Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Lemons
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Old Souls


Before the storm...
14th of Sun’s Height, 4E208
Southern Druadach Mountains, West of Falkreath Hold


Several weeks had passed since the other Imperial man in the party had advocated for Gregor’s execution. The two had avoided each other ever since, Gregor steering clear of Gaius with a wide berth, but now that his business with Zaveed had been settled the lich felt that it was time to try and break through the hostility that Gaius felt for him. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea and he was pretty sure that Gaius wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to speak with him, and yet… something told Gregor that he should try, at least.

Many of the others had left camp to forage for supplies, leaving the small village of tents mostly deserted and unusually quiet for this time of day, and it didn’t take long for Gregor to find Gaius in front of his tent. He approached but stopped a respectful distance away and inclined his helmet in the other Imperial’s direction. “Hello Gaius,” Gregor said. “Let me guess: the capital?”

Gaius was tired. Exceedingly. It had been nearly a month, he thought, since he’d been sprung from Kthrakz, but the bone-weariness that had been following him since hadn’t quite lifted. He sat quietly before his tent, leaning back gently against a rock as he whittled idly at a small piece of firewood with an artfully-worked knife that he’d managed to barter away from a merchant back in the Alik’r before they’d left.

He jolted upright, nicking his thumb slightly with the knife, as his spoken name surprised him. Then, after a moment, he realized who’d spoke it, and his eyes narrowed as he shook his cut hand out. His voice, when he spoke, was distant and cold. “Talos Plaza district. What do you want.” Though it was phrased as a question, the flat voice didn’t seem very particularly so. “Or are you just here to ruin my day?” He tossed the knife up and down in his hand, wondering whether or not he could put it through the visor in Gregor’s helmet at this range. Probably not, he reasoned, sighing quietly to himself.

“Ah, yes,” Gregor said in remembrance as he sat himself down opposite Gaius -- still at a distance. “I know the Plaza. Beautiful area. I used to come to the city with my wife to visit… hmm, this antique bookstore, what was it called? Vivaldi’s? Does that ring a bell?” He deliberately ignored Gaius’ other comment. He had not come to trade insults.

“Mhmm.” The reply was rather sullen, as befit Gaius’ dour look. Despite the fact that Gregor was at quite a respectable distance, he shifted away slightly, not out of an actual desire to shift away, but rather to send a message. “I know Vivaldi’s. Knew. Whatever. I am familiar.” He heaved a heavy sigh, finally looking Gregor dead-on in the eyes and ceasing the veneer of courtesy. “I don’t like you, Gregor. I rather hate you. What do you want?”

“We are going to be working together for the foreseeable future,” Gregor replied, surrendering to the fact that making pleasantries with Gaius was a fruitless endeavor. “I am not asking that you like me. I don’t deserve that much. But it will not do well to stand shoulder-to-shoulder in battle with so much hostility between us. I don’t resent you for hating me, Gaius. I understand how you feel. I rather admire you. My father served as well. We have to find a middle ground, where we can at least depend on one another to do our duties.” His voice was even and calm in the confines of his helmet and his eyes shimmered in the gloom, betraying no emotion whatsoever. “Agreed?”

A loud snort followed Gregor’s statement as Gaius let out a short, scornful laugh. “If nothing else, you’re at least well-spoken.” A moment, and his jagged smile faded. He dropped his head and sighed, the barely-restrained anger leaking away from his voice. “At the minimum, you can count on me to put myself in front of a blow,” he plucked at his haphazard set of armor, “though I don’t know how effective this will be against something like Zaveed or Sevari’s guns. I don’t know how much I trust you, and I don’t think that will change anytime soon. But I’m a long way from home, and infighting is something that won’t make it any easier to get back.”

He stood up, walking over to Gregor. And though the distaste was evident on his face, he stuck out his hand. “Agreed.”

They shook on it. Gregor relaxed a little and nodded to himself. “Good, good,” he said and sat back down, gesturing for the other Imperial to do the same. “Feel free to send me away if you have no further desire to speak with me. That said, I’m curious to learn more about your time in the Legions. My father never talked about it much. What was it like?”

“Tiring and dangerous,” sighed Gaius, taking Gregor’s motion to sit down, resuming idly whittling as he spoke. “Long marches in the sun wearing full plate, slogging through marshes in the foulest of weather only to find that the Stormcloaks set up an ambush for your platoon, and though you might win, it’s only a pyrrhic victory because so many of you die and so few of them do.” He looked up at the clouds. “But with that comes the fulfilment. Hard, tiring, dangerous. It’s all of those. But knowing that because of it, a war ended? People can sleep more safely in their beds, because you’re there? It makes it all worth it.”

He let out a low, contented hum, trying not to display how disturbed he was at how…normal Gregor was. He’d built him up as some terribly evil being, and perhaps he was, at least in a sense. But with all of the anticipation that he’d had for the lich, this surprised him more than anything else he could have thrown at Gaius.

Gregor nodded. “Sounds about right. I was in Skyrim during the Rebellion. I did my best to stay out of the path of the armies but I saw the aftermath they left in their wake sometimes. All those graves, broken men…. I suppose you could argue that me and my allies were waging a war of our own, but I can’t imagine what it would have been like on the battlefield.” He paused and cocked his head. “Did you make it out okay?”

A laugh escaped Gaius, one that was perhaps just a touch bitter. “I did, for almost the whole war. Of course, I have plenty of scars, but none give me trouble but those from Windhelm.” He stripped off pieces of his armor; gauntlets first, then after some trouble, the cuirass. Removing the gambeson, or rather the thick coat that was acting in place of one, he half-turned, enough for Gregor to see the livid red scar that ran ropelike down his back, all the way from his left shoulder to the opposite hip. “After the battle, there were those that weren’t all too keen on the Empire’s victory. This is a token from one.” He shrugged, pulling the coat back on. “This one’s the worst, though.” He stuck out his left arm a bit, tracing the needle-thin scar that ran across the belly of his bicep.

“I lost a gauntlet at some point during the battle,” he began, “and someone came at me with a long elven-metal sabre. All I could do was catch it on my arm.” He pantomimed holding his arm over his face, almost as though he was trying to hide his eyes from the light. “And my arm never fully recovered.” He shoved the arm out as far as he could, and winced as it locked long before it fully straightened. Holding it for a moment, he sighed as he let it fall. “But far be it for me to complain. I still made it out better than most.”

The lich whistled appreciatively. “You’re made of tough stuff, Gaius. My father was at Red Ring but he made it out practically unscathed. This is something else.” He paused for a few seconds before he placed his index finger to the temple of his helmet. “He came home with scars in here. I don’t mean to pry…” Gregor stopped and chuckled. “Well, I am prying. Did you have any demons that followed you home?”

Gaius’ eyes widened fractionally. “Red Ring, was it? They still teach that when they go over battle strategy. It’s a legend.” Another moment, and he dropped his head. “I think we all have some demons in us, the Legionnaires. Skyrim...well, you’ve been there. It’s a dark, cold place in the winter. Inhospitable, hard to deal with. I was in Whiterun, watching the snow blow over the mountains in the north, when we were called out double-time to mount an assault on Ivarstead, try to establish a foothill in Riften Hold. Dead of night. The commander underestimated just how harsh Skyrim can get.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “We weren’t even halfway when frostbite and hypothermia started setting in. A few of us managed to find shelter in an old ruin called Valtheim. Fifty men set out from Whiterun; only seventeen made it back. Of course, there are more demons, but that one sticks in my mind. I’ve seen people being cruel often enough for it to be commonplace for me, but when nature itself slaughters you wholesale...there’s a different feeling to that.”

He rubbed a finger into his aching temple. “What about you, Gregor? Anything left in that skull of yours that still resembles something a human would feel?”

It was a harrowing story in and of itself, but Gregor’s eyebrows raised as it was told in full. “Valtheim, you say? There were necromancers in that area in the spring, I remember tracking them down…” He sighed and shook his head, incredulous at the coincidence, and at how Gaius’ story turned out to have an even sadder end than he himself had thought. “I think I may have found some of your friends’ bodies when we put them to the sword.”

His question was rudely phrased but Gregor did not blame him. He was silent for a bit while he thought of the best way to answer that question. “I still feel love,” he said at length. His voice was soft. “That’s enough for me.”

Upon hearing the fate of his fellow Legionnaires--some of whom he’d been good friends with--Gaius trembled briefly. He covered it as best he could with a scornful snort at Gregor’s next statement, but it wasn’t hard to hear the quaver in his voice, nor to see his hands shaking as he tried and failed to resume whittling.

“...Better a good death under the sword than more years of unlife,” his eyes hardened momentarily, “like you would give them now.” But there was no bite in the insult, and a moment later, he dropped his head into a heavy sigh. His voice, when it resumed, was quiet, almost a whisper. “I’m tired, Gregor. I’m so tired of anger. If you don’t give me a reason to, I won’t try to stand against you.”

Gregor understood Gaius’ reaction. He was only a necromancer out of necessity, after all, not from some misplaced lust for power or lack of empathy. “They’re at rest now,” he said softly. “I won’t give you a reason. I swear it on my family’s honor. Theirs is worth more than mine at this point. I just…” He trailed off and sighed. “I just wanted to live. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”

Another quiet laugh--this one lacking in all malice, or at least most malice--and Gaius rose to his feet, cracking his back. “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered before holding his hand out to Gregor again, this time not shying away from the lich. “I know we just shook on it, but…” he smiled lamely, “once more wouldn’t hurt. For your family, and for mine.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Gregor rose to Gaius’ height again. His hands moved up, however, and he removed his helmet so that his fellow Imperial could look him in the eyes. Gregor knew what he looked like, but he wanted Gaius to see the sincerity on his face. Cradling the helmet under his left arm, he took Gaius’ hand with his right one, and then his left as well. Auroras swirled lazily in the light of his eyes. He nodded. “For our families. Gods preserve them.”

Gaius flinched as Gregor removed his helmet, but fighting the revulsion back in his throat, he locked his eyes against the other man’s. Because, he realized...whatever else he might be, whatever he might have become, a man he remained. “For our families,” he echoed, privately grieving. And then, after a moment’s trepidation--he knew full well what the gods thought of undeath--he gave an extra squeeze on Gregor’s hand. “And may the nine Divines smile upon you,” he added, voice quiet, but filled with conviction.

Laughing softly, Gregor shook his head. “Let them smile on you. I have other powers watching over me now.” He appreciated the sentiment, however -- immensely, in fact. He had not expected anything like this from Gaius and it spoke to the man’s character that he had managed to put his beliefs aside to let them become true allies. It was a form of self-sacrifice, Gregor knew. “Thank you,” he replied, dropping his voice to match Gaius’, and spoke the words with feeling.

“And thank you too, Gregor,” replied Gaius. “I wish…” I wish I could’ve known you before all of this. But he let it go unsaid. What had happened, had happened. What was, was. Gregor could no more return to a normal life than Gaius could forget his own family. Instead, with a heavy sigh, he sat back down against the tent and looked pensively at the model of the White-Gold Tower that he’d been whittling. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned back against the tent frame, letting the wind brush over him as he fondled the miniature between his rough, calloused fingers. “I wish I was home.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Dervish
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Watch the Skies

A GM special
Midday, 17th of Sun’s Height, 4E208
Falkreath Hold, Hours from Falkreath



The Reach was behind them as Skyrim opened up ahead as the hard mountain passes gave way to fields and forests as the group reached the borders of Falkreath hold. It normally would have been a cause for celebration due to an easier journey with more temperate weather, easier access to food and water, and more comfortable places to bunk down in camp, but a heavy air hung over the group after what had happened with Finnen and Daro’Vasora.

Finnen’s attack had stunned many and his sudden disappearance without cause left more questions than answers, and for her part, the Khajiit wasn’t in any mood to talk; it had taken her hours to begin to get her voice back. Even now she was reluctant to speak, sinking into a somber silence, keeping a makeshift scarf about her neck, cut from a strip of her own bed roll. Despite the fact it still carried Finnen’s scent, she persevered, a part of her not wanting to give up on him, but most of her being terrified at the thought of what he had done to her. He warned her this could happen, and she let it. Daro’Vasora nearly died at the hands of someone she trusted and loved and was something she had no idea how to process, so she didn’t even try.

She pulled the scarf up higher, covering her mouth. Finnen’s scent filled her mind, and she forced herself to think of the better times, fighting the specter of what Pale-feather had done with her lover’s body from invading her memories and stealing them from her. It’s what that bastard would want, and Daro’Vasora was too damn stubborn to let a monster steal her memories from her.

Right now, she had to put her own personal stakes aside; the others needed her to be at her best. Since the attack, a lot of the company was recovering from injury and loss; aside from Finnen, Raelynn and Fjolte had disappeared, and Megana and Zaveed still were unheard from after their scouting mission… and Daro’Vasora was trying her best not to fear the worst. It was hard for her not to be snarky and sort at times; everyone she had grown close with had abandoned her, died, or otherwise been missing. It all felt like a validation of how she felt for so many years, starting with how Roux had betrayed her trust and leading up to a group of idiots who activated a Dwemer machine in the Jerall Mountains for everyone.

And so, Daro’Vasora went from person to person to make sure they were eating and drinking properly, or as much as they could with oftentimes limited supplies, and directed people to talk if they needed support. She herself took no part in it; everything was too raw, and she knew herself too well to trust the words that were likely to come out. She busied herself in maps and journals, planning the path ahead, painfully aware how few in number they now felt. She would catch herself lost in thought, turning to look for Finnen, Meg, or Raelynn and finding none of them, or having a thought she wanted to run by Fjolte and realizing he wasn’t there to answer them. Even at night, setting down for the night, there was nothing to keep her warm except for a bed roll and the lingering aches on her throat.

After the second day of travel, they had reached a clearing, and a few relieved groans could be heard; at least they didn’t have to work over steep mountain passes for a change. As they crossed, an unnatural, albeit familiar sound filled the air that filled them with dread. A pair of airships approached from the Northwest and were heading right towards them. The protection of trees and rocks were too far to run and make it, but they had to try. Scrambling for safety, the group heard the propellers grow louder and with a sinking realization that they weren’t going to make it before the ships were upon them, the companions turned and prepared for a fight that they almost certainly would not win.

Daro’Vasora’s hand was shaking, gripping on her mace. She was so damn close. Had she gotten careless and distracted? Was there another way? She knew that the clearing likely was going to expose them, but they needed to take some risks in exchange for quicker travel due to exhaustion and rapidly dwindling supplies, and none of them had seen an airship in weeks. The whole ordeal struck her as disgustingly unfair. She wanted to scream in defiance, she wanted to turn and apologize to what was left of her companions.

All that they could do was stand defiantly and hope S’rendarr looked upon them with mercy.

”FUS”

An unnaturally booming voice came from the East, a figure approaching from behind them that Daro’Vasora saw was adorned in some kind of bone armour… dragon bones, she realized with an immediate and heightened realization.

”RO”

The words this Nord were bellowing were almost deafening, the Khajiit’s ears pulled back as she flinched away at this approach as he stared down the airships without fear or hesitation. He looked like a predator that had caught his prey.

”DAH!”

From the Nord’s mouth emitted an unbelievable force of energy, like a hurricane spit forth from his mouth; the few trees that had been in his way were stripped of branches and bark, and the air cracked in a deafening boom; both of the airships looked as if they had been struck by a giant’s fist, knocking them out of their formation and nearly into each other, fabric tearing from the hulls and balloons atop their frame, gas escaping from them as they tried to correct their course. The entire scene was surreal; the once unassailable airships that had ruled uncontested were being battered around like a child’s plaything.

Haunting roars filled the air and overhead, impossibly fast and sun-stealing shadows swept across as they darted towards the airships. Daro’Vasora tried to make sense of what she was seeing as the creatures she witnessed came to life.

The creatures screamed at the airship,
”YOL TOOR SHUL!”
”FO KRAH DIIN!

Torrents of unearthly fire and ice spewed force from the creatures’ mouths as they made passes at the airships, causing the gases above to erupt and the decks to freeze; the panicked and anguished screams of the mer could be heard, somehow, over the absolute carnage of the carnage of the leather-winged creatures. One had dull reddish-brown scales, while the other had bluish white. Daro’Vasora realized what she was witnessing.

They were dragons.

The airships crashed into the ground as the dragons forced them into the ground with their mighty talons, crushing metal that weakened beneath their claws. Teeth tore into the frame and into the ship, the sounds of dying crewmen still ringing through the plains. It was impossible to look away.

A group of mostly Nords and an assortment of others had crossed towards them from the treeline, a motley assortment of hardened looking men and women, with a few others aside, led by a giant of a man with a crimson great beard and mane of matching hair, looking like a figure out of legend. One in particular stood out to Daro’Vasora; she was a Khajiit, like her, her bare arms and tail visible under black and teal leather armour, her face concealed beneath a hood. Clutched in a clawed hand was a long spear with a worn, but meticulously cared for, blade, and a pair of daggers were strapped to the woman’s frame, evidenced by her slender and feminine frame and smaller stature. She was a Suthay-raht, actually taller than Daro’Vasora by a handful of centimeters and far more physically defined by curves and musculature.

This figure seemed transfixed on Daro’Vasora, stepping forward towards her slowly as if the carnage with the dragons was an everyday occurrence. She pulled her hood down, revealing a pale face with her straight white mane swept over the left portion of her face, concealing her left eye and jaw, but the other side was visible, a powerful and shorter muzzle protruded from the girl’s face, and across her face and body were cheetah-like spots. However, behind darkened eyes, concealed with charcoal and plant-mixed red-black face paint shone an emerald green eye that was immediately familiar to Daro’Vasora because it was one in the same as her own.

The girl picked up the pace and crossed the field quickly now, reaching the companions and immediately throwing her arms around Daro’Vasora, tears welling in her eyes. “Vasora! Bright moons, La’Shuni cannot believe her eyes!” she exclaimed. “She thought you were dead!”

Daro’Vasora didn’t realize she was holding her breath as she returned the embrace, burying her face in the girl’s shoulder, holding onto her like she was the only person left in this world.

She caught the quizzical stare of Sevari, who between the brutal display of might from the dragons, the approaching stranger in the dragonbone armour, and the strange girl who was so freely embracing Daro’Vasora prompted her to smile between teary-eyed relief and amusement.

“Everyone, I would like for you to meet my sister.”




Falkreath, Dead Man’s Drink

Falkreath had weathered the storm rather well, all considered. Its buildings all still stood, although there had been signs of conflict in the streets; doors and windows were hastily repaired, and even the tavern in which everyone was seated in a long row of tables, the entire tavern put together to make one singularly long table, had a hole in the ceiling that made light pour in like some divine radiance; indeed, had the pillar of light been only a few meters closer, Jorwen Red-bear would have been cast in the middle of it, making his crimson hair shine like rubies to accentuate his already commanding presence.

Around the table were faces both familiar and new, and the warband in itself was a peculiar sort; mostly Nords with a few scattered individuals who had come from across Tamriel, many of whom now called Skyrim their home. They all had a common cause and they fought together, brother and sisters forged in the bellows of war. It was the new faces that drew the most curiosity and interest from around the table; a motley band all their own. Had it not been for La’Shuni taking an immediate and impulsive move towards reuniting with the one she proclaimed to be her sister, suspicion might have led things down a decidedly different path.

The thing was, they needed all the help they could get.

For all the drinking and revelry, Jorwen was at the head of the table with a slab of frown. One hand lay limp on the table next to a large mug of mead and the other balled in a fist against his leaning jaw. His eyes went about the great mirths of the hall until they fell on Sevari’s. If anything, Jorwen found his reflection in the other man, who was sitting in almost the same way. Their stares almost seemed to convey a conversation of a hundred words. Without one spoken, Jorwen rose and Sevari rose in turn.

Sevari followed Jorwen outside, the two of them standing in the stillness of night. For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing between the men but moonlight and cricket song. Sevari reached into his coat pocket and pulled free a new cigar from a new bundle he’d gotten from one of Jorwen’s men. He lit it with the tip of his finger and as he exhaled the smoke, Jorwen spoke.

“You’re a fighter.” Sevari stood quiet, then nodded.

“A killer.” Jorwen said. Not a question. A man recognizes most in others what he sees in himself. “All your life, I’d reckon.”

Sevari nodded again, “What of it?”

“In Skyrim, ‘specially these days, it’s a good day to be a killer. A fighter. Them others,” Jorwen nodded to the others in the tavern, Sora’s Party, “They any like you?”

“Some.” Sevari grunted, puffing a few more times off of his cigar, “What of it?”

“We need men like you. Like me.” Jorwen shrugged, “No shame in facts.”

Sevari wasn’t sure who that last part was meant for. Maybe it was for himself, the big man. “What’s your point?”

“You their leader?” Jorwen asked. Sevari shook his head only slightly, a small tick of his head. Jorwen nodded, “Get me the leader, then.”

Somewhere up in a corner of the rafters of the Dead Man’s Drink, a pair of deep carmine eyes squinted down at the arrivals from behind a thick curtain of shadow. Bare feet softly touched the timber cladding of the wall as the owner of the nosy eyes peered out briefly from the shadow to gaze further. The eyes widened before closing as a slate grey face retreated back to the darkness in much of the same manner as an animal might return to its nest for solitude...

Sevari opened the door, letting the songs and shouting pour into the lonely Falkreath streets again. His nighteyes scanned the dark drinking hall for Sora until he found her. He waved her over.

Looking over a tankard of mead, Daro’Vasora’s eye caught Sevari’s between La’Shuni’s animated gestures as she was trying to go over what had exactly happened to have turned the polite, meek sister she knew into a leather-wearing, spear-wielding woman with muscles and scars that hardly resembled the girl she knew. It had been a couple of years since she’d seen La’Shuni last, and with a heavy heart, she realized she missed out on a lot of life back home. It had moved on without her.

“Hey, sis? I’ll be back soon. Sevari needs a word.”

“Who’s that?” La’Shuni asked, looking towards the door, her lips drenched indelicately with her own drink, dribbles running down her mouth. What on Nirn happened to her manners?

“The brooding one… I’ll explain later. We’ve all the time in the world to catch up, I promise.” Daro’Vasora said, standing and kissing her sister on the brow. “I’ve missed you so damn much. I won’t be long!” she promised.

Soon, she was out of the door next to Sevari, her arms crossed with a terse expression as she regarded Jorwen for several moments. “Well, boys, any reason this couldn’t wait until morning? It’s not like I haven’t seen my sister for years and thought she might have died until today.” she grumbled, looking down the cobblestone road. “Surprised this place is still standing. Wooden walls don’t tend to fare well against cannons and airships.”

“Wooden walls look less important than stone ones, don’t you reckon?” Jorwen looked at Sora, gave her a quick once over and it seemed like that was all he needed to gauge everything about her. “Now it’s a haven for my men and the other warbands like us to use and rest in. Warbands of men that look dirty and tired and beaten, that look… less important than ones clinking and clanking around in armor polished enough to blind you.”

Sevari snorted. Jorwen continued, “Odd, ain’t it? But I reckon you’d know a lot about the importance of looking unimportant.” He turned his eyes and nothing else towards Sora, “And then proving the poor fool wrong when he’s got his back to you?”

“I’ll ask you once, and I care a shit if your sister is in there,” He said, turning his full breadth on Sevari and Sora. If Sora looked close enough, Sevari had a blade out and close enough under his coat to not glint in the moonlight. Though he was looking very unimportant all the while. “Who are you trying to look unimportant for? Me or the Dwemer?”

Daro’Vasora’s arms remained tightly crossed as she stared unblinkingly up at the giant of a man, her expression impassive save for the slightest tightening of her jaw. “Paranoid one, aren’t you? Guess you’re not as daft as you look; can’t even figure out how to groom yourself properly.” Daro’Vasora replied shortly. “Look, chief, captain, jarl, whatever… my lot and I don’t have the greatest track record of seemingly well-intentioned strangers telling us they’re on our side.

“I’ve lost a lot of people I care about to the Dwemer, and had I a mediocum more selfish interests at heart, I’d be in Stros M’kai right now with a bowl of rum punch and a chest full of treasures at my side, but instead I just spent weeks walking across the gods-damned Alik’r desert and crossing the mountains, all the while surviving shiny new Centurion hunters and nearly getting murdered by my own gods-damned boyfriend, so forgive me for cutting through the bullshit and this shit-footed coy waddling game you’re pulling me into instead of spending time I’d much rather be with family, but do you really think that the sad-sack shit caravan you came across that’s what’s left of my friends is really a threat to you?” Daro’Vasora growled, jabbing a finger into Jorwen’s chest. “So why don’t you turn your back and find out which I am? You’re big and scary; what’s a little cat going to do to you? Brain you with this thing?” she asked, pulling her mace off of her belt to show it to Jorwen.

“It’s Dwemer make. Take a wild guess how the fuck I got it.”

Jorwen looked over Sora at Sevari. The man shrugged, making a show of a cigar in one hand and the hidden knife he had in his other before dropping his arms again and sheathing it. Jorwen nodded. “Alright.” Jorwen turned from Sora, “Why aren’t you in Stros M’kai then? Why wander from Hammerfell to Skyrim? War to another?”

The Cathay’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to end this invasion once and for all. I’d kindly appreciate it if you didn’t get in my way.” she reached into one of her belt pouches and pulled out a pendant, a bear made out of orichalcum. It dangled in front of her eyes, turning slowly. “This was my uncle’s. He died in Imperial City trying to save two boys from the ships that came from the sky. I wasn’t there to stand by his side, and I couldn’t save him. I can sure as hell avenge him.”

Jorwen regarded her, unimpressed, “Lots of folks killed Dwemer here. Lots of folks got people to avenge.” Jorwen shrugged, “I don’t know you.”

“And that has to start somewhere.” the Khajiit retorted, ears flattening and eyes narrowing. “We didn’t ask to get pulled into whatever you’ve got going on here, but believe me when I say I’m no friend of the Deep Elves. My people are exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and we still have a long way to go before we can well and truly rest. I appreciate the hospitality, and I assume that at one point you didn’t know my sister, either. So let me propose a deal; you let us stay here until we’re recovered, and we’ll help you with whatever it is that needs doing in the meantime.” she extended a hand. “Might as well make the most of a shit situation, yeah?”

“All I’ve been doing my whole life.” There was the evidence of humor on his smirking lips but none in his voice as he engulfed her hand in his own.

The hands shook; Jorwen made Daro’Vasora feel like a doll in his grasp. She grinned. “My mentor always told me ‘if something is difficult, you’re on the right track’. Talk to my people, get to know them; you Nords like stories, and you’re going to want to listen to theirs. We even managed to piss off and sabotage the ‘governor of Volenfell’s’ operations and broke a bunch of warriors out of one of their best secured prisons before coming here. Give us a chance; you’ll like us.”

“I know how things are done. Ain’t my first time leading people, hopefully my last.” Jorwen nodded at Sora, a new bond between them that seemed to sweep away the prior tension like a dust in the wind. “I’d say that same thing about this war, but I reckon I’d be wrong. Said the same thing last War.”

“Gotta knock on some wood after.” Sevari quipped before taking a drag off his cigar.

“Oh, I’ve been praying at shrines. Reckon I’ve been doing something wrong all these years.” Jorwen chuckled bitterly and turned his vast shoulders on them to get back inside.



As the party each stood around each other, crowded in the Dead Man’s drink, a small sprinkle of dust fell from above. The timber support beam creaked as a stranger pranced across it on graceful footsteps. She came down slowly to her knees - so far undetected by the new arrivals. Her bottom touched the wood and she leaned backwards carefully until her slender legs were hooked. First dropped a long waterfall of thick, scarlett curls. Then the face followed.

She bore the sharpness typical of her race. Her skin the colour of the sky before a storm - her cheekbones high upon the heart shaped face. In the dim candlelight that was illuminating the tavern, she appeared more gaunt than usual. But being upside down also had a strange effect on a person's ability to make sense of a face. As she opened her large, almond shaped eyes, they caught the flickering flames of the candles dotted around the room. It created the illusion that the woman had many eyes - like a spider. The position that she had bent herself into was also not helping to dispel the notion that she was in fact, an arachnid.

She pointed her fingers out towards the young Khajiit, reaching out to rub against the sides of La’Shuni’s ears as she stood in the tavern, eagerly awaiting her sister’s return. “See, little one, didn’t I tell you things would turn well for you?” she said in a voice that had the quality of smoke - a husky sound, feminine and breathy. A warmth and sweetness that was something of a rarity in the normally sour Dunmer of Morrowind. La’Shuni beamed up at Ivy affectionately; she had become well accustomed to the Dunmer appearing in odd places, and her presence was always a reassuring one.

Suddenly, the Dunmer woman blinked, eyeing up the guests from her new vantage point. They looked so much less sad from the upside down. She tilted her head and gave them a quick wave - grinning out at them, as if her smile could lighten the mood some.

The Dunmer turned back to La’Shuni, while one of her hooked legs came down from the timber, and was hanging by her shoulder with her foot relaxed, swinging just so. “My show will be soon, I hope you come to see,” she smiled, pinching the cheeks of the Suthay-raht affectionately. Her toes found the back of a chair and she used it to balance as with a freakish ease she slipped herself down from the beam completely. On solid ground again, she raised her shoulders and brought her hands together with glee. There was a happiness radiating from La’Shuni that the Dunmer found infectious.

