[center][h1]In a Nest of Vipers[/h1][/center] A Dervs and Shaft Collab ft. Stormy [hr] The table was set for a fine dinner, much like the one Daro’Vasora had enjoyed at Salosiox’s manor with Raelynn when they had first met. The room was dark and spacious, and only light seemed to come from above, despite the lack of an evident source. However, this time, she knew she was the host. A nice table cloth with a golden trim wrapped around the circular table, and her two guests were dressed in finery, much like herself. Roux, ever so dashing in a black and blue ensemble with a tulip on his lapel and his blonde hair kept in a nicely kept ponytail, and Raelynn was wearing a fetching and revealing white dress that the Khajiit found herself in envy of; Raelynn was beautiful in ways she was not, and she was effortless in her appearance. She frowned, instead focusing on the meal she prepared… which wasn’t much else other than stale bread and questionable mutton. It reminded her of her time in the refugee camp in Skingrad, yet her two companions were dining as if it were gourmet. Raelynn cleared her throat from her seat at the table, a sweet smile on her face as a giggle of mirth erupted while she raised her glass, “a toast to friendship!” she exclaimed, in her honeyed voice. The Breton tilted her head to the side, to look Sora in her eyes, she blinked slowly and appreciatively in the direction of the Khajiit. “A toast to Daro’Vasora!”. It pulled the Khajiit back to the present and she smiled, raising her own glass to the toast and a clang of three glasses touched. She was glad to be here, with friends; amends were made with Roux, and Raelynn seemed to be more herself after her encounter. Still, it was strange they were doing this in a warehouse and not the conference room at the Three Crowns, but still, she wouldn’t complain; the danger was gone. “I’m grateful to you both, this is for you. I was never sure if I was doing the right thing by you, but here we are.” she smiled, drinking from the glass. It was surprisingly tasteless and not at all refreshing. Still, it didn’t distract from the quiet and private revelry. Roux smiled, his lips were red; that was strange. “I need to leave soon.” He said, his mouth was filled with blood. “My wife and daughter, they’ve been waiting for a while. I chose them over you, you know. It wasn’t a hard choice, to think I’d end up with a cat, but I’m glad you’ve come around again, Sora… maybe it was a bit too little, too late though. Was this way of getting back at me, for all those years ago?” he asked. Blood was dripping from his mouth on his shirt. Daro’Vasora starred, her mouth agape. “You’re not well. What are you saying?” she asked. “You chose me, in the end. Not to carry on with you, but to gift to a killer. It wouldn’t have happened but maybe if you’d kept better control of your friends, we wouldn’t have had to say goodbye.” He sighed, wiping his bloody mouth with a handkerchief. “I never had a chance to make amends.” he said regretfully, his head slumping. Daro’Vasora’s claws dug into the table cloth; something wasn’t right. “Roux? I don’t know what to say. I didn’t choose you, I… I tried not to choose anyone! I went there to save you both. I’m sorry! What more could I have done?!” she demanded, her eyes narrowing with tears. “I never asked for any of this!” Raelynn reached out a hand to touch Daro'Vasora comfortingly, but it was almost a cold comfort - as if the woman were possessed with an entirely fake happiness. She turned her head and smiled at Roux, her free hand was placed on his shoulder. “You will be okay now, but I did tell you Sora, my friend, that you could pick me.” Her head turned swiftly to snap back onto the Khajiit. “I wonder why you didn't…” she purred as she picked up her glass and took a sip from it, clinking the rim of hers to Roux’s before finally adding, “let your rose bring you to green lands.” It was completely incorrect. Both of Raelynn's hands were bleeding, but she was unperturbed by it. It was as if she hadn't realised at all, that the left had a hole through it and the bleeding would not stop. Momentarily her face slipped to an expression of fear - as if a mask had shattered and slipped away, “don't let me stay here, don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me,” she repeated over and over with more panic setting into her tone the more times she said it. Finally, the clink of a glass stopped her and reset the scene. Raelynn was smiling again, glass in hand, the bleeding had stopped and