe it or not, it’s got nothing to do with my position as an agent of the An-Xileel.” He began speaking, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was stationed in the Imperial City, gathering information, when this whole….mess with the Dwemer began and I was caught in the crossfire, got stuck with a bunch of refugees making their way towards Skingrad.” The Argonian spoke, shaking his head slightly. “There, I joined the Colovian Rangers. Figured it was the best way to learn information about this new threat that had appeared out of nowhere.”

“There, I met Raelynn and Gregor and found myself sharing a campfire with you and the rest of the group.” He continued on, frowning as he remembered what came next. “Then the whole mess with the Dominion occupation happened, and I decided to stick with you since I knew you folks.” Jaraleet continued on, pausing for a second to let Latro process what he had just said. “Once we had gotten to Anvil, truth be told, I wasn’t too sure on what to do. Until I got chatting with Alim that is, he mentioned something about an expedition to the Jerall mountains and about a machine you had found in some ruins.” He said, pausing yet again but this time to catch his breath. “Way I figure it, you and the rest of your group know something about the return of the Dwemer and, thusly, you have the best chance of fixing this. It’s a bit of a gamble on my part, but there wasn’t much else that I could do. I doubt that I’d have managed to survive my trip back to Argonia by my lonesome with the Dwemer on the warpath and the Dominion suddenly making a move for Cyrodiil.” He said, letting out a sigh.

“If you are worried that I will hurt anyone in the group, fret not. My interest lay solely on defeating the Dwemer, nothing more and nothing else.” He said, deciding to forego mentioning his desire to obtain their technology for the An-Xileel. “I promise you that no harm will come to you, nor to anyone else in the group, from my hand.”

Latro nodded, “I was with the Rangers for a bit. Odd that I didn’t see you, but I guess given your career choices I can’t blame myself.” Latro chuckled. He listened to Jaraleet’s reassurance, “I should trust you. I, of all people, know the old saying that everyone sleeps. If you wanted any of us dead, they wouldn’t be here anymore.”

“But forgive me if I sleep a little lighter than I already do.” Latro smiled. He dropped it and sighed, “What do you think of all this, An-Xileel? Spygames carrying out the machinations of two Empires against each other?”

Jaraleet chuckled softly at Latro’s words, waving his words away. “There’s nothing to forgive, I understand you being cautious.” The Argonian replied easily, frowning slightly when the Reachman asked him what he thought of all that they had learned that night. “I think…” The assassin finally began after a few moments of silence. “That the river is leading our group through dark waters. We must be careful of what we do.” He said, shaking his head slightly.

“It is an unfortunate truth but I fear that we might be surrounded by enemies on all sides. This...game that Sevari is playing, it would have happened regardless. The Dwemer are just an extra variable in an old game that has been played for a long time. And our little group, well, we are neck-deep in an important move in the game.”

Latro walked alongside Jaraleet as they made their way from the slums. The night’s events had certainly yielded more questions than answers, each one erupting into more like fighting a hydra.
Jaraleet was right, though. The game they were playing was not new by any means. He only hoped they chose the right side in all of this. He considered Jaraleet’s words carefully, sighing his breath onto the night breezes.

“Fuck.”
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6th Midyear, 4E208, Early Evening, Gilane Streets…

Even with the agony of a broken arm screaming at her with every step, Daro’Vasora felt the heat from the crowds and the conscious effect that their aggressive attention was hurling towards her. Her feet moved automatically now, conscious thought was fleeting, and being paraded through the streets by Zaveed and his Dwemeri entourage was humiliating and terrifying all at once; there was no escaping from this, and in her heart, she knew that running would only bring more pain and maybe even death. It was a prospect she didn’t care to entertain, as she very much wanted to live. Still, she tried to walk as upright as she could to maintain some air of dignity, even if her eyes refused to meet anyone in the crowd. She couldn’t look broken and defeated, there was an off chance that someone in the crowd would act, or inspire some act of defiance that would have this all worth it.

Was it, though? Was any of this worth it? Daro’Vasora thought, wincing as a hand shoved her from behind to keep her moving and jostling her arm. Roux had died in front of her eyes, and she had no idea what happened to Raelynn; she had failed them both, because she didn’t know how to fight. Now, presumably, she was being carted off to an execution and everything she was and held dear would be gone. Her mind fluttered fearfully to the thought of being soul-trapped, shoved into a gem to be used an extinguished to power a war machine. Her defiance deflated somewhat at the thought; she just wanted to run and hide and let everything wash over. She had gotten in over her head and now she was paying the price for it, her fate out of her hand.\

The feeling of hopelessness was insufferable. There was always a way out, wasn’t there?

“Try to smile, my dear; you’ve drawn quite the crowd.” Zaveed said behind her, waving at the gathered faces of the citizenry, Redguard, Dwemer, and everyone else alike. It was harrowing being the center of attention at the best of times, but the sensation Daro’Vasora felt wasn’t unlike accidently stepping on a pressure plate in a ruin and the moments of tense anticipation of what was coming next. She didn’t reply to Zaveed, instead staring directly ahead and trying to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other; she had to make it out, and she couldn’t do that if she lost her cool.

“Murderer! Blight!” A voice screamed suddenly from the crowd, and something warm hit the Khajiit on the hip. Soon, a chorus of yelling and incensed voices erupting from the crowd was deafening. The escort party formed a perimeter, weapons held at the ready, but it didn’t stop those in the crowd from tossing objects, usually rotten foot or even rocks at Daro’Vasora. Zaveed made a Tisk sound between his teeth. “It seems you aren’t the most popular person in these parts. If only one of your friends was here to take your fall…” He mused, raising a hand and shaking his head to prevent a brick from being hurled in his direction.

“Fuck. You.” Daro’Vasora hissed, her teeth clenched as her arm jostled.

“Ah, there she is. Poor luck, about the arm. Usually they’re so much more robust. If only you had cooperated, you wouldn’t be in such a predicament.” Zaveed replied with bemusement. “It’s too bad, really, that you had to do something silly like join up with a bunch of terrorists. Only a few days here, and you’ve thrown your lot in with some extremists who terrorize the citizens and murder those who champion their causes. Did you ever stop to ask yourself what your Poncy Man would do if he won, hm? Do you think he’d be merely happy if the Dwemer were to be removed, or would he continue to seek vengeance on those who accepted them afterwards? The streets would just grow more and more blooded, and you have certainly had your hand in that pot.”

Daro’Vasora spat in the dirt. “You talk too much, murderer. The simple fact you exist and have any sort of power is a testament that what your friends are doing is amoral.” she said, voice dripping with vitriol. Her hatred for the other Cathay at least gave her something to focus on that wasn’t the crowds of people and the agony in her arm. It was hard to talk, however.

“Roux had served his purpose, and he was no longer required.” Zaveed replied, keeping pace with the younger woman. “Others had much more… creative solutions for disposing of him, but you were the final gift he gave us. His death was quick, and largely painless. More than the rest of you deserve, I might add.”

“Then why am I still alive?” Daro’Vasora shot back. “You parade me through this street, to what, put a face to the enemy these people can hate?”

Zaveed shrugged. “Your words, not my own. That said, can you not see how they look at you, the embodiment of why they cannot live in peace? You really are quite hated, and you are taking the brunt of the wrath that your friends should be rightfully sharing. A pity, but I will have them dealt with soon enough. That I promise.”

“If you’re after fear or defiance, you’re going to be disappointed.” Daro’Vasora replied tersely. “I just hope someone throws their shit in your face, you bastard.”

A familiar face caught her eye and she stopped dead in her tracks. It was the Dwemer child that had bumped into her the day she had landed, looking at her aghast. His mother clutched him close to her, her face contorted into a furious scowl.

“Mother, what are they doing with her?” he asked, fear tinged in his voice.

“You monster. How dare you?” The woman shot at Daro’Vasora, who stared at her in an almost trace-like fixation. Everything seemed to be coming back in focus, and she felt an irrational sense of shame, as if she owed these people something better than she was. The Khajiit glanced away for a moment when a movement caught her eye followed by a sharp, immediate pain that flooded her consciousness. Blood trickled down between her eyes and her snout; the woman had thrown a brick, which lay upon the cobblestone at her feet..

“They should shoot you in the street, you bitch!” The woman screamed, tears were streaming down her son’s face. A guard stood between them and Daro’Vasora, cutting off her view, and she was moving again with a push.

“A real hero of the people, it would seem.” Zaveed remarked coldy.

The blood just ran down her face.




The day was going well enough. No Khajiit tailing him, no Dwemer putting him in cuffs, it was almost like the whole thing was a world away. At least for now, but nobody said he had to be back any time before curfew, so he would milk all he could from this. Currently, he was browsing the bazaar for anything he could get for Sora. She had the lead on him, two gifts from her versus his nothing. He just couldn’t have that now, he smiled.

He had already picked out a black dress that looked good enough for her in his eyes. How she would see it was a different question, but he would worry about that after. As he approached one of the vendors hawking different teas, wondering if he could find one that Sora would like, a group of children scurried last him. He caught himself from tripping and looked after their quickly disappearing backs in the crowd. It was then he noticed a bit of a commotion forming. He squinted his eyes to try to get a better look, but when that was fruitless, he took the first steps closer to the yelling mob.

They seemed riled, angry, hateful. Was this a protest? From over the top of some of heads in the crowd, he saw a troupe of guards escorting somebody through the street. He followed as best he could, slipping through the crowd until a feeling of dreaded, horrifying recognition caught his heart in a death grip. “Oh my Gods.”

Latro was then pushing through the crowds, shoving angrily and frenzied. He wanted to call out to her, but what use was it? That was the woman he loved, fur matted and caked with rotten food and blood. If the scene wasn’t all too real and happening before his eyes so helplessly, he would’ve been furious. He would’ve cut through this crowd wholesale and visited bloody violence on everything between him and Sora, animal, woman, man, child. As cruel and unlike him as it was, it called to mind a burning hatred he hadn’t felt in so long.

Finally, behind her was another Khajiit. A wicked looking cat with remorseless eyes. With evil in his eyes. Sevari’s words about his brother echoed in his mind and he found himself gripping the hilt of his sword hard enough to tremble under the tension. The Khajiit looked into the crowd and they locked eyes. Latro held his gaze, wondering just how quickly he could get to him and bury this fucking sword in his chest.




Someone apart from the crowd seemed to be moving against the ebbs and flow of the majority that caught Zaveed’s eye; a Breton face with enraged, passionate eyes stared him down with an intensity unmatched by even the most enraged of the crowd. Zaveed grinned at him and offered a wink.

“It would seem that someone doesn’t seem to share the enthusiasm for your fate as the others.” He mentioned to Daro’Vasora, taking his eyes off of Latro for a few moments to look at Daro’Vasora. “Tell me my dear, do you know him?” he asked, gently grabbing Daro’Vasora by the chin and forcing her to face in Latro’s direction. The look of shock that crossed her features was enough to tell Zaveed who this likely was.

“Ah, Sevari’s plaything. Marvelous. I had hoped to speak with him, but it looks like he is past that sort of pleasantries, would you not agree?” Zaveed asked Daro’Vasora, who starred at Latro, knowing full well what Zaveed was capable of doing to people she cared about.

”GO! RUN, NOW!” she screamed towards Latro as Zaveed grabbed her, drawing a pistol and holding it to her temple. There was no point in pleasantries at this juncture.

“Latro, was it? Why don’t you step out here, center stage. The audience would love to see their star performer make his entrance.” Zaveed called, the pistol clicked, the receiver glowing with soul gem essence. “Do it, or the girl dies.”

The crowd stopped around him, their eyes boring into the porcelain-pale skin among their swarthy selves. There was a palpable tension in the crowds and some looked set on throwing rocks at him now. A piece of him wanted them to. Eyes always locked on Zaveed’s, he stepped out of the crowd and breathed slow. The tingling numbness of a mage armor spell crawled across his skin as he regarded the Khajiit. “Your brother told me about you.” Latro spoke, voice flat and eyes blazing.

“Hopefully it was about my handsome looks and predisposition to getting exactly what I want.” Zaveed replied, appraising Latro with a quick scan up and down with his ice-blue eyes. “So tell me, Latro, what do you plan on doing? Are you quicker than a twitch of my finger, or do you think the crowd will stand by and idly let it happen? How about my diligent Dwemer companions, who are none too happy about the deaths that have been inflicted on their own? Do you feel talented enough to cross the space between yourself and myself without being gunned down, held down by a good samaritan, or killing your paramour? Think swiftly, because I have an appointment to attend to, and I loathe to be late.”

Latro looked to Sora and his eyes flashed with something more gentle, “I love you.”

He turned back to Zaveed, looking from him, to the Dwemer and the crowd. He already had his odds weighed out from the second he saw Zaveed and Sora. He wasn’t new to this but it didn’t take a professional to know he was on the shit end. As much as it pained him, Zaveed had all the cards. “Go, then. I’d hate to make you late.” Latro said, “We’ll meet again some other time if you’d like.”

“Perhaps I can schedule you in for this afternoon.” Zaveed nodded towards two of his escort. “You two, take him. If he doesn’t cooperate, kill him.” He said, forcing Daro’Vasora along. She planted her feet, shouting, “I’m not worth it, Latro! Fucking go!” Zaveed smacked her arm with the buttplate of his pistol, causing her to bellow out in agony. “Time to choose, Latro! Your skin or your girl!” Zaveed snarled, tossing Daro’Vasora to one of the other guards as he trained his pistol on Latro.

Wordlessly, and with eyes always trained on Zaveed’s own, he took the sword out of his belt. Still in its scabbard, he placed it on the ground. Arms held out to his side and grim-faced, under it his mind was racing for the next step in this game he’d been forced into. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you in the flesh. Your brother and I already met and I’m sure you saw what happened with that.” Latro said as the Dwemer took his arms in their own, not having to wrestle him, “I’m not Raelynn.”

“Cooperate and you will not share a similar fate to her. I see you are not entirely stupid, but love does strange things to one’s mind, no?” Zaveed said, nodding to the soldiers, one of whom scooped up the discarded sword and checked Latro for more weapons. They escorted him to the front of the column, to the cheers of the crowd. “One day, four key members to this little insurgency dismantled by yours truly. I had anticipated this to be more difficult.” He grinned, and the procession continued. “My brother has a soft heart and an idealistic mind; had he wished to lay you out, he would, so I would be interested to know what kinds of games of his own he is playing. Forgive my saying so, but you do not appear to be formidable in the slightest.”

“Latro… why did you do this?” Daro’Vasora weezed, tears soaking her eyes and fur along with her own blood. “You should have ran. Fucking… urgh.” she grunted, from frustration or pain it was hard to say. She looked crestfallen; she looked up to look into his face. “I can't keep you safe. I didn't want this, why?” she pleaded.

To be honest, Latro didn’t have a plan. If Zaveed was right about Sevari, about him having a heart, perhaps he Khajiit would be loyal enough to him to free him. Perhaps he’d be loyal enough to free Sora as well. This was his gambit, every other option thrown to the wind. Latro swallowed, trying to play up his own panic he had hitherto been trying to suppress, “I don’t know, Sora.” He said, offering a sorry gaze at her, “I couldn’t. I couldn’t fucking watch this all without doing something. We’ve survived a lot together, I can’t leave you.”

“I'd hoped you'd have a better plan than this… we're going to be swinging by a rope by tonight, I fear.” she replied, struggling with a lump in her throat. “I didn't tell you where I was going in case it was a trap, I… I wanted to protect you. After everything, I can't deal with the thought of losing you.”

“How touching.” Zaveed sneered behind them, his pistol held casually to their backs. “You were always going to be fine, my dear; Governor Rourken requested you personally. Your lover, however… hm, perhaps she'll have a use for him yet. Maybe the pits? I do love a good mystery, don't you?”

“Fuck you.” Latro tossed over his shoulder, “You’d best hope I die in those pits or I’ll come back for you.”

“Ah, empty threats. A personal favorite of mine.” Zaveed chuckled, jabbing Latro in the back with the pistol barrel. “Your actions thus far make you far too easy to predict. You cross me in any way, she pays the price. Would you like me to demonstrate what I did to Raelynn for your benefit? That is what would happen. It is not an empty threat; my words are ironclad.” the Khajiit promised.

Latro decided to keep his mouth shut. It wouldn’t do anything any good to trade insults with this Khajiit. Now that he was firmly in the Dwemer’s clutches, he’d have to tread lightly. He could say any hard words that came to mind when this was over with and had his hands wrapped around this Khajiit’s neck.




They had arrived at the governor’s palace without any further incidents, and a few of the city guard had joined the escort, having rightfully figured that the prisoners being escorted were very important to the Dwemer, and despite some odd glances at Zaveed, they wisely elected to keep their comments to themselves. The outer gates were opened at their approach, a fixture once kept open now closed off to the outside world since the crackdown began, and Daro’Vasora once again found herself climbing the long and gilded steps to the entryway, Dwemeri soldiers stationed along the steps and through the courtyard to act as a deterrent for attacks. A pair of sentries opened the double doors to allow them inside, and before long, and ascending an elevator of Dwemeri construction, they were escorted to the Governor’s office. Rourken’s aide was ever present at a desk outside of the doors, and once he recognized Zaveed, he hurried inside. The doors were opened to permit entry.

Zaveed led the way and reaching what he felt was an appropriate distance, knelt in front of the Governor’s desk. Kerztar was there, unsurprisingly. The Khajiiti privateer still felt the rumours between Rourken and Kerztar were legitimate.

“Your Excellency, Master Kerztar… may I present to you Daro’Vasora and Latro… something or other. She is the leader of the insurgency group that has recently come into your city and caused irreparable harm this past week, including the murder of Administrator Nblec Mrazac, the freeing of political prisoners and terrorists, and assaulting the city garrison and releasing all sorts of unsavory criminals back into Gilane’s streets. As requested, I present her to you, and Latro here happened to come along for the trip. Something about being in love with her, it’s very sentimental, I assure you.” The Khajiit grinned, looking Rourken in the eyes.

Rourken stood from behind her desk, wearing a green and black dress this time, but the jewelry was the same. Daro’Vasora wondered if they had sentimental value, or even enchantments. “Exemplary performance, Zaveed.” she said, taking notice of Daro’Vasora’s arm. “What happened to her arm?”

“She resisted, so I persuaded her.”

“I see.” Rourken said, studying Zaveed’s face for a few moments before turning to regard Daro’Vasora again. “We can mend that easily enough. Jnand, please fetch a healer for Miss Daro’Vasora, if you’d please.”

“Yes, your excellency.” Her aide said, bowing before hastily departing the room.

“You may take your lead, Zaveed. I am sure the Major would like to debrief you. Your partner, Sevari, also has news to report today it would seem. You have served Volenfell well today.” she bowed respectfully. “Please take the time to refresh, you’ve been busy.”

“As you wish.” He said, rising to his feet and adjusting his waist belt. “Until my services are called upon once more, I am at your disposal.” he said, turning to leave the room. Offering a wink to his two prisoners, he strode out of the room with an arrogant smirk and soon had departed. The four escorting Dwemer remained, however, although they stepped back to take position up near the walls.

Rourken studied her two prisoners with interest, gesturing for them to take the seats at her desk as she gracefully returned to her own chair, setting down as lightly as a feather. “It is good to see you again, although I had wished under more pleasant circumstances and without your regretful involvement with the unsavory elements of this city. I had hoped that you’d have had sympathies for what we are trying to accomplish here, and I feel that perhaps in time you still may. It is why I had personally requested you, and miss Hawkford. Curious how Zaveed has failed to apprehend her.” She pondered aloud.

“Oh, he kidnapped her, alright. He also murdered my friend in cold blood after cutting off and mailing his fingers to me.” Daro’Vasora spat back. “Do you understand the kinds of monsters that work for you in this gilded tower, Governor?”

Razlinc cradled her fingers together, considering Daro’Vasora’s words. “Your appraisal, Major?”

“While it is true I’ve never paid into the business of sending saints to capture sinners, as the saying goes,” Kerztar said from his seat next to Razlinc’s desk, sighing, “I never intended for such grievous injury and insult. Zaveed was always less… professional, than his partner seemed. The ends we are after don’t sit well and justified with me.”

Latro bitterly huffed, Kerztar responding, “Professionalism in all things. You find this laughable?”

“Was it professional to slaughter a city? Did the ends justify the means then?” Latro said through gritted teeth.

Though the guards along the walls seemed to stir subtly, the Reachman didn’t go any further but bore holes through Kerztar and Razlinc’s eyes. Kerztar frowned, “You’ll have to take those grievances up with Governor Fallinar. We may share Clans, but no different a mer in ideology and beliefs from mine will you find.”

“Mhm.” Latro responded simply, spiteful sarcasm lacing it.

“Conduct will be reviewed, I assure you.” Rourken promised, looking her guests in the eye. “But extremist actions require extreme counter measures. Until your group arrived, we had attempted to handle things tactfully and root out these elements without causing much of a scene. It is regrettable you have been caught up in it, but surely you understand that there would be repercussions. How many Dwemer have died at the hands of the Poncy Man and his deplorable followers, do you think? Far too many.” she said, her face darkening somewhat. “Nblec Mrazak was a good mer who only wanted our peoples to find peaceful coexistence. He loved Redguard culture and actively participated in it; he spent his own coin and time trying to eliminate poverty and actively campaigned to use our technology and expense to provide clean and purified water for the entire city. It was to be his legacy and his way to show that the Dwemer had much to offer this province.” she sighed, shaking her head as her gaze fell upon Latro.

“As I’ve explained to Daro’Vasora the first we’ve met, Clan Kragen is not our own. My administration can do little except for admonish them for their conduct, and this is exactly why I am trying my damnest to ensure that Volenfell becomes a beacon of progress for all of our people so warlords like Fallinar do not become the norm.” She turned to Daro’Vasora. “You are a historian. You know of the Snow Elves’ fate, and it was not my people who had anything to do with that. Do you know how easy it would be for us to simply order the entire might of our technology to strike down like Volendrung itself upon resistance? What happened to Imperial City disgusted me. Give me a chance to prove to you that my intentions are pure and my motives are transparent; I simply cannot control every aspect of what happens in this city, and sometimes elements under my authority act outside of what I would consider tasteful behaviour. You are a link between my people and your own, help me find a better way. I loathe the idea of the streets filling with blood because extremist elements grow emboldened.”
“I…” Daro’Vasora began, turning her head and looking to meet Latro’s gaze. “I want to believe you, but all I see is your creature puncturing Roux’s heart in front of me and the torture he inflicted on Raelynn. You want to start making things right? Arrest Zaveed. Take him off of the streets. Show that his actions are not what you represent.”

Kerztar’s eyebrows went up at that as he frowned in thought. He finally nodded, “Rest assured that he will be reprimanded. I’ve not yet decided what action should be taken, but I have considered that route now that I know the extent of his strategy. I’ve known for some time he took a crueller and more hard-handed way to things.”

Latro let it go unsaid that he already had several actions being considered as to what should be done to Zaveed. It was not a usual thing to come across men like him, but now, every fiber of his being wanted to match Zaveed. Evil for evil, until they found out just who was better at it. Even now, he felt his breathing becoming more rapid, heart almost beating its way up his throat. He swallowed, sighing. Kerztar again looked to him, “Have you something to add? To suggest?”

To Latro’s surprise, Kerztar didn’t seem in the least bit patronizing in his questions. “No, Major.” Latro’s frown remained ever-steady, “It’d be best if you didn’t ask me for suggestions.”

Kerztar considered the man before him, his face, posture. He nodded, “No doubt it would be.” Kerztar said before turning to Razlinc, “The verdict is yours, Madam Governor. What should happen next?”

She considered the line of questioning for a few moments, her fingers separating as she placed them upon her lap. “He has done his duty as requested and without hesitation, and I am not in the habit of punishing subordinates who had done what they felt was within their authority. It is a failure on our part that we did not monitor their actions closely, so for now, take him off of the assignment and give him leave. You will have to discuss his conduct with him, is this agreeable?” she asked Kerztar.

Kerztar nodded, “Of course. Perhaps pairing him back up with his partner for the next few weeks will help set an example for him.”

“Oh, so much better.” Daro'Vasora replied sarcastically. “Two psychotic murderers can plot far more efficiently than one.”

“Do not mistake our cordial disposition as acceptance nor this meeting as an attempt at reparation. You are both my prisoners and stand accused of engaging in terrorist activities; I just happen to believe you can be rehabilitated, Daro'Vasora, and Latro shall be handled with the same grace you will be afforded. His safety and comfort should keep you satisfied enough to cooperate, should it not?

“Typically, I would sentence him to fight until his sentence has been fulfilled. It would seem that is disagreeable for both of you, so here we are, at an impasse. We are reining in a valuable asset out of good faith, not because you demanded it. The rest of your group will be regretfully dealt with in an appropriate fashion. You two, plus miss Hawkford, stand to be granted immunity and pardons for your part in these affairs should you cooperate.”

Daro'Vasora scowled. “Ever so generous. You'll do anything to shrug accountability, won't you? That perfect image you seem to want to project to the world while others get their hands dirty under your watch. I suppose we'll see your true colours soon enough. Let the others go, permit them to leave the city. They were coerced into action because they had nowhere else to go.”

“We both know that's impossible. Do you think I am so foolish as to not recognize that your companions seem to keep throwing themselves at my people and wish for revenge for Imperial City's fate? There was never going to be a diplomatic resolution, you and I both know this.” Rourken responded tersely.

“So condemn him!” Latro’s voice rose, “Do something to keep your peoples from slaughtering Thousands!”

“And risk war, Latro? Risk enmities that will grow like weeds years down the line to engulf our childrens’ Tamriel?” Kerztar asked, “Has this world not seen enough of that yet?”

“You saw to it that we saw more than we had ever wanted since the Great War, you fucking bastard.” Latro growled between bared teeth and wild eyes.

“Perhaps this was the wrong time to choose to have a civil discussion. It will not compromise our hospitality, I assure you.” Kerztar rose a single hand and the guards grabbed Latro and Sora up, “Since this healer is running late, we’ll bring you to him.”

He turned to Latro, the pair sharing a lop-sided gaze of hate-stoic professionalism, “As for you, you may wait in one of the suites for your significant other there.”

With a nod, Kerztar’s guards gently but firmly guided them out of the room and to their respective destinations in the Palace. When their paths finally diverged, Latro left his gaze on Sora, eyes sorry and pleading. He was determined as ever to make sure she was safe, albeit at the cost of throwing his own safety to the winds. When they’d made it to the suite, one of the guards opened the door and pushed Latro in. With clumsy, near-fall footsteps that pounded off the ground, he collided with the wall in front of him. He was still bound in manacles so it was a very unpleasant thing to hear a familiar voice behind him.

“What the fuck have you gotten yourself into now, Reachman?”




The medical wing was a very tidy place that seemed to have no shortage of material and machines that Daro'Vasora had never seen before and could spend years studying. She was instructed to lay down on a padded slab, and a medical assistant helped her lay down with her arm held for her. The assistant told her that she would be back momentarily, leaving the Khajiit to her thoughts, namely a fear that Latro was being interrogated by Zaveed as she lay there helpless.

A few moments later, the assistant came back and came with a few bottles. She held one up for Daro'Vasora to see. “This one will help your pain. This one will be to help heal the bruising and bleeding you are enduring, and this one will help your bones mend while you are in a cast. I will caution you; they have an unpleasant taste we cannot dilute.”

She wasn't exaggerating; the second bottle had a chalky taste and a poignant aftertaste that nearly made Daro'Vasora gag, but the others went down easily enough. Within seconds, her arm no longer hurt and she didn't feel the cool cloth wiping her face. The assistant measured her arm, and came back shortly after with a brass sleeve that she slid over the Khajiit’s arm and using a pump with a hose, she clamped the cast shut and screwed it in place, fixing the hose to a fill nipple and soon the cast was being filled with a soothing sky blue fluid that felt warm against her skin.

“Two or three days, and you should be good as new.” the assistant promised. The whole procedure was quick, and the medicine was unlike any she'd seen before.

“This is incredible,” Daro'Vasora said with genuine awe, looking over to the assistant, a pretty girl with silver hair. Roots suggested it was dyed. “What else can your medicine do?”

“Well, diseases are a thing of the past and we can regenerate damage or corrupted tissue. We've eliminated scarring, burns, and infections. Without an immediate cause of death or a hyper-aggressive infection or poison, you'd be hard pressed to find a physically ill Dwemer. We needed to prepare for the strange climate and diseases we weren't accustomed to back on Nirn.” she smiled apologetically, shaking her head. “Sorry, that must have been rude.”

“Not at all. A few centuries of isolation would make you vulnerable. I can't believe that didn't occur to me.” Daro'Vasora admitted before a thought crossed her mind. “What about something like mental illness and brain injury? It's a rather vexing problem without a solution here.”

“A broken arm hardly means a damaged mind, but I assume it's not for you that you're asking.” the assistant smiled. “There's been some progress, we can mend the damaged tissues, but the connections are much trickier. There are machines we've been trialing with various degrees of success, perhaps you have someone who would be a willing volunteer?” she asked.

“You know I was arrested, correct?” Daro’Vasora queried.

“Of course, but it's not my business to fret over anything other than my patients’ health. This is a good opportunity to study Khajiiti physiology. I could just go ahead and do it, but I would like consent first.”

“Knock yourself out, as long as it isn't invasive.” Daro’Vasora conceded, realizing she might have stumbled on a way to help Judena and Gregor. The assistant returned with a syringe.

“This might sting a bit.”




“You understand I have two choices now?” Sevari asked, casually swirling a glass of liquor. The bottle it had come from, which was a piece of art itself, squatted on the table he was sitting at.

“You and your fucking choices.” Latro frowned, eyes rolling, “Fuck it, just tell me.”

Sevari sighed, throwing back the rest of his glass’s contents. There was a bit of a pause as Sevari rose, arms crossed, and walked to the opened balcony doors. The sheer pale pink silk sheets billowed in the breeze on either side of him, framed by the gilded double doors and the cityscape beyond. “You know a lot about why I’m here. If you even uttered a wrong word, it would jeopardize this house of cards I’ve worked so hard to keep from blowing over in this damned storm.” Sevari said, “Believe it or not, the Dwemer arriving actually made my job somewhat easier. Now you and your friends come along and start stomping and shouting and having a grand tantrum around my little house of cards.”

“I would do anything to ensure that those cards don’t even shift a fucking hair.” Sevari turned to look at Latro, who regarded him with the same kind of defeated indifference he’d had the day they first met, “Anything. So my two choices are deciding if what I mean by anything is good or bad for you.”

“So?” Latro asked, distrust and fear making his palms wet and heart pound.

Sevari turned to Latro, making his way over at an easy pace. With one hand, the Khajiit placed it on his back and led him over to the balcony. Latro could feel winds, the temperature change. It was slightly colder than when he was at ground level with Sora. He also took in the cityscape, the domed buildings, the sea. Sevari spoke, “How tenuous do you think my position and safety is here, Latro?”

Latro was going to say something but he felt Sevari’s hand press into his back and he involuntarily stepped forward, closer to the parapet. “I’m among my enemies and they have no idea, but a single mistake, a single fuck-up.” Latro took another step forward, his stomach pressing up against the parapet now, “Do you think that people pushed to the brink and without choice will choose the safety of the person next to them over their own?”