La’Shuni giggled. “This one supposes if you want her there, she cannot miss it, no?” she replied, a tiny bit of teasing to her tone. She smiled warmly at her friend. “It is a wonderful day, and La’Shuni never expected it to come. Her sister… Vasora is okay! This one is certain she must have similar thoughts.”

Suddenly, a frown crossed her features. “Do you think mister Jorwen is mad at her? He seemed pretty… upset, perturbed?” the young Khajiit murmured, not sure of the words to find. “There is so much La’Shuni does not know.”

“Oh my, well if we were to know everything then quite simply the head on our shoulders would fall to the ground. Too heavy to pick up! That’s why it’s better to share the things we know…” As Ivy spoke, her hand reached out to the table to pick up a pair of batons. “If Jorwen is mad - let him be mad! He’ll get over it in time,” she waved her hand dismissively at the notion he could be mad in any capacity at La’Shuni. Her other hand found its way to her hip and she leaned to the side, cutting an incredibly feminine shape as she did so. “Don’t worry about it. Come to the firepit instead - bring your sister and her friends!” She leaned in close to La’Shuni, her lips practically brushing against the young girls ears as she whispered there. “Tonight I’m going to become a real dragon.”

La’Shuni gasped in delight. “Truly?! You never fail to surprise this one!” she exclaimed, feeling cheered up immeasurably, the thought of Jorwen sending Daro’Vasora away fleeing from her mind. “This one will make sure that they come. After all, La’Shuni Ten-Thanes speaks with the authority of the chief!” she said with a forced booming voice, suddenly with a straight military-posture with her fist over her heart before her facade cracked and she laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Tonight was not a night to be serious; after all, what was there to worry about?

“Do you think La’Shuni will have time to speak with Vasora before your show? So much has happened…” she wondered out loud to Ivy, probing the Dunmer’s thoughts.

“That’s the spirit, little one!” she remarked with a smile, drawing back from her friend with a nod in response to her question. “Oh of course, I have to change and limber up a little first… turning into a real dragon takes time.” Ivy winked before giving the girl one last squeeze before turning for the door.

Sevari froze in the doorway. What greeted his sight was a Dunmer woman almost seeming to float down from the rafters. Surely, he was seeing things. And anybody who saw her may have been stunned by the display of flexibility. He was. But for other reasons. But beyond the flexibility was his eyes going over her lithe and fit form to finally catch on her eyes, so full of life and a mischief that both pulled him in and cautioned him away. He only realized he was staring and his breath was held when he let it out in an impressed and satisfied, “Huh.”

He flicked his cigar out the doorway and straightened his coat, making like he wasn’t just ogling her like a drunk and dressed in rags compared to her. Her walk seemed as effortlessly intoxicating as her entrance seemed effortlessly eye-catching. Everything about her was like a performance in the highest of theaters. Sevari wanted to watch it all.

Of course she noticed the Ohmes-Raht. How could she not? He was an Ohmes-Raht for a start. Didn’t get too many of them in Falkreath. She was a performer at heart, and knowing she’d hooked herself an audience of one in the stranger was enough to set her off. Her eyes narrowed the closer she got to him, but she did not look him directly in his. As she came but a foot from him, she stopped and acted startled, setting her eyes to the floor. “Oh my, oh my….” she sang, bending down as if to pick something from the dusty floor.

Ivy closed the distance that remained between her body and his, pressing her closed fist to his hand. “Your eyes, honey. They were on the floor…” she giggled - meaning no ill intent, just a flirtatious tease back. She loosed a finger from her fist and tickled the back of his hand. “Let’s see what you lose if you see my show…” That was it, she gave him a playful wink and brushed past, exiting the tavern with a sway of her hips.

La’Shuni offered Sevari a quizzical stare for several moments, not missing the same lustful gleam in his eyes that men, and some women, tended to have around Ivy before suddenly putting a hand up under her snow-coloured hair covering the left side of her face and heading out of the door in a hurry. Another Khajiit approached from the back, a tiger-stripped Cathay with cougar-like features, his face adorned with a braided beard dangling from his chin and his mane styled likewise to his shoulder blades. He dressed in a simple budi and trousers combination, forest green on grey. He offered Sevari a tankard with a wry smile.

“Careful, rhook; that one will eat you alive if you let her.” he said, patting Sevari on the shoulder before making his way back towards the kitchens.

“I almost want her to…” he stared at the Dunmer’s swaying behind as she went off into the distance. He turned to the other Khajiit, calling out to him before he got too far away, “Her name!”

The Suthay stopped in his tracks, turning to regard Sevari with bemused amber eyes and a slight smile. "And ruin the mystery? Do'Karth would never!" He laughed, plucking a bottle of wine from the counter next to him and pulling the cork with a claw before deftly flicking it into the hearthfire.

"Our enigmatic Dunmer is putting on a show very soon out in the town square; this one encourages you to go see what else she is capable of." Do'Karth replied, drinking from the bottle with a non-committal shrug. "Who knows? Perhaps she will make you a part of her performance. Rajhin knows she is quite flexible."

Sevari cocked a brow at this other Khajiit, taking another look at the empty doorway before turning back, “I’m not sure the town square would want to see the performance I want.” Sevari shrugged, offering his empty tankard out for the bottle, “Fine. Your name is Do’Karth? Warrior, fighter?”

The Suthay rolled his jaw, electing to ignore the crude insinuations the stranger had towards his friend. Be bowed his head, hand over heart. "This one is whatever he is needed to be. Sometimes that may be patching up wounds, others it might mean preparing a meal. But worry not, rhook; Do'Karth might know a thing or two about inflicting those wounds or evicting those meals." He smiled innocently.

Sevari gave his own smile, though much less innocent, “I’m no rook at this war shit.” Sevari said, “I guess your skills make you handy around here. I like that. Groups like this don’t need dead weight.”

Do'Karth's pleasant countenance didn't waver. "My humble apologies; this one had assumed you hailed from the Kingdoms." He bowed his head once more. "Do'Karth had not meant to suggest you were inexperienced; rhook loosely means friend. It is an address of endearment." He explained.

"It is not Do'Karth's preference to make judgement based on another's appearance. Srendarr knows many have made that misstep with him." He said humbly, although there was an insinuation with his tone.

“Well,” Sevari raised his tankard, “Fill this up and we’ll be best friends.”

"Of course." Do'Karth replied, crossing the distance easily and taking the tankard without much of a fuss. With a turn, he resumed his travel towards the back.

The door opened behind Sevari, and a familiar voice said, "What did I miss?"

Sevari turned to the voice, and Zaveed and Megana were standing together at the door frame.
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The Tale of Megana the Kind


17th Sun’s Height, Evening,
Falkreath Town Square





When Ivy exited her tent, she looked like a different woman completely - more like a creature in fact. She was wearing very little, only a fitted leotard in a shade that matched her dark skin tone almost completely, with a cut out below her chest to her hips. The contours of her stomach and waist were painted in a lurid red colour that was both striking and beautiful. The same red paint had been used at the side of each thigh, and to graze her collarbones. The Dunmer was yet again barefoot, only this time she was in conforming socks in a golden colour that cut at the heel and at her toes, she wore sleeves around her forearms in the same colour that were bandaged down into fingerless gloves.

But all in all it was the crimson hair that stood out most - she’d tightened it back into a thick and well-teased braid that stood coiffed perfectly atop her head before falling to the back of her knees. Her edges had been slicked down at her hairline with a wax in enchanting spirals. The braid was adorned with scale-like flecks of metal and hoops of copper and the way in which it cascaded down the graceful curve of her spine to below her bottom was reminiscent of a dragon’s tail.

Her face was highlighted with a silver-white shimmer that clung to the sharpness of her cheekbones and sat below her brows, at the tip of her nose, and dotted daintily on her plump cupids bow. She gave a smile out at the town square before her, inhaling the evening air with a sense of pride in her chest as it filled. Ivy blinked in quick succession as she glanced up at the stars, pressing together the thumb and forefinger of each hand to create a square viewing box which she peered through. Her lips pursed and she nodded thoughtfully; “prosperous evening for some, but a darkness lingering on the outskirts… I should be careful.” Ivy’s voice had an accent to it that was difficult to ascertain as being from any one place. There was the clear lilting purr of the Khajiit of Elsewyr, the occasional harshness of Dunmeris and even hints of an Imperial accent blended into one. It was the accent of a well-travelled woman, who’d picked up bits and pieces along the way and had refused to let go. Which, all things considered, was the way that Ivy chose to live out every aspect of her life - as evidenced by the many trunks of trinkets and spoils that she hoarded in her tent.

Finally, in her hand she held one of those trinkets. A mask. It was made of darkened metal, but bronze came through in the places where some of the coating had worn down, around the eyes and at the tips of the fangs. It was shaped like a dragon's head, and was just big enough for Ivy to tie it behind her braid so that it sat over her forehead - her blazing red eyes peeking through the holes. She giggled to herself and offered a quiet roar and growl against the night. The gradually increasing rhythm of faint drumbeats began in the square…




The square itself looked very much as a town square should. It was worse for wear, sure. The war had done that much, still, there was something endearing about it. There was hope in the tattered town. The hope was in the smiling faces of the nords as they danced in circles with tankards in hand to the music played. The music added a warmth to what should have been a rather biting evening. The plum and black sky sat over them - a ceiling of stars that also wanted to celebrate with the men, women, and children of Jorwen Red Bear's war band. They had built a great fire in the centre, from a hollow in the ground, and the flames licked at the air and crackled loudly.

The great fire was the guest of honour. It brought the warmth, the inviting orange glow that cut through the tensions and through the black and white of the world with its luminance. It was more than a fire, it was a beacon. It was a tower of hope that passed it's spark to every soul that danced around it, or warmed their hands against it. It was a celebration at its most primitive. Fire was violence, burning, and pain - and yet here, peace radiated from it. Fire was the very breath of Falkreath's savior.

"Whursssss the acrobab??!!" Yelled out a large and bearded Nord from behind his tankard, ale spitting out from his wet lips, his arm around the shoulders of an equally drunk female companion. "To our new guestseseses!" He called out again, raising the tankard to the sky, "to Jorwen Red Bear," he continued, swaying in a breeze that was not there. "To… fucking Skyrim!!!!" He finished with a triumphant bellow of finality. He only had to say the word and his Nord brothers and sisters raised theirs in turn to toast to their beloved province.

The man tumbled backwards into a haybale after that.

A blanket was draped over the man’s prone and almost immediately snoring form afterwards. Do’Karth had elected to pace himself with the festivities, always preferring to keep a clear mind and striking the balance between appearing to involve himself with the dynamics of the warband while maintaining his own personal code of ethics. Besides, he thought, his attention turning to Ivy with an affectionate smile, he never missed a show.

“See?! La’Shuni told you that you wouldn’t want to miss this!” the young girl exclaimed, dragging Daro’Vasora to the edge of the crowd. La’Shuni was adorned in a light brown embroidered tunic and white trousers, unperturbed by the chill while her sister wore a heavy cloak, wishing she was by a fire at that particular moment. The cold was forgotten for the moment as a pair of identical emerald eyes regarded the visage of a dragon beginning her dance, the cadence of drums acting as the heartbeat of a great beast.

“Well, isn’t that something.” Daro’Vasora smiled, pulling closer to her sister for warmth and affection. La’Shuni gave it freely.

As she warmed herself up and into the dance, the Dunmer led with her hips, letting them shimmy sensually in time to the drums. This display of belly dancing was simply the tease before the rest of the delights she had in mind…

Ivy had noted where each of her props were laid out. This was just about grabbing her crowd… Her stomach rolled and she held her arms out either side of her, their movements fluid and beautiful. Her feet carried her around the place she had named her stage in a hypnotising flurry. The poi was to the left, batons to the right, and hoop above. She smiled at the forming crowd, and gave Do'Karth a wave of acknowledgement. She liked to give the Khajiit special attention, and he wasn't the only one - she shuffled toward La'Shuni, giving her a playful wink too.

Do’Karth smiled at Ivy’s wave, responding with a hand over his heart. He did not wish to draw too much undo attention to himself; others might have thought the gesture was for them, and he did not want to deprive others of the sensation of acknowledgement from the alluring entertainer. But he knew it was for him, and him alone… it always was. The two had been close for weeks now, kindred spirits in many ways. He helped set up the displays Ivy put on, and he never tried to reign in her free spirit. Like a fire, she was her most alive when nothing tried to contain her spirit and expression. And so, like a fire out of control, she consumed the attention of all around her in a mesmerizing display forged from many different cultures that came together to form something that was distinctly Ivy.

La’Shuni giggled at the wink, her friend had always gone out of her way to make her feel special and acknowledged even from the first day the Khajiit had arrived with mister Francis, feeling like an outsider. She wondered where her mentor was at that particular moment; she was rather hoping to introduce Vasora to him. She’d tried hard to keep her sister to her right, concealing the scars hidden beneath her mane to the left of her face. It didn’t seem the time to bring up difficult discussions, not here.

“Are you two close?” Daro’Vasora asked.

That pulled La’Shuni out of her thought, prompting her to smile apologetically. “Ah! Yes, yes we are. Miss Ivy’s taken a liking to this one, she’s been looking after La’Shuni… they all have! And this one has been looking after them.” she explained mildly, deciding to keep her Nord-name to herself for the time being. The less her sister knew about what La’Shuni had been up to for the past couple of months, the better. She didn’t want her to worry about things that had already happened. She clutched the jade necklace that was about her neck, the one that Ivy had given her shortly after her Naming. It brought comfort and warmth to the Suthay-raht.

Elsewhere in the crowd, Calen swayed in the cool, familiar Skyrim air to the comforting, familiar sound of mirthful Nord men and women around a crackling fire. It felt like he was home again, even if Hjaalmarch was many miles Northwest from here. Yet it was hard to remain at ease with the knowledge that a few of his friends were missing. Not just that, but he was surprised to find himself searching the crowd for the face of a familiar Nord girl -- one who, while not responsible for getting him into this wild adventure, was at least the catalyst that brought him here -- causing him to absentmindedly play with the objects in the bag at his side. His hand was bandaged, a product of Raelynn’s handiwork shortly before she disappeared, but most of the healing was his own doing. His thumb twiddled around the outer ring of the dynamo-core he ripped out of the centurion. He lied before about having one, before he approached the Imperial City. Before he helped bring the refugees to Skingrad. Had she ever made it back home?

He abruptly pulled his hand out and refocused his attention on the ravishing dancer to distract himself. He'd do well to heed the lessons of his father -- “worry not what could be.” Though honestly, that often was in conflict with the College, so who was to say what was right? There has been a lot of loss and grief on the way here. He should enjoy this. In fact, he found his foot tapping along -- not to whatever sound or music was playing, but to the footsteps of the dancer herself. Even his swaying mirrored her movements; he longed to perform again, at least to wash the melancholy of the last few months off of him, but watching the beauty and grace unfold before him was good enough.

Meg was unable to keep the grin off her face. It was almost as if she hadn't been kidnapped or had to escape and travel for two days through the hills and forests with an injured companion. The energy in Falkreath was so unlike what she had felt here before. Now filled with survivors of all races, with laughter and excitement, it was almost like a Newlife Festival. More than that though was seeing her friends alive and well. It had been touching to know they had been concerned for her, and she was more than happy to reassure that she was indeed fine and well.

Once she had freshened up and helped herself to a little mead, the Nord woman felt a new surge of energy bubbling within, and she was ready to see what the night had to offer Falkreath. It seemed everyone was enthralled by the beautiful dunmer woman with flowing red hair, and truth be told, Meg couldn't blame them; she too had been gawking before letting out a whoop and cheering.

Mara's love, it's good t'be back, it's good t'be free. Daro'Vasora had been right all those days ago in the desert. The Nords weren't folk who simply rolled over and showed their bellies in submission. They were brave warriors, and to see their bravery and hospitality had brought so many others from different races together had Meg feeling warmer than even the mead in her belly had.

Affectionately playing with the loose end of her green and gold scarf, she began to scan the crowd for familiar and new faces, eager to have a chat or two. After a little perusing, she caught sight of one of her Nordish companions not too far away. Meg easily made her way over, making sure not to obstruct anyone's view or bump into them accidentally and cause some grumbles. "Heya!" she called out, reaching over to tap his shoulder. "I'mma bet you're just itchin' to join, eh?" His swaying hadn't gone unnoticed.

“Mm… perhaps.” Calen said coyly, look to Meg with a boyish smirk. He gently elbowed her arm as he teased, “Perhaps I sense projection. Who knew Megana had a fondness for exotic women.

"Wha'?" Meg blinked at the blond Nord, shaking her to correct his assumption before seeing the expression on his face. "Ahh, you're jokin' with me." She chuckled lightly as she looked back in the direction of the 'exotic woman'. "I dunno who wouldn' wanna -want to- see this show. The way she looks and moves makes m'think of Dibella." The Imperial Nord didn't often speak of that goddess, but to her it seemed only fitting. She also recalled her lessons in enunciation with Zaveed and felt it was probably a good idea to practice speaking properly in the presence of a bard.

“Indeed she does.” Calen replied wistfully, prompting a hand to grab at the wooden amulet beneath his shirt. He looked down warmly at the shorter woman beside him, remembering how it was only shortly ago did she return with Zaveed after their disappearance. He was glad she was safe. So, in a fit of sentimentality, he wrapped a single arm around her in a hug and pulled her in close, and with a breathy sigh, he said, “Thank Talos, we’re finally home.”

"Aye," Meg agreed, leaning into the friendly hug, a grin lighting her face that had nothing to do with the festivities. Just like with Fjolte, it was nice that Calen knew exactly the feeling of being long gone and finally returning to familiarity.

The thought of the other Nord caused her grin the waver, but she powered through. He would be home, hopefully, with his sister and nieces, and hopefully one day find a lovely lass to marry and have children with.

"It almos' feels like the dwemer an' all that was just a bad nightmare," she said after a moment. "It's real nice that even when times're tough, we can still be happy an' have some fun."

“Almost.” Calen said, almost in agreement, but there was a somewhat somber tone in his voice that suggested otherwise. “You know it’s been bad when this doesn’t feel real. Like this is just a good dream, and when we wake up, the real world will be waiting…”

Calen paused for a second and looked at Meg, before sharply exhaling and forced a smile as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I just keep thinking about what’s happening in Solitude. And Markarth. And all the other towns and villages in Skyrim. It’s hard to rest when we’re a day’s ride away from my family.”

"I know," Meg replied with a nod, smile still on her face though it seemed to be touched by a tinge of sadness. "My Pa's in Whiterun- well, he was. Same with his wife, an' my little brother, Sylven. I know Whiterun's... not quite right at the momen' but... I'm hopin' an' prayin' they're fine. We're tough people. I have faith in us an' them."

While doing the rounds with her dancing, Ivy had spotted in the crowd a beautiful looking gentleman, who seemed to be moving in time with her in his own way. The Dunmer had an incredible talent for spotting incredible talent and so she made her way with an alluring haste to his side. Her slender arms moved in tandem with her hips and legs. It was as though each part of her was dancing to its own routine, and yet together, it looked so exotic and foreign. The dancer’s moves were so outré, but her confidence and spirit sold them.

“Hello there handsome,” she purred in his ear, performing a pirouette at his side. “Come join me, show me what you can do…” And with that, she was moving backwards again – her footsteps were so soft that it appeared as though she was gliding across the ground back to her spot, her finger pointed at Calen as she beckoned him to her side on the ‘stage’. The Nord regarded her with pleasant surprise, a flattered blush coloring his face as he smiled and gave Meg a sideways glance, but he wasn’t timid. He ducked his head under the strap of his bag and handed it to Meg so that she may hold it for him as he commented, “Well, you know me: gotta give the people what they want! Take care dear, the bag is heavy.”

Soon after, encouraged by the hooting and hollering of his Nord kinsmen, Calen followed after Ivy with a swagger in his step. Truthfully, he was no saint and should admit to himself that watching Ivy walk away was not done purely for the sake of studying her dance pattern -- but it helped. When she spun around to meet him, the flow of her movements suddenly paused for the briefest moment so that he could ready himself and start in tandem, he matched her pose. Their arms, one wrapped around the waist of themselves and other high in the air, and the moment she led, he followed as they circled one another. They made it look easy, but Calen was working overtime trying to match her movements with Ivy’s mask hiding her facial cues. There was a hybrid style at work here, he noted. The movement and angles of her body were distinctly Dunmeri, but her footwork and handwork reminded him of Khajiiti, whose dancing were directly influenced by their martial arts kata. The College had been generous in their teachings, but this was challenging -- if she decided to mix it up a little, he might have to as well.

And change she did. Meeting Calen’s eyes with her own, Ivy stepped in time over to her left, turning on one foot again but taking a small leap into the air this time. As she came back down she slipped to her knees and scooped up her two batons into her hands. “Alright, so you dance – let me see you keep up to this…” she sang with a giggle. As she held each baton in the centre, her hands lit up with an orange light that manifested as two flames bursting at the end of each baton. With ease, she span both of them and the flames at each end appeared as two flaming circles in each hand. “So, handsome,” she began as she walked towards Calen again – the drums had slowed and quietened to the point where the whooshing of the pinwheel flames could be heard.

“How is your catching?” Ivy knew that the man was a performer, he had to be. Perhaps even schooled in it – unlike her. She had enough faith in Calen that before waiting for an answer, she tossed a flaming baton high into the air and left it to him. It had been too long since someone had really danced with her. So far, she was impressed.

And catch he did. Granted, his eyes were wide with surprise, not expecting this firecracker to act so spontaneously. He could juggle, yes, though it wasn’t necessarily his specialty and the novelty of fire juggling was generally lost on the locals given the number of wooden buildings with straw roofing -- but he caught it nonetheless and recovered smoothly to the pleasure of the proud locals, and gave Ivy an eager smile and waggling of his brows as he twirled the fiery baton around his fingers and around his wrist, getting a feel for the handiwork again before catching it in the crook of his elbow. He spent enough time in the desert that the heat wasn’t going to get to him so quickly.

”My lady... ” he said, strutting up to Ivy and letting the baton roll down his arm and into his hand as he offered it back to her. However, as he did, a wave of his fingers from behind the flames reshaped the flames on one end in a fit of illusion magic so that they resembled a bouquet of roses. “I believe you dropped this.”

Ivy clapped her hands at the creation of flowers from flame, but cast her eyes back to the crowd - to the female companion of Calen who was watching happily on at the show. “They’re beautiful, handsome! But you know,” she began, slipping out of the beat to approach Meg. “I think this beautiful young miss here would love flowers!” she yelled out, taking the girl’s hand and raising it to the sky - her voice addressing the crowd and not just Calen. “What do you all think?”

“Aye!” And Francis’ voice was not the only one shouting the word, the crowd exploding into a cacophony of raised tankards and cups spilling bits of their mead and ale as they were thrust in the air.

Meg's face went from somber to bright red, not at all used to being the center of attention. Green eyes wide, she looked around herself frantically before reminding herself that this was supposed to be fun, not a panic infused situation. "Ah- ah aye, I sure love flowers," she blabbed, wiping at her flushed face with her free hand, followed by a nervous giggle.

Ivy’s voice softened as she took both of her hands, reassuringly. “Just have fun young miss, keep them entertained. Your beautiful friend will help you…” she said quietly for Meg’s ears only as she led her to the front, letting go of her hands and standing her beside Calen. “Now the two of you get a solo spot,” she sang - handing her second baton to Meg. “Don’t be scared now, relish your moment in the spotlight,” she winked. “Keep them happy - and when I get back my handsome friend… You’re going to have to throw me in the air. You got that?” She did not wait for her answer, instead giving the two a grin before turning on her heel and making her way to the crowd. The eyes were now on Calen and Meg.
"Er... so you're gonna havta help me out here," Meg muttered to Calen. It was very hard to take the Dunmer's word's of not being nervous when she knew very well she was no entertainer and the only thing she had ever done for show was fight Brynja for gold, all those days ago in Anvil.

“To be frank,” Calen murmured back as he smoothly took the flaming baton from Meg’s hands, “I have no idea what to do with these either. And since you’re not a performer… just relax.

Both batons were suddenly juggled into the air, prompting a few oohs and ahs before the batons were suddenly discarded over his shoulder and landed in the dirt behind him -- Calen looked around at the crowd around him with an over-emphasized shrug, fetching a few snickerings from those who seemed to be in an unspoken agreement with the bard that juggling the batons, even flaming, was a little bit lame.

“Ladies and gents,” Calen called out as he circled the clearing, posturing himself, walking in confident strides like a rooster fluffing up its colorful plumage before he finally made it back to Meg, and took her hand for a dance, “allow me to introduce you to the benign,” he declared as he pulled her in, “the beautiful--” as he spun her away, “and the brave--” and released her into the center of the clearing, “--Megana the Kind!”

Amidst the whooping and cheering, as the locals knew that it was not every day a Nord would be immortalized in song, and for sure, tonight was a night when her new honorific title would be christened with merriment and drink, Calen cried out, “Lute!” and the crowd repeated the word, and somehow, from someone, a lute was indeed procured for him. The strumming that followed elevated the tension up to a crescendo until a rest relieved it, and then Calen turned to Meg with a smile.

“Ooooh… you’ve heard of Ragnar of Red, but who gives a damn ‘cause that man’s still dead?
Oh sure, the Dragonborn comes, but woe, the poor girl--”

The bard paused his playing to stage whisper to the crowd, “She di’n’t feel a thing, except maybe a thumb!”

He hoped the Dragonborn wasn’t around to hear this, given how he watched them shout down two Dwemer airships with the utterance of three words. Still, he continued.

“Let me tell you instead, my good friends of mine,
A story of a Nord named Megana the Ki-nd!
Delved into some ruins in the Jeralls,
Slaughtered some Falmer -- wait, I thought she was Kind?
Expectin’ to come back with some kind of haul--”

The song’s rhythm was suddenly cut off with the candid frankness of Calen’s voice, “Aw, shit, who stepped on the dwemer scrawl?”

Shrugging, he continued on. “Those damned cats… anyways…

“We’ve a new lightshow down in the South -- over there --
‘Let’s call it a day,’ she said,
With blood in her mouth.
Ran inland for food and supply,
Had their fill in the city and looked to the sky…”

Calen paused again and said, “What a queer little drago-oooh, Stendarr, those are dwemer. A little bit uglier, eh?”

“Friends of assassins and cutthroats and thieves,
They fought their way past and into the leaves.
Skingrad’s no good,
Anvil ain’t better,
So li’l Megana the Kind got her hands even wetter--”

Calen groaned and added another interlude, “Thalmor now, mind you. You know, I’ll never understand some of those elves. Look, I’ll give everyone a chance, but talk about too soon. Take a recess or something!”

“Her search for refuge brought her to sand,
And as you may know--”

Calen’s voice escalated into what sounded like a bout of incredulous yelling, as if he was expressing a frustrated sentiment that seemed obvious to him and hadn’t been able to voice before, “HAMMERFELL IS OLD DWEMER LAND!”

With a sigh and a shake of his head, he added, “Stendarr’s mercy, of course they were there.”

“She found herself in the town of Gilane,
Covered in dwemer and redguards enchained.
But there were a select few that fought ‘gainst the power,
And they sought out Megana and friends in their dark hour.
Three missions were given and all three went sour!

“For li’l Megana the Kind, somebody had fumbled,
Alerted the guard and their plan had crumbled.
Shed some more blood did Megana the Kind,
Accidentally loosed an arrow, nay, accidentally loosed twice… three times… six? A dozen?”

Calen cast a sideways glance at Meg, and mouthed the words, ‘Damn, Meg.’ Then he smiled and resumed his playing.

“All in the same man, too.” He added matter-of-factly.

“The dwarves didn’t take kind to Megana the Kind,
Or the trail of blood that she left behind,
So they took her friend and put ‘em where she couldn’t find,
Thinking that was the way to give a piece of their mi-nd.”

Calen sucked air in through his teeth and looked nervously side-to-side as if to say, ‘We know enough about Meg now to see where this is going.’

“They sent her an army, but they sent her too few,
She carved a path through the men that she slew.
With her friends at her back, and their counterattack,
She showed those dwarves the Nord way to coup!”

A loud cheer came from the Nord men and women in the crowd as they crashed their tankards together, spilling mead and ale over one another as Calen strummed his lute and danced circles around Meg, periodically prodding her with his shoulder to show how every verse were humored gestures made in good faith.

“Let that day be a lesson in war,
She might be nice, but she’ll show you what for!
If you laugh at Bloody Megana the Kind,
You won’t be laughing
WHEN SHE FUCKS YOUR BE-HIND!”



“How do you like it?” Jorwen smirked softly, addressing Sevari. The two had shared few words but between them there was a bond between men who had seen war and violence and survived. “Nord spirit. To sing and celebrate amongst a war.”
“I noticed.” Sevari grunted as he shoved hard at a shoulder that had strayed too close to him, the drunken couple not even noticing as they continued on in their fuzzy-headed writhing.
“Lighten up, Mister Sevari. You should laugh as much and as hard as you can while you yet live.” Francis winked, “It’ll be hard to after.”

“Don’t you have a little girl to dote over?” Sevari frowned at him. Francis’ benevolence and optimism didn’t quite strike Sevari as well as the Breton might have expected it to. Whereas Jorwen was quiet and stoic, Francis could be known to have a mouth on him.

