[center][h1]A Sunset in Al-Aqqiya[/h1][/center] 12th of Midyear, 4e208 Al-Aqqiya, Hammerfell 17 miles Northeast of Gilane O Death, Where is Your Sting… [hr] 17 miles is a hard ride. 17 miles to the town that made Kerztar, Sevari, and the Ministry of Order infamous. Al-Aqqiya used to be a beautiful port town, the jewel of the coast, where even the Dwemer occupation felt like it had never happened. Until Sevari rode to town at the head of a platoon of Dwemer soldiers and Ministry agents. It was a bloody day. Sevari would never apologize for the lives he’d taken in the long scar he’d wrought across Tamriel from Anequina to Northpoint but the flames that had eaten Al-Aqqiya to ashes looked like the flames of hell that day. Mehrunes Dagon would have revelled in the destruction. And it was to this town that three riders came, their steeds’ hooves leaving behind a cloud of dust that looked like the pillars of smoke that had reached up from Al-Aqqiya as they caught the burnt orange light of the setting sun. They came to a stop at the edges of the town, hanging about the charred walls and blackened beams that had once been peoples’ homes and livelihoods, like a skeleton picked clean in the deserts. Even now, to look upon it, Sevari’s soul felt heavy. He remembered the screams, the smell of corpses laying out in the sun, the crows that came with watering mouths and hungry eyes for the feast like an audience to the bloody display. He knew why they wanted him to meet them here. He knew why they sent his brother to come to collect on the debt the Imperials thought they could hold over him forever. He knew they would be disappointed by the time this all ended. “Well,” Sevari said, turning to Latro and Jaraleet, “We’ve come this far together. Why not go a little further.” Jaraleet wasn’t used to travelling on horseback, being more accustomed to long treks on foot, and as such the Argonian wasn’t particularly used to the downsides of a 17 miles ride. Still, regardless of any discomfort or pain that he felt, he was a Haj-Eix, he had been trained to push aside anything that could be a detriment to his performance in a mission and so he kept quiet. He nodded in response to the Ohmes-Raht’s words, they had a mission to do today; what was a little more effort, more discomfort, if it meant seeing it through? To the Argonian the answer was obvious. “Sevari.” He spoke after a few moments of silence, his eyes scanning the ruins of what was once Al-Aqqiya. “Did your contacts specify a location within the ruins of the town?” The assassin asked calmly. “It would be best to know beforehand so me and Latro can hide in ambush, in case things turn to violence as you fear.” “Stick to the rubble, move quiet, keep me in sight. Just look out for anything I can’t see. If I don’t need you, all the better. If I do, don’t hesitate.” Sevari said, turning to Latro, “You’re quiet.” “Not many words to say over this.” Latro shrugged. “We’ve got poisoned blades and it seems like everybody who’ll be in this ghost town will be ready to kill each other at the twitch of a finger at the wrong moment.” Sevari nodded, “You’re right. Go, among the rubble, just keep me in sight. I don’t need you two on either of my shoulders.” Sevari looked back to the town they’d come to, “I’m sure they’ll just happen across me if I stroll in the place.” Jaraleet nodded in response to Sevari’s words. It was a good plan, stay hidden but keep the Ohmes-Raht in their sights so that if, things turned out violent, they’d be able to ambush his attackers. With nothing left to say, the Argonian assassin retreated into the ruins that had once been Al-Aqqiya and did what he had been trained for all of his life: he hid and waited, making sure to keep Latro and Sevari in his sights and his hands close to his weapons. Latro left the other direction of Jaraleet, quick and quiet. He moved through the streets and the ruins of the town like a panther, noiseless despite his bounding steps. On the other end of town, Sevari tucked his pistol in his belt, checking over his weapons after. He nodded to himself, ready as he ever could be to get this over with. He began the long walk through the town, each step a memory of the grand fiasco the mission here was. Finally, he got to the mosque, still standing, though charred and destitute. Still, crows picked at the scraps of what once were people in the streets, their