[h1][center]Dance Around the Fire that We Once Believed in[/center][/h1] [I]14th Midyear 4E208, mid-morning, the Three Crowns Hotel...[/I] “We need to talk.” Daro’Vasora stood in the door frame of the hotel room where Latro was gathering his things; the Khajiit had found her stuff had already been tidily packed up by one of her companions. She approached him tepidly, her arms wrapped about her waist, her gait short and lacking confidence. “Is that what Pale-Feather means? Is… is Latro still there?” she asked quietly. Latro almost flinched as he heard Sora’s voice. He was just getting the last few things of his into his pack. He closed the flap and buckled it securely, grabbing up the lute she’d gifted him all those days ago. The bloody hands gripping the neck of it felt like charlatan's hands. “I hope he is.” Latro replied lamely, quietly, “You’re talking to him.” He looked at Sora and how afraid or disappointed or… whatever it was, but it was anything but loving. And that was what hurt him the most. He asked her, voice a meek whisper, “Are you afraid of me now?” “No, of course… I don’t know.” Daro’Vasora replied meekly, not daring to cross the distance, as much as her heart yearned to. She looked him over, not seeing the crazed expression that had dominated him during the rescue. “You weren’t yourself, you were feral, you took joy slaughtering those men. I couldn’t reach you; it’s like I wasn’t there.” Tears welled up in her eyes, the trials of the day and this encounter weighing heavy on her. She was quiet for a pregnant moment. “If I’d tried to stop you, would you have hurt me?” her words came out barely more than a whisper. Latro swallowed hard when he saw the tears at the edges of Sora’s eyes. When she asked him that question he never wanted to cross her mind, he near choked on a sob. He took a breath, his head hung low, “I…” the silence stretched on for an eternity, his lack of words letting the answer go even if he couldn’t form it on his own tongue, “Sora, I never wanted this. There’s a reason why I have no choice but to detest violence.” He lay a hand on a post of his bed, and rubbed at his eyes, his hand stayed there as he spoke, “It’s like I was watching myself and there was nothing I could do.” He said, voice straining to keep steady, “That’s what Pale-Feather is. It’s been like that since I can remember in the redoubt. The first time it happened I remember my friend and I were arguing. I came to with my hands around his neck. I drug him to the river and said that he drowned, I fucking said words over his grave like I wasn’t his murderer. And they all [i]believed me[/i], Sora. I lied and they hugged me and said it was going to be alright that I lost a friend.” He looked to Sora, “We talked of wolves and sheep some time ago.” He said, “To Pale-Feather, all the world is sheep and he is the wolf. But I’m not Pale-Feather, Sora. Please.” He yanked the axe and the knife from his belt, tossing them at Sora’s feet. “Don’t ever let me touch these unless I have absolutely no other option.” She did not reach down to pick up the weapons, as if they were cursed. “But you are, aren’t you?” she asked, not sure what to do with her body. A part of her, the part that had dominated her life for so long, demanded she leave and never look back. He was dangerous, he was going to hurt her and others. He allowed himself to lose control and become a savage beast… “You did it for me.” she remarked quietly, walls coming down around her. “I was the one who put you in that position. If I wasn’t so careless, if I’d just told you where I was going that night, none of this would have happened.” she said, looking up to meet his gaze. “But Latro, Pale-Feather… I don’t know what is going to stop you from having another episode, and I am so afraid that if it happens again, I’ll lose you forever. I can’t, not like this.” her voice said, choking. Her arms tightened. “Please.” He begged, “Please. Or I’ll leave them here, I don’t need them, you don’t need Pale-Feather. So don’t call me that.” “I love you, Sora,” he said, voice finally breaking as he held back a sob, a tear ran down and tinged his tongue salty, “I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me. I’m not a monster. I don’t know what I can do to make you believe me but please don’t forsake me.” She looked at him, a resolve somewhere in her emerald eyes. “I will never give up on you, do you understand? I may not understand what’s happening, or this side of you, and yes, I’m scared of it… but I’m not going to give up on you. I know everything you’ve done for me, and everything you are to me. Just… give me some time to process all of this, okay?” she asked, wiping her eye. Latro nodded a bit, sniffled, and said, “Okay.” He looked to the weapons on the floor and took a step closer to them and another until he was close enough to grasp them up, the steel head of his axe scraping along the ground before it was in its loop, his knife in its sheath, “I’m afraid of it, too. Do you think that… that stuff, you got for Gregor and Jude, could it help?” He looked down at his hands, still bloody. He tried to wipe them on his pants but it wouldn’t come off. He sighed, “I never wanted for you to see me like that.” He said, looking at her, “I promise I’ll do anything to keep you safe. From anyone.” He let go a shuddering breath, “Even me.” Daro’Vasora reached out and gently placed her hand on Latro’s cheek. “Loving someone means accepting them for who they are, even if it’s difficult sometimes, and it means standing by them when it’s hard, when life seems impossible. You looked at me and saw a person, not an animal worthy of scorn and distrust. I see the man you want to be, and knowing you do not wish to be ruled by this aspect of who you are is enough for me to know what’s in your heart, Latro.” She cooed, bringing her forehead against his own. “Maybe there’s a medical solution for this, maybe it’s spiritual. I know a thing or two about reconciling two halves of a fractured soul. Do you trust me?” she asked. “With my life,” Latro raised his hands with a great trepidation, but finally his arms were around Sora’s waist, “Always, love. I just…” he frowned but dragged it up to try at his easy smile, “I’m glad knowing you’re by my side, always, past anything.” They shared a gaze into each other’s eyes, Latro’s were warm and amber and held all the love he had to give instead of the yellow wolf’s eyes they were at the Palace, with none to spare for the world. He took in all of Sora, so glad to be able to touch her again after all this terrifying time. He kissed her softly, naught but a peck, for he couldn’t bring himself to let his lips linger any longer after what he knew she saw of him. But he didn’t let any of those thoughts show as he smiled, “We should meet back with the others.” The sensation of his lips lingered on her own, and her heart swelled at the connection renewed. Daro'Vasora knew it in her soul that [I]this[/I] was Latro. This was her lover, and someone she had decided long ago was someone she would stand beside, no matter what would come. His embrace, his warmth, it was soothing. The feral Reachman aspect of him was subdued, for now. “I will need to walk the Moonpath once more, when it is safe, and I will teach you to do the same… after a fashion.” Daro’Vasora said, nodding as he reminded her of the urgency of the situation. It almost felt wrong to steal so much time for themselves, but after everything… Damn the consequences. She needed this. “I love you, Latro. I will help you heal your wounded soul, no matter how much it hurts.” she smiled, heading back to the door. “This one is no stranger to pain.” [hr] [I]14th Midyear 4E208, mid-morning, Outside of the Gilane Northern Gates.