“Oh, if only you knew. I doubt Ten-Thanes needs a doting hand on her shoulder.” Francis raised his cup to Sevari, “But I think I will seek out her conversation. Good evening to you, Mister Sevari.”

With that, Francis turned and headed deeper into the crowd to find Shuni. Sevari had no idea who the fuck Ten-Thanes was, but he found the insinuation that it was the little girl comedic. Then his mind went to his own young woman in his life, wondering how she was doing. Meg had tried and succeeded where Francis had not, awakening the smiles on his lips and a feeling of bonding. To see her dancing and smiling felt like a victory for himself, and so with a curt nod and slight grin he looked to Jorwen, “I’ll see you, Red-Bear.”

The Dunmer moved with ease through the crowds, away from the firepit and towards a recognisable face. The Ohmes from earlier. She had spotted him, drink in hand and a hat atop his head. He was moving away from the Red Bear and so Ivy snaked her way in between bodies to reach him by a pile of wooden crates that had been set up presumably for seats. She tapped him gently on his shoulder to grab his attention. "Say there, big man," she said quietly, "think you can help me wet my whistle?" Ivy asked, indicating to his drink.

Sevari turned at the voice, the familiarity of it tickling the back of his neck almost. It was the Dunmer. He was at a loss for words almost, but he recovered in step. He gave her his smirk, tipping his head at her in a little bow as he offered his cup. “What gentleman would I be if I wouldn’t?”

Ivy responded in kind with a small bow of her own head, taking his cup into her hand and lifting it to her lips for a small sip. The drink she had taken was tiny, but she breathed a sigh of relief regardless. “Ahhh, so you’re a gentleman?” she asked playfully, an eyebrow raised beneath the mask and she smiled. “There was me having you figured as more of a rogue,” she said, quieter, tracing a finger over the rim of his cup while she shrugged. “I hope you’re enjoying the festivities…”

“Little bit of both.” Sevari dipped his head and winked. To her question of the festivities, he gave a soft chuckle, a corner of his lip drawing upwards in a slight smirk, “A little more now. To what do I owe such attention from a mesmerizing woman?”

“Like I said, I needed a drink,” she said with a coy smile before casting a glance back to the stage to see just what antics Calen and Meg were busy wowing the crowd with. “And I thought it best to be hospitable to our new guests…” Ivy drew closer to him, her voice grew softer and before long she had a finger placed against his chest. “So you know…” she whispered, standing on the tips of her toes to reach his ear, “if you do happen to need any help adjusting to the place, maybe I'll give you a most thorough tour…" as the last of her words left her mouth, she moved her finger to the brim of his hat and pulled it down over his eyes. Then, she lifted his cup again - filling her cheeks with the last of the alcohol. Ivy put the cup back into his hand before stepping backwards away from him, and then she was gone.

His eyebrows rose when she came closer and his eyes went wide with surprise as she pulled the brim of his hat down. He lifted it off of his head to find she had gone with the wind. He bit his bottom lip and scanned the crowd to no avail before he turned back to the direction he was walking before. Godsdamn, he needed to know more about this woman.

As he sighted on Sora, Shuni, and Francis he lifted his cup to his lips and tipped it back only to find it empty. At that, he only laughed, setting the thing aside and making his way to the three.



It had taken some time, some effort, and some mead, but Gaius was finally getting into the swing of things. Half-drained tankard sloshing in his hand, he whirled apart from his latest dancing partner and mirrored her movements with a deep bow. Red-face and breathing heavily from the dancing, he smiled at her before weaving his way into the rest of the crowd. He loved Nord parties, and it had been a long time since he’d been to one.

Moving through the square with just a bit of a mead-sway to his step, he finally made his way to the edge of the crowd and took a deep breath as he broke out right in front of Jorwen. Gaius tossed a nod his way. “Jorwen.”

“Aye.” The towering Nord nodded once at Gaius, “Haven’t met you before. Seen you, but not spoken.”

“Gaius Milonem. I haven’t been making a habit of speaking much in the past month or so. It’s been a trying time. Still,” he held up his tankard, “thank you for your hospitality.” He took a long drink, then offered it to Jorwen.

“So, you can use the...oh, what was it that the Nords called it during the war…? The thu’um. Sounds like there’s a rather long story behind that one.”

Jorwen shook his head, huffing a chuckle through his nose, “Not me. The Dovahkiin. The only talent I have is with steel, my friend.”

He regarded Gaius for a moment before speaking, a brow raised, “The war? Which’n, I’ve lived through both of them, friend.”
Gaius pursed his lips slightly, wondering whether it was a good idea to speak about his role in the civil war so openly in a room full of rowdy, drunken Nords. A moment later, though, he discarded this view; these people had better things to think about at the moment. He sighed. “The civil one, all the way through Windhelm.”

“Legion man, then?” Jorwen nodded, “I was too, upon a time.”
Jorwen crossed his tree-trunk arms over his huge chest, his eyes grew distant for a time before he looked back at Gaius, “I was there too. Windhelm.” He paused, thinking over his next words before saying them, “I was sworn to Aelfgar. I was one of his Housecarls under the Blue Bear. I won’t pretend to expect you to know him, but a good man he was.”
He nodded, “There’s good men on both sides. Always.”

“Pardon me,” a woman’s voice said as their footsteps approached, “I hope you gentlemen would forgive my intrusion over the course of some conversation?” Jorwen would not have recognized her, but Gaius would -- it was Aries. She’s rarely been seen by anybody ever since they first arrived in Falkreath, save for the few sightings where she was making her rounds around the town, and on this night, she wasn’t wearing the typical merchant robes she’s been wearing since Hammerfell. Instead, she was draped in a long, beautiful red silk dress with a low cut V, and a golden colored toga cinched by gold jewelry like the ornate necklace that rest between her collarbones and the bracelets that spiraled around her wrists. A circlet sat atop her head, on freshly washed hair that curled and waved after being released from the pins that kept it in place before. If she didn’t look like an imperial ambassador before, this utterly patrician livery made the fact a dead giveaway.

Gaius turned, raising a single eyebrow at Aries as he beheld her clothing and realized belatedly that she was absolutely gorgeous. If I were five years younger... He appraised her, then grinned ruefully: ten years younger. At least.

Of course, he didn’t vocalize any of these thoughts. Instead, he opted to chug down the last of his mead and snap off a quick salute. “Ambassador Machella. Not at all, feel free. As long as Jorwen doesn’t mind?” He glanced sideways at the enormous Nord in question, seeking confirmation and clamping down on whatever remaining thoughts of Aries’ beauty lingered in his head.

“No.” One shake of his big head was all. The woman radiated power, and what was more she radiated a sense of being owed respect. Jorwen had never met her. He introduced himself to the woman. “My name is Jorwen Red-Bear. I lead men for the Dovahkiin.”

“Indeed? It is my honor then, Red-Bear.” Aries said, a hint of respect finding its way into her voice. She stuck her hand out to Jorwen in greeting, and with a curtsy she added, “Lady Aries Machella, Ambassador for the Septim Empire. You must be quite capable for the… Do-vah-kiin to have selected you. I’m sure there is a lot you could do with the intel we’ve collected over the last few months.”

The Breton helped herself to stand beside Gaius, and among the other two men, stood much shorter than either of them -- and yet that didn’t seem to faze her in the slightest. She’s stood comfortably shoulder to shoulder with her chin up to face them, making her seem almost as if she was still standing as high if not taller as she looked down her nose. She cast a sidelong glance toward Gaius, and with the corner of her mouth slightly curling up in a teasing smile, she jested, “I hope you’ve left a good impression. There’s too few of us left to start pissing off the North, hm?”

Gaius gave vent to a chuckle, shrugging his burly shoulders. “As far as I can tell, a decent one. Just two old men grousing about the wars that they’ve fought in and telling stories about how shit their commanders were.” He grinned disarmingly at Jorwen to show that he meant no offense: the Nord sounded fairly fond of this ‘Aelfgar.’



With her mouth still full of whatever Sevari's spirit had been, and little time to spare, Ivy made it quickly back through the crowd. She was trying hard not to laugh and lose it, but Calen's song had been wonderful. What a charming young man he was, and she waved her hand out as she made it back to the stage - only then noticing that her batons were too far away. Her eyes widened and she pointed to them, trying to grab Meg's attention. Meanwhile, she made a gesture with her other hand to Calen, he was going to have to be ready to do that throw… And do it quickly, the speed of her run would be the momentum that got her high enough…

Calen saw Ivy rushing back to the circle -- it wasn’t hard to miss between the mask some of the crowd parting for her. It looked as though she was waiting for him to be ready. For… ah! Right! The throw! He moved into position and winked at her with a wide smile to indicate his readiness -- again, this wasn’t his specialty, so there was a hint of nervousness fluttering in his chest (or was that the adrenaline from his performance just seconds ago?) Given that, he was prepared to react in case something (or someone) went sideways. So far, he was absolutely in love with the performance the dunmer was giving and was eager to see what else she was hiding up her sleeves. And her suit, too, honestly. She flirted first, so he felt pretty safe from judgement.

And she made the jump, with Calen beneath her, and the strength he had behind him, she made it high enough to grab the alloy of her hoop with both hands. Without skipping a beat, she lifted her legs above her - feeling the stretch in her stomach as she wrapped her ankles around the top of the hoop, where it fastened to it's hanging rope. The nords had done a good job pulling together the apparatus to make it possible.

She was moving in a slow circle, having been pushed by the jump. Ivy released her hands from the hoop, letting her ankles hold her weight as she rounded on Meg, who would be handing her the baton…

It was a surprise to Meg herself that she actually noticed the red haired Dunmer motioning to her despite the waves of heat radiating off her face. She'd heard many songs in her years of travel, but this was not just any song, it was about her, what had transpired, and it painted her in all sorts of lights that Nord folk enjoyed, even if probably all of what he mentioned wouldn't have been possible without everyone else in her group. She was embarrassed to the core, but there was a happy warmth within as well.

She easily turned to meet Ivy and handed her the baton before stepping back, happy to have been part of the moment but grateful her moment to shine was closing.

Ivy's hand wrapped around the baton and as she had done so earlier, her magicka lit the ends again. As her hoop began a second swinging circle, she turned the baton again until it took the form of the same flaming wheel. Quickly, she stopped - letting one hand steady her as she let a leg drop through the hoop to instead sit inside of the circle. Her jaw was beginning to ache, and the alcohol stung the inside of her mouth - it was time.

The Dunmer pointed her face upwards, and brought the baton arms length from her face. Then she spat out the alcohol in one shot through pursed lips so it sprayed, instead of simple dribbling and making a mess. It hit the flame at the tip of the baton and the vapors of alcohol caught flame - and in that moment, the Incredible Ivy truly was a fire breathing dragon.

There was a rapturous applause and she slid her bottom over the hoop, letting herself slip slowly again, her arms behind the hoop, torso and legs in front, and then she held herself on the slowly spinning piece of apparatus by her neck, arms held out straight and graceful like wings. She enjoyed herself in the pose until it was time to come back down to solid ground. She hoped La'Shuni had seen it. She hoped Do'Karth had too, but once her feet had touched the stage she grinned out. Taking both Meg and Calen by the hand.

"Applause for my two new friends, Megana the Kind and the Most Handsome Bard!" She exclaimed, voice filled with joy. She probably should have asked him his name earlier, but first - their applause.

Not yet then. Meg couldn't flush any further than she already had- it was strange how the cool Skyrim night actually felt as hot as an afternoon in Gilane right about now. An embarrassed grin on her face, the Nord woman scanned the faces of the crowd, seeing the folks cheering and applauding, grins and smiles gracing everyone's face that she could see. Her embarrassment shifted and she lifted her fist in the air, a sense of pride filling within. They were happy, and she had helped!

Sensing that Meg had perhaps had enough of the attention, Ivy let go of Calen's hand and instead enveloped Meg in her arms. She was taller than the Nord and so she leaned over the girl, giving her as much of an affectionate squeeze as she could before whispering into the woman's ear, "you were a wonder, but you can fly now young miss. Won't keep you any longer!" She let Meg go and beamed at her. What a lovely individual Meg was - Calen had not been wrong, for she truly was kind. That much, even Ivy knew.

Megana returned the hug with equal vigor, grinning at the beautiful Dunmer. "I think ye- you're actually the wonder 'round here!" She stepped back and gave a hearty wave before continuing into the crowd, the cheers and chattering almost deafening. It was true what Calen had said, this was like a dream, and soon she'd have to wake up.

Maybe a little mead before she did? It had always been Meg's drink of choice.

Calen smiled upon Meg and the bright red that had colored her face; this was a day that was well deserved and long coming. He hoped he had done his best to have her be known for her best qualities without her exploits being forgotten. She was kind, yes, but some of them wouldn't have gotten this far without her. He let her retreat to the nearest watering hole without further molestation and let that lingering warmth fill his chest, before sighing it out and turned to face Ivy.

“You're quite a spectacle, m’dear. I might have to write two songs before the night is over.” Calen cooed. “Ivy, is that right?”

"It is," Ivy replied with a smile, untangling the ribbon behind her to finally remove the mask from her face. The cool hair kissed her forehead and cheeks where the mask bad been sat and she gave a groan of relief. "And just who are you?" She asked with a curious tilt of her head in his direction. "And where have you been all this time?" Her head shook in wonder at him, she was still finding herself impressed by Calen.

“Calen,” he answered, “of the Bard’s College in Solitude. As for where I’ve been… well, someone had to record the tale of Megana the Kind, eh?”

As if to emphasize his point, he began rifling through his bag as he continued to explain, “Her tale is not just a song of embellishment… I reckon I owe many friends of mine some songs of their own.”

Finally, he procured an inactive dynamo-core, warped and damaged, with his bandaged hand and gave it a careful appraisal. He added, “Ripped this one out myself. What about you though? Please, spare no detail! I could listen to your voice all night!”

’oooooh’ Was the sound the Dunmer mad when she caught sight of the contraption in the Nord’s hand. She hadn’t seen one so close before - not that she had too big of an interest in fandangled pieces of machinery like that. It was interesting that he held in his hand that which powered and supported the Dwemer machines. Knowing what he had achieved on stage, she could believe it… The thoughts that circled through her mind were not shown on her face - but hidden well behind surprise and awe. “Calen the Handsome,” Ivy repeated with a snap of her fingers, narrowing her eyes at him in something of a charming fashion before she swayed back to his side, placing her hand on the small of his back to slowly usher him from the stage and towards some seating in the near distance.

She was of course flattered in his interest in her, but it could be said that she was more interested in him, and so she sidestepped his request in lieu of a request of her own… “So you say you have been recording your story so far? I want to hear more of it,” she began, tilting her head closer to his ear, her voice lower now. “I don’t know that my travelling across the provinces to reach myself here is all that much of an exciting story…”

It was followed by a shrug of her shoulders, and she gave Calen’s back a friendly tickle before removing her hand and taking his in both of hers, squeezing gently. “I’d love to hear more of your story, Calen the Handsome!”

“Oh, Ivy...” Calen purred, comforted by the physical contact she made with him. Were he a weaker man, he’d have melted in her hand. “You flatter me, but from one charming performer to another, we could go at this all night! I showed you mine, why not show me yours? Where did you find the time to pick up on Khajiiti kata? I noticed it in your footwork… Whispering Fang?”

That elicited a soft chuckle, and a raised eyebrow to go with it. “I suppose I can do this one thing…” He had tapped into her own curiosity again by having recognised that her movements came from other cultures - that they were learned by herself. Maybe not in a Bard’s college, but on the road. “I’ve been to Elsweyr, I enjoy the journey from Riverhold to Senchal. I’ve done it many times…” Ivy smiled over at him, she knew the game he was playing. “So yes, maybe you’re right it was from some of the monks I have seen, or from somewhere in Elsweyr…” She gave another noncommittal shrug, but she was playing it coy. “You’re very astute, you must have been the best student…”

“Far from, I think,” Calen replied, “I’ve a poor habit of only paying attention to what I’m interested in…”

Calen placed the dynamo-core back into the bag, but he didn’t take her eyes off of her, and offered a hand as soon as one was available. “How about this? We fill our bellies with some sweet, sweet mead -- oh, Gods, how I miss Skyrim -- and we can spend the rest of our night sharing stories. Among other things, perhaps. What do you say, sera?

“Oh my, oh my,” she sang in response, wagging a finger at him while a glimmer of mischief fell over her eyes again. “Now who flatters who?” Ivy asked with an accusatory tilt of her head. She bore no real striking authority, just a keen playfulness – as evidenced by the chuckle that his words brought about. “Just a small mead,” she requested, making a pinching sign with her fingers to add emphasis to such a request. “In any case – I would love to share stories…”

“Tsk, tsk, darlin’. You’re well traveled, you know how it goes: when in the Imperial City, do as the Imperials. When in Skyrim… get blind drunk!” Calen laughed, finding himself wrapped up in the merriment around him. “I joke! Can’t be called a good bard if I don’t remember anything, eh? And why would I want to deprive myself of such a wonderful sight?!”

“Come, come, let me show you a good time!” Calen continued, ushering onward with an arm around her back as honed in on closest source of honey mead. “Tonight, we will sing!

“I’m not much of a singer, Calen,” she said with a smile. “But, I did know a wonderful singer some years ago, and I helped her to write a song, actually…” she smirked, proud of herself. “She became quite a well known artiste. Her songs were so beautiful and clever. Like yours!” Ivy said, smiling, pointing a finger at him. “Just Priscilla and her lute and she could bring a whole room to tears...” The Dunmer leaned further into Calen and whispered, “including me... Not a drying eye in the house.”

“It’s not about the outside!” Calen said eagerly, leaning in with a grin from ear to ear, mere inches from her face. He suddenly looked down at his shirt, and with his thumb, pulled out the wooden amulet of Dibella around his neck and dangled it in the air for a brief moment. “Though it helps, of course, but beauty? Beauty is not just skin deep! It can be found in all things, inside and out. Your heart! Outside you’re beautiful, yes, but I’ve also an eye for people! You. You’re good, I can tell! Kindred spirits, you and I, who just want to see the world and make the people in it smile. That’s beautiful too, I think, and so is singing to warm your heart, not because you’re ‘good.’ Your intent matters!”

Her eyes were drawn to his amulet, and she traced a finger across the pendant as he held it up in the moonlight. She nodded in acknowledgement of his words, he was an old soul, and that radiated from him in the wisdom that he spoke so fluently, wise beyond his young years. “If you really want us to sing, I’ll sing with you. Happily in fact!” Ivy replied, wrapping her own arm around Calen too. She felt a strong fondness for the bard, he was right in that they were kindred spirits. He was also much of a smooth talker with quite the experienced silver tongue too. Being complimented so was flattering and lovely surprise for an evening such as this one. “So let us get our mead, we’ll find ourselves a spot under the stars… No blind drunk behaviour - just two kindling spirits. I want to hear about your adventure! Maybe after that, we can sing.”

“That sounds lovely.”




By the time her vigour had returned after being the center of attention, Meg was a little unsure of how much she had consumed. No longer red due to embarrassment, her cheeks remained flushed, but for once instead of reverting to her usual sobbing mess, she seemed giddy and still mostly in control of her inhibitions. As she teetered and tottered through the still jubilant people, giving a few waves and grins at complete strangers who were now calling her 'Bloody Megana the Kind', her eyes fell upon a most familiar face.

"JU-" She clapped a hand over her mouth, snickering to herself. She had a better idea.




In her scaly red hands Judena cupped a warm tankard of mulled wine, not ever developing a taste or liking for Nord Mead during her time in Skyrim over the years. Found among new company, new ways to test her memory once more - for once, perhaps their names would finally stick. Delighted by Calen’s performance, gently clapping alongside the others - happy to see Meg and even Zaveed back in one piece. Their disappearance coupled with Fjolte and Raelynn’s departure was nearly too much. Complicated as her feelings rippled through out her, able to remember form new memories that lasted more than a day was a reeling experience.

Just in time to remember new faces, she still meticulously wrote in her logbook but it stayed in her shirt for longer periods of time.

Despite being among allies, she gravitated toward the calmer energy exuding from the bearded Khajiit, sidling up beside Do’Karth she introduced herself, “Hello! My name is Judena Callisar, it has been a pleasure to be among a company of kindred souls this evening. What is your name?” Offering her hand to shake.

The Suthay-raht took it, smiling warmly at the Argonian who approached him, his eyes glowing in the night from the dancing firelight of the performance. “It is my pleasure, Judena. This one is Do’Karth… it is an interesting group of companions you keep.” he observed, grinning at Calen’s dramatic story. The bard certainly was talented and could keep a crowd entertained, much like a storyteller at a fire.

“Tell this one, is there anything he could do for you? Are you warm enough?” he asked kindly, not wishing to insinuate that she shouldn’t be there in Skyrim’s chill, given her lizard-like form. He bowed his head politely. “Do’Karth is at your service.”

Gently squeezing before letting his hand go she tugged at her collar to show the fur lined robes, she said, “Oh I am quite warm, thank you! I am no stranger to Skyrim’s chill, I am prepared.”

“We are diverse. Various minds, skills, and backgrounds. While we have had our struggles from inside and outside forces, I believe we all carry a seed of good. In some form.” Judena said, finding it rather difficult to describe how they are together with the good and bad, their shadowy members lingering at the edges and the ones that sang their songs. “Diversity is our strength, our teeth, our warm embrace, our collective burgeoning of intelligence.”

Rolling the tankard in her hands, she said, “I am warmed by your hospitality, Do’Karth.”

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around the Argonian woman, followed by a familiar voice. "Judena!" Meg squeezed the older woman, giving her a hug that was probably long deserved. "I've missed ya!"

Holding her tankard up, careful not to spill, Judena gummily smiled twisting at her waist to see Meg. “Do’Karth would you mind terribly if you held my drink for a moment?”

He nodded freeing Judena’s hands. Scooping Meg in her arms, Meg balancing on the tips of her toes as the argonian hugged her, rubbing her face into Meg’s hair. “Megana! Or should I say Megana the Kind?”

"Ahh... ehehe." Meg giggled, unable to quite stop herself. "That's what the bards’ve been sayin', so I'm guessin' it's true?" The smallest bit of embarrassment that had tried to swell up was squashed by Judena's return of affection. "Just Meg or Megana's good though, please!" She loosened her hold on Judena, though she didn't quite let go yet. It just felt nice to be around someone who was pretty much her family now.

She blinked. "Ah!" Meg had been so engrossed in the Argonian that she hadn't noticed she'd probably crashed into a conversation. "Sorry, I didn' realize y'were talkin' t'someone." Freeing one hand to give the unfamiliar khajiit an awkward wave, she spoke once more. "Hallo! I’m Meg!"

Do’Karth took Megana’s hand in both of his and a nod of his head. “Hello, Meg. This one is Do’Karth, he is pleased to meet you… he heard so much about you already.” he grinned at the pair, recalling the performance their compatriot had performed with Megana at the stage. “From the sounds of it, you have been on quite the journey. Do’Karth would love to hear about it when it would be preferable for both of you.”

"Oh righ'," Meg replied sheepishly, looking from the Khajiit man to Judena and back. "The song... But like, lotsa that was really exaggeratin'! I wouldn've been of much use if I was all by m'self." Her hold on the Argonian woman tightened just a little. "Jude was there righ' from the start too. We're all like family now, really!" She smiled up at Judena before adding, "Jude could pro'ly tell ya what happened better 'an me, t'be honest." The older women wrote everything down, after all.

Judena nodded fairly, “Perhaps, do not discount your ability to tell a good story Meg.”

“If you are truly interested, Do’Karth, Calen’s ability to masterfully weave it into a wonderful song will not be compared to my perspective of events. History is subjective, try as we might to be objectively in agreement to facts. The more perspectives the better!” She replied cheerfully.

Shuffling her logbook from her shirt, she sipped generously on her mulled wine while it is still warm.

Her eyes focused on the old pages of months ago, Jerell Mountains. “Our journey began with strangers, on the snowy capped mountain range of Jerell Mountains at the base of a Dwemer ruin. A brave surefooted leader, a sharp tongued lockpicker, a charming thief, mages and scholars,” She patted her chest referring to herself and Anifaire, “Brawny stern elves, knights mighty as bears but one with healer’s hands and another with a shield to protect, a talented bard with a song in his soul, and the famous Megana the Kind.” Judena winked at Meg, “Or as she prefers Meg.”

Judena read down the list of names she remembered, her logbook remembered, on the original expedition. Sending a shiver up her spine as she told their story concisely as possible, introducing new people as each area they ran to. Skirting around sensitive facts, not outright lying but careful. . . Do’Karth as kind and hospitable as he was.

"I won' lie, I was a wee bit scared I was gonna die tha' day," Meg piped in, scratching the back of her neck before adjusting the scarf wrapped around it. "Never learned how t'swim even though I lived in Riften..." She smiled as she put her hands proudly to her waist, the mead quite helpful in adding to her confidence. "But I didn', swam back t'the shore an' met up with the rest. Mostly." She'd never forget how worried she'd been when Sora and the then Latro had been missing.

Do’Karth cradled his fingers, looking to Megana with a warm glint in his eyes. “Never undersell how valuable one person can be, for many important things have occurred from the efforts of one person. From the sounds of things, there were a number of things that only occurred because you were involved, Meg. This one is honoured to be in your presence.” he placed his hand over his heart, turning his gaze to Judena.

“It is a remarkable thing, that you have been able to record so much of your travels. This one is ashamed to admit, he has never learned to read or write… his education was, ah, a bit different than most. Perhaps not as endearing or useful.” Do’Karth said with an apologetic smile. “There are many things that Do’Karth wishes he could recall, or had some way of preserving, but perhaps it is best that we simply live in the moment, yes?”

“Memories are precious, Do’Karth.” Judena began closing her logbook, “There is no shame, illiteracy is not a mark of lack of intelligence.” Sincerely, she continued, “I have surely met a great deal of literate individuals who still performed quite poorly in their chosen fields. That is not to say we cannot make mistakes. Arrogance is often a defining trait where foolish people strive in. In my own experience, of course.”

“Lengthy debates are a hallmark for mages, scholars, and researchers. It is not a simple matter to discover new evidence but to argue and defend it as it is.” Judena noted, elbowing Meg affectionately, “When the world returns to a semblance of normal perhaps you can see this old one’s debating skills in action.”

Do’Karth placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head in humility. “You are too kind to say so, this one appreciates your insight. He has an appreciation for one’s ability for fine speech, so please keep this one in mind the next time you decide to engage in such an activity. Where do you hail from, Judena? Forgive me for saying so, but Do’Karth has never seen an Argonian dress or speak in a manner such as yours.”

“I was born and raised in Soulrest on the coast of Argonia. Born under the Mage, I was taught and educated by a troupe of alteration mages when I was young and have since travelled the world as we know it. Tamriel is a remarkable place.” She commented, “I strive to speak clearly, and have since admittedly lost some of my home’s regular idioms and phrases. A result of spending so much time away from home I would presume.”

Chuckling a little at the nudge she received from Judena, Meg soon quieted to think- perhaps a little strenuously given her slight inebriation- about what Do'Karth had said about feeling ashamed. She found she could relate to that feeling of embarrassment, especially when she was around those who were more learned than she was- she'd always feel like she had to hold herself a different way, portray a false confidence so that fancier folk wouldn’t think she was ignorant. Meg could read and write, yes, but the quality of the latter was as Sirine had astutely observed, 'atrocious'. And as Zaveed had mentioned during their trip to Falkreath, people took that sort of thing in account when dealing with others, whether she liked it or not. Wasn't that why she was sincerely trying to better the way she spoke?

After a moment, she let out a "Hrmm", crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot against the ground. "Uh... if y'w- you want, maybe I can help ya learn how t'read?" Her arms uncrossed and she awkwardly scratched her head. "Only if ya want! I just kinda know how it feels... I'm learnin' to write better now." It sounded rather lame in the end, but her words had already been said and couldn't be swallowed back.

Judena nodded with Meg, “She has improved remarkably, we occasionally write our letters home together.”

Do’Karth pressed his hands together. “Do’Karth would feel privileged at such generosity. Perhaps we can teach this one to write his own name, for a start?” he asked invitingly, looking between the two women with a kindly expression. “But let us save that for another time; forgive this one’s lack of hospitality. Is there anything either of you require? Do’Karth wants to make sure that you feel welcome and comfortable among our rather lively group, yes?”

"O' course!" Meg couldn't help but grin at the Khajiit man, feeling rather elated that her offer was accepted so readily. "Uhm, I'm thinkin' I'll just have another drink an' some food maybe.. But ‘sides that, I’m all good!" She felt a yawn creeping up on her and hastily clapped the back of her hand over her mouth, looking sheepishly at the two. "Uh, sorry, been a long two days."




Anifaire was grateful that her position in the room was at a distance from the main attractions. A chair near the fireplace, a comforting mug of warm wine in her hands, she felt relieved to be inside a proper building again after so long travelling, even if she had become accustomed enough to it that her feet no longer screamed at the prospect of a day’s walk.

The festivities brought on a sense of nostalgia; watching the Dunmer perform across the stage was reminiscent of entertainers she had seen with family, back in Auridon. Focused on the event at hand, it would have been easy to feel like she were there again if not for the radical difference in environment. The Nords were loud, rowdy, and… friendly. The shouts, the way the entertainers interacted with the crowd, was alien. In Auridon, the crowd watched and the entertainers entertained; there was a rigidity, a professionalism which was lacking here.

