[h3]A Calm Night at Sea[/h3] Hank and Dervs Scribblings [i]Sunrise, 14th of Sun’s Height, 4E208 Southern Druadach Mountains, West of Falkreath Hold[/i] [hr] [I]Thunk. Thunk.[/I] The tree had seen better days, and not because of the pair of twin axes now buried a quarter of the blade into them. Age, disease, insects, and inclimate weather had taken their toll on the ancient thing, its branches largely devoid of needles, and the few that remained had few green holding on defiantly in a miniature forest of brown decay. Zaveed felt a sort of kinship with the tree; he knew what it was like to hold on when life seemed all but forfeit. It seemed the only reason some lumberjack hadn’t come to harvest the damned thing was because of its location; the nearest river quite ways away and if Skyrim had an abundance of something that wasn’t cold rock, it was trees. [I]At least I don’t have allergies,[/I] the Cathay thought, stepping over to his axes, placing a boot against the trunk of the tree while gripping the handles and pulling the axes loose, his arms and leg working in concert to push them free. He admired the Dwemeri craftsmanship for many reasons; for one, it never seemed to lose its edge, and scratches barely found a way to marr the coppery finish of the alloy. On the other hand, the axes were damned heavy compared to the steel and wood axes he’d trained with and he’d once been able to throw those axes with the precision to split a man’s head at 20 yards. Now, with these Dwemeri axes, they came down like hammers and broke through most defenses and cut through damned near anything, but they were exhausting to use for long and while he was able to do the modest accomplishment of hitting the fucking tree trunk, they seldom landed close to one another. In this case, they were half a meter off of where he’d been aiming each. Too high, too low. All from ten paces away. His ear pivoted and he looked over to the source that had caught his attention. “If there’s one thing about your current condition that is worth commending, you’re much quieter now than you were in life.” Zaveed observed, stepping back to the pair of stones he’d placed to mark his throwing line. The first axe sailed, landing only inches from the last throw. “Shit.” he muttered. Zaveed spoke the truth; Gregor's approach across the forest floor had been like an owl's flight. He had come to a halt some yards away from the axe-throwing Khajiit and watched him practice, the faintest hint of his glowing eyes visible behind the visor of his helm in the gloom of the early morning. Pine needles still covered his cloak, which hung draped around his shoulders. His clothes had dried overnight and were now merely wrinkled and dirty. Gregor looked like he'd walked straight out of a woodland folk legend. "You're not satisfied?" Gregor asked when he heard Zaveed mutter a curse. "That looked like a fine throw to me." Zaveed scoffed. “Give a child half a day of practice and they can hit a tree. I’ve been doing this for damn near three decades and I’d put a javelin thrower to shame.” as if to prove his point, he tossed the other axe. It actually landed close to his target, somewhat lower than the first axe. “The weight on these things are just atrocious. Imagine trying to joust with a poleaxe.” he shrugged, turning to face Gregor, his hands instinctively reaching down to rest on the axes that weren’t there. Instead of admitting to doing something embarrassing, his thumbs found their way into the hoops and he crooked his head. “So, how many I be of service? I presume my little practice session here isn’t of particular interest to one of your proclivities.” Gregor didn't answer immediately. He clasped his own hands behind his back and straightened up. "I came to express my gratitude for what you did in the prison. You saved me from your own brother. It doesn't matter to me why you did it, what matters is that you did. So… thank you," the lich said and inclined his head in respect. "And I think it's high time I offer you an apology. What I… tried to do to you, and what you had to witness in the prison… it's unnatural. Horrible. I'm sorry." Gregor fell silent after that and waited for Zaveed's response, his eyes fixed on the Cathay's. “We were allies, were we not?” Zaveed asked neutrally. “I’ve told people time and time again I don’t dwell on the past and let it dictate my present actions. We had been enemies before, but that day we had a common cause. It’s not exactly uncommon in my line of work to befriend enemies and to fight your friends. The lines get pretty blurry sometimes… it can be tiresome.” Zaveed admitted with a shrug. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You used the tools at your disposal to survive, and we were pitted against one another due to our opposing allegiances. I hunted and harmed your companions and lover, why would I begrudge you for hating me for it?” The Khajiit asked. A wry smile suddenly crossed his lips. “For what it’s worth, I’m rather grateful you failed in that endeavor and I still have nightmares about the whole thing and what came after, but much like I honed my skills with my axes, you honed yours on another craft. “Unlike others, I don’t really hold it against you. I couldn’t tell you if soul trapping me would have been worse than the fate that Naamira has in store for one such as myself, so it’s not quite as ghastly for me as it might be for another.” he remarked casually, as if discussing sports bets run afoul. It was hard for a man like Gregor, who had never been any good at letting things go, to understand someone like Zaveed. He digested what the pirate had said in silence. "Are you sure? If you have nightmares about what happened, it stands to reason that seeing it done to someone else in the prison might have been… tough," Gregor said at length. He wasn't sure how to phrase what he wanted to say next. "That wouldn't be a sign of weakness." “I was weak… once. I decided never again.” Zaveed said vaguely, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “If you’re asking if I think you’re the same as that Dwemer necromancer, then not quite. Not everyone who wields a blade becomes an assassin or highwayman, for instance. You never struck me as the sort who had an assembly line of victims, you had a peculiar sort of code.” the privateer said, walking over to his axes on the tree and pulling them free with a grunt. He paused, studying his blade. “What happened in the prison was uncomfortable, certainly, but so’s seeing the guts of someone you’ve known for years spread across the deck of a ship after they didn’t get out of the way of a boarding axe. You don’t let it stop you from doing what needs to be done, and Sevari shooting you could have subjected him to what you did to me, or losing Sirine, or failing to fulfill my promise to her of rescuing her brother.” he shook his head, returning to the line. “People might perceive me to be a monster, but my word is sacrosanct.” Gregor nodded. "I thought you were irredeemable scum," he admitted, and then hastened to add: "But not anymore. I see a lot things differently now." It was a strange feeling to finally say those words out loud, after the absolute vigor that Gregor had hated Zaveed with before. The truth was undeniable, however. He simply didn’t hate Zaveed anymore. The way the Khajiit had stuck to his promise to Sirine to rescue her brother was… admirable, even. “I suppose redeemable scum is a bit of an upgrade.” Zaveed replied with a grin and a wink, setting himself back up on the throwing line. A moment of silence passed between them and Gregor looked up to see a flock of migrating birds traveling overhead, their calls to each other echoing faintly through the valley. It was good to be back in the north. "What does Namira want with you?" Gregor asked and returned his gaze to Zaveed, his curiosity getting the better of him now that the matters he had wanted to discuss were resolved unexpectedly quickly. “Another soulless Dro-M’athra for her personal army, I suppose. Who can know the will of Daedra?” Zaveed replied after a moment’s consideration, his tone terse as he threw the axe hard enough and without enough care it missed the tree entirely. “Bent cats, Dark Behind the World. It’s what happens when your soul is rotten enough to not be touched by Jode’s light and you have a dark spirit. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never been pious, or because I’ve been a rotten bastard, but after our little dance, I faded in and out of consciousness as I struggled to stay alive. Forms that look like Khajiit that are blacker than the dark of the moons with pale blue eyes that glow like fireflies reached out to me, trying to pull me into the Dark Behind the World.” The axe slipped down his hand until the head hit the ground with a think, his hand holding the very end of the haft. Zaveed’s head was bowed, a frown across his countenance. “It is a dark, cold place where all of the spirits look and act alike. It’s the death of an individual and the birth of yet another faceless drone that barely resembles the person they once were.” he barked a laugh, worry etched into his eyes. “As if something like that would ever be able to domesticate me! Namiira would spit me out; the so-called ‘Great Darkness’ cannot extinguish a fire so bright, no?” The afterlives of the Khajiit were a mystery to Gregor and he frowned at this revelation. He