calls sounding like laughs at the man who had returned to bear second witness to his failure here. Out of the mosque and through the large creaking doors stepped five people. He cocked an eyebrow at the one at the head of them. He was a large Khajiit, even larger than himself. Cathay-Raht. His face was marred by a burn scar that spread from his neck up to his brow on the left side and one eye was glossy white among it, gray pupil staring at nothing. The other four were Imperials and Redguard. These, he knew. Jahiim, his liaison with the Poncy Man. Quintus, his own partner. Ironhands, a man he only knew in passing, mostly by reputation. Sa’ad, his shadowy handler and Chief of Station for the Penitus Oculatus in Hammerfell, an office that held no real authority now the Dwemer were here. “Sevari, my brother.” The Cathay-Raht nodded, “Or is it still Dar’Jango, the feared assassin of Valenwood? Savian Kastav, bloodiest outlaw this side of Leyawiin? Or the other side seeing where we are now, as it were.” Jaraleet followed Sevari as the Khajiit made his way to the ruins of the mosque, sticking to what shadows were cast by the ruined buildings, making no sound with his footsteps as he made his way through what remained of Al-Aqqiya. The Haj-Eix stayed in place as the 5 figures stepped out of the ruined mosque, his hands moving to grip his weapons but not drawing them just yet; it was clear that Sevari knew the individuals, so they were most likely the contacts he was supposed to meet, and there were still no signs of hostility and so the assassin merely waited and watched as the situation developed, ready to jump into action in a second as soon as it became necessary. “Just Sevari.” He said, eyeing them all. “And that’s whose failures I’ve come to address now.” Suffian rumbled, “Have you forgotten? What they did to us, what they fucking took from us!” “No-“ “Then why?” Suffian hissed. Sevari could feel the hatred from where he stood. This wasn’t his brother. Was this what Zaveed saw when he first looked at him in that tavern? What Marassa saw? A man so changed by the storm of his life that he stood bent and broken as a tree lost among tempests? “I couldn’t.” Sevari managed. “Then you’re a traitor and a coward. Not only to the Empire, Sevari,” Suffian drew his sword, “But to our mother.” They all charged at once, weapons held aloft. Sevari pulled his pistol and squeezed off a shot, catching Ironhand in the chest and doubling him over. He flipped it in the air and caught it by its warm barrel, drawing his messer and parrying Farukh’s scimitar and clubbing him over the head with the handle of his pistol. He saw Latro charge out of a ruined building and bat away Quintus’s sword-swipe with the haft of his axe. As soon as the battle began, Jaraleet left his hiding spot having already drawn his weapons as soon as he had noticed the change in the ambience when Sevari had answered the Cathay-Raht’s question negatively. Scanning the battlefield, it didn’t took long for the Haj-Eix to notice the wounded Nord. He would be his first target. Taking advantage of the confusion caused by Latro’s entrance to the battle, Jaraleet approached Ironhands and, with a simple yet brutal, motion, thrusted his dagger through the Nord’s throat. With the Nord taken care of, and even if he somehow still lived after that wound the assassin was certain that the poison would finish the job, Jaraleet turned towards the other combatants, parrying a blow from Sa’ad. [hr] Latro sidestepped another thrust from Quintus, hooking his blade with the beard of his axe and lashing out with his knife, finding only air as Quintus himself ducked under it. The Imperial landed a heavy blow with his fist straight into Latro’s gut. Latro was sent away, sputtering and heaving in shallow breaths. He wildly swung at Quintus’s head but the Imperial came at him too quickly. The big man wrapped him in his thick arms and sent them both into the charred husk of a building, blackened timbers shattering as they burst through them. They ended up on the ground, Latro putting up a hasty mage armor spell as he rolled to the side, Quintus’s blade biting deep into the floorboards where he had been. Latro struck out with a vicious kick, heel striking Quintus’s knee and sending him toppling over. Quintus was on top of him, twice his fist knocked into his jaw and made him spit blood. He could