…[/I] “We’re here.” Zaveed said to Sirine, gesturing to the tavern with flowing canvas overhangs and an open floor plan to allow for airflow that was desperately needed in the stifling heat. The duo had managed to leave the city without much incident as Zaveed was still officially a secret police agent and the fallout from Sevari’s detainment had yet to come and bite him personally in the ass. However, his brother’s escape wouldn’t take long to discover, and it would have immediately drawn suspicion to him; he aimed to be gone and far away before the Dwemer could catch up to him, and that involved finding his brother first. Looking ahead the Crooked-Tooth Inn, Zaveed knew it was where his brother would likely be. It was a shady run down place that was meant for weary travellers, and being outside of the city proper, it was open outside of the guards’ usual patrol routes and subsequently had a reputation for attracting all sorts of outlaws and other unpleasant sorts in a neutral meeting ground where no one took overtly illegal actions, and while a patron was inside of the walls they were promised safety from retaliation as an unspoken rule. It led to an uneasy, but stable relationship, with the law; the authorities knew several wanted felons could be within the Crooked-Tooth Inn at any given time, but they also weren’t up to anything particularly vile while staying within the confines of the inn and it would be easier to keep tabs on people in one spot rather than them spreading out within the city. The Redguards understood this, and so did the Dwemer; however, the latter took it a step further and recruited many of their foreign fighters from this very establishment in the early weeks, usually to surprising effect. Even a mere glance at the tavern was enough to show Sirine this establishment was probably in better condition than where she used to work. Giving her companion a slight nod, her eyes narrowed as she peered past the canvas, looking for the distinctive form of the Ohmes-Raht. Truth be told, she hadn't expected to have been able to leave so easily from the governor's palace, not that she wasn't grateful for a quick leave. She had also been curious as to how exactly Sevari had managed to escape, but such questions were for times when haste wasn't necessary. Following after Zaveed without a fuss suited her just fine for the time being. "No point simply lingering out here." Her dark eyes turned away from the tavern long enough to look at the khajiiti man. "I'm heading in." Sevari just then was descending some steps down from the rooms, tugging on his coat. A Redguard woman stepped down after him, adjusting the straps of her bra and laid a hand on his shoulder that he shrugged off. He finally caught sight of Sirine and nodded to her, gesturing to the bar before sitting down himself. The bartender set a drink down in front of him without asking what he’d have and he downed it immediately. “I take it you just knew where I’d be?” He said, not looking at the pair. Zaveed saddled up to the counter, not bothering to sit just yet. “No, I’m fucking magic. You forget I track people down for a living… how much of an idiot would I have to be if I spent an entire month working with you and coming to this piss-hole of a tavern frequently and not think to look here?” he tapped on the counter, and the bartender, an Imperial named Larius, brought the Khajiit a bottle of wine, the same kind he’d brought Zaveed every single time he came for a visit. The exact change was already waiting on the counter. He pulled out the cork with a claw and drank from the bottle before sliding it over to Sirine. He looked over at the Redguard prostitute almost guiltily, considering his present company. Had she been forced into that line of work, like Sirine had? Zaveed had never thought to ask, and he knew they’d probably lie if he did. He’d contributed to a lot of unhappy, broken lives without realizing it over the years. He grunted. “We can’t stay here long.” he observed. Sirine looked to the bottle and considered simply rejecting the offer. Despite working in a tavern, she had managed to keep her intake of alcohol to the barest minimum, normally watering it down if forced with having to drink. At present though, given the khajiit's mood, she didn't quite think that saying nay to an act of generosity would be ideal. Steeling herself against the taste, she took a humble sip, barely a mouthful before setting it back down close to Zaveed. Looking between him and Sevari, she tapped her fingers against the countertop. There was tension brewing here, that was for sure. “We aren’t.” Sevari said, fishing a cigar out of his coat pocket and lighting it in his usual casual use of magic, “Outside. Or not. Either way, I’m doing something about my situation.” He took a step outside, leaving Zaveed and Sirine behind at the bar. He took a drag from his cigar and stared off into the desert beyond. As much as he liked the views of Hammerfell’s rolling dunes like great waves of sea stretching countless miles into the distance, he was looking for something in particular. He took another drag, puffing on it slightly. He’d heard of something that would be invaluable to their flight from Hammerfell, and he’d done a lot of thinking while waiting for Zaveed and Sirine to catch up with him. Perhaps it would be good to just stick to his own, live out his life getting into any manner of mischief with his brother and his new girl, at least he suspected she was such. Or maybe he’d gone so long without actual intimacy that he’d crossed the threshold at which point one may never be able to distinguish politeness with flirting. He sighed, Zaveed was right, no more dallying on the shit choices and shit luck he’d had in life. It was time to show his finger to the Gods and pry some semblance of happiness from their clutches. Once he’d heard Zaveed and Sirine behind him, he spoke, eyes still on the horizon beyond, “Pretty soon, there’s going to be a supply coach coming to Gilane through this road.” He cleared his throat, taking a few puffs, “There’s a few lads in there that are a shade of green I never thought I’d see again in this fucking desert country fixing to rob it.” “We’re going to let them.” He nodded, “Then, they’re going to fall on sudden hard luck when Savian Kastav, Captain Greywake, and…” His voice trailed off as he looked at Sirine, “Sirine… take the burden of all that weaponry, food, armor and payroll from them.” “We redress the coach somehow, make ourselves look like travelers down on their luck, and we go wherever it is that’s farthest away from this shit.” He spat off to his side, not having once shifted his gaze from his dutiful watch for the Gilane Supply Coach. “Then we can do whatever the hells we want.” “It’s more of a plan than we had five minutes ago.” Zaveed said, arms crossed over his chest as he looked down the road to where the supply wagon presumably was coming from. “So, what, we just wait here for it, in the eyes of all these outlaws and low lives that would be itching for a fight outside of the city gates? I’d rather not immediately get a bounty on my head. Could we not do this further away from town?” “Trust me, it’s not that bad.” Sevari smiled at Zaveed and then went back to his watch, “But no, we’re waiting for the first gang to leave. We follow them. We’re three people, there’s seven of them. We let them hold up the coach, kill the guards or whatever they do, get away from town and take them at their backs while they’re heading to their hideout.” He looked at Zaveed, “You have fat merchant ships in the sea and shore raids, Zaveed, I have caravan robberies and ransoms.” He looked back out at the desert, taking a long draw from his cigar, “This isn’t the first time I’ve done this.” The privateer pouted. “We’ve got guns, Sevari. They’d be dead before they had a chance to harm a pretty hair in my mane. You’re putting far too much thought into this.” Clearing her throat, Sirine crossed her arms over her chest. While she could understand Zaveed's point of view of not waiting in plain sight for too long, it was true at least on her part that Sevari had more experience on this sort of terrain than she did. She was used to 'fat merchant ships' as the Ohmes-Raht called them, and frankly the desert dunes were probably as familiar to her as the snows of Skyrim. "For the time being, I think it might be better to keep the guns for later." She eyed Zaveed before looking to Sevari. "If it comes to your pretty hair, don't worry, I'll do my best to keep it safe. For now though, I have to think Sevari's plan may be the best way to go about it." “Thank you.” Sevari said, then looked to Zaveed, “For a man whose been raiding and being a criminal for the last entirety of his life, you seem to like being reckless. Do you have my guns?” “I’m reckless, says the man who tried to single-handedly take on an entire Dominion ship