had seen Zaveed like this only once before -- when he was about to die at the edge of Gregor’s claymore. It was a sobering sight to see the normally so cocksure Cathay afraid, and defiant in his fear, of the fate that awaited him beyond the veil. “It almost sounds like the Soul Cairn would be a better place for you,” the lich said somberly. “We all have gods to judge us. The Divines no longer answer my call at their temples and their shrines. I know what that means, what Arkay has in store for me. That is one of the reasons why I did… this. I understand your fear.” Gregor followed the trail the thrown axe had followed after Zaveed had missed entirely with his eyes while his thoughts worked. “Perhaps that is the point of the second chance Raelynn gave you. You are not old yet. There is time to repent, to avoid that fate,” he said and cast his glance back at Zaveed. “Defy the Great Darkness.” “To be clear, that’s not an invitation to finish the job in my sleep.” Zaveed said half-jokingly, the faintest of upturns to the side of his lip. “Maybe I’ll take up late-life Daedra worship if it all doesn’t pan out. I figure I still have many years to go even more grey to go. I’ve heard I am remarkably hard to kill.” The axe was kicked back up into his hand fluidly, the blade curled over his shoulder like it belonged there. “I’d like to think I’ve done well so far since Raelynn’s gift. I’ll admit it’s given me some perspective. I’ve risen a friend out of servitude, saved a life, at least attempted to make amends with those I once called enemies. Not bad for a few weeks’ worth of effort, if I do say so myself.” “I agree,” the Imperial said. He, too, had learned recently what it was like to be surrounded by people he had a lot to make up to. Zaveed had taken to it remarkably well. Gregor shifted his weight on his other foot and crossed his arms over his chest, unsure of what Zaveed’s reaction to his proposal was going to be. The thought had come to him while he watched the Khajiit throw his axes. “There is something you could do for me, actually. Maybe it’s wrong of me to ask and I won’t blame you if you tell me to fuck off, but… I need to learn how to fight again.” Gregor let the words hang in the air for a bit before he continued. “You’re the only one among us that’s ever fought me. That means you know my style better than anyone else. And if it weren’t for my magic, you would have won. My body is different now. Slower than before, but stronger too. I’m hoping that by sparring with you, we can create a new style for me. What do you say?” "Hmm." Zaveed uttered, retrieving both of his axes as he pondered it over. It was an oddly reasonable request and strangely polite coming from what had been not long ago a rather belligerent bastard with egomaniacal tendencies. It would seem both men had been tempered in such a short time, unspeakable experiences and a shared trauma chipping away at edges that had once been seen as protective rather than merely obstructive. He returned to Gregor, his weapons held by the haft, just under the head, and he studied Gregor's eyes through his helm's eye slit. "I will help you train." He decided. "I might be the only one who seems to think this misadventure of yours has been for the better of your temperament. Gather your weapon, we'll make the most of that clearing over there." Zaveed said, pointing with his weapon and nodding his head. "Let's see what you can do." [Hr] "Alright. Before we get into the fun stuff, picture a foe standing before you, some conjuration of your imagination. Show me how you move, swing your sword, block. In sequence; advance, attack, block, retreat. I want you to repeat that using different angles of attack each time." Zaveed instructed, standing off to the side. Gregor smiled at that. Zaveed’s instructions reminded him of the sort of things his father used to say. Gregor pulled the great claymore free from its clasp on his back and grabbed the hilt firmly with both hands before doing as Zaveed had asked; he advanced, slow and steady, his stance a little wide and a little low, before swinging the blade in a diagonal slash in front of him. Like Gregor had said, the attack wasn’t as fast as he had been able to muster before, but the heavy steel whistled through the air with satisfying power. Gregor lifted his hands and angled the blade down, a position from which he could parry and deflect incoming strikes, before retreating back to his starting position. The lich cycled through the same pattern, dutifully picking a different angle from which to attack and changing his defensive grip to cover alternate angles while defending. After doing so four times, Gregor began to glance sidelong at Zaveed, wondering