feel his cheek split a little more with each. He moved his head to the side, planting his feet on Quintus’ hips as his third punch splintered floorboards. With a roaring push, he sent Quintus off of him and onto his back. Latro scrambled onto him, raining down blows of his own and roaring with each one, each time Quintus’ head collided with the floor until his head lolled, fuzzy and unfocused. Latro grabbed up his knife, bringing it down savagely but his hands were wrapped with Quintus’s own. The Imperial’s strength slowed the knife to a crawl towards his throat as the both of them struggled. [hr] To the Redguard woman’s credit, she recovered quickly from Jaraleet’s sudden intervention in the battle and changed her focus from Sevari to him. A second blow from Sa’ad’s scimitar was aimed at Jaraleet’s neck, which the Haj-Eix managed to intercept using the serrated side of his dagger. For a moment both combatants were locked in a vicious struggle as Sa’ad tried to overpower Jaraleet, until the latter felt a kick in his gut that doubled him over and threatened to make him spill the contents of his stomach to the ground. It was only thanks to his training that Jaraleet managed to roll out of the way from Sa’ad’s follow up attack and avoid being pierced by the Redguard’s scimitar through the gut and, even then, he still got a glancing blow to his side, his blood spilling into the sand from the wound. It was also thanks to his training that the Argonian managed to stand up again as quickly as he did, retaliating with a sword strike of his own that Sa’ad managed to parry. Both Jaraleet and Sa’ad were stuck in a deadly dance, both being able to easily parry, or otherwise redirect, the strikes of each other. And yet, as time wore on, it seemed that Sa’ad was the seeming victor, as she started to get in more and more blows past Jaraleet’s defences, the Argonian’s reflexes slowing down as his strength, slowly but surely, had seeped along with his blood from the wound that the Redguard had managed to score at the start of their duel. Keenly aware that with every second that passed his chances of victory diminished more and more, Jaraleet decided to take a gamble. Leaving his defences open, he charged towards Sa’ad and slammed his shoulder against her body. Two things happened after that, first of them all Jaraleet felt the cold steel of the Redguard’s scimitar bury into his guts as Sa’ad’s last thrust connected with his stomach; second, the Redguard woman fell to the ground from the force of the impact. Jaraleet took the opening instantly, knowing full well that if he waited but a moment longer he’d soon return to the Hist, and drove his sword through the throat of his opponent, twisting the blade for good measure before pulling it free. [hr] Latro’s gritted teeth had set his head to throbbing and red creep into his face with the effort it took to match Quintus’ strength. The Imperial too was having a similar struggle, both men caught in a tense duel of who could overpower the other. Latro rose to one knee, shifting his weight down in a desperate effort and finally, Quintus’ strength wavered. The dagger came down lightning quick but instead of the Imperial’s throat, it was his shoulder. Latro had to brace himself lest he tumble over, but it was for naught as the Imperial’s rough hands wrapped themselves around his head. Latro’s saw an all-consuming burst of white as Quintus’ forehead collided with his nose. They tumbled, Latro again finding himself on his back. Quintus landed a blow to his head and Latro spit blood to the side again, weak now. He tried to grab Quintus’ wrists, but the Imperial had too much strength in him, even after the bout of struggling over the dagger. His hands wrapped around Latro’s neck, squeezing so hard the Reachman expected his neck to break, but instead he just rasped out noiseless cries. He reached up in one last desperate attempt and grabbed the dagger still buried in Quintus’ shoulder, twisting it. To Latro’s increasing panic, it only made the Imperial grit his teeth and squeeze harder, growling. His hands moved to his face, his thumbs digging into his eyes as Latro screamed bloody terror. He pulled the knife free of Quintus and drove it into his side, once, twice. Quintus howled and yelped with each stab, rolling away and clutching his side. Latro heaved in a painful, burning breath and struggled