She didn’t miss it. As little as two months ago, the whole affair would’ve had her in a panic. Instead, the boisterous attitude of the party and wine left a warm feeling creeping through her, though an underlying feeling of nerves remained. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on watching the enjoyment of others. She wished Alim were around to enjoy it, like in the Alik’r.

“May I trouble you for some company?” Came the sound of Aries’ voice from behind. Whipping around, she saw her appearing worn down, apparently from either the baudy festivities or a particularly long day, despite the baroque ensemble she was wearing.

“Of course!” Anifaire replies quickly, broken from her daydream. She focused in on the ambassador, lifting her skirt to shift her knees and face her. She had barely noticed the woman’s approach as she was watching the festivities, but it was a welcome one, even if she felt nervous. The sight of Aries ruthlessly slashing a Dwemer’s throat had faded to the back of her mind in the time they travelled. “This Dunmer is really talented,” Anifaire commented.

“She’s quite something,” Aries agreed as she sat beside the much taller Altmer, “though it might be ironic for me of all people to say, the spectacle was quite lurid. I’ve met too few to make a proper judgement, but she reminds me of the Baandari, ah… gypsys, for lack of a better term. Dazzling yet specious, I suspect… but don’t quote me on that. How are you?”

“She reminds me of watching performers at events with my family,” Anifaire commented. She smiled, making her best effort at a warm welcome. “I’m doing well, thank you. The journey was certainly not something I’m accustomed to, but I think the blisters on my feet have finally turned to calluses. It is nice to be able to relax at long last.” She gestured back at the ambassador. “How are you doing?”

“It’s been a rather… long day.” She sighed, stretching her neck from one side to the next to pop out whatever tension she’s been holding in. “You wouldn’t think so to look at it, but Falkreath has been through a lot. Even with the Dragonborn in Skyrim, I’m concerned about Markarth and Solitude. They’re strongholds.”

As she explained, she put out both her hands with her thumbs facing down, her index fingers stretched out to meet with the rest of her hands in tight fists. It was the shape of Solitude. She continued, “If I were the Dwemer, I would take out the land bridge with the same airships that were used to topple the Imperial City. Separate the Blue Palace’s seat of power from the rest of the city while allowing the fallen rubble to dam the inlet connecting the ocean to the harbor. Blockading the road would be the only thing left to starve the city and its leaders of all its resources. That would destroy the College too. It would be a tremendous loss.”

Aries hesitated for a second and dropped her hands with a sigh, which was meshed with a tired chuckle. “I apologize, you didn't ask for all of that.”

Anifaire, listening intently, tried to process all of what Aries had said. It reminded her of something she might hear her father say to her mother. She always listened, but rarely thought hard about those conversations.

“I am unfamiliar with Solitude, but I think I see what you mean,” she paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Aries really seemed concerned, like she hadn’t shut herself off like Anifaire had when they arrived in Falkreath. The Altmer has just been so relieved to be in civilization, and trusted the instincts of the others in the group.

“You really gave this a lot of thought,” she commented, perhaps a little concern showing.




Sequestered a bit away from the rest of the dancing crowd Francis found Sora and her ghostly-white haired sister. As soon as he stepped up beside them, so did Francis, breaking free from the crowds with that fucking grin of his. The Breton regarded Shuni, raising his cup, “My Thane!” He chuckled, “How do you fare, Miss La’Shuni?”
The young girl giggled, exaggerating a bow. “My knight. This one is splendid this evening! It is good to see everyone so… lively!” she exclaimed. She pulled Daro’Vasora closer, her older sister blinking at La’Shuni’s strength; since when did that happen?

“Mister Francis, this is Daro’Vasora, she’s my sister! It occurs to La’Shuni that we had not acquainted you two. Vasora, this is my mentor; he saved me and taught me how to fight and survive. La’Shuni owes him everything.” she said solemnly, offering a slight smile to the Breton.

Daro’Vasora put out her hand. “Thank you, for looking out for her… I’ll admit this is strange to me, seeing her like this, in a place like this… and apparently the Nords call her Ten-Thanes?” she asked, glancing back at her sister. “Leave home for two months and this is what happens, I suppose…”

“Good, to see her so confident and sure of herself?” Francis smiled warmly, regarding Shuni like a loving father might a daughter, “Isn’t it.”

He raised his cup to her and sipped at it, turning to Sora and taking her hand in his exercising his time in Breton courts by bowing his head, “I have heard about you, Daro’Vasora. A steadfast and cunning woman if there ever was one.” He smiled, “Your sister speaks highly of you.”

“Flattery will get you far.” Daro’Vasora said with a grin; the man was a gentleman, at least. She knew La’Shuni to be a fairly good judge of character, and it was hard to not feel fairly at ease around Francis. She looked to La’Shuni, “Oh, is that right? What kinds of stories have you been telling in my absence?”

A noncommittal shrug. “Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that.” La’Shuni replied. “Mainly that you are notoriously stubborn and a fairly well-regarded finder of ancient trinkets and you live in the big city.”

“Ah, yes, the master of underselling statements still reigns.” Daro’Vasora said, ruffling her sister’s hair. “So, she called you ‘her knight’.” the Cathay observed, regarding Francis curiously. “Hedge knight, or just a noble mercenary type?”

“I wouldn’t claim to be a hedge knight. I’ve found no lord or king worthy enough to swear fealty to. I detest mercenaries, men a half-step above bandits cowards use to swing the sword so their hands stay soft and unbloodied.” A sour look crossed Francis’ face for but a moment before he inclined his head, a soft smile on his lips once more, “I travel. I teach. I right wrongs. No oaths sworn, no gild given.”

“Sounds like my sister lucked out by coming across quite the gentleman.” Daro’Vasora observed with a faint smile.

“She certainly did.” La’Shuni replied affectionately, suddenly crossing the distance and giving Francis a quick embrace. “Mister Francis has been the best thing to happen to me, and this one is making a difference here, with these people.” she said, gesturing around her. She placed a fist gently between her ribs.

“Vasora, they Named me. Shuni Ten-Thanes, they call her! She came to Skyrim to help people who could not help themselves, much like she was when the kindness of strangers kept her alive…” her voice swelled with pride, but tapered off with a frown. “La’Shuni knows that this must be difficult for you, sister; she has had to take lives and learn how to fight, to kill when needed. She has raided Dwemer outposts on her own and fended off Falmer. She’s… she’s getting good at it.”

It was something that Daro’Vasora had begun to anticipate, studying her sister’s armour and changed physique, the scars she noticed hiding behind her hair that had once been a beautiful braid. She frowned, walking over and parting the mane away from La’Shuni’s face to see the scars that had marred her, and she was surprised by her sister suddenly grabbing onto her wrist and pushing it away.

“No. Please, do not do that.” La’Shuni cautioned.

Daro’Vasora frowned, pulling her hand back. “When I last saw you, you were buried in a pile of books and brooms and washcloths and afraid to talk to that boy you liked… it’s hard to recognize the woman in front of me. I don’t want you to get hurt, and I’m not going to pretend I’m happy to hear any of this, but you are alive and that’s what matters.” she closed her eyes, sighing. “It still hasn’t sunk in… my sister has had to kill someone. You used to cry when you found a dead bird that had flown into the window, or had been taken by a cat. I never wanted you to fall into a life like I have.”

“Vasora… it’s okay. La’Shuni is okay.” she said, pulling her sister into an embrace. “We do not need to speak of this right now. Just know that La’Shuni is happy, and many people are alive because of her, just like she is alive because of people like mister Francis. Besides,” she chuckled, pressing her forehead against Daro’Vasora’s, “if my older sister is allowed to leave Leyawiin to go on big adventures, it is only fair that this one eventually did so as well.”

“Right.” Daro’Vasora forced a smile before looking towards Francis. “Well, at least let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do to say thank you for keeping my sister safe.”

“Mead for me!” La’Shuni piped up enthusiastically, drawing a raised brow.

“You don’t drink.” Daro’Vasora remarked. “You used to spit wine back into cups at family dinners.”

La’Shuni smiled, crossing her arms. “A lot has changed, sister.”
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Dervs and Greenie



17th Sun’s Height, night

The sounds of happiness and joviality may have been dimmed once Sirine had stepped outside of Dead Man's Drink, but it was still enough for Sirine to make her way behind the building, not caring that the night's air brought a chill that she wasn't used to. Wrapping her cloak around herself tightly, the Imperial Redguard sat herself down on the smaller back porch, knees pulled up under her chin to preserve the warmth she'd gathered from indoors. She stared out in the darkness, being able to make out silhouettes of trees in the distance, beyond which she was told lay a rather auspicious and revered cemetery. Common sense told her it would make much more sense to head back in rather than stare out at more or less nothingness, or seek the comfort of anywhere that had four walls and protected her from the elements. Her heart was stubborn though and she wanted to feel the wind in her hair.

Since when had she become so sentimental? Broody perhaps, but this was different. She had felt a sort of relief when they had reached Falkreath after the second day of travel; seeing the look on Daro'Vasora's face when she discovered her sister was alive and well had reminded Sirine of herself when she had found Bakih and rescued him from the filthy dwemer necromancer. She had been genuinely happy for her companions, despite knowing there was still some sort of invisible barrier between her and them. However, all that positiveness was tinged without knowing where Zaveed and Meg were, or if they were even alive.

A lump in her throat, Sirine reached out and gripped the bottle she had brought with her, taking a swig of the diluted alcohol within. There was no happy feeling from it, and a small voice in her head asked why she even bothered, but she squashed that thought immediately. She couldn't lose her wits here, not when she was alone all over again. Sighing softly, she set the bottle to the side and pressed her face against the arm that was now resting upon her knees. Here she was, former captain of a pirate ship, a killer and a thief, acting like a heartbroken girl. And yet she didn't feel any shame from it, only regret that she hadn't told him how she felt days before the group was attacked.

“Sirine?” Zaveed called out, walking around the building, eyes searching at a frantic pace. Sevari had told him that Sirine was fine and she was with them still, and that she had stepped outside not long before Zaveed had arrived with Megana. Excusing himself, he had hurried to find his lover, finding her at the dark end of the porch, away from prying eyes. He let out a sudden sigh of relief and headed towards her, suddenly dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around her. “I’ve bloody well missed you. What are you doing out here?” he asked, before chiding himself. “Are… are you doing okay? I am sorry I made you worry.”

If the sound of his voice hadn't jerked her out of her stupor, feeling the sudden warmth of the hug certainly did. Sirine was still for a second before lifting her head and looking at the man holding her. "Zaveed?" Her voice cracked, eyes welling up and freely dripping as she took in his sight. It was him, he was here, he was truly alive and well. "I was- I thought-" She didn't continue, turning instead and slipping her arms around his waist, holding him tightly. Her shoulders shook, unable to contain the welling emotion that burst out of her.

"I missed you too," she finally added when she was certain her voice wouldn't break again. "I was so... scared those centurions got you and Meg." She pulled one arm back, resting it against him so that she could touch the side of his face. He truly was there.

He shook his head, no. “We didn’t even know about all of that until Sevari just told us now. I am sorry I wasn’t there for you… something else got Megana and I.” he placed a hand over hers on his cheek, kissing her wrist.

“The forests around here are dangerous, it seems. There’s some kind of dwemer agents in the forests that have sleep poisons and camouflage that captured us. Their leader looked like a researcher… she took some of my blood and tissues.” Zaveed explained, a perturbed glint in his eyes. “Be sure to buy Megana a drink, will you? She’s the reason I’m here and not in Markarth.”

"Damn them," she muttered, her still wet eyes narrowing at the thought that the two had been manhandled in such a fashion. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, reminding herself that there was no need for immediate anger, not when they were alive and well. "I will, promise. I'm just glad neither of you were alone." There were so many questions afloat in her mind, but all of them weren't as pressing as Zaveed's presence.

"I never realized two days could feel like a decade," she said quietly, blinking away the remaining tears. "I was relieved when we finally reached this place, Falkreath, but now I'm truly at ease." Loosening her hold on him, she brought her other hand up to frame his face before leaning in, pressing her lips against his for a small moment. At last her smile seemed to have returned.

Zaveed wiped Sirine’s tears with his thumb. “I’m… sorry you felt that way. I’d been so busy trying to survive, and Megana and I had a lot of ground to cover. It was hard to think of much else, but I knew I’d see you before long. I am so sorry I made you worry, it was never my intention. I’m used to being on my own, I am still coming to terms that there’s someone who waits for me at the end of the day.” he admitted with a slight shake of his head. “You should know it’s going to take more than a few ill-tempered Dwarves to keep me from you.”

That brought out a hint of laughter from Sirine. "Yes, I probably should have known better." She looked down at her lap, contemplating for a second before looking up and speaking again. "You don't have to be sorry or apologize, Zaveed. Worry is just something that happens when you care about someone. I'm sure if I was missing, you would feel the same. I'm just happy we're both safe and sound and I get to see your handsome face again." Hoping to lighten the mood, she gave him a wink.

"Here, have something to drink... I'd say it's something of our tradition now, hm?" She reached out and took hold of the bottle, settling it on his lap in offering.

“Ah, you know me so well.” Zaveed grinned, taking the bottle gratefully, holding aloft in a cheers. He put the rim to his lips, not bothering to ask what it was going to be, and when the liquid hit his pallet, it was not exactly what he was expecting; it just tasted like slightly bitter and fruity water.

“Diluted?” he asked, perplexed. “I didn’t think Nords believed in such things…” he joked, before looking to Sirine curiously. “Is this a little quirk of yours I didn’t know about, or maybe you just wanted some water?”

"Ah, sorry," Sirine replied quickly, seeming a little sheepish. "I should have gotten you something from inside..." She paused at his question, biting down on her lip in an uncertain fashion, unsure of what to say.

"I don't normally drink," she finally admitted, eyeing Zaveed. "I like to keep my wits about me, but drinking only water doesn't make a good impression. At least that was what I felt when I first... well, started on the unsavoury path of piracy. Impressions are what take you far in the world- a girl who couldn't even handle a few drinks? Who would respect her?" A quick exhalation of breath, and she continued. "I couldn't drink though... not after what had happened. I just-" She forced herself to stop, shaking her her. "Sorry."

The Khajiit set the bottle down gently, pulling Sirine into himself. “There is nothing to be sorry for.” Zaveed replied gently. There was still so much they didn’t know about each other, the scars they carried with each of them. “When you’re ready to talk about it, I will be here for you. If you want, I’ll set the bottle down when you’re around. I don’t want you to feel pressured, or to feel you have to act around me. I helped you escape a terrible life, and I do not wish to make you feel as if you are marching steadily into another because I am too arrogant to listen.”

Sirine leaned against the khajiit, nodding slightly, allowing herself to feel comforted by the warmth he emitted. "You've done anything but," she replied, feeling a little composed after hearing his understanding words. "I don't want you to stop anything... I-" She looked up him and gave him a small smile. "I feel I can drink when you're there, because I trust you, Zaveed. I know you won't take advantage of me even if I'm inebriated and out of my senses." She hesitated slightly before strengthening her will, reminding herself that the man who held her had always been completely open about himself, the good and the bad. He deserved the same honesty from her.

"The last time I drank too much, I woke up with these scars, ripped clothes and in a lot of pain." She lifted her hands, and though she couldn't clearly see the dark marks around her wrists, she was quite sure Zaveed could. "Things had been steadily... going from bad to worse for me and Bakih after my older brothers betrayed us and ruined any attempt at the two of us getting back on our feet, but being... taken by those pigs broke me." She herself was amazed at how calm she sounded as she told him her darkest secret. Perhaps it was the relief of finally telling someone? She didn't know. "I thought that man in the tavern was offering me a chance to work on his ship, but clearly I had been wrong. I'd decided from that day onward that the world was a bitter place that only took from me, so I would take back what I could."

“Bastards.” Zaveed’s teeth grit together, knowing all too well the invasive and haunting experience Sirine was speaking of firsthand. He saw her scars, and now he knew the story, they took on an entirely new meaning. “Had I known you then, I would have stopped at nothing until every single bastard had paid with blood for what they had done… I would have staked them down at low tide and let the sea decide their fate.” he growled, intaking a heavy sigh before composing himself somewhat. She didn’t need vengeance; it was too late for that. She needed comfort and support, to know that she would never suffer like that again.

“Nobody broke you, Sirine. Look at how proudly you stand now, how willing you were to act when the opportunity presented itself.” He took her gently by the head and brought their brows together. “You risked everything to save Bakih, knowing how much danger it would present to you, and you didn’t question it. You chose to trust me and help me when you had no reason to believe I was going to honour you; those aren’t the actions of a broken or weak woman, they’re those of the woman I feel can help me find a better tomorrow and does not balk at the things I have done.”

He kissed her brow, smiling. “Damaged does not mean broken.” he said again.

Sirine let out a soft chuckle, closing her eyes and nodding. "Those words are magic to my ears," she admitted. "Perhaps I'm just turning into a sentimental softhearted lass?" It was a joke, but she truly appreciated his support, and with his knowing that part of her past, she felt as if yet another invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

Threading an arm around his waist once more, Sirine reached under her cloak with her free hand to pull the septim from underneath so that it lay above the dark material, glinting in the dim light provided from a dying lantern by the door. "This was enough for me to realize you weren't like the many others." Her mouth curved upward into a soft grin as she gently nudged him with her head, thereafter nestling under his chin with a content sigh, enjoying the sound of each heartbeat, the feel of every breath he took. It was such a contrast from the hard pirate most people saw on a daily basis, but the truth was she was not that person when Zaveed was there- she was simply Sirine. "I am wholly happy you took my spot that day."

“No, you aren’t getting soft; I’m just sharpening a blade. Nothing soft about you.” Zaveed grinned, chuckling. “It was a rather clever spot for me to decide to die in, wasn’t it? I knew you’d find me, obviously. Captain Greywake always has an escape plan.” he teased, feeling lighter knowing both were safe and sound… and that Sirine had felt so strongly about his absence. It just affirmed that they were making the right choice.

"Ahh... so it was all planned then, was it? You were just waiting to woo me, were you?" Sirine smirked at him, reaching up with her finger to gently poke his nose with the tip. "You know, Sevari once mention something about me being swept off my feet but I quite like to think I'm doing the sweeping." She winked. "I had my nets all ready there to catch you." She chuckled as well, thinking of that fun filled night where she had managed to pull the brooding Ohmes-raht out of his chair to dance whilst Zaveed and Maj chatted away. It had been a fun and almost familiar experience.

"Did you ever think you would end up someplace like here, Zaveed?" she asked after a moment. "I certainly hadn't... I never even travelled that far into Hammerfell, truth be told. It’s a little funny, but I’m neither used to extreme heat or the extreme cold. I don’t think I want to be here where the snow begins to fall, no matter how much the Nords in our party seem at glee about it."

“Tell you, and ruin the air of mystery?” Zaveed grinned. “Perhaps you were the one with the plan all along, it’s always a pleasant change of pace when one is surprised for a change.”

He thought about her second prompt, shaking his head. “Goodness, no. The seas up here are filled with ice and biting cold, the food tastes like crap, and you have to wear entirely too many layers to be comfortable. This wasn’t a place I ever decided to come on my own volition, and hopefully when this is all said and done, hopefully the last. I’m quite fond of waters that are warm to the touch, that people would pay good sums of gold to visit. I’ve seen a good chunk of the world, I think I know where suits my tastes… somewhere where wine flows freely and the rains do not chill you to the bone.”

"It seems the mead's flowing freely today," Sirine pointed out, though it was with a nod and chuckle. "Warm waters, hm?" The chuckle quieted to a knowing smile. "That is something I can agree with- I expect the waters here are always cold to the touch whether it is winter or not. Not at all like the waters near Gilane or Anvil." She closed her eyes and her smile widened. "I can see it all here." She tapped the side of her head before continuing. "Golden white sands, blue green waters, white clouds in the sky."

Opening her eyes, Sirine reached out to take his hand in hers. "When this is all over, what do you say we sail that way? It would be nice to visit once more..." Who knew, perhaps her mother was still alive and residing in her Anvil home.

“I’ll admit to a certain fondness for the Gold Coast, and the Southern shores of Hammerfell.” Zaveed said, entwining his fingers around Sirine’s. “I think that sounds to be a lovely plan, Sirine. We’ll find somewhere quiet to let the war pass us by and listen to the songbirds and the waves kissing the shore. After all of this, I think I’d like to try a life that doesn’t involve fighting any longer. It’s time to give peace a chance.”

"You paint a pretty picture," Sirine replied, smiling as she looked at their hands together, feeling a warm glow within. "You mentioned the other night about finding that young boy inside? Well, maybe I can find that Sirine inside me as well. Maybe we can finally live a life we weren't forced into, but one we choose, one where we better ourselves and become..." She paused as she searched for the words. "Better versions us, or even the best if that’s possible." Her grip on his hand tightened a little as she lifted it and pressed a lingering kiss to his knuckles.

He raised her knuckles to his lips, offering the slightest impression of a kiss and an inviting smile, returning the gesture before kissing Sirine on the lips. “With you, my dear, anything is possible. First we need to earn that future, and then we do whatever it is our hearts tell us to do. But it’s cold out on this patio on our lonesome, why don’t we join in the festivities? The fire looks fine… and so does that dancer.” he said with a mischievous wink. “Think I could convince you to try something like that on?”

"For you, my dear, anything is possible." Sirine cheekily returned his words to him. "I'm unsure if I'm as flexible as she is, but perhaps that is simply something you can help me work on, hmm?" She raised an eyebrow at him, implications many before ending with a wink. "For now though, yes, the fire sounds good." Her eyes softened as she continued to gaze at him. "Perhaps we'll have a drink or two as well."

“One or two.” he agreed with a reassuring smile, standing up and offering a hand for her to get to her feet. “Come now, a party awaits, and personally I’d love to forget the feeling of being jabbed by pine needles every time I’ve gone to sleep for weeks for a few hours.”

"I trust my arms are a better alternative," Sirine replied with a chuckle as she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Hugging his arm close to herself, she led the way back to the door. If he was there, there really was nothing for her to worry about.
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Mortarion

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Life’s a River

By Morty & Greenie



17th of Midyear, late night after the feast, Falkreath

A storm of thoughts raged within Jaraleet’s mind as he pushed open the door that lead into the tavern open. He had seen Meg going into the building and, without thinking, he had made his way towards the building; he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't worried when she disappeared for two days along with Zaveed, not that he didn't trust the Khajiit or Meg’s abilities to come out of whatever trouble the pair had run into but the worry still had been there in his mind. There was also the issue of Finnen’s disappearance and the promise that he had made to the former Forsworn, topics which he didn't know how to approach with the Nord girl but which he knew that she deserved to know about.

The warm interior of the tavern was a welcome respite from Skyrim’s cold climate, something that the Argonian still hadn't grown used to, and he took a moment to bask in the warmth of the building before he spotted Meg sitting alone at a table. Making a beeline towards there, he stood somewhat awkwardly as he looked at the Nord. “Hey…” He started, his eyes drifting to an empty chair in front of her “Do you...mind if I join you? I wanted to check in on you, see how you were doing.”

Meg had been nursing another tankard of mead once she had finished conversing with Judena and the khajiit called Do'Karth. It had been a nice feeling, meeting an old friend, getting to meet a new one, and just being happy knowing things were moving towards something positive for once. In Skyrim it felt as if they were actually winning.

She looked up in surprise at hearing the familiar voice, not having expecting the Argonian to come over after nearly a month of silence. "I s'pose so," she replied, nodding slowly in a perplexed manner as she stretched out with her leg and pushed the chair away from the table so that he could sit. "Been a while, eh? How're y'doin'?" She set the tankard down and attempted to lift an eyebrow, something she'd seen Sirine often do.

Jaraleet winced inwardly at the surprise with which Meg had looked him when he appeared. “I….know it's been a while, I'm sorry…” He started lamely, trying to offer an explanation to her. “I was...trying to sort out...well, my feelings. Sorry for not talking to you…” He chuckled awkwardly, sitting down in front of her and signaling someone to bring him a drink. “Truth be told, I wasn't sure if...if you'd want to talk to me, not after the last time we talked…” Jaraleet admitted, letting out a sigh. “But I was worried about you, about how you were doing after being gone. I knew you'd be ok but, well, friends care for friends, no? I recall you mentioning something along those lines to me back at Gilane.” He said, trying to smile at Meg.

That brought out a chuckle from Meg, and she nodded as she brought the tankard to her lips, drinking in the sweet, tasty mead. "Yeah, they do," she agreed with a nod. Her brow furrowed slightly as she thought to Gilane and how it almost seemed like a lifetime ago. Since then she felt as if she had changed so much. Travelling through the desert, through the mountains, escaping the dwemer with Zaveed- it felt as if months or years had taken place, even if it were just some days or weeks.

"I'm doin' fine," she added after a moment. "Bein' back home has been good for me, even if I got caught by those bastards. I wasn' alone though, so that helped." She paused in her words, looking over Jaraleet. The last time she had seen him was when they'd gone to collect supplies from Raelynn- he had been so curt then and it had saddened her. What had he been thinking of since their last conversation in the desert? Had he been mulling over that since then? Had he talked to anyone about it, like she had? "How're you doin'? Have you had anythin' t'drink? Eat?"

“That's good, that's good.” Jaraleet said, relieved by Meg’s words. “I knew you'd be ok but, well, couldn't help but worry.” He said, chuckling softly. A barmaid came between Meg’s questions and he ordered a drink for himself before he turned to look at Meg once again.

“How I am doing?” He repeated the words, chuckling softly and shaking his head. “Don't think anyone has ever asked me that, not that I remember at least.” He said, pausing for a second to think. “I...I don't know truth be told. I am worried for Finnen, but I'm not sure about anything else to be honest.” He admitted, looking down at the table.

"Worried 'a'bout Finnen?" Meg couldn't help but look confused, because she was. She had noticed he wasn't about, but she hadn't asked why, being swept away into the crowd, and later by Ivy to star in Calen's tale. She sorely wished to talk to Sevari as well, but at least he knew that she and Zaveed were alive and well. "What happened to him? An' whatchu mean, 'bout anythin' else?" She had an idea of what he might've meant, but her buzzed mind couldn't be sure.

“He….ran away from the group. I don't know the full details, but it must have been something bad.” The Argonian said with a frown, shaking his head slightly. “Like I said, I'm worried about him. He...made me promise something to him and I'm worried he might have put me in a situation where I might have to keep said promise.” He said with a sigh as his drink was delivered to him.

He took a swig of the tankard before he looked to Meg. “I mean my life, myself. I’m….not sure what will be of me…”

Megana couldn't help but frown. Something happened to Finnen? He ran away? Purposefully? What in Oblivion could have caused that? She had seen Sora but hadn't been able to talk to her yet. Bringing a hand to her forehead, she rubbed hard, trying to focus so that she could understand what was being said. "Yer bein' vague," she muttered after a moment. "I don' get what y'mean, but I'mma talk t'Sora tomorrow. But if y'did make a promise, y'should try an' keep it."

She paused to take a gulp of her mead, holding on to the tankard as she looked over it, green eyes contemplating the Argonian. A soft sigh expelled from her mouth as she decided to come out and speak boldy. "When y'mean sortin' out yer feelin's, is it 'be'cause I couldn' return yours when ya told me y'loved me that night?"

“I'm sorry for being vague but….well, I don't know much more myself. All I know is that Finnen right away and, unlike you, I'm not good friends with Sora so I can't ask her what happened.” The Argonian said, shaking his head slightly. “Trust me, this is a promise you don't want me to keep. I don't want to keep it.” He said, frowning slightly and taking another sip of his drink.

“Yes and no.” Jaraleet replied to Meg’s question, looking at her directly in the eyes. “It...hurt, yes, I can't deny that.” He began, taking another sip from his drink. “But it's not just that. I've...changed, for the better or worse I don't know but I've changed, that's undeniable.” The Argonian spoke, closing his eyes for a second and drumming his fingers on the table. “Plus...I've been gone for so long, with no reports, for all I know I'm on a death list right now…”

Meg wasn't quite sure what he meant by the promise, but if what he was saying was true, then she wasn't going to push him about it, seeing that it already had him upset. She looked away for a moment, eyeing her drink as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. She felt bad... she had never wanted to hurt him, but she could see now that saying she felt the same would have been wrong not just for her, but for him as well. What he needed wasn't a relationship... but a friend. Goodness knew the man needed a few. She had latched on in her own loneliness, and that hadn't been quite fair on her part.

"I'm sorry I hurt ya," she replied quietly. "Never wanted t'do tha'. No matter wha', you're still m'friend, an' hurtin' a friend ain' right. I hope y'can forgive me for that." Letting out a soft breath, she continued onward. "Y'have changed, we all've. Ain' normal if we all stayed the same after all the shit we've been through. But Jaraleet- even if yer on a death list... so wha'? Does tha' mean yer gonna die? No. Y'got friends now, ain' like we're gonna let that happen. Lookit Sevari, lookit Zaveed- I'm bettin' both got loadsa people who wanna kill 'em but... they ain' dead. They're alive, they're with us.

"Look." She reached out and put a hand on his arm, squeezing it. "Be who you wanna be. Not what others want."