Latro’s hands struggled against the shackles they were in, every fiber of will put toward not looking down. It wasn’t long before he felt himself start ever so slightly bending over the parapet. He bit his lip as hard as he could, eyes welling up and then the cityscape was a blur of tears. “They’re polite, but do you really think they’d go through the pains of investigating the death of a terrorist?” Sevari asked, lips agonizingly close to his ear, making him flinch back from them. “You’ll just be another corpse.”

Suddenly, Latro’s stomach left the parapet, with a hard push. His arms and legs flailed, the descent pushing his guts up into his head. He could feel the wind through his hair. He made to scream but the impact was too sudden.

“You wouldn’t have even heard me before a garrote was wrapped around your bird-neck.” Sevari stared down at him. He’d been tossed back from the balcony and now Latro saw the sinister looking smokey tendrils of magicka in Sevari’s hand. A fear spell. Not that he ever needed it. “My brother is going on administrative leave soon, as I hear it. You’re going to be put under my custody.”

The external door bolt disengaged and Daro’Vasora was guided into the room by one of the sentries and the door shut behind her. She felt like she’d accumulated one hundred years worth of filth and grime upon her person in just a few hours, and at that point she wanted nothing more than to bathe and find Latro to make sure he was safe. Stepping inside the room, her eyes adjusted and she saw Latro sitting on a chair with someone looming menacingly above him. When she saw that Latro was unharmed, at least physically, the tension subsided a bit, but she still was on edge for who this stranger was and what he’d done to Latro. “Who is this?” she asked at last, stepping closer to show some form of solidarity with her lover. Her mind was still somewhat hazy from the ordeals she’d suffered when it clicked.

Ohmes-raht.

“Sevari.” she breathed.

“Daro’Vasora.” Slowly, Sevari stepped back from Latro and the Reachman could breathe that much easier. He didn’t like his mind toyed with by spells and the like, but that fear was real, no matter the source. He swallowed, looking from Sora to Sevari and back. He couldn’t tell what was going to happen in the silence between them. Sevari simply retook his seat and poured out three glasses of the liquor he had been drinking before either of them came. “I’m tasked with watching over you. This will be your room for the duration of your stay here. You’ll notice the bath, the bed, the assortment of alcohol I’m currently enjoying.”

“The balcony,” Latro narrowed his eyes to lethal slits at Sevari’s smirk then, “Don’t bother, you’ll die in the attempt if you try at it. Drink?” He pushed one of the glasses towards the two of them with a finger.

Daro’Vasora didn’t hesitate; she grabbed the glass and drained it in a single go, none too gently setting it down. “I met your brother. He’s a piece of shit.” she replied indignantly, grabbing the bottle and topping up her glass once more. “I see Latro isn’t covered in blood and broken fingers, so what do I owe the pleasure?”

“He is, isn’t he?” Sevari smiled at Sora and then nodded towards Latro, “He and I are fast friends. I would never hurt him if I didn’t have to.”

“Fuck you.” Came Latro’s voice from behind Sora. Sevari leaned to meet eyes with him.

“You want those shackles off or…?” Sevari raised his brows and frowned. Without an answer, he stood with two of the glasses he’d poured, brushing past Sora and waved Latro to stand. When he did, he turned around to offer Sevari his shackles. They finally clinked and snapped open, tossed carelessly onto the bed.

Sevari placed Latro’s glass down on his chair and retook his seat at the other end of the room, next to Sora. “See, we can all sit here and talk like civilized people.” He turned to Sora, “So, did my brother talk about me much?”

She drank about half the glass, more thoughtfully this time, and replied in Ta’agra. <Civilized people do not break people’s arms with a smirk, stab a prisoner through the heart, and torture a girl whose only crime was getting caught up in some insane shit; she’s never hurt anyone. Zaveed never asked any questions, just tried to force me into an impossible choice. Why are you working for them?> she asked, looking the Ohmes-raht in the eye.

Sevari’s brows raised at that. It had been a long, long while since he’d met another speaker of the language. It was good that being in the Penitus Oculatus that they kept him refreshed if he ever needed to pose as a Khajiit he was not. He looked at Latro and then to Sora <I had nothing to do with that. He didn’t learn that shit from me so don’t go spitting acid in my face over some shit that wasn’t my lead I was pursuing.> He frowned at her then, mood gone sour, “Your friend here might have been roughed up the first time we met but I told him I wouldn’t have fought if he didn’t.”

Sevari breathed, still frowning at them both as he downed his liquor. “I’m not his keeper, I’m sorry for your friend, though.” Sevari poured himself another one but didn’t move for it for the time being, “I’m only working for them because I have to. If you really need to know, I’m sure Latro has answers.”

He stood, coming closer to Sora, <Not everything about my allegiances are cut and dry, friend. But that knowledge is dangerous to anyone who bears it.> he said in hushed tones. Sevari looked at Latro then back to Sora, <Nothing of that is to be discussed here.>

Daro'Vasora looked over at Latro, intent on picking up that particular thread in private. When Sevari approached, she stood her ground; he likely didn't intend on harm. <Do you really think any Dwemer can speak our tongue? Our people rarely, if ever, crossed paths and they probably thought us to be illiterate beasts. What allegiances are those? You keep hush about them, and your actions tell me you don't have any loyalty to the Governor or her lackeys, so why approach Latro? You don't seem enthusiastic about our detainment or your psychotic brother. So, level with me, with us.>

<You think they won’t find the fact that we aren’t speaking plainly in a tongue they understand to be a little odd?> Sevari narrowed his eyes, sitting back down and sighing, <Zaveed was hired to bring me here to fulfill a task given to me by people far away from here. I was forced into service when they found us after we were shipwrecked. It just so happens that your Poncy Man is a piece in a game that’s been playing out since before we were born. Empire against Empire. Man against Mer.>

Daro'Vasora nodded. At least Sevari wasn't entirely closed off; it was something she could work with. <We could merely say we were eager to speak our mother tongue since we are so far from home, and return to Cyrodiilic in a moment. I am sure Latro is probably lost and annoyed.> she replied, smiling at him from behind her glass.

<Look, Sevari; I’m an Imperial Citizen. I don't have any love of the Dominion, and I don't think you do either. You help us out, we help you out. We're in a bad spot now, but playing along with Rourken’s game might be an advantage. You could have killed Latro many times, and you didn't. For that, you have my gratitude. Please consider what I am asking; there's no need for this cloak and dagger nonsense when we are willing to cooperate willingly.> she said, filling her glass once more and finding a seat next to Latro.

“It's been a long while since I spoke my mother tongue, thank you for humoring me. These days, that is in short supply.” she said conversationally. “If you told me I'd be a Dwemer prisoner in a place a month ago, I would have told you to lay off of the Skooma and get away from me. So, are you and your bother close?” Daro'Vasora asked.

Sevari frowned even deeper at the question, “No.” he shook his head, “Believe it or not, he used to be a young boy who wanted nothing more than to entertain, to make people smile.”

Sevari had a smile of his own thinking back on the memories before it dropped, “But I failed him a very long time ago. I failed him and our sister. Put us on opposite sides.” He shook his head, downed another glass, “But the past is for the dead, no? What of you? Or Latro?”

“I’m an only child.” Latro spoke simply, “Your brother is a piece of shit.”

“So I’m told.” Sevari said said dryly, “Daro’Vasora?”

“Both of my parents and my sister are still back home, it's been a few years since I've seen them, but I have written.” Daro'Vasora replied, omitting details just to be on the safe side. She frowned, trying to imagine what had gone so wrong to turn the boy Sevari described into the bastard she met. “My sister was supposed to visit me in the Imperial City this month. I was going to show her around, make up for lost time. Now I don't even know if she's alive.”

“I would think so. Kerztar has never mentioned having to make trips farther south than Bruma. I doubt the Dominion would be any worse, coming up from Anequina.” Sevari said, “Latro’s Reachmen have enjoyed their recent time though, I hear.”

“What?” Latro asked, perking up immediately at the mention of that. “What do you mean?”

“The Western Reachmen have moved east, the Forsworn have been driven deeper into hiding, put to work in Cidhna mine or put to the headsman’s block. Many of the Clans who had been at war with the easterners are at peace and they’re positively licking the asses of the Dwemer for it.”

Latro shook his head. No doubt, his clan was among them. His lips worked at the words but nothing came out for a bit. He finally worked up the courage, “What of the Crow-Wife clan? Does Witch-Mother White-Horn live?”

Sevari shrugged, “I’ve no idea. Hammerfell is Kerztar’s jurisdiction since his disagreement about Fallinar, the fair-ruling Governor of Skyrim, marching his army south and parlaying with the Empire.” Sevari frowned, “I haven’t even been to Skyrim for years now since Titus was killed. I never liked dragons either. Forsworn less.”

Latro winded down. Part of him wanted his mother to be alive, his father too. All so he could ask them why, ask them how they were, even. Maybe just his mother on that last one. He was sure Sevari could understand resentment lasting for a very long time. “Oh.”

Daro'Vasora's heart skipped. This was the first she heard of Dominion campaigns since Anvil. Reaching out to take Latro's hand, she asked, “Do you know what lands the Dominion has taken, or what fronts they opened? We've been in the dark ever since escaping Anvil.”

She squeezed Latro's hand in her own, hoping to offer reassurance. His past was certainly becoming reanimated, no matter how hard he tried to leave it behind. They were both quite so far from home.

Sevari shook his head, “Our intelligence networks that are that far south in Tamriel went dark after the Dwemer attack.” Sevari’s head hung as he shrugged, “I’m working off of orders given to me more than a month ago. I don’t even know if the Directors or the Intendants are alive in Chorrol.”

Daro'Vasora considered this. “You're with Imperial intelligence, aren't you?” she asked quietly. He was being very upfront about his situation, so Sevari must have felt it safe to talk in the room regardless.

Sevari nodded once, slow. “I’ll try to do what I can about your situations. I can’t have my asset within the Insurgency cooped up where he can’t do his job.” Sevari narrowed his eyes and smiled suddenly, “You fucking smart ass.”

Latro shrugged. Sevari pointed to Latro, finger wagging as he let go a little chuckle, “Daro’Vasora, you have a risk-taking, blind-lucky Reachman.” Sevari took a step forward, serious as if somebody had snapped their fingers, “But be more careful. Don’t think just because Zaveed is on leave that he’s poofed into thin air. If I was still young and held no qualms, I would’ve just killed you. It’ll take a few more times of me having to pull you out of the dirt to put you back in now.”

He looked to Latro, then Sora, “Be thankful.”

Daro'Vasora let out a long sigh. “As much as one can, given their circumstances.” she agreed tepidly. “It could always be worse, and while things aren't ideal, at least we're not completely on our own. If I hear anything of interest, I'll pass it along. In the meantime, I'll play her game and see what shakes loose. Just promise me one thing, if you'd entertain a bruised and broken treasure hunter for a moment longer.”

“Within reason.” Sevari nodded.

“Do everything you can to keep Zaveed from killing any more of our friends.” she said softly, her eyes drifting towards the floor, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “After today, I can't lose much more than I already have.”

Sevari opened his mouth first before said anything, closing it back up before speaking again, “Of course.” He said, nodding, “Everything I can.”

“Thank you.” Latro said. Sevari nodded and offered his hand out, Latro taking it and they shook.

“It pays to protect your assets. They’ll do the same for you sometime down the line.” Sevari said. “I have other things to do, tell anybody Sevari of the Ministry of Order will have their balls on a necklace if they do so much as speak too harshly to his prisoners.”

The door shut behind Sevari, leaving Latro and Sora alone in the room. It was a few moments of silence before Latro spoke, “I’m so sorry, Sora. I couldn’t leave you when I saw you paraded around like that.” He threw his arms around her and kissed her forehead softly.

She buried her head against his chest, her injured arm keeping her from returning the gesture. She sniffed, fighting back the emotional weight that pressed against her like a dam that was ready to burst. “I know… I know. Normally, it would have been the most romantic gesture, but I couldn't lose you, too. After what happened today… I can't. When they took us separate ways, I feared they gave you to Zaveed or someone like him.” she paused, suppressing a sob. “...I thought I lost you.”

“Never.” Latro smiled, looking at Sora and taking in her expression. To be honest, he didn’t have a plan when he saw Sora, throwing himself on the mercy of the Divines to keep him safe. Odd that Sevari would ultimately be his savior, “Never, Sora, not ever.”

He leaned back from her, chewing his lip before he spoke again, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions about Sevari and I.”

She shook her head, wiping her snout with an arm. She didn't care it was gross at that particular moment. “I just figured you two came to a compromise. He's not what he initially seemed and he's trying to leverage you for his own goals. Is that about it?”

Latro nodded, “I would think so. But I know he’s working for the Dwemer on account of his brother, I knew he would have to do something about me in this situation.”

“What did he tell you, exactly? Last I heard you were going to get the drop on him. Now we’re locked up in a rather fancy suite, I have a broken arm, and we might not be getting out of here alive. Funny how life turns out.” she replied.

Latro smiled sheepishly, “Yeah,” he said before working at the words he continued with, “He told me about as much as he told you. Jaraleet and I, we took a man to some safehouse.”

He leaned forward and talked in hushed tones, “He’s working for the Empire here in Hammerfell. As odd as it sounds, he is on the same side as us. The Poncy Man has deals with people in Cyrodiil.”

That didn’t surprise her; he did claim he was a member of the Merchant Guild; it all but necessitated cross-border trades. “Well, I suppose we’ll see what happens next… I’m sorry, Latro.” Daro’Vasora apologized, a sigh heavy on her breast. “I should have told you about the note I received, that I was going off alone. I knew it was a trap and I went anyways. I couldn’t leave him.” she said softly, as if admitting something with guilt.

Latro nodded, quietly sighing, “I get it, I know.” He cooed, stroking Sora’s hair before chuckling, “I just did the same for you.”

She groaned, although not irritably. “I guess we really do deserve each other. Well, since we’re in the kind of prison that would bankrupt a working stiff to stay a night in, care to help me into the bath? I need to wash blood, sweat, and rotting vegetables out of my fur. And please don’t tell me you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Only when it’s you.” He winked and then laughed, a good thing he did after all of this business. It told him he still had a sense of humor, and if you could laugh, things aren’t as bad as they could be, Francis had told him. “Now come, let’s get you into that bath.”

She couldn't help but smile as she accepted his help standing and walking over to the washroom with its polished brass fixtures. “Well, almost looks be enough for two,” she purred as she turned the faucet. “I think tonight needs to just be about us, tomorrow can wait. I'll tell you everything about who I am, what Roux was to me, the things I've done. I want you to know who I was before all of this, and then we can decide who we will be after it's done.” she reached over, cusping his face in her hand delicately. “This isn't the end of our song, my love. It's only just begun.”
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Mortarion

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”And so the dead shall bury the dead.”

- Ethrain, lich and necromancer of the 2nd Era


5th Midyear - Late Afternoon
Somewhere by the docks

It was a quiet and typically balmy evening down by the docks of Gilane, the scent of the ocean hung around the air as three sharply dressed mercenaries sat around a table - each with an ale in hand and a smile on their face, and the fourth member of their party was jumping around in a show of bravado for his comrades.

“Gilane is the place to be, and our enemies don’t want to cross us, I’ll slash their guts out and wear them as a necklace...” Grinned the small looking Imperial youth, with his humble looking shortsword in hand.

“Sit your arse down, Jon - before you have your own eye out with that needle! You’ll be slashing at air and nothing but,” chuckled a dashing looking Breton, whose appearance alone commanded attention. The way he spoke oozed charisma and his eyes twinkled - the obvious leader of the group.

“Ahhh, shut up Laf. I’m just excited to be here - be off that fuckin’ boat at last. Stretch my legs on the warm sands of Gilane-”

“-And I’m ready to stretch myself around Gilane in other ways. Lock up your daughters!” Was the guffaw that erupted from a mountainous looking Nord in plate armour. He had a steel axe slung over his shoulder and his voice was loud and full of an unmistakable arrogance. He raised his tankard to his thin lips to down the rest of his ale.

“Now now, behave yourself Hercules,” spoke Laf, patting the Nord on the back with a content laugh. “We have to be on the job tomorrow, let’s make this a night that we’ll tell stories about forever! We’re just a bunch of ragtags, my friends. Let's be victorious in our endeavours together!” He stood up from his own seat and spoke to his friends, “let us make these red sands redder with blood stains!” Both Jon and Hercules laughed and cheered for him - raising their glasses. The fourth, a Khajiit, remained hunched over his ale - a sombre disposition painted upon his features. Clearly he was displeased by his companions. An impressive looking spear was propped up against the table beside him. He remained silent.

“What say you, Arin?” asked Laf, with a grin, patting his Khajiit companion on the back as he had done so with the others. Arin merely nodded his head and took a set of large gulps from his tankard. “Whatever you say, boss.”

An athletic swordsman, an armoured Nord warrior, a Khajiit lancer, and a Breton mage continued to enjoy their first night in Gilane - little did they know that it would also be their last...

Having crept so close to them that he could already smell their stink on the air, Gregor dashed out from behind one of the many crates that stood uselessly along the dock’s pier and charged into the woefully unprepared and utterly surprised group of mercenaries. The lower half of his face was hidden by a scarf and, combined with the all-black battledress and hooded cloak that was his signature, Gregor looked like a villain from the children’s horror stories of his homeland. Before anyone could properly process and react to what happened, Gregor’s crackling claymore struck Hercules across his shoulder, finding a weak spot in the plate armor, and a spout of blood arced through the air while tendrils of lightning surged over his body, seizing up the big Nord’s muscles. He hoped that the other mercenaries would be so taken aback by the sudden attack that they would back away towards the edge of the pier, where something even worse than him was waiting in the wings.

“What the FUCK?!” Hercules cried out in shock before throwing his tankard down onto the table, grabbing his battleaxe - the weight suddenly more than he had remembered it being. A combination of being smashed in the shoulder and smashed from the ale. He pivoted to face a man in black as his friends all armed themselves too. Jon plucked up his shield and wiped his brow with a smirk. Laf clapped his hands and lit them up with Magicka that was forming there. The Khajiit merely stood, collecting his lance stoically. He did not yet believe this intruder to the party to be a threat. He was outnumbered for a start. “Be careful, Hercules. Don’t be arrogant,” he remarked to the Nord - who was absolutely going to be as arrogant as he could.

“Let’s dance then!” laughed Hercules in the direction of his attacker as he clumsily drove himself forward, waving the axe haphazardly at Gregor. “This one means business I see…” the Nord growled, backed by the Breton who shot at him with golden restorative magic. “Arin, Jon, get back. Let’s see how this plays out for our new friend here,” said Laf as he watched, waiting for the scene play out.

Distracted as they were by Gregor’s sudden appearance, none noticed the pair of scaled hands that grabbed the edge of the pier from underwater. Jaraleet climbed silently, with the soft sound of the dripping water being the only sign of his presence as he made no sound with his footsteps as he approached their foes. It didn’t take too long for the Haj-Eix to pick a target, deciding to take out the Khajiit lancer first; both he and Gregor fought using swords and long ranged weapon like a spear could very easily complicate things for the both of them.

With a target decided, things occured in a split second. Jaraleet wrapped one arm around the Khajiit’s neck and before he or any of his companions had time to react, the Argonian threw himself back into the water along with his fellow betmer. Once they were under water, Jaraleet wasted not a second in pulling his dagger from its sheath - sinking the blade into the Khajiit’s shoulders so as to reduce any possibility of surfacing for air for his foe.

As the Argonian reached for his dagger, so did the nimble Khajiit. Arin pulled it from his side and thrust it backwards - fighting against the grip of the new foe, the water, and the sudden pain. He was in trouble.

Meanwhile, up top, Laf and Jon were left aghast - the situation was getting out of hand; “where in Oblivion are Alexei and Thom?” yelled Laf as he shot a fireball from his right hand towards the cloaked fiend who was closing in on Hercules. “We could use the backup - Jon, go and find them!”

A single fireball was hardly enough to deter the menacing Imperial. He swiftly conjured a ward and Lafayette’s spell detonated harmlessly against its shimmering surface. Gregor did not break his stride, emerging through the roiling cloud of smoke left behind by the fireball’s impotent explosion, and continued to bear down on Hercules, brandishing his claymore with a flourish. He had seen how Jaraleet had already taken the Khajiit down with him into the murky depths below. Their plan was working. Once again, Gregor’s blade arced through the air, seeking Hercules’ flesh, but the Nord was ready for him now and blocked the attack. No matter. Gregor was merely buying time.

Hercules once again hurled his axe forward toward the Imperial, his initial wound closed for now. Who is this man? he thought as he felt an almighty strength behind his blade, and a feeling of absolute dread when his eyes met that of his foes. He had little idea of what was happening behind him, except for the Breton mage, Lafayette’s failed attempt to push the Imperial back had been futile. Sweat formed upon his brow but he tensed his arms, muscles rippling under his armour. “What in the fuck, Lafayette?” he cursed aloud, so sharply that spit flew from his lips. Hercules pushed back against Gregor, letting his size do the talking - he was much larger than this man, he would use it to his advantage.

The Breton mage once again rubbed his palms together, forming up another spell - he waited for the arrival of the last two members of their group.

While the rest of the group continued to fight Gregor, under the waters Jaraleet and Arin continued their struggle under the murky depths of the harbor. Unfortunately for the Khajiit, the long time under the water, coupled with the wounds that the Argonian had inflicted, meant that what energy he had to resist was quickly dissipating the longer his fight against Jaraleet went on.

His attempt at stabbing the Haj-Eix with his dagger had been unsuccessful, as Jaraleet had easily enough dodged the blow from the dagger, with the Argonian only receiving a shallow cut to his side for all of Arin’s efforts. Realizing that he was wasting too much time dealing with the Khajiit, the Argonian sunk his dagger into his foe’s throat, making sure to perforate the jugular to ensure that there would be no chance of survival.

Letting go of the soon to be deceased Khajiit, Jaraleet swam away from Arin but not before turning one last time to face his victim. “There’s no point in struggling. Accept the call of Sithis and return to the Void.” The Haj-Eix mouthed under the water before turning back in the direction of the pier. It didn’t take him too long to swim back to the surface and to climb the dock’s pier, accustomed as he was to swimming with his gear in person.

Back on to dry land, Jaraleet began approaching the Breton mage. With the Khajiit out of the way, the mage presented the biggest threat to the success of their mission so it was imperative for him to be taken out.

With their Khajiit foe taken care of and Jaraleet joining the fray proper, Gregor stopped wasting time. He had fought Nords before; their prodigious strength and size were always a problem but he knew that they rarely possessed finely honed technique. The Imperial stepped in quickly and locked the shaft of Hercules’ battleaxe into the large and complicated crossguard of Gregor’s claymore. He twisted his body, stomped down on Hercules’ foot and ripped the battleaxe right out of the Nord’s hands. This would have been the moment for Lafayette to intervene, Gregor knew, but Jaraleet would take care of that. It was nice to have a partner in combat he could rely on, Gregor thought to himself while swinging his claymore at the now-disarmed Nord, forcing him to either evade the attack or suffer the consequences.

Hercules snarled in the face of Gregor, before jumping back out of his range, taking side by Lafayette who had been busy forming up thunder magicka in both of his palms. The thunder would almost certainly tickle the drenched Argonian who had found his way onto the pier. Hercules panted, to catch back his breath. Without Jon, it was one on one now. But Lafayette knew that their backup was on the way soon, and then their attackers would be outnumbered. Just why they were attacking was a mystery to him. “Bet you long for your old job, Hercules!” he jabbed at his friend by his side, “you know that right now, Lafayette, I’d rather head to Sovngarde standing for something meaningful…” was the hulking, wounded Nord’s reply. “I’m not going to allow it,” smirked the Breton, as he saw off in the distance three figures rushing towards the scene.

On either side of Jon, were two more Nords. One, another man - perhaps larger than Hercules - with a broadsword in his hand, and on the other side, another man with a broadsword - only his was lit with a flame.

The sudden attack from the part of the mage had caught Jaraleet by surprise, the lightning easily coursing through his entire body. It was only thanks to his training that the Haj-Eix merely fell to one knee instead of falling unconscious outright but, still, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he could no longer stand the barrage with which Lafayette was attacking him. Willing his body to move, Jaraleet moved one of his hands to pull one of the bottles of poison that he always carried with him while on missions and, using as much strength as he could muster, threw it towards Lafayette’s face.

The sudden impact disrupted the mage’s concentration, stopping the flow of thunder magicka from the Breton’s hands. Now free of the electricity that had been wracking his body with pain, Jaraleet quickly unsheathed his sword and dagger and closed the gap between him and the Breton, driving his sword through Lafayette’s throat. However, the short respite that the Argonian felt at eliminating the mage was quickly swept aside as he noticed the trio of individuals that were heading in their direction. Shaking his head, Jaraleet moved closer towards Gregor, giving the Imperial man a quick look “Let’s get rid of this brute quickly, we have more company incoming.” The Haj-Eix said before moving to attack Hercules.

Gregor agreed with a solemn nod and moved to catch Hercules in a pincer vice. If Jaraleet was the anvil, Gregor would be the hammer. While the disarmed Nord had to defend himself against the Argonian, Gregor circled around and brought the heavy weight of the claymore down on Hercules repeatedly. With Lafayette dead there was nobody left to save him from the Imperial’s blade and he fell to his knees, blood gushing from the severe lacerations across his shoulders and his torso. Lowering his claymore by his side, Gregor unsheathed his dagger and slashed it across Hercules’ exposed throat; he was done for.

But that did not mean he no longer had a role to play in the fight. Gregor looked at Jaraleet for a few seconds, his brown eyes inscrutable, before pale blue light began to swirl around his palm. Two tendrils of magic shot through the air and connected with the corpses of Lafayette and Hercules and, as if controlled by the invisible wires of a dark puppeteer, the Breton and the Nord rose from the ground, their eyes aglow with the same cerulean magic that animated them. Hercules’ axe returned to his hands and the spark of fire magic reignited in Lafayette’s, and the two zombies set their sights on the approaching trio of enemies.

“Now you know,” Gregor said softly to Jaraleet.

Jaraleet looked on as the corpses of their recently deceased foes stood again. He was no mage but he knew what the cerulean light in the eyes of the reanimated corpses meant: Necromancy. Gregor was a necromancer. “And so the final piece of the puzzle falls in place.” The Argonian said calmly, unperturbed by Gregor’s display of power. “We can speak about this later, for now there are foes to take care of.” The Argonian said, looking at the zombies and then at Gregor as a plan of action formulated in the assassins mind.

“Send them to distract our foes.” He said while reaching for two vials of poison. He handed one to Gregor, looking at the Imperial in the eyes. “Here, for your claymore. Should one of their reinforcements manage to slip away the poison shall take care of them.” The Haj-Eix said in a matter-of-fact tone, pausing briefly for a second as he thought. “You know restoration magic as well, if I remember correctly. If you have enough magicka, it would be wise for us to heal while your puppets distract them.” The Argonian added, falling silent as he opened the vial of poison and began carefully applying it to his blade.

As Jon, Alexei, and Thom approached the two enemies, it was Jon who was first crestfallen at the sight of his friend’s reanimated corpses, filled with an untempered rage, he took an emotional dive at Lafayette, his mentor, his friend. “God’s be damned!” he screamed out - his voice breaking, sobs held back as he swung to clip his blade into the shoulder of the vessel. “I’m so sorry…” he mouthed, eyes welling with tears - it would be his downfall to show such emotion on the field. It had been Lafayette himself who had tried to teach the young Nord to restrain himself and think clearly. Oh how the boy had failed him…

As Alexei rushed forwards, he swung his flaming sword with force - allowing the flame to roll off the blade and hurtle towards Hercules. He had to take down his own friends. Except this was doing him a favour, freeing him from the will of the Necromancer, sending him peacefully to Sovngarde - as he would wish.

With Hercules and Lafayette engaged, it was Thom who dashed towards the puppetmaster himself. The lizard looked worse for wear, which gave him cause to smirk. It was just like the Dwemer to hire such minions with foul tactics. He would put them down with ease like he had so many criminals already.

While Gregor was relieved to see that his intuition about Jaraleet had been correct and the Argonian was indeed the pragmatic operative he had assumed him to be, there was no time to dwell on the fact as one of the two Nords charged directly at him. Gregor preferred being on the defensive; it gave him the opportunity to observe and react instead of having to blindly trust on his own skills. He gripped his claymore tightly with both hands and methodically blocked and parried the ferocious strikes from Thom’s broadsword. Once again, his opponent’s technique was not astounding and Gregor’s superior experience and clarity of mind allowed him to read and dissect Thom’s combat style. After a few exchanges, he caught a wide swing on his claymore and pushed back, crackling arcs of shock magic traveling up the length of the massive blade and onto Thom’s broadsword, stinging the Nord’s arms and forcing him to back off.

Gregor’s eyes flashed dangerously and he went on the offensive.

Meanwhile, Lafayette and Hercules were more resilient in undeath than they had ever been in life and Jon’s sword having cleaved into Lafayette’s shoulder did not seem to stop him. Flames roared to life as the Breton sorcerer raised his good hand and doused Jon in a stream of fire magic, his face slack and devoid of any emotion at all. Hercules had taken Alexei’s firestrike to the chest and, while it was undoubtedly effective against the towering zombie, it was not enough to bring him down and Hercules met Alexei’s sword with his own battleaxe, gurgling something far beyond the speech of the living through his slit throat.

Jon felt the burning take over so quickly, it ran across his clothing and burnt through it effortlessly and met skin. He screamed in pain, it grew louder and sharper, his pain became a ringing sound in the ears of Alexei and Thom, who couldn't do a thing to help. The screaming stopped.

“No!” yelled Alexei as he pushed back against the undead Hercules with a swift kick to his chest he toppled him and rushed to Thom's aid. Everything was futile now, they had no hope of finishing this victorious, his grimaced at the Necromancer, and laid a healing hand against his friend. “We stood for something, Thom, we stood against the Dwemer - remember that…” it was in a low hiss of a voice, the Argonian would have missed it, the Imperial may have caught it over the sound of electricity and static. “Aye, you're right about it…” he replied in a pained groan as he swung his sword around again. He would die in glory, not on his knees. “For liberty!” he shouted out against the sun setting on the horizon behind the Imperial. He would go to it now.

In the heat of the moment, Gregor heard but did not really register what Alexei said and was focused entirely on not letting Thom disembowel him with his final attack. The Nord had seemingly resigned himself to his fate and that made him dangerous. Gregor had to duck low to avoid the whistling edge of the broadsword and actually found himself being forced back for a bit, grimacing as he mustered his full strength to block Thom’s slashes and thrusts. His mind reached out to direct Hercules but he found that his minion had already collapsed into dust and ash. Lafayette, on the other hand, was still intact after having dispatched Jon in the most gruesome of ways, and Gregor willed him to strike Thom with the same thunderbolt that had nearly incapacitated Jaraleet. The loud bang and bright flash of lightning, followed by Thom’s bellows of pain, created all the space Gregor needed to swing his sword high and bring it down across Thom’s neck with all the finality of the grim reaper’s scythe.

The Nord collapsed to the ground, instantly and irrevocably dead. His head rolled off the pier and into the water below.

Alexei, upon witnessing the death of Thom, rushed at Jaraleet, seemingly determined to at least take one of their foes down before he himself was taken down. Perhaps he thought that the Argonian would be the easier target, exhausted as he was after having to endure a direct hit from a thunderbolt, but that would prove to be the final mistake in the Nord’s life.