to his stomach, then his unsteady feet. His shoulder collided with the beam next to him as he stood, taking his moment to heave in desperate breaths and recover before his opponent. The world swam and the ground seemed to shift beneath his feet. He heard Quintus roar again and he turned just in time to fall and skitter out of the way of Quintus slow and heavy charge, the Imperial finding purchase only on the support beam. Latro heard it break, looking around him at the ruined house they were in before more creaks and cracks were heard. He scrambled away on all fours out of the house as it came down on Quintus in a racket of cracking wood and the falling roof loud enough to wake the dead. The impromptu demolition sent up a cloud of sand and ash and dust, obscuring everything in a radius around where the house once stood, stinging Latro’s eyes before he closed them, shielding his face at the sight of it. As the dust began to settle, he saw a silhouette in the cloud, limping away from the wreckage and towards him. “Try...harder.” Quintus began to laugh. Latro started to growl as he got to his feet, crescendoing in a full-on roar as he made his unsteady charge at Quintus. He drove his knife into Quintus with all his strength, the cross-guard pounding into Quintus’ gut with the ferocity of each, hard enough to lift his feet from the ground with each collision. On the last, Latro let him fall to his knees, kicking him in the head as hard as he could to topple him over. “Try harder?” He growled, “Try [i]fucking harder[/i], huh!?” He began stomping the heel of his shoe into Quintus’s head. Even when Quintus was obviously dead with the sound of wet cracks that met Latro’s stomps, the Reachman didn’t stop, roaring and cursing with each blow. Finally, when Quintus’ head was practically a jelly of bone bits, teeth and blood, Latro stepped back, falling back onto his arse in the sand and breathing heavy, staring at the carnage he’d wrought. His eyes were wide with fury and his teeth still gritted, quaking breaths escaping him. “It would seem to me that it was unnecessary to have such a display, he was clearly dead after the second stab or so in his gut.” A voice commented behind Latro, and the Reachman would feel a hand being placed on his shoulder. “Come, we have no time to waste, we should check in on Sevari.” Latro sprang back at the hand on his shoulder, knife at the ready until he realized who it belonged to. He hadn’t even noticed Jaraleet approach from behind him. He only nodded to Jaraleet, getting to his feet and taking a breath, closing his eyes. It had been a long, long time since he’d killed a man like that. He hoped to have left that type of thing behind, leaving death as clean and quick as possible. But things never quite work out like that, it seemed. With one last look at Quintus, he followed Jaraleet. [hr] “You were always the fucking coward, Sevari! Always the one to worm your tongue about and get us all into more trouble than we needed!” Suffian scowled, holding his sword out in a front-guard. “The Dwemer and the Thalmor both are after us and this is how it ends for us in Hammerfell?” The inside of the mosque was just as Sevari remembered. They had holed themselves up in here during the first time he’d been in Al-Aqqiya, the doors barred and firing at the villagers pouring in through the windows. Even still, it looked like there was a war on. Al-Aqqiya was only a place of death now, it seemed. Ash and dust had coated itself in untouched layers about the hall of the mosque, prayer rugs left just like they had been those days ago when Sevari was first here. Rotting, picked at bodies were in the windows, the corners, Dwemer and villager alike, coexisting more peaceful in death than life. The sun shone itself in the rays that caught the floating dust kicked up by the most recent fight here. Sevari chanced a look down at his wound, a long cut across his stomach, another on his shoulder, deep. It was dark everywhere the rays didn’t touch, and it was in those shadows that two brothers stood at odds. One on either end of the mosque, one on either end of a question. Family or duty? “Answer me!” Suffian roared as he came at him again. Sevari could tell that his strength was being sapped away from him already as he side-stepped the horrible chop for his head, easily batting it away as Suffian stumbled past him. “You wouldn’t