“It’s ok Meg.” The Argonian replied quietly, shaking his head slightly. “I was never mad at you, or anything, I was just….hurt, lost, but that’s in the past right now.” He said, placing one hand over hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m not sayign that I’m gonna drop dead this instant, no. But, well, my life will probably be at risk, much like how Sevari’s and Zaveed’s life are at constant risk though I suppose that’s a given when you take our current situation into account.” He said, chuckling softly before he took another swig of his drink. “It also probably means I’ll never get to go back to Argonia…” He muttered, looking down at the table.

He let out a sigh when she told him to be who he wanted to be. “It’s good advice, it truly is.” He said, looking at her in the eyes once more. “But it’s a difficult one to put into practice, at least for me it is.” He continued on, closing his eyes. “I’ve lived my whole life dedicated to a singular purpose. There’s….there’s always been a clear, defined, goal that I’ve been chasing and now, I feel as if I’m adrift in a river.”

"Maybe y'gotta let the river take y'where it wants t'take ya," Meg replied after a small moment, giving the Argonian a small smile. "Y'know, I heard once from a bard that life's a river, y'don' know where it's gonna take ya, which way it's gonna turn, y'can't control it. But yerself? Y'can control that, y'can choose what y'wanna do, who y'wanna be. So like... let the river take ya where it does. Long as y'know who you are, it doesn' matter."

Jaraleet smiled at Meg’s words, his mood brightening slightly. “You are right, you are right, thank you Meg.” He said after a second. “Though, are you sure that bard didn’t take that particular piece of wisdom from Argonian culture.” Jaraleet spoke, chuckling softly. “We do tend to consider life like a river, after all.”

"Well then, shouldn' you be the one tellin' me tha'?" Meg asked, a little cheekiness in her voice, though it was stifled with a slight yawn. "Y'really should... lighten up a bit more, y'know? Try t'have some fun. Tonight was fun, made all the pain an' all the hurt feel like... t'was worth it."

Jaraleet laughed at Meg’s words, shaking his head slightly. “Hmmm, maybe next time, maybe next time.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Hmm, I’ll take it under consideration. Though, I do think people would get mad at me if I tried to get drunk. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly a lightweight...probably wouldn’t leave too many drinks for the others if I went all out one night.”

Meg shook her head but decided to leave that be. To her it just seemed as if there was an invisible wall that kept him from loosening up and opening completely, but if that was the case, there was nothing she could do about it. It was his choice after all, and she didn't have the right to force him to do or be what she might feel was right.

"Well, 'least make sure y'eat somethin'," she said after draining her own drink, leaving only dregs behind in the tankard. "M'self, I'mma need some sleep. Been really tirin' couple o' days."

“That is probably a good idea, yes. It's been rather exhausting as of late.” The Argonian agreed. “You sure you don't need any help to get to your room? You seem rather tipsy to say the least.” He asked her, his tone light, as he let out a chuckle.

"I'mma sleep in one of the tents," Meg replied as she carefully stood up. She was her lone self, she didn't want to take up room that could be used for people who needed more space. "Don' worry, I should be fine. Ain' tha' tipsy." She smirked. "Don' think much's gonna worry me after escapin' with Zaveed from that dwemer camp." Reaching up to fix her scarf around her neck, she then looked to Jaraleet. "See y'tomorrow then, eh? Don' be a stranger." She didn't want the next time they chatted to be because something traumatic happened.

“I’d say to watch out for the cold but, given that you are a native from here, this is probably like a summer breeze to you, eh?” The Argonian said with a light chuckle before nodding when she mentioned that she wasn’t that tipsy. “I’ll see you around then and, Meg, I won’t. I promise.” He said softly, reaching to gently grasp her wrist before she left. “One last thing, I am ok, truly, I am but, well, I’ll try and relax more I’m….just not all that good at it.” He admitted sheepishly, letting out an awkward chuckle. “Also, that scarf looks good on you.” He added as he let go of her wrist, “Have a good night Meg.”

“Y’can thank Sora for gettin’ it for me, then.” Meg patted the scarf affectionately before sending a nod in the Argonian’s direction. “You too, sleep well, Jaraleet.” With that said, she turned around and made her way to the door, thankfully not swaying too much.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Hank
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Hank Dionysian Mystery

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Planting Seeds
with the lovely @Stormflyx

The sprig of lavender on top of the white parchment tore at Gregor’s soul more with more power than any black magic was capable of.

He stood frozen in the entrance to their tent, looking down on the pillow where Raelynn’s head was supposed to be. Moonlight spilled past his cloaked shoulders and illuminated the ghastly absence within in brushstrokes of pale silver. He wanted to move, to turn around and to call out to her, or to step forward and read the letter, to see that it was just a note -- ‘finding some new mushrooms, be right back’ -- but the damn sprig of lavender bolted him to the spot. He couldn’t move forwards or backwards. Somehow, through some instinct, some deep understanding of Raelynn, his Raelynn, Gregor knew what that tiny, brittle, fragrant twig meant before he’d even opened the letter.

Then his eye fell on the brooch and he cursed as his fears were confirmed.

Gregor’s hands shot up and he tore off his helmet before tossing it aside. He ran his fingers through his hair and turned on the spot, his ghost-eyes feverishly dancing through the dark treeline. Every shadow could be her, but none of them were. She had left him. Despite all her promises to the contrary, she had left. Had it become too much to bear? The war, the fear, the bloodbath in the forest, his undeath? All of his endless, deathless strength left him and he sank to the ground, as if he finally succumbed to his wounds, the gaping holes and jagged rips in his clothes and armor evidence of their infliction.

“Why?” he whispered through pale lips.

There was only one way to find out; the letter. It seemed like such an innocent thing but it lay upon her pillow with a terrible weight. Gregor reached for it with trembling hands and crawled across the bedding -- where they had cuddled, talked, made love, a place of comfort and safety for him now turned into the most unholy of ground -- to grab it. The idea of sitting here and reading it while he was surrounded by everything that reminded him of her was intolerable, so Gregor grabbed a torch, scrambled out of the tent and blindly set off towards the treeline, his movements almost drunk with the force of the anguish that he felt.

He stumbled through the underbrush and past the trees until he was alone among the dark shadows of the pines, with naught but the softly crackling flame of the torch and the wind above him for company. A memory intruded on his solitude and Gregor swore he could hear the footsteps of the Vigilants of Stendarr on either side of him as they approached the necromancer’s tower in the dead of night. Looking up from his own feet, Gregor froze at the sight of the five of them just outside of the ring of light cast by his torch. Of course. They had died in these woods. Gregor couldn’t see their faces but he knew which one of them was Hannibal by the outline of two axes on his hips. Had their ghosts come to revel in his misery?

“Leave me be,” Gregor said, the words barely audible. The dead Vigilants did not move.

Truthfully, the lich had not expected any different. He knew they were just phantoms and that while they could not harm him, he had no power over them. Gregor had no choice but to accept their presence and he sat down on a fallen tree, planting the torch in the ground in front of him. He held the letter in his hands and looked at it. Minutes passed. Gregor dropped his hands in his lap and cast his gaze up at the sky. It was a cloudy night; not even the stars were there to comfort him and give him strength. Suddenly, as if ordered at riflepoint, Gregor unfurled the letter, squared his shoulders and began to read it.

The Vigilants shifted where they stood. It was as if the forest held its breath. The birds watched in quiet reverence and the rabbits retreated deeper into their burrows.

Gregor threw aside the letter and jumped to his feet. His face was contorted in a mask of hatred and he drew his claymore. Sparks flew and lightning arced as the furious Imperial tore into the fallen tree, seeing it reduced to splinters and slivers with the forces of his blows and the destructive magic that the rippled steel was laced with. He screamed out his rage into the woods and sent all nearby animals scattering in fear--

He sat still upon the tree, the letter in his hands, his weapon still sheathed. The Vigilants relaxed. Gregor blinked and awoke from the memory of something that had not come to pass. That was what the monster that had resided within him for so long would have done. He leaned in closer towards the light of the torch and read the letter again.

I am taking short leave… I am a broken woman still… a Knight deserves a true Lady - and so I must become one…

I dream of the day we can walk arm-in-arm again, to see your smile against the fading sunlight…

I know that there is a good man in you, my love… I will make my way through fire and rain to find you there as your worthy Lady…

For as long as I live, I am yours.


“That means she’ll come back,” Gregor mumbled. He looked up at Hannibal’s ghost. “Right? She’ll come back?”

The Vigilant did not respond.

But how could Gregor be sure that she would survive to see him again? He couldn’t protect her if he didn’t know where she was, if he wasn’t by her side. The Dwemer were out there, hunting them with machines and orcs and gods knew what else. Fear gripped at Gregor’s heart and he had to resist the urge to leap to his feet and run after her -- wherever that meant. How would he start? He wasn’t even sure where she went off to. High Rock, perhaps. Gregor looked at the letter again and searched the words for a clue, a hidden meaning, but found nothing. “Things you aren’t yet ready to know,” he mouthed to himself. “Like what, Raelynn? We weren’t supposed to have secrets anymore,” he said, louder, and slowly rocked back and forth on the tree. They would always be together. There were supposed to always be together. Raelynn had promised.

“Raelynn, what can’t you tell me? What have you done?” Gregor asked, but the forest had no answers for him but silence. A choked sob escaped him. The Vigilants turned around and left.

“Come back,” he stammered. “Please come back. Oh, honey, please…”

He wept. His tears were as cold as ice.

Raelynn was gone.



Morning, 18th of Sun’s Height, 4E208
Falkreath Campsite


Mazrah hissed when Gregor’s cold fingers touched her skin.

He looked up at her and smiled, invisible behind the visor of his helmet. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the Orsimer whispered and laid her head back on the pillow. Her eyes traced the lines on the canvas of the tent and the light and shadow that played there in constant motion because of the gentle breeze blowing through the trees above them. She winced when the bandages that covered her abdomen were unwrapped and closed her eyes. It was hard to get used to the fact that she was now left to the care of the lich, the only member of the party that remained who possessed some manner of proficiency in the art of healing, but that thought was pushed aside by the sheer shame she felt at her defeat being laid bare yet again.

Gregor carefully ran the tips of his fingers, glowing faintly with Restoration magic, along the knobbly and raw edges of the (still healing, but) closed wound. Maulakanth’s sword had spilled her guts with devastating force and Raelynn’s timely intervention was the only reason that Mazrah was still alive. Gregor, however, didn’t have the skill that the Breton had to ease the scarring. The best he could do was make sure that there wasn’t any infection and that the wound remained shut while her body did the rest. He sighed under his breath and sat back in his chair.

Mazrah was laid out on a proper bed that the people of Falkreath had generously donated for their most gravely wounded. She kept her eyes closed while Gregor applied clean bandages and began the inspection process anew for the wound in her shoulder. She hadn’t been scared of him before, no matter how undead he was, but she couldn’t help but turn away from him now when he moved up and closer to her face. The lich was far more frightening when she was helpless and at his mercy.

“It’ll be alright,” he said in a low voice, recognizing her discomfort. The lines around his eyes softened and his hands hesitated. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

All she could do was mumble and nod her head slightly.

For the hundredth time, Gregor looked towards the opening of the tent and deeply wished that Raelynn was there, his desires giving form to the faint apparition of a young Breton woman hovering just outside the tent. He blinked and realized it was just another ghost. Falkreath was full of them. They encircled Mazrah’s tent at night, he had seen, and stood silent vigil. Were they wondering if she would join them soon? He turned back to Mazrah and his work and pushed his lover out of his mind.

Ivy yawned. She yawned loudly and stretched for as long as she could, letting her slender arms wrap around themselves and point up towards the sky. The Dunmer was tired. Sore too. A smile danced across her lips. There was no need to wear anything but a big, billowing kaftan today, in a teal hue and cinched at the waist with a chain belt dripping in coins that made a pleasant tinkling noise as she walked. Her hair was still fastened in the braid of the night before, but it was less quaffed now and far more unkempt and slept in.

She groaned with relief as she finally found that her stretch pulled on the right spot, releasing a tense knot that had been sat at the bottom of her spine. As her eyes opened, the flapping of canvas caught them by surprise. In her dilly dallying across the grass, she had found herself in a spot where there had not previously been a tent. At least she could not recall one having been there - certainly not one of that shape and colour. Her head tilted, and she scanned the surrounding areas as if to check that she was in fact where she thought she was, and that she hadn’t wandered too far from her own lines - that she hadn’t miscounted her steps.

“Curious…” she remarked in a breath, letting the ‘r’ roll just too long on her tongue. She liked the way it felt, curious was a nice word. Pleasing to say and hear, and it meant all manner of whimsical things. She smirked as she let her arms drop to her sides, her wrists skimmed the chain belt and made it rustle again. “Neighbours, new friends” she asked herself, her head tilting to the side. She had not expected to stumble upon a new tent, and so she happily floated over to the doorway, peering inside with big and curious eyes.

Ivy immediately wished she hadn’t. The Dunmer felt her head begin to spin, and her first instinct was to recall how much she had drank the night before. No more than she would ever allow herself to on any other night, at any other time. She knew she couldn’t - it clouded her. But that was exactly what she felt. Like there were clouds in her way and it threw her off guard. “I’m sorry,” she groaned, placing a hand against her forehead and closing her eyes tight. “Goodness,” she continued, finally finding her footing enough so that she could gaze into whomsoever were the occupants. It was an Orsimer woman, and a gentleman in armour. She blinked quickly, not paying too much attention to them, and more to the floor. “You must be from the new group,” she said - trying not to let her little dizzy spell disturb what she had wanted to be a happy introduction.

“Yes, we are,” Gregor replied, reflexively getting to his feet to greet the newcomer. He didn’t fail to notice the way she clutched her head, nor the groan in her voice. He quickly looked at Mazrah’s shoulder and back at the Dunmer woman again. “Are you alright? Do you need a healer? I can be with you in a minute.”

Her composure had returned and she stood upright again, placing a hand on her hip. The sudden change of posture made her appear more inviting and confident, and not like a curious child stepping where she should not have. Now, she looked like she belonged in the tent too. “No, no, my dear - don’t let me pull you away from this one in her bed,” she offered Mazrah a smile and a polite nod of her head. “Forgive me for stepping in, I did not see you at the celebration… This must be why,” she did not take her eyes away from the wounded Orsimer’s shoulder, and she eyed it curiously, her head tilting. There was something about that wound. Had that been what she had felt? There was something vicious about the wound and the expression and focus on it suggested that she was feeling it.

“Aye,” Mazrah said, and returned the smile with a feeble one of her own. She glanced at Gregor as if to say ‘hurry up’ while the lich used the last of the fresh bandages he had to dress her shoulder, and pulled the covers of the bed back up over her stomach. “I’ve been better,” she added, trying to maintain some semblance of toughness. “I’m Mazrah. This is Gregor. Nice to meet you.”

The Imperial looked at the Dunmer briefly and inclined his helmeted head. “Quite so.” The glow of his gaze was very faint in daylight, but he avoided prolonged eye contact with the stranger all the same.

Ivy’s head cocked to the other side at the sound of his voice, there was something not quite right about it - but she felt more concern for Mazrah. “Ah, Mazrah, Gregor…” she began with another smile, “I’m Ivy,” she added a sight flourish to her inflection in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. It was awkward. Even she could feel that - and she was normally oblivious to awkwardness. “At least you can rest here, both of you. You must have had quite the journey,” she said after a slight pause, tearing her eyes from Maz’s shoulder to try to catch a glimpse of a face beneath the helmet. It was when she looked at his eyes that she felt a chill run down her spine. Instinctively she brought a closed fist to her chest. “I… Yes, it seems that your friend here has helped you a lot,” she commented quietly, not removing her sharp red stare from him.

“Raelynn did most of the work,” Mazrah commented dryly, “but she’s gone now.” The Orsimer was ignorant to Gregor’s reaction as he stiffened at the mention of her name. She looked up at his steel-shrouded visage and remembered her manners. “Thanks anyway, Gregor. Does it look… does it look good?”

It took him a second to reply. “Yes, it does. It will take time but you are healing well. She… she did a good job, given the limited time and resources she had to work with.” Gregor thought about placing a comforting hand on Mazrah’s arm but decided against it. Looking at the paleness of his fingers, he cleared his throat and grabbed his gauntlets from the bedside table.

Mazrah nodded and tried to relax a little, returning her attention to Ivy. “What did you say? Quite a journey? Yeah, we did. Came all the way from Gilane, believe it or not. It was a few days back when we were attacked,” she explained to Ivy and swallowed hard. “By… Dwemer. Someone that works for them, anyway. You?”

That was a lot to unpack, Ivy thought to herself, the hand on her hip slipped to her side and she leaned back slightly, letting her eyes narrow in Gregor’s direction. It had not gotten past her that his demeanour had shifted at the mention of a Raelynn. It wasn’t hard to read between the lines. Gone? she wondered, and her lips twitched before turning back to Mazrah. The more she stood in the presence of Gregor, the more unsettled she became - and that was not an easy feat to achieve.

“Gilane to Falkreath is quite a trip,” Ivy said before smiling once more, an idea in mind. She lifted her arms and stretched them out like wings, "as for me? I travelled here on a breeze…" she chimed, using the motion as a means to step closer to Mazrah, not before casting a quick side eye at the Imperial, however. She wanted to push him to the side of her mind and focus on the Orsimer, she was quite forthcoming in the telling of her story and Ivy still found herself curious, but more curious about the things that Mazrah did not say. “Someone that works for them?” She asked, knowing that was the note that she needed to play upon.

Having finished putting his gauntlets back on, Gregor gestured to the chair by the bed. “By all means, take a seat,” he offered with an Imperial curtsy. “I shall fetch another chair.” He nodded once more at Mazrah before striding out of the tent, his black cloak trailing him like a thick, cloying shadow.

Mazrah, for her part, had been quite lonely during the party the night before and discovered that she actually enjoyed having someone to talk to, and doubled down on Gregor’s invitation to sit by patting the side of her bed and smiling. She sat up straight, fluffing her pillow so that it supported her back properly, and nodded. “Yes. It’s… he’s… well... “ she began and sighed. “My brother,” Mazrah said quietly. “I hadn’t seen him in years, mind you,” she added, a little louder, and fidgeted with her hands. “No idea how he ended up with them. But he was a cunt back then so I’m not surprised he’s become an even bigger cunt now.” Her voice was tinged with vitriol and she clenched the covers.

As she happily took the seat, she felt the same chill attack her spine again and she worked hard to hold herself back from flinching. The tent was warmer when he wasn't in it… Ivy settled into her chair and listened to Mazrah, and she found something in common with her. It was in the word 'brother'. It was a word she knew all too well and she instinctively reached out to take Mazrah's hand. She was tender about it, and it was as if she channelled that empathy into the palm she touched her with. For a moment she said nothing.

"I'm sorry you were betrayed by him," Ivy said knowingly. The way that she leaned forward in her chair was not to be intrusive, and the narrowing of her eyes was not in anger, she only wanted to move closer into the space they shared, to turn down the world outside so that Mazrah didn't feel like she needed to hide in the covers. "He did this to you?" She asked quietly, running a thumb comfortingly over the back of Mazrah's hand like a mother might do for her sick child. They were so much bigger than her own, they were once so strong.

The Orsimer opened her mouth to say something, to protest, when Ivy took her hand, but the woman’s touch was so gentle and so sincere that she closed her mouth and listened. “He did,” she replied and felt a great vulnerability open up beneath her and threaten to swallow her whole, but Ivy’s hand on hers and the gentle stroking of her thumb were like an anchor in a storm. She found it hard to breathe and fiercely blinked away unbidden tears. “Not just me, Finnen too,” she managed through the tightness in her throat. She sobbed once and drew a shaky breath. “Maul almost killed him too. I couldn’t stop him, and then… all this blood everywhere... “ A single tear ran down her cheek and she immediately wiped it away with her good hand. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

"What have you to be sorry for?" Ivy asked, leaning closer still - her voice was little more than a whisper of smoke. "This was not your fault." Finnen.

"We sisters do not control our brothers, we are not the terrible things they may do…" she gave a gentle squeeze. It was clear that this warrior woman was just that, a warrior. It was a rare show of vulnerability that she was showing to Ivy - which only made her resolve to help stronger. "Take a deep breath my dear, you're safe here…" she offered.

Mazrah nodded and did as she was told. “You’re very nice,” she said after she had regained her composure a little and dried her eyes. She let her gaze wander from Ivy’s face down the rest of her body and back up again. She smiled. “I’m sorry for crying and bothering you. We only just met. But you are very nice,” Mazrah repeated. “What of your own brother?” she asked and shook her head, like an animal trying to rid itself of a swarm of flies.

“I’m just Ivy,” the Dunmer responded with warmth in her husky voice. “I knew there was a reason I had to come in here,” she added - giving Mazrah’s hand another squeeze. “You’re never a bother to me sweet one, whether we’ve just met or not…” She placed and elbow on the bed, and placed her head in her upturned palm, relaxing there as she took a deep breath of her own.

“My brother… I think he was cut from the cloth of yours. He had a bitterness in him…” Ivy explained, something in her eyes changed as she brought forth her own memories. Slowly she let go of Mazrah’s hand and placed a finger on the Orsimer’s chest, pointing at her heart. “In there. Right in there, like a seed you see.” Her expression softened quickly after that, and she removed her finger, curling it back into a closed fist. “He hurt me too, I see that same hurt in your eyes now…”

“Bitterness, anger and greed,” Mazrah concurred. “Our father was the Hand of Mauloch. My brother killed him and took his place, as is our custom. But even being the war-chief of Orsinium wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to tear down the kingdoms of Man and crush them beneath his heel, just to say that it was him that finally did so. My mother and I… we tried to counsel him, but he never listened. The king cast him out,” she explained and looked down at her chest, at the spot where Ivy’s finger had touched her -- at her heart.

“I hadn’t seen him since then,” she said softly. “Hells, I thought he’d be dead by now. But he’s not. He’s a monster. The Dwemer,” Mazrah continued and looked up at Ivy, eyes red-hot with hatred, “they did something to him, I’m sure of it. They made him into a weapon. Sevari and Raelynn, they wounded him three times with those… what are they called? Rifles? But he didn’t die. He’s like Gr--”

Her eyes widened at the mistake and she cleared her throat. “He’s like… a great zombie.”

“I haven’t seen my brother for a very long, long, long time…” Ivy confessed quietly in a breath, closing her eyes momentarily. “Such things are a poison on a soul, Mazrah. They make us do terrible things - the pursuit of power is sadly littered with the echoes of bitterness, anger, and greed. One who walks alone on a path of power has only those whispering echoes as his counsel…”

Ivy stopped and leaned back into her chair, trying to push away the thoughts of her brother away, but being in such close proximity to Mazrah when she was undoubtedly in the spell of it herself was infectious, like Maz’s own wounds were pulling at the scar tissue of Ivy’s own. She felt a great chill again and her toes curled. “You’re not like him though Mazrah - I can tell,” she said quickly, smiling again - levity needed to return. “Why, I bet you are a beacon of light amongst your people, your companions, no?”

She thought about it for a bit and grinned. “I am.” Her grin faltered and she shifted beneath the covers. “Ouch,” she mumbled and rubbed her sore stomach. “When I’m not stuck in a bed like this, anyway.” Mazrah looked at Ivy again and narrowed her eyes. “Are you the dancer? Gregor went out to have a look at the party last night and he said there was a dark elf dancer.”

As if on cue, the Imperial returned with a chair of his own. He wasn’t sure he was even still welcome in the conversation, but he considered it unwise to leave Mazrah alone with a stranger while she was in no position to fend for herself. The Dunmer didn’t strike him as the type to do any harm, but… you never knew. He compromised by putting the chair down next to the entrance to the tent and sitting down in silence, leaving the women to their conversation but remaining within reach. He laid the rippled steel of his claymore over his knees, as he so often did, and tended to it with cloth and oil.

“I am the dancer!” Ivy replied joyfully, bringing her hands together in a quiet clap as she beamed at her new friend. “Don’t tempt me to give you a private show,” she said with a giggle, her eyelids narrowing while she leaned in close, “breaks my heart that you missed our celebration…” She was about to bat her eyes, and give the infirm Orsimer a flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes when a loud scraping sound pulled her out of the moment.

She moved back into the chair away from Maz, and her head turned to the doorway. Gregor had returned, and she watched the way he ran a cloth over it. It was a cloth, not a whetstone - so why had the sound bothered her so much? She could still feel herself recoiling, as if something was clawing at her. She brought her feet up from the floor because all of a sudden the grass felt cold. He was an off-putting sort, but Ivy was incredibly sensitive… From what she’d ascertained so far, he and the one named Raelynn were close, lovers perhaps? She was gone and he was distraught. That must have been it, his melancholy seeping out from him… But was that all?

“What was I saying?” She asked, clicking her tongue and bringing a hand to her chin, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation. She squinted and the slightest grimace curled the corners of her mouth. “A private performance, yes I’d love to… Do that...” The Dunmer cleared her throat, her toes curled around the lip of her chair, and she clutched the underside of it with her free hand, her fingers pressing firmly to the wooden slats. “Would you like?” She asked, trying to concentrate but finding it difficult to measure her thoughts enough to feel as if she was coherent.

Now that was an enticing thought, but even Mazrah wasn’t blind to the way Ivy appeared bothered by Gregor’s presence. She frowned at him. Armored and clad in black from head to toe, and he just had to go and sit by the only exit and play with that big sword of his. Mazrah wouldn’t be surprised if Ivy considered him threatening. Her eyes flitted between Gregor and Ivy before she leaned in towards Ivy. “He’s not going to hurt you, don’t worry.”

Ivy might have felt embarrassed about that, but her intuition was never wrong and she had complete faith in it. She forced a smile in Maz’s direction, releasing the chair to take her hands again. “I’m alright, I know that he will not… Not with you here - I’m sure you have lots of strength in you, yes?” Ivy chuckled, feeling the knot unravel slightly, but the sound of Gregor still rang between her ears.

She couldn’t resist the urge to flex her good arm for Ivy and show off her muscles, and sniggered. “Oh, yeah, lots. The woman with the big stitches will protect you.” Mazrah looked at Gregor again and remembered talking to him when he had been sitting outside tending to his sword, just like he was now, with his cloak covered in pine needles. It was still hard for her to understand exactly what he’d done to become like this. He was nothing like the smiling man she’d talked to at the banquet in Gilane. Maybe Ivy wasn’t just scared of him because of his appearance and his weapon.

The lich looked up briefly from his sword to see Mazrah and Ivy leaning in close and whispering, and caught the Orsimer’s gaze. They were talking about him. That much was obvious. And Ivy… he looked at the back of her head, down the slope of her back, and finally at her curled toes. The old voice in the back of his mind returned. No threat, no threat, no threat…

Threat.


“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, his voice flat and metallic from within the confines of his helm. “Sorry,” Gregor added, still devoid of emotion. “I sometimes forget that not everybody is used to being around weapons.”

The dunmer’s head turned sharply, and she smiled as affably as she could in his direction, disturbed by the helmet, the way that it distorted his voice. “Not at all,” she lied from behind her usual smile, adding a soft laugh for good measure. "Just a headache I think…" Ivy added dismissively, lying again as she brought fingers to her temple to rub gently, avoiding eye contact with the lich. She squeezed on Maz's hand again. "You won't have stitches forever. You'll be fighting fit before… long."

“I hope so,” Mazrah mumbled and bit her lip. “Doesn’t feel that way now, though.”

Gregor nodded and returned to his task, relaxing slightly. It was hard to tell why strangers were unsettled by him -- whether it was just the armor and the sword, or if they were more perceptive than he would have liked -- and had kept mostly to himself for that reason ever since his… change. If Ivy was sensing something about him that she shouldn’t, she did a good job of hiding it and Gregor decided that the best course of action was to present himself as innocent and ignorant as possible.

“It doesn’t yet, but it will. Give it time, not used to waiting, are you?” Ivy asked with a smirk, giving Mazrah a light nudge as if to coax her spirit back from wherever it was hiding. “I bet you just chase onto all of the things you want right?” She asked, her smirk growing. “I’m sure you’ve been getting all of the attention from your friends too, hmmm?”

That conjured a sheepish grin on Mazrah’s face. “Yeah, I suppose I do,” she admitted. “We all do. Orsimer, I mean. If you can’t just reach out and take what you want, that means you’re not ready to have it yet. The spoils go to the strong.” She raised an eyebrow and let her eyes wander up and down Ivy again. “Attention how?”

“Do they bring you gifts? They are waiting on you?” Ivy asked curiously, watching Maz’s eyes and where they moved. “You have your… lovely friend Gregor, staying at your side!” She waved a hand over in his direction, but did not turn her head - feeling that his shadow was too severe to draw her eyes upon it if she didn’t have to. “If I had known you were hurt, I would have found something to bring for you myself…” she said, her voice lowering again, and her hand tightened.

“Gregor has been very nice,” Mazrah said in agreement, and she smiled when she remembered how, after she had awoken from the aftermath of the fight with Maulakanth, many of the party had made time to visit her as they traveled and to wish her well. “The others as well. I suppose you’re right.” She glanced at Ivy’s hand as it squeezed her tighter and chuckled. “A gift, for me? Like what?” Her golden eyes sparkled.

Ivy's chin dipped and she let go of Mazrah's hand, and instead began to trace her finger over the woman's wrist. "When I was younger, I was very sick for a spell. I was bedridden…" She sighed at the memory, but smiled all the same. "My grandmother brought me flowers, a hardy flower called willow anther. Well, she brought me so many and I had so little to do that I began to weave them together. I made a ring of willow anther and made it my crown." Ivy's head lifted again, and her smile was bright. "So my dear, maybe I shall make you a crown of flowers of your own!"