there was not a trace of the blood now. “To friendship!” she exclaimed once more. There was a pit in Daro'Vasora's guts, but she smiled and clinked glasses once more. “To friendship.” she agreed, looking down at the table cloth, and at the center of the table was a plate covered in human fingers. She grit her teeth and her eyes went to Roux, who was missing all of his fingers and his eyes as he sat perfectly still, slumped in his chair. A dark figure came out of the shadows and stood behind Roux. The grey fur coat and black mohawk were in shadows, but the ice blue eyes seemed to be glowing. “Hmm, it would seem as if Roux has had enough for tonight, my dear. Don't worry; you won't see him again.” Daro'Vasora tried to stand, but she found herself tied to her chair and she struggled as Roux was pulled away into the darkness. Zaveed's glowing eyes never left her, nor did they blink. Raelynn watched as it all happened, a gleeful expression on her face - as if it were merely a game. “Have you come to join the party?” she asked the Khajiit with a beaming smile. Suddenly, as if she recognised him at last her face dropped and she turned her head away - eyes filled with dread and absolute horror. She hid her hands under the table and tried once more to smile - as if not wanting him to see her fear. “There is no seat for you…” she uttered quietly, in a sickly sweet tone. An ethereal chuckle filled the cavernous room, Zaveed’s eyes a pale specter of death. Suddenly, he materialized next to Raelynn, caressing her hand menacingly. “It is okay to scream, my dear; Daro’Vasora cannot help you. No one can.” Suddenly he was behind Daro’Vasora, hands on her shoulders. “You won’t get away, you know. How does it feel that others should take the punishment for you? That no matter what you do, it will never make a difference? I will get what I want. And I already have so much of yours…” he purred in her ear. Suddenly, the warehouse was lit, flames consuming the ceiling, but from the rafters, hundreds of ropes hung around the necks of people she recognized from Imperial City, the Colovian Rangers, and her companions, all with ghastly masks upon their faces as they had struggled to their last breaths. Latro hung next to her family, blood running down from his eyes, and La’Shuni’s hands were wrapped around the rope on her neck, her eyes staring lifelessly into the flames next to their mother and father. She tried to scream, but the rope about her own neck was too tight, and she felt tears streaming down her face as she stared at Raelynn, pleadingly. As Sora watched Raelynn amidst the chaos, she would see that gradually her white hair was turning black from the root through its entire length - her expression foul - and somewhere off in the distance behind the flames stood a shadowy figure - imposing and strong. The black caught her dress as the absence of colour took over Raelynn’s form entirely, her smile bright and beaming as she stood from the table - blowing Zaveed a kiss as she looked upon Sora again, her eyes cold as ice even in the flames, “the things that frighten you drive me [i]mad[/i].” She said in a low hiss as she leaned over the table to Sora. “Drive me mad…” “The power, the rage, the violence…” It wasn’t just Raelynn’s voice anymore. Lurking underneath it was Gregor’s deep tone - his drunken words. “The power, the rage, the violence…” She repeated as she began to walk backwards slowly - drawing closer to the flames and the figure. “The power… The rage… The violence… It drives me [i]mad[/i].” The further that the Breton walked, the more tempestuous and furious the flames grew, threatening to consume all. As she got only feet away from the shadow, the flames caught her dress alight, and so quickly tore through the fabric down to her skin. She looked over at Sora again in horror as the flames engulfed her - reaching out a hand towards the Khajiit before shouting one final thing, “I thought you were my friend!”