Jaraleet dodged the blows from the flaming broadsword, albeit he took a couple of glancing blows, and retaliated with strikes of his own. He didn't aim for immediately fatal strikes, going for shallow cuts that'd, instead, spread the poison with which he had coated his blade. The seconds passed by, Alexei continued to attack and Jaraleet continued to dodge the blows of the Nord, and then the poison kicked in. Alexei tried to swing his broadsword one more time but, in the middle of the movement, he suddenly lost his balance and fell to the ground, a cry of pain escaping from his lips as the full effects of the poison manifested themselves in his body.

Jaraleet approached the fallen Nord and knelt in front of him. “Sithis calls you now, landstrider.” The Haj-Eix intoned solemnly in his native tongue, driving his sword cleanly through Alexei’s neck. “[i]And now the river’s currents have carried you to the sea.[i]” The Argonian finished as the life left the Nord’s eyes. Standing up, he turned to look at Gregor and then at the raised corpse of Lafayette. “If it's possible, order him to burn the bodies. We were asked to leave no evidence.” The Argonian said calmly.

“Good idea,” Gregor replied. Hercules had already fallen apart when Alexei defeated him, dissipating the magic that had held him together, and Lafayette would similarly disintegrate, but that still left the rest. Gregor did not even have to look at the Breton zombie to will him into action and Lafayette immolated the corpses with a stream of liquid fire after Gregor and Jaraleet stepped back. Staring into the improvised pyre, Gregor opened his mouth to speak.

“I killed Nblec because I had need of his soul,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly being so open and honest with Jaraleet but something, some instinct, told him that it was necessary. “My father’s line is cursed. We all lose our minds when we reach middle age, and then it kills us. There is no cure. I have a younger brother and sister and I need to save them from that fate. And myself, of course. The Ideal Masters of the Soul Cairn are willing to barter the secrets of lichdom in exchange for souls. Eternal life for eternal death. And Dwemer souls… a race that hasn’t been seen for more than a thousand years? I’m sure you can imagine that such a thing is the ultimate prize.” Gregor sighed and turned his head to look Jaraleet in the eye. “Do you understand?”

“I do.” Was Jaraleet’s simple reply, nodding in Gregor’s direction. “Thank you for your honesty.” He said, falling silent for a second as he thought on what to say next. “I will be honest too. As I'm sure you've noticed, I’m more than a mere soldier who deserted the armies of Argonia.” The Argonian said, closing his eyes. “I am Jaraleet of the Haj-Eix.” He intoned, letting out a soft sigh. “We are an order of assassins in the service of the An-Xileel, the rulers of Argonia. We have been trained since childhood to be the assassins and spies that our people would need in order to be safe against threats both from within and from outside.” Jaraleet continued on, opening his eyes and staring at Gregor. “I am part of the first generation of the order, and I was posted in the Imperial City when the Dwemer returned.” The assassin finished, crossing his arms behind his back and turning his gaze back to the pyre. “Do you understand?”

Now it was Gregor’s turn to nod. “That reminds me of something I said to Daro’Vasora at the party: ‘every society needs its own monsters to hunt the ones lurking in the night’. That’s what you are, for the people of Argonia. And it’s what I did for the people of Skyrim, when I hunted down and killed necromancers to take their black secrets for myself -- for a better purpose. I understand very well.” He paused and looked up as Lafayette’s stream of fire ceased and he shattered into dust. The spell had expired. His work was done; the corpses of Jon, Alexei and Thom were naught but ash and soot. “What are your goals now?” Gregor asked, glancing sidelong at Jaraleet.

“Technology.” The Haj-Eix replied as he stared at the pile of ashes and soot that had once been their enemies and that even now the wind was blowing away. “I seek the defeat of the Dwemer and to obtain their technology for my people. Never again shall we be trampled over or enslaved as if we were beasts of burden.”

“Fair enough,” Gregor said and laughed. “After what the Dunmer did to your people, I can’t fault you for that. And then it seems that our common goal of defeating the Dwemer still holds true, aside from our personal quests. Eternal life is not worth it if it has to be lived under the yoke of the butchers of White-Gold tower.”

Jaraleet laughed alongside Gregor, shaking his head slightly. “Indeed, it seems that we still have a common goal my friend. In fact, I believe we might be able to help each other more than we had previously thought now that we are aware of what the other is searching for.” Jaraleet said once his laughter had subsided. “Ah, but I think it'd be best if we left the area for now, wouldn't you agree. It would be rather awkward if we were to be caught here now, to say the least.”

“Yes, let’s.” Gregor sheathed his claymore across his back and pulled his hood firmly over his face. Before they left, he placed his hand on Jaraleet’s shoulder and said, voice earnest: “Thank you, Jaraleet. For understanding.”

“It’s no problem my friend. I should be the one thanking you, I doubt many people would take what I said half as well as you did.” The Argonian replied, smiling at Gregor. “Now, let us be off.” He said, setting off towards Gilane’s backstreets.
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One Way Or Another

a Father Hank and Stormflyx production

Evening, 6th of Midyear, 4E208
Gilane, Hammerfell


She hadn’t returned.

Gregor had armed and armored himself, cursing up a storm as he did, and left the hotel, heart thundering in his chest. That cat-bastard had her again, he could feel it in his guts. He never should have let her go on her father’s errand alone. Terrified and enraged in equal measure, Gregor hardly knew what to do with himself as the black knight stalked the bowels of Gilane, and even less where to begin his search. He did not know what the Khajiit looked like or what his name was, let alone where he made his lair, and the idea that Gregor would somehow chance upon him was ridiculous -- and yet his mind was so overwhelmed with emotion that he could not think clearly enough to come up with an alternative. It was a pleasant, balmy evening, not as warm as the previous days, and by all rights Gregor should have been enjoying it, spending his hard-earned cash on something nice. But no, here he was, scaring the beggars and thieves that he passed in the alleyways with his bloodthirsty gaze, long strides and veritable armory that he carried on his person.

After an hour, Gregor realized he was merely pacing the length of Gilane, eyes darting fruitlessly from shadow to shadow but seeing nothing. He stopped just a few yards shy of one of the bazaar’s main streets, staring at the crowds from the gloom that shrouded him as dusk fell across the shimmering city. His breathing was heavy and his fingers were trembling. He took a deep breath and forced himself to think, pushing his feelings back into Pandora’s box with all the discipline he could muster. There was nothing else for it; Gregor was not equipped to handle this situation. He closed his eyes and wilfully summoned his dark companion. When his eyes opened again, a different person looked out over the streets, and a small smile played around his lips.

The Pale Reaper had an idea.

He turned on his heels and marched back the way he came, head held high and face inscrutable. By the time he reached his destination, having made sure that the street was devoid of Dwemer patrols before showing up and knocking on the door, there was no trace left of the trembling and incoherent Gregor, and he looked for all the world to see like a gentleman warrior merely calling on an acquaintance. He stepped back and waited, hands clasped behind his back.

For once, it would not be the towering Redguard who answered the door. Instead, the Hawkford Patriach. This evening, he was dressed in a light robe and slippers. Comforting. He needed it. On his desk was a crystalline bottle of rum, and beside it a short glass. He shuffled over to the door - he already knew who was on the other side. His intuition. Ever since Zaveed had pulled the rug from under him and changed the plans, he knew there would be some… setbacks.
He hesitated over the handle for a moment, taking in a deep breath. He knew that Gregor was on the other side - but how would the man be? He didn’t know him well enough. He put himself into the shoes of the Imperial. He thought about how he would act if his Roxada went missing. The only real reaction to that would be to burn down cities until she was found. That however, was Roxada, his wife. Raelynn was merely a companion to Gregor.

He opened the door, a cold expression would meet Gregor’s eyes from behind the spectacles. “Mr Sibassius, do what do I owe the pleasure?” Ignorance would be his method, at least for now.

“Your daughter is missing,” Gregor said, his voice sharp as a knife, and swept past Salasoix without asking permission. His gaze lingered on the bottle of rum as he stepped into the older man’s office and he smiled knowingly. He turned his head to look back at Salasoix and the look in his eyes was unmistakable -- something dark and terribly dangerous lurked in there, inexorable and unstoppable. He would not be denied. “Sit,” he said and gestured towards the chair that Salasoix had just vacated to open the door. “We will speak now.”

Salosoix let him have his moment, it reminded him ever so slightly of a child building to a tantrum. He uttered nothing but a breathy chuckle as he moved past him with such an aura that it caused his robe to flutter in the breeze he caused. He closed the door, his eyes falling to the floor with guilt. She was missing after all, it had been his doing. But it was to save her, and he knew that she would be alright. He had ensured this. He had to maintain a brave composure now, to continue to protect her. She was not out of the woods yet, he knew it.

“Is she now?” he began in an arrogant and lackadaisical tone, almost melodic, “is she missing, or is she exactly where she should be?” He turned back to face Gregor - his presence had brought a heaviness to the room that couldn’t be avoided. He made his way over to the desk in a relaxed fashion, almost deliberately taking his time, testing his guest’s patience. “When did you last see my dear Raelynn today?”

The Breton’s laconic behavior all but confirmed that which Gregor had suspected; Salasoix knew something. “Just before she left after you summoned her,” he replied, playing along for now, and took a seat without waiting for his host to do so first. He would not allow Salasoix to control the conversation entirely. He clasped his hands in his lap and tilted his head. “She did not come back. You know what that means, Salasoix. You’re not stupid.”

“Yes, I do know what that means. She’s where she needs to be right now.” He did not take his seat - and instead made his way to a cabinet on the furthest wall from the desk and removed a glass from inside. It matched the one that he had been drinking from. “She has been missing for some hours now, I ask you to think of how many hours. I would then ask you to imagine how far away from Gilane a ship can get on it’s voyage back to High Rock in those same hours. She’s where she needs to be, Gregor.” He appeared behind Gregor, leaning over him to place the empty glass down, before moving around to his seat at last.

He said nothing, and made no eye contact with the man and instead poured them both a glass of the rum. “Do you really think I would allow her to remain here?” His hand hovered over his glass, and he pondered momentarily on whether to follow up his question. He chose not to - lifting his head to look Gregor directly in his eyes - they repulsed him with their dangerous vacancy and his lip visibly curled - something in there wasn’t right. Something about this man was off and he’d known it from the instant he’d met him only days prior.

Nothing visibly changed but Gregor’s face still took on an inexplicably chilling expression, like the suspended blade of a guillotine, and he leaned forwards in his chair. “You insult my intelligence,” he said softly. “What you allow is irrelevant. You have no power over Raelynn. She is not on her way back to High Rock. She’s here, in Gilane, in the claws of that fucking Khajiit, and yet here you are, sipping your rum and lounging in your bathrobe. You have resources, wealth, influence -- a man like you should be out there, organizing the search party, petitioning to the Governor, spending monstrous sums of cash to get your daughter back. The only reason that you’re not is because you know something.”

He let his words hang in the pregnant silence of the room for a few seconds, staring daggers into Salasoix’s eyes. “I want to know what you know.”

Once again the Breton let Gregor do what he needed to do. Pointless and futile to interrupt a man like this, and yet something about him completely hit a nerve in Salosoix. There was an unmistakable tenebrosity about him that only made him doubt his own daughter’s judgement. He had to take a sip from the glass just to restrain himself. His jaw clenched. The nerve of him. “Gregor, the only resource a man ever needs,” once again his crooked smile flickered over his thin lips as he reclined in the chair - knowing that his blase attitude in the situation was stoking the flames within the Imperial. It was a game he probably shouldn’t be playing, and yet he was doing it anyway. Poking the bear with a rather sharp stick - and right where it hurt too. He lifted his hand, pointing his finger towards his head before gently knocking against his skull, “is this one.”

He cleared his throat, ready to go for another poke so soon. He too leaned forward until his face was inches from Gregor’s. The iron in his eyes was the opposite of the calming blues of his own, it made his skin crawl to look them so dead on, and yet he was hypnotised by them too. “Of course I fucking know where she is. She’s where she needs to be, I told you.” He pushed Gregor’s glass closer to him, inviting him to drink. “Indulge me. Tell me how you plan to save her from the claws of the Khajiit.”

Gregor pointedly ignored the glass. His anger was threatening to rise to the surface and make him do something stupid, but the Pale Reaper silenced it, overcoming his base impulses through sheer willpower. “If I told you that, I would have to kill you too,” he said flatly. “You don’t know the first thing about me and, for your own sake, it’s better if it stays that way. Tell me what you know.” He hadn’t moved an inch since he started talking and the air was charged with the superhuman restraint that was necessary to stop Gregor from flying at Salasoix and beating the truth out of him.

“The reason that I do not use any other resources, the reason that I am not tearing my hair out right now is because my daughter, like me, is resourceful. She found her way out of his clutches once. She will do it again. I made sure of it.” He knew better than to engage Gregor in conversation regarding himself. His threats were palpable and real and that was enough to slow Salosoix down on pressing those particular nerves any more. He closed his eyes and sighed, bringing his elbows to the table, his hands together, as if in prayer.

“I plan everything. I always have, and I always will. You are a man of great strength and no doubt you have physical prowess. I know this to be true because you and the Argonian took down several men with little difficulty. I was not blessed with such talents - nor was I ever interested enough to pursue them.” Salosoix opened his eyes again, locking onto Gregor’s once more - only this time, a fierce fire brewed in his own. He blinked slowly and let his fingers interlock together. “I was blessed with the gift of an amazing mind, it has served me well. Everything I have is because I am smart, patient, and because I plan for every eventuality. I knew that you would be here this evening, and here I am, buying my daughter more time because I planned it that way.” Once he had said the words, he sat back in his seat - tired of being so close to the Imperial, his eerie stare had rattled him enough now.

“If I had told you about any of this, you would have ran in there like a wild animal and put Raelynn in more danger, admit it.” The Breton placed his hands in his lap and looked down at them, waiting for Gregor’s response. There was still time to fill.

Gregor was a mage. Sometimes, in times of great duress, things happened around mages that they could not explain or control. As the iron mask finally broke and a loathsome scowl crept over Gregor’s face, the temperature in the room dropped perceptibly and the rum in Gregor’s glass froze solid. He opened his mouth to speak but it was as if he could not find his voice, so great was his fury, and his knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists. “You let this happen,” he said at length, hissing through his teeth. He wanted to scream at him and gouge out his eyes for his arrogance and his insolence, but once again the Pale Reaper’s indomitable will took control and Gregor’s face froze into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. With slow, deliberate movements, he freed his dagger from its sheath and pulled a small, opaque, purple gem out of one of his pouches before placing both items on the desk in front of him.

“Speak,” he said, voice hoarse and cold. It was clear that he would not repeat himself one more time.

He had let it happen. He had been given no choice - it was a choice that he had very little time to make, with his daughter’s life on the line in both. He had chosen the lesser of the two evils. It didn’t make what he had done any less evil. He had been sitting with it in his gut like a boulder ever since. It was only the knowledge that he had done everything he could to ensure her safety, and a safe escape for her afterwards that was holding him together. He looked at the gem on the desk like a man defeated, his eyes watering underneath. Nobody had known about this - not even Zhaib. Nobody had known that he had played a part in this - he had been carrying it on his shoulders, a heavy burden to carry. And yet, he would not be threatened like this in his home, over his daughter. Over his Raelynn, not after what he had done to protect her, what he had been forced to expose her to.

He stood up abruptly from his seat, his lips pursed and face hot with an anger of his own. If Gregor did this to him, took his soul - then so be it! But he would not, he felt a semblance of safety - even if it was a thin ice that he was now dancing on. “She is my daughter, my only daughter. I had no choice,” the Breton emphasised every syllable he spoke now as his fingers grasped at the mahogany of the desk. He looked down. “She is alright, she is safe, Gregor. She was bait - that’s all.”

He shook his head - eyes still pointed at the floor. After a moment, he returned to an upright position and took his glass in hand once more. Inhaling the scent of the rum before finishing the last of it from the glass. “The warehouse district, the outskirts of it - the dilapidated ones,” Salosoix said softly, almost a whisper. “She’ll be making her escape now, she’ll need you.” For the last time, Salosoix looked into Gregor’s eyes - severity etched across his face. The look that only a parent could give. “She’ll need you. She won’t need this,” his hand washed over the gem and dagger. It was a warning, as much as he could muster. What the fuck is she thinking? were his thoughts. It was his only thought. For the first time in his life, he felt… a divide.

Somewhere deep inside Gregor, he was moved by the display and admired Salasoix’s bravery and defiance in the face of a fate worse than death. But the Pale Reaper was in his element now and he was not yet satisfied. Raelynn’s safety was what Gregor wanted -- but he wanted a blood-price. He got to his feet and casually returned to the dagger and soul gem to where they came from, but he did not leave.

“That’s not good enough,” he began, hunger evident on his face and an insufferable sing-song tone to his voice. “The Khajiit. Tell me his name. Tell me who he is.”

“He is a piece of lowlife scum whose name is Zaveed.” He took no time in speaking his name, it rolled off his tongue and he was delighted to say it. He still held pause, thinking it over. He had no regrets - the Khajiit deserved to be killed. It probably should be Gregor to do it. Something was still wrong, still there was a lingering thought in his mind ticking away, agitating him. Of course - “Gregor,” coldly, the second name was said as he addressed his guest one last time, “this is not my story, it is not yours. It is hers. You must let her tell you his name.” He hoped the man understood, and at last Salosoix sat back down in his chair with a wistful sigh and his head in his hands.

Gregor walked over to Salasoix’s side and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. It was almost comforting, were it not for the strength of his grip, and he bent over until his mouth was level with Salasoix’s ear. The Breton wasn’t looking at him and did not see the crimson that flashed in his eyes. “Everything is mine,” the Pale Reaper whispered. He remained still for a few seconds more before he suddenly, like an arrow loosed from a bow, turned around and flew out of the room, the house and onto the streets.

“That’s what I’m afraid of…” whispered Salosoix as he gazed out at the open door and upon the desolate streets of Gilane.
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What Can I Do If The Fire Goes Out?





It was hard to distinguish what was real now, between dreaming and waking, unconsciousness and fear - everything from the days so far in Gilane was a blur. A chaotic canvas painted in various shades of danger, intensity, lust, pain, and fear. The side of her head felt sore, so sore that she could have easily thought it was split open, spilling out onto the dusty stone floor. The heels of her boots scraped against said floor as she pulled herself upright, a painful crick in her neck rang out through her body and she began to hear the light chatter in the distance of unfamiliar voices.

Blue bloodshot eyes flickered open and her instinct was to pinch the bridge of her nose - but her hands were still bound tightly behind her. Frayed rope rubbing against her delicate skin. “Sora…?” she whispered as her head lolled to the side, eyes fixating on a pool of blood that surrounded a man - Roux, who sat lifeless in his chair in the centre of it. They had left him here. They had left her here. She tugged desperately at the ropes, feeling where they were loose and equally where they were not. Why would Zaveed have done such a thing?

It was the evening breeze that was carrying through the few cracks on the window boards, that salty air that carried a slight chill that let her know that the sun had been set for some time. The pale and ghastly skin of Roux, as well as the dried blood on his shirt indicated he had been dead for hours. The paralysed and haunting expression was all that was left behind after life had been expunged from him with the cruel and vicious twist of a knife in his heart. He had once loved, felt pain, sorrow, and happiness beyond measure. He was a man who had experienced a life so rich, that much she could tell by observing him there. His intricate linen shirt suggested he had been a man of humble style. She could make out where the laughter lines had started to sink into his face. Minor scars on his arms told the stories of his adventures, and the rough skin of his hands showed that he had been a hardworking man of labour.

Raelynn choked back a sob.

Their armour that they each wore was once only to be seen in ruins - covered in dust, dented and crushed by the unforgiving passing of time. Yet, now it was polished and in front of her on on living, breathing Dwemer. The very same Dwemer whose attention her sobs had caught. There were three beating hearts beneath once forgotten plate armour, and three sets of eyes locked onto hers. She lifted her shaking head and continued to work her hands behind her, pulling away at the weak spot that Zaveed had left there.

“Sleeping beauty is awake at last…” one of them said coldly, cracking his knuckles at the table they were all sat around before looking away indifferently, unthreatened by her.

If she had died here - if she had been the one to die, it was the weight of things left unsaid that lay on her heart, crushing it in her chest.

They continued with their low chatter, and time was getting on. Nothing was going to change. She would remain here until Zaveed returned, until they grew bored, or even worse -- she would just remain here. Defeated. Maybe that was as things should be. Her eyes fell to the ground again, to the pool of blood which was dripping down the steps. Watching it reminded her of an old trinket her father had, it was a glass piece with sand inside of it, that when tipped one way of the other would create a timer. She remembered fondly how Salosoix would turn the timer around and challenge Raelynn to a task. Together they would count down the trickling sand. An exercise in his patience, and an exercise in her perseverance. She almost smiled.

The abrupt sound of a sword being placed on the table where they sat pulled her out of it. The sand was running out now.

There was something to be said for memories that invaded the mind at seemingly inopportune moments. To think of her father and their time together now was a beautiful escape to the situation at hand. If she only closed her eyes she could find the sands and find her father’s voice - his smile and eyes, the way he would carry her as a child on his shoulders through the streets of Daggerfall. She felt so tall then. She missed the innocence now and longed for it.

“May your roads lead you to warm sands…” she whispered over to Roux. He wouldn’t reply, but she could at least finish what he had tried to say. Maybe he was there now. She hoped he was.

Still she struggled against the ropes, but she was almost there. It was time to think of a plan - at least, if that’s really what she wanted to do. To escape? Would anyone come to her rescue? Did anyone know she was even here? She sighed desolately, and thought of her father once more. Their last conversation, she had snapped at him of course. Snapped at him for sending her out here…




“Papa, I have much more to do this afternoon than deliver packages for you!”

“Yes my darling, but I trust only you - you’ll be alright.”

“You can’t even lend me Zhaib? You don’t think it would be better that I have muscle with me? What is so important in this thing anyway?”

“Raelynn, Raelynn… Good things come in small packages. Remember that.”




Her eyes opened fully, and she looked across the room to another table, to the left of Roux. The package was sitting on top of it, completely untouched and completely unnoticed by Zaveed. Of course, it was so obvious now. There was something in there for her. Knowing that her father truly hadn’t sent her out here without a means to escape gave her an energy - a second wind, and with one final pull she was free of the ropes at last.

She would never make it to the table without catching their dangerous and unwanted attention, and she couldn’t take on three armoured Dwemer soldiers. She bit her lower lip, everything now felt desperate. As if by her knowing of the package, they would soon realise it too - they would see her body change, the sweat form on her brow, the desperation in her eyes - and they would realise what was going on. She had to think fast, but it was hard. Everything was foggy and clouded, her reaction time slow, concussion still hovering like a cloud above her - a cloud that with too much friction would burst and stop her in her tracks. Slow and steady was the way.

Raelynn pulled her knees together and sat in a straight, meditative pose as a blue and violet stream of Magicka swirled around her hands and up her wrist. Unlike her restorative stream, this Magicka was cold to the touch - cold and like a mist of water, a mist that was growing, until eventually with a flash and bang it opened a portal behind her and out jumped her familiar with an angry howl.

“What the fuck!?” called out one of the Dwemer as he shot to his feet with a start, clapping his eyes on the ethereal form of the wolf that was skulking towards him. There was something about this one that was extremely aggressive - as if it were feeding on the pain of it’s master sat in her chair. The hackles on it’s back raised and it seemed to puff out it’s shoulders to appear more intimidating, taking the powerful strides of an alpha wolf. It finalised on a spot in front of Raelynn as a low and threatening growl rumbling from the depths of it. She had their attention now. As the wolf lept from the platform, so did she, her clumsy sprint to the table was almost foiled by one of the Dwemer until her familiar grasped his wrist in it’s powerful jaws, locking down until it crunched under the weight like a piece of pottery. The Dwemer screamed out, and the two other guards fell to his aid, giving Raelynn enough time to tear open the package.

It was a Destruction Scroll. It was now or never, even just holding it in her hand empowered her, and she stood upright, her posture powerful and perfect as she stood above them on her platform. Roux’s body still in the chair behind her. Unlucky for the Dwemer, they were standing around their table which was sitting in a pool of still water. As the familiar danced around her enemies, she unrolled the scroll carefully but with haste - reading the text on the parchment - feeling the Magicka within enter her body with a forceful whoosh.

She had one shot, she wasn’t going to waste it.

As the thunder formed between her two hands, she realised that she had the attention of the Dwemer now, her familiar was nothing to them - they looked aghast, and she fired down at their feet - the puddle of water absorbing the spell. Nothing happened.

Nothing happened for a fraction of a second, but it was enough time for one of them to start to laugh. Raelynn knew better. She looked down at his feet in the water and smirked, and then there was an explosion of Chain Lightning that crackled between the three of them, forming a triangle of pain that was melting them - heating up their alloy armour and only getting worse. Their screams did not last long, and one by one their bodies dropped, trails of smoke drawn from each corpse.

As they dropped, so did she. She fell to her knees as her entire body shuddered, her mouth agape. She had really just done that. She had never killed a soul, and now - in the time it took her to read a spell scroll, she had taken three lives. It didn’t sit right with her. Greedy and terrible as she was, she had made an oath to help people, not hurt them. A horrible sensation hit her stomach and she lunged forwards, vomiting in panic on the ground. She cried out in pain and grief. The threat was gone and yet she was still bound here somehow. Bound to Roux. She turned to look at him, sat up there above her - as if he was looking down on her. “I’m so sorry…” she said to him, as she crawled on all fours to the deceased Breton, placing a hand on his knee, her own knees wading in the blood on the floor. It was cold now, he had been gone for so long. There was nothing she could do for him at this point.

Perhaps she could return to him some dignity…

She found the strength to get to her feet to position herself behind Roux’s chair to undo his ropes and hummed softly as she did so - trying to comfort him. His arms were stiff, and it took all of her strength to move him from the chair and even then, he still tumbled down and she struggled to manage the weight. Now that he was on the ground, she hooked an arm under each of his and dragged his body away from the blood, the chair, and towards the back of the platform. The young Breton laid him down on his back with his arms at his sides. While she was visibly shaken, positioning the body as she would to start death rites, the familiar padded softly to her and pressed it’s nose against her shoulder almost comfortingly - letting out a soft whine.

Her once vibrant eyes were so dull now. Void of their sparkle and beauty - and all that remained were two empty, hollow chasms surrounded by bloodshot veins, drenched in pooling tears. Raelynn came down to her knees and began to straighten out Roux’s clothing. She folded down his collar again and adjusted the chain around his neck to lie as it should - against his chest in the centre. With a gentle wave of her hand, she let restorative magic flow from her fingertips against the hole in his chest. Purely cosmetic now. Maybe someone would come and take his body and something would be done with it. He would make his way back to his family, to someone who loved him. They deserved to see his body right. He deserved to travel beyond in one piece.

To see him there, at peace now - part of her was envious. He lay there lifeless and she ran her hand over his cheek, continuing to hum softly, her lips trembling. If only she had water, she could clean him too - whatever she was doing wasn’t enough and in frustration she balled her hand into a fist and slammed it into the floor beside her. If there was pain she didn’t feel it - but she felt her knuckles get hot and start to swell, she merely gave a baleful laugh.

“Do you like songs?” she asked as she held his hand in hers. “Do you think they did?” her chilling stare fell over at the Dwemer corpses now, their flesh still smoking even now - the smell was especially repugnant. “I wonder what they liked…” she sighed dreamily, sliding off her knees - a concussive daze descending once more. The Breton pushed her legs out, stretching beside Roux, and she let herself drop backwards to lie next to him, her hand around his.

The two of them lay in the building, on their platform with the two chairs in front of them. It didn’t take long for Raelynn to realise what she was doing - how completely grim it was - how wretched her behaviour had become now. She bolted upright and crawled to the steps, away from the body - away from the temptation that ran rampant through her mind. The thoughts of warm sands and childhood innocence. All that was left was darkness, silence, and the cold chill of death in the air. She shuffled to the steps, placed her feet on the ground and took a long look around the warehouse before folding her arms over her knees and burying her head within them. A series of mournful and harsh sobs were muffled by her arms, but made a haunting sound that echoed through the room nonetheless.

The familiar, still summoned, and as if obeying the last sliver of hope that lingered within Raelynn made it’s way to the door silently and took to sitting outside, crying up at the moon.
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Hank Dionysian Mystery

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Drowned by the Darkness


Night, 6th of Midyear, 4E208
Warehouse district, Gilane


The Pale Reaper retreated further and further into the back of Gregor’s mind the closer he got to Raelynn -- fear and love where the strongest antidotes against the cruel alter-ego’s presence, and Gregor was feeling it in spades. It was past the curfew by now and the dusk had turned into night proper. Despite the stifling quality of his clothes and cloak, Gregor was glad for the fact that they were all-black, and he moved through the streets of Gilane unseen by his enemies. The knowledge that Salasoix had sent her into the Khajiit’s trap with a plan was some comfort to him after all, even if he didn’t trust Raelynn’s father as far as he could throw him. There was reason to hope that he would find her alive.

The warehouse district was close to the sea and the lapping waves against the docks and the beach was all the sound that Gregor heard, occasionally interspersed by the marching boots of the city guards in the distance. That is, until he heard a strange but very familiar sound: the keening howl of a wolf. That was weird. There were no wolves in Hammerfell, as far as he knew, and certainly not inside Gilane. Whatever other business was taking place inside the occupied city at night, Gregor knew that none of it would be so weird as this, except… Raelynn. For some reason, the sound of the wolf reminded him of her, and his heart skipped a beat. He followed the alleys and courtyards towards the sources of the sound, skirting along the outer walls of several fine, clearly well-used warehouses, not the dilapidated structures that Salasoix had spoken of.

He rounded the corner as he neared the edge of the district and there it was, sitting outside of the entrance to a particularly run-down warehouse, howling up at the moon; an ethereal wolf, clearly a familiar of some kind. Gregor suddenly remembered that all Bretons had the innate ability to summon one of these and he practically sprinted towards it, his left hand on the pommel of his shortsword. Upon arriving by the familiar’s side, it continued to ignore him, and Gregor looked past it and into the warehouse through the half-open door. Did he hear… sobbing?

Without even being aware of having moved, Gregor suddenly found himself in the warehouse, blood throbbing in his ears and his breathing haggard and uneven. His eyes darted through the gloom, seeing corpses; he almost sank to his knees as fear threatened to overtake him until he realized that they were all men. Three dead Dwemer and… Roux. The captain of the Intrepid. What had happened here? The sobbing was louder and Gregor followed the source of the sound with his gaze until he saw her at last, sitting at the foot of the steps that lead up to the platform around which the Dwemer lay splayed.

“Raelynn!” he gasped and dashed towards her, sinking on his knees and cradling her in his arms. She looked utterly destroyed, but alive. “Are you hurt? What happened? Did you do this?” he asked, his voice muffled as his face was pressed into the nape of her neck and his strong arms pulled her in the tightest embrace of his life.

It had been naught but silence until he had arrived here. The sound of his footsteps and his breathing - his deep voice resonant and familiar, but not at all familiar at the same time. It wasn't until his arms had found their way to wrap themselves around her that she realised it was Gregor. She mouthed his name as if to tell herself so. Raelynn's head naturally found its way to his chest and she placed her head where she could hear his thunderous heartbeat - it was like the galloping of a wild stallion. It may have been a turbulent echo inside of his chest, but she could hear it and feel it - feel him. Constricted in his tight grip, she felt so small and frail in his arms and the feeling teetered on the line of comfort and discomfort.