to assassinate the Thalmor emissary and then not skip town when he didn’t follow through with the deed.” Zaveed spat back. “Speed and aggression, surprise and intimidation. That’s how you take your enemies, and I’ve fought far worse odds than a measly seven brigands.” he grunted. “I just want to get the fuck away from this city in an expedient manner.” “You sister was there!” He raised his voice, hand raised in Zaveed’s face with his cigar clenched between two fingers. He took a breath and a step back, looking around at the other patrons who thankfully couldn’t give a shit about yelling, “You criticize me for almost ruining your fucking sister’s career then criticize me for not doing it right. You two are fucking twins, alright, because I can’t win shit with you.” He clenched his jaw, “Speed and aggression without a plan is a dead sprint towards shackles and the noose. I’ve done this shit for twenty years now, Zaveed, so please,” he stepped forward with theatrically pleading eyes, “Have some [i]fucking[/i] faith in me for once, listen to my plan, and please tell me you have my godsdamned carbine and pistol.” Zaveed tossed a sack on the ground in front of Sevari, not flinching from his outburst. He stared at his brother with cold blue eyes. “Point is, dear brother, you’re fortunate my sister [I]was[/I] there because even you are no match for an entire crew of Dominion veterans. One yelled, sounded an alarm, you would have died and we wouldn’t be having this charming conversation. “Only an idiot would go into a wolf’s den to kill the pack leader, and that eve, you were that idiot. At least the fucking terrorists had half a wit to try and murder dear old Erincaro in the middle of a street away from reinforcements, but their failure reflects poorly on the caliber of people this insurgency attracts.” his face contorted into a snarl. “Like your friends, for instance. The same ones I single handedly stopped a number of, imagine what we could have done if you’d helped me instead of prostrating yourself in front of them.” He spat back, stepping away before his limbs decided to do something on their own accord. “We’ll follow your damned plan, but don’t you dare lecture me about being reckless or somehow beneath you when you’re the one who got shackled and nearly sent off to an executioner’s block because of your foolish assassination plot and requiring Marassa to save you from that fate.” Zaveed said, spitting into the dirt, his hands gripping his axes like vice grips. “Fine, Zaveed, you’re the only man in Tamriel to have ever faced shit odds and done the impossible and I’m a big fucking idiot who tried to do something he’d done more times than I can count on my damned fingers if fate hadn’t put Erincaro’s cock in your sister.” He seethed through gritted teeth and snatched up his bag, pulling free a bundle of cloth a little longer than his arm and tucking the pistol in his belt, “I’m sure the only reason you aren’t King of a unified Elsweyr is because you just don’t feel like it yet. If given the chance, Zaveed, you should find a nice, warm place to settle down and fuck yourself in it. I love you, but you’re a fucking asshole.” "Boys." Letting out a deep breath, Sirine tried to control the twitch on her forehead from showing as she finally broke her silence. "Clearly there's a lot of pent up aggression here, years worth in fact, but a little calm and control never hurt anyone. Yes, there's next to little I know about either of you or your pasts or your connections to anyone in Gilane, but right at this moment none of this anger is helpful in the slightest." Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the khajiiti men. "I am fucking [i]trusting[/i] both of you to help me find my brother. So perhaps lowering the aggression around here would be a start." Her eyes shifted away from the two to the patrons of the tavern, eyeing the drunk men as well as the women. "And maybe not speak so freely. Trust me, whores know how to listen when you least expect it." Zaveed nodded curtly before letting out an annoyed, but controlled huff. “You’re correct, Sirine. Forgive me for my insolence. It has been a trying time the past while. Being nearly killed and soul trapped tends to make one’s disposition a bit less agreeable than usual.” he ground his toe in the sand above where he’d spat, as if concealing it. “I’m not too worried about so and so overhearing us at this point, we’ll be gone soon. Hopefully from Hammerfell where we can put all of this behind us and start fresh. There aren’t many bloody ships in the desert.” He looked up at Sirine. “I gave you my word, I’ll help you find him and free him, if I am able. Did you locate him, Sevari?” he asked. Sevari clenched and unclenched his jaw repeatedly, then nodded to Sirine while she spoke. He looked to Zaveed and gave him a once over, the anger on his face fading. He didn’t need this, he didn’t want this, so why were they so set on fighting all the fucking time? “Yes.” He answered Zaveed and turned to Sirine, “He’s being kept in a secure prison the Dwemer are running. I don’t know it, I’ve never been there with the Ministry but I know where it is, so all we can really do is cross our fingers and hope Zaveed still has enough pull to secure your brother.” "I see," she replied. Her hand clenched momentarily before she forced it open. This was good news, this meant he was alive. She was also inwardly relieved to see that the two brothers had begrudgingly decided to stop their arguing. "My thanks, both of you. A location is better than none." If Zaveed didn't have enough pull as Sevari called it, that would not change the fact that Sirine would still find some way to get her brother out of there. It would just be delaying the inevitable. Zaveed shook his head. “Chances are, I’m a wanted man now. Sevari’s disappearance from the cells wouldn’t last long, if they aren’t already looking for me in suspicion, then it won’t be long. I’ve no idea if the Dwemer can communicate between forces long distance or not outside of traditional means, but it’s all the more reason we need to act fast. We get this wagon, we find this prison, we live up to our end of the bargain, yes?” “A coach robbery and a prison break.” Sevari huffed, amused, “It’s a good thing you have two men who’ve done the impossible on their own. Imagine what we could do together.” Sirine allowed herself a small smirk. "Now, now," she started, raising a hand, "perhaps my name isn't as grand as Captain Greywake here, but I've done my share of plundering as well." She looked from Sevari to Zaveed, her gaze pausig on the latter as she recalled his words when he had apologized. Soul trapped. Who? [i]Why?[/i] Was that what had happened before he had collapsed on the docks? How evil was the person who not only tried to kill but steal a person’s actual soul? The very thought sent chills down her spine, causing the amusement on her face to disappear. If such a thing had happened, he wouldn’t be here. [i]She[/i] wouldn’t be here… [i]It hadn't.[/i] She turned her gaze away, though she was unable to rid herself of the darkness that had overtaken her eyes. Zaveed caught the shift in Sirine’s expression, but he chalked it up to nerves. “Well, with any luck, this job of ours will be bountiful and give us something to get into the prison. Shall we get started?” he asked. Replying with a silent nod, Sirine held on to her medallion for a moment longer than necessary before sliding it under her tunic. She was more than ready to leave Gilane behind, even if it was in favour of the desert. Lucky for her, it wasn’t as if she had a choice- Bakih was out there. Sevari turned to the door at a loud gaggle of young men and women, seven in number. Sevari didn’t have to gesture towards them, their demeanor was a huge, shining banner to Zaveed and Sirine. He looked back at the pair, “Let’s.” [hr] For a couple of adventurers down on their luck, they did a great job of robbing this caravan. Folki was lost, caught by a bullet in the head and Carleon was cut pretty back across her back. He’d seen her endure more though, so he wasn’t worried. All in all, Folki might be gone and Carleon might be resting in the back of the coach, but the rest of them were still kicking. They’d left the Dwemer in the sun and taken their things, now it was only a matter