. Daro’Vasora tried to pull against the rope, to reach towards Raelynn, unable to breathe or scream, until she noticed a nail hovering over her hand. “It’s time.” Zaveed purred. The nail came down. Daro’Vasora screamed, her eyes opening suddenly. She was in the room in the Dwemer palace once more, Latro laying next to her, suddenly awake from the sudden scream. Her eyes darted around in the dark, fearfully, and she stumbled out of bed, naked and feeling entirely vulnerable as she stumbled towards a pitcher of water, splashing it upon her face as she wrapped her arms about herself, moving to the balcony outside, the open air inviting. It had seemed so damned real, and she rubbed her hand, not believing for a moment that it wasn’t impaled. Burying her face in her hands, she began to shake. Latro’s blood thumped in his head at how he was awoken from his already restless sleep. When he realized he was not, in fact, back in the brothel was the moment he realized the one sobbing and quaking was Sora, not Mirabelle. Unlike Mirabelle, though, Latro could comfort Sora. He slowly came to Sora’s side, cooing out, “Love? Love?” Until he sat beside her, pulling her into an embrace, her head nuzzling hard into his chest, “It’s okay, you’re okay.” They stayed like that until they were ready for sleep again, which was not for hours. [I]10th of Midyear, 4E208, The Governor’s Palace, Gilane, Hammerfell...[/I] The cast had come off the day before, and Daro’Vasora could scarcely believe that her arm felt completely normal since Zaveed had broken it. The cast and the fluid that was pumped into it daily was some kind of healing potion that was gradually soaked into her skin, and while it took a while to completely dry out the fur of the almost luminous cyan liquid, but once she had, it was like nothing had happened. Her and Latro had both been bathed and fed well, and it was almost like staying in a fancy hotel, if you were not permitted to leave your room. The Dwemer had treated them well, those that visited never overstayed their welcome. The same medical attendant that had healed Daro’Vasora came by to top up the cast and check on her vitals as well as make pleasant small talk while asking a few questions about Khajiiti physiology, and attendants changed the linens every few days and provided reading material and changes of clothing for the two of them. Daro’Vasora had found herself in dresses not dissimilar to the ones she’d seen Razlinc Rourken wear in both of their meetings, and Latro similarly looked dashing in fashion that was befitting a Dwemeri citizen. Their old clothing was washed and brought back folded, and so far, Daro’Vasora wasn’t in quite a hurry to put it back on. Both Daro’Vasora and Latro had made the most of their time together, it being the most private time they had since they’d first gotten together. They ate together, sometimes bathed together, made love and quietly read the books provided, and there was never a shortage of conversation for the two of them. She asked him about his life in the Crow-Wife Clan and the Forsworn, lessons on how to sing better, and tales of his travels and his experiences. Likewise, she told him of life at home, her relationship with her family, Zegol, and some of her expeditions and finds. It was entirely candid and welcome, and despite knowing that the both of them were prisoners and their friends were still in danger, it was hard not to feel somewhat relaxed and easy to forget that the Dwemer weren’t their friends. They just had to make the most of a bad situation, but Daro’Vasora knew that it was to help soften them up somewhat for when the Governor or her men came knocking. And on the 10th, they did. Sevari and some other foreigners, a Dunmer and two Nords, of the Ministry of Order greeted Sora as she opened the door. Some of the others pushed past her before Sevari, who entered last and nodded to her, “You fucking Khajiit and your foreign tongue. I bet you were happy when Krennic’s Cathay-Raht were joining us for this.” One of the Nords grumbled with a voice like distant thunder. “You’ll know the exact moment when I’m happy, Thunderhead.” Sevari said, casually strolling to Latro and offering out a pair of manacles, “It’ll be when I’m responding to a scene and you’re one of the casualties.” “What’s this?” Latro asked, eyes going from Thunderhead’s death stare at the back of Sevari’s head to Sevari’s own gaze. “Prisoner transfer. Kerztar arranged one with your little group of terrorists.” Sevari smirked at Thunderhead as if he was sharing a joke with Latro, “You’ll be glad to know you’re valuable enough to be exchanged for [i]three[/i] Nords.” Latro ignored Thunderhead’s utterance of ‘fuck you’ as he lay his wrists inside the manacles Sevari held out to him, the things snapping shut around them. Once again, he was a prisoner, as if the Dwemer were reminding him of their respective stations one last time. He stood and Sevari lay a hand on his back, the Dunmer stepping forward and shoving a sack over his head, “Can’t have anybody recognizing that pretty face of yours and trying anything.” Latro