[center][h3]Separate Agendas[/h3]
[sub]with [@Father Hank] & [@Leidenschaft][/sub][/center]

[i]10th of Midyear - 4E208
Gilane, Hammerfell - The Haunted Tide Inn[/i]

No lute. He couldn’t even remember how many times he’d lost it now, but just like the woman who gifted it to him, they’d always find their way to each other again. At least, he hoped. He hoped luck would guide him back to Daro’Vasora, back to his lute. Even without it, he sat in his chair in the room Sevari had rented him, lazily slouching in it while staring at the parchment he was writing probably the most meaningful thing he’d be writing in his life, forsaking the outside world in lieu of this task. In lieu of this perfect song. But this was not it, he growled as he snatched up the parchment and added it to the growing pile next to it of drafts for the song he promised to write.

It had to be perfect. He leaned forward and rubbed his eyes, his hand was cramping now after writing for so long. He needed a break, a drink. He got up from his chair and stretched, hearing his back crackle with it in a series of rolling pops. He grunted, rubbing the small of his back and sighed. It hadn’t been the same since the attack. It almost seemed like it was days ago, yet only hours. He didn’t even know how long he’d been sitting here for. He crossed the room and laid his hand on the doorknob, his fingers brushing it gently.

Suddenly, the room was blurry through his tears and he squatted before the door and heaved in a huge sob, letting it out in a clenched-jaw growl in the crook of his elbow. He couldn’t let anybody hear. But flashes of Thunderhead’s ruined face, his jaw missing and yawning maw left spewing blood, the Dunmer falling, Two-Shafts Head coming apart and the sickening sound his face made when it broke open.

The feeling of that Redguard’s hands on his throat. Remembering the feeling of his shackles leaving his wrists bloody and raw as he pounded them into his first attacker’s face until it looked like shreds of crimson paper. The way the black had started to creep into his vision as he was being choked to death, the world going blurry. He had almost died without any hint of ceremony or poeticis in that wagon.

It all left him curled about himself on the floor of his room, quivering with muffled sobs. After a few minutes, he crept to all fours, breathing hard. Soon enough, he found his feet, walking over to the wash basin and throwing the tepid water over his face until he looked good enough to himself to show his face to the patrons downstairs. He sighed, the thought of dying and leaving Daro’Vasora behind, alone. He tried at his easy smile to himself in the mirror, but it only trembled until his face screwed up in a sob again. He composed himself as best he could, brushing his shirt down, though it was still the same bloody tunic.

To the hells with it, he took it off and expected things to get better, but he only saw the purple bruise stretched across his ribs, the same purple around his neck. He looked to the floor, closing his eyes and rubbing his face. He needed out of this room. He headed for the door again, sighing and then opened it, making the trek downstairs. He moved past the patrons with his eyes on the floor, ordered an ale and turned around. He finally allowed himself to scan the room and took a sip of his drink but his throat closed around it, making him choke back a cough and keep himself from spluttering. He wiped his mouth with a forearm and looked at the man his gaze snagged on. He did not look well. Finally, he spoke, voice still hoarse from being choked, “G-Gregor?”

Looking up from his meal, Gregor’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock when he saw none other than Latro sitting nearby. “Latro,” the Imperial breathed and he immediately abandoned his barstool and his food to sit with the battered and bruised Breton. Concern, confusion and relief were etched on his face in equal measure and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, lost for words. “But you were captured, how are you here? Gods, man, what happened to you? Where is Daro’Vasora?” Gregor stammered, falling over himself with the urgency of his questions. All of his own woes were forgotten for a moment in the face of such a surprise -- but a welcome one, to be sure. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he hissed and leaned in closer. “There is a man here that calls himself the brother of the Khajiit that tortured Raelynn. It isn’t safe.”

Latro sat nursing his drink, not knowing exactly what to say or how to frame it. He took his moment, swigged at his drink and then sighed, better to just come out with it now, “I know.” He began, “He’s… I’m… I’m with him. It’s a very long and shitty story full of twists and violence, my friend. He’s not what he seems.”

Gregor looked like he had been slapped in the face. He saw nothing but honesty in Latro’s eyes, however, and after a few seconds of terse silence he decided to give the Reachman the benefit of the doubt. “Let’s say that I accept that, for the moment,” Gregor said in a low voice. “Give me the rundown of what happened since you were captured.”