of time until Faddhi promoted him to second-in-command of their little band of brigands once they rolled into the hideout with this. “Khawaddi,” Bjorn rode up to him as he sat beside the wagon’s driver, “I’m glad I threw in with you lot. Not much else to do in Skyrim since…” “Yes, I know, but you’ll always have a home with me.” Khawaddi said. “Thank you. I owe you my life.” Bjorn said. Khawaddi turned to Zara, the Dunmer who was driving the coach. She had been a steadfast ally since Khawaddi could remember. He didn’t know what he’d do without her as his second. “You know-“ It was as if somebody torched fire salts inside Zara’s head as it exploded violently, leaving chunks of brain in his lap and hot blood spraying in his face. He could feel chunks of Zara’s skull clip his cheek as he put his arm up. Once it came down and he saw the stump of Zara’s neck he sat there for a moment, hearing the crack of a Dwemer rifle in the distance only after the carnage. “Attack! There’s an attack!” Bjorn reared his horse as it cried to the sky, kicking its forelegs before it too caught a bullet and collapsed right over Bjorn. “My leg!” Khawaddi looked on in horror as his plan was coming to pieces. They hadn’t scouted any outriders or other patrols bringing up the rear. Who were these attackers? [hr] The carbine jolted against Sevari’s shoulder, letting out a loud bang and throwing up a plume of dust as he lay prone amongst the sand. They’d been riding alongside the bandits and their coach for some time until Sevari tired of the hunt and decided to set up then and there. It turned out to be a good choice, as a bend in the road slowed the coach down to a crawl as far as Sevari and his carbine were concerned. He had a millennia to adjust his aim and steady himself, and it paid off when he caught the driver in the head and then the second shot put a hole through the horse’s heart. “Alright, let’s meet our new friends.” Sevari got up to his feet from the sand, “I’ve been itching for it. Mount up.” Sirine didn't need any more instructions to do so, quickly mounting her horse and urging it forward. Personally she didn't quite like horseback riding- it was uncomfortable, it chafed, and she didn't quite feel in control as she would on her own two feet. It also reminded her a little too much of the lumbering fools she would have to service. Lucky for her that despite her dislike she had been taught how to ride during her years away from the sea in Gilane. She was no expert, but the former pirate did know how to get her mount from one point to the other. Her eyes scanned the caravan, ignoring the man currently struggling beneath the horse. Chances were he'd already hurt himself enough from the weight of the dead beast that he wouldn't be a bother, and fairly easy to get rid of at that. It was the three uninjured men she had to worry about now. Well, that made things simple enough. Urging her mount forward yet again, she pulled her dagger from its sheath. It was a shame her weapon wasn't long range or longer in general for that matter, but for the time being it would have to do. Zaveed wasn’t far behind her; he wasn’t the most comfortable on horseback, having found the sensation of a large bucking animal beneath his balls uncomfortable and rather uninviting for any duration of time, so he stood in the stirrups, urging the brown beast on until it was upon the wagon. As the horse slowed down to avoid a collision, he adjusted his feet so only his toes were in the stirrups, and he kicked off, shoving with his hands over the horse’s hind end to clear its body and he landed in a crouch, absorbing the impact with the shift in his posture. He stood erect once more, pulling an axe free in one hand and a pistol in the other. “[I]O, my lass upon the sea How my heart has yearned for thee Show your countenance upon the gales Let your smile fill my sails…[/I]” he sang, clanging his axe against the side of the wagon, looking for his foes when suddenly a sword tore through the canvas in front of him prompting Zaveed to lean back to avoid the blow and he opened fire slightly right of where the blade had popped through. A scream filled the desert morning and Zaveed carried on towards the mouth of the wagon. “[I]It’s been seven long years away from home O my love how my heart has grown To see how much you’ve meant to me When I was gone out to sea…[/I]” he sang, readying another shot as he pulled the rupture-headed driver from the seat and climbed aboard, aiming into the canvas. “Come out where we can see you, especially you; I know that wasn’t a kill shot because you’d be quiet as a mouse.” He called. A laugh filled the air, sounding almost sweet and serene, yet in the current setting it was anything but. It took a moment for Sirine to realize it was coming from her own lips, and she didn’t even attempt to temper her show of mirth. She could feel it once more, the intoxicating power of being in control, of knowing the person on the other side of her blade feared her, knowing she was in charge of who lived and who died. Zaveed's singing only spurred her further, and despite the sand and the dust and no sight of water nearby, she felt [i]alive[/i] Her leap off the horse wasn't as graceful as the khajiit's, but she landed easily enough on her feet, free hand momentarily pressing down against the ground before she practically jumped to a stand. This was much better. A grin on her lips and a shine in her eyes, she approached the wagon from the back, ready to stop anyone from thinking of escaping. "Hurry now, we haven't all day." “I’ll kill you!” The Nord pinned under the horse thrashed about, though his grimacing could’ve been for his broken leg or his anger at them, Sevari couldn’t tell, “I’ll kill the lot of you!” “Uh-huh.” Sevari said, slipping down from his heavy draft’s saddle, casually pulling free his pistol and blowing a hole through the man’s head, letting the thirsty sand drink up. His walk to Zaveed and Sirine was uninterrupted by the exchange, holding his pistol out from his waist at the ready. “We don’t want to kill you in there!” Sevari called out to whoever was in the coach, “I can’t speak for my friends, though. Just come out, walk away from this. There’ll be a thousand other-“ “Fuck you!” A shrill scream from inside the coach, “Why?” “Why?” Sevari threw back. “They’re dead!” The voice answered. “Happens.” Sevari shrugged, looking from Zaveed to Sirine then back to the coach, “Dangerous life you chose.” Nothing from the coach. He looked to Zaveed and Sirine, nodding to the coach, “We’re going to drag you out of there if we have to! After that, you’ll decide what we’ll have to do, if you catch my meaning.” “I do.” The voice said, “Just let me and Carleon go.” “We want this coach, not you or Carleon.” Sevari spoke back, “Just step out when it opens. Keep your hands up, nothing funny. Slow-like, snails in winter, aye?” “Alright, aye!” The voice said, desperation and panic apparent in the quivering of it. Shapes moved in the canvas cover and a Bosmer clutched her side from where Zaveed’s bullet had entered her body, the owner of the voice, he presumed, and a Breton man with shaggy black hair that had to belong to Carleon. “Nice and slow. Show your hands.” Zaveed ordered calmly, his pistol trained on the two bandits who filed out of the wagon slowly, not wanting to die this day after the rest of their companions met such a fate. The Bosmer’s eyes lingered on the dead Nord and horse, and she sucked in pained air between her teeth, and soon both were standing in the sand. Zaveed made sure his companions had the pair covered, before calling out. “I’m checking inside the wagon. Sirine, go pick yourself a weapon. You look under dressed with that dagger.” he said, disappearing into the wagon. "Normally I would be offended," she replied to his disappearing back, "but you do have a point." Her dagger was good for the close combat she had engaged in when boarding ships, but it was quite clear to her that she needed something else to accompany her orcish dagger, something with more reach. Looking away from the Bosmer and the Breton, her eyes shifted instead to the dead Nord beneath the horse, the morning sun glinting off of what she presumed was a blade. Curiosity getting the better of her, she made her way to the dead duo to see if her