understand, Suffian, please.” Sevari said, “Just put your sword down. You’re already cut-“ “And what? You think I was ever the type to-“ Suffian doubled over in a fit of hacking coughs that left his fist wet with thick, black blood. “It’s starting to coagulate your blood in your veins, Suffian. It won’t be long.” Sevari said, lowering his messer, voice heavy. “Why the fuck did you have to put me at odds, brother?” Still, Suffian was hacking up blood until his coughs had left his throat raw and wheezing. He made to slash at Sevari’s belly but the sword only flew from his fist, clattering across the ground into a corner. Suffian stumbled towards him, planting his hands on Sevari’s shoulders and coughing in his face. Sevari thought it might have been an effort to choke him, but… well… “Suffian, please.” Sevari said, wrapping his brother in his arms. “Just… [i]stop.[/i]” Suffian heaved in ragged, grating breaths as he lay against Sevari, making no more effort to fight. His hands fell to his side, and Sevari knew it was time soon. He struggled with the weight of his brother, but he brought them to the mosque’s statue at the end of its aisle, a monument to whatever patron deity belonged to Al-Aqqiya. He grunted, setting his brother at its feet. He shook his head, taking in the pitiful sight of him. Blood hung in a long string of spit from his chin as his head looked about, tired, red eyes looking at Sevari from under the haze of the poison. Altogether, in that moment, he regretted putting the stuff on the edge of his blade. He wasn’t expecting his brother here, though. All the good it did them to bring him along. “Why, Sevari?” Suffian spoke between ragged breaths, “Have you forgotten?” “Never, brother.” Sevari said, hiking up his pants as he knelt down to eye-level with the man he once knew as his closest, most caring brother of the litter. “I just started putting more thought into it. Do you think this is how mother would’ve wanted us to be? Seeking vengeance?” He swept his hands around at the scene, reached a hand out and put it on his brother’s knee, giving it a squeeze, “This?” Suffian only lay there, hands laying at his side as he looked to the ground and took his last breaths. He coughed again, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, “Maybe not.” “Let me ask you then,” Sevari said, voice soft and pleading, “Why, Suffian?” “When I heard that you were so close, closer than I ever was,” he said, “What was it? What made you not want to? What made you run away from that damned boat?” Sevari took his moment. He frowned, grunting as he came to sit beside his brother. He sighed, not knowing what to say at first, but he knew his brother deserved an answer before he went. “Love.” He said, leaving the word out on the dusty air, “Love. I saw her, Suffian. I saw Marassa, you remember when I would tell you and our brothers about her in that tea shop we’d meet in after assignments in Senchal?” Suffian nodded, coughing with what sounded like a chuckle, “You wouldn’t fucking shut up about her. Always saying you’d go back to her, find her.” He sniffled, coughing up again and spitting a huge gob of blood from between his lips onto his chest, “Fuck.” “I know.” Sevari said. “I’m sorry.” “Yeah.” Suffian nodded, “Did you, though?” Sevari looked at Suffian, his brother looking expectantly at him from his drooping eyes, lids getting heavy. Sevari frowned, “Hm?” “Find her, fool, did you ever go back to her after we came back from killing Aeliel? You saw her here, right? What, on the streets near the boat, or something?” Suffian asked. “I was always hoping you would. Find a good life for yourself like you would say, or at least visit her from time to time. I think it would’ve been good for you.” Sevari opened his mouth to say no, he hadn’t, but he stopped. He could tell him the truth, tell him that not only did he only find her with somebody else, but that she was with the target. As bodyguard and lover. That they were on opposite sides now and she was taken regardless, that he’d missed his chance forever to have a heartfelt reunion with her and the one he did have was anything but. He lay his hand over Suffian’s, the last bit of strength in his brother used to squeeze his hand in his own massive paw. “Did you?” Suffian asked. Sevari looked at Suffian, swallowed, looked away. He nodded, “Yeah,” he forced a smile. “Yeah.” “Good.” Suffian