when the Khajiit was going to say he’d seen enough. "Inquiry; do you tire in your current state?" Zaveed asked, approaching. "Your form is predictably perfect, just a bit on the slow side as you said. Observe." He stepped back and angled himself away from Gregor, doing the same sort of exercise he had Gregor commit to, admirably without fuss; the difference was Zaveed was impressively quick and fluid and his weapons changed angles and directions without much of a discernible pattern; his obvious overhead swings were joined by subtle low angles, his retreats a mixture of feints and parries. A few times he demonstrated the power behind a joined pair of heavy strikes, and a deliberate dance of footwork and moving axes to ward off what Zaveed imagined as a determined spearman. He stopped, breathing heavier. "And perhaps that's where you might have fault; you need to be able to be unpredictable with your movements, and in your case you need to be aware of openings with that huge fucking sword. Every time it is away from you is an opening. How would you defend against someone like me?" The Khajiit asked. Seeing Zaveed demonstrate his skills brought back memories of their fight and Gregor could almost feel the agonizing bite of the axe-blades in his collarbone after a particularly heavy swing. “Keep my distance,” Gregor said after a moment’s deliberation, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty. “Capitalize on the range advantage of my sword, punish you when you overextend.” He laughed quietly and shook his head. “We both know that’s not what I did when we fought, though. And no, I don’t tire. The magic that binds me seems to be infallible.” Zaveed smiled. "I want you to try something. See how everything around us is open?" He asked, turning in place with his arms held wide. "Nothing to get your sword caught up on. If you don't tire, why should you ever lose momentum on your sword?" Zaveed asked, stepping back. He put one of his axes back in it's hoop and began to move through a range of motions around him. "The thing with an axe or a mace is all the weight is at the front; it's hard to stop so to reset yourself, you follow through and keep the weapon moving." He said, rhythmically starting and stopping the momentum when he finished a rotation, alternating between wide swings and simple wrist rotations. "Your greatest asset is the sword's range and your formidable strength; if you keep your weapon's momentum going, it doesn't matter as much if you can't swing it as fast since it's already moving. For many foes, it's going to be incredibly hard to find an opening if you never tire and your sword can suddenly come down with power mid swing." Zaveed explained. "It's also going to make you terrifying on the advance." He retrieved his second axe and held them both at the ready. "I'm going to try to find an opening, when I make a move, I want you to parry the axes. Ready?" It was a novel idea and one that Gregor certainly wouldn’t have come up with by himself. He nodded tentatively but he held up a hand first. “Let me have a go at it by myself,” he said. After finding proper support in the earth by digging his heels in, Gregor began his attempts to replicate the swirling, rotating motions that Zaveed had demonstrated with the axes. It was relatively easy to bend his wrists and move his arms so that the heavy claymore moved around him in vertical circles, but Gregor’s fingers fumbled when he tried to switch to a non-dominant hand grip to cover his left side and the sword fell to the forest floor. “Not as easy as you made it look,” Gregor commented with a chuckle and retrieved the blade from the ground. He tried again and maintained the motions this time -- slow and not particularly powerful, but Zaveed was right that the momentum would make the sword hit hard if Gregor turned the circular motions into a strike mid-swing. “Alright,” he said and nodded with more confidence. “Come at me.” Zaveed watched the greatsword with a concentrated frown; his back still had phantom pains thinking of the last time he encountered it on the opposite side of their duel. He held his axes low, his posture crouched, predatory; he would be able to pick a direction and move at full speed once he saw his opening. The problem was, however, that finding an opening was damn hard when the sword kept its own rhythm, like an irregular pendulum that occasionally changed frequency and direction without much of a regularity to it. But Gregor was like most creatures of habit, and eventually a faint pattern emerged, a distinct cadence in a sea of noise. It took years of training for Zaveed to learn how to subconsciously mix up his movements and do away with