felt himself be guided by Sevari through the room, “I love you!” He couldn’t tell if Sora heard him but from behind the sack he could hear Sevari speak in the Khajiit tongue, Latro felt a bit of relief as Sevari relayed his words, he assumed, then added deadpan in Cyrod, “How sweet.” Daro’Vasora resisted the urge to chase after Latro, calling after him. “I will find you again! I love you!” she said, her arms wrapped around her waist as she watched Latro being pulled away; she never knew if she was going to see him again, but she had to hold out hope that Sevari was genuine in his efforts to keep them safe. If this prisoner transfer was legitimate, it would at least mean Latro was safe. It was all she could do to maintain her composure. Kerztar arrived at the doorway just as they left, nodding to Sora, “Razlinc wants you. Come with me.” “Oh, this should be good.” Daro’Vasora said, giving an annoyed huff as she watched Latro marched off by secret police at Sevari’s guidance. She sighed, looking to the beardless Dwemer who remained and reflecting how strange it was. “Best not keep her waiting, then.” “A wise precaution.” Kerztar agreed, gesturing for Daro’Vasora to leave the room. [hr] “You look well,” Razlinc said, walking astride the Khajiit down a polished corridor, arches letting in natural light and the refreshing coastal breeze. “Had I not seen you when you were brought to me, I would have not believed you suffered your injuries. Was your room to your liking?” she asked. “Sure, it was a regular stay at a luxury resort. I wanted for nothing, except freedom.” Daro’Vasora retorted caustically, exercising her formerly broken arm, not quite believing that there wasn’t a kink or fracture remaining; it simply was a miracle they managed to heal it as thoroughly as they had in such a short time. She decided that being combative at the moment might be the wrong tact to take, she sighed. “I mean, considering our opposition to one another, I have been treated kindly and far more dignified than I would have expected. I will admit it was easy to forget I am a prisoner at times. I still do not quite understand [I]why[/I] you want me, however. What separates me from the rest of your insurgents?” she asked. Razlinc offered a polite smile, gesturing the Dwemer jewelry Daro’Vasora still wore. “You may very well be one of our best options for connecting the people of Tamriel to ourselves. You understand our history, our materials; you value it. I can also sense a certain degree of acceptance or understanding towards us. If our return to Tamriel is going to be long lived and fruitful, it starts with making connections like yourself. Perhaps with some rehabilitation, I can offer you a position here. Have I not been accommodating thus far?” Daro’Vasora looked out at the city through the arches, shaking her head. “My friends are still out there, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again. It’s hard to trust in your intentions when you have none to let them live.” She turned to face the Dwemeri governor, whose namesake was for her entire clan. “How did you think people were going to react to this violent uprising you’ve orchestrated? Just quietly and meekly accept new rulers who take lives by the thousands just to make a statement? You might not have indiscriminately slaughtered the citizens of Gilane like in Imperial City, but everyone in this city lives under the yolk of a tyrant. There’s curfews and secret police snatching people in the dark, and yet you think you are just and right in standing here in your polished, gilded tower? Have you even walked the streets to see the suffering these people endured?” The Khajiit demanded, not caring about the consequences of her words. A guard moved forward to strike her, but Razlinc put up a hand to stop him. “And you might be right, Daro’Vasora. I’ve made mistakes, and plenty of them. Perhaps we could have done things differently, but we couldn’t put our entire race’s existence to chance. The bridge between Exodus and Mundus is fragile, and I fear that should it fail, tens of thousands of my people will perish. The actions of the Dwemer across Tamriel is that of a wounded and terrified animal lashing out at the shadows, not caring who it harms so long as it lives to see morning.” Razlinc replied, her countenance showing signs of sorrowful resignation. “[I]I[/I] want to be a part of this world, to see it at peace, to show the world what the Dwemer can offer outside of fear and war. When you first came here, under the