Latro sighed, rubbing his eyes after putting his tankard to rest on the table. “Sevari’s brother- eh, that’s his name, Sevari- Sevari’s brother, Zaveed, was parading Sora through the town to deliver her to Rourken. I caught the show at the bazaar, followed for a bit and Zaveed spotted me.” He shook his head, a look of utter contempt at the memory, “I surrendered myself. There was no way I could get to her without causing too much of a panic, or before he…”

He remembered the look on Sora’s face as Zaveed cocked his pistol against her head. Fear, for her. And him. “We were taken in, Sevari took us into his custody. A few days later, I was chosen for a prisoner transfer. Our caravan was attacked by some form of weapon I’ve never seen before, but it tossed the metal-clad carriage I was in like a toy after the explosion.”

He stopped there, voice trailing off as his eyes grew distant remembering the smells, the feelings, the sights. His lip began to twitch before he started again, muttering out a few stuttering sounds that weren’t even words, “I, um. They were everywhere… it was…”

He put a hand on his chest and a shuddering sigh escaped him, looking around the tavern with wild eyes, “They’re still fucking [i]out there[/i], Gregor. They killed everyone, [i]everyone[/i]. Just… it wasn’t… his face was just…”

He let his face fall into his hands, “Thunderhead, he was talking and moving one second and then… I couldn’t… he was just laying there and… I was almost dead.”

With a quickness and without warning, he grabbed up his tankard and drank deeply, quaffing up the amber ale in huge gulps. He didn’t like this. They kept coming, the memories, as numerous and savage as the attackers that had made them. Thunderhead’s bloody crater of a face. Two-Shafts’ broken head. The hands around his neck and the face locked in a mad smile above him as he struggled. “I’m alive.” He said, almost like he was trying to convince himself and his breathing slowly became less erratic, “I’m alive.”

“You are,” Gregor said and reached over to place a reassuring hand on Latro’s arm. He winced slightly when he saw how his fingers trembled and he pulled back quickly, locking his hands together instead so that the Breton couldn’t see. He thought about Latro’s story. It was a confusing, jumbled mess of a tale and Gregor still felt unclear on some of the most saillant details -- like what Sevari had done to gain Latro’s trust, other than presumably selecting him for the exchange -- but he felt like now was not the time to press Latro for answers. He had clearly been through a lot. Gregor sighed. It seemed that the house of cards was crumbling down for everyone he knew. 

“Everything will be fine. Zaveed has also… been taken care of,” Gregor said and cleared his throat. “I fought him yesterday. There was an attack on the Dominion envoy in Gilane and it drew him out of hiding. He’s… alive, through circumstances beyond my control,” he added tersely, “but he won’t be after us, for the time being at least. I have to ask, Latro, how do you know that you can trust Sevari?”

“Days ago, Jaraleet and I were contacted by him to meet somewhere. I did things for him, a favor. Gregor, this whole thing, the Poncy Man, the Thalmor…” Latro shook his head, “Poncy Man’s rebellion was going to happen regardless of the Dwemer. Sevari was- is Penitus Oculatus.” He said, all hush. “And he came back for me, after the attack today. He saved me.”

That was a lot to take in. Jaraleet hadn’t mentioned anything about this to Gregor when he and Megana had come to the inn for aid two days ago. Then again, if this was a political game being played in the shadows, Gregor understood the need for discretion. In fact, he was relieved that Jaraleet had not told him this secret. It meant that the Argonian was more likely to keep [i]his[/i] secret from others as well. “Penitus Oculatus,” Gregor mused. The closest he had ever come to meeting an agent of the Emperor had been when the organization had dismantled the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim years ago, around the time of the Stormcloak Rebellion and the Dragon Crisis. Gregor had been in the province back then and read about the news in the local papers. 

It raised even more questions. “So… he’s a spy?” Gregor asked in hushed tones. “I assume that he’s working for the Dwemer as a double agent of some kind? Or did he have no choice? Does that go for Zaveed as well? Because he certainly took to his task with great… [i]enthusiasm,”[/i] Gregor grimaced. 