She didn't answer him while she composed herself, the last of her sobs now falling quietly, steadily. Her hand gripped at his clothing tightly, bunching the material of his cloak between her fingers as she twisted at it desperately, breaths shakily fell from her open mouth. Her eyes flickered over the room frantically until she locked on to the lifeless bodies of the Dwemer and all she could do was nod against Gregor's chest - part ashamed, part proud. Him being here… She felt bold enough to know she did the right thing and as soon as she let those thoughts in she realised that standing up there with her spell had made her feel… Powerful.

“He took Sora away,” she whispered finally, consternation was wrapped around her usual honeyed voice and was strangling it, defeating it.

“He made her choose…” Raelynn rounded off with a quietly hollow snigger, before pulling herself together to look upon her darling Gregor’s face. There was so much worry buried there in the lines around his eyes and immediately she was sorry for it. The trouble she had caused him, how distraught he had been - she found it in his eyes - he had been seething. The exasperation, the dread, the darkness. What had he done to find her here? Was she even worth it? She reached up, releasing his cloak from her hand and let her fingers carefully and gently brush away the hair that had fallen loose during his mission to find her.

“Daro’Vasora? She was here too?” Gregor mumbled, following Raelynn’s gaze around the room. That explained why Roux was here. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place as Gregor realized what had happened; Zaveed had captured the three of them and forced the tomb raider to choose between Roux and Raelynn. Gregor grimaced and muttered a curse beneath his breath. It was cruelty just for the sake of it, without a greater purpose or goal, and it disgusted him. His eyes lingered on the corpses of the Dwemer guards again, watching how wisps of steam continued to rise above them like the swirling, ethereal energy of Nblec’s soul had done. “I had no idea you could do this,” he said, approval in his voice, as he gestured towards the dead and cupped Raelynn’s cheek with his other hand. “Come on, let’s get you out of
here.” He got to his feet and helped her up as well. “Everything will be alright. I’m here now. I’m sorry I was so late -- your father did not cooperate as fast as he should have.”

“Just a scroll. I can’t… I don’t know how to use destruction magic… He took Sora away.” Her voice was confused, addled, and distant. Raelynn, when standing, pulled away from Gregor and swayed over to Roux before leaning down over him, “I will send someone for you, friend…” she squeezed his hand one last time and placed it over his chest, moving the other hand on top of it gracefully so that he looked dignified again. Her head turned to look over her shoulder at Gregor as she rose back up. “It matters not if you’re early, on time, or late now…”

She ran a hand over her head, where Zaveed had planted the pommel of his dagger and winced. Head injuries were unpleasant but she continued over to Gregor, her strides meek and small.

The sight of Raelynn once again reduced to shambles reignited the flames of wrath that burned in Gregor’s heart and he found himself clenching his fists, fingernails digging deep lines into his palms. “It does matter,” he said with the seething restraint of a man trying very hard not to break something. “If I had been faster to discover your whereabouts, I could have killed him. Zaveed. But your father thought he knew best. He said he had it all planned out. I’m sure the Khajiit thought the same thing. Well, everybody has a plan until they get stabbed in the chest,” he continued and took Raelynn’s hands in his own when she reached him. He ignored Raelynn’s comment about Sora’s kidnapping again -- she was not his concern right now, nor his responsibility. “The wolf outside, the familiar; was that yours?”

“My father? Gregor…? What of him? No— never mind...” Her brows furrowed - it was the second comment he’d made regarding Salosoix. She pulled away from his grip, frustration seeping in, agitation crawling across her skin and digging deep at it. She wanted to scream - whatever restraint Gregor had right now, she did not. “The wolf? Yes. I… My summoning, my familiar. It attacked the guards - a distraction,” she was pacing the platform back and forth, thoughts and answers to his questions, back and forth, her head was spinning. She held her hands out in front of her and her fingers curled like claws at the air. Her breathing grew rapid - as if she couldn’t breathe.

“Zaveed. Zaveed of Senchal, he’s not the fucking problem-“ it happened, she snapped and at the end of her words her hands clasped at the underside of the table and she flung it away, over the platform in a quick burst of rage that she surprised herself with. “He’s nothing, he’s just a creature sent to do her bidding. She’s the Mastermind.” She was talking about Rourken and in the moment she thought back to having been sat with her in her Palace and it turned her stomach to picture her smug face. “It doesn’t matter Gregor,” her rage had distilled as quickly as it had come on, and all that was left was a shattered table, and a wry half smile on the Breton’s face. “They’re going to kill us all one by one…” She laughed, a dry laugh that came accompanied by tears of absolute horror.

Gregor visibly flinched when Raelynn flipped the table over and it smashed itself to pieces on the floor of the warehouse. He had seen monsters and fiends of all kinds during his life, from the walking corpses of the undead to the otherworldly warriors of the Daedra, and none had scared him like this. He could only stare as Raelynn spiraled out of control, wide-eyed and powerless. His sweet, tender, loving companion had disappeared and been replaced by a grime-covered, pale spectre, an omen of death, erratic and unpredictable. He clasped a hand over his mouth and looked away, his vision blurred by tears of his own. Why did the world have to take everything away from him? Was this the gods’ way of punishing him? Unable to stand, Gregor sank down on his haunches and stabilized himself by placing a hand on the floor, suddenly revolted by the cold touch of the still water that had acted as the conduit of death between Raelynn’s victims. He was too late after all. Was she gone? His stomach turned.

Rage pacified, she slipped like liquid to the floor, “I’m sorry,” she uttered softly, turning her head to him, he wasn’t looking at her. How could he? She couldn’t understand how this had happened. Only days ago she had been happy. “I don’t know myself. Between the nightmares, Nblec, Calen… this, again.” She had positioned herself onto her knees, hands on the floor, eyes closed. “I don’t want this place of trauma to be where I live now… I’ve seen this before and thought it was just cowardice. Maybe it is,” she paused, and looked at Gregor once again. She had brought him to the ground - he did not belong on the ground and she was not going to let him remain there. Raelynn looked at Gregor intensely and held a fixed gaze on him in the silence. “Something must come of this, my…” she wanted to call him her love - but not here, not now. She focussed onto something that might bring a smile to them both, even if inappropriate; “my handsome prince.” She tried her best to smile in his direction, it may not have been the smile she had given him at the party - and there may have been sadness behind it but she was trying, after all he was here and he had come for her. There was solace in that.

That broke through Gregor’s horror and he laughed, the tears that had hung suspended from his eyelashes finally breaking free and running down his cheeks as if to disappear from sight as fast as possible. Not all was lost, it seemed. She was stronger than he had thought. Gregor forced himself up and beckoned for Raelynn to join him. “We really should leave,” he said. “This is a cursed place now and we shouldn’t be here. Leave the dead to their haunts. And believe me when I say that something will come of this. Zaveed might be nothing more than a symptom of the problem but that doesn’t change anything. I’ll start with him and then maybe follow the cancer that has taken roots in this city back to its source. But he still needs to die for what he’s done to you. Now come, Raelynn. Please.”

He was right, they couldn't stay here and so she pulled herself up to her feet, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. She walked to Gregor again and placed her hand on his chest gently, “thank you for coming for me.” It should have been the first thing she had said to him, “I didn't know what was going to happen to me but I… I'm glad you found me.” She wanted to embrace him, to be held be him but they couldn't spend another minute here, it was dangerous and grim. Death was choking the air. She settled for wrapping her fingers around his tightly instead.

“Of course I came for you,” Gregor whispered and squeezed her hand right back. He led the way out of the warehouse, his free hand resting on the pommel of his sword, eyes sharp on the lookout for trouble. They had no way of knowing when Zaveed or his masters would have sent for Raelynn, or when the Dwemer guards were supposed to be rotated at the end of their shifts. They were fortunate, however, as nothing but the distant sound of the sea and the strange calls of the local birds greeted them. It was still deep into the night and the district, which was purely industrial and commercial, was devoid of people. Gregor understood why Zaveed had chosen this location to carry out his wicked plans. In fact, he suddenly realized, they were not at all far from the abandoned building where Gregor and Raelynn had sacrificed the soul of Nblec to the Ideal Masters. The idea that he shared a similar line of thinking to the Khajiiti torturer made him feel… unclean.

Just in case their escape was being watched after all, and because Gregor felt like Raelynn needed some time and space away from the others to heal and recover, he did not take her back to the Three Crowns hotel. Instead, they returned to the same inn they had frequented before and a very groggy innkeeper was able to confirm that the same room was available. Upon entering, Gregor closed the door behind them and leaned against it. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting the tension and the adrenaline leave his body.

“Right,” he said, his voice distant as his gaze slowly fixed itself on Raelynn. “You could probably use a bath.”

He was right. A soak, and time to think and relax would do her good - except there was to be no relaxing. Her mind was rattled with thoughts, Gregor had been stripped of something tonight and it was because of her. Because she had found herself in the hands of a maniac once more. Her father’s hand had been forced into putting her in that situation, Sora had been taken, Roux killed, and Gregor had been on the warpath all night. All because of her - because she was too weak to fight back and an easy target. She bit down on her lip, facing away from him as she drew the bath by the hearthfire in their room. It was beginning to feel like a sanctuary away from the events outside of the door. It was safe in here.

She stripped down to nothing and climbed into the hot water which gave her instant relief as she sat into it and let herself sink completely under the surface. Her mind full of incessant chatter. She couldn’t look at him right now - as much as she longed for his touch, his embrace, and his kiss… She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve his love right now. She broke the surface for breath, caressed her skin with the washcloth - wiping away the blood from her knees and knuckles, massaging her temples with Healing Hands. She would be okay, physically.

She glanced over her shoulder at Gregor, he had been silent the whole time. She wasn’t even sure if he’d stolen a glance at her form - it was unlike him. She yearned for the Gregor she had met in Anvil. The one whom she had made feel youthful and desired - the one who had smiled at her with such a fervour. Will we ever be that way again? she thought with a long, and drawn out sigh - the rage once again burning inside of her. She couldn’t speak to Gregor right now, but perhaps… The other side of him, the darkness - the storm that lay within him. If she could wake him then maybe she would get what she wanted.

The violent hurricane of emotions that had ripped at Gregor’s chest all night and the enormous willpower and discipline it had taken to keep them under control left the Imperial exhausted, and he merely sat on one of the room’s comfortable, cream-colored couches and stared ahead. His eyes were fixed on a point so much farther away than the walls of their room that he saw nothing at all. In the wake left by his passion and humanity, there was nothing left but a sullen silence. Raelynn’s suspicion was correct; he did not even look at her.

Slowly and quietly, a thought formed in his mind until it began to nag at him and it suddenly dawned on him that he had forgotten something. “Oh, by the way,” he said, still staring ahead, “your father is fine. I did not hurt him. I had to threaten him, though. He won’t be happy about that.”

That was surprising, “you did?” She began, shock in her tone and she sat upright in the bath. She didn’t really know how to react. Part of her wanted to laugh, part wanted to admonish him - but she hadn’t the energy for either of those options and so she settled in the middle, “I’ll talk to him, he’ll understand… I should go and see him soon. I have a few words of my own for him, anyway. He’s gotten himself into some terrible things.” How her father could not have told her about his alliance with Rourken had given her a cause for concern, he’d had every opportunity to discuss it with her. He’s still hiding something, another trick up his sleeve. A poor justification, but it would have to do. It was all that was keeping her from wanting to hurt him herself - that there was a bigger reason for all of this. “He can be difficult to deal with. He’s stubborn,” she laughed as she once more ran the washcloth over her skin, enjoying the heat of the water and in a way forgetting the situation at hand for a fleeting moment.

The pleasant sound of Raelynn’s laughter helped to pull Gregor back from the void inside of him and he finally turned his head to look at her, a sheepish grimace on his face. “You don’t understand, Raelynn. I may have gone too far. I… lost control. Surrendered it, to be absolutely honest. Does that make sense? He -- that is to say, I, took out my dagger and a soul gem and put it on Salasoix’s desk when I grew tired of his song and dance. He hid his fear well, to his credit, but the cat’s out of the bag now. I’m sorry.”

Raelynn inhaled sharply at his confession - not out of fear for her father - but for concern that Gregor had gotten so torn up over her absence that he had resorted to it in the first place. It explained everything, his mood and aura. His entire current state of being. She would have some explaining to do to her father about this, but it was nothing that the two of them couldn’t talk through. How to make Gregor see that? “Gregor, I’m so sorry that you had to do that. He plays games. The cat may be out o the bag, but you saved me - you found me, and I have chosen you. He will not tell anyone. He may reprimand me, and try to have me sent away from you, but I will not leave you, and he will see and he will understand.” Her arms were propped on the rim of the bathtub as she stared over to Gregor in the shadows, she could make out his silhouette in the chair - how troubled he was. She hoped that this reassurance she had given him would ease him. “Besides, the stupid fool is playing double agent for Governor Razlinc Rourken,” she shook her head in disbelief when she said it, still unable to fathom why he was doing this - and what it meant for the entire situation at hand. “So there goes another cat free from it’s bag…”

Gregor looked like he had been slapped in the face. “Great gods of nowhere,” he hissed and something clicked in his head that had been bothering him ever since he and Jaraleet took down the mercenaries. “The men he had me kill... one of them said something about ‘standing up to the Dwemer’ right before he died, but I had other things on my mind. I forgot about it. Mara’s mercy, it’s a good thing we burned the bodies. If anyone discovers that we killed enemies of the Dwemer -- new recruits for the Poncy Man, I assume -- we’re well and truly fucked.” Despite himself, Gregor laughed at Salasoix’s sheer audacity. “It seems I underestimated your father,” he mumbled and rubbed his eyes. “Remind me not to do so again.”

She closed her eyes and tried to put herself in her father’s shoes - to think of why he would send Gregor and Jaraleet on such a mission. It took a while before it clicked. “He wanted to even the score. It’s… fucked up, but he might have helped us all. He gave the Governor some blood back for the mess we all made on our missions… You and Jaraleet may well have kept them from a more serious attack on our group at large. It seems a truly backwards way of helping, but it did.” She let herself sink back slightly into the bath again, chuckling slightly at Gregor, “you may think that, but he’s made plenty of mistakes in his life too. He’s just a man after all.”

He was silent for a while before responding. “I have justified my own actions and mistakes with that mantra before. ‘For the greater good’ and all that. It’s still a bitter pill to swallow that I butchered innocent men and used their corpses to kill their friends while I was thinking that I was carrying out justice against criminals that sold their services to the Dwemer.” He exhaled deeply through clenched teeth. “I don’t like being used.”

“Innocence is nothing but a concept in dark days like this. You don’t know that they weren’t criminals selling their service for The Poncy Man. There’s something not right about him, there’s something insidious about him Gregor… Are his motivations for his rebellion pure? Or to serve his own interests?” The water was beginning to grow cold, but she did not stir, and instead continued to soak there as she and Gregor spoke. They had never really had a conversation like this before - it was honest and calm despite the subject matter, and the emotions they both were experiencing. “He should have been honest, he should have. I cannot excuse him…” She combed her fingers through her hair, unwind the braids that had been there until they were all loose, the strands wavy and held down with the water. “We do what we must to survive in times like this Gregor, you and I know that very well.”

“Hm.” He sank back into his seat and appeared to deflate. His indignation had already passed. “At least you are safe,” Gregor said softly and looked at Raelynn again, taking a moment to enjoy how she looked with her hair down like this. “That’s what’s most important to me.”

As Raelynn played with her hair, she noticed that Gregor had finally looked her way and his relaxed pose soothed even her. She was glad that they had been able to talk their way to this point. She remained like that for a while, but in the quiet her fearful thoughts returned and so she turned around in the bath, passing it off as a sensual twirl for his eyes - with her back to him her face fell to sorrow, to confusion, to anger, and to nothing so quickly. The Breton slowly stood up, knowing that Gregor was watching - especially so now that he had become more content and composed. Her legs slipped out from the tub one at a time teasingly, her feet slowly finding the floorboards to take soft, near silent footsteps over to her lover.

She moved towards him, unhurried by anything - a smirk tugging at her lips, hips swaying hypnotically. She hadn’t bothered to pull on the robe, and so the light of the flames in the fireplace lit her body and the droplets of water glisten like diamonds on her glowing skin. She walked with seductive purpose to Gregor, “I’m safe here with you,” she smiled as she climbed onto his lap, placing her arms on his shoulders, “I’m scared that it won’t last.” What she had wanted to tell him and what her heart wanted to tell him, was that she loved him - and that she loved him so deeply. But it still wasn’t right, it wouldn’t get her what she really wanted and what she needed to feel safe. It was a conflicting feeling that she buried deep down as she bit her lip and closed her eyes, drawing closer to Gregor. The wet bare skin of her chest clinging to his shirt as she sighed against his neck before pulling away to look him in the eyes.

With Governor Rourken continuing to have her minions stalk, kidnap and brutalise them, she would never feel safe. She had to communicate this to him, to the part of him that would understand. She pressed herself to him, thighs either side of his own and her nose pressed against his nose. “As long as Rourken is in power, people like Zaveed of Senchal get to roam the streets and do as they please to people like me and say it’s for the good of Hammerfell…”

Raelynn slowly pulled away, she had his attention now and she straightened up, moving a hand under his chin, her thumb running across his strong jawline tenderly. “I want to do what must be done to ensure you get what you deserve from her.” She knew that the very insinuation of a Dwemer soul would bring darkness and excitement to him all at once, and she smiled calmly awaiting it. “I want us to be the last thing she sees. Only then will I feel safe…”

Like a predator emerging from the shadows, the Pale Reaper returned and the air became charged with the weight of his presence. The feeling of Raelynn’s wet body against his and the nature of her words were reflected in the unnatural hunger that swirled in the bottomless pits of Gregor’s black eyes, and his hands moved slowly, languidly, over her legs, her hips and her back. “Rourken will die,” he breathed against Raelynn’s lips as his fingernails dug into her skin. “You will be safe, and I will be eternal. We will make it so. Together.”

Finally she had gotten what she wanted, a spoken pledge of violence. His presence was so powerful and commanding now that the fire died down to embers. Against his lips she moaned softly in pleasure and pain while his fingernails worked their way into her skin. Her arms wrapped around him and she whispered into his ear, “make me feel alive again.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Spoopy Scary
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High Ideals, Low Means

by @Leidenschaft and @Spoopy Scary

Night, 6th of Midyear 4E 208
Somewhere in Gilane, Hammerfell

Sevari kept walking past the creaking of the huge doors of the Governor’s Palace. They clunked shut and the sound of it locking with its newly-built Dwemer lock working it’s huge gears punctuated the otherwise noiseless walk across the courtyard he was making. Plenty of things were seeking to send his house of cards crashing down around him and his life’s work would all be for naught, twenty-some years wasted because of some Reachman and his woman. Because of an old love deciding to be on the same ship as his last and greatest personal foe’s son. And fucking him too. He needed a goddamn drink, or to get in a good fight. It was the right time for it, the sun falling below the high city walls and just dark enough for lamps and torches to send his shadow stretching across walls.

His contact would be waiting for him and he didn’t want to keep her, though. It was quite something, how the quest for revenge could bring two people into the fold of each other’s lives. It seemed every day he was making new acquaintances. Out of all of them so far, though, this one seemed the most competent and careful, cold and calculating. She was headstrong enough and cautious with it too. He almost could call her a friend. A mutual respect between them, and these days with how slim the selection was for Sevari, that pretty much constituted a friend.

He made his way through the city streets, dodging Dwemer patrols and Redguard watchmen too easily. He could always play it off that he was pursuing a lead for Major Kerztar in the name of the Ministry of Order, but it was best they didn’t even know he was there at all. Less loose ends, less homes and beds he’d have to sneak into with his garrote. Finally, he reached the slums and that tumbledown shack he and his special friend shared. It looked rundown from the outside like Sevari had wanted but as he stepped inside, he looked around at the more well-off and fanciful trappings he’d grown accustomed to.

“How long have you been here?” He said to the presence he could feel in the room. The firelight’s orange glow radiated warmth during the cold desert night, and it casted a wide shadow as hand gingerly set a quill pen onto the table in the corner.

“For as long as I cared to. Does it matter?” Replied simply a feminine voice. Following the quill was a goblet being set on the table. The woman continued, “Tell me, how well did your date go? Did you have fun?”

As she asked her question she stood to her full height. Doing so revealed a woman shorter than Sevari and adorned in modest clothing. She looked to be Breton, though had the sharp angular features of an Imperial. She looked to be little more than a merchant, draped in linen, cotton, and bits of silk. Though her skin was fair, it was still flushed red from the day’s heat, and her shoulder-length auburn hair had the kind of curls in it leftover from wearing it in a braid all day. Though the tone of her voice was pleasant, she did not smile, and was betrayed by the intensity of her eyes as they pierced across the room and into the Khajiit.

“I was just wondering,” Sevari frowned, voice brimming with exaggerated offense, looking the woman up and down before placing his hands in front of the fireplace, “I know this isn’t a palace with handmaidens ready to wipe your ass at a bell’s ring, but I hope you appreciate the new decor I spent half my wage on last week.”

Sevari got up, grabbing up a bottle of alcohol off the mantle above the fireplace. He knew it was alcohol, what kind didn’t often matter. He clamped down in the cork with his teeth and yanked it out with a pop. Spitting it across the room, he took his own seat across from the woman he knew so well the past few weeks. Under her intense eyes, he sat carelessly like at a tavern. She met his candor with a smirk as though Sevari was entertaining her, but it was faint. She picked up the goblet she set down a moment ago and held it out to him, tipped slightly forward -- a gesture for him to refill her cup.

“Your mission. How did it go?” She repeated.

“They managed to spot me and I had to kill them all.” Sevari frowned at her cup and gave her question a moment and her eyes a smug look before finally pouring a good portion into her cup, “Hotel staff and all.”

When no laugh came, he wasn’t expecting one anyway, he continued. “They were having a party. I managed to sketch out what some looked like,” he tossed a journal onto the table from his satchel, “The Altmer noble was there, the ex-Thalmor I didn’t get a look at. The Argonian was there too, you know, the one you trust wholeheartedly.”

“They’re quick to forgive. Interesting. Good for them, though…” She commented, then tasted from her cup. “I would still like more information on that one. Argonia is a sovereign state now, perish the thought that another power becomes involved. Do you have anything on the elves?”

“Nothing past what we already know. The Caliph’s old spies are looking for his Thalmor-loving sons in hopes of restoring Hammerfell’s sovereignty. Shame how short-sighted people with a loyalty to dynasties are.” He downed his glass and poured another, “The Emissary is still an issue but we can resolve that soon. No doubt the noble girl’s kidnapping will do well as bait for that Thalmor shit they have with them. He might not be flying their colors but it’s hard to forget friends and connections that might be here.”

“If worst comes to worst, a certain ambassador of a hostile power could prove to be even better bait.” She suggested innocuously, sipping her goblet as she side-eyed Sevari to gauge his reaction.

Sevari chewed on that, sipping at his glass for a moment before his eyes narrowed, “You want me to leak a little information of you?” Sevari shook his head, continuing incredulously, baffled, “Dangle you around like a worm on a hook?”

He nodded, a small crack of a smile on his lips, “I’m liking you more.”

“Don’t mistake me,” she began explaining, “I've no intention of letting myself be eaten, but a leader leads by example, yes? Someone eventually needs to assume the role. I might be the worm, but we're surrounded by two schools of sharks and I hope to turn them against each other.”

Although her words suggested that it was a burden to assume such a role, a slight smile appeared on her face, this time warmer, apparently pleased by his reaction and resumed her sip from the goblet before continuing.

“That's how we're going to win this: we're going to play the board right; maneuver our pieces, take advantage of everyone’s connections, and manipulate both sides into killing each other. It pays to play the long game, Sevari, step by step, not by running blind into the lion’s den on a personal whim.”

Sevari’s smile upended slightly, “We both know it wasn’t a personal whim. Entirely.” He spoke more softly, “It won’t happen again, I’ll make sure of it. Leaking the information of the Emissary to a more extremist cell in the insurgency would do well.”

He sniffed, throwing back another glassful, “Erincaro is our key to his father, a high-level officer of the Thalmor. Your revenge against the Dwemer was added to my orders of stewing unrest in Dwemer territory. We’re both in this room discussing our personal whims.” Sevari smiled again, though her bringing up the fiasco on the Indrik still stung.

Our whims? Am I to understand you as suggesting that we no longer have to uphold our duties to the Empire?” She challenged.

“It was my understanding that my end of fulfilling my duties to the Empire were to entertain my personal whims. It’s what they’ve let me do for the past 20-odd years.” He shrugged, “What about Samara Cell? Keep feeding the Reachman or leave them to the wolves?”

“They have their uses.” She replied idley. “They’re wild cards, but as long as they’re the Dwemers’ enemies, they’re valuable -- to an extent. Keep doing what you’re doing with the Reachman, but if you can spare the time, keep some eyes on a few of them. The Argonian, the High Elf, the Imperial man; this situation is delicate and we don’t want to upset it.”

The woman paused for a moment in careful thought, before saying, “What was the name of their handler again? Not Poncy.”

“Daro’Vasora.” He said, “The Reachman and her are in relations. Keep getting close to the Reachman and we may have her.”

“Daro’Vasora…” She repeated, getting a feel for the name in her mouth. “I’ll keep it in mind. If it’s not too much to ask, there’s one more person I want to keep an eye on. Salosoix Hawkford.”

“Zaveed has been toying with him and his daughter. Raelynn is among Samara Cell.” He said, stretching in his chair, “That complicates things on that end. Treading where my brother goes might lead him to looking for you if he whiffs something. I don’t want to have to kill him.”

“That’s fine.” She replied casually. She set her goblet down on the table as she stared into fireplace. “I’m not asking you to protect the snake, but I know enough about Salosoix to know that he has his own agenda. I don’t know what he’s doing in Gilane at a time like this when he should be in Daggerfall, but he has the potential to complicate things. Believe me Sevari, I don’t wish to create a conflict of interest for you, but if your brother decides to come looking for me…”

The woman lined her free hand between with the painted portrait of an old Redguard king that was pinned to the wall above the fireplace. A sudden burst of magical fire sparked to life in her palm, and from her perspective, engulfed the man in flames. She looked back at Sevari, the fire reflecting in her eyes as she growled, “I invite him to try.”

Sevari pursed his lips, sighing and nodding before downing another drink, “He knows the risks.” Sevari sighed, “While we’re on the subject, I’m sure you heard about the grand parade today?”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then clenched her hand, snuffing the fire in her hand. She looked as though she was just about to roll her eyes but had enough restraint to keep herself from doing so. “Yes, the people were causing quite a stir about it. I’d call it amusing if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

When she took a drink from her cup, she usually took light sips to savor it, but here she took a few heavy gulps before slamming the goblet down onto the table. She continued, her words now sharp and scathing, “The Samara cell is full of amateurs, so color me unsurprised, but at least they’ve chosen the right side. I’ve spent a few months here in Hammerfell, you know, before the Dwemer came. Before that, I’ve spent countless days educating myself on their history. The Redguard people never impressed onto me as being the type to enjoy being conquered.”

“They never were.” Sevari replied, letting a chuckle go, “Why do you think I’m here? Paving a path to a brighter future for the Redguard people, hearts and minds, pure altruism.”

“It will be wasted unless we take meaningful action soon.” She commented sharply. “Do you think the deep elves will think twice of your judgement if you hold the Dominion emissary under their jurisdiction?”

Sevari narrowed his eyes, frowning, and bringing his cup halfway to his lips, “You’re asking me to arrest a man that’s impossible to arrest. He’d have to…” Sevari slowly let the cup descend back down to the table while in his hands, “Do something heinous. Are you familiar with false-flag operations?”

“You deserve your station, Sevari. You decipher quickly.” She replied. “Yes, I’m familiar.”

Sevari snorted, rolling his eyes as he took a sip of his cup, “I thought you were above patronizing me. Hire thugs to go after another administrator of the Dwemer. Someone of Nblec’s station. Make it look like the noble girl and ex-Thalmor’s handiwork.” He shrugged, “I get to go after the ex-Thalmor in the group as a scapegoat and we get a mer who can give us names. I’ll have to construct some story to connect him to Erincaro’s father. Fangalto will have his son taken into custody and you know what they say about prisons. People die everyday.”

“If you can make it looked like they did it,” she said, “you can provoke the Dwemer. If you leak my name to the Thalmor one, he can attempt to get in contact with the emissary. After he does, we can take him out, then take the emissary and leave behind evidence of the Dwemer. Both sides believe they lost something important to each other. Agent, it sounds like we might have a plan.”

“Doesn’t it?” Sevari said. With a grunt, he pushed himself up from his chair and sighed, “I’d best get going. No sleep tonight, Kerztar will find it odd if I’m not on the job.”

He worked at the array of locks on the door and pushed past it, hanging at the threshold before he threw over his shoulder, “Keep the doors locked if you’re staying. Remember what I told you about the passageway under your bed.”

“Whyever would I indignify myself by taking the back door of my own abode?” She jested sardonically. She stood up from her seat with a sigh, her fingers idly tracing the embroidery stitched into the padded chair. Finally, she looked up at said with unexpected tenderness, “Akatosh bless you, Sevari. May He grant you His light.”

Sevari hung at the door, one foot past the threshold and a hand still on the knob. The sentiment froze him in place and maybe it was the drink, maybe it was everything that’s happened to him the past few days, but the woman’s words cut him. It was as if accepting it would be fraud of the highest order. Akin to stealing coins from a beggar’s purse. His head hung as he rolled his jaw, sighing. Finally, he let go a small, jagged smile, knowing all the things he’d done in his life was more likely to please Boethiah. “Thank you, Aries.” Without turning to her, he spoke low and bitter, “But I doubt he’d waste it.”

The door shut and he was gone.

A soft exhale escaped Aries' lips as her shoulders relaxed. She faced once again towards the warmth of the firelight, and slowly refilled her goblin until the bottle dripped empty. She breathed in its aroma before taking a small sip, then closed her eyes and smiled as she embraced the soothing heat of the flames. Holding her cup close to her chest, her eyes remained locked on the fire as she purred to herself, "The gears are in motion."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Dervish
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Brotherhood

A Shaft and Dervs Collab
Governor’s Palace, early morning 8th Midyear, 4E208…

“I don’t like this.” Sevari shook his head.

Kerztar’s office in the Governor’s Palace was similar to the Secret Police team’s barracks outside of Gilane’s walls in that what once were rooms simply for the use of holding treasure or guest rooms that were never used were repurposed into new things. Kerztar and the other Government staff stationed in what was once the Royal Palace had made it their own. Albeit, more pragmatic and official, rather than regal and opulent.

“You don’t have to like it, Sevari.” Kerztar said, just now turning around from his reverie in Sevari’s silence after the news, “I’m afraid that this is an order. Where I usually welcome ideas that might be better than mine, this is Governor Rourken’s orders.”

“This is some kind of fuck-up. You shouldn’t have let him handle this on his own, I told you. Roux was apprehended clean, it was quick, efficient and to the point.” Sevari found his voice raising by the last few words, to Kerztar’s frown, “It was that way because you gave me the lead. If Zaveed had his way, he would’ve abducted half the godsdamned crew to lure out the other half by sending them their cocks by courier. After, he would’ve set Villaume on fire outside Roux’s window to make him piss himself before he burst through the windows cackling.”