That was far more innocent than Mazrah was expecting and she laughed. “A crown of flowers, eh? I’d be the talk of the town back home. Have you seen Maz?” she said, imitating a deep and heavily accented voice meant to represent the citizens of Orsinium. “She’s got a bunch of flowers on her head! What’s that all about? Supposed to be a crown or something, but a crown my arse. It doesn’t even have horns.” She laughed again and pressed a hand against her aching ribs. “I’d love that, Ivy.”

Ivy pursed her lips, her cheeks appeared more gaunt and sucked in and she almost appeared offended by it. "Hmmmm," she mused out loud, folding her arms over her chest. "Maybe you're right," she smirked, at least she was laughing. She'd managed to draw out her spirit - even if that was not what had been intended. "But you see Maz, they may laugh all they want…" Ivy began, leaning closer to the Orc, so close that their cheeks threatened to touch. "Only a Queen wears a crown… And a Queen can have whatever she desires…" The Dunmer whispered, letting the words hang in the air before drawing back into her seat again.

“Aha,” Mazrah whispered back, and her lips were lifted into a coy smile. “That’s what you meant. I like the sound of that. Now, what are my desires?” She briefly thought of Maj, the small and equally adorable Redguard pirate, and wondered if she expected Mazrah to be exclusive. They’d never had that conversation so Mazrah could only conclude that there was no obligation to, and she certainly didn’t feel like depriving herself of anything after her near-death experience. “I think I’ll command you to give me that private dance after all,” Mazrah purred.

Ivy giggled, her own body finally relaxing from the tension in the seat, a hand covered her mouth. "Only once you're well enough my dear, I have a habit of pulling partners into my show," she laughed again, thinking of Handsome Calen and Megana the Kind and their participation in her performance only the night before. "So you have to promise me you'll keep your chin up to get well, yes?"

“Oh, you tease,” Mazrah said and sulked as she sank back into her pillow. “Fine, fine, I’ll do that while you have fun and seduce half of the camp, I’m sure,” the Orsimer muttered, but there was no malice behind it and she smiled at the end of it. “Thanks. I feel better already.”

"Then my work here is done," Ivy said with a grin, until her expression turned to something more serious. She took a glance at Gregor, and then back to her new friend; "you don't know it yet, you don't realise it just now… But your brother gave you a powerful gift Mazrah," she spoke, her tone soft - the atmosphere around them shrinking inwards again.

She stared at Ivy, incredulous. “You call this a gift?” she asked in a hushed voice, matching Ivy’s volume. “You’re right, I don’t understand that at all. What are you talking about?”

Of course Maz was stung by the suggestion - of course she was, and well, that was part of it, wasn't it? Still, she didn't want to be too careless with her words and the explanation. Ivy was coming from a place of heart, and from wisdom that she knew. "Loss is not defeat," she began, taking Maz's hand in her own again - powerfully. "Sometimes loss leaves behind the reason, and the knowledge of what it means to win." With her free hand, Ivy placed her hand on her own heart. "No more apologising…"

“What does that mean?” Mazrah asked and frowned. “It was a defeat. I’m only alive because of somebody else and I don’t have any more knowledge about winning, or anything else for that matter. I don’t even know why Maul did what he did or why he’s with the Dwemer.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re gonna have to talk more plainly to me, Ivy. I don’t follow.”

If she herself hadn’t felt clouded, the thread of the point she was trying to make might not have gotten lost in the murk that was hanging over her. “You don’t understand it now,” she explained, eyes flitting once again to the corner. “But you will, when you realise it, when you’re ready - you’ll understand.” There was simply no other way for her to say it. Ivy wasn’t a ‘plain talker’, she didn’t fit into that box, as flexible as she was - she couldn’t bring herself to be moulded and forced into the wrong shape… Mazrah was of Orsinium. They spoke as they meant, not in prophecy and riddles. But Ivy spoke in riddles, and perhaps all that she had needed to do was plant a seed in Mazrah to awaken her inner curiosity, so that she might find the means to solve it.

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” she said with a sigh, dropping her feet to the floor, pushing herself out of her seat. “It was lovely to meet you this morning Mazrah, I feel like fortune has smiled on me for our time together,” she added with another of her warm smiles.

That was disappointingly unhelpful but Mazrah decided not to press the issue. Besides, she was still weak, and all this talking had taken more out of her than she’d anticipated. “Likewise, Ivy,” the Orsimer woman said and pulled her sheets up to her chin, eager for a nap. “Don’t be a stranger…” she added and yawned.

The Dunmer pressed onwards to the opening of the tent, taking gentle steps upon the grass. She came at last to Gregor, sat there - still seemingly minding his own business. She did not stop or speed up, and instead kept up the same pace - the same gentle stepping of one foot in front of the other. Her eyes though, they looked him up and down slowly - more than once. “And I’ll be seeing you, Gregor,” she said, directly at him - peering into the slits in the helm that obscured his eyes. It was not a farewell, but a promise that their time to speak would come yet…

He did not look up from his work, but the cloth that rhythmically and methodically caressed the blade’s edge stopped. “Until then, Ivy,” came Gregor’s voice from within, tinged with equal parts apprehension and anticipation. He didn't know what she wanted from him and he was still wary, but another part of him was undeniably curious about her.

But for now, their meeting had come to an end. He looked at Mazrah and saw that she was already slipping into her much-needed rest. Once Ivy was out of sight of the tent, Gregor slowly returned his claymore to its sheath. The only sound he heard was the soft, irregular pattering of needles drifting onto the canvas, the gentle brushing of the wind through the trees and Mazrah’s slow and deep breathing.

“Sleep well,” the lich said to the silence in the tent and left.
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Not Anymore…


A product of our choices, always will be…

...Always have been.


Night, 17th of Sun’s Height, 4e208

Lightning bugs and campfires. Stars in the sky and lonely clouds drifting on the currents of lazy winds, leaving their mark on those on the ground in the rustling of trees and the chills of backbones. The fire warmed Sevari’s palms and the juxtaposition of the cold Skyrim winds and the heat of the fire made him shiver. It was a lonely night. He hadn’t spoken to anyone after Ivy, and Finnen was gone. He hadn’t even spoken to Jaraleet for a while.

The flask of whiskey he kept was getting more and more appealing as the seconds ticked by. For some reason, he was trying to cut back. But now seemed right for a drink. He reached into his pack and fished out the flask, uncorking it and drinking deeply, grimacing and growling with the large gulp. It burned all the way down, but it didn’t mask any of the footsteps behind him. “You aren’t quiet enough.” He sniffed at the air, smelling the tell-tale scent of an Argonian. “Jaraleet. Share my fire, friend.”

“Hmmm, I must be getting rusty. Or too comfortable, if not both.” The Argonian replied, nodding in acceptance to the Khajiit’s offer. He took a seat next to Sevari, his eyes going to the flask of whiskey in his hands. “I do hope that you are planning to share, my friend. It is quite rude to drink alone, or so I’ve heard.” Jaraleet said, letting out a sigh as his eyes darted towards the fire. “It has been a while since we last talked not since….Gilane, I think. The two of us, I mean. I suppose it doesn’t matter when exactly we last talked, but it has been a while.” He said somberly, shaking his head. “How are you holding up Sevari? Falkreath might be a breath of fresh air, a moment of respite, but men like us must always be ready for when those kind of moments pass away...not to mention there’s what happened with Latro…”

Sevari shook his head, “If anyone remembers the most it’s me… or Sora.” He let go a growl of a sigh, “I put my gun in his face. I didn’t know what I’d have to do.”

He lifted his eyes from the dirt and the stones arranged around his firepit to Jaraleet’s own, “What of you? How do you fare in all this?”

Jaraleet was silent as he processed what Sevari had told him, there was only one reason he could think about why the Khajiit would point his gun at the Reachman. “He hurt Sora, didn't he?” He said, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

He reached for the flask of whiskey in Sevari’s hand and took it from the Khajiit’s hand, taking a large gulp of the strong alcohol. “He made me promise to kill him if he ever hurt Sora, that's how I fare in all this.”

“Fucking Gods…” Sevari sat ramrod straight at that and did not protest when Jaraleet snatched his flask, instead grabbing it back when Jaraleet was done and taking a pull himself. “He told me nothing about that. When was it? The promise?”

He kicked his heel uselessly at the dirt, “Damn it!” Sevari ran a hand through his hair and growled, steadying himself. “What’s to do then?”

“After our little impromptu trial towards Gregor, back in the Alik’r.” He replied, his eyes drifting to the ground. He was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond to Sevari’s question.

“I don't want to kill him Sevari.” Jaraleet said finally, shaking his head. “You, him, you are one of the scarce few in this group who…” He paused for a second, unsure of how to continue. “Understand me, I suppose. Who truly understand me, I mean.” He finished, reaching for the flask once again and taking another drink of the whiskey. “The three of us, we come from the same world after all.”

He fell silent again, handing Sevari his flask back once more, as he weighed his options. The minutes seemed to stretch by and, despite the warmth emanating from the fire, Jaraleet felt a chill run down his spine. “We should go out, search for him.” The assassin finally said, looking at Sevari in the eyes. “We find him, and we bring him back. Who knows what he might do, what might happen to him, if we don't find him in time.”

“We’d be leaving everyone when they need us most.” Sevari sighed, shaking his head as he thought everything over. Had Finnen truly fallen far enough that he was unable to be saved? What if this, their little group here, fell apart in their absence? Sevari stirred his fire and spoke, “You know there is a possibility we may have no choice. He knows everyone, he could describe us down to our damned eyelashes…” he looked sidelong at his Argonian companion, “Or scales.”

“He could be some raving fucking lunatic. You made a promise to Finnen that if he forswore what made him Finnen that you would put down what he became.” Sevari turned to his comrade, “We might have to go all that distance just to look him in the eye and chop his throat out.”

Jaraleet let out a sigh and shook his head; he knew that what Sevari was saying was reasonable, and more than likely possible, but that knowledge didn’t make it any easier to hear them. “I know all of this.” He said finally, his voice somber. “If it has truly come to all of this, if Finnen truly is completely gone, then I will carry out my promise.”

“Either way, I think we have to go and track him down. If he has become a threat to our group, then we must neutralize it as quickly as possible and the two of us are the best suited for the task, I feel.” The Argonian said. “And if not, then we can try and convince him to return with us.” He paused for a second, thinking of what he was going to say next. “I know it’s not easy to leave the group behind but, if it’s just the two of us we can move faster than if we all leave Falkreath.”

Sevari took in a breath, and as he blew it out, all of the things that Meg saw in him were gone. All of the notions of a good man vanished. Anything other than what he was, one of the Emperor’s sharpest knives in the dark, evaporated. He nodded once, almost relieved.

And then guilty.

But, he buried it well. Like he always did. Anything else could be saved for after the mission. “We have our task.” He nodded, “We set out in the morning.”




Morning, 18th of Sun’s Height, 4E208
Falkreath Campsite


After the strange encounter with Mazrah and the newcomer, Ivy, Gregor had taken a few minutes to decompress before he made his way to his second patient of the day. Maulakanth’s riverside attack had left a trail of broken bodies in its wake. One of them was already gone, of course, and Gregor felt a pang of sympathy for Daro’Vasora -- and Finnen. Gregor knew very well what trauma could do to a man. That said, his absence left only one more victim under his care.

Gregor stopped a little ways away from Sevari’s tent. The two had barely exchanged any words after their attempt at reconciliation had been brutally cut short by Sevari being shot by the Dwemer Centurions in the ambush. Gregor had been preoccupied by -- don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it -- and Sevari had been busy with getting enough rest. Until last night, of course. Gregor wasn’t even sure if he would find the Khajiit in his own tent.

“Sevari?” he called out. “Are you there?”

Out of the mouth of Sevari’s tent a travel pack tumbled out onto the grass, bloated with supplies. As the man himself emerged, bedecked in the same bloodied clothes he’d been wearing and sometimes washing since Gilane, it was clear to see where his money went when they got to town. He stood opposite the other man. Or opposite the lich, anyway. No matter the moment they shared before he’d died there was no getting used to looking a dead man in the face.

And so his own did not pretend any mirth at his arrival, but nor did it twist itself in contempt. Sevari rolled his jaw, looking away as he drew in a ragged breath and coughed something from his lung. What he spat to the side before retrieving his pack was dark and thick. “Gregor,” Sevari said, hefting his pack on his shoulder, “How do you fare?”

The lich ignored the question and watched with bemused curiosity as Sevari appeared to prepare for departure. “I wouldn’t go anywhere with that lung, if I were you,” Gregor said cautiously and took a step closer to Sevari. “In fact, I’m here to check up on your progress… and that, I’m afraid,” he continued and looked pointedly towards the wad of dark phlegm that Sevari had just spat out, “does not look healthy to me. Please, sit.”

“I’m not going to be doted upon by-“ Sevari cut his vitriol short, almost sheepishly he stood before he drew in a breath. In a way, he was guilty for almost having said what he was going to, by a lich. The man before him seemed worlds apart from the one he’d aimed his gun at in the Prison. He lifted a fist to his lips and gave a gravelly cough, trying to make it sound not quite as bad as it was, but still wincing from the grinding, sharp pains that were still accompanying. “By a man I hardly know.” He finished lamely.

Even so, he shrugged his pack off his shoulder and sat on it, legs crossed and elbows propped on knees, “I’m fine. I’ve lived through worse. Many have tried to kill me and none have done it yet.” He let out a cough and made to spit, but swallowed the metallic tasting mucus instead, “Fucking centurion isn’t going to be the one.”

Gregor smiled at that and knelt down at Sevari’s side. “While I admire your tenacity, mere willpower cannot make it so.” He thought about his own fight with Zaveed and the consequences that followed. “You need a healer too,” Gregor added softly, with Raelynn’s tear-streaked face looking down on him in his mind’s eye. He pushed the memory aside and placed a glowing hand on Sevari’s back, using Restoration magic to sense the injuries inside his lungs. He hummed while he worked and thought.

“A terrorist, a weaver of dark magicks, a lich. Now you’re my bed nurse.” Sevari snorted, shaking his head, “Where the hells did they find you?”

“They’re all related,” Gregor said absent-mindedly, his eyes closed. Raelynn would have found the source of Sevari’s internal bleeding within seconds, he was sure, but Gregor wasn’t nearly as skilled or experienced and he had to search every inch of Sevari’s lungs meticulously. “Restoration is a very useful skill for any man traversing the deepest, darkest places of the world in search of dark knowledge -- knowledge that was never parted with willingly, and that was needed for self-preservation and the preservation of my loved ones. The Dwemer are an existential threat to my family and their way of life. So there you have it. Terrorist, lich, necromancer, healer. All one and the same person.”

He opened his eyes and mouthed a quiet ‘aha.’ The golden glow that clung to his fingers intensified and radiated warmth as Gregor did his best to mend the tear that he’d found in the membrane of Sevari’s right lung.

Sevari noticeably loosened as he felt the light euphoria that accompanied healing magic. He nodded, “I never was any good with it. Opening people, rather than closing them.” He frowned slightly, looking at his hands for a good moment before he spoke up again, “Men don’t find themselves in wars and seek out lichdom as a first option.”

Sevari looked back at Gregor, almost surprised to realize he’d show his back to the man, “Then again, men don’t lose their families and resort to state-sanctioned murder as a method of grieving.” He coughed into the crook of his elbow and spat to the side away from Gregor, still dark, “I guess I’ve not a lot of room to judge. Why, Gregor?”

He paused for a moment, tracing the visible tattoos peeking out from beneath Sevari’s clothes with his gaze. The only sound around them was the wind and the distant clamoring of a town coming to life in the morning. When Gregor spoke, his voice was low, weak almost, and barely more than a whisper. “You must understand that I was driven to desperation. My father tried everything, to no avail… there was only one option that remained, and it was left to me.” His armor clinked as he shifted and moved a little further behind Sevari, moving out of the man’s peripheral vision, pressing his hands more accurately on the place where Sevari’s skin and clothes hid his injury.

“My lineage is… cursed, afflicted, whatever you might call it. My father and his father and his father’s father and all of their children were all killed by an illness of some kind. Not too young, mind you, but…” Gregor bit his lip. “Middle age is no time to grow old and perish. I watched my father die. There was nothing of him left in the end. His last words were ‘you have to do it’. I had no idea what he meant until I went through his library and found the journals that described his attempts to cure himself… to cure us all. Nothing worked. Magic, alchemy, not even prayer.” His tone took a turn towards darkness. “There was only one thing left. One thing my father hadn’t tried.”

The wind carried a gust of needles that danced in front of them for a few seconds before moving on to toy with something else. Gregor watched the needles go in silence.

“I thought it would work. I mean, it did, but… I thought it’d be a real solution. People died, but that was a sacrifice I was willing to make,” the lich whispered afterwards. He looked at Sevari, at the back of his head. “What’s a few lives to set things right? To defy fate?” Gregor laughed mirthlessly. “I was desperate. And I was afraid. That’s why.”

Sevari nodded along, finding too many things in the tale Gregor had woven that tugged at his regrets in the same way his own memories and dreams did. He busied himself with picking at a callous on his palm, “A few lives to set things right…” he mused, a bitter little smirk played across his lips, “Yeah.”

“The man you almost killed, that almost killed you. I’ve known him most of my life, on and off,” though on and off was to put the estrangement lightly, “He was a good child, a shy little boy who had trouble speaking louder than a mumble. His sister and I were the fighters, the brash ones, rough and dirty and spiteful.”

“Now look at him.” Sevari shook his head, slow and almost mournful, “First time I met him in years I hardly recognized him. The way he’ll tell you is that I came to him asking for a favor to smuggle me somewhere.”

“The truth of it is that I needed to know if the rumors were true. I could’ve asked any smuggler anywhere. I wanted to know if the reports were correct. That dread-captain Greywake was a little boy from Senchal who’d lost his family and waded through blood to find an answer to why.” Sevari shrugged his broad shoulders, “Imagine how I felt seeing the man who’d taken more than a few lives to make things feel right. Like I wasn’t looking at Zaveed. Like I was looking in a damn mirror.”

“I think that’s why I didn’t hand Latro over to the Dwemer or kill that fucking Argonian you and I keep around.” Sevari tried craning his neck to look at Gregor, but without success he just returned to looking at the trees and their swaying branches, “Why I didn’t just stab you in the throat when I met you in the Haunted Tide.”

“What’s a few lives, Gregor. What’s too many?” Sevari frowned, “It’s why I’m packed and ready. I was never fond of losing friends or making enemies out of them. Less so nowadays. I’m going to find him, Finnen. Gods know if hurting the ones you love and hold dear sentenced you to death, I’d be dead twenty times over. Meg told me I’m a good man. Hate to make her wrong.”

Gregor dropped his hands to his side and straightened up to his full height. He'd done what he could, but he wasn't sure if it was enough. He also knew he couldn't stop Sevari. Part of him thought it was irresponsible to leave like this, but another part of him wanted him to find Finnen and bring him back.

"If Megana said that, it must be true," Gregor said and stepped back into Sevari's view. He offered him a hand to pull him to his feet.

“What does she say about you?” Sevari quirked a brow his way. Honest curiosity, but the history between the two of them would have Sevari understand if the man thought it was a jab at him and certain life choices. He took the hand and his inquisitive gaze remained on Gregor as he was hauled up.

The lich bowed his head. "She was in favour of letting me stay, but she fears me. It was plain as day on her face. Now… I don't know. I don't wish to frighten her any more so I've left her be."

Sevari nodded, “Yeah, I’d do that too. She thought I hated her for a while. I cleared the air, but,” he looked Gregor up and down, knowing he’d be able to fill in the rest, “She’s not a killer. She’s not… like us. She couldn’t understand me if she wanted to, she couldn’t know the things I’ve done with her view of a good man intact.”

“It’s one thing to poke a man with a sword in battle. To stalk him for days, know his every move as well as he does, smile on his face and then strangle him to death in an alleyway after getting him drunk is…” Sevari sighed, shaking his head, “That’s a whole hell of another.”

Gregor nodded as well. That was evil. Was it as evil as cutting down one’s erstwhile ally in the pursuit of power, sacrificing his soul in the process? Probably not. But it was evil. “We both have to believe that our past actions don’t have to define the person we can become,” he said and placed a gauntleted hand on Sevari’s shoulder. “Megana doesn’t have to know. The past can stay in the past. Find Finnen and bring him back. Let your actions now speak for themselves. This war… it can be our salvation,” Gregor continued, his voice now full of pathos. “If we see this through to the end, if Daro’Vasora’s plan works, we’ll be…”

He trailed off and laughed softly. “We’ll have been in the company of heroes. That has to count for something.”

Sevari looked Gregor up and down, shrugging and nodding, slapping Gregor on the pauldron in what was the first friendly gesture the two had shared since their meeting, “I'll give you one thing. At least you didn’t tell me the same damn shit everybody tells me.” Sevari smirked, “I’m a product of my choices, I always will be and have been. Us both. It’s time to make better choices.”

“Agreed,” Gregor said and took a step back, giving Sevari one last appraising look. “I’ve done all I can. Don’t get shot again.” He made to turn and walk away but stopped himself in his tracks and turned back to face the Ohmes-raht.

“Should I go look for her?” the lich asked. While his helmet betrayed nothing of his emotions, his voice was as soft as a lover’s gentle touch and he radiated vulnerability. “She… wrote me a letter. She said that she’d be back.”

Gregor balled his fists and looked down at the ground. “Do you believe her?”

Sevari’s brows rose for a moment at Gregor’s sudden vulnerability. The truth of it all was that he barely knew Raelynn more than he knew Gregor. He knew that’s who he spoke of. He couldn’t tell him for sure, because he didn’t know what sure was. But he had led men before, had good Inspectors and trained rebels whose will to fight on hinged on his words. “She’s never lied to you before.” He said with a measure of surety, “She’s going to come back. The way she looks at you,” he said, recalling the way his wife would look into him and see his very soul through his eyes, “It tells me every time she looks away she makes a promise to herself it won’t be long until she looks again.”

“You don’t leave the ones you love and promise to come back to just… not.” He lied, looking away from Gregor and remembering promises and vows to people long gone, “She’ll come back.”

He could still see her lying there, her raven hair spilled out over the pillow, her back to him, while the first rays of dawn began to spill in through the window. “I’m sorry,” Gregor could hear himself whisper, barely more than a breath, with naught more than a note on the nightstand to explain.

The tattoo on his forearm burned. Gregor shook his head. He had seen how Sevari looked away. “That’s exactly what we did,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

Sevari reached down and hefted the pack on his shoulder again, knowing it was nearing the time to meet Jaraleet so they could set out soon. He frowned, looking off at a hundred faces he’d lied to in service to everything from the Empire to his own greed. He’d recruited Finnen and though he had left so many just like him to the wolves, Finnen had become something more than just an asset. He met Gregor’s eyes once more, “Not anymore.”

Gregor could only hope that the same was true for Raelynn. He unclenched his fists and squared his shoulders, and the momentary window of vulnerability closed shut. The lich’s emotions shrouded themselves in inscrutable chainmail, steel and black cloth once more, torn and ripped and filled with holes as it was. He gave Sevari a wave and turned around to go back the way he came with the same slow, plodding footsteps that were now distinctively his.

“Not anymore,” he repeated quietly to himself.
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Morning, 18th of Sun’s Height, 4E208
Falkreath




Crack.

The axe buried itself into the upright log, wedging itself only about as long as the blade into the wood rather than splitting nicely. “Son of a bitch.” Daro’Vasora growled at the defiant piece of lumber, before lifting the axe with the log stuck to it and driving it down again, driving the split further, and again until the two ends split entirely and popped off. Dutifully, she tossed the two ends into a hand cart before picking up another log and setting it on the felled trunk that had been used for this purpose for divines-knows how many years.

Crack.

The axe came down again, the wood nearly splitting into two this time from the first blow. She had woken early, rolling over once more and discovering Finnen was no longer at her side and her tent was cold and empty without his presence.

Crack.

Her hands ached, they always did when she split wood. It didn’t matter how many times she did it, either out on her own at a camp, or with others. How many times had she been the one to create the stockpile of wood for the evenings crossing the mountains? Bigger, stronger, and much more macho individuals always offered to do it, but sometimes, she had some things to work out.

Crack.

The pain around her neck was gone, but she still felt Finnen’s hands grasped around her neck. Pale-feather had nearly taken her life, using her lover to do his dirty work. If only she fucking listened, she thought bitterly, tossing more wood into the wagon. Maybe the group wouldn’t be fragmented. Maybe Raelynn wouldn’t have abandoned her and dragged Fjolte with her. It just affirmed to Daro’Vasora that maybe she shouldn’t get people involved in her life, they couldn’t betray her or abandon her that way. At this rate, she’d be marching upon Red Mountain alone, with everyone either being dead or abandoning her when she didn’t want to be alone.

Sure, they checked up on her, the poor girl who was nearly murdered by the one she loved. She brushed them away, saying she was fine. She wasn’t, really. She just couldn’t afford to be the reason people left, like she usually was. What was the balance between being a good person who was at the mercy of others’ intentions and the hard-hearted bitch that shielded herself from others with scorn and mockery. She had always had to be the smartest person in the room, to prove herself unimpeachable in her talents and logic. It was a game to her, to rip into others’ insecurities or slips of tongue to bring them down to the size she always felt deep down.

Daro’Vasora, famed treasure hunter, explorer, and researcher, a 25-year-old girl who still felt like she had to impress her parents enough, to prove that she was worth more than being a shitty teenager who stole and soiled their reputation from her actions. She wanted nothing more than to be loved and appreciated, to not feel ashamed of who and what she was. Her slit eyes, her long tail, the claws in her hands, the coat of fur. It always made her different, always made her loathed.

Roux wasn’t the first person to betray her trust, to abuse her. Finnen wouldn’t be the last, either. She was just a damn fool for thinking someone like Raelynn would actually like her, and see past her being nothing more than a stupid fucking cat.

Crack.

It didn’t matter, not really. In a few weeks, none of it would. Would people think about her, after the deed was done? Would she make her parents proud? Would Raelynn tell people in her high society life that she was proud to have been a close friend to Daro’Vasora? What about the history books that Daro’Vasora grew up reading, and still did to this day? What would they say about her?

So many questions, and not enough answers.

Crack.

"Sora?" The sudden voice was a familiar one, and it wasn't long before Megana had found her way to where the Khajiit woman was chopping wood. She had returned to her tent the previous night and slept away the effects of both the mead and her tiredness in general. She hadn't realized she had been so tired until she woke up from what seemed like a dreamless night of only a few minutes to discover the night had passed and the sun had already risen. Pulling herself from her bedroll had been a task, but when she realized where she was and recalled the events of the previous night, a little energy returned to her.

Leaving her tent and wandering through Falkreath, she had hoped to see some familiar faces- she hadn't really had a chance to catch up with her friends save Calen and Judena, and even just two days apart without knowing their fates had been hard; thank Stendarr Zaveed had been there, even though she hated that the dwemer had hurt him.

Seeing the familiar figure of Daro'Vasora labouring over the logs of wood reminded her of the conversation from the previous night, though really she knew nothing. From what she could tell, the khajiit looked preoccupied in her work and thoughts- Meg couldn't help but wonder what sort of thoughts those might be given the little she had heard. And so no longer hesitating, she now stood a few feet from her friend.

"Ye- you're sure busy," she commented, arms wrapped around herself as she watched. "How're you doing? I sure missed y'all!"

The voice broke through the chaotic dark cloud that had enveloped Daro’Vasora’s mind, and when she looked up to see who was speaking, she saw a light shine through. A mixture of emotions flooded her, and she struggled to maintain composure. “Megana… I- I heard you were safe, that you came back. And…” she paused, trying to steady her breathing to calm herself. “And I didn’t dare believe it was true. I couldn’t take it if it wasn’t true.” she said quietly, the axe slipping from her fingers as she slumped down on the log, the strength failing her limbs. Her eyes were unfocused, and long, slender fingers worked through a knot in her mane.

“Are you okay?” the Khajiit asked after a few moments of collecting herself.

It wasn't hard for Meg to see that Daro'Vasora was barely being able to keep her inner emotions from spilling out, and she could understand why. If she had missed the the group so much, then how would the khajiit woman fair any better when her lover and two friends were missing, along with herself? Meg's mouth trembled a little, feeling pain for the woman standing before her. Perhaps she was their leader, but she was still a person with feelings, someone who needed as much comfort as anyone else.

"Oh Sora." She headed over, and without another word she wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her close. "I am okay, please don' worry 'bout me. I found my way back with Zaveed- there was no way we would’ve stopped searchin' 'til we found y'all."

She didn't let go as she continued. "But what 'bout you Sora? You... I don' think you're okay."

Daro’Vasora was surprised by the embrace, but she returned it readily, appreciating the physical connection and warmth. Her eyes remained unfocused over Megana’s shoulder.

“You’re certainly observant. I’m… coping.” the Khajiit admitted, breathing deeply, her chest rising and falling against Meg’s. He neck throbbed under her own makeshift scarf. “A lot has happened recently and I don’t know who I can really trust anymore, and everyone who was hurt under my watch feels like my responsibility. I haven’t had anyone to talk to, at least, not easily. I’m just relieved you made it back okay… I feared the worst.”