He waved dismissively, as if to erase his own questions from the air. “Nevermind. He came back to save your life. That’s good enough for me. Ironic, considering… well, nevermind,” Gregor said, his voice weary with subdued anger. He took a deep breath and focused. “So you two escaped the ambush. Just the pair of you? And what next?”

Latro shook his head, “I don’t know. We lay low here. After a couple days, I go back to the Three Crowns, he goes his way until he contacts me again, I guess.” He said, he swigged from his tankard, “Are you and Raelynn coming? How is she?”

“I don’t know,” Gregor spat a little too fast. There was no avoiding the topic now. “We’re not talking. She was the one that saved Zaveed from the brink of death. I left him with mortal injuries and she’s the reason he’s still alive. And no, I have no idea why she thought that was a good idea,” he added and rubbed his face. “I just told her to leave. That was yesterday. Feels like longer.” He lowered his hands to the table again and suddenly stared at Latro intently. “What do you make of that?”

“Gods, what’s happening to us?” He muttered, he looked up at Gregor and cocked an eyebrow at his stare. It seemed less like a question and more like a test, almost. Latro chewed his lip, “I guess I did say those days ago that she had a good heart. But why? I saw what that bastard did to her, what he did to Sora. I was ready to kill Zaveed myself, Gregor.”

Before Latro could continue, Gregor unbuttoned his shirt and showed him the scars on his chest. “Here’s what he did to [i]me,[/i]” Gregor hissed. “He’s a phenomenal fighter, I’ll give him that. He nearly tore me apart.” He stopped and slowly held out his hands for Latro to see -- how his fingers shook. “Zaveed had help. Some woman. She threw a poisoned dagger at me right as I was about to finish him off for good. Because Raelynn wasn’t here when I returned, the poison--” He swallowed hard and grimaced. “Well, you can see what it did.”

“It must have been potent.” He said, looking at his comrade. What he knew of poisons, it took a miracle to heal from one that was supposed to kill a man. Gregor had to be a man of iron, Latro mused. “I don’t know of any woman like that. Have you asked Sevari if she’s one of the Dwemer’s?”

Gregor nodded. “I wasn’t entirely sure that he was with the Dwemer too, but I did ask him if he worked with a woman like that. Snakeskin cloak, spear, poisons. He said no. We had an… interesting conversation, in general,” the Imperial said and ran his hand through his beard. “I think he got very close to attacking me once he figured out that it was me that nearly put Zaveed in the dirt. He might be your ally, Latro, but he is still loyal to that piece of shit he calls his brother.”

“I know. He seems like the better man of the two though, for whatever that’s worth.” Latro said, a rueful smile crossed his face, “His family must be more complicated than mine. He promised Sora and I that he’d make sure Zaveed didn’t come close to any of us again, in exchange for intelligence, of course.”

“Sevari has a woman with him. She’s here too. A fiery woman if I’ve ever met one, less hospitable than Sora.” He chuckled to be mentioning Sora again, the thought of her brought him some measure of happiness, but it also hurt knowing she was still trapped in the Palace, “I forced Sevari’s hand to make sure he protects Sora when I surrendered. I’m important to his work, I can get places he can’t, talk to people that he can’t, but I can’t test how far he’ll go to protect his assets. I need to find a way to get her back, Gregor. Maybe Sevari can help us get out of this damned city. Help us get Sora back. There’s nothing for us here anymore.”

Wooden floorboards creaked from the staircase above, behind the pair’s backs. Each dull, consecutive thud, a tell-tale sign of approaching footsteps, until the appearance of a woman in layered robing of different colors descended into view, as if even mentioning her had summoned her presence. Her auburn hair was as neatly groomed as the first time Latro had seen her, but her presentation was as immaculate as ever. Aries looked over towards the pair with sharp and discriminative appraisal. She had overheard a few words being shared -- nothing in particular aside from a few choice words, but a few name drops and her own mentioning, and suddenly her interest was piqued.


“Latro,” she began, the steady calmness of her words was lifted slightly with a tinge of curiosity, contrasting with the stern expression of her face as her hand glided down the railing, “is this a friend of yours?”

Her foot finally met the ground floor, but she stopped there, opting to simply lean against the bannister and inspect the pair from a distance. A keen eye would’ve noticed that her sights were actually locked onto Gregor, but that being said, she continued to speak to Latro. She said, “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised. Would you introduce me?”