Kerztar rubbed at his nose and sighed, “And so you’ll have the lead again. You proved yourself when you got Hassiim after what we found out about him and the Caliphate’s spies.”

“I’m pursuing another lead on that case, you can’t pull me off of it now.” Sevari pleaded, “Find somebody else.”

“I don’t trust anybody else.” Kerztar shook his head, “Do you really believe Zaveed will spare a thought about following anybody else?”

“He barely spares a fucking thought to following you.” Sevari grumbled. “He’s too big of a homicidal prick to do anything different.”

“That’s why it has to be you, Sevari. It’s an order, be quiet and do it or I’ll let Razlinc put you in the pits for treason.” Kerztar’s eyes were hard at that, Sevari knowing when to cut his losses and fold. Now was the time.

He loved his brother with his entire heart. Not a day went by when he didn’t drift back to the night he was taken after spending four years with him and his sister. They were a family. He and Zaveed still were. It didn’t change the fact that Zaveed’s conduct so far was the sole reason he requested to transfer to another case once the chance arose. He was too loose.

“Fine.” Sevari said, shaking his head.

“I’ve called him up here to give him the news. He might take it better with you here.” Kerztar said, taking his seat finally, tenting his fingers in front of his face, “I hope you don’t have a problem with sitting in.”

Sevari let go a positively beaming grin. It wouldn’t have been happier if he started vomiting rainbows through his teeth and shitting septims. “I would love it more than anything.”

It dropped as instantly as it came, Kerztar not paying any mind to the raging torrent of sarcasm that washed over his obstinate demeanor like a deep-rooted rock splitting the waves, “Good.”

The door was opened by two of the Ministry's guards and Zaveed walked in with his usual swagger; if he were apprehensive about the meeting to come, he didn't show it. Before reporting in, he unfastened his weapon belt and let it hang over the back of a chair and removed both of his pistols, setting them upon the table matched to the chair before finally walking over to Kerztar's desk, his thumbs hooked into his waist belt. “As requested, Master Kerztar, here I am. I suspect this isn't to congratulate me on a job well done, given the dour look upon both of your faces.” he said, glancing over to Sevari before turning his attention back to the Dwemer.

Kerztar watched Zaveed’s every move. He had always been interested in the Khajiit, and not only for their physiology. When he learned Sevari was also a Khajiit, he was baffled, remarking upon the absence of a tail and retracting claws, the beard, the size of him. The fascination ended when he found out they were just like men and mer. Fallible, cruel, mortal. When Zaveed spoke, his gaze hung on the Khajiit’s all the while.

“No.” He said, simply. “Sit.”

When Zaveed finally did, Kerztar cleared his throat, “You get results, Zaveed. But your means have come under question by Governor Rourken. Be glad it hasn’t become common knowledge among her cabinet.”

“I entrusted you with the sensitivity of this mission when I agreed to give you the lead after Sevari transferred. I can see now what happens with that.” Kerztar sighed, leaning back in his chair. For the first time since Sevari had met Kerztar, it seemed like annoyance was starting to break through. “I’m putting Sevari back on the case and assigning the lead position back to him until you remember how the Ministry of Order operates.”

“Sluggishly and with undue loss of time and casualties to your own organizations?” Zaveed replied casually, arm draped over the back of his chair. “In a matter of days, I have leveraged a weak link in the very same terrorist cell that killed Mrazac, broke several undesirables out of jail while assaulting local guards, and attacked a prisoner convoy in broad daylight to free their compatriots. You wish to reprimand me for my methods? They tortured a man to death. I obtained information likewise and found out about connections we had no clue about before I took action.

“I single handedly detained their leader and her paramour in a single day and will return to interrogate another one of them later. Roux Dupris was on the wrong side of this, and he no longer served a purpose. Do I need to remind you that most of the Governor's prisoners are forced to fight to the death? I granted him a mercy.” Zaveed said, his eyes boring into the Major's. “You activated us because you wanted results, and now you wish to coddle people who murder your own in the streets and laugh in the face of your rule? I am cruel, yes, but do you not think they would think twice knowing what we are willing to do to them if they cross us?”

“It is a fine. Line.” Kerztar said, voice hanging on the vowels, “We can’t work as if this will be our way of life forever. My peoples’ rule is young and unsteady, but as time goes on, they will slowly accept it. Legitimacy will be gained on its own.”

“We are the ones who make sure it lasts long enough so it comes to fruition. I don’t have any sympathy for the people who did that to Mrazac. He didn’t deserve it.” Kerztar frowned, “But don’t fucking pretend you did any of that for Nblec. You might fool the sergeants and even the lieutenants, but you take a step back and remember who you’re talking to.”

“Certainly not a damned fool.” Kerztar said, “I don’t mind blood being shed for the cause, it’s inevitable. I can’t have agents representing my people bathing in it either and nailing young women to chairs.”

Kerztar leaned forward in his chair, eyeing Sevari then casting the gaze to Zaveed before standing. “Pick the right fucking targets.”

Zaveed picked at his claws. “Actually, it was a table, but I take your meaning, Master Kerztar. I never wished to insinuate you were a fool, and I couldn't give a damn about Mrazac or most of your people, that much is true, but pardon my audacity.” Zaveed said, standing in turn. “Your rule won't last if these terrorists feel that they have nothing to fear from you. Every attack grows their ranks, and you may end up standing upon ruins and bodies of your compatriots alongside me with the knowledge that you did the moral thing, but it cost you everything.”

Gesturing towards Sevari, he said, “We weren't given much of a choice. Serve you or die fighting. And honestly? You've been good to us, all considered, and if I have to nail every fucking man, woman, and child in this city to furniture if it ensured your reign wasn't a short footnote in history, then give me the hammer and let me work. Just do not tell me that my methods do not get results, because I scored your people a major victory. You have their leader; you may be able to find out where to find this Poncy Man and the rest of his allies are.” he leaned forward on the table, hands grabbing the edges. “So let me do my job so I may one day taste the air as a free man and your people can go to bed knowing that creatures of the night aren't going to slit their throats while they sleep.”

It was silence, deafening silence as Kerztar regarded Zaveed deadpan all through his speech and up to now. Kerztar looked to Sevari with a frown, gesturing to Zaveed. “I’m so very glad that my people can once again say that we have stories in the making of avenging heroes come down from the heavens to visit violence on the evildoers so that we may sleep soundly.” His voice was flat, “I don’t want them to fear you. I don’t even want them to fear me. You’re missing the point, Zaveed, the forest for the tree. At the end of this, I want them to fear the law.

“Do you not think they’ll take your conduct and flip it into recruiting material?” Kerztar said, “The propaganda writes itself. I don’t even want you anywhere near a damned hammer with your attitude, Zaveed. I wanted scalpels. For some reason, your brother is the only one who understands that. He got me Roux without nailing every man, woman, child, animal, whatever to a table for some sense of the greater good.”

“He got me Hassiim without it even making a peep, after what we found out about him.” Sevari glanced at Zaveed but made no gestures or expression to show he felt strongly about any of this, either way, “I deal in absolutes. The Ministry of Order deals in absolutes. Those even above my station in the High Government of the Dwemer, guess what they deal in.”

“Not rhetoric about nailing people to tables.” Kerztar said in a low growl as he leaned over his desk to the two Khajiit in his office. He held their stares on his own for a long while. He pushed off the desk and turned his back on them, looking out his window to the city beyond. “Get out of my office and do your jobs right.”

Rising from the table, Zaveed gave a theatrical bow. “And we absolutely slaughtered the entirety of the crew of the Intrepid, very scalpel-like.” he said with a sarcastic smile, righting himself. “Until the next time, Master Kertar, I do enjoy our little chats.”

He turned to leave, tapping Sevari on the shoulder. “Back to work, yes? I do hope our partnership does not bring you undue stress. I would loathe to make you look bad.”

With that, he strolled over to his weapons, strapping them to his person with care and he didn't wait for the guards to get the door as he stepped out into the hall, whistling a sailor's shanty.




“That went well, don't you think?” Zaveed asked, walking down the main market street with Sevari at his side. The Cathay bit into a massive kabab he found with his nose and chewed obnoxiously at the overly large chunk of lamb. “Bloody ingrates. Thanks for your unyielding love and support, brother; it helps to know I'm not facing down tight-ass elf slavers on my lonesome. Your spirited lament of how great I was for their idiotic cause brought a tear to my eye, and Mara above, a rise in my trousers.” he looked over at Sevari with an annoyed glint. “Well, say what's on your mind, brother. You're more stoic and short of tongue than a cheap whore who got sold to a 500 stone Orc businessman who forgot what a bathhouse and cure disease potion were today.” he let out an annoyed sigh. “It's tiresome.”

“The reason we aren’t fighting through criminals to earn our freedom right now after all of this is because Kerztar knows we are his best. Before we get too far into this, let me just cut through your fucking sarcasm for a second.” Sevari spat to the Cathay at his side. The same one he loved even more than his blood brothers. “I didn’t say anything as to your results to Kerztar because we both know what you were able to do. The problem, Zaveed, is that you’re a real fucking cunt. I love you, but it’s true.”

He shook his head. “As far as why I’m especially beaming and an insufferable ray of sunshine than I usually am,” His scowl then payed testament to that, “Your sister’s here.”

Zaveed stopped in his tracks, the kabab slipping through his fingers onto the stone street below. “What did you say?” he asked quietly, looking to his brother with a slow turn of his head.

“Your sister.” Sevari said again, “The third member of this triumvirate of dysfunctional family.”

Sevari kept walking, not looking at Zaveed, not for any transgression of his own. For everything he’d learned about Marassa the past few days. To speak of her now was a courtesy, but also an old pain brought to the surface once more. “I don’t think we could simply arrange for a visit. She’s currently guarding the Thalmor Emissary in town. Easier to do from his bed, I suppose.” He frowned even darker, “I don’t care either way.”

It was a bad lie, coming from a Khajiit where lying was almost half his job.

Zaveed caught up quickly, grabbing Sevari by the shoulder. “We both know there isn't a damned Embassy! What the fuck did you do, Sevari?” Zaveed demanded, forcing the Ohmes-raht to look at him. “I know that dejected look; it's the same stupid one you get when she spurred you as a cub. You didn't think that I should know this sooner? She can't be here! The whole city's gone to shit, and…” he stared Sevari hard in the eyes, his tone hardening “Tell me the truth. Is she truly here? How do you know this?”

“How the fuck do you think?” Sevari’s face was screwed up in anger to be reminded about their younger years, “I saw her. On the ship. Erincaro’s been here, he’s the one who talked Rourken before this all started. She’s been here without us knowing until now.”

“She’s safer than we fucking are, Zaveed.” Sevari spat, “One hint of trouble and she can drop the sails and be on her way.”

Zaveed's face contorted into anger, he stepped away, scratching his claws down his axes and pinching the bridge of his nose while pacing. Suddenly, he bellowed out in Ta'agra, <Fuck you, you stupid spiteful bitch Divines! Fuck. You!>

Composing himself suddenly, he kicked a vendor's basket over before returning to Sevari. He absent-mindedly tossed a coin over his shoulder at the vendor. “Do you think you're the only one with a hate-erection for the Dominion around here? She isn't fucking safe, Sevari. Did you forget what we did to Roux's crew already?” he pressed, gritting his teeth. “I need to find her.”

“She’s on a ship, so there’s only a few places she could be.” Sevari grumbled, tossing over his shoulder to Zaveed, “You know, the desert, could be in the middle of the street. The docks.

“It’s an Altmer ship, you know the type.” Sevari said, “Just walk around until you have to shield your eyes from a damned sun floating in the water, I’m sure they’ll just let you aboard. She’d be happier to see you than me.”

Zaveed rolled his eyes. “And I’m the cunt.” he retorted. “Maybe she would have been more receptive to you if you weren't sulking about in the dark with murderous intent. Must have been a heartwarming reunion, seeing what you've become.”

“Shut the fuck up and let’s go.” Sevari said, picking up the pace. He hated having acid spit at him. Especially when it had a bit of truth. “She’s living her life, I’m living mine.”

“And how's that working out for you? She was probably the smart one, turning you away. I didn't and it got me a new job in an exciting and exotic land where everyone loves and respects people like us.” Zaveed replied, his hands resting on his axes, irritated. “Family is complicated, is it not?”

“Mine fucking is.” He eyed Zaveed.

Sevari and Zaveed walked through the streets quick, not stopping for anything and at one point, Sevari barging all two-hundred some of his weight and towering height through a troupe of guards with an utterance of ‘Ministry of Order.’ Finally, they’d made it to the docks. At the far end of the piers bobbed an Altmer ship, the Indrik, gracefully. “There she is.” Sevari lagged a bit behind Zaveed as he started, “I don’t think our last meeting went well enough to invite another. You know, because I’m the big fucking idiot for letting everybody slaughter my family and not throating their cocks for the privilege.”

Zaveed’s eyes remained fixed on the Altmeri ship, more graceful and resplendent than the one he had captained and his heart paced. “Your words, not mine.” he replied without looking. “Is the man who actually did the dark deed aboard, or are you just projecting and blaming everyone who flies Dominion colours for the action of one man, Sevari?” he turned to face him. “You didn't try to kill me, or half of Senchal. You didn't try to kill her. So tell me, brother, where do you draw the line? Where do you leave an irrational miasma of fury behind and embrace reason?

“Get justice on the one who did the deed, Sevari, not lash out at everyone else. You've been led like a dog by people who do not fucking care about you to destroy more families than your own with the promise you'd get revenge. How many years has it been? How long have you lived for someone else? Do you think your biological family would be proud of who you've become?” Zaveed snapped, closing the distance and jabbing a finger into Sevari's chest. “Who the fuck are you? You're so twisted by hate and fear that you throw away what family you have left because the child inside of you wants to change the past and get revenge on someone who hurt you when you were young. Where is he, Sevari? What do you have to show for who you became?”

Zaveed slapped his hand on his chest. “I had a ship, a crew! I went from beaten and raped by people who took me in until I murdered those responsible and then I made something of myself!” he snarled. “I moved on, became so much more than a scared and starving boy, and I had everything. I lost it all because of you. All because you couldn't let go of something that happened decades ago, that you decided was more important than Marassa and I!

“And you know what? I've made peace with the fact your choice and appealing to our history got my crew almost entirely killed or enslaved, or that the gold you promised is gone with my fucking home. But what bloody right do you have to try and destroy what Marassa built for herself? You don't approve? Too fucking bad. You need to stop being a selfish twat who only destroys the things he alleges to love. Or do you think your father and brothers would have wanted you to make your family legacy being a murderous puppet for some Emperor who doesn't fucking care about you?” Zaveed stepped back, throwing a finger towards the ship.

“The family you have left, her and I, are you so fucking eager to lose us both because of this fool's errand? Or are you ready to suck up your pride and try to be a brother again? I bet Marassa didn't see the boy she loved, just some twisted specter of the man he should have been.” Zaveed huffed with a pause, softly, he added, “Did you even try to prove her wrong?”

Sevari took it. Took it pretty fucking well given his history of knifing men who yelled at him, much less touched him in the same moment. For all the anger that boiled up inside him, the only thing he showed was a balled fist that he let go before he spoke. “Where the fuck do you think I drew that line.” Sevari’s voice simmered with a quivering fury on his tongue, “If I didn’t give a shit about Marassa, do you think I’d still be here? Or do you think Erincaro would be dead in his sleep and me long gone without a word to either of you, again? I do this shit for a living, I kill, I lie, I make people trust me and think I’m acting in their best interest if it had a chance of furthering my goals before I disappear and leave them to the wolves.”

He cast a glance to the ship, “Instead I found her. I could’ve continued with my mission before she even got to her fucking lover.” He leaned forward at Zaveed, “I’ve drawn that line. Erincaro is fucking the woman I loved without a knife in his throat and his guts at his feet. I saved you from being expelled from service and put into the pits because Rourken willed it. Asking Kerztar to put you back with me if anything should happen like it just did with that fucking meeting. Now shut the fuck up and talk to your sister so I can start trying to be the brother I’ve always wanted to be, contrary to [i]your fucking belief.[/] I’m a shit person, I’m a liar, a thief, a murderer with too much blood on my hands. A shadow of what I was. I know it. But I’m still here by you.”

Zaveed was silent, staring at the graceful ship while listening to Sevari's words, feeling a pull in two directions. He knew Sevari was telling the truth, that he spared Erincaro Syintar's life because of Marassa's involvement with the Almer ambassador. He thought back on the meeting, the whole day's events and he wanted nothing more than to go to that ship and find his sister once more.

Instead, he said, “Not without you.”

He looked to Sevari, frowning. “It's been a long, difficult road and this reunion between us has been anything but warm, but when I go to her, you must be by my side, understood? I would love nothing more than to go to her now, but I'd be leaving a hole behind I'd never fill... You aren't the only one who's been shit at family.” he extended his hand to Sevari. “Let's go forward, together. Fuck everything else. We do this job and we go choose our own destiny. We get her back.”

Sevari regarded Zaveed with his outstretched hand. The offering of a new start, of something he had missed for so long. He remembered what he told Marassa when she offered. A resounding no, and leaving her behind for the second time. His eyes went from Zaveed’s hand to his gaze. The two shared a tense moment, Sevari feeling he was being torn apart. But he really did wonder, would his mother even recognize him if the boy she offered so much of that much needed acceptance and love to stood before her now?

Perhaps she’d say something along the lines of it being time to stop. That it was so fucking readily apparent that he loved his family so much that he did everything he’d done so far to avenge their memories. That whoever he was trying to prove that to would’ve already been impressed after twenty years of proving it in blood and scars. That this revenge wasn’t even for them now, but for him, almost. He swallowed, hesitantly at first, but he nodded to Zaveed. To his brother. “Okay.”

Zaveed clapped Sevari on the shoulder with a grin. “Okay. I can work with okay.” he said, a chuckle escaping his throat. “Now, let's go get ourselves a bloody drink and find someone to warm our beds tonight, we can regale each other of our tales and make up for lost time. Tomorrow we return to the hunt.”

Sevari breathed a sigh through his smile, a thing in such short supply for him these days, especially for being so genuine. “I’d like that.” He nodded, “I’d like that a lot, my brother.”




It had been about 4 hours of wine and ale in some port tavern that Zaveed infrequently visited not far from where the Indrik was moored, and neither Sevari nor him rightfully knew the name of at this point but no longer cared. Zaveed had replaced the kabab he had lost earlier, and looked at Sevari from over a pint glass. “So… have you find yourself with another woman after we parted ways all those years ago?” he asked mischievously, his eyes tracking a short-haired blonde Breton waitress as she carried a tray past.

Sevari chuckled softly, taking another swig of his third pint that night, “A few.” He shrugged, setting down the tankard, “My work so far has kept me from having too much fun. I’ve honestly been granted more downtime from the Ministry of Order than the Empire.”

“The work is tireless, but of course I’ve found time to wind down in ways I can. Whether it’s drinking in a quiet place or finding a woman to share a bed with for the night.” He looked down at his ale, his smile lessening a tad as he thought about Marassa. He couldn’t tell if it was the fact that she had come back into his life at all, or if she had come back into his life in a relationship with the son of the mer who ordered his brothers’ killings.

Silently, scenes played out in his head. He knew what the two of them were up to when he had first been about to enter Erincaro’s chambers. He imagined the loving and tender moments in their two lives together. What it was like for them falling in love. Before Sevari followed where his tipsy reverie beckoned him, he shook from it. It was only then he noticed he was scowling. He lifted the tankard to his lips and drained the last few gulps in one go. “Another.” He said to the barmaid before she even had a chance to open her smiling mouth and ask, before he half-assedly tacked on, “Please.”

Offering a sweet and well honed smile, the waitress offered Sevari a wink. “Sure thing, love.” she said, turning to pop the cork off of another Sentinel red wine and filling a fresh mug. Zaveed was transfixed; perhaps it was the alcohol, but the waitress looked familiar. The short blonde hair and steel blue eyes like the gleam of blades looked like a pair he’d lost himself in recently, and her petite frame was alluring. When she turned, she caught Zaveed’s stare and met him defiantly. “I certainly know that look.” She said with a flirtatious wink, setting Sevari’s mug before him. She moved over to lean over at the two Khajiit, leaning forward on the counter seductively. “Didn't your mother tell you it was rude to stare?” she asked.

“I would have asked her, but she was busy from one man to the next, sometimes woman, without much time to answer the inane questions of a toddler.” Zaveed replied with an apologetic smile. “You are quite the captivating woman, my dear.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that. Won’t be the last.” She said with a sly smile, pouring herself a glass of the same mug. “So, I couldn’t help but overhear you two were brothers. Sounds like you’ve spent some time apart.”

“Entirely too long. Barely recognized the man when I saw him, but I think there is progress being made.” Zaveed grinned. “He’s probably smiled for the first time in twenty years, if you’d believe it.”

The waitress grinned at both of them. “Well, the way he looks tonight, I wouldn’t have been able to tell.” he eyes caught another table across the room. “I’ll be back, fellas. Make yourself comfortable.”

With that, she was off with her tray, and Zaveed finished off his tankard. He glanced over at Sevari with a coy look. “Well, if you aren’t, I am.”

“I’m not sure she’s the type to go after Khajiit with too many thoughts behind their eyes.” He chuckled, taking another swig from his tankard, and looking at the waitress. She was pulling the exact same tricks on the two old sailors at the other table that she was at his and Zaveed’s. He’d been in enough seedy taverns to know better than to think waitresses only had eyes for him. Then again, it only really mattered who had eyes for who for the night, didn’t it? Speaking of, his eyes were snatched and held by an emerald gaze from across the room.

Had he seen the two eyes before? Where the waitress had mischief in her eyes, these had a depth that fixed him and made him totter like looking straight down the edge of a cliff to the white-tipped tides below. Take a step, they beckoned, at your peril. He swallowed once, ripping his eyes away from the woman across the room. He glanced at Zaveed and forced a smirk, “What’s your plan with the waitress?” He asked, eyes zipping to and from the gaze of the woman across the room, “Usual dashing privateer routine?”

Zaveed grinned slyly, downing his drink before sliding the empty tankard away. “I was thinking dastardly pirate. Maybe I’ll get to start a fight or two along the way, sweep her off her feet in the carnage.” He pulled off a coin purse from his belt, plucking a golden coin from the pouch and having it dance casually between fingers. “Besides, I pay rather well for regrettable life choices. Those lads over there are so routine and uninspired; I am the epitome of exotic and irresistable.”

Sevari smirked and nodded, “Oh, I’m sure they said the same of themselves before they turned gray and couldn’t even take a shit without a trip to the local apothecary.” Sevari shrugged, “You should maybe get to doing whatever you’re going to before then.”

“Oh, dear brother; legends never grow old. I'll be departed before such indignities take me.” Zaveed replied with a toothy grin before suddenly hopping the counter, grabbing another bottle of wine and pulling out the cork with a claw. He held it out towards Sevari. “It's been a strange journey, but I'm grateful you are with me once more. This is how it should have always been; to family.”

After the clanking of their respective containers, Zaveed straightened out his tunic with a sense of formality.

“If you’ll pardon me, I think our darling waitress forgot something.” he said with a shit-eating grin and a wink before slinking off towards the waitress. Taking her by the waist, he his grin did not falter. “Hello, my dear.” he purred, holding out the bottle. “You’ve forgotten to have your fill.”

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a dream


A strong wind was howling through the trees outside. Gregor could see the branches swaying and bowing to the force of Kynareth’s breath, but he heard nothing through the uneven, rippling windows to their bedroom. He looked down to find himself sitting on the edge of the bed and his eyes traced the lines of the stitchings in the fabric of the bedsheets, which were as blue as an early summer morning sky. It was her favorite color. He remembered now. It had seemed so long ago… but here he was again. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the subtle fragrance of flowers in the air. There was a fresh bouquet on his nightstand.

“Did you sleep well?” a woman’s voice asked from behind him. Gregor turned his head and rolled over on his side until he was face to face with her. She smiled at him and her nose crinkled and a lock of black hair spilled over her face before it was quickly tucked away behind her ear.

“Yes,” Gregor said, and he could hear that his voice was soft and tender and full of love. “I had a dream, of foreign lands and strange people, and it felt so real…”

She touched his face, the slightest brush of her fingers against his cheek. “I’m glad it was just a dream. I trust you’re not planning on going somewhere?” she asked and looked up at him with teasing eyes in which the sea went on forever.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. There is nowhere I’d rather be than here with you, my love.”

And he felt that it was true.

The world fell out from beneath him and he fell too, a thousand yards and more, until he landed roughly on the dead leaves and splintered branches of the ground. Fear shot through his limbs like a surge of electricity and he scrambled to his feet, disoriented and dizzy, until his eyes focused on his surroundings and the pulses of his heart ceased to gallop in his ears. He was dressed in his armor and he was old again -- he could feel the weight of his age and of the past decade pressing down on him; a physical presence that had made its perch on his shoulders and refused to ever take wing.

He was in the dark forest again. The trees had grown so tightly together that he could barely see more than thirty feet in either direction and the night air was thick and heavy with anticipation. Gregor’s mouth fell open and his eyes went wide as his gaze followed one of the tree trunks up and into the canopy. Something, some creature, had left slash marks in the bark as high up as a house, and the branches had been forcefully ripped off. A small sound behind him made him whirl around on the spot and draw his claymore.

Suspended twenty feet above the ground, impaled on the broken branches, hung Briar’s corpse. Her guts dangled beneath her like a macabre rope.

“Why did you leave me?” it asked through split lips and shattered teeth.

Gregor wanted to speak, to explain, but he couldn’t. He opened his mouth and no sound came out.

That’s when he saw it. Behind her, behind the tree: a shape, looming, towering, ancient and vast. Darkness clung to it like a cloak. Gregor backed away, unsteady feet seeking sanctuary behind him, while his mind refused to work. He could only stare.

It moved. The tree snapped like a twig and smashed down into the forest floor, flinging Briar hard against the ground where she scattered into three pieces and none of them looked like a human anymore. Gregor turned tail and ran, terrified of the thunderous roar of the creature and the heavy hoofbeats of its pursuit. A terrible urge to look over his shoulder threatened to overtake him but he resisted. He did not want to see it. He ran, zigzagging between the trees, searching desperately for a way out, some sign of the way out, or a light, but there were none. He could hear more trees being splintered and destroyed, and it roared again -- a terrible, overwhelming sound that he could feel in every fiber of his being. It was getting closer. It was so large.

He tripped and fell and before he even had a chance to get back on his feet, it was upon him. Gregor groaned in pain as two massive hooves pressed into his shoulder blades and pinned him to the ground.

“Gregor,” it muttered, its voice warped and shuddering. Two hands, black as soot and impossibly long, appeared on either side of him and grabbed his head.

Gregor screamed.
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Shifting Sands


Three Crowns Hotel, Gilane, 9th Midyear, 4E208…

It had been a disastrous week, with numerous setbacks. The Poncy Man sat in his study, idly spinning a globe on his desk, a single streak of sunlight illuminating the Northern hemisphere of the globe. Idly, he thought of it like a cleansing fire of Satakal purifying the world of those who would do it ill, namely the Dwemer that had chased much of his people back into the sands and had forced them from their cities. The Alik’r were still active, somewhere, across Hammerfell’s vast landscape, which only gave refuge to those who understood its secrets and consumed those whom did not. The Dwemer were crafty, to be sure, and the Redguard alone could not withstand their machines of war, but the sands did not care how elaborate and well-tuned your machine was; it would fail all the same, as heat baked the alloys like a forge and sand would clog the clockwork gears. About the only thing that had any hope of success were the airships, but sandstorms would render their visibility moot and get into sensitive works of the machinery, an unwelcome result if one were several dozen meters from the ground.

And so, the Dwemer were content to call the cities their prize and proclaim the province as their own, but if stone walls and comfortable ports were the brain of Hammerfell, the sands and desert was the heart and capillaries. The Redguard understood it as a part of their own souls; it was something the damned Deep Elves would never understand.

He huffed in annoyance, turning his dark eyes to a stack of parchments, reports from the various cells under his watch. He was but one of a dozen leaders in the Alik’r Insurgency, and the representative of the Merchant’s Guild, and under him six cells had flourished, and the seventh… it was too new to know. Initially, Samara cell seemed like a sure bet; a bunch of companions who had prior operational experience and encounters with the Dwemer that had both the motivation and the incentive to get involved. Roux had vouched for his partner, Daro’Vasora, and finding available help was becoming increasingly difficult as the weeks drove on. Losses simply couldn’t be replaced.

After a pair of somewhat disastrous assignments, the Poncy Man wasn’t sure if he’d made a mistake or not. Supervision was required, that much was certain, which was why he’d activated Hassan and Nadeen to keep tabs on the group, although Hassan had been pulled off to deal with renegade elements that made up Irranhu Cell and had been unable to rendezvous with Samara Cell in the meantime, which he had ideally made more pliable and trusting after putting considerable expense into sponsoring a party for the group. Daro’Vasora had made a fairly sound argument that none of her group had any experience in the sort of work that was asked of them, and that they’d been constantly on the run for weeks. Perhaps they needed to be eased into it, be given some assistance from those with field experience in Gilane. It was a part of why Hassan was going to make contact and help orchestrate their next assignment, but it had been three days since his last report, and Nadeen was growing ever more suspicious of Gregor and Raelynn.

Picking through a few of the reports, numbers flowed across his vision as he tried to keep tallies of everything that had occurred the past two weeks. Twelve members of the insurency across all cells had been killed or captured, eighteen Dwemer soldiers were killed, one of the Dwemer administrators that Samara cell was supposed to capture, eight city guards, and three of the foreigners for the Ministry of Order. Rations were spread thin with disrupted supply lines, the Intrepid was lost with all hands, and the war chest wasn’t breaking even. They’d need to make a move to secure finances. Perhaps with those uniforms Samara cell acquired, they’d be able to infiltrate a storehouse…

The face of his wife appeared in the doorway through the curtain. “Pardon me, Darak, but Hassan is here. He looks grim.” she said, looking somewhat embarrassed to have interrupted. He smiled at her, his precious Laimi, and couldn’t imagine ever feeling inconvenienced by her. “Well, I best not keep him waiting, then. Could I bother you to prepare a pot of tea for us?” he asked politely.




Hassan closed the door behind him and removed the sword from his belt, placing it beside him as he sat at the Poncy Man’s desk. There was nothing but silence as he poured himself a cup of tea, taking his first sip before sighing. He took a second to appreciate the tastes and undertones of the tea, eyes closed. It was a few more moments of silence before Hassan opened his mouth, “I’m very much not fucking pleased with Samara Cell.” He said, he placed his cup down gently before continuing, “I met with Farukh in Irranhu Cell, their leader after Samir was put in the pits and well… died. He acted as if getting back into line and following orders was akin to agreeing to forty lashes. Now I want to give him fifty.”

The Poncy Man drank thoughtfully from his own cup, electing to hold it and the saucer delicately. “No, I would imagine not, and I am of the same heart. Did you decide to give him his fifty lashes?” he inquired.

“No, as much as I wanted to.” He shook his head, “I gave him a warning that I would come back if he didn’t toe the line again. We are in a sea alone, surrounded by sharks. We need to step carefully and step all at once with each other or not at all.”

“This cell system seems to make them think the Insurgency is all their own, in their own little worlds, rather than just a way for us to keep each cell from selling out the other.” He sipped at his tea, “Just give me the word and I’ll go back there and give them a reason to promote a new leader.”