predictability, but there weren’t many men like him. “As you wish.” he said. Zaveed was after Gregor like a shot, his axes twirling in his hands as he made to bring one down high while the off-hand, lower axe was angled high, aimed for Gregor’s guts. Suddenly, the blade of the claymore was brought up, catching under the head of the high axe and Zaveed felt his momentum shift as the force of the blow ripped the axe out of his hand, forcing him to scramble to block the sword’s circular momentum as it went up and over Gregor’s head and then horizontal, a perfect trajectory to taking a man’s head. Zaveed managed to stop this strike, barely, with both hands. His feet dug into the earth; it felt more like stopping a charging animal than blocking a sword. “Well, this is embarrassing.” Zaveed muttered, collecting himself and rolling his neck with a couple of pops while he went to fetch his wayward weapon. “Did you realize you were that strong?” he asked, kicking the wet sand off of his axe after fetching it from the dirt. Gregor had blinked in surprise at how easy it felt to yank Zaveed’s weapon out of his grip. “No,” he admitted in all honesty. “I guess I could have known. Fjolte had me climb a large rock back in the desert and that wasn’t very difficult either.” He lowered his claymore by his side and smiled inside his helmet at Zaveed’s embarrassment. “I, for one, think it’s encouraging. Your ideas are proving very useful,” the lich said, his voice betraying nothing of his small moment of amusement. “Again?” he asked and moved to grab the sword with both hands once more. “I’m just thankful we aren’t trying to kill each other anymore.” Zaveed smiled tersely. “I think you have some pretty solid foundations on the defense; let’s see how you do on the attack.” the Khajiit said, clanging the sides of his axes together in a ring. “What will you do when the enemy is forcing you to come to them?” he asked, weapons at the ready as he began to step backwards. That was a good question. Gregor raised the claymore back up and began swirling it around himself in circular motions once more but instead of waiting for Zaveed to attack him, he approached the retreating Khajiit. Every time the irregular pattern of the blade’s movements swung towards Zaveed, like a razor-sharp pendulum, Gregor put more force and weight behind the steel and turned it into a slash to test his defenses. Bizarrely, Gregor was reminded of a circle saw blade bearing down on a log of wood. Improvising, Gregor took a few steps forward as fast as his feet allowed and pivoted on the spot, the momentum of the sword becoming a wide, horizontal strike as Gregor stretched his arms out. The blade sang through the air and in that instant Gregor knew it was not an attack that Zaveed should try to parry. The privateer came to the same conclusion, instead using agile footwork to keep ahead of the deadly man-scythe coming to harvest his precious internals, and between ducking and weaving and a healthy dose of back peddling, Zaveed managed to keep ahead of the blade, which despite moving slower than he would have expected, the raw power behind it was enough to turn a friendly spar and training session into a tragic shower of gore that Zaveed was entirely confident was outside of Raelynn’s particular expertise to mend. It took all of Zaveed’s concentration to keep ahead of the blade and not trip on anything behind him until he backed into a copse of trees, where the greatsword suddenly didn’t have range of motion. Not wasting any time, Zaveed went on the offensive, turning around a tree suddenly and coming around with the swing of one of his axe towards Gregor’s flank. That was unexpected. Gregor tried to maneuver the claymore so that he could deflect the axe, but the rippled steel of the flame-bladed sword caught on the bark of a tree and Gregor was forced to back away and out of Zaveed’s range instead. This wasn’t going to work. He kept the tree between himself and Zaveed as he drew his silver longswsord, a one-handed and more agile weapon, instead of the claymore. But how well would it serve him? He had lost against Zaveed when he had been forced to use the longsword during their fight in Gilane and now he was even slower. Gregor clenched his jaw behind his helmet and advanced on Zaveed again, attacking with a series of strikes that his father had taught him all those years ago; well-practiced but painfully predictable. There was no space for the momentum-based style and the longsword wasn’t heavy enough to make it effective either way. Zaveed managed to parry these blows much more effortlessly, almost as if he were warming up. He waited until Gregor made a thrust, where he easily sidestepped it, reaching