Gregor had been about to respond to Latro’s words about leaving the city behind after retrieving his paramour when Aries appeared, and the sound of her voice left him unable not to turn his head to look at her. A beautiful woman with eyes and posture that radiated authority looked down upon them from the steps of the stairs that led to the second floor. He saw in her gaze that she was a woman of strength and Gregor thought back to what Latro had said about her; fiery. He could see that, even if she was being perfectly polite. Ignoring the twinge of annoyance he felt at being interrupted by, Gregor waited for Latro to introduce them and leaned back in chair. He used the time to size Aries up much in the same way he saw she was doing to him. Her robes could not entirely disguise her figure -- too voluptuous for a human warrior, and his eyes lingered on her hands for a few seconds. Soft, unblemished. Nobility of some kind, he figured, and he wondered what she was doing here. 

“Janelle,” Latro nodded before he gestured to his comrade, “Gregor. He’s been my companion for some time now, we’ve been traveling together until… When did you and Raelynn leave the Hotel?”

He asked the question as if it was part realization that they hadn’t been there in some time. Then again, neither had Latro or Sora. “Please,” he gestured to a seat at their table for Aries- or Janelle, “Sit.”

“We haven’t been back since the 6th,” Gregor said with a nod before turning back to look at Aries. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Janelle.”

“Lariat. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Gregor...?” She greeted with a slight bow of her head. She let her words linger in the air for a moment to allow Gregor the opportunity to fill in the blank.

“Sibassius,” Gregor replied. “From Bravil.” He had mistaken the woman for an Imperial at first glance but with a name like that she had to be Breton. “You've heard of me, then?”

“Sibassius, from Bravil…” Aries echoed with a hint of familiarity, before catching herself in what seemed like a moment of being lost in thought, before ultimately shrugging it off as if it was nothing. In truth, she knew exactly where she heard that name before, but that wasn’t anything Gregor needed to know. She just greeted him with a cordial smile before riding up to the bar and gesturing towards one of the moderately priced wines on the shelf, saying, “Oh, just a bit here and there. Well, I suppose that’s too modest; you have a reputation which precedes you, Gregor. I understand it that you’ve quite a few war stories to tell in the fight against the deep elves. Would you mind sharing?”

[i]Yes, I would,[/i] Gregor thought, but he kept that to himself. He cast another glance at Latro and decided that there was nothing else for it. “There were a few skirmishes in Cyrodiil before we came here but that feels like a lifetime ago. In Gilane, the only significant battle against the Dwemer themselves that I was a part of happened during something that started out as a covert operation.” He smiled wryly. He did not feel comfortable sharing the details of what had happened and he was still hoping that Aries would leave Latro and him to their chat. “But I’ve spent more time fighting their auxiliaries, truth be told,” he said and absent-mindedly rubbed the scar on his collarbone. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s it to you? What’s your role in all of this?” Gregor gestured towards Latro and vaguely upstairs, to where he assumed Sevari was. 

“Oh, I’m just a merchant; an interested benefactor.” She replied humbly, bowing her head slightly. She continued, “But is that all there is to it? I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed. I have it on good authority that, like the meeting with Governor Rourken, some of your operations didn’t go… well, entirely according to plan, but I was hoping to hear a first-person account on Nblec’s death. Oh -- but what about you? You look quite worse for wear. What happened, if I may ask?”

“That’s what I was just telling Latro. You seem well-informed and you’re traveling with Sevari, so I’m going to assume you know who Zaveed is,” Gregor said and let the words hang in the air for a second or two before continuing. “I tracked him down yesterday and we fought--”

“Is he dead?” Aries interrupted, apparently eager to hear some good news.

Gregor exhaled slowly, averting his gaze while his fingers tapped away at the table. He looked back at Aries and the smoldering anger he felt was reflected in his eyes, like embers after a campfire waiting to roar back to life. “He almost was. I had mortally wounded him and was about to strike the finishing blow when someone intervened on his behalf. A stranger. I have not been able to ascertain who she is or who she works for. She poisoned me, hence the… scars,” Gregor explained and spoke the last word with audible distaste. “As for Zaveed, I learned later that he escaped and was nursed back to health.” He did not feel like mentioning Raelynn’s name.