“At your leisure.” The Poncy Man said, setting his cup and saucer down with care. “You may be right, but it also is the only way to ensure that if one cell is compromised, the others do not follow suit. What news is there of Samara cell?”

“Romantics. There are a few of them involved with each other.” Hassan spoke. “Nadeen has noticed an Ohmes-Raht around the Three Crowns more than once. Latro and Daro’Vasora returned to the Three Crowns after curfew followed by someone. A few days later, Latro was tailed by someone who looked like Redguard or some Mer.”

“Samara Cell ended their party and Nadeen was on watch, she noticed another person who may be the same one who had tailed Latro leaving as the party died down.” He shrugged, “Too many to be coincidence. I suggest we watch Latro closer.”

“Interesting…” The Poncy Man mused, knowing that the Ministry of Order was certainly making their moves. Could this Ohmes-raht be a part of Major Kerztar’s group? All of the agents that had been encountered in the field had been foreigners; it all seemed like too much of a coincidence. The romantic angle didn’t surprise him; they were not a professional army, and danger had a way of bringing people closer together. He quietly wished them good health and fortune, but so long as it didn’t interfere with their mission. Hopefully the party had helped loosen their trepidation towards him. “Agreed. When you approach them, I shall have Nadeen keep an eye from the shadows. You will see the hand they offer, she will see what is hidden behind their backs.”

A voice came out of the doorframe. “There’s trouble. Daro’Vasora and Latro have been captured by the Ministry, the Cathay with the axes. They were just marched through the streets to the palace; the girl was injured, arm broken. I was unable to ascertain where they had been apprehended.” Nadeen stepped through the curtain, stepping beside Hassan, her face ever impassive. “I do not know what their intentions with the prisoners are, but it is unclear what information they could divulge under interrogation.”

The Poncy Man made a steeple gesture with his fingers, staring past them as he contemplated the news. “Then we need to move quickly; do you feel Samara cell is capable without guidance, Hassan?”

“I do.” He nodded, “Above all else, they have a loyalty to each other. Let us wait to see what they do.”

Nadeen shuffled almost imperceptibly. It was the most subtle of signs she had something else on her mind.

“Speak, Nadeen.”

“It’s the Imperial, Gregor, and Raelynn. I suspect they’re up to something… unsavory. They’ve been sneaking off on their own, and not just for pleasure. I have my suspicions, but they conceal their tracks well. I would like to continue to pursue this avenue of approach.” Nadeen replied, a suspicious glint in her eyes.

“Very well. Hassan, I need you to make haste to Samara cell. They must be made aware of what has transpired; we must make a counter blow and soon. Irranhu Cell can wait. Let us hope they are not foolish as to attempt something brash. Nadeen, please exercise caution and continue your vigil. I count on you in ways that I could never entrust to another.” The Poncy Man said, standing. “Is there anything else?” he asked.

“Nothing of note.” Hassan bowed, “I’ll make my way to Samara’s dorms, get them to the conference room and we’ll plan something.”

“Very well. Safe travels, my friends. We know the path forward, just not the obstacles that may lay ahead.” With a nod, Hassam and Nadeen filed out of the room, leaving the Poncy Man to his study. He sat in quiet contemplation for several moments before pulling open a drawer, revealing a 40 year old vintage bottle of Stros M’Kai rum that he had intended to save for victory over the Dwemer. Sentiment is overrated. he thought, pulling out the cork and topping up his tea cup with the dark amber liquor.

If the Governor was intent on playing the game more violently, then he would return the favour. Pulling out a quill and inkpot, he began to write down the next steps to be relayed to his other cells. Gilane’s streets would run red with traitor and Dwemer blood alike, and the palace would become a burning beacon to inspire the Alik’r for leagues to take up arms against the occupiers. The long game could no longer wait, he decided, unrolling another parchment and reading its contents with destain. Bahia cell lost a full half of its members in a surprise attack two nights prior at an ambush in the docks, and the insurgency wasn’t replacing its numbers like it should have. He sighed, pouring himself another drink, wondering how many parties he’d need to host to keep morale up. Daro’Vasora had been onto something there, and then she’d been stupid enough to get herself captured shortly afterwards.

The Poncy Man drank deeply from the cup, emptying of the rum in a single go. There would be repercussions for this, he decided. The Governor would not go unanswered.

If only he could reign in the problematic cells and make something work in his favour. The people needed a victory, not a rabble of self-minded idiots committing inconsequential acts that were detrimental to the cause, like Irranhu cell. He’d hoped Hassan made his point very clear to them; they could ill afford another misstep.




Gilane Streets…

“For the record, I think this is a stupid idea. You’re overreacting, sir.” Marassa said, walking alongside the Thalmor emissary with her sword resting upon her pauldron and her amber eyes scanning the gathered crowd for threats. It was a strange city, and the demand to have the two murdered Indrik sailors receive a proper burial in the city and the argument that their ship was no longer a safe haven after the brazen attack, Erincaro had decided to petition the Governor for protection in the palace. It simply reflected badly to have political dignitaries to your city assassinated by rogue elements, and the Indrik simply wasn’t ready to make the voyage due to lack of supplies due to shortages caused by both the occupation and the insurgency. The Dominion was effectively trapped in harbour, and there was no real time frame for making it out to sea.

“You are the one who wished to get off of the ship and see the city, captain. “ The Altmer retorted playfully with a sly grin. “Besides, if your childhood crush is as dangerous as you claim and wanting to hang me from my intestinal tract from a lamp post because of something my father did long ago, I’d much prefer to take matters into my own hands before he discovers how flammable timber in the shape of a sea vessel really is. I’m versed in the school of Destruction, captain; I don’t fancy my odds of repelling flames that suffocate the air out of a hull.”

“As you wish, sir. Just know you’re making my job absolutely miserable. You know most of the local populace wants us dead for the Great War, right?” The Khajiit replied tersely.

“I recall it was I who personally taught you our history.”

“Well, let’s say I don’t fancy reenacting it.” Marassa said with a resigned sigh, deciding to change tacts. “The climate is agreeable, to say the least. Reminds me of Anequina, assuming someone actually decided to build cities instead of living largely as nomads.”

“Speaking of which, why is it you never earned an honourific like most of your race? It’s occurred to me from time to time you don’t really talk about the Confederacy very often nor Senchal. Everything has always been so immediate and I felt it inappropriate to ask something that might be constituted as indelicate.” Erincaro asked, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he marched at the head of the column. Marassa knew him too well to argue with how irresponsible it was.

“I was young when you saved me from that shithole of a city and I never much cared for looking back. Considering most of my compatriots since then have been elves, my birth culture never really had a chance to leave an impression. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve had moon sugar, or considered my people’s gods. It’s all been Auri-el this, Magnus that.” she said impassively, her eye catching something in the shadows of a building up ahead. “Hold up. I think-”

The arrow whizzed by her head, missing it by half a meter. “Ambush!” She shouted, and the Dominion soldiers began to form ranks around Erincaro as chaos erupted. Two of the Dominion soldiers were brought down as arrows found their mark, which prompted the mages in the outfit to retaliate with destruction spells from anything deemed to be where the archers were located, flames splashing across building faces as the alarmed crowds screamed in alarm. The shields caught a few more of the arrows, likely from only a small handful of archers, and only from a 180 degree field of fire. The attack was sprung early, Marassa decided.

Several loud yells and screams came from all sides, and several masked warriors with swords and spears charged at the Dominion soldiers, only wearing meager armour as to blend in with the populace. Marassa grunted and held her sword at the ready; she hated being right all of the time.

Bodies crashed into shield, and the disciplined soldiers of the Dominion held against the onslaught, the heavy armour many of the company wore shrugging off the glancing blows of the blades and spears while many of their blades found their marks; Erincaro, although unarmoured, was a masterful mage and the precision of the ice spikes between his soldiers was something commendable. Marassa grappled a spear away from her body and drove her head into the face of a spearman, staggering him enough for her to drive her blade into his guts, pulling through to catch another sword in a brief lock that she side-stepped out of, bringing her blade’s momentum behind her back and into an overhead strike that the fighter managed to catch. Another approached behind her, forcing her to disengage with the first fighter and igniting a magelight in the face of the second to blind the Redguard enough that he didn’t see the large blade come horizontally to decapitate him in a single strike of the blade. The first man’s sword scraped down her backplate, prompting a snarled curse and and thrown elbow that nearly connected with the man’s face. Her hand coalesced the blinding white light again, distracting the fighter enough that her gauntleted fist struck him across the face holding the greatsword, which she pivoted and drove the blade back into the man’s abdomen with both hands. He fell limp on her blade.

“Sergeant, find us an opening!” she shouted towards a Bosmer who favoured twin blades and Ferin, the Wood Elf quite at home in the middle of a mass skirmish.

“Aye, captain!” Came the reply as one of her daggers plunged into the eye socket of one of the men in front of her as the Khajiit soldier beside her was brought down with a spear to the neck. She cursed in her mother tongue and stabbed the murderer several times before the spear was able to free itself of her compatriot. Of the twelve guards, 5 were already dead to the 9 attackers, largely thanks to the assistance of magic and armour that the mostly Redguard force was bringing on them; had they been a regular Alik’r formation, the ambush would have likely been far more efficient and their warriors unmatched. This felt like rabble.

“The way we came, back alley, make us an entrance, J’Razri!” Ferin ordered the Cathay-raht in the ranks, who carried an impressively large maul and at over 2 meters in height was a force to be reckoned with.

“J’Razri will make a way!” he replied, driving his maul down on one of the warriors who foolishly tried to block the heavy weapon with the haft of his spear, but the weight and strength behind the blow knocked it aside and crushed his shoulder. The massive Khajiit grabbed the screaming man by the face and tossed him aside casually as he worked his way forward, a landslide made flesh. Now away from the formation, he was free to use the full range of motion of his weapon, and when it struck, it was sickening.

“Back him up! I’m with the Emissary!” Marassa ordered as her team moved into formation, two more of her unit killed in the process; one to the sharpshooter that Erincaro slayed a few moments later, and one of the mages was brought down by a trio of swordsmen. Marassa let out a war cry to engage, throwing her hand out and one of the fighter’s hands were encased in hard ash and the other found a shoulder driven into them to make space while the greatsword was brought up in a diagonal slash towards the third. Mercuran, an Altmer shieldman who fought with both spear and sword and showed very little magical aptitude across his life, bashed the ash-shelled fighter across the face with his shield and drove his spear into the chest of the wounded swordsman that Marassa had managed to wound with her sword. With two dead, Marassa drove her pommel into the man’s temple before turning her blade over and driving it up through the man’s neck; the strength of the blow and the width of the blade severed the spinal column and the head was retained only by sinews of flesh.

The big Khajiit had managed to secure a passage to the alleyway, but arrows were sticking out of him; he was not holding his maul as proudly as he could have been. “Shit.” Marassa hissed, grabbing Erincaro by the shoulder and leading him to the opening J’Razri had secured. Only Erincaro, Ferin, Mercuran, and herself made it to the opening, the rest of the unit had been slain in the streets. The only consolation was that they had taken down far more than they had lost, but even the loss of a single one of her soldiers in what was supposed to be peace time was unacceptable in Marassa’s eyes. “Well done, J’Razri. We need to go, now.”

“This one is not going anywhere.” The Cathay-raht had said, his breath heavy and blood was soaking through his armour plating. “Go, captain. Take the Emissary and live.” he nodded to the smaller Khajiit with a grin. “It was always J’Razri’s honour. May your roads lead you to warm sands, captain Marassa.”

“Walk the moonpath, brother.” she clasped him by the arm for a moment, meeting his gaze for a few moments before ushering the survivors away. J’Razri pulled his helm off, an impressive braid falling loose behind his head as he spat a glob of blood from his lips. He looked at the encroaching enemies with fierce determination. “You will go no further,” he challenged, slipping his helm back over his head. “The five of you verses a mortally wounded J’Razri? You should haven taken this one’s arm to make it fair. Come, kill me if you can.” He said, finding the vigor to hold his maul with a sense of determination. The enemy charged, and be brought his hammer down to meet them.

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Breaking Curfew


By Greenie and Morty
with a guest appearance of Sevari



7th of Midyear, near sunset, The Three Crowns Hotel

Meg was restless as she sat in her room, staring at her boots that were busy hitting the floor with their heels. She had been wanting to chat with Daro'Vasora since the night before. Nothing in particular, but she she did wish to thank the khajiit for the impromptu party which while it had lasted had been fun, and despite the breakdown she had afterwards, she had to admit that in itself was a good thing.

But... where was she? She had spent the whole day in the Hotel after the day before's grueling adventure, sleeping and eating and generally just relaxing until the morning. When she'd headed to Sora's room earlier in the morning to catch her there, she'd found only an empty bed that hadn't been slept in. No matter who she spoke to as the day continued onward, they all had the same response, that they had not seen the female khajiit. Or they would simply not answer the Nord woman, leaving her rather annoyed and unsatisfied.

Sunset was very near and Meg's brooding had turned into worry bordering anxiety. Daro'Vasora wouldn't just disappear for more than a day without saying anything, would she? She didn't know what it was, but she could feel a foreboding feeling clutching at her from the inside. Something was wrong.

"I gotta find her." Meg jumped to her feet as soon as she made that decision. Turning to the chest at the end of her bed, she opened it and pulled out her old bow and arrows. Once they were secure, she grabbed her belt and buckled up before sliding her sword into its scabbard. Perhaps she had grown more brazen and confident since she'd been sent on Salosoix's mission, but that had been for money, and this was for her friend. This was far more important than any amount of septim.

As she stepped out of the room though, a niggling thought stopped her in her steps. An' just where're you gonna go? What're you gonna do? Who're you gonna talk to? Annoying words and yet they were all legitimate ones. What if something happened to her out there? Then there would be two missing persons with no one the more knowledgeable. She needed help.

He'll tell me not to, she told herself as she walked to the room she was sure Jaraleet was in. But... There was no one else she could really ask for help right now, and whether the others found it strange or not, she trusted the argonian. Taking a deep breath, she rapped on the door and waited.

Luckily for Meg, after his back to back missions with Gregor and Latro on the fifth, Jaraleet had decided to take it easy the last two days, giving himself time to recuperate his energies and to make sure that his wounds from the fight in the docks would be fully healed. As such, when Meg came looking for him, the Argonian was present on his room instead of in the inn’s gym as would have been normally the case “Coming.” Was the Argonian’s simple reply when he heard the knock on the door, rising from his bed and heading to the entrance.

He was surprised when he found the Nord woman standing in front of the room’s threshold, a feeling which quickly gave way to a nagging sense of suspicion when he noticed the look of anxiety plastered on her face and, more importantly, that she was armed for combat. “Inside. Now.” The Argonian said, unable to hide the sense of unease that had taken root in his mind. If it had been Gregor, or even Latro, he would have been calm, but he had never expected that Meg would seek him out armed. His unease lay not in a fear that the Nord woman would attack him but more in the belief that, whatever it was that had worried Meg enough to make her decide to take up her weapons had also led her to talk to him.

Once she was inside of the room, Jaraleet closed the door behind Meg and then closed the curtains placed above the balcony. “There, now we should have some privacy.” The Argonian said as he turned to look at Meg. “What's the matter Meg?” He asked her, forcing himself to keep the irrational unease that plagued him under control.

“Uhm…” The was a slight sense of awkwardness but the Nord woman pushed it to the back of her mind. “ Sorry t'bother ya… I jus’ didn’ know who else could help me out… an’ I didn' feel right headin’ out without sayin’ somethin’ first.” She paused and cleared her throat, feeling slightly parched, but she continued onward. “Daro'Vasora… she's missin’. I've been lookin’ for her all day an'- she's just not here. No one's seen her, or they’re just not sayin’ somethin’. Her hand clutched at her amulet. “Somethin’s happened, somethin’ bad, I can just feel it. An’ I need t'find her “

As Meg explained herself, things clicked into place easily enough. Why she had sought him out and why she had come armed to his room, it all seemed so simple now that the Argonian inwardly chided himself for how he had reacted. “First of all, sorry for how I acted at first. I was...surprised to find you in front of my door, and armed to boot.” He apologized, shaking his head slightly and letting out a sigh as he thought what to say next.

He hadn’t noticed Daro’Vasora’s disappearance, another thing to chide himself about, something which was worrying but not pressing enough to spur the Argonian to action, but he doubted that Meg would appreciate that particular thought if he voiced it. “And you intend to go out into Gilane’s streets I take it, no?” He said, eyeing the getup with which Meg intended to head out into the streets. The first thought that jumped to his mind was the fact that the Nord woman didn’t have a cloak with which to hide her identity, the second one being that she had chosen to carry her bow along with her blade.

“Too cumbersome.” He stated plainly, not waiting for an answer to his previous question. “Your bow won’t be of much use if you intend to sneak past the patrols.” The Argonian clarified, shaking his head. “It would be best if you brought your sword only.” He said as he began making his way to where he stored his gear. “You should also try and find a cloak, something with which to hide your face.” The assassin added as he began taking out his gear.

“But…” Meg stopped herself, slightly embarrassed but also a little worried. She hadn’t taken her bow with her on her sword acquisition mission the other day and she would have had a hard time escaping if she hadn’t laid her hands on the one in the chest. What if something similar happened while she went on her person hunt? Then again, what was the point in asking for Jaraleet’s help if she wasn’t even going to listen to what he was going to say. She was first and foremost a tomb raider while he, if Gregor was correct, was an assassin and probably knew how to sneak around people even better than she did.

“Be righ’ back,” she muttered as she headed out of the room. It wasn’t long before she returned, sans bow but with a cloak. She’d had it since her Skyrim days- once it had been green but at the moment it was more of a brownish grey. The hood pulled down far enough that it nearly covered the entire top half of her face. “How’s this then?”

By the time Meg had returned, Jaraleet was equipped as best he could with what little information he had. He had decided to forego wearing armor proper, with the exception of his vambraces which he hid under a long sleeved shirt, and had only worn the scabbard for his sword along with the black cloak that he had worn during his mission for the Poncy Man.

When Meg asked him about her current equipment he took a second to inspect her figure. The cloak would be useful, albeit it’d have been best if she had a black one but he supposed there would be no time to fetch one. “Hmmm, your scabbard.” He said once he noticed how she worn it. “Move it a bit so you can hide it under your cloak, it will make it more difficult to draw your sword, unless you are used to it that is, but that way you’ll be able to hide it behind your cloak.” He explained to her. “If things go well we shouldn’t have need of our weapons any way.”

Meg blinked and looked down at her scabbard. "Er... right." Feeling slightly like a child back in Riften, being taught the basics, she managed to keep her expression from looking too embarrassed as she shifted the sword on her belt so that it was now completely covered by her cloak.

Taking a breath, she looked up. "Alright', I think I'm ready." She was quiet a moment before continuing. "I don' rightly know where I'mma look for her."

Jaraleet smiled at Meg and chuckled softly. “I have an idea that might get us a lead.” The Argonian said as he began making his way towards the door. “Not very exciting but, well, I think our best shot lays in eavesdropping on some of the patrolmen. If Daro’Vasora really has been kidnapped by the Dwemer, there is a chance that some of the soldiers might have heard something, even if it’s only gossip.”

Maybe it wasn't much, but it was a start, something that Meg had needed and didn't have. She nodded in agreement before following after the argonian, focusing to keep her thoughts clear so she wouldn't end up making any blunders.

It was an easy enough task for the duo to sneak out the the hotel as silently as shadows, and soon enough they were on the streets. Unlike just an hour earlier when the roads had been bustling with life, it was now as silence as a graveyard. Meg was reminded of the night she and the others had snuck into the garrison. Sora had been there that night as well. Her forehead creased at the thought, but she pushed that to the back of her mind for the time being.

“Is something on your mind Meg?” The Argonian asked, having noticed the brief look of concern that had passed through her mind. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. It’d be better to voice your thoughts now than later on when the risk will be greater.” Jaraleet said, keeping his eyes peeled for any patrolmen that they might follow for any clues that’d lead them to their Khajiit leader.

Meg quickly shook her head. "No, I was jus' rememberin' the las' time I came out..." Her voice trailed. "Sorry, nothin' important." This was exactly the opposite of being focused. What was wrong with her tonight? If she really wanted to find out where Sora was, then she had to clear her mind, otherwise she'd end up ruining things for herself, or worse Jaraleet, who'd she'd ended up roping in.

"I'm fine," she promised under her breath, and fell silent just in time it would seem- the sound of a pair of footsteps could be heard.

Jaraleet frowned, but decided not to press the topic. He knew that, whatever it was that was on Meg’s mind was upsetting her and that put him in turn on edge and made him upset. He couldn’t explain it, but he didn’t like to see her in such a state. Still, he pushed those thoughts, those feelings, to the depths of his mind and called upon all that he had earned during his training as a Haj-Eix to remain focused on the task at hand.

Letting out a soft sigh, he let himself focus instead on the sound of the upcoming footsteps. It didn’t took long for the voice of the Dwemer patrolmen to reach their hiding spots, the soldiers making no efforts to be discreet.

“Did you hear what happened? Seems like we’ll finally be moving against those rats.” One of the soldiers commented.

“Hmmm, I’ve heard a bit, but not much. Something about capturing one of those damn terrorists, no?”

It took all of Meg’s willpower not to reach back for an arrow that wasn't on her back. Even though she knew they needed to hear what the patrolmen had to say, the instinct was there that simply ending their life would make things easier. But it wasn't just that. Maybe it was silly, maybe it was naivety, but she didn't know how to block her feelings. Being called rats and terrorist-

She looked up at Jaraleet, wordlessly wondering if he was thinking the same thing. Were they talking about Daro'Vasora? She looked back in the direction of the soldiers, mentally yelling at them to say something more.

“Yeah, one of them was captured. A Khajiit I think but I don’t know much beyond that, I’ve only just heard a few things here and there, like that they paraded her through the city’s streets yesterday.. You could probably ask around a bit more once we are back at the guardpost.” The first soldier said.

The second Dwemer merely nodded in silent acknowledgement and continued walking with his fellow mer. Soon enough, both guards were out of sight and hearing range from Meg and Jaraleet.

“Well, it would seem that if we want to obtain more information we’ll have to sneak into a guard post. Come, let’s follow them” The Argonian said calmly. “With any luck, they will lead us straight where we need to go.”

Meg slowly unclenched her fists as she nodded, still seething from what she had just heard. She'd actually not even noticed that her hands had curled into fists until she felt her nails bite into her palms. Letting out a slow breath, she nodded. He was so calm. How was he so calm? Meg could feel envy rise in her, only to be countered by guilt at feeling that way. It was probably another part of his past that he kept hidden from her and everyone else.

"A'righ'," she agreed as she straightened herself. Her mouth twitched a little as started forward. Maybe she was stupid coming out here like this. Maybe Gregor had been right after all- Stop, just stop. She could do this. She had dealt with bandits, draugrs, even falmer in the Jerell mountains. She'd gotten the sword for Salosoix.

She wasn't going to fail her friends now.

There was a small shift in her being as she took another breath, feeling a little calmer. "D'you know which guardpost they're talkin' 'bout?" she whispered to the argonian. "I've only seen the one's 'round the market."

“No, but it’s probably a good bet that they are heading there.” The Argonian replied, falling silent for a moment in thought. “Even if they are not headed to that particular guard post, there’s a good chance that we might find some information that could point us in the right direction.” He said.

“Meg,” He said, approaching the Nord woman and placing his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you can do this.” He said, having noticed the slight change in her demeanor. “I know it’s probably not the same as what you did in the past but you can do this.” He continued on, squeezing her shoulder slightly. “And if we run into any trouble whatsoever, I’ll be here to help you.” Jaraleet finished, smiling at Meg reassuringly. “Now, show me the way to this guard post in the market. I’m afraid I haven’t been to Gilane’s market previously.”

Surprised but appreciative of the gesture, Meg nodded and managed a smile back in the argonian's direction. "Thanks," she replied. It certainly helped her confidence that he believed she could do this as well. She knew he would help her; she just didn't wish to be a liability. "Gotcha. It ain' too far... I made a map of the place, had help from a street rat I foun' a few days ago." A bit of warmth could be heard in her voice at the thought of Zahir. "Hm... you should meet him maybe. Bet he'd like ya. Pro'ly could learn how t'sneak better from you too..."

She quieted down, concentrating on the mental image in her mind; she hadn't brought her actual map along for fear of noise. Thankfully her memory of the route turned out to be quite on track, and it wasn't long before she had lead them to the dusty streets of the market, the shops and stalls empty and seeming almost a ghost town now that no one was out.

"Over there," she whispered, pointing in the direction of the nearest guardpost. Light could be seen escaping from it, showing there was at least one guard around.

Jaraleet smiled at Meg, glad to see that he had managed to cheer her up. “Hmmm, maybe you can introduce me once we are done with this.” He said, chuckling softly before nodding when she quieted down and doing the same. He followed her through the winding streets, glad that Meg knew her way around the city. Jaraleet himself hadn’t left the Three Crowns too much, especially after the failed attempt at capturing Nblec for the Poncy Man believing it too big of a risk for him to take a stroll through the city streets after that had happened, and as such he didn’t knew his way around Gilane all that well.

“Good job Meg.” He said when she pointed him in the direction of the guardpost, his eyes instinctively drawn to the light that escaped from the building. “Now comes the tricky part. First we need to assess the number of potential hostiles within the building, second we need to find an appropriate entrance for us to sneak in. Ideally something that wouldn’t cause any alarm whatsoever or draw someone’s attention.” The Argonian said confidently, his eyes now scanning the building for any potential entry points.

“Come, let us move a bit closer. See if we can pinpoint how many guards there are by the number of voices.” The assassin said before he began making his way to the guardpost, sticking to the shadows and making sure that his footsteps wouldn’t cause any sound.

Licking her now dry lips, Meg gave Jaraleet a small nod before she followed after the argonian, her own steps lithe and soundless. Now that she was feeling more confident and there was a sort of plan underway, her breathing had evened out, as did the beating of her heart. She crept forward, listening intently, her eyes narrowing as she looked up, remembering the lookout she had to shoot on her first mission in Gilane. And as expected, she could see one up there. She nudged Jaraleet slightly and nodded in an upward direction before looking closer to the ground.

Up ahead she could hear the muffled sound of talk coming from the guardpost, but it was hard to pinpoint exactly how many there were without heading closer. She could however catch sight of one entrance due to light from within trickling onto the street. For a moment there was a disruption to that light, a shadow passing before it that was obviously not her or Jaraleet.

"Two so far," she whispered, confident the argonian had seen the same shadow. "Might be an entrance on the other side."

Jaraleet nodded to Meg’s words, moving his eyes to the lookout. “Normally I’d say it’d be safer to get rid of the lookout.” He whispered to Meg, turning to look at her. “But, as things stand, it’d be best to avoid any action that could further stir the Dwemer. Let’s try and see if we can find a blind spot and check the other side of the building.” The assassin said, shaking his head slightly. “It’d be ideal if we could get into the building and find some documents or, failing that, eavesdrop on a conversation.” The Argonian mused, trying to think of the best way to approach the situation.

"Think I know how," Meg replied after a moment of silence. It was hard to remember everything exactly, but from the time she had spent wandering with Zahir, she felt confident enough. "This way." She gave a slight tug to his arm before turning around and silently heading back in the direction they had come from. However she hadn't walked much further before she stopped and turned into a side pathway that was, for the most part, simply created due to the influx of shops. She stepped lightly, trying not to brush against the walls.

When she finally reached another small intersection, she paused, looking back to see if Jaraleet was following her. From here on if they turned once more, she was fairly certain that path would lead the two to the other side of the guard post.

Jaraleet nodded when Meg said that she knew how to get closer to the building without being detected, waiting in silence for her to continue. He opened his mouth to speak when she told him to follow her but whatever he was going to say was forgotten when he felt Meg giving his arm a slight tug, causing him to let out a soft chuckle and to smile at the Nord woman before he began following her.

He caught up to Meg shortly after she had stopped at the intersection to wait for him, motioning with his head to let her know that it was ok to continue forward. It took them only a few more moments to reach the other side of the guard post through the path that Meg had chosen and, from the looks of it, it seemed like the lookout wouldn’t be able to spot them if they approached from there. “Excellent Meg, that was great.” The Argonian whispered to her, giving her shoulder a light squeeze and smiling at her.

Meg had a hard time not beaming up at the argonian. She felt accomplished, and any doubt that was still lingering fell away to dust. "Thanks," she whispered under her breath before looking back at the guard post. Now that they were closer, it was possible to distinguish three separate voices coming from within. Two of them were male, the third was a female.

At least five then, she thought to herself. There could have been more who were silent, but she wasn't sure about that. Not too far ahead of them, as she had suspected, was another entrance, one that seemed to have seen more use throughout the years. Looking to Jaraleet, she raised her eyebrows, silently wondering if they should risk it and enter.

Jaraleet smiled once more in lieu of a spoken answer when Meg gave him her thanks before turning his attention back to the guardpost. It quickly became apparent to the Argonian that, at best, it’d be a challenging endeavor to infiltrate the building without being detected by the soldiers inside. And yet, they had no other option if they wanted to locate Daro’Vasora. If they spent any more time trying to gather info from gossiping guards on patrol a myriad of things could happen that’d render any possibility of locating the Khajiit woman into a hopeless endeavor.

Letting out a sigh he turned back to look at Meg, not surprised to find her staring at him, eyebrows raised, with an expression of doubt. He nodded in her direction, mouthing a silent ‘we have no other choice’ instead of speaking. There were too many variables they couldn’t account for to risk talking now, even in whispers.

Once he was sure that Meg had understood him, Jaraleet began making his way towards the guard post. Making sure to stick to the shadows and stepping carefully so as to not cause any sounds that could alert the guards inside.

Meg was quick to follow the argonian, and soon enough they had reached the back door. Casting a glance about and not seeing anyone nearby, Meg took hold of the door handle and carefully tested it to see if it was locked. Surprisingly it wasn't, though perhaps that was simply due to the guards here being on patrol and the curfew having made then lax. As she pushed the door open, there was a slight squeaking sound from the old hinges; she froze in mid action and waited, listening for any sound of movement from the other side of the door. While the talking inside continued though, she couldn't actually hear any other sound.

Somewhat emboldened, she opened the door further, peeking inside. Aside from a desk and a few chairs, there seemed to be nothing unusual. There were certainly no people here, but Meg could see there was a door in the far wall that probably led into another room or a hallway. Carefully letting herself inside, she quickly moved to the side to make room for her partner in crime.

When Meg moved to the side to make room for him, Jaraleet quickly followed into the building. He stopped for a second, waiting for any sound from the guards that might indicate that they had noticed when he had entered. Another second passed and when the only sound that he heard was that of the soldier’s idle chatter, Jaraleet let out a silent sigh before nodding in Meg’s direction.

Pointing at the door in the far wall, Jaraleet quietly made his way to the door that led further into the building. He opened the door and, much like he had done when he had entered after Meg, the Haj-Eix paused for a second to verify that the Dwemer in the building were none the wiser to their presence in the guardpost. Reassured of the guard’s continued ignorance, Jaraleet took a moment to scan the area where he was. He stood in a long hallway, with multiple doors through it’s length that probably led to the different rooms, with the corresponding amenities, that the guards would need for their job, along with the many doors, nestled about halfway through the hallway, was a flight of stairs that led to a second floor.