guise of a historian who wanted to see her life’s research in the flesh, I was so pleased and grateful. I had no idea that people took an interest in our legacy, what we left behind, to have a passion for our achievements. The people of Tamriel are so varied and beautiful, so [I]inspired[/I], I wanted to offer you the opportunity to learn from us as we learn from you. Tell me, Daro’Vasora… had I come alone to this city and asked for the land to rebuild a home for my people, do you think the Redguards would have tolerated my existence? To give up what they had to give us the gift of life?” Razlinc asked. The Khajiit thought for a long while before shaking her head slowly. “No, I don’t suppose they would have. I don’t even know what I would have done, myself. I never thought I would have ever had the chance to actually meet the Dwemer, let alone interact with them like we have. The good and the bad… it was all interesting. Then airships showed up in Imperial City and killed my uncle and a lot of people I’ve known for several years.” Daro’Vasora replied tersely, clenching her fist until her claws dig into her palms painfully before releasing the tension, her face returning to an impassive mask. “You’ve said it before, it wasn’t exactly your fault or the rest of Clan Rourken, but you’re invaders, all the same. How many lives have been destroyed from you forcing yourself as rulers in a strange land?” “Too many for my liking, but I will not apologize for securing a future for my people.” Razlinc replied, arriving at an elevator, where an attendant opened the gate for them to board. “We can talk in circles, Daro’Vasora, and our answers will always be the same. Wrongs were done, decency verses survival. I doubt you’d have many qualms about following in my footsteps if our positions and fortunes were reversed. I hope that one day, if a stranger comes asking for your help, you receive them well, because you and I both know how that usually goes.” The gate closed and the lift begun its descent. “So, Daro’Vasora, since history is already written in the stones and sands of this land and our being here isn’t going to change, I want you to help me find a better way forward since it’s clear my approach isn’t quite as effective as I’d wish. You have a unique perspective that being isolated for centuries has robbed from us, and to make it more palatable to you, the more you assist us, the more we can take the boot from your friends’ throats and possibly offer amnesty to those who would take it. “You were caught up in a war that was not your own, and perhaps you felt you chose the right side, but the fact you are here alongside me and not in a prison cell for your actions should be taken as a mercy and a show of my good intent. Zaveed is being watched, and he should no longer be able to harm anyone the way he has again. If he goes rogue, I have no issues putting rabid dogs down. So starting today, prove to me you are willing to work towards a brighter future for all of our people with me, and I will grant your friends a place in that future and do everything in my power to hold the other clans accountable for their actions.” she paused as the lift reached its destination, the gate sliding open. “Even if it may lead to war one day.” She added with grim determination. That caught Daro’Vasora off guard, to the point where she didn’t join Razlinc stepping forward. “You would go to war with the other clans?” she asked, dumbfounded. The Dwemer governor turned and faced her Khajiit companion with a smile. “It wouldn’t be my first choice, but what happened to Imperial City and the others is an atrocity I cannot forgive. But right now, I cannot do anything while Volenfell is in such turmoil and the rest of the world is looking for a weak link in our armour. If such an event were to occur, I’d want to do it with the rest of Tamriel at our back, understanding that clan Rourken is here to become a part of Tamriel, not subjugate it. We are powerful, yes, but we are not infinite in number and reach. “You have studied history and war, Daro’Vasora; you know how hubris and cultural supremacy often falter in the face of a dedicated and numerous foe. Barbarians have sacked cultural powers many times before, and forgive me if that seemed indelicate. I do not think such things about the people of Hammerfell, but it is hard not to think of Dwemer having superiority when it comes to technology when the Redguard are still armed much like we recall the races of men from centuries ago. It’s surprisingly