“I see…” She said softly, he melancholy matching Gregor’s own. Her voice oozed with disappointment, and in her mind, it was a clash of trying to decide if she should peg Gregor as a repeat offender in the art of failure, or if he was determined to sabotage everything the insurgency stood for. Still, she maintained her composure. It was possible that there was still something to be gained out of this. As she began pacing, apparently deep in thought as she swiveled the wine in her cup in circles, she mused aloud over Gregor’s story. “It is hard to definitively say what nature of consequences your failure would bring unto us. On one hand, killing him would have done us all the favor of ridding Gilane of the Dwemer’s favorite toy. From my understanding, Zaveed is like a draconian surgical tool in that he has no delicacy in his procedures. If his masters wanted a precise operation, like a lobotomy, he would use a serrated knife.”

Then her pacing stopped, and she looked over her shoulder towards the pair. “On the other hand,” she continued, “killing him may have also compromised our mutual friend. It’s a delicate situation -- one that I would appreciate not being shaken. It’s not ideal, and you could say that I would prefer a scalpel that didn’t dull at the touch of flesh… but I’m grateful for everything I’m afforded.”

Annoyance flashed in Gregor’s eyes and he cocked his head at Aries. The way she said it was not unkind, but Gregor still almost winced at the word ‘failure’. It carried an implication more severe than he felt he deserved. Yes, he had set out to kill Zaveed and the Khajiit was still alive. That was not a success. But he had fought Zaveed in single combat and won. It was not because Gregor’s prowess had been insufficient that he had survived the brush with death and eternal damnation. It was because of the Redguard stranger, and… because of Raelynn. Hell, the whole encounter had been because of Raelynn in the first place, and here this woman sat judging him on the effect it would have on the insurgency and the fragile situation in Gilane. 

“I’ve only just met you and I wasn’t previously aware of your existence, or your influence, or accomplishments -- [i]if[/i] there are any. I am not affording you anything,” Gregor said sharply. “What happened between Zaveed and I was personal and not related to your objectives here. To presume otherwise is arrogant.”

“To presume I need anything from [i]you[/i] is likewise arrogant. I wasn’t talking about you.” Aries replied matter-of-factly, challenging his accusation with her own. Gregor was getting defensive and seeing himself in her words; he wasn’t telling the whole truth. Feelings of impotence were a powerful thing, and she wondered if that was a recurring theme of his life, since he felt so challenged by her suggestions? How often was he left feeling helpless and what kind of stakes did he bring to the table? She allowed a brief pause, relaxing her shoulders and granting a moment for everyone to breathe and de-escalate. She gave the Imperial a knowing look and it was like the faint smile on her face told him that she was being entertained, like he was a mouse or ball of yarn being played with by a much larger cat. 

“But that’s not what’s important,” she continued, “I’m more interested in the trend of your personal whims and the potential they seem to have with interfering with the well-being of everyone around you. They can hurt people. If the sour meetings with Zaveed and Governor Rourken were both the products of personal whims, then now I’m [i]especially[/i] interested in the Nblec situation and why that had gone so awry.”

Aries made careful to keep Latro in her field of vision as well, gauging his reaction as well as Gregor’s. She wanted to give him something to think about; after all, the Reachman was supposedly there too, wasn’t he?

“It was a bad situation all around… Janelle.” Latro said, eyes hardening to remember it. To remember how it had all gone so wrong, so quickly. His hands covered in Calen’s blood, the fight, the retreat and desperately trying to move as quickly away while keeping Calen from dying. “It was dirty work. We did everything we could, we followed the plan, things went to shit.”

“You’re right.” Aries agreed, softening her tone. “I mean nothing by it, it’s just a source of frustration for many of us -- for you two, more than anyone, I imagine. It’s simply that I can’t help but wonder the details of how he could have possibly died when neither side, I assume, wanted him dead. I wasn’t there. I suppose I’m only trying to understand better through you. Perhaps we can talk about it another time, when the feelings are a little less… raw.”