She broke off the embrace, still holding onto Megana’s forearm gently, her eyes not meeting the Nord’s. “I suppose I feel like I’m going to be finishing this journey on my own, and everyone I trusted feels like they’re slipping away or turning on me. It’s silly, I know… I still have you and Judena with me, but it feels fleeting.”

"I know it's gotta be hard." Meg couldn't blame the Khajiit woman for feeling that way, when it seemed so many they had journeyed with from the beginning were no longer there with them. She also couldn't blame Sora for feeling feeling as if she would be alone even if she did have people around her. Hadn't she felt the same way when she had been in Anvil and Gilane?

"It ain't silly," she added, shaking her head at Daro'Vasora's words. "Sometimes even if y'know something, the thought still comes in the noggin an' won't leave. Me? I know I ain't gonna be leaving until we get all this shit sorted out..." She faltered slightly, rubbing the back of her head. "I guess even when it's hard, we still gotta look for what's positive. Like... like yer sister! It's pretty amazin' that she's here, ain't it?"

“It is… I just don’t recognize her anymore. She didn’t have those scars the last time I saw her.” Daro’Vasora frowned. “She’s not the young girl I left behind anymore, but I never wanted her to be forced to fight and kill. It’s just another thing the Dwemer have to answer for.”

She reached down, grabbing a water skin and pulled the cork, drinking deeply for a few moments before offering it to Meg. “Finnen tried to kill me.” she said suddenly.

Meg nearly dropped the waterskin she had taken hold of. Eyes widen and mouth open, she managed to tighten her grip on the waterskin. Feeling her heart beginning to race from the shock of the sudden words, she quickly brought its lip to her mouth and took a few mouthfuls, wiping her mouth when she was done. Finnen of all people?

"Jaraleet had said sommat happened with Finnen... but I didn' know it was somethin like... that. What happened? Why-" She forced herself to stop, putting her free hand on Daro'Vasora's shoulder. "Only if y'want t'tell me. I know it can't be easy for ya."

“Pale-feather.” Daro’Vasora replied simply. “Leave it to me to fall for the guy with multiple personalities, one of whom is a murderous feral man who strangled me after Finnen went down to rest. I can’t say Finnen never tried to warn me, but I’m stubborn.” she said, pulling the fabric about her neck up more, the thought of hands about her throat returning. “I told him that I’d be there for him no matter what, and that if he hurt me, it wasn’t his fault. That I accepted the risk. I probably shouldn’t have, because I certainly am having second thoughts now.”

She shrugged, standing again and doing her damnest to look disinterested in the conversation at hand, despite it eating away at her like she was a fruit rotting from the inside out. She picked up the axe again and set up another log. “Roux, Finnen… two for two and I’m already starting to think that maybe I have shit taste in men.”

Crack.

"I don' think we can be blamed who we fall for," Megana replied after a moment, watching Sora as she cleaved the log in half. "Sometimes... that kinda thing just happens. You grow close t'someone an' your feelings jus' get stronger an' stronger." She couldn't understand how anyone could have fallen for a necromancer, but in their group, their own friend had become the lover of one and kept his secret until it was out for all to know. And what about her own self? "Ain' like I haven't had my share... the first man I loved was a thief. As for others I've liked..." She shrugged, a sigh escaping her lips as she thought to last night's conversation. That door was now shut whether she liked it or not.

"You couldn't have known any of this would have happened." Her mouth curved downward. "It ain' fair t'blame yourself for things like that, Sora."

“I spent a good chunk of my life blaming anyone but myself for the mistakes I made. I guess I had to grow up eventually.” Daro’Vasora replied, tossing the split wood into a pile. “But you’re right; feelings are irrational, as are matters of the heart. I think maybe it’s just that I fell for the man Finnen pretended to be, Latro. I remember when I first saw Pale-feather in the governor’s palace, he frightened me. I guess instead of worrying about danger because I figured, what the hell, we’re all probably going to die any day now so might as well be selfish for a bit.”

The Cathay brushed a stray hair out of her eyes and returned them to Meg over her shoulder. “Look, I am glad you’re here, and honestly you’re a better friend than most I’ve had. You don’t need to hear your fearless leader mope constantly… I just haven’t had much occasion to be very cheerful of late.” she said, rolling her jaw. “It isn’t like I’m a stranger to danger and near-death experiences, but it’s rather… unendearing, non-enticing? Whatever, when people you trust hurt you. I’m sure you remember what I was like when we first met.”

Megana couldn't help but give Daro'Vasora a sheepish smile. "Not gonna lie, I was a bit intimidated by ya when we first met," she admitted after a small pause. "Wasn' sure what t'make of anyone t'be honest." The smile faded and she shook her head. "I... I can' say I know exactly how you're feelin', but I can imagine it must hurt a lot, worse pro'ly then when we found out about Gregor bein' a necromancer..."

Her mouth curved downward, and once again she couldn't help but shake her head. "You're wrong though Sora. Maybe your friends do need t'hear you mope. You don't do it constantly... more like the opposite. An' it ain' fair that everyone else got someone t'listen to them but you havta be strong all the time. It ain' like that. These kinda things- it's impossible to deal with them all alone, but yer not alone. Don' go pretendin' you're okay when you're not."

“Oh, don’t worry, Meg; I don’t.” Daro’Vasora replied with a terse smile. “The way I look at it is if you keep moving, your problems can’t catch up to you. There’s always the next quest, the next score. Things just get complicated when you start to let people in, and I’m certainly having my regrets.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, since Finnen… yeah. Since all of that, I’ve had half a mind to take this damned lexicon I found and march to Red Mountain on my own. Let everyone go home, not worry about this shit anymore. I move faster on my own and have a considerably lessened chance of being captured and having my limbs broken by psychotic pirates.

“I’m not okay, Megana, but it doesn’t mean I’m helpless or incapable of thinking clearly. It just means the box you idiots pulled me out of is looking more and more like an attractive, comforting option. I kind of miss when I didn’t care who or what a person was. A necromancer, a lich? Whatever, don’t take more than your share. A holier than thou priestess? Just don’t cram your dogma down my throat and we’re square. A murderer? Eh, we’ve all done shit we’re not proud of. Just don’t expect me to remember anyone’s names after I’m done if all goes well.” The Khajiit grunted, setting up another log.

Meg was quiet as she listened to Daro'Vasora, arms unknowingly wrapped around herself even though she didn't feel any sort of cold at the moment. She felt sad, though.

"I used t'do that too," she said after a moment of thinking and chewing on the inside of her thumb. "I'd huntin' on my own, or with only one other person. Havin' a group so big was weird for me, an' tbe honest I didn' think we'd be seein' each other after Imperial City..." She let out a cold sigh, shaking her head. She was unsure herself what she was trying to get at. "That's how it is though, I think. We... we're not meant t'be alone. Before things went t'shit, you were happy, weren't you? I dunno if you'd be able t'go back in that box again where y'just don' care anymore- I know I can't.

"Besides..." Her mouth pulled to the side for a moment. "Ain' like you're alone, Sora. I know I'm no Finnen or Raelynn, but I ain' gonna be goin' anywhere 'til this shit is done. So... even if ya try t'do it all yerself, yer gonna havta be disappointed 'cause I'm gonna be there too."

“I was, but also scared out of my mind.” Daro’Vasora admitted, plucking a piece of splintered bark and slipping it between her teeth. “It’s hard to relax when it feels like every stranger you meet might be the enemy, and finding out that certain members of the group that I’d grown to trust were less than savory didn’t exactly help my disposition. You take life as it comes, the good and the bad. Just because everything’s shit the past few months doesn’t mean there hasn’t been good; I just think that maybe, possibly, the best days are behind me and I need to focus on what’s coming up ahead.”

She let out a huff of a sigh, turning to face Megana, pausing in place for a few moments as if waiting, or debating something with herself. However, she stepped close to her friend and placed her hands on either of Megana’s shoulders. “You’re a good person, Megana, and a better friend than someone like me had the right to deserve, but I’m not going to ask you to toss away a promising future for my sake. You don’t have anything to prove, and what comes next isn’t exactly going to be pleasant. You have family, you have all the chances in the world to be the person you want to be. But this burden is mine, and I need to see it done. Meg… I know those scars on my sister’s face are because of the decisions I made. Those muscles that are suddenly on her arms and shoulders, the long and haunted stare when she thinks I’m not looking. I did that to her when I was too much of a coward to stop Rhea from activating that machine. I’m not going to stop until I at least try to fix this, for everyone.”

"It ain' about you askin' though, Sora." Meg managed to smile at the Khajiit woman, but there was still a tinge of sadness in her moss green eyes. "So I have a family- you do as well. How's it any different? D'you think my family loves me more than yours or somethin'?" She let out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest tightly. "People change, an' maybe even if y'don' like it, it's for the better. If I met my family now, my Pa will be wonderin' what in Oblivion's happened t'me. We're not who we were... we've all changed. You're not gonna stop doin’ what ya havta do, I know that. But you have t'know, I ain' stoppin' either. Maybe I was the kinda person who'd run away from shit before, but it's not me anymore. I don’ wanna[ be that person anymore."

She shook her head. "You... you havta stop blamin' it on yourself. It's not just your burden; we're all in it together. We all want the dwemer gone, an' things t'return to- well, maybe not normal, but t'some sorta peace." She reached out and placed a hand on Daro'Vasora's hand. "Please, Sora... don' try an' stop me from helpin' you."

“You’re quite stubborn, you know that?” Daro’Vasora’s face showed the faintest of smiles. “I suppose I know a thing or two about that. I don’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done, and who you are. I guess sometimes I just need a change in perspective… my honourific, Daro. I always looked at it like a mark of shame by my family, like it was their way of saying I was too rotten to ever be worthy of their love. That my nature was opposed to anything good that could ever be accepted, that would ever amount to anything.”

Her teeth worked the piece of wood in her mouth. “That’s a big reason why I pursued this life of mine, I wanted to pursue my passions and earn a reputation for myself, so when I finally do decide to return home, my parents would be proud of me enough to accept me back. The thing is, I’ve come to realize, is that maybe it was their way of accepting who I was and encouraging me to cultivate the fire in my soul rather than snuff it out to fit into a box they expected of me.” she sighed. “It took me far too long to realize that. I’ve realized I need people around me, who can help me see things in a different light. That’s why this all hurts so damned much… I put my trust in the wrong people.”

"I guess that's just part of the learnin'," Meg replied after a moment, raising a shoulder in a sympathetic shrug. It had taken their last night in the Alik'r Desert for her to realize things couldn't just stay the same if she ignored it, and even though it was a different, she felt she could sympathize. "Even if it ends up hurtin' worse than a dull dagger in the gut. But that' where ya got people t'help get through that pain." She regarded Sora with a small smile of her own. "Like you did for me, the day y'gave me this scarf." She reached up and patted the gold and green gift comforting her neck. "The stuff y'told me was what I needed t'hear, and I honestly don' think anyone else would've told me the same. You've been there for others, more than you realize... You've- you've been holdin' our hand t'keep us from fallin' over- so don't think I'm gonna let go an' have you fall. A'right?"

Daro'Vasora smiled, regarding the scarf fondly. It had been such a simple gesture without any particular meaning behind it, the Khajiit wanted to give her friend something she thought would look good on her as thanks, and it took on a special meaning for Megana, it seemed… she was rarely seen without it.

"I really wasn't expecting it to mean so much to you. It suits you." She said, gesturing to the scarf. Megana's words rang true; maybe Daro'Vasora had more of an impact on a personal level than she realized. It felt like a bit of the weight left her tired limbs.

"I am not used to anyone really looking out for me; it's hard to accept help when it's freely offered." Daro'Vasora said with a resigned sigh. "Usually people in my life expect something in return, or have ulterior motives. It's hard not to be guarded and push people away." She admitted.

"I am sorry, Meg. I know it isn't easy being my friend."

"It's okay," Meg replied rather easily. "At least with you, I know you're jus' gonna say what's the truth an' not hide shit. That's one thing that I appreciate a lot- I never felt like I was stupid, or some sorta child 'round you, like I do 'round some others. I know I can be... well, I seem silly a lot, and maybe I just like t'be friends a little too much, but a lot of it's because being alone and lonely ain't fun." She allowed herself a half smile, rubbing the back of her head.

"You been doin' this since you woke?" she asked after a moment, gesturing towards the logs with her hand.

“I tried to eat first. Didn’t stick.” Daro’Vasora admitted, flexing and clenching her fingers. “Anyone who thinks you are an idiot or a child is a judgemental fuck who needs to travel more. Intelligence is about more than how you speak, and being inexperienced isn’t the same as being ignorant. I’ve met a lot of people, and I’ve found most have some kind of insight that can enrich you if you are patient enough to listen, but no one seems to give them the opportunity to prove it.” she said with a shrug. “I suppose I relate to people who don’t feel like they fit into a tidy box. Ask Judena; I treasure her more than most everything in the world, but how many people do you suppose made the effort to learn who she is because of her memory struggles?”

"Their loss," Meg agreed with a nod. "I know I learned lots from her, map makin', writin' letters home? I wouldn't have thought of that if I hadn' seen how much she took care to remember an' note down everythin' that takes place." Her eyes lowered as she remembered that poignant day in Gilane. "You should've seen how... angry she was when she found out you were caught by the dwemer. I don' think she'd ever been so upset, or maybe I jus’ never saw her get like that. But it only meant she had that much love to give- y'don' feel that sorta rage unless you feel like someone's part of you."

“I suppose not.” Daro’Vasora replied ponderously, feeling awful her predicament had caused Judena so much anguish. She couldn’t very well leave and take on the road ahead alone, could she? At least being in the company of others, she could try to make amends and set things right. You can’t do that if you aren’t there to do a damned thing about the struggles ahead.

“Thank you, Meg. I needed this more than you might realize.” she said, suddenly embracing Megana tightly. “If for no other reason than my hands are getting sore.”

This time Meg was the one a little surprised by the sudden hug, but it was a pleasant surprise and she returned the gesture by hugging the khajiit woman back. Everybody needed somebody to lean on, even if it was for those rare occasions where they felt they might stumble, and if she could be there for her friend, then there really was nothing better than that.

"You're welcome," she replied with a smile as she finally let go. "I'm thinkin' maybe you ought to let someone else's hands hurt for a bit, eh? How about you an' me go get somethin' to eat?"

The Khajiit smirked. “You don’t have to twist my arm. Maybe it’ll be something edible this time.”

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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by spicykvnt
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You’re It


@Leidenschaft & @Stormflyx




The party had long died down - while their energy was abundant, even Nords had their limits it seemed. The fire, too, was dying down to its embers, and people had either taken themselves to quieter spots to stargaze and share conversation, or taken themselves to bed. The only music to be heard now was a chorus of cicadas and crickets chirping, and a light breeze that ran through the long grass on the outskirts of Falkreath. Somewhere, wolves also sang out to the moon that was watching down upon them all, like a giant pearl suspended in the sky on a string of stars.

Ivy, the acrobatic Dunmer, was once again weaving through the people as they meandered away to wherever they were going. Flat on one hand was a platter of food. In Falkreath, septims had little value to her than they would have if they were not in the middle of a war, so in place of coins, Ivy had grown used to receiving food as gifts for her trade. Tonight’s platter was rather special. Berries, bread, cakes, and a skewer of grilled chicken which she was very much looking forward to enjoying. She balanced the platter well, while her other hand was reached around to her back, tugging at a hanging piece of fabric, her bandeau was unravelling from underneath her leotard. She pinched at it, trying to wind it around her finger - all the while, balancing the tray and trying to avoid the stumbling drunks.

As she dotted through the square, she thought of Daro’Vasora and her party. The new arrivals had really seemed to have enjoyed themselves for the most part, but still the woman couldn’t help but feel that beneath the smiles they had managed to find, melancholy still sat below the surface. They were certainly a special bunch of adventurers, that was for sure. Maybe even the ones she had been waiting for, but she’d been waiting for such a long time now and while mostly endearing, there were some… issues within the group too.

Her mouth pulled to the side as she finally got a grip on the fabric, only to be nudged out of the way by an Imperial woman - and not by the woman herself, but by the round metal shield that was strapped to her back. It thunked into her tray and before she could tear her arm from her back, instinct had kicked in (literally), and she raised a leg swiftly to catch the lip of the plate on her toes, remaking perfectly balanced despite being in something of a knot. The woman, of course, just carried on her way. Ivy had not managed to save everything, despite her best efforts a sweetroll did in fact fall from the tray and started on its way rolling across the ground, the stickiness of it’s icing did nothing but pick up dirt as it went. She muttered something in her native tongue, watching the useless treat escape her…

The toe of a boot stopped its advance. Up and up her eyes went until they met Sevari’s own. He regarded the sweetroll by his foot before his eyes went to Ivy’s. He gave a small smirk, apologetic, “We’ll have to get you a new one.” He said, before he offered her one of the cups in his hand, “Until then, I hope this is worthy of you.”

"They're not my favourite anyway," she said with a sigh of resignation before a smile returned at the sight of the stranger she had made her way to more than once. "I thought you might have disappeared away to bed by now, you and your companions must be exhausted, no?" Ivy asked with a twinkle of mischief in her eye. She had a firm hold of the plate again, and so she let her leg fall back to where it was meant to be, and she released the troublesome fabric so that she could take the cup from him. "If it's liquid, I'll take - don't think I caught your name though…?" She added, turning the intonation into that of a curious question as opposed to a statement.

“Sevari.” He smiled, which for him was but a mischievous uptick of a lip’s corner, “Ivy, is it?”

"Sevari," Ivy repeated, rolling the r at the end. "And yes. Ivy." She would have offered a hand to shake, but they were both full and since Sevari was only part gentleman she supposed he wouldn't mind. The Dunmer took a step forward to carry on walking in the direction she had been headed. "Walk with me?"

“Of course.” Sevari smiled, tipping his head. As they walked, Sevari spoke, “I’ve been here once before. Would you believe me if I told you why?”

He had piqued her interest, and she narrowed her eyes in thought at his question, "I think I would, but you have to tell me first."

Sevari stopped in his tracks, holding her gaze. In the moonlight she had a beauty about her, and he caught himself staring before he remembered he had something to say. He felt young again, like the tempestuous flings of his past had revisited again. He leaned in close, beckoning for her ear to share in the conspiracy, “An urgent mission for the Empire. Hunt down the Dark Brotherhood.” He said, “It was the height of the war. I needed hide my identity everywhere I went, because my mission was so veiled in secrecy. Its importance perhaps more dire even than the Civil War.”

He held her gaze, leaning back and offering a small laugh, “I kid, I kid.” He said, “Me? An Agent of the Mede Empire?”

“You, though. You are such an impressive person to be in the presence of. There’s so much history in every bit of you and it coalesces into such a rich and storied woman.” He gave her a small smile as they walked, “Tell me one? A tale? Perhaps the one that brought you here.”

His staring did not go unnoticed by the Dunmer and she took a quick step to his side, tipping the brim of his hat again over his eyes before she continued forward. “Watch yourself there, Tiger. You’re going to lose your eyes again…” she cooed at him with a giggle. “You flatter me though, so why would I interrupt you letting me know how special I am to tell the tale of how I found myself here?” Ivy turned on her heel to face him again, tilting her head as she took in the sight of him. She enjoyed how different he was. He had the look of a man who had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. She stole a glance at his smile and wondered how long it had been since he had really allowed himself to be carefree.

“But alright, I’ll indulge you…” she began with a twinkle in her eye. “Would you believe me if I told you I was sent a dream from something higher than us? A dream that was vivid enough that I followed the stars and wound up here?”

Sevari chuckled. He looked her over, his smirk still remaining even after the chuckle faded. The way she looked, the way she carried herself, spoke, moved, everything… “I could.” He nodded, “You have a look unlike anything I’ve seen. What was it? The vision? You give me more things to be curious about with you every time we speak.”

"Oh I can't tell an Agent of the Mede Empire that!" She chuckled, winking at him before she slowly lowered herself down onto her knees, not daring to break eye contact. The plate of food still resting on an open palm. Her bottom followed until it met the grass, and the plate found its way to the ground in front of her. She patted the place beside it expectantly, for him to follow. "And you can speak for yourself about my look," she purred quietly as she flagrantly eyed him up from toe to tip.

His grin widened a hair as he too sat, and his eyes held hers in turn. He placed a hand to his chest, “Would it loosen your tongue if I told you I was not here on business?” He said, before adding, “Just pleasure. A small vacation from the humdrum of protecting the Empire and all its citizens.”

He allowed himself a wry chuckle, “And now there is a real imbalance of what you know of me opposite what I known of you.” He held his hands up, “No spying. Just an observation of things.”

"Something tells me you're all business and have been for a while Sevari," she remarked, "just an observation…"

Ivy sighed and looked upwards to the canopy of stars and let herself lower further so that she was lying on her side, her head resting in her hand, propped up by her elbow. "But alright, I dreamed of green lights - and then more recently of a group of people who would make them go away. I've been waiting for those heroes here… have I satisfied you with that?" She asked in a coy tone, being playfully selective of her words.

“Did you get a feeling they might be here now? Because I’ve already died twice, I don’t know if I’ve got another in me.” Sevari smirked. He sighed, then, as if Ivy had seen through him to the man underneath. The one who made a life of killing and lying. “What do you know of my life then, Seer?”

“I think I do,” Ivy’s brow sloped down, as she was momentarily brought to the reality outside of the excitement. She pondered on it for a moment or two, before turning back to Sevari with another smile, her eyes fixed onto his as if she was looking deep into him. “I think you’re a man of depth. I think you put others before yourself. I think it’s been a long time since you just shed all of the weight and let go…”

“There’s a lot of weight,” Sevari gave a rueful grin and a chuckle, “Always thought it was meant to be there. Now that I’m talking to a Seer, I don’t know. I’m never as sure as someone as sure as a Seer.”

He glanced to the side, looking at Ivy after a spell, “I’m a man of depth? What do you see in them?” He asked, shifting where he sat and crossing his legs, clasping his hands at his bent knees, he asked more mischievously, “How will you make me let go?”

Ivy shifted too. Occasionally unsure of whether someone was mocking her, or believing her. She wasn’t without her own insecurities after all, even after all these years. She brought her hands together and her fingers interlaced as she thought on Sevari’s words. “It doesn’t matter what I see. It matters what you see in yourself, foremost and first.” The Dunmer sat quietly for a moment, a small smile playing on her lips. “Do you want to let go? I can’t make you do anything – I’m not that powerful…”

Sevari’s smirk grew a little wider, “What if I’m willing to let you be?”

In truth, he wasn’t keen on turning his eyes inward. It was never a place meant to be observed until he was forced to in dreams or quiet moments. And he avoided those as often as possible, lonely mountain passes in the misty crags of his mind he dared not go. “Teach me.”

Ivy let his words work through before so did anything else, truthfully she was thinking of ways to help him shed his weight – the layers. Then it hit her, it was obvious, wasn’t it? She thought of caterpillars that wrapped themselves up into shells – only to literally shed them and become something new. She smirked, taking a strawberry from the plate. She bit down into it halfway, letting the taste savour. “There is a game… Maybe you played it once,” she said quietly and playfully, stealing a glance at him from the corner of her eye. “A game of tag, only tonight I think I can make it more exciting…” Something devilish flickered over her orbs, and she finished the last of the strawberry – watching him closely as her lips touched the fruit.

“I propose a rule. If I catch you and tag you, you must remove something that you wear… If you catch me and tag me, I’ll do the same.” Ivy smirked again, running her hands over the shawl she was wearing that sat over her only other garment – the leotard. “The odds favour you in this game…”

His face changed to surprise, then curiosity, then a devilish thing. He chuckled, “I like this. I’ll warn you though, I’m quick.”

“And I’m hard to catch,” Ivy teased, getting herself to her feet. “But seeing as you’re soooooo fast…” that was the beginning of another idea. There was a dash of trouble in her husky voice, and her narrowed eyes meant that she was absolutely up to something. “I should have a head start… You stay put…” The Dunmer wagged a finger down at him as she rocked on her legs.

She didn’t run at her countdown; “ten…” She turned away from Sevari, and bent down to place her hands on the ground. “Nine…” Ivy leaned further forwards, completely aware of what she was doing. “Eight…” She stood back up, but not before taking a hold of her ankle. “Seven…” she sighed, raising her leg into the air in a stretch. “Just limbering up for a run… Six…” she giggled. She couldn’t see his face, but that was part of the fun, for her anyway. “Five…” She did the same with the opposite leg on four and three. “Two…”

Then she ran off--

Sevari was left sitting on his ass, memories of hers persisting even after it had gone. When he realized she was suddenly nowhere to be seen he shook himself from his boyish stupor and chided himself at his inability to keep his head level when it mattered. “Shit…” he grunted to his feet and looked around himself, finding only forest dark enough even to thwart his feline night vision after a few paces away. “Shit.”

He decided he’d walk, picking no particular direction and instead of focusing on finding her, would rely on his other senses. He closed his eyes, listening for footsteps or breathing. His own breaths came in through his nostrils and he sniffed at the air, searching for perfumes or any smell that seemed out of place in nature. “Wherever did you go…” he smirked, now amused by the stakes and the challenge. He’d let her come to him, at least then he’d know which direction to evade her, “I can smell you.” He lied, hoping to draw her out.

Sevari would have found himself under a tree, and in that tree was Ivy, just low enough to hang down and tap his shoulder with a light touch. "Boo…" She giggled and flipped out of his way. She would dance circles around him if she had to. "Off with something," she purred, taking slow steps away from him, his figure in the moonlight was hard to turn away from after all. "The hat doesn't count either…"

His fingers retreated from the brim as he swore under his breath. How could he not have seen her. Immediately, his eyes factored in the tree branches, every shape in them seemed to be her. He smirked, deciding on good humor instead of fretting about a loss. After all, what was there to really lose?

“Oh, I hope I don’t have to wander around naked.” He chuckled as he removed his coat and hung it from a branch, “However will I cope with baring my Gods given gift to the world, to the world.”
She giggled off into the night. Ivy had expected Sevari to enjoy himself, and to loosen up but she hadn't really been anticipating it to be something that she enjoyed in the same way. Of course, there was excitement… She hadn't really had opportunity for simple pleasures since she'd been in Falkreath. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought, just like the Ohmes-Raht, she wasn't immune to charm. "Oh Sevariiiiiiiiiii," she sang out - looking around for him again - ready to see him without an article of clothing. Ready to pounce yet again should he get to her first.
Aha! With a quick movement, she pushed herself over into a cartwheel and it was when her feet touched the ground and she came back up, that she this time slapped a hand against his buttocks. There was sadly no time to give it a squeeze. She was off again.

“Damn!” Sevari was already sans jacket and now he worked at the buttons of his shirt. As much fun as this was, he mentally chided himself. Had he grown this rusty? “I’m going to get you, you know that?”

In truth, he needed to hear it from himself to believe it. He stalked through the woods, again taking this seriously. If Bosmer rebels and even Kilvayne One-Eye couldn’t get him in their own damned jungles, this Dunmer wouldn’t be the first. He took a breath, steadying his senses. He crouched close to the deep roots of an old tree, closing his eyes and listening to everything around him.

It was when he heard a rustling that his ears perked. His eyes shot open and he snapped his head in the direction it came from like a hawk. A hint of movement between the trees. He listened further and when a hand came from around the trunk at the head of careful footfalls, he caught it by the wrist. He gently pulled her into view, leaning close to her surprised visage with a triumphant smirk of his own this time. “One to me.”
He let her go and bounded through the underbrush, making sure to keep quiet and make a hard turn from the trail he’d cut while running, slinking through the forest and again listening to his surroundings.

She threw the shawl off, slightly vexed at him for catching her. She’d have to be sneakier now - it was time to use her skills to her advantage. He was only one tag away from ending the game, not that Ivy would mind that, she was feeling especially frisky now… But this was also a lesson, it wasn’t just about a naughty game. It was time to squash her own desires for the time being. With a shake of her head she took off. Her footsteps were near silent until she reached another tree. To win this game, she’d have to go up. They didn’t call her Ivy the Spider for nothing…

It took some time, but Sevari eventually made his way back to her. She felt almost like a cheat, but then again - her only rule was that clothes had to come off… It was a sturdy enough branch to hold her weight, and so she got ready to drop. Sure, she’d done it before but this time she had an extra sprinkling of razzle dazzle to add to the mix… If she’d got him from behind the first time, then this would be from the front.

Ivy had to fight the urge to giggle again, but it was easy to find a centre of focus when he was below her. Once more she let herself drop down, her legs holding her weight. She was higher up this time and she brought herself level with his face, setting a hand against his cheek before he’d have time to register. “Hello sweetie,” she purred at him before swinging forward with the slightest momentum to briefly touch his lips with hers. She was almost tempted to let it linger… But while her lips worked their magic - so did her hands, and on her swing away from him there was a bold smirk lighting up her expression. She’d stolen his hat.

Finding solid ground again, the Dunmer moved a slight distance from him as she pushed his hat onto her head. “Ooooh, I like this,” Ivy remarked, “but not as much as I liked the taste of you Sevari…” Then she was off, again.

the only thing Sevari did when he saw her was give a startled huff from his nostrils and a slight flinch. He was definitely not expecting her lips on his, but just as he tried to reach for her and sink into it, she was off again.

And with his hat.