Moving slightly away from the door to give Meg enough room for her to enter, Jaraleet waited for the Nord woman to join him before pointing at the stairs. “Chances are that there’s an office for whoever is in charge here in there. If we get lucky, we might find a document or two that can point us in the right direction.” The Argonian mouthed silently, hoping that Meg would be able to understand him.

Meg wasn't an expert at reading lips per say, but spending two months around argonians had its perks, and along with her own common sense, she could figure out what he was telling her. Whatever information they needed to seek was most probably up those stairs. Her eyes narrowed as she thought it over.

"Someone'll need t'keep watch," she mouthed back, more than certain the argonian would be able to understand her. "I'mma see what I can fin'." She figured if worse came to worse and someone had to take care of a guard, Jaraleet would do it much more efficiently than her. She wasn't exactly silent when using her sword; stealth killing was what she used her bow for.

With that said Meg started up the stairs, carefully placing her feet as she made her way up so that barely a sound could be heard. Once again, even though she knew there probably weren't any, her eyes darted about for traps that she was used to encountering in crypts and ruins. As she reached the landing, she paused before another door. Reaching out for the handle, she tried to open it but found it was locked.

Turning around, she looked over at Jaraleet. "I'mma have t'pick it open," she mouthed.

Jaraleet nodded silently in agreement when Meg mouthed that someone would need to stay behind to watch for any guards that might suddenly come and, if necessary, to dispose them before they could alarm the others. As Meg started going up the stairs, Jaraleet moved to one of the corners at the end of the hallway so that, should any of the guards enter, they wouldn’t be able to notice him immediately, unless more than one guard passed through the hallway at the same time, but which would allow him to easily keep an eye on Meg.

He silently cursed when Meg told him that she’d need to pick open the door. Pausing for a second, he moved to where she was and nodded his head in agreement. “It’d be best if we were both here in case someone hears what you are doing to the door.” The Argonian mouthed and then turned his back to Meg so that he could face the hallway in case someone decided to go to the second floor.

Good idea. Just like with the previous time her group had to break in someplace, it was best to be cautious. Last time they'd had more than a couple of people- this time it was much different. Confident that Jaraleet had her back, Meg pulled her lockpick kit from its pouch and carefully went about the task of unlocking the door. She was much more focused than her time in the wagon with the chest, and though it took approximately the same time for the lock to click open, she hadn't wasted any picks. Allowing herself a brief smile, she put her tools away and placed a hand on the handle, carefully opening the door.

It was rather dark, the only light coming from the moon through a window by the far wall. Meg let a breath of relief- there was no one in there. It seemed like an office of sorts, once again much like the one Daro'Vasora had broken into. There was one large desk, a few chairs and some bookshelves that seemed more empty than in use. Meg turned around to give Jaraleet a nod. "I'm goin' in," she mouthed before turning around and carefully stepping into the room.

She left the bookshelves and made her way straight to the desk, figuring that would be where any sort of information would be stored. She tried the drawers, half expecting them to be locked, but it seemed this time she was lucky and they slid open easily. Meg pulled out a couple of dossiers and laid them on the desk, opening the thinner one and looking inside. There were a few sheets of paper including one letter. Unable to read it in the dim light, the Nord headed closer to the window, squinting as she made out the words. She wasn’t the most lettered person around, but even she could recognize Daro’Vasora’s name among the words scribbled on the paper.

Feeling something akin to trepidation, she carefully returned the two dossiers save the letter to the drawer. Once the were placed exactly as she remembered them, Meg returned to the landing, closing the door behind her.

“This,” she breathed, holding the letter out for the argonian.

“Good, come, let us get out of here. We can read the letter once we are outside and not at risk of being found by the guards.” The Argonian whispered as he took the letter from Meg. He led the way as they sneaked out of the guardpost, using the same route they had used to enter in the first place. Once they were outside, he continued walking away from the building until they could no longer hear any chatter from the soldiers inside.

“Alright, now let’s see what we’ve got here.” He said, folding open the letter. He took a few seconds to read its content, letting out a sigh when he was done. “Sithis damn it all, they are holding Daro’Vasora in the Governor’s Palace.” Jaraleet said as he turned to look at Meg.

“The…” Meg didn’t continued speaking as she tried to process the words. The governor had taken Daro’Vasora? But why? It was only a moment more of thinking before her eyes widened and she looked to Jaraleet. “‘Course. They think she’s the one who killed ‘im, Nblec.” Her eyes darkened as she frowned, and her words sounded rather bitter as they came out. “Whoever’s the culprit, they sure made things shitty for others.” She could feel anger rising within her once more; closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe slowly in order to calm down.

“We need t’get her outta there,” she finally added. She seemed a little less angered now, but there was a dangerous look in her eyes.

“It is a very real possibility, the Governor would need a scapegoat for Nblec’s death to show that they have the matter under control.” Jaraleet said, keeping his tone neutral. He had noticed the way Meg’s eyes had darkened and the bitter tone in her voice. He’d need to be careful to ensure that she wouldn't make a mistake and get herself hurt, a feeling that only intensified when she said that they needed to get Daro’Vasora out of the palace.

“Meg.” He said quietly as he moved closed to her, placing both of his hands on her shoulders. “I know that Daro’Vasora is a friend to you, and I know how much you treasure your friends.” The Argonian began carefully, trying to not say anything that could enrage the Nord woman even further. “And you are right, we need to get her out of there….but there’s nothing we can do just with the two of us.” He said softly to her, shaking his head slightly.

“We’ll go to the palace and scout the area, ok?” Jaraleet said softly, looking at Meg directly in the eyes. “Once we do that, we’ll return to the Three Crowns so we can plan a course of action with the others.”

Meg returned his gaze with her own. She was silent but she nodded in agreement. Yes she was angry, but she was no fool, she knew very well that just the two of them alone would not be able to do anything. A little information went a long way and whatever they learned of the governor's palace she assumed would be useful.

"Let's go then," she muttered under her breath, finally letting her thoughts be heard. "The faster the others know, the better. Sora doesn' deserve t'be locked up wherever she is." There was no way she could remove the crease from her forehead, but the bitterness in her eyes was finally replaced by compliance. "I'mma follow you."

“Good, good.” Jaraleet said, smiling at Meg. He thought about saying something more but decided against it; he could tell that Meg was seething with frustration, it’d be best to not say anything that could, potentially, upset her further. “Come, you know Gilane’s streets better than me so you lead the way.” The Argonian said, following the Nord’s woman lead once she began making her way through the streets.

It took a few minutes but, eventually, they were staring directly at the palace from which Governor Rourken ruled Gilane from. It didn’t took Jaraleet long to ascertain that, with how little their group was, any sort of attack to the palace would be a suicide. No, if they had any hope of rescuing Daro’Vasora, they’d have to take a more subtle approach to their rescue. He turned to look at Meg, motioning with his head towards the direction they had come from. “Come, let’s go.” He said quietly.

"Are you sure?" she replied softly, her eyes still wandering over the palace. It seemed like such a waste of time to not even try to get a little closer and perhaps weed out a few points of entries they could remember for the rest of the group. Coming all the way here and leaving with nothing to show for all their efforts wasn't sitting well with the Nord woman. "I migh' be able t'see a li'l more if I sneak up ahead..." Her voice trailed as she eyed the palace as well as the shadows she could blend in.

"Maybe tha' way," she muttered under her breath, taking a few cautious steps forward.

“Meg, don’t be a…” The Argonian hissed, but it was too late already. The few steps forward that the Nord woman had taken had already gotten her spotted by one of the attentive lookouts that guarded the palace. Panic settled in his chest as he noticed the guard aiming at Meg with their rifle and, before he even realized what he was doing, Jaraleet was bolting in Meg’s direction, not caring if the other guards heard him.

Two things happened in short order afterwards. Jaraleet reached Meg and tackled her to the ground and, but a second afterwards, the sharp crack of a rifle’s discharge echoed throughout the night and, along with it, Jaraleet felt pain blossom in his body.

The wind was knocked out of her as she was tackled to the ground, and by the time Meg felt as if she could breathe again, she could felt wetness dripping on her, hot and sticky... blood. Eyes widening she tried to push herself to a seated position but found herself being unable to.

And that was when she realized it was the argonian blocking her... bleeding on her. A sharp breath escaped Meg as she scrambled back, hands shaking. "J-Jaraleet- you're-" Her breath rate was increasing by the second. "You're- you're- you're hurt!" Panic was settling in as she crawled back to the argonian. "Oh gods no, not again- We- we gotta get you outta here." She couldn't even tell what had hit him, especially with hardly any light source.

“You...you’re safe. Good, good.” Jaraleet said weakly, trying to stand up again as he willed his mind to ignore the pain. He knew that it was for naught, even if he could get himself to not focus on the pain the wound would still kill him if he didn’t get some sort of medical attention soon. “We….we don’t have much time. We need to leave now, if they bring in any more of their rifles to bear in on us...I’m afraid that we’ll be done for.” He said, finally getting his body to stand up.

It proved to be a futile effort as, not a second after he had managed that, he fell onto his knees. “Help...help me get away.” He said, shaking his head slightly. If Meg were anyone else, he’d have told them to leave him behind but he knew the Nord woman….saying something like that would be something that she’d merely ignore.

Shit, shit, shit, shit! Meg scrambled to her feet, barely able to contain her emotions as she hurried to help the argonian stay on his feet. All your fault, all your damn fault. She wanted to cry but held back her tears, knowing they would only make matters worse; she had already created the worst possible situation because of her stubbornness- anything more and she wouldn't be able to forgive herself. There was nothing she could do about the clenching in her stomach though, nor the ever growing lump in her throat.

"I gotchu," she muttered between gritted teeth once she had had his arm over her shoulder and her own around him. She could still feel the blood seeping from him- Divines, please don' let him die- and it only forced her to quicken her pace. Talos, Mara, anyone, please, please don' let 'em find us... Her legs moved faster than her thoughts, or at least it seemed that way to her, though she had no choice but to pause after a few minutes, needing to catch her breath.

The alarms went up within seconds and soon the walls were swarming with guards. Magelights went up and soon the entirety of the plaza around the Governor’s Palace was bright as day. Sevari watched it all happen impassively. If it were up to him, he would have left them both to die in whatever idiotic endeavor they were trying at, but at this point the guards catching up to them and taking them into custody would do more harm than good. He breathed in and then out, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

He stepped out from behind an alleyway entrance, Dwemer carbine held loose in one hand at his side and the thumb of his other hooked in his belt. He looked the Nord up and down with Jaraleet bleeding himself all over her. “Get the fuck over here.” He said, “Follow.”

It was a wordless affair, Sevari taking them through the streets quickly through the alleyways. Finally, they were at the slums bordering the dock district and standing in front of a dingy shack of a house. Sevari went to work at the locks as quickly as he could, throwing the door open and taking Jaraleet away from the Nord girl with no amount of gentleness.

Sevari laid Jaraleet out in the table, leaving to retrieve some supplies to try at Jaraleet’s wounds. Once he returned, he immediately set to work, cleaning the area around Jaraleet’s wound after some amount of trying to feel exactly where it was through all the blood. It had to have been somewhat bad given the amount. “Your breathing is fine, I take it. You’re not dead yet.” Sevari frowned, “Lung wounds are a death sentence. Luckily for you, your friend only got you shot in the stomach.”

He shot an annoyed glance Meg’s way before he turned back to his work, grabbing up a long blade, the bullet was no doubt still in there with the lack of a huge exit wound. “What’s your name.” Sevari asked without turning to the Nord girl, “If you’re going to force my hand into taking gutshot Argonians into my hideout, I’d at least like to know the person who gave me the privilege.”

"Meg... Megana Corvus." The Nord's voice betrayed copious amounts of uncertainty and shame. She had no idea who this person was and whether she should have followed him, but he hadn't looked anything like a dwemer, or any familiar race for that matter. Did he perhaps know them or their group? Maybe he was one of the Poncy Man's men? In any case, it made quite a bit more sense to take her chances and follow the man than get caught by the dwemer guards.

Somewhat hesitant, she edged a little closer to the table so that she could she see her friend. Her face fell even further when she caught glimpse of all the blood. He's righ'... I got him shot... Casting a glance in the stranger's direction, unsure of whether she'd receive an answer but still needing to know, she spoke up once more.

"Why... why did you help us? Who’re you?"

“A friend.” Sevari said, sighing just before he slowly inserted the blade into the wound. To the Argonian’s credit, he barely flinched. Luckily enough, the bullet hadn’t penetrated too far as he felt something hard at the end of the long, flat-tipped tool. “If you want a good chance of dying old, keep it at that.”

Sevari began to twist and pry, working the metal bullet from the wound. He heard Jaraleet hiss silently and a small smile crept upon Sevari’s lips. So there was some ability to feel pain in there. After a few moments of working, the bullet came free, rolling off of Jaraleet’s side and then plopping heavily on the table. Immediately, the wound began to drool blood. Sevari moved quickly, sprinkling fire salts and some other black, granular powder onto the wound. He grasped up the metal tool again and a flame sparked to life on his fingertip until the needle was red and glowing with heat. At the same moment he touched it to the wound, the fire salts began sizzling and popping. “There, it’s cauterized.” He handed Jaraleet the gauze to wrap around himself, “Your turn.”

He leaned on the table after turning around, crossing his arms and looking from Jaraleet to Megana. “To what foolish endeavor do I owe the pleasure?”

“Reconnaissance.” The Argonian replied as he moved to a sitting position and began wrapping the gauze around himself. “As I’m sure you are already aware, one of our group was captured, Daro’Vasora, the current leader of our little band as it stands.” He explained to Sevari, shaking his head slightly.

“We learned that she was being held in the Governor’s Palace so we decided to scout it out, try and find any entry points. And, well, I’m sure you already know what happened next.”

“Oh, don’t I.” He looked Jaraleet up and down and then to Meg, who he simply shook his head at. He walked to the door and grabbed up his carbine, walking back to the fireplace and plopping down in the seat next to it. “If you were anybody else, Argonian, I’d have let you bleed out in the streets and your little girl here to the same fate. Tell me why I shouldn’t just end it for you both and be on my way.”

“I spoke to her, you know? Her and Latro in the Governor’s Palace. That fucking Reachman prick forced me into this predicament. They both strike me as people who wouldn’t take kindly to two of their stupid friends getting caught and then tortured for information about their other friends.” Sevari frowned at Jaraleet, nodding to Meg, “You might have a high pain threshold, Jaraleet, but do you think she does? Latro and Daro’Vasora were put into my custody. It makes them safe, you two fucking fools.”

Meg had remained quiet for the most part, but her anger rose when she heard the last bit of what this man had to say. "An' how in Talos' name were we bloody s'posed t'know they were safe, huh?" She glared at him, forgetting her meekness and grief for the moment. "All we fuckin' knew was that she was missin'! We didn' even know Latro was caught too! What kinda person would just stay inside an' not do somethin'?!" The Nord paused to catch her breath before continuing. “Who even are you?” She looked to Jaraleet, green eyes rather piercing. “Have you met him before?”

Jaraleet remained silent as Sevari spoke, knowing full well the truth of his words. The particular image of Meg, captured by the Dwemer and subjected to torture sent a chill down his spine and further dissuaded him from talking. However, as Meg added her piece to the conversation, the Argonian was snapped out of his silence. “As much as I can agree with the points raised by you both.” He began speaking, careful to pick his words to try and not get either Sevari or Meg any more worked up than they already were. “I have to side with Meg on this particular bit. We didn’t even knew that Latro was captured, and if you had told us something, which I’m sure with your abilities would have been all too easy for you, nothing of this would have happened.” The Argonian assassin continued.

“And, yes, I’ve met him before once Meg.” Jaraleet replied to Meg, letting out a sigh. “Sevari here...much like us, he is stuck in the little political game that is being waged in Hammerfell currently. Unfortunately for him, he was forced into the Dwemer’s service but I can assure you that he holds no love for them.” The Haj-Eix said, shaking his head slightly. “Isn’t that right Sevari? Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?”

Sevari looked to Meg then Jaraleet and back again. His eyes were anything but calm, betraying a contempt for the situation at hand and the people before him. He didn’t have a problem with them, truth be told, but they were dangerously close to mucking up everything he had worked at the past month. The past twenty years, even. To Jaraleet’s question about his loyalties, he simply shook his head once. “No.”

He sighed, “I can assure you that I am doing everything with what little power I have in this to make sure I don’t tangled in my own web I’ve weaved and that Latro’s companions don’t meet an end he wouldn’t like.” He nodded to Meg, “We’re in agreement that me, being his only friend where he and his girl is now, having to wrangle you like children is very not conducive to keeping all of us at arm’s length from each other. As it should be, as it’s the safest for both me and all of you.”

“Latro and Jaraleet are my ties to your little party of wrenches in the cogs. I don’t need anymore than that.” Sevari frowned at Jaraleet, “I was going to find you and tell you of the news, but I guess you’re getting too rusty, assassin. Did your mentor never tell you the greatest weapon is patience?”

Jaraleet let out a sigh, shaking his head slightly. “You are right.” He replied to Sevari’s comment. There was no point in contradicting the Ohmes-Raht when his words carried the truth. “But there’s no point in dwelling on that right now.” The Argonian continued after a moment of silence. “Mistakes were made, that is true, but what matters now is that we move forward and try to recuperate, or compensate depending on the case, from them.” He said, shaking his head slightly.

"We should pro'ly go now, if yer able to." Meg sounded rather expressionless as she spoke, looking at the argonian for only the smallest moment before averting her eyes. She hated this, feeling small and ignorant in a place where so much seemed to be happening. There was really nothing more left in her mind to do than head back out and get Jaraleet healed.

“I think it’s best you do.” Sevari said, still leaning on the table and making no move to walk them out. The room basked in the ambient glow of the fireplace lent his face a foreboding piece of shadow, “Jaraleet. Latro may be gone, but I still have work that needs doing that I can not carry out on my own. When the time comes, answer. Alone.

Jaraleet stared directly at Sevari’s eyes, unafraid, before nodding. “I will.” The Haj-Eix said, standing up from where he had been sitting albeit not without letting a slight grunt of pain as he moved. “Come, let's leave Meg.”

Meg nodded and made her way over to Jaraleet. Despite her glum mood that almost seemed to radiate off of her, she wasn't about to be useless. "Lean on me," she muttered to Jaraleet. She hardly thought he'd be able to move as easily without some sort of help. Once she was sure he was right and ready to leave, she started for the, pausing at the exit only for a second to utter a "Thanks for your help." It grated her to say those words, but he had helped them tremendously.

And with that, she lead Jaraleet out into the night once more.
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Amaranth the Kasaanda

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A Meeting of Swords


A showdown by @Leidenschaft and Amaranth


8th of Midyear, 4e208
Outside the Gaptooth Grin Tavern
Gilane, Hammerfell

And the moons cast light upon blades...




It was Sevari’s experience that every city on the face of Tamriel had a slum. He was born in one in Torval and lived his childhood life in one in Senchal. Now, at the age of 43, it seemed like he couldn’t escape the grip of these places. He’d had more septims than he knew what to do with for doing the Empire’s thankless dirty work and no time and nowhere to spend it. He supposed he’d have just that if he decided to put in for a desk job in some Penitus Oculatus bureau in High Rock, but even if he wasn’t chasing vengeance he knew being cooped up in an office would only make him turn his blade on himself.

It was because of this that sitting out front of a lonely tea shop with a decent vantage point down the street of a seedy tavern that wasn’t any different than any other seedy tavern outside of Gilane, he felt most at peace. All he had to do was wait for Farukh to give the signal after leaving just behind this Khesh fellow. An easy enough night if Farukh didn’t run afoul of some group of outlaws for doing them the powerful slight of existing in their presence. For the short time he’d been partnered with Farukh, the man’s loud mouth and cheeky temperament helped him none on that front. He turned and glanced at the grim-faced Imperial dressed in the local garb just like himself. Quintus was everything Farukh wasn’t. That also meant he was a shitty conversationalist.

“You sure we should’ve sent Farukh in there and not you?” Sevari asked.

“Mhm.” Quintus grunted.

Sevari pursed his lips, that was the most he’d heard out of Quintus since they’d met at the rendezvous point a few hours ago. Sevari shrugged, “Alright, then.”

It was a few wordless moments after that an armored man with a wicked looking sword stepped out of the tavern and into the streets, walking in the opposite direction of Sevari and Quintus. Farukh followed soon after and raised the bottle of rum he’d had, laughing loud into the night. No doubt he’d actually had some of it while in there. Sevari wordlessly rose from his seat and pursued the man who was apparently Khesh. He’d have to make this quick, it wouldn’t be long before his cover-duty of being a Dwemer Secret Police lackey would call upon him to do something. He passed Farukh, who slurred out a giggle and nodded at him. Khesh was a good distance in front of Sevari, he didn’t want the man noticing he was following.

Shakti too had tracked the armoured man, following his powder-blue cloak as it billowed in the night breeze. She had followed him, yet again, on one of his pub crawls. This time, however, she was not about to confront him in a tavern. She rubbed the scar on her forearm as the memory of the battle slipped into her mind. She had trailed him from a distance and loitered outside each tavern, periodically peering into the establishments to make sure he hadn’t slipped her. Her own tattered cloak was wrapped around her face like a scarf, partially to hide her face, and partially to keep the cold night air out of it. Shakti had no idea how many dive bars and lounges and corner-clubs there were in Gilane, but this man seemed to know all of them. She needed to find a place to make her move, to find out what he knew.

The door to the tavern swung open and her mark exited, swaggering along, smelling of alcohol and sweat. Shakti pressed herself against the stone of the building, willing her body to become inconspicuous. She had no idea if the man had gotten a good look at her the last time they crossed blades, but she wasn’t about to take a chance. The knight did not notice her and passed further into the street, followed a few seconds later by another patron who was brandishing a bottle and chortling heartily. Shakti ignored the other man and focused on her target, sliding slowly along the shadows of the other buildings.

Sevari so far had followed unimpeded, eyes scanning the rooftops, windows and the streets before him in between keeping them square on Khesh’s back. Almost suddenly, Khesh rounded a corner into an alleyway, quick enough to give Sevari pause. He looked around the streets, every second more precious than the last. He grit his teeth and decided to follow directly. Had he been noticed? Turning in to an alleyway was a sure way to draw out any tails one might have, but if he was to nab Khesh and figure out his connection to the Caliph’s sons and the plot to put them on the throne again, he was going to have to dive headfirst into this trap.

It wasn’t the first time he’d stumbled through a shit situation armed and armored only with hope. He ducked into the alleyway to find a nice hideaway. A small hut had been fashioned into a makeshift bedroom and a fire was already going just outside of it, stoked by a balding but sinewy-muscled and sharp-featured Redguard.

Who noticed him almost immediately. “You were followed!?”

Khesh flinched and looked back just in time to see the firebolt cross the distance between the man who’d casted it and the air where his companion had been, the ball of flame passing close enough to singe his face and discomfort his eyes. Surprisingly agile, the balding man beared down on Sevari. The man leapt toward Sevari, unsheathed his sword and made a slash for Sevari’s belly in one smooth and lightning fast movement. With a lifetime of drills and real-world experience behind him, Sevari half-drew his sword from his scabbard just in time for the man’s blade to rake across it instead of his stomach in unthinking reflex. Sevari’s blade cleared the rest of its scabbard, pommel striking the bald man in the teeth and sending him back spitting blood.

Without any time in-between, Sevari sent a thrust off-course from his chest with the flat of his blade, in the same motion redirecting his own sword’s trajectory and opening the man’s neck in a spew of arterial spray that spattered his face and neck like a warm rain. Almost in the same moment, Khesh’s blade was coming at him quick, whistling through the night air, Sevari throwing himself out of the way and putting his palm out before him. A brilliant flash of light blinded Khesh and sent him clumsily swiping at nothing with frenzied and ugly cuts at the air. Sevari now free of the danger, he stepped forward and batted through the most telegraphed swing of a sword he’d ever seen with his own blade. Grabbing up Khesh’s arm and wrenching it over his shoulder, he threw Khesh over him almost effortlessly, knocking the wind from him. Before Khesh’s eyes could readjust to the dark night, a bolt of lightning took the last of the fight out of him, leaving him sprawled and twitching on the ground but alive. Sevari spat off to the side, sniffling and flicking the blood from his blade, “I thought you lot were supposed to be dangerous.”

In a moment almost as quick as the lightning he’d let loose earlier, his shoulders pinched back and he looked over his shoulder at the soft patter of footsteps.

There were flashes of light, grunts, scrapes, the clash of swords. Clearly, something had gone wrong. She had noticed the man she was tracking duck into an alley, followed by another man. Then a shout. That’s when the fighting began. Shakti picked up the pace, not willing to let her quarry die without at least telling her what she needed to know.

She skidded to a stop outside the alley and peered at the scene that lay before her. Two men lay on the ground, one clearly dead, red pooling at his neck. The other, her target, seemed merely incapacitated. A third man stood, wiping the blood from his blade. “Hey!” Shakti called out, “That man has a lot to answer for, I will not let you kill him!” She puffed the words out in to the cold night air. She had no idea if the other man was going to kill the Knight, but she was not about to give him the chance. She stood, her hand on the hilt of her sword, waiting for the man to make his move.

Slow as slow, Sevari turned, blade oriented with the point towards the ground and in one hand. He eyed up the girl before him, nothing new to him, honestly. He’d seen every fighter and every assassin there was to see in the twenty-odd years of his life he’d spent mingling among them. His eyes caught on the sword though. It was a thing more elegant, less curved and a blade thinner in breadth than a scimitar. It was a blade closer to the one he used.

And that was all the difference.

It remained to be known if she could use it though. Deciding time was of the essence rather than the much tempting test of his skills against her otherwise unspoken of ones, he spoke simply and plainly, “Put the sword back in its scabbard.” He let a beat pass, considering her in her stance, “Walk away from this.”

Shakti watched him turn around. He seemed calm. Like a sand-viper ready to strike. It reminded her that she needed to watch her own breathing. Control. “I cannot do that. Not unless you are going to hand over that man, alive, to me.” She flexed her hand on her hilt, left hand around the scabbard, coiling her muscles to draw. The cold breeze fluttered her tattered scarf and she exhaled a few deep breaths into the chilly night air through the material.

He knew better to charge at her blindly. Anyone who wielded a sword of that make, he learned long ago, should be approached cautiously. After all, to how many had he proven that to when they stepped to him with violence in mind? With the pace of a glacier, he shifted one foot just a little more behind him, legs sinking into a loose stance and ready to either pounce in and close the distance as quickly as he could or dance away from a strike this girl could try him with. The breeze sent a chill through him, making him sigh. The point of his sword rose from the ground ever so slowly until he had it behind him, held in a high guard. The length of the blade held at an angle so as not to reveal its true length, its true reach.

The sound of the crickets were all that broke the heavy silence of the moment, but it did nothing to ease the tension. The moons lit up her blade beautifully, shadows from the fire playing with the lines of her face. Even now, he was reading her every move, and he’d no doubt she was doing the same.

“I think you know I can’t do that.” He spoke low, eyes never breaking from hers, searching for any tell or any sign she might strike. “Whatever answers you need from him, I’d be more than happy to pass along once I’m through.”

“I really wish you had a better answer.” Came her reply, sword twirling in the cold night air. Finally she settled on an idea. She would test his spirit and have her own tested in return. She slid her right foot in front of her body and tensed her left foot in the back and sprung forward like a snake. “Ki!’ Shakti shouted as she thrust her blade out towards the man’s chest, exhaling her breath as she moved.

Sevari’s sword came down at an angle, batting away the girl’s sword that was set on biting into his chest. He quickly transitioned into a thrust of his own in an effort to gain some space to work with.

Her thrust parried but still intent on seizing the initiative, Shakti slapped the man’s riposte away but refused to give ground she had gained in her lunge. She returned her sword to its neutral position in her centre attitude. Perhaps it was unwise to corner a dangerous man such as this. The thought had crossed her mind, but she wanted to keep him off balance and with little room to manoeuvre.

His lip curled in contempt as she foiled his own thrust and returned to her stance. The two gave a moment of silence in their dance, but Sevari was tiring of this already. He wasn’t sure he should leave any more than the one corpse, and who knew who else could stumble upon this little game this little girl was playing. One thing remained to be said, she wasn’t as harmless with that sword as Sevari first thought. With no more time to waste, he sent a downward slice her way to gain back the offensive.

The Redguard girl easily sidestepped the attack, but instead of immediately counter-attacking she merely inched her blade slightly closer to the man. This, combined with her position being shifted slightly to the right meant that to keep Shakti firmly in his centre, he would be forced ever closer to the wall of the alley. Of course it did leave an opening for him to dash past her, but Shakti calculated she could punish him accordingly if he took that risk.

Sevari was growing ever more annoyed. The events of the past few days did nothing to help keep his head, but he was determined to at least have today be a victory. With a growl, he slapped her blade away from himself and made to dash for Khesh. A searing pain cut him short and he stumbled back, wildly slashing to make this girl step back. Finally, Khesh was behind him and so was the exit out of here. The girl came at him again, making a thrust for his face that he leaned to the side against, not having any time to think.

He followed the lean with stepping to the side, thrusting from his hip looking for purchase but only leaving a small push-cut along her side. He held his sword out at the ready to ward any attacks off and chanced a look at himself. It was then he noticed his robes sticking to his back. He didn’t want to think on how bad it was, only the task at hand to worry about. “You’re stumbling into something much bigger than yourself, girl.” Sevari shook his head, “And right now I think you’re on the wrong side.”

The Redguard girl felt her side and grimaced as she realised she had taken a cut through her tunic. She had given as bad as she had got though, which was to say fairly superficially. Still, she felt her temper rise, “Don’t be so quick to predict the future when it is not yet off the loom!” Shakti spit back, “Leave the traitor-knight here and we can be done with this!” She kept her sword-point aimed at him but made no attempt to attack. He seemed to be losing patience, perhaps she could force him to make an error. However, she needed to remain calm and collected to do that. Control, control, control! her mind screamed. Maintain poise! She had read that in an ancient Yokudan scroll. There was no need to be reckless, at least not yet. She still felt the urge in her heart to press the attack, to go for the final cut, but she fought to restrain herself. If she made a mistake now, it meant certain death.

Sevari clenched his jaw, his eyes squinting in anger at the insolence of this girl. One thing he could say was that she was a good swordswoman. He wondered who had trained her, she was able to keep her own against him and he’d been fighting for twenty years. “No. You have far outlasted your stay here.”

With that, a blinding white light emitted from his palm. He scrambled towards Khesh, who was again beginning to stir. This fight had set him back a bit, wondering where Quintus was. He kicked Khesh in the side of the head as he made to get to his feet, dropping him back to the ground with a pained grunt. Just as he slapped his hands onto Khesh’s collar, he heard the sharp crack of a Dwemer rifle. He jumped back with a surprised growl at the sudden loud bang. “Away from the man, now!” Sevari looked at the Dwemer just as the look of recognition spread across his face, “Sevari?”

“I’m working, you fool.” Sevari said, “Get her!”

“Who?” Sevari looked behind him and was met with an empty alleyway. With an annoyed tsk he rose to his full height.

“Just get him, then. Bring him to the Governor’s Palace.” Sevari said.