presumptions were true. There was no moving the horse away, but she didn't have to. Pushing at the Nord with her boot, she was able to grab the hilt of the sword and pull it away from the dead man. At first glance she could tell it was neither a blade from Hammerfell or even Cyrodiil. Perhaps a sword from Skyrim? The style and make looked familiar to the other Nordish blades she had previously seen. Perhaps Zaveed or Sevari would be able to enlighten her as to its particulars. It was certain heavier that the dagger she was used to carrying- the latter always felt like an extension of her arm, but this was different. She could feel the weight, but it wasn't uncomfortable- it felt good in her hand. Wiping it clean on the Nord man's clothes, the Imperial Redguard lingered there only long enough to see if there was a scabbard along with the blade, but alas, she returned with the sword alone. Sevari had an eye on the Bosmer and Carleon. They shared a stare, each not knowing exactly what to do with the other now that they were apparently and suddenly not being killed or killing. Sevari frowned, he wasn’t sure what to do. These were young men and women, probably their first robbery, even. He sighed, his shoulders dropping as he nodded back down the road they were headed down until this all happened. Carleon nodded, looking at the Bosmer girl and the two limped off. Sevari wasn’t sure if that was a good deed, if it was stupidity or kindness. But it felt good, almost. Maybe Marassa was right, he didn’t have to be such a damned murderous bastard all the time. Mercy was a joy of its own. But, then he got thinking about how much of a murderous bastard he used to be when he was leader of his own gang. He’d probably truss up Carleon and the Bosmer and burn them alive or hang them like treasoners for letting themselves get crossed like this. He’d probably hunt those who did this border to border, north to south, east to west until he found them. The more he thought on it, the more he knew that he didn’t need a murderous bastard looking for them in every tavern from here to Hegathe and every city nearby. He raised his carbine, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. It jolted against his shoulder and the bullet caught the Bosmer just where her neck and head met. She dropped like a brick wall and Carleon just stood for a second. As Sevari looked away to focus on working the lever of his carbine and slipping another round into the chamber, he heard Carleon’s wailing cry of, “NOOOOO!” He sighted up again at Carleon on his knees over the Bosmer, the front sight looking to just poke Carleon’s earlobe from Sevari’s perspective. Another squeeze, another jolt, another corpse. It was quicker than whatever punishment awaited them. That’s what Sevari told himself. He hooked his thumb in his belt as he held his carbine at his side just past the trigger guard, barrel still smoking. He spat off to the side and lit the cigar he fished from his coat pocket, not looking at Sirine but instead looking at what he’d done as he spoke, “You found a blade?” "That's right," Sirine replied with a nod, looking dispassionately at the now dead bandits. Truth be told, she'd had her doubts about Sevari letting them go, and a part of her had been itching to simply finish them off even if it was against the Ohmes-Raht’s wishes. Maybe she was paranoid, but being cautious was better than being an optimistic fool, so there was a hint of relief seeing they would no longer be heading anywhere. [I] “Perhaps it’s a sign that it’s what I should try, too.” [/I] From the recesses of her mind, a memory from the previous night's conversation had forced itself to the front. Sirine let out the smallest [I]tch[/I] under her breath; of all times to remember such words. There had been a time when she would simply loot and plunder- she had thought herself still good then, holding on to vestiges of honour. It wasn’t long before opposition from her victims lead to bloodier ends than she had wished to give them. [I]There is a time and place for everything,[/I] she reminded herself. Maybe Zaveed had spoken true, but she very much doubted even he would be able to shed his colours with a few silver words. [i]Besides...[/i] She looked to Sevari at last. [i]It could very well be that ending their lives is an act of compassion itself.[/i] "It's a Nordish blade from the looks of it," she finally continued, inspecting her newly procured blade. It didn't seem to have been taken care of as well as it should have been, but it would work well in a pinch. Zaveed appeared from the wagon’s opening, hopping off and onto the sand below. He’d heard the shots, but knew who the shooter was and instead opted to check the inventory. Looking down the road, he saw the two bodies lying prone and still. It appeared like Sevari wasn’t keen on loose ends. “That’s why you don’t speak of your illicit plans in public taverns.” He observed, immediately forgetting about the corpses. “Food, camp supplies, clothing, and a lot of water. If I were to wager, there’s been an increased demand for that sort of thing since the occupation; people don’t like strange elves lording over them, I cannot imagine why.” he said in a pithy tone. "Yes, it's really quite baffling," Sirine muttered, her voice once more as dry as the desert sand. It was hard to hide the look of distaste on her face even if she knew very well that heading further into Hammerfell was currently a better refuge than her beloved sea. "Who [i]wouldn't[/i] wish to live amongst ship scuttling, land grabbing, murderous bastards?" Only a deaf person would be able to miss the sarcastic tone in which she spoke. And perhaps the hypocrisy as well, seeing the three standing there were murderous bastards as well. “That’s good.” Sevari said, turning on his heel and walking back to the coach where Zaveed stood. He chewed his lip for a bit, “There was supposed to be payroll in this thing, I’d like to feel what it’s like to have some money to my name again.” He squinted his eyes and looked down the road at something, pointing with his chin so Zaveed could turn too, “What the fuck…” There it was, shapes down the road obscured by the waves of heat radiating off of the sand. He couldn’t tell how many, just that they were moving. He shouldered the stock of his carbine and readied himself, “Could be some riders bringing up the rear. There weren’t any outriders, but I’m not keen on giving this up just when we got it fairly.” He looked to Zaveed, “What’s to do?”. Zaveed gestured for Sevari to take position in his sniper’s perch. “You get somewhere high, where their numbers won’t matter much. I’ll take position here… Sirine, stay back and support me if they turn out to be hostile. I’m in armour and am quite comfortable in the middle of several adversaries, so let’s minimize the risk to you, yes?” he said, looking at the Redguard, his face a mask of determination. “It is not that I do not trust your capacity, but this is no time for ego. You’ve been out of practice for some time and I have guns and decades of experience facing shit odds, so please support me until you find your footing once more.” "No need to worry, I don't plan on dying today." Sirine acknowledged his orders with a nod. She could understand his concerns and would have probably mentioned the same to a new recruit on her ship. Pride was secondary when the matter of survival was at hand. Her grip tightened around the hilt of her new sword, leaving her free hand weapon less for the time being. "Or any time soon for that matter." Taking a few steps back, she lowered her weapon so that it wouldn't look threatening, though every fiber of her was feeling an itch, ready to spring forward and deal a strike on a foe. She had no trust for strangers, and even if they were innocents passing by, there was no telling what they might do when they saw the dead bandits around the caravan and came to the right conclusion. [hr] The day was quick, gritty, bloody. They had left the city behind and hoped to wash their hands of it. What was supposed to be a place for them to seek refuge with Roux in had turned out to be a pit of snakes, each with their own motives and goals. It was something the Reachman had no taste for and it left him scowling to remember it, like rotted meat on his tongue. He opted to ride