said, a weak smile on his own lips. “Sevari, I’m dying. It fucking hurts.” “I know.” Sevari said. “How do you want it?” “Quick. Jugular.” Suffian said. Sevari unsheathed his knife, but Suffian held up a hand, struggling wordlessly save for a few grunts to his shaking legs. Finally standing, he was still slumped over, holding his aching gut. He took a step forward, “We used to watch sunsets.” “I remember.” Sevari said. “Would you like to?” Suffian nodded, putting his arm out for his brother. Sevari took it, placing the heavy arm over his shoulders and walking towards the doors. He pushed one open while his brother pushed the other. It opened out onto a view of the ruined town’s main avenue, the sky blazing orange in the sun’s last show before it retreated back to be swallowed by the horizon. A flock of seagulls soared overhead, their calls echoing back to them across the sky. A soft breeze picked up a cloud of dust and sent it across the town’s street to reveal Jaraleet and Latro watching from a distance. “Beautiful.” Suffian said, a soft smile upon his lips, “Beautiful.” “Tell me when.” Sevari whispered to Suffian’s nod. It was a few moments of watching the sunset with his brother, like the old days. Before all this. The Bhaanu Sasra, before mother was dead, before they were set to killing each other. “Okay.” In a flash, Sevari cut deep just under Suffian’s jaw, taking up a fistful of his brother’s robes as he fell away from him and brought him into a quiet embrace. “I’ll miss you. You damn fool.” After a moment, Sevari stood, dusting himself off and smoothing out his shirt. He descended the few steps from the front door of the mosque and walked past Latro and Jaraleet, making his way to the horses, “Let’s go.” [hr] Once they’d mounted up and ridden to the outskirts of town, Sevari reared his horse to her hind legs with a loud neigh. His horse pounding her hooves on the dusty earth and shaking her head as the trio stopped, one on either side of him. “What now?” Latro asked, looking back at the town with the two others. “Well,” he said, pulling free a cigar from his coat and lighting it with a small flame from his finger, “I don’t have a lot of places to go.” “Jaraleet, man, you need a healer.” Latro said, tossing a healing potion he pulled from his saddlebag to the Argonian, “What will you do now, An-Xileel?” Jaraleet caught the potion that Latro threw him easily, downing the bottle’s contents before replying. “What else but go back to the [i]Three Crowns[/i] with you?” He replied, chuckling softly. “Like Sevari, I don’t have a lot of places to go either. So I’m staying with you lot, that hasn’t changed.” Latro chuckled himself, nodding. He looked back to the town, empty now, but a few new bodies added to it. He frowned, before throwing back on his easy smile, “I think it’s time we go back, the three of us.” “Three?” Sevari asked, cocking a brow, then shrugging, “I guess so. After all of this,” he shook his head, “You two are the closest things I have to friends now.” “Worry not,” Latro smiled, “Jaraleet is the friendliest of us.” Jaraleet laughed at Latro’s comment, shaking his head. “I think you’ll fit in just fine Sevari.” The Argonian commented, smiling himself. “Come, let us return to Gilane. You’ll see what I mean once you see this little group of ours.” “Any man with his wits about him would’ve seen you two and seen enough.” Sevari smiled, sad still, “But, I think I’ll go. There’s nothing left for me here.” He frowned, turned his horse away from the town, leaving it at his back as his horse ambled. He cracked the reins and dug his spurs at his horse’s flanks and the trio were off at a dead run. Perhaps, Sevari thought, if he rode fast enough away that the memories wouldn’t be able to keep up. A foolish thought, but one he’d had about a lot of places he’d left behind. He could hope, wish, that he would ride fast enough to never be caught up in another war again, another fight. But hope never served him well these days. Perhaps if he just kept riding, he could forget at least the fight. Let the town go back to rest, to never bother another soul again with the ghosts that haunted its blackened ruins. Just let it be lost to time, another burned village, nobody knowing who’s done it in the first place and not caring. Just another ghost town. [url=https://youtu.be/ZmGYQL_o3F8]Just a sunset in Al-Aqqiya.[/url]