As the Dwemer soldiers hauled Khesh to his unsteady feet, Sevari turned back to the alleyway. Who was that girl? He’d have to look out for her, if not to ask her what in Oblivion she was doing messing with his mission, just to ask her where she had learned what she knew and who gave her that sword. “Sir?” Sevari stared after where she had probably made her escape from, he heard the Dwemer soldier ask again, a bit louder, “Sir?”

“I’ll catch up. Just go.” He said, following after a few moments of thinking.

A few minutes of running later, Shakti stopped in a darkened sidestreet and bent double to catch her breath. One hand on the pommel of her sword, now safely back in its sheath, the other hand on her wounded ribcage. In between breaths she lifted her tunic up to check the wound. It was lightly bleeding still but it did not look fatal. “Oh good. At least I won’t bleed to death in an alley.” She wiped some of the blood from her side and wiped it on the wall. After all, this was her good tunic, the one she wore on important missions and she did NOT want to have to wash blood out of it. She peeked out into the street to see if she was followed. It didn’t appear so. She rubbed her eyes. They still stung from the bright light that was clearly intended to stun her. Instead, she had heard some commotion behind her and had half turned. The bright flash and the sound of footsteps convinced her it was time to cut her losses and run. Still half-blinded, she had torn down the road as fast as her legs would carry her.

Exhaling and starting off back towards the Three Crowns, she reassured herself that although she hadn’t managed to get away with the Knight, she had managed to escape with her life. That counted for something, right?
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by LadyTabris
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LadyTabris princess

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People Watching


A Collab by @Rtron and @LadyTabris

Nanine and Anifaire, 3rd of Midyear, afternoon

Nanine wandered outside of the Three Crowns, idly looking at all of them civilians walking by. It was the day after all of their missions had finally wrapped up and the mood was somber. One mission had completely failed due to the errors of the team, the second had mostly failed, and only Nanine’s own mission had succeeded. Considering that her mission was most likely the least important, it was only a small comfort. She was a little at loss for what to do with her own time, when she caught sight of a familiar Altmer sitting on a bench, also watching the crowds go by.

“Anifaire!” She called, approaching the other woman. “How have you been? I didn’t see you after the recap of the meetings, and all the things that went wrong during them. Still studying the Dwemer as they walk by?”

“Good afternoon, Nanine,” Anifaire replied. “Yes, I am, and I think even the locals are becoming interesting to me. I do wonder if they act differently now that the Dwemer are here.”

Nanine sat next to the elf, watching the crowds go by with her. “Wouldn’t you? A race long thought dead comes from they sky with airborne ships and technology that has never been seen before, shatters any military resistance and does the thing the Aldmeri Dominion was incapable of doing, then establishes complete and utter control. On the surface they keep things pleasant, but it’s really ran quietly by a force that makes dissenters disappear. Wouldn’t you act differently if all that happened to the Isles while you lived in them?”

Anifaire pondered the question for a moment. “Why do people dissent?” she asked. “What have the Dwemer done wrong?” The question had been nagging at her since they arrived in Gilane.

Nanine stared at her for a moment, half expecting Anifaire to smile or chuckle, or something else to show that the Altmer was joking. When it became clear that the question was sincere, Nanine looked up at the Altmer and gave a small sigh. She was more naive than Nanine had thought.

“Well, for starters they showed up out of nowhere and declared themselves the rulers of a land and civilization with its own rulers and customs and then killed anyone who dissented. After establishing themselves as rulers, they presented the face of benevolent rulers wanting to foster peace and understanding, but they use secret guards to kidnap, interrogate, and kill people. The Redguards never wanted this. Its being forced upon them with brutality and cruelty, all kept hidden under a veneer of pleasantry. Like a disease ravaging the inside of a body and leaving the outside untouched.”

She looked at Anifaire curiously. “If you didn’t know why anyone was dissenting, why did you even get involved in all of this?”

Anifaire nodded slowly, processing Nanine’s words. If the Dwemer swept in by force, used secret guards, well, it made a bit more sense to her. She considered the Dwemer she’d watched day to day, living lives that seemed normal. She wondered if it was really true, that there was a brutal force behind the Dwemer occupation, and she frowned. She would have to watch more closely.

“I just wasn’t ready to try to go home yet,” she answered. Even if she did, she didn’t have the coin for any kind of passage nor the skill to survive alone on the road, though those more practical concerns were starting to fade away in place of curiosity about the world, despite her fear.

“True, but no one was making you stay here and get involved. If you just wanted to not go home you could have gotten on another ship or even went to another inn. You actively chose to get involved in something this dangerous, especially if we actually succeed.” Which was something that was always at the back of her mind. If this rebellion even succeeded, there would be many questions as to what would come next and none of them would be easy. Shaking her mind of such thoughts, Nanine smiled up at the tall Altmer. “I am glad you are with us though, regardless of your reasons.” The words were sincere. She enjoyed talking to the Altmer, even if she was slightly naive, and her presence on the team.

Anifaire waited a few seconds before answering, weighting possibilities. “Thank you,” she said, smiling lightly. “It would not have been exactly simple for me to move to another inn or take a ship. I don’t happen to have much coin currently.” The words she spoke were the truth, but she was beginning to consider a deeper meaning to her own actions. “But I think I am interested in the… people, this group we are with. If I returned home, I would be returning perhaps to a comfortable life, but I would not have experiences such as these.” She considered her teacher, Ania, who travelled through her area. She had been a true adventurer and a scholar at the same time, delving in person into ancient ruins. It had been inspiring, though building up the courage had taken decades and she still doubted herself.

“The experiences like trudging through mud, almost constantly on the run, and almost dying several times on the way here? Truly, they are wonders that I can never get enough of.” Nanine chuckled, standing up and stretching. “I’m glad you value the people here so highly Anifaire. I’ll leave you to your people watching, as I have to go take care of my equipment in case I ever have to use it here. Tell me if you spot anything interesting.”

“Thank you, Nanine, I will,” Anifaire replied.

She crossed her legs and folded her arms as she turned her attention back to the people bustling in the street. The conversation left a bad taste in her mouth. There were too many things to consider, and she wasn’t sure what her motivation for staying was. It wasn’t for trudging through mud or almost dying. There must have a been a thousand times she wanted to return to the comfort of Alinor. She frowned, pushing the thoughts to the back of her mind to consider another time.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Mortarion
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Mortarion

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One by One

By @Stormflyx,@Greenie,@Father Hank, and Mortarion

Late Evening, 7th of Midyear, 4E208
The Haunted Tide Inn, Gilane, Hammerfell


The hours after curfew in Gilane were often quiet and beautiful. This evening was no different, just the muffled sound of late night merriment in the common area of the inn, and the gentle crackling of the hearthfire filled the open space of the room that Raelynn had taken to staying in with Gregor. They both sat together quite content on the plush couch in the corner of the room, empty plates of food were accompanied with a half empty bottle of wine and two glasses.

She hummed softly as she ran her fingers affectionately through Gregor’s hair while he sat in front of her with one of her legs wrapped around his middle. Her steel blue eyes were gazing out of the window at the moon that was sitting in the centre of the sky, surrounded by the stars. She felt safe and content as she began to work her hands down the back of his neck, massaging each of his vertebrae between her thumb and forefinger gently at first, but applying pressure after a while. She smiled and moved her head down to place a kiss against his shoulder. It was one of the first truly peaceful nights they’d had.

Gregor’s eyelids fluttered while Raelynn worked away at his muscles and his spine. He could actually feel the relaxation spreading through his body and he almost slumped back against her -- but that would have meant she had no space to work with, so Gregor conjured up the energy and consciousness to stay upright. He definitely did not want her to stop. He hummed when she kissed his shoulder, a warm thrumming in his chest, and he lovingly squeezed the leg she’d wrapped around him. “I had no idea how much I needed this,” he mumbled and laughed, though that was swiftly cut off by a satisfied groan when Raelynn hit a particularly tense spot.

“Men never do… You just keep going and going not realising the build up…” She slipped her hands over his shoulders, a devilishly playful smile on her lips that he would not see. “I knew when first I saw you that you certainly don’t stretch. I’m going to hazard a guess and say there’s years of tension behind your shoulders from waving that Claymore around.” Her voice was softly flirtatious, and slightly arrogant too. She hooked her leg tighter around him, as if to constrict his movement as she pushed harder against his shoulders with her entire palm, letting a little of her restorative magic flow in. “But now you have yourself a woman who knows,” a finger pressed a spot behind each of his ears, before pressing deep into the base of his neck, “exactly,” they slid down with a slightly painful pressure to the bottom of his shoulder blades with precision, “where to touch…” she hooked two fingers underneath the bones on each side, pulling back on them - she knew that Gregor would feel pain until - crack, a sharp and meticulous manoeuvre she performed with her hand that opened a floodgate that had held in the tensions for so long, she wondered how relieved he would feel after that. Raelynn chuckled, quietly proud of herself.

His grimace of pain was swiftly replaced by an open-mouthed expression of sheer pleasure and he took a deep breath. It was almost as if the vulture of guilt and stress that roosted on his shoulders had seen fit to fly after all -- Gregor hadn’t felt this light and free in years. “Thank you,” he said earnestly and leaned back against Raelynn’s chest, looking up and into her eyes while he enjoyed the radiating feeling of relief that spread out from his back into his limbs. “I had a dream that left me feeling… unwell, to be honest, but now it’s like that never happened.” He smiled and his eyes, so often cold and unyielding and black as coal, were full of life and joy and the color of firewood and chocolate. “How I managed without you, I’ll never know.”

A look of concern drifted over her face at the mention of such a dream. She’d been in a similar state after Calen, and her sleep had been disturbed somewhat in the days since her first attack. She smiled down at him, leaning over to plant a kiss on his forehead. “It’s nothing, I wanted to thank you...” Raelynn began to play with his hair again, she enjoyed making him feel good - relaxing him. “You managed because you are strong, and because you had to.” Her eyes met his and she simply looked into them with complete adoration for him and all that he was. “You have had a bad dream then?” She asked curiously, wondering what exactly it would have to be that would make a Necromancer feel unwell.

It took Gregor a few seconds to reply. “I dreamt that I was --” home, he almost said, but caught himself in time. It wasn’t his home anymore and hadn’t been for a long time. And did Raelynn really have to know that he still dreamt about that time? Probably not, he realized. He cleared his throat and started over. “It’s a recurring dream. A nightmare. It always starts the same way. I wake up in an old forest, like the woods in Skyrim but even darker and oppressing. It’s deathly quiet. No wind, no birds, nothing. And there’s something… some thing in the trees. I don’t know what it is, but it’s huge and it’s loud and terrifying, honestly, and it runs me down like a wolf hunts a rabbit. I’m powerless to defend myself. I have seen a lot of monsters, real monsters, in my time. None of them scared me like that thing does,” he said, his gaze fixed on a point beyond Raelynn’s eyes, and he shivered. “It spoke to me for the first time last night. Just my name, nothing more, in this horrible imitation of a human voice. It sounded so familiar… but I can’t place it.”

Her concern for him only grew as he shared the details of the nightmare, and that it had been a recurring beast? It wasn’t good. She closed her eyes, as if to try to picture the setting herself, to feel it, to witness it in her own mind’s eye. She could only feel a fraction of what it made him feel, and she gripped at his arms in a fear of her own. “I…” she began, trying to decide on the words she should say, her eyes opening - narrowing, and staring away towards the window again, “I believe that our recurring dreams and nightmares are our mind’s way of communicating to us something that we have forgotten, something that we must do - a message that we aren’t understanding.” A sigh followed. “I don’t know why you dream of such beasts, but I know that you will realise the message it is bringing you soon enough - no matter how terrifying, this is something to help you. To help us.

Gregor frowned. “It’s got a funny way of showing it,” he mumbled.

A knock on the door interrupted the moment inside, though there was no way Megana would know that. The walk back from Sevari's had been slow and arduous, not only because she didn't want to rush Jaraleet or get caught but also because she had never been to this particular inn before. Thankfully it hadn't been too far away and she had a decent idea of where it would be situated from what Jaraleet mentioned to her, though by the time she reached, she was desperate for entry. The open sky had always been a comfort to her but tonight it was anything but, and her mind was close to conjuring enemies where there were none to be found.

Instinctively, when she heard the knocking on the door, Raelynn sat upright and a stream of conjuration magicka spiralled around her wrist. Who would be knocking at this time of the evening. She tensed up and pressed closer to Gregor. “Who is it?” she barked towards the door, knowing that they would both be ready in the event it wasn't a friendly visitor.

“It’s Jaraleet and Meg.” The Argonian replied through gritted teeth. The more that he walked about, the more discomfort, which was quickly turning into actual pain, he felt from the recently cauterized wound. “Gregor told me of this place. We tried to find you at the Three Crowns first but, seeing as you weren’t there, we decided to check here.” He added after a moment, hoping that would assuage Raelynn’s nerves.

It certainly sounded like him. She stopped the spell and moved from the couch to the fireplace, tightening the belt of her robe and pulling it around herself more. It was late, she wasn’t going to be properly dressed at this hour for visitors. She cast a glance in Gregor’s direction and nodded towards the door, folding her arms over her chest. “Whatever do they want at this hour?” she whispered at him.

Despite the calm and drowsy state that Gregor had been in before Meg knocked on the door, he got to his feet, slipped into his Hammerfell linens and took up position by the side of the door with his silver longsword in hand, even after he heard Jaraleet’s voice. What if Zaveed had captured the Argonian and was using him as bait? He took a deep breath and tensed his muscles in preparation when Raelynn nodded at him. “I don’t know,” he mouthed back. That wasn’t entirely true -- he had a few ideas already -- but standing there and talking about it wouldn’t help. He reached for the doorknob, twisted it, pulled the door open and swung into view, blade and ward at the ready. Fortunately, it really was just Jaraleet and Meg, the latter appearing to be holding up the former. Gregor’s eyes widened and he stepped aside to let them through.

“Is he injured?” Gregor asked Meg, eyes flitting back and forth between her and Jaraleet, but the truth was that he already knew the answer. He looked back at Raelynn. There was no time to lose. “Where do you want him?”

Time to get to work. Raelynn rolled up her sleeves and got down on her knees by the fire, ushering the Argonian over. She could see from his awkwardly clumsy gait that he’d taken an injury to his middle. “What happened?” She asked quickly, shooting a scornful glance to Meg, “what were you doing? Who did this?” It was probably unfair to ask so many questions, but she needed to know what she was dealing with - even if the smell of burning flesh told her exactly what had happened. “I need more light, and start a pot of water boiling at once.”

"I- we- he-" Already worried and inwardly cringing at the look sent her way, Meg fumbled with her words, stuttering in her nervousness. She paused, taking a breath before continuing. "He- he got shot by dwemer guards by the gov'ner's palace. We... We foun' out Sora's been held there an' went t'scout the area. Latro's there too.." Her eyes flitted between Raelynn and Gregor before adding, "Sora hadn' been 'round in two days so... I asked his help in findin' her."

“Sora?! She’s okay?” Raelynn was distracted immediately at the mention of Daro’Vasora, guilt soon followed for not having thought of her sooner. “I hadn’t seen her since… Well…” her eyes moved across the room to meet Gregor’s.

“I should have told you, I’m sorry,” Gregor said to Meg and Jaraleet after meeting Raelynn’s gaze. He moved one of the candleholders to Jaraleet’s side and drafted a pan of water while he talked. “Zaveed, a Khajiit that works for the Dwemer, took Daro’Vasora. I did not know that they took her to the palace but I already knew that she had been kidnapped.” He wasn’t sure if Raelynn wanted the others to know that she had been a part of that ordeal herself, so he did not mention her involvement. “Roux is dead. Latro has been taken as well, you say? Fuck.” Gregor sighed and his face was grim as he hung the pan over the fireplace. “They’re thinning the herd. You should not have -- well, what’s done is done.”

Meg’s anxiety and guilt hadn’t escaped Gregor and he felt a pang of sympathy when he looked at the girl’s face. He walked to her side and wrapped his arm around her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “Jaraleet will be alright,” he said to Meg in a low voice, his words meant just for her. “Raelynn will take care of him. She’s the best at what she does. You know that, right?” He squeezed her shoulder. “Come, sit. Let me get you a glass of water.”

A little surprised by the kind gesture but very appreciative, Meg nodded. Truth be told, even if she didn't know either Raelynn or Gregor well, they were familiar enough faces that she knew she and Jaraleet were safe. Her shoulders slumped in relief as she did as she was instructed. "He burned it shut," she finally added. "The-" Pausing, Meg once more attempted to figure out what exactly the man was, but she gave up only a few seconds later. "His name... Sevari? He foun' us an' helped... wasn' really happy 'bout it." It took her a few quiet seconds to realize what Gregor had said first. "Roux- oh... oh no..." It was all due to him they'd even found there way here. Maybe she hadn’t known the man, but the shock was still there.

“Yes, I’m afraid that Latro has been taken as well.” Jaraleet said from his position next to Raelynn. “It would have been nice to know that you were aware of Daro’Vasora’s capture, at least.” He said with a sigh. “That way we could have done things differently. But, ah, like you said Gregor, what’s done is done.” He said, closing his eyes momentarily as he processed the rest of what Gregor had said. “You say that Roux was killed? Was he taken prisoner along with Daro’Vasora?” The Argonian asked, eager for more information so that he could piece together the puzzle of how Zaveed, and Sevari, had found where they hid.

Jaraleet’s words angered her. What Gregor could brush off and put behind him, she could not. Could have done things differently? “Is that a joke, Jaraleet?,” she couldn’t help but snap at him as she examined his wound. It had been cauterized - but not very well. “You both shouldn’t have gone. A half-cocked plan and you didn’t even tell anyone where you were going. Pardon us for not telling you the situation beforehand either.” While her mood was incredibly sour and tense all of a sudden, the way in which she began treating the wound was entirely gentle and warm. “Yes. He was killed. Yes he was a prisoner, but he was bait… we were bait.” Her voice quietened and tone settled and her eyes fell to the floor in shame. “I lived, he died, Sora was taken.”

After hearing Raelynn’s response, Meg couldn't help but slump even further in her seat, eyes boring into her lap. It was true, wasn't it? She had been so worried she hadn't even thought of the consequences, and because of her, Jaraleet could have died. "It... it was my fault," she finally said, voice cracking slightly. "I'd asked him... I... couldn' just stay an' not go lookin’ for Sora..." She sounded uncertain of herself, but she didn't want to blame to fall on the argonian for something stupid she had roped him into.

Raelynn exhaled and regained a composure, she couldn’t bring it upon herself to scold the poor girl. She thought of her words carefully as she ran restorative magic over Jaraleet’s skin at last. “Look - I know you care about Sora, but right now the situation is too volatile for any of us to go out like that without telling each other. If you had both been captured or killed… We’d never have known. You got off lucky.” She glanced behind her at the fireplace, and the pan of boiling water. “Go into my bag Megana. There are flowers in there, blue and purple. Add them to the pan and stir it.”

"I-" Unable to continue her thoughts aloud, Meg simply nodded and got up from her chair, hurrying over to the bag Raelynn mentioned and looking for the flowers. She recognized them on sight, though she had no true idea what they might be used for, having never dabbled in alchemy herself. Grabbing them, she headed to the fireplace and dropped them in the pan. Even as she watched it, stirring as instructed, the water and flowers began to blur as tears formed in her eyes. She didn't dare turn around- she was sure they already thought her a stupid, naive child and she didn't wish to prove it further.

Gregor met Raelynn's gaze with an almost imperceptible frown on his face and he shook his head from side to side slowly. People didn't learn anything from reprimands when they were still stressed, Gregor knew, so to point out the glaring flaws in Megana's plan now would not achieve anything. He had been trying to comfort her and now he could start all over again. That said, Raelynn had been through hell and back lately, so he couldn't really blame her for having a short fuse.

The Breton noted Gregor’s expression, and at the shake of his head she took her moment to turn and face away from him, to move her hands around on Jaraleet, and to watch Meg stir the pot. She pursed her lips and decided to keep them closed for now.

Meg busied herself with the potion that Raelynn was brewing and Gregor thought it best to leave her alone for now, so he turned his attention to Jaraleet. “Yes. Zaveed used a ruse to capture Raelynn and Daro'Vasora. I don't think he necessarily knows where we… normally stay,” he said, unwilling to speak the name of the hotel out loud, just to be safe. “But Roux was badly tortured, so who knows. He might have told them everything. As for your own, ah, adventure, it wasn't a total waste. We know where Daro'Vasora is. That's a start. I've got my sights set on finding and killing Zaveed but I think the rest of the party would like to know what you've discovered.” Gregor leaned back in his seat and rubbed his face. They were really turning up the heat now. The clock was ticking.

Jaraleet too, for his part, was unhappy with the Breton’s harsh words. He knew full well the effect that they would most likely have on Meg, something which he doubted Raelynn did, and he wouldn’t like to see the Nord woman in a state like that again. The Argonian was half of a mind to mention that Raelynn owed her presence to Gregor doing something foolish most likely. After all, he hadn’t heard about the fact that she had been kidnapped as well until that very moment and he doubted that the others in the group, baring their Khajiit leader that was for certain, knew of that either. Thus, the only logical conclusion was that Gregor had somehow saved her by his lonesome.

But, he also knew how Raelynn reacted to confrontations when she was stressed and, so, Jaraleet bit back any sort of comments related to that. It’d be of no use having Raelynn going into another tirade. “I would recommend that you don’t pursue this Zaveed, after all it’d be foolish to take more unnecessary risks, but I doubt that you’d listen to me on this.” The Argonian decided to comment in the end. “So, I’d advise you to stick to the shadows. Don’t ask any questions about his location, wait for him to move first and then track him down. We don’t know how many non-Dwemer operatives the governor has under her employ. Anything you could say could be relayed to him without you knowing.” Jaraleet said to Gregor, letting out a sigh. “You are correct that the others in the group would like to hear this information. It’d probably be for the best if we could gather and discuss a course of action for us to take before we are taken one by one.”

“One by one…” she repeated softly, as if triggered. Her hands pulling away from Jaraleet slowly as if she were falling into a trance of some kind, her eyes filled with fright by the light of the fire. Not now Raelynn! she heard a voice inside say, and she sat blankly for a few seconds, staring into the flames - as if she were about to dive right into them to find her answers. No! And she snapped free from it, Zaveed's name being thrown around the room. It brought him in. She shook her head and pointed with a smile to the pot. It wasn't a real smile, it was the kind you wear to hide sadness, and she wasn't doing terribly good at hiding it these days. “Meg… G-grab a tankard and drink that. It's not a p-potion. It's for you. Will lift your spirits again…”

After she had spoken she returned to her silence, back to working on the Argonian. Her own spirits dampened still.

Meg stilled a little when she heard Raelynn's words, the break in them, the way her words trailed at the end. Her eyes shut tightly, the wooden spoon she was stirring with still. She had been so busy thinking about her own sorrow, her own mistakes, that she hadn't even paused to think about what others may have been going through. Whoever this Zaveed was, what he had done to Sora, to Raelynn, it had to have been bad. And yet she was standing here feeling sorry for herself.

Her eyes opened once more and she nodded, heading over to where the tankards where situated. She grabbed one at first; an afterthought had her grabbing a second one as well. She headed back to the fireplace where she filled them both. There was hesitation in her steps, but she headed over to where Raelynn was taking care of Jareleet, setting the tankard near her.

"You... y'should drin some too then." Her voice was low but audible enough for the rest to hear. "I'm sorry 'bout what happened- I know it won' change nothin' but... whatever happened to ya shouldn't've, an' I'm sorry 'bout it." She bit at her lip uncertainly as she stepped back. " I dunno both of you well but... we're part of a group- no one should be gettin' hurt or takin' away like this. I know I messed up today, but it ain' gonna happen again." Her hand tightened its hold on her tankard, and her free hand reached down to rest on the hilt of her sword. "This ain' here jus’ t'look pretty. Don' count me out."

“You didn't…” began Raelynn, brushing a finger over the tankard that Meg had placed down beside her with a small smile. “You didn't mess up, you were brave. My fear… is that all of us get killed.” She sighed, and looked Meg in the eyes and nodded, forcing herself to be strong so they both could understand, so that they could be the ones to deliver the message that everyone needed to hear. “These people will not stop, I know that much. Ruthless, violent… They are coming for all of us.” There wasn't any anger in her voice, just resigment, and her cold eyes flitted between Jaraleet and Meg. She was just a woman telling her story now.

“He took me some days ago, tortured me.” She paused and concentrated her stare on the Argonian. “You know that much Jaraleet. It was brutal and I escaped only just. He told me then that all of Samara Cell are in danger, that he'll go through us all. One by one.” The words didn't hurt as much now as they did before, talking to Meg and Jaraleet… Being useful? She felt strangely empowered. “I escaped and thought my ordeal to be over but I found myself in his clutches again which is when he used Roux and I to entice Sora. He took her and left me… His words elude me now, I’m sorry, but he is angry at us. Rourken is angry at us.” She squeezed Jaraleet's arm. That was all that she had in her to say on the matter, they didn't need details.

“Megana, go sit with Gregor. I have to tend to this wound and I'm afraid it will be too unpleasant for your eyes tonight…I think you've seen enough.” Her speech had hardly been rallying, and she knew that the best approach now would be business as usual. To mend Jaraleet. It reminded her distinctly of when she first met him, in fact she had been treating a gunshot wound then too which prompted her to chuckle slightly. Something else? It had been when she first met Gregor and instantly she was taken back to that moment - as if watching from a distance. If she thought hard enough about it she could imagine the smell, leather and steel. He had been new, exciting, mysterious. The Breton snapped back to the present moment again and smiled over at him as he sat in his chair. It was a smile reminiscent of one she would have given him back then. He wouldn't know why she was doing it to him now. Jaraleet too, was in her thoughts. Their first meeting. She recalled how he sat down beside her at their campfire and was friendly. Jaraleet is a friend.

“Say Jaraleet… This is like deja vu is it not? Will there come a time where I'm not patching up your wounds?” The way in which she spoke was almost playful and was certainly teasing.

Jaraleet let out a soft chuckle at Raelynn’s words. “It is. It reminds me of the first time when we met, back in Skingrad where we both were helping the Colovian Rangers.” The Argonian said. “I’ll try and make sure that you don’t have to patch up my wounds so often but I’m afraid this comes with the job so I’m pretty sure that this is not the last time you’ll have to patch my wounds.”

“Everyday just feels like a lifetime, right?” She asked, catching Jaraleet’s eyes. “As long as we’re on this journey, I’ll be there to patch you up.” She smiled sincerely at him, realising that what she said may have been too kind for her tongue, “of course I will start charging you for the pleasure,” she jested.

Jaraleet laughed at Raelynn’s words before smiling at the Breton woman. “Thank you Raelynn.” The Argonian said. “I’ll hold you to that, my friend.” He said sincerely. “...though maybe we can work on a bit of a discount, otherwise I think you’ll take all my money.” He joked, chuckling softly.

Gregor kept his silence while the others talked, merely nodding in acknowledgement when Jaraleet gave him advice. It was sound and he intended to follow it. He’d keep his ear to the ground and wait for something that could draw Zaveed out of hiding. He listened to Raelynn tell her story and to Meg’s reaction and returned Raelynn’s mysterious smile when she looked at him. He had been relieved to see her recover from the moment of fear and it was nice to see her smile again, even if he did not understand exactly what she was feeling now or what she was going through. He loved her well and truly and that was enough.

Looking up when Megana came to his side, Gregor made way for her to sit. “I believe you,” he said to her. “About your sword, that it's not just for show. Daro’Vasora is lucky to have a friend like you.” It sounded like he meant it.

A hint of a smile came to Meg's face as she sat down. It was nice being acknowledged, but even better when it was by someone she was sure would have thought the opposite. "Thanks," she replied, giving the Imperial a fleeting grateful look before taking a gulp of the hot tea. Her tongue burned a little, but the feeling wasn't amiss. "I dunno if she's lucky or no but... it's how it is." Her free hand fiddled with the hem of her tunic, blood drops stiff and dry from being so close to the fire.

"My pa taught me." She looked away from her hand and cast another glance Gregor's way. "He's Imperial too, like you..." Her voice trailed as she remembered the last time she spoke with this man. It seemed almost a lifetime ago, truth be told. Whether she had been right or wrong seemed so irrelevant right now. "Uhm... about the other night... sorry 'bout that."

“I learned from my father as well,” Gregor said and laughed. “Imperials are like that. What was it Gaiden Shinji said? ‘The best techniques are passed on by the survivors’? Something like that. It’s our motto, I think.”

He smiled and waved dismissively when Megana mentioned their previous conversation. “All is forgiven. I don’t blame you for having questions. Let’s focus on the here and now. Take a deep breath, drink your tea, and try to relax,” Gregor said and nodded encouragingly.

"A'righ'," Meg replied, nodding as she looked back to her tea, contemplating the still steaming liquid for a moment before taking another sip. She'd never been much of a tea drinker, but this was nice and soothing. Maybe it was something to look into. Letting her tankard rest against her knee, she looked over at Raelynn and Jaraleet, hoping all was going well there. She'd only seen Brynja heal before- truth be told, she didn't really know who else was a healer in their group until now.

Gregor followed her gaze and patted Megana on the knee. “All will be well. I’ve seen Raelynn in action before. You know,” he said and squinted, “if I look real hard, I think I can see some more color in Jaraleet’s cheeks. And by that, I mean more green. That must be a good sign when it comes to Argonians, right?” He allowed himself a smile at his own joke and glanced aside to wink at Meg. He fancied he could be quite charming when he wanted to. He hoped it would lighten the younger woman’s mood.

Meg blinked before narrowing her eyes as well, looking almost scrutinizingly at the argonian. "Really?" she replied, looking back at the Imperial just in time to see the wink. "Oh... yer jokin'." A small, nearly soundless laugh escaped her as she shook her head and brought her tankard back to her lips, finishing off the drink.

Over by the fireplace, Raelynn was growing tired. It was apparent in the way she ran a hand across her brow and began to sway in the spot. Magicka exhaustion, and just plain exhaustion had pulled her to her limit for the day. “Ooh…” she groaned as she leaned back, wanting to flop entirely onto the floor but that would be somewhat undignified of her. “I think that will get you both back to the Three Crowns…” She panted, out of breath, her eyes meeting Jaraleet’s one more time. “Remember to tell them.” She managed to place her hand on top of his, gripping at it with what strength she had - knowing she couldn’t hurt him, but if she could show him how important their next task was, she’d at least sleep soundly.

“You’ll be alright. Come back if you need anything more… Just not tonight, you both need to skidaddle now…” There was a lingering impatience, but it was innocent. Just a shove in the direction of the door from a woman who needed to get to her bed.

Meg nodded and stood up, placing the empty tankard on a table before casting a look at the Imperial and Breton. "Aye, we'll be headin' off now," she said, smiling gratefully at both. "Thanks... an' don' worry, we won' be forgettin' t'tell the others." With that said, she headed for the door, preparing herself for more sneaking through the streets of Gilane.

“Yes, you rest easy tonight. We’ll be sure to tell the others.” Jaraleet said as he stood up, moving to where Meg was. “Thank you for your help tonight Raelynn.” The Argonian said, smiling at the Breton woman before he turned to look at Meg. “Shall we?” He said, motioning towards the door.

No sooner had the door closed that Raelynn flopped down onto her back, her feet planted on the ground. She sighed, turning her head to look over at Gregor. “You’re going to have to peel me off this floor tonight…” a tired laugh tumbled from her lips and she sighed again.
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