ahead of the rest, Sora being the only one to go with him, and only after some prodding. Even if he had missed her so much it sundered his heart to dust, almost, he wanted to be alone. If he couldn’t have that, he’d at least have some quiet. The trip was wordless until Latro heard the loud echoes of Dwemer guns carried on the breeze and looked to Sora. “Let’s ride on,” he said, not that Sora had much of a choice in the matter, being sat behind him in the saddle of his horse, whom he’d taken to calling Faolan, “See what that was about and warn the others if there’s a patrol ahead.” He kicked into Faolan’s flanks and they were off at a gallop. What greeted the pair was a foreboding sight, but Latro was intent on seeing what it was about. He could see from the distance they were at that a horse lay in its own blood, two other shapes farther down the road too. A coach that looked to be laden with supplies and two people yet standing. As they got closer, Latro pulled back on the reins some and slowed to a trot, bringing his horse to a stop some distance away. An armored Cathay and a Redguard woman holding a bare sword in a fist. “We come in peace…” The last word from Latro’s mouth seemed to gutter out of him as recognition set in his gaze, hardening his eyes and he pulled free his stolen pistol. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, not to speak on his marksmanship with it thus far, or lack of it. “How fucking nice to see you again,” Latro spat but otherwise kept the pistol clutched tight in his lap and ready to be raised, “They send you to head us off, you fucking whoreson?” Zaveed’s pistol was out in a flash, his dagger in the other hand. The Cathay scowled at Latro; of all the people who had to stumble across him, it had to be the one Sevari had a soft spot for. “Cruel choice of words, but accurate. My mother was a whore, and her lifestyle is the reason I’m here pointing a gun at those pretty dimples of yours.” The glow of soul gem energy radiated behind the projectile, something Latro would be able to clearly see down the barrel of the weapon. “I was just leaving town, and sure as the moons rise and fall in the morning and night skies, you happened to stumble across me leaving this wretched city behind. Turn back; I’ve no taste for a fight right now. My threat to you is ended.” Daro’Vasora peered around Latro, seeing who it was. Her heart filled with a hot anger as she quickly dismounted, pulling her mace from her belt. “Oh, if it isn’t the piece of shit who broke my arm and murdered Roux in cold blood. I’m surprised you haven’t decided to start shooting yet on principle, or did you feel like torturing Raelynn or I some more?” she snarled, her hand clenched around the Dwemeri mace that now sat on her hip, a ‘gift’ from the Ministry agents her and her friends had fought. “And what purpose would that serve, my dear? You’re here, much to my displeasure. I don’t much care what happens to you terrorists, but my brother does, so in honour of his new found…” Zaveed scoffed as his visage morphed into a sneer. “Affections for the lot of you, I’ll spare your lives if you turn the other way and forget that I exist. It was fun, but I’ve no intentions of having to spill any blood today.” he gestured at the bodies. “Believe it or not, that was half bandits, half my brother. I’m doing rather well today, thank you and fuck off.” “Put that pistol down, boy.” Sevari’s low growl came from nowhere until he got to a knee on top of the coach, his carbine’s buttstock nestled in the crook of his hip. “No one’s keen on shooting no one.” “Don’t ‘boy’ me. I take it your loyalty tired out after I helped you kill your brother and his friends?” Latro growled, jaw set. “I shouldn’t have trusted you past stabbing me in the back when I was the one asking favors.” “That’s not how it was, Latro.” Sevari said, but left it at that, only adding a tired, “I’ve lost a lot the past few days.” “I’ve lost plenty.” Latro growled as if to disperse the weighty words from the Ohmes, arm aching to raise his pistol, but smarter thoughts staying his hand, “I still stand by those that stand by me.” Latro’s frowning eyes swept over to the Redguard woman, “I know these two foul shits, who’re you?” Sirine had a myriad of questions fighting one another in her mind, and she didn't quite know which one to ask first, so perhaps it was a good thing the... man Sevari called Latro had addressed her. Then again, she didn't quite like the way he and his partner had just come and interrupted their voyage. Clearly there had been more than an altercation between the newcomers and the brothers- it sounded like her two companions had been busy. Her eyes narrowed for a moment before loosening her grip on the sword. It didn't seem as if Zaveed or Sevari had any desire to kill these two, despite the former's clear hatred. Were these the friends mentioned when they were still standing by the tavern? "Not that it's any of your fucking business, but I'm called Sirine." She decided there was no real reason not to give her name. She looked between the four before sliding her sword under her belt. If need be, she'll keep to her dagger, but for now, it seemed the only cutting that would take place were with words. Returning her gaze to Latro, she addressed Zaveed instead, voice rather icy in the desert heat. "Are they the ones who nearly killed you?" [i]And tried to trap your soul?[/i] “Friends… acquaintances of the one who did? It’s complicated.” Zaveed replied. “What’s complicated about parading me through the streets and forcing Latro into captivity in exchange for not splattering my fucking brains across the streets?” Daro’Vasora challenged, stepping forward, her grip on the mace as tight as a mudcrab claw. “I’m surprised you have friends, you degenerate pile of shit. So what was it? You nearly died and decided to quit because you can’t stand the thought of someone being better than you, that you’re a coward who preys on people who thinks as easy marks?” Her emerald gaze was piercing; there was no fear towards Zaveed shown, despite what he’d done to her. “If I do nothing else here today, I’m going to make sure you feel everything you did to us, you fucking slave. Who willingly serves the Dwemer to be their knife in the dark, huh? Are you psychotic?” “You need to work on your threats, my dear; they tend to land when they aren’t accompanied by so much filler.” Zaveed replied dryly. “For instance, I’ll gut shot Latro here and let him bleed out with a ruptured intestine before driving my dagger through your throat so he can slowly die as he watches you suffocate on the blood that’s filling your lungs through your severed airway. Does that hit close to home? Because you know what I can do. What can you do?” “Everybody shut the [i]fuck up.[/i]” Sevari raised his voice and leapt down from the coach’s roof, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and showing his hands in peace. “Just don’t do this, Latro, Sora. We’ve all lost something to the damned city over there. Let’s not lose our lives.” “Fine.” Latro said to Sevari, but gaze kept on Zaveed. He’d had a mage armor spell on himself shortly after he and Sora exchanged words, the Khajiit’s mere presence compelling him to don one. He looked to Sevari, “But your damned brother even looks at Sora a tick too long for my liking…” he rested a hand on the steel axe looped on his belt. Sevari sighed, nodding his head at what was left unsaid and put his hands at his side, “Okay.” Sevari said, “Okay. What’s to do, then?” Latro looked at Sora, chewing his lip and shook his head as he looked back to Sevari, “I don’t know.” He looked at Sora, searching for an answer. Sirine looked to Sevari, ignoring the newcomers for the time being. "There's no need to ask," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "Whatever shit you brothers have with these two and their group has no bearing on our plans. We have to do as we set out to." She turned her gaze away from the Ohmes-Raht and looked instead at the man named Latro and the khajiit woman next by his side. "I don't know what happened, and frankly, I don't give a shit. What I do care is if your animosity costs me my plans, and that includes hurting this one." She motioned towards Zaveed with a nod. "The only reason I haven't attempted killing you two yet is