out and catching the crossguard with the nook of his axe while the other stopped inches from Gregor’s neck. Relaxing, Zaveed pulled his weapons away and slipped them back into their hoops with a nod. “Your boat oar of a sword is definitely fine, but we both knew that. For now, you’re going to want to save the longsword for pests and vermin without any particular skill or recognition of what a blade is; until you adjust to this new body and truly understand your limits, you should think of yourself like a tower.” Zaveed said, reaching for a water skin on his belt and unscrewing the cap and taking a sip to ease his dried mouth. “You need to let the enemy come to you; pursuits won’t do you any favours, especially if you’re trying to protect someone or something. If someone lures you out, you won’t be able to get back in time, and you will always need to take every advantage you can to fight a skirmish on your terms, not theirs.” the Khajiit pointed out, gesturing for them to leave the woodlands as he swatted at a mosquito. “The one thing you have going for you now that’s more important than your endurance unending is what’s going on in here.” he tapped a finger against his temple, stopping to face Gregor head on. “When we first fought, you were ruled by emotions, you let me goad you into the alley where I knew your sword would be clumsy and hindered. Had it not been for your necromancy, you would have died there and I might have still been an agent of the Dwemer and not my own man… Raelynn wouldn’t have made me realize I was on the wrong path, and I would have never have met Sirine. You probably don’t hear this much, but you almost killing me was one of the best things that could have happened to me.” he extended a hand. “Thank you, for being the catalyst that I needed to kill Captain Greywake and remember that young boy from Senchal that should have never gotten on that ship.” Gregor looked at the offered hand and hesitated before he accepted it and the two of them shook on it. His indecision hidden behind his helmet, Gregor opened his mouth to reply but closed it again, unsure of what to say. He bought himself some time by sheathing his longsword first and making sure his armor was still properly fitted in place. “Strange,” the lich said eventually, “that divine intervention should happen in a fight between two godless killers. I just wish...” Gregor sighed and shook his head. “Nevermind. Continue to prove Raelynn right and I shall be glad that things turned out the way they did for you.” Zaveed smiled, without sarcasm or distaste on his countenance, but rather genuine warmth emanating from his features. “It means a lot to hear you say I’m proving her right. I’m still figuring things out, but being here, now, and trying to walk a different path feels right.” he chuckled suddenly, his smile breaking into a grin. “I’m not sure if I’d credit dear Nadeen with being divine, because that would mean she’s better than all of us. But speak your mind when you’re ready; I’m not your foe, and I just might be one of the few people left who doesn’t seem to think you’ve become a monster.” he shrugged, looking back at the camp and his eyes settled on the rest of the camp. “I should probably get back soon and return to my duties. And what of you?” The idea of Zaveed becoming a confidant was so strange Gregor couldn’t help but laugh quietly. It didn’t feel wrong, however. Perhaps there was a way for the pirate and the necromancer to become friends after all. “There are other people I should talk to,” he said, the tone of his voice betraying his mixture of apprehension and newfound confidence. “Other people deserving of an apology. After that I shall continue to keep an eye out for trouble.” Zaveed nodded, placing a hand on Gregor’s shoulder in a show of solidarity. “Believe me when I say I know what that’s like. With these very people, in fact. Just remain sincere and the storm will eventually pass, I think. I’m hardly well-regarded with this lot, but I don’t think I’m quite the monster they had all conjured in their hearts when we first met.” He paused in contemplation, before he nodded, having said what he needed to. It was going to be a difficult journey for Gregor, but hopefully he didn’t feel so isolated anymore. The Khajiit knew a bit too well what that was like. Eventually defiance gave way to defeated resignation, no matter how unwavering one’s convictions. “Well, I won’t hold you. Farewell, Gregor; I won’t be far.” Zaveed promised, stepping away with a single wave of the hand. He managed a few steps before suddenly stopping, looking over his shoulder. “Oh, and Gregor? The armour suits you.” he said with a grin and a wink before finally departing.