stagnant.” “Unfortunately stagnant.” Kerztar added, “History marches on, times change, but it is almost the only thing that does here. I’ve heard stories of this Great War of yours, how it shattered Tamriel through to the core. It makes our war with the Dunmer look like a skirmish.” Kerztar sighed, “This Empire from Cyrodiil, The Thalmor. Crowns and Forebearers. Stormcloaks. The Insurgency. We aim to help break a cycle.” Kerztar shook his head at Daro’Vasora, “A cycle that you must be tired of, all of you, am I wrong?” The Khajiit shook her head. “Do you know how many times I’ve read the thoughts of great leaders who claimed the same noble intention? Nothing ever lasts past a generation. The next happens, and then the next, and the lessons that were learned in blood are lost before some other hotheaded warlord riles up a disenfranchised populace to war once more. Peace never lasts, it can [I]never[/I] last. The only reason this war feels like a true injustice is because we’re living through it, not reading about it hundreds of years later. Yes, I’d love to live in a world where nobody’s trying to murder each other for nationality or religion, race and long memories, but I’m not an idiot. I’d rather read about someone like me suffering than be that person, but here I am, not sure if I’m going to survive the year or lose the few people I care about because I got caught up in some world shaking event that should never have happened.” she sighed, placing a hand on her chest. “That [I]I[/I] had a part in causing. The only reason your people were able to return at all, I’m certain, is because of what I had a hand in.” the Khajiit admitted. Kerztar froze, eyebrow cocking as he looked to Razlinc then back to Daro’Vasora. “What you had a hand in?” “The Jerall Mountains.” Razlinc said, suddenly dawning on the obvious conclusion. “The Planebridge Coordinate.” Excitedly, she looked to Kerztar and locked eyes with Daro’Vasora. Suddenly, she crossed the distance to the Khajiit, tears in her eyes. “Whatever you did, you saved more lives than you’ll ever know. You must carry a terrible burden for everything that’s happened to you and the ones you love since that day, but know that I will try to make this worthwhile in the end. We will earn our place here, and you will be honoured for what you have done for all Dwemeri people. Thank you.” The Khajiit’s arms hung loose at her side, not returning the gesture. It was tempting to dig her claws into the woman’s back, but she refrained. “All we did was shove a Lexicon back into its housing. We thought it was a way to keep ourselves from being overrun by the Falmer.” “It was so much more than that.” Razlinc said, releasing Daro’Vasora and composing herself. “It had the coordinates to where Exodus, the plane we have been banished to for so long, and it connected our plane to Mundus. It thinned the veil between us, not unlike the Oblivion Crisis or the Planemeld we had learned about after our return from exile. It was how we knew we could go home; our own Planebridge Coordinate became active suddenly and received an influx of energy from a far off source. Think of it like a lighthouse, a way to see the way through the cosmos and planes of Aetherius. The amount of energy required was incredible; you literally have to rip a hole in time and space to create the bridge between planes. The Jerall Mountains is well protected now, but because of it, my entire people won’t perish and be removed from existence when Exodus collapses in the not too distant future.” she smiled tersely. “To think it was what Lord Kagrenac had planned to do to the Chimer and Nords at the Battle of Red Mountain. Perhaps in a way, it being us who were removed from Mundus was probably a mercy. Have we not paid for our mistakes?” she asked quietly. Daro’Vasora’s mind was racing; the lexicon they had inserted into the device had opened the bridge between this Exodus plane and Tamriel, and Razlinc said there was another device like it on the other side in Exodus. They needed to communicate with the same coordinates… was that right? It was a lot to take it, but the sudden revelation gave her hope; maybe it was information she could use and pass onto the others. Maybe she could learn more from Razlinc and the other Dwemer, but she had to be careful not to scheme. It would only close the governor off. “We… found the body, a skeleton, of a Dwemer who passed away. The jewelry I wear came from that body, the lexicon was by the body. Maybe they removed it on purpose when the