because [i]they[/i] clearly don't want to shed your blood. But I'm my own person, so if I do see something I find upsetting, please don't say I didn't warn you if my dagger finds its way through your guts." With that said, she uncrossed her arms and stepped back, looking rather placid though there was a clear burning in her eyes. “Alkosh, assholes breed assholes…” Daro’Vasora muttered to her breath, relaxing her mace. She didn’t know what was to come next, but she wasn’t sure if she liked the implications of what was coming next. “Our friends are going to be here shortly,” she said, staring at Zaveed. “That also means Gregor. So the way I see it, you three leave us this wagon to transfer our infirm, and you can get three of the horses to do with whatever you please, as long as it’s not the same direction we’re going. Nobody has to die, but it doesn’t mean I want to tolerate your existence any longer than I have to.” Zaveed raised the barrel of his pistol, but he didn’t break his stare at the woman, as if challenging Latro to make good on his threats. “Unnegotiable. This wagon is our prize and we need the supplies. You lot can bugger off and die in the desert.” "Aye," Sirine agreed, her eyes narrowing as her hands slipped down to rest upon both of her blades. "I see absolutely no reason why you would fathom thinking you're entitled to any of this." Latro frowned, they had reached an impasse from the first moment that Latro saw Zaveed. There weren’t going to be any easy options for anybody here. Latro took a breath, looking from Sevari to Sirine, “What even are your plans? They’ve got to be right fucking wicked if you absolutely need this sack of shit alive.” Latro said, nodding to Zaveed, he turned to Sevari, “What are you three doing? If your brother’s fleeing the city, then you’re not beholden to the Dwemer.” “Enemy of my enemy…” Sevari muttered. Latro nodded, but Sevari frowned, “Problem is, the entire world is that man’s enemy.” Sevari turned to Zaveed and Sirine, “I told you we need friends. Especially for the stunt we have to pull next. I’m not doing this insane shit with just three people.” “Asking favors again?” Latro frowned, “Shit on your fucking favor. Me and mine are leaving this fucking country.” “So are we.” Sevari said. “Alright, then, good luck.” Latro said, offering his hand to Sora, “Let’s go. We have our friends and we outnumber these assholes.” Sirine let out small but frustrated sigh, her passive expression breaking for the time being. Was Sevari right? Probably. And if that were true, then it meant her brother would be stuck in a prison in the desert because of her bloody pride. Her hand left the pommel of her sword and curled around the coin hidden beneath her tunic. She had given up her pride when she let men use her for pleasure- surely this was better than that, if the pretty boy was somewhat placated. "My plans, surprisingly, aren't wicked in the slightest," she finally replied. The fire in her eyes had quelled, replaced with resigned darkness. "The dwemer have my brother, and this 'sack of shit' as you so eloquently call him offered his help for no recompense." Her grip tightened around the medallion. "If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even be here, I’d-” She stopped herself before she could say anything more about [i]that[/i]. “I owe him- my brother owes him." She looked to Latro, another frustrated breath escaping her. How she hated her emotions getting the better of her. "Gilane, Hammerfell, Oblivion can take them. I don't care. All I want is my brother back and to then return to the sea." And then she looked away, jaw clenched tightly. "Even if it's me alone, I will do what I have to." Zaveed's expression softened into a frown; he had his deal with Sirine to honour and that wouldn't be able to happen if everyone started butchering one another. His thoughts drifted momentarily, Raelynn came to mind. She would be with the rest of them, and he owed her his literal life. “Compassion is her strength.” he muttered to himself. Suddenly, his weapons were put away. “Raelynn is with you, isn't she?” he asked quietly, looking down into the sand. “She spared me when she had every right to kill me. I tried to help her in that endeavor, but she had a change of heart and healed me instead of helping drive my dagger into my heart. She implored me to earn this second chance, and it's an obligation I take seriously.” he looked back to Sirine before turning to Daro'Vasora and Latro. “What's it to you?” Daro'Vasora asked cautiously, her eyes narrowing. Zaveed simply nodded, resigned, as his hands went to rest on his axes. “Your lot has every reason to hate me; the feeling actually isn't mutual. The way I see it, I owe two people debts of gratitude, Raelynn being one, Sirine the other. Sevari and I abandoned our forced service to the Dwemer, and Sirine helped me recover and find my sister. I need to help her for a change, and this wagon was going to be how we do it.” he drawed a long breath. “So we're going to that prison in the sands, that ruin, and we're getting her brother back. This cannot change, and Raelynn wanted me to be a better man. This is the first step down that path. Let us do this.” Zaveed asked, not forcefully. Daro'Vasora was taken aback at the admission; someone had nearly killed him, and Raelynn saved him? What on Nirn was going on? She decided to leave that for another time as she looked towards Latro, and then to Sirine. She thought of everything she was willing to do to keep La'Shuni safe, and this stranger was no different, she suspected. “We're actually headed that way, for unrelated reasons.” she looked to Latro once more. “What do you think? Do we have mutual cause? You said you trusted Sevari.” Latro took his moment, letting his gaze drift over the trio before him and Sora. “Trusted.” Latro said, watching Sevari sigh and look away from him, “But I stand by the people that stand with me. I helped you do a lot, and I’m sorry you had to do those things. Earn my trust back, asshole.” Latro laid a hand on Sora’s own as he stepped down from his stirrup, walking up to stand square with Zaveed, “You trying to be a better man?” Latro didn’t wait for an answer, instead taking a step closer to Zaveed with the same eyes blazing with malice he had upon their first meeting, “Then earn my damned trust. If you aren’t here when we come back with the rest, I’ll kill you next time we meet. If you so much as frown at Sora, I’ll cut that frown from your fucking face. I give you my word as Finnen Pale-Feather of the Crow-Wife Clan.” He walked away and again sat in his saddle, looking at the trio, “I give you the same word that you’ll have my axe with you if you really are telling the truth. But to tell my truth, your word doesn’t mean Faolan’s shit to me yet.” And he and Sora were off, Faolan kicking up a trail of dust as they shrank back to the distance. “Fancy fucking title.” Zaveed muttered, tapping his foot in the sand. He turned to his companions and shrugged. “I'm in no hurry. Let's get those bodies to the side of the road; you only get one chance to make a second impression, after all.” Sirine's hand had been gripped tightly around her dagger's hilt when Latro had stood before Zaveed; if the man had done anything more than threaten, she wouldn't have stopped herself from striking. Now that he and the Khajiit woman were gone though, she could no longer hold her cool. She yanked her dagger from her belt and fell to a knee, slamming it into the ground. "Fuck them," she hissed under her breath, hand shaking even as she held onto the hilt "Maybe we need them... but [i]fuck them.[/i]" Letting out a loud huff, she composed herself enough to pull her dagger from the ground and stand up once more. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes momentarily and nodded. "Let me help," she muttered to Zaveed, opening her eyes and shoving her blade back in its place. Zaveed smiled at Sirine, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “They have reason to be testy, Beautiful Sirine. But I'm willing to put aside my differences with sworn enemies if they could possibly help you. I know what actually matters, so accept my apology for making such enemies that could make keeping my promise to you needlessly harder.” Sirine glanced at the khajiiti man, biting at her lip to keep herself calm, focusing instead on his fingers against her cheek, as silly as that may be. "It was never going to be easy," she finally replied, relenting a little. "You don't need to apologize, Zaveed. You don't- you and Sevari don't have to do any of this- I know that. The fact that you're both going out of your way to help- I don't know if you realize what that actually means to someone like me." She looked down, feeling ashamed of her show of anger. "I should not be losing my composure like this. My apologies." Zaveed's thoughts wandered to how he first met the girl, how she had agreed to help him without reservation when all others had turned away from the sight of him. He lifted her chin with a finger so she need not look ashamed. “I know what it means. You showed me the way yourself.” he said softly, before stepping back and surveying the bodies. “At least our problems aren't the worst suffered here today.” he said with a grin. "Yes... life is quite pleasant to have." Sirine surprised herself by letting out a small laugh before she too made her way to the closest corpse, ready to rectify impressions. Sevari stood cradling his carbine, watching Latro go with Sora. It did hurt to have his loyalty to someone he was starting to call his friend called into question after everything already. He couldn’t join Zaveed or Sirine in saying ‘fuck them’. Latro, he felt unlike his two companions, was one he called his friend and a friend he was called in turn. ‘Life is quite pleasant to have.’ Sevari let a lone bark of a chuckle go, “Ain’t it sometimes.” [hr] “Fucking. Zaveed.” Daro’Vasora said after a spell, when her and Latro were on the final approach coming up to Calen. “There’s no way they’re still there when we get back, is there?” she asked tersely. “I don’t know.” Latro said, “I don’t trust Zaveed not to have had those fucking kitten eyes be a damned lie. And that Sirine? Who’s to say he isn’t stringing her along too just so he can get as far away from here as he can?” He growled, “Sevari is the only one out of them I trust. Even then, I’d like to kick a hole through his guts for abandoning us when we needed him.” Daro’Vasora thought on that for a few moments. “Before he abandoned you, was he reliable, did he ever give you a reason to distrust him?” she asked, adjusting in the saddle. “Those two claimed they left the Dwemer’s service, maybe the two factors aren’t coincidental. He seemed pretty crestfallen when you confronted him.” “You’re right. Past the whole thing about our friendship based on the fact we started it by brutalizing each other in a warehouse, he saved my life.” Latro nodded, “He did say he was going to pretty much do the impossible to help us get you out of there. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too harsh.” “It would be an easier thing to swallow if his brother wasn’t there…” the Khajiit muttered. “Wouldn’t it?” He grumbled back, pulling up on his reins just as Faolan got them to the stables at the inn. The group gathered around, having kept a low profile at the Crooked-Tooth Inn, and with the return of their three companions after a far shorter time than they’d expected, they were soon off, leaving Gilane behind before Governor Razlinc Rourken had a chance to regroup and scour the desert for them. Hopefully, with any luck, she still thought they were in the city, or her Centurions found them first. Much to Daro’Vasora’s surprise, the wagon was still there, along with a neatly lined row of corpses in a very modest burial cairn. Zaveed, Sevari, and Sirine stood watching them approach, stone-faced. She turned in the saddle to face the others behind her. “Okay, I held off saying any of this until now because if we decided to have a big fuck-off argument, I’d rather do it away from the city where our troubles would find us and kill us immediately. We ran into some… friends of ours. I’m sure some of you know about Zaveed and Sevari, and they have a friend with them.” she said, before letting off a heavy and irritable sigh. “We’re going to be travelling with them for a while. Latro and I don’t trust them, but they don’t appear to be in league with the Dwemer any more and they’re going where we’re going; that prison outside of Gilane where no one ever returns. More importantly, they have a wagon full of supplies we need to survive the desert. “If we’re going to stop this damned invasion, we need to get I presume the prison has; a functional lexicon programmed with coordinates to where the Dwemer were exiled to, as well as maybe freeing the people who are there as potential allies in the fight ahead. I don’t like this any more than any of you do, but the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and right now it seems like our enemies are far more concerned about their family than they are with hunting us.” she said, her teeth grinding in irritation. “Before any of you pipe up with objections, Zaveed broke my fucking arm and Raelynn spared his life after he tortured her and murdered Roux. I hate him to my core, but I’m willing to take a stupid risk on a truce if it means accomplishing our real mission and having a better chance at surviving.” Daro’Vasora said darkly, looking each of her companions in the eyes. “I’m going forward with this, and if I have to do it alone, so be it. I will see it done; stealing valuable treasures from ruins is pretty much my life’s work, and we outnumber these assholes considerably.” she adjusted back in her saddle to face forward towards the approach. “Let’s see how this plays out.” Sevari was the first to greet them, carbine still cradled in his arms as he raised his hand to them. He was thankful that he could immediately spot Latro and Jaraleet as the first of their large group to arrive. And that one girl, with her sword that was too much like his. He focused on the first two as he stepped up to speak, “Latro, Jaraleet, these two know me. They’ve helped me more than you could ever know, friends almost.” He nodded to Aries, nervousness stealing his tongue as the events of Al-Aqqiya came back to him, “Janelle. We’ve much to talk about.” “We’ve got a stagecoach full of supplies, more than we need.” He nodded, “We’ve also got the same destination. Far as I see it, we’re all allies here.” Latro hocked something up, making sure it was loud enough for everybody to hear it, and spat it just short of Sevari’s boot. “Uh huh.” Sevari threw his arms out and shook his head at him, his face the very picture of exasperation, Latro chuckled, “All allies here, friend.” Zaveed’s eyes met with Gregor’s, and the Cathay offered a sly wink before turning away from the new arrivals. “Well, this is bound to end well.” He said aloud, rapping on the side of the wagon with his knuckles. “Should any of you wish for a more comfortable ride in the shade, climb aboard. My back will be to you, so you need not worry. I’m at the disadvantage here.” He nodded to Sirine, and the two climbed aboard the bench. And then, the group was off into the Alik’r Desert. Hours passed, with frequent stops to water the horses, and the companions, many of whom were not accustomed to the deadly desert heat, and Shakti and Mazrah both acted as able guides across what seemed like a wasteland intent on killing them all; a number of sun-bleached bones that had once belonged to some wildlife or unfortunate traveller appeared once in a while, a grim reminder of what awaited them if they were guided wrong. As it turned out, Shakti’s memory and knowledge of her homeland was unwavering. She guided them into a rocky crevice that opened up into a tunnel, barely tall enough to have the covered wagon fit through but wide enough for three horses to ride abreast, and soon the sound of flowing water filled their ears, ringing off of the rock walls. Soon, the tunnel opened up into a cavern, and they stepped into a self-contained world of lush vegetation and an underground river that nourished it all, above an opening showed the blue sky that rained down a radiance of sunlight onto the group, the ground covered in soft mosses and lichen on sandy ground. Spirits lifted and weary from the travel and the heat, the group began to unpack the wagon and before long had a comfortable camp set up, a number of tents and bedrolls available, should anyone command their own privacy.