Gregor sighed. “That would be best.” He had made a fool of himself by misinterpreting Aries’ words and by letting his temper get the better of him. Still, he felt like he couldn’t really be faulted for that. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he had almost died. “I apologize for my outburst, Janelle. I am… not well,” he explained, his voice soft, and he gave Latro a wistful smile. He felt like the Reachman would understand. He turned his gaze back to Aries -- he did not like the fact that she took an interest in him and his ‘personal whims’, as she called it. Engaging in such a conversation was unwise in his current state and, quite frankly, he felt like he’d done enough talking for one day. “I must get my rest. I have a lot to process. Please excuse me and have a good evening.” 

Getting back to his feet made him wince. Gregor gave Latro’s shoulder a soft squeeze and Aries a shallow bow before making his way back upstairs, taking a quick detour to grab his meal before he shuffled up the steps, his knuckles white with the strength of his grip on the handrail. 

“Farewell then.” Aries said, watching Gregor as ascended up the stairs. Even after he was out of view, she watched the stairwell like hawk for a few moments before looking back at Latro, her expression gentler than it was a moment ago.

“What about you, then?” She asked.

Latro shrugged, taking a swig of his ale. He didn’t answer for a moment, but finally, “I’m not sure.” He said, “I was going to wait here until I return to the Three Crowns. Would you accompany me?”

“Of course. It would my pleasure.” She replied, her eyes still occasionally darting towards the stairwell as if she was straining to see through the walls. She didn’t trust Gregor and Sevari was beginning to worry her, but she also didn’t know Latro. She returned her discerning gaze to Latro and, ever conscious of the men upstairs, chose to ask, “So, what is your story?”

“A simple one.” Latro offered his easy smile. It was a tale he told many times, a lie known to countless people he’d met over the years, a lie Aries would know now. “I was part of the expedition that most of us met on. When the Dwemer came, we were in White-Gold City.”

He frowned, “I was there,” he said, “When they filled the streets with dead.”

“You know then why they must absolutely be stopped.” Aries replied with a nod of understanding. When Latro collected his belongings, Aries withdrew some coins from a purse hidden in her robes, paying the tab for both of them and set the pace for their walk out of the room. “You also know that Dwemer occupation on Gilane isn’t as peaceful and bloodless as they want everyone to believe.” She continued. “No matter how they frame it, it’s still a hostile takeover. An act of war.”

“I saw that when my girlfriend was paraded through the streets and brutalized. When Gregor’s woman was brutalized.” He said, he downed the rest of the tankard in two goes, wiping his lips on his forearm. He saw Aries pay the tab but didn’t let his surprise show, “Even so, it’s not a war I’m going to fight single-handedly. I know the victories I can attain, and if I get Sora back, then… maybe that’s the end of my war.”

“Surely you know better than that.” Aries asserted nonchalantly. “They’re not going to forget or forgive, you must realize. They’re holding Daro’Vasora for a reason. Whether it’s as a lure or a tool, I can’t be sure, but she’s apparently valuable enough to them that they’ll want recompense if you manage to recover her. I promised I would help you, and believe that I will… but I’m also realistic.”

Latro nodded, turning to go for the stairs and to some rest. “Yea, well,” he said, pausing as he lay his hand on the rail, “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

“Speaking of… please spare me a few more seconds of your time.” She said, closing the distance between the two. She leaned in, her lips just a few inches away from his ear. Her tones were hushed and, while not frantic, were concerning. She continued, “Keep a few matches on hand. I know you don’t know who I am. I know you have no reason to trust me, but you can trust this: the circumstances are never as simple as they seem. I suspect there’s more to a Reachman’s story when he’s in the Imperial City, but I’m not so concerned about that.”

She briefly looked him in the eyes, and glanced towards the ceiling. She knew she was making a pretty big gamble on cluing him in on the fact that she didn’t have control over Sevari, whether only lately or the whole time, but also knew that if Latro was sharp, he might’ve picked up on it after the agent’s tantrum in the tunnel.

“You might think you can trust Sevari, but he’s presently not stable. Not as long as Zaveed and the [i]other one[/i] are out there. Just be cautious about placing all of your faith on him alone. His loyalties might just waver when you need him.”

“Of course not.” He said, taking a few steps up the stairs, “It seems these days, I’ve been stocking up on matches. Farewell, Aries, we’ll speak soon.”

And he was up the stairs, to another restless sleep.