device was activated?” Razlinc stood in contemplation for a few moments, her hands behind her back, posture erect. “Perhaps, but there is no way to be certain without studying the location. Come, Daro’Vasora; you’ve proven yourself an unexpected ally and savior to my people, and for that you have my gratitude. Perhaps, in time, we can arrange for your freedom and you will be celebrated. There are more things I wish to show you. Please, join me.” The Khajiit nodded and fell back in step with the Dwemer. “You do know that if I’d known then what I know now, I would have absolutely refused to go through with it.” She added, knowing a bit of defiance would seem much more acceptable and normal instead of gleeful obedience. Razlinc had been far more often than Daro’Vasora ever thought she would be, and she had to play her part of begrudging but idealistic prisoner. “I do not doubt it, nonetheless, sometimes great things happen completely by happenstance.” She replied. “I do think, however, curiosity would have gotten to you eventually. All the answers and mysterious you’ve tried to solve, suddenly there for the taking.” Daro’Vasora was silent, her teeth grinding, wishing she had something to bite down into. She wasn’t even sure if the governor was wrong about that. They walked through the subterranean corridors, not nearly as presentable or opulent as the upper levels, and it gave a very industrial vibe Daro’Vasora expected from most ruins. A pair of large alloy doors loomed ahead, flanked by a pair of Centurions that watched with impassive faces as they approached. The giant cogs and gears of the door moved at their approach, and Razlinc stopped in front of the door. “What I am about to show you is impressive, to be sure. It’s how we will ensure peace in this city should we not find a compromise, Daro’Vasora. I need you to be aware of how much is riding on your cooperation. You will help us find our peace, or I shall be forced to make it.” The governor stepped forward through the doors, leaving Daro’Vasora with an unsettled pit in her stomach. When she stepped through after Razlinc, she suddenly became aware of several subdued mechanical sounds until her eyes adjusted. A number of mechanical constructs that looked like Centurions, roughly half the size and without the mask that the large ones outside the door bore, moved nimbly and almost quietly given their mass and speed; they were sprinting. A number of large obstacles were in the way, and the machines bounded over them with agility and grace, climbing walls with almost athletic prowess without much in the way of a slow down. Rotary cannons covered one arm, along with a double barreled harpoon gun. The other was a hammer instead of a hand covered by a retractable wrist blade that seemed certainly capable of cutting through a man or penetrating even thick armour. The smile upon Razlinc’s face was menacing, and the low lighting did nothing to assuage Daro’Vasora’s impression. “You have done more than one thing for my perception of this world, my friend; you made me think of how wasteful and tragic the blunt assault on Imperial City was, the needless bloodshed and carnage of so many people. So it occurred to me that there was a program we had started already that would minimize casualties and could surgically strike against those who would take up arms against us. These are the Assassin Centurions, the new face of anti-insurgency warfare that we have at our disposal. When we finish their design and architect their protocols, they will sweep through the streets like a flood and remove the terrorists that plague our city. If you do not wish your friends to be considered terrorists by this technology, I suggest you cooperate fully and entirely, Daro’Vasora. We Dwemer are nothing if not efficient.” “Efficient.” Kerztar said, a hint of something in his voice, “Have you heard of the trade town of Al-Aqqiya? My team was sent there to validate intelligence gained from interrogations that Al-Aqqiya was a hub for the insurgency’s smuggling operations and a place they were funneling in foreign fighters.” “They were pinned down and steadily losing ground after the [i]entire[/i] town armed themselves, Krinnec arrived with [i]four[/i] of these things you see now.” Kerztar frowned and sighed, eyes closing, “That was only the first generation. Al-Aqqiya is no more. Help us make sure that we won’t have to use these things to hunt down your friends and every terrorist and their supporters in Hammerfell.” Daro’Vasora could only stare.