Instead of frustration, he gave her a sincere laugh and nodded as she posed with his hat, and were he younger, she would’ve left him red-faced with her last remark. He only smirked and bit his lip, “Only one more to me, Ivy, and we’ll have a winner.” Sevari said, scanning the trees and their branches, making abrupt turns and double-backs when he could, “Are you as excited as I am?”

Ivy had the upper hand. Ivy knew these woods, she knew Falkreath, she knew where she was - and where was going. She only had to lead him there now. She got her bearings back by holding a finger out and feeling the wind, and then a glance up to the sky. She ran straight forwards, not caring if he could see her. Truthfully, she was excited - but the woman was still competitive and not about to lose at the game she’d suggested.

After a few moments she found herself where she wanted to be. As close enough to her tent - her palace, as she needed to be. Then, something strange happened - she simply stopped running. She was allowing him to catch up, and so instead she began dancing around on the grass. Performing more cartwheels, flips, splits, and spins. Sure, Sevari could see her - and the thrill alone of him only having to lay one more touch on her was enough to rile him up. She didn’t need to run and hide to win this game. She was a master of unpredictable movement. What better way was there to win the game too? Everything up until now had been a warm up. Now she would really challenge him.

He caught on to what this had become. What he had let her lure him into. And he couldn’t contain the grin on himself. He began to limber up in his own way too, stretching his legs and swinging his arms to loosen up his muscles. “Any rules, dearest?”

“I trust you’re not going to cheat, Tiger,” she purred as she bent backwards into an arch, kicking her legs to flip herself over and away. “Come and get me if you think you can,” she smirked, and kept moving around. She wasn’t going to make it easy - but she also still wanted to get that man’s trousers off…

“Only evading, no blocking. A touch still means clothes off.” Sevari edged closer to her, not even assuming any stance, but readying his body to move like a coiled spring, “And I only need to touch you once.”

“I wonder what the winner gets.” Sevari chuckled.

“Oh everyone gets a prize,” she smirked, her feet carrying her across the grass - arms outstretched and her hair whipped around furiously as she began spinning. Ivy moved with the breeze that drawled in from the east, letting it carry her and her spins to Sevari’s side. She was not growing dizzy, but maybe if he watched her closely then he might. She was like a spinning top, the red paint on her skin becoming but a blur. Just like the breeze the caressed Sevari, she did too - just a slight touch of her hand, her fingertips but a tickle on the back of his neck.

Sevari let it happen. A tingle down below and a mischievous need that grew more and more as the night went on bade him do it. He calmly reached down and unbuckled his pants, a thought thrown to whether his gunbelt counted as a piece of clothing, but he slipped off his pants one leg at a time either way. He smirked, “Even now. One touch between the both of us.” His smirk grew into a cheeky grin, “Of course, we could just touch each other for the hell of it too.”

Ivy twirled all the way to the parted fabric door of her tent, stopping to take a look at Sevari in this form. For a moment her breath faltered, and her lip found its way under her front teeth. "Tell me how it feels to be a little more free…" were the words the Dunmer left him with before stepping over the threshold of her tent. She beckoned him to follow with a slow and seductive curling of her finger.

Sevari shook his head watching her, a slow turning from left to right as he bit his lip in turn, “Mm.” He chuckled to himself, wondering just what the hells he’d gotten himself into with this strange woman, and not disappointed in his choice to humor her as he followed her inside her tent, “Mm mm.”

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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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Our Mother the Mountains…

Part I, Walk these hills lightly...

18th of Sun’s Height
Druadach Mountains…


He couldn’t tell for how long he’d been walking. Only that he’d felt weaker and weaker as he went on. He didn’t bother counting the hours, but another rumble from his belly and the cramps almost brought him to his knees, like a fist twisting in his guts. He didn’t deserve food, he thought. Only punishment, with no hope of atoning. Such concepts were not for Finnen Pale-Feather, the boy that had forswore his own tribe and now had hurt his only family left in the world.

After he’d realized what he’d done, Sevari’s rifle barrel yawning open in his face and ready to take him from this world, after he’d wandered alone for however long he was, he wondered if he should’ve just let the man squeeze the trigger. Perhaps that was what he deserved. But he chose a lonely escape to the trees and hills and rocks of the Reach. A poetic thing. Born here, alone. He would now die here, alone. He crouched down on the game trail and hung his head low, hands covering his face as if there was anyone else around to hide his sobs from.

Choking cries that shook him from shoulders to haunches, wet hiccups to no one. He stayed like that until it was over, heaving in one breath and letting it out ragged on the mountain air. He looked around himself, as if expecting someone to be staring yet only heard birdsong and the wind rustling the trees. No one. He sniffled, wiping a forearm over his eyes. He pressed one nostril closed with a thumb and blew the snot out the other, shaking his head as if the sorrow was only tangled in his hair to be shook away, and not twisted around his heart like thorny vines.

He looked back from where he’d come, looked in the direction of where he was going and saw no difference. Sighing, he continued on, deeper into the mountains. A lonely path, a lonely man. His careful footsteps did not disturb anything in the forest. Birdsong and wind accompanied his thoughts like an undercurrent, tickling through his long raven hair. He stopped for a bit, rested his back against a young tree and his eyes scanned the trees. Finding nothing, they went to his hands and forearms. The thin cuts of Sora’s claws, deep and open. The blood was still smeared in places and only recently dried. A lone crow’s caw took his eyes from himself and back to the trees, grating and nasally like a crone’s cough.

A lone crow perched itself on a branch, and its gaze did not leave his own. Not once. Finnen remembered what his mother had taught him of the Crow-Wife traditions of crow counting as omens. A lone crow was an omen of bad luck. An understatement, Finnen thought. “You’re late.” Finnen chuckled ruefully. He remembered that crows too were not only omens, but the eyes of the first Witch-Mother of the Crow-Wives. Watching and waiting, for reasons unknown. “Keep your watch then, Crone.”

The crow did not answer. They stood staring at each other until his smirk faded back to nothing. He was the first to break the stare and walk on...




He walked on until the path took him to a break in the trees, a sheer cliff at his toes. The valleys were laid out before him like a painting, or more like something to be painted. His eyes scanned the low river valleys and the high peaks. A hawk circled down below and a flock of birds took flight from their perches in the trees. He took another step towards the edge. He could hear the ground shift as pebbles bounced down the cliff, their percussive fall like children’s laughter beckoning to come follow.

He swallowed, closed his eyes. His ears perked up, hearing the keening winds buffet the treetops and the sound of a far off river feeding into or trickling away from the Great River Karth. He was starting to lose balance, swaying with the winds and the pebbles fell again. He lifted the weight from one foot to step on the air and nothingness in front of him before he heard the sharp call of the crow again.

He faltered, stumbled. His foot came down, heel knocking into the loose dirt at the edge of the cliff and his breath caught as he plunged downwards. He found a strong root that his fingers clutched onto and immediately his grip tightened, the strength in them the strength to live. He dangled by one arm and looked down, the ground below nowhere near a safe distance to drop. That was the point, but not anymore. Not anymore, he thought, his mind racing with all the reasons not to.

He swung his other arm onto the root and hauled himself up, clamoring and smacking at the dirt, desperate clawing back to safety. He lay there, breath heaving and arms burning. The crow called again and he opened his eyes to it. Two crows.

A death omen.

Something in Finnen made him smile. Then chuckle, and suddenly he was laughing. He laughed at them, “Wrong.” He giggled, the victory of living, “Wrong, wrong!”

The laughing turned darker, and each laugh bit deep in him and tore at the things he’d done for death. The victory of living while others were left with the opposite. “Wrong!” He screamed, and the laughs turned to sobs as he got to his knees. He’d almost killed Sora. He’d done a lot of horrible things, taken lives aplenty with zeal and pleasure, but Sora’s? Was he truly just a killer, made only for making dead men like his father had made him for?

Maybe. Maybe… “Wrong!” The crows did not leave him be, cawing at him now that his laughs were no more, cawing like they were the ones with reason to laugh. “Wrong!”

He grabbed up a fallen branch and tossed it like a javelin at the crows. It sailed just past them but yet they did not leave. Only stood in silence now as if they felt disrespect. Finnen stood before them, chest and shoulders rising and falling with his haggard breath. “Wrong.” He whimpered.

He turned away from them and walked on…
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Rorikstead I


18th Sun’s Height, Evening
On the road to Rorikstead…





Their days of the road had so far felt long. They only had each other for company, and there were stretches of absolute silence, and then hours of conversation. Sleeping was hard. They had agreed to take it in turns, but Fjolte let Raelynn sleep while he sat and kept vigil over her. She needed it more than he did, and so he found time to sleep on Lady’s back here and there while Raelynn walked her. It was exhausting, but they both knew that Rorikstead was close by. It was exhausting, but it was temporary exhaustion.

It was the crisp air of the province that kept them both refreshed too, that air that swept down over the peaks of the mountains, carrying with it serenity and the comfort of familiarity to those accustomed to Skyrim and its harshness. To Raelynn and Fjolte both, that wind was warmer than anything they could have found in the desert sands of the Alik’r.

This evening was not one of those instances where silence would be found. The closer they came to Rorikstead, the more Fjolte deigned it appropriate to be jovial -- in ignorance of Raelynn’s pain perhaps, or just in his own unbridled elation. Home was on the horizon.

“You’ll be our guest of honour you know,” he said, smiling at the side of his mouth - the other side filled with a large mouthful of a fresh apple, taken from a tree earlier that day. “Yeah! My good friend Raelynn, healer and hero!” he laughed, swallowing down the fruit, savouring the sweet taste.

“I’m no hero,” she said quietly. It was always the evening, just after sunset that it hit her hardest. Their hours were always the late ones. Midnight blue and hearthfires, dry red wine. Together, they were invincibly passionate by moonlight. Where had those flames gone?

Fjolte scoffed, damn near choking on another bite. “Don’ be foo’ish,” he spoke through his food. “You sewed Mazrah’s arm back together with magic, tore Finnen out of the arms of death himself. That’s the work of a hero if I’ve ever heard of it.” He then glanced up at her, and was relieved to see that it had brought a semblance of a smile to her face, but it hadn’t lit the fire in her eyes. He didn't succeeded there yet, but he’d keep going until he did. It would only take one spark…

Raelynn listened both to Fjolte’s voice and the breeze as it ran across the path, sprawling rugged mountains to the side of them, and forest to the other. Birds sat in their trees watching them move past. “If I’m a hero, so are you. I heard you punched an arm clean off one of those machines. That’s real hero behaviour, hmm?” the Breton mused, watching the last of the sun sink into the horizon.

That only made Fjolte laugh, it was true of course - he had helped to bring down the machines, in a theatrical way too - but he disagreed with his friend on that. “I don’t believe it, anyone with strength and muscle can fight a beast that fights them. Real heroics come from choices we make day by day, things we do for others, intent behind what we do.” He gave a relaxed shrug of his shoulders, moving ever forwards on the road - and those very words sat with Raelynn.

Everything that Raelynn had done had been for the good of the party -- requesting Gregor to kill Zaveed, their attempt to assassinate Razlinc Rourken. Even hiding his true nature, had been to protect them just as much as it had been to protect she and Gregor. The party had been left fractured since the revelation, and that was only because he’d ascended to his Undeath, the very thing she had begged him not to do. Every which way that she looked at it, from every angle she turned and probed at her choices - they were always with good intent. Behind her was a string of failures, one right after the other, that all led them to the circle and trial in the Alik’r.

If only she had done better. If only she hadn’t accompanied Fjolte in the prison, Gregor would have been under her control - he may never have revealed himself… ”I should have been at your side,” she told herself - or him. He couldn’t hear her thoughts, not from this distance. ”Or I should never have stolen you from your own path… I should never have stepped onto it. Where would I be, Gregor? Where would I be without you?”

Raelynn thought of the room that Zaveed had kept her in, that he had told her she’d bleed out and die there. Without Gregor, and without the confidence he gave her to stand up and deny Zaveed anything - would she have died there?

Then, where would Gregor be without her? Would he have collected the soul of N’Blec without her there to give him confidence? He would never have been attacked and left for dead… Without what they had, he would have no need to chase down a Khajiit to avenge the death of some woman in their party. Would any of them have avenged her? If she had not of died, would she have left Gilane with her father and returned to High Rock without… Without everything she’d gained from the ashes of loss?

Without Zaveed, would she feel so strongly for Finnen? He had become like a brother to her. She pictured him again, in all of his broken forms, every time he was broken she only saw his beauty, his eyes. Oh his eyes…. If eyes were the window to the soul, she knew from his he was a good and strong man.

Daro’Vasora. Her dear friend. Someone who saw the good in her just as Raelynn had seen it in Finnen. ”Daro’Vasora, I abandoned you. I left you when you needed me more than ever… You believed in me and I abandoned you…” She turned her eyes heavensward. Blinking back tears at the clouds above. Would her friend understand her choices?

“But yeah, that’s just what I believe, Blondie. Enough about that, and more about home. Tomorrow we’ll make the Dhjarikson hog roast!” Fjolte exclaimed, it was enough to pull Raelynn away from her thoughts.

She’d learned so much about her Nord companion in the two days. The most surprising of those things, was that he was something of a handy chef and forager. It made sense, Fjolte lived his life on the road for the most part - he was bound to have picked it up. The night before, he’d made a meal out of a wild hare that could have been served at a High Rock banquet. Raelynn did wonder if it was just the absolute hunger that made it taste that good, he clearly loved and respected food. He could teach Brynja a thing or two about providing meals on the road, that thought made her smirk. Raelynn decided that the two Nord’s would get on well with each other.

“I’ve heard a lot about this since you joined us Fjolte, I hope it lives up to my expectations…” she teased, her eyes remained on the road but that same smirk quirked at her lips.

“Oh aye it will,” he answered back, a hand steady on Lady’s shoulder as he walked the path. “I salt it, score it, season it…” his voice trailed off as he closed his eyes and kept on. All he could think about was walking through the threshold of his home, seeing his mother, sister, and nieces there. He hoped his arms were strong enough to hold a niece on each, he didn’t know how big they’d be by now. They were getting so close. “The best bit is the skin though, the way that it crisps up over the top, with the rendered fat underneath. Some of it gets charred but that’s even better… And the smell, oh the smell! You’ve never smelled anything til you’ve smelled my pig, kissed and caressed by fire!” he said, glancing at her again even if she wasn’t watching him. He found himself lifting his chin to take a deep sniff of the air around him, and since he’d conjured the image of it in his mind, it was as though he could smell it for real. “You’ll love it Raelynn, you really will…”

For a while, nothing else was said - it was just the quiet sounds of Lady’s hooves and Fjolte’s feet on dirt. The Nord could sense a change in the atmosphere soon, the telltale sign that rain was coming. Maybe thunder too, but they’d be home soon - possibly even in time to miss the storm completely. Even if his impatience grew, it probably wasn’t good form to have Lady speed up and jostle Raelynn along the rest of the way. Nor was his next bright idea…

“Do you miss him?” he asked rather frankly, tossing the finished apple away.

Raelynn’s eyebrows furrowed and she clenched her fists. It had been unspoken, but his shadow had nonetheless hovered over them anyway. “Yes.” Was all that she said in response, feeling the darkness of approaching evening creep in when he came to her mind again.

Fjolte felt awkward for it, but he knew she needed to address it sooner or later. It wasn’t healthy to bottle things like that, at least that’s what he believed. “You’re doing the right thing, he’ll understand that…” he sighed.

“I know…” She breathed, going to reach at her chest but finding nothing. She’d left him her flowers, but hadn’t taken anything of his as a keepsake of her own. Just memories, and even they were blurred. So much had happened to them both that she couldn’t even picture his face. Not as it really was, or used to be. Now she could only imagine the lights of his eyes behind the steel prison. “They’ll all understand one day, when this is all over.”

As they neared Rorikstead, the road became lined with scorch marks, and there was a light smell of burning in the air, being traced across the landscape in the wind. A fog had appeared, and the Breton knew it was too early in the year for snow or hail… But she was still taken aback to feel something touch her cheek. She brought her finger to touch it, rubbing at what she thought was a droplet of snow, or rain. As she observed her finger, she could see a smudge of grey...

She squinted ahead, the growing dark obscuring much of her view until she looked down at the ground.

A pair of shoes, child sized. Just a marker on the road now in a dry circle of blood, ground cracked beneath. Raelynn held tightly to Lady’s reins, stopping the loyal mare in her tracks. She couldn’t move her gaze from the shoes - and she instinctively placed a hand tenderly against her own stomach. Just a pair of empty shoes.

There was a bitter breeze dancing through the canopy of the trees that howled, as if in mourning down below at the Breton and Nord. Fjolte saw the shoes too, his reaction was not as silent as Raelynn’s; “fuck,” he said sharply as his heart began to race in his chest, his entire body froze and tensed like it had never before. Lady dragged a hoof across the dirt of the road, her tail swished from left to right. She was keen to move forward, but waited for one of them to tell her. “Fjolte…” Raelynn said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Rorikstead was in their vision.

What remained of Rorikstead was in their vision.

The rock formations that surrounded the town had not saved them from whatever had been through, barns and houses lay on the ground. Some wooden beams and foundations still standing, threatened by the wind to collapse and bring down what was left of the roofs. The walls had been taken by fire. The interiors had been engulfed by flame. And the people...

Fjolte couldn’t have moved fast enough, the lines of scenery around him became blurred and his breath failed him as he sprinted only to collapse in the centre of what was once Rorikstead. It was now just ash drifting through smoke. In his eyeline, a pile of corpses, blackened husks of people - identities long burnt down but there were plenty of them. Bodies torn at and shredded by animals that had passed through since.

Raelynn dared not move, Lady fidgeted and fussed beneath her for the first time. Fjolte’s distress had taken control of the mare too and she nickered and whinied. There was nothing the Breton could do as she watched Fjolte desperately work through the bodies. Prying them from each other, hot tears stinging his cheeks in between gasping screams.

The rain came soon after, heavy. Streaking lines of silver that distorted her vision and soaked her through within seconds. Thunder turned the sky over above them, tumbling across the landscape in a growl, the clouds thick and dense with rain. What remained of Rorikstead began to succumb to it, the dirt quickly becoming a pool of thick mud. On his knees, Fjolte sank into it. His own town consuming him into the dark.

Fjolte could not speak his words. His iron stomach betrayed him when he met the scent. The sound of a throat blocked by vomit, desperately trying to find the air to fuel cries of hoarse anguish and loud, choked sobs. It was the most disturbing sound that Raelynn had ever heard.

Hope was lost.


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At the Table


Evening, 17th Sun’s Height
Falkreath





It had not been too long since the raucous crowds had died down outside, and with a spring in her step, Ivy made her way towards the tavern, for some warmth and hopefully a drink of some sorts. She’d left Calen somewhere, with dreams in his heart and a song on his lips to wind him off to a restful sleep - and yet she still felt so very alive and awake.

She seemed to bounce through, patrons of the room offering her nods and smiles. For what it was worth, any usual racial tensions between Nords and Dunmer did not apply to her - not to their own personal harlequin, ready at all times to deliver joy to weary souls. She’d been sure to cover herself. In one of her favourite woolen throws that she wore like a shawl. It looked as soft as a cloud in it’s rich teal hue, draped around her figure and tucked into a belt made of coins.

“Good one tonight Eva, you were reaaaaal’gud,” slurred a swaying gentleman in her direction, grabbing at her arm to stop her so he could speak to her one on one. She wasn’t quite fond of being grasped at, but it brought no anger to her - instead she simply chuckled at him and scratched the underside of his chin - his beard prickly.

“Oh my darling Sven, as much as I’d love to hear you compliment me all night - I have places to be and people to see…” she trilled with enthusiasm. With her hand in his, she raised it above her head and spun underneath it - much to his delight.

“Alri’ then, alri,” he responded happily - clearly enthralled at her whirling, as his eyes continued to spin in their sockets long after she’d stopped. The coins around her waist jangled as she swayed away. From the corner of her eyes, she spotted a presence - an Argonian. One of the new arrivals too, she hadn’t seen his face and she never forgot a face. That alone was enough to sway her from simply approaching the bar herself. Instead, she carried herself with a layer of excitement to his table.

Ivy found that as she drew nearer to him, his energy was different to the other patrons. Easy to miss a sullen ember in a fire of joy - but hard to ignore once you knew it was there. She slowed her steps, and approached more carefully, quietly, appearing at his side. “Is this seat taken?” she asked in a kindly voice, her palm reaching out to the back of the very obviously, empty chair.

Jaraleet was about to reply when he raised to his head to see the newcomer that was talking to him. His words immediately died in his throat when he noticed that who was talking to him was a Dunmer and, for a split second, red filled his vision. He forced himself to take a deep breath, to anchor himself to the present; he was no longer in Argonia, he was in Skyrim, and not every Dunmer that he’d run into would be an enemy.

“It isn’t.” He finally replied, unable to keep some of the hostility that had filled his mind from leaking into his tone of voice. “You might take it if you wish. It is all the same to me.” Jaraleet said, motioning for one of the servers to bring him another drink. It wouldn’t be wise for him to start a commotion in the middle of the tavern and, hopefully, a strong drink would help him keep his emotions under control.

Ivy was used to that. The poison of prejudice against who she was, although it always felt… Understandable when the poison came from an Argonian. “If you’d rather be alone, of course I understand.” She commented, pushing the chair back under the table, the legs groaning against the floor. “Been a bit curious about you and your friends, is all.” She gave him a smile before placing a hand on the table to lean on. “I’m Ivy, by the way-” giving a name always made things more personal, made it harder for people to paint you with the brush of their choosing. “What’s yours?”

Jaraleet nodded his thanks when the Dunmer woman mentioned that she understood if he’d rather be alone. However, when she mentioned that she had been curious about him and the others in the group, the assassin felt himself tensing almost immediately. “Makes sense, after all, we are the newcomers here, can’t blame you for being curious, or even suspicious.” He replied, keeping his tone of voice neutral.

He looked at the woman as she placed her hands on the table to lean on it. “Jaraleet, my name is Jaraleet.” He finally said, motioning to the empty chair with one hand. “As I said before, the chair is free, so if you feel inclined to seat, you might do so.” The Argonian finished as the server he had called brought him his drink which, much to his surprise, turned out to be ale from his homeland, causing a small smile to draw itself on the Argonian’s face as he took a sip of the all-too familiar ale.

“Oh,” Ivy cooed, pulling the seat back out and slinking down into it, elbows on the table. “I’m never suspicious, only curious.” Her red eyes sparkled as she observed the gentleman and his drink. He was defensive about something. “You have journeyed with your companions for some time?” she asked, her head tilting to the side. “You all seem to have had quite an adventure to find yourselves here. Maybe this is a nice reprieve from troubles…”

Jaraleet shook his head when Ivy mentioned that she was never suspicious, only curious. “I suppose we are opposites in that regard, then.” Was all he said as he took another sip of his drink as he contemplated on whether or not to answer her question. “Yes, we’ve been travelling together for quite some time. I wouldn’t say that I’m friends, or even close, with everyone but…” He paused as he searched for the right word, taking another drink of his ale. “But there are people who are dear to me in the group. Very dear, as a matter of fact.” Jaraleet finished, turning his focus towards Ivy.

He chuckled darkly when she said that it seemed like they had had quite the adventure, that Falkreath was perhaps a reprieve from their troubles. “The last time things seemed to be going that way, we ended in worse trouble than before. I’m not letting my guard down again, no offense to the people of Falkreath.”

"It hasn't been easy then?" Ivy asked, shifting in her seat to face him. "I mean most journeys in war are difficult… But you've had each other, that must have made the troubles less trouble to deal with?" She blinked several times in Jaraleet's direction, head tilting to the other side, like the motion of an inquisitive animal. This man was going to be hard to crack…

Jaraleet was silent for a moment as he thought on Ivy’s words, about how having each other must have made the troubles easier to deal with. He couldn't help but feel bitter as he remembered what Gregor’s action had set in motion, about the heartache that the discussion with Meg on the Alik’r desert had caused him. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no.” He finally answered, emptying the last of his ale and ordering another drink. “You must have travelled yourself a fair bit, I'm sure you understand the meaning of my words.”

She grinned at him, "oh yes - I've travelled the world a few times over by now… I think I understand." She could sense his bitterness, it couldn't easily be concealed by him. It was interesting to think about how his experience had been different to Calen's and to Meg's. "Your bard friend is a delight! I'm afraid actually that he is the only gentleman I have really spent time with from your party. But I wish to talk to everyone in time." She sighed, hoping that might help him to open up. "Are you close with Calen?"

Jaraleet shrugged, looking at Ivy in the eyes. “No, not really, I have only spoken to him only once and we didn’t exactly see eye to eye that one time we talked. Ever since then we haven’t spoken.” The Argonian said simply, drumming his fingers on the table. “So, no, I can’t say we are close. He is, or was I suppose, close to Gregor. I don’t know, I usually keep to myself most of the time.”

"Well," she began with a resigned sigh, "we can't always see eyes to eyes with everyone," Ivy shrugged. She'd had many an experience with that, her views and ways were not exactly sitting on the side of normal. "So, well, who are you close to? It feels almost as though your group has divides!"

“That is a fair assessment, we aren’t exactly very cohesive at our best. Much less at our worst.” Jaraleet said in response to Ivy’s comment that their group seemed to have divides.The Argonian paused for a second as he pondered whether or not to answer honestly to the Dunmer’s question about who he was close to before deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to be honest this time. “Gregor, Meg, Sevari, and Finnen, though the last one is missing from our group.” He said with a slight frown. “Also Raelynn, though she too has left our group.” He paused for a second, his thoughts briefly wandering over to the Breton healer who had been one of the first people he had met after leaving Argonia and with whom he had made a connection. “Wherever she is, I’m sure she is safe. She is strong, I’m sure that she’ll be fine, but I do hope that I can meet her again soon.” Jaraleet said, a note of concern in his voice.

"Well that's a handful of good friends!" Ivy chuckled, holding up a hand with splayed fingers, wiggling each one as if they all represented the named friends. "And they're all really lucky to have you too. I'm sensing that you're a protective kind of friend, that you'd stand in the line of fire for any one of those. Am I right?"

“They are, aren’t they?” Jaraleet said, his tone soft and fond, a smile drawing on his lips as he thought of the friends that he had made on the journey that he had stepped on ever since Skingrad. He nodded when Ivy mentioned that he was a protective friend, smiling again though the gesture didn’t reach his eyes like it had done before. “I’d give my life if it meant that they’d be safe.” The Argonian said, his voice somber but full of conviction.

"That's very beautiful, Jaraleet." The Dunmer brought her elbows to the table and laced her fingers together, leaning closer to Jaraleet. Her red eyes flashed with something mysterious as she placed her chin on her knuckles. "Hmmmm, have you told that to them? Expressed yourself, I mean?" Her eyebrow quirked as she ran her words over his bitterness, finding her way upon something he was sensitive about.

Instinctively, Jaraleet backed up as Ivy leaned closer to him; he wasn’t used to that, to people approaching him physically upon their first meeting. Once that was done, he paused for a second and pondered the question that the Dunmer had presented to him. As he thought about the question, the ale that he had ordered was placed on the table and, without thinking, the Argonian paid for the liquor, taking a sip of the alcohol before he replied. “I….I haven’t, I am not the most expressive person, truth be told.” He finally admitted, letting out a sigh.

“Well, expression and vulnerability is simply a muscle that needs to be used and worked at in order to strengthen,” Ivy offered with a smile, noticing his backing away. She did the same, leaning back comfortably into her chair. He did not like being crowded, and so she opened herself. One leg slipped over the other, and an arm hung over the back of the chair. “You can always try with small steps of expression - even if it hurts, it also heals given enough time.” It seemed to Ivy like even his admission was a bigger step than he would have been comfortable admitting to a stranger. Her ears twitched slightly and she smiled more. “What would you say to your friends right now if they were all here?”

Jaraleet was silent for a moment, pondering the question. What would he tell his friends if they were all here? His thoughts drifted through everyone he had met during his travels….and further past them, back to his fellow trainees, to the brother who had given his life for him. And then, his thoughts returned to the present, to Finnen and Sevari. He took a long drink from his mug and when he looked at Ivy there was no mirth in his eyes, only a grim certainty shone in the Argonian’s eyes.

“I do not know.” He finally answered, finishing his drink and standing up from his seat. “But there is something that I must do now, farewell.” Jaraleet said as he stepped towards the door that led outside. He had to find Sevari, it had been too long since he had last talked to the Khajiit and there were important matters that they had to discuss about a certain Reachman.

A chill slithered down the Dunmer’s spine. Her lips tugged to the side. Jaraleet was the darkness she had felt earlier that evening.

She hoped that somewhere on his path, a flicker of light would touch him.
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Insight


A Green Storm Production



18th Sun’s Height, afternoon

It was hard to keep a smile off her face. So far, Megana had been having a rather lovely day. Breakfasting with an old friend, chatting with a new one- what could be better than that? She didn’t think anything, not while she felt so elated. She knew things still had a long way to go before finally returning to what was normal- the holes left by their missing friends could be felt no matter how anyone tried to disguise it or just plain ignore it. However, she knew she had to keep thinking positively, keep seeing what good was still there. Besides… she was still here, and it would take a mammoth dragging her away to keep her from her friends.

Weaving through the tents, her mind busy with thoughts of her companions as well as wondering whether she should eat something now or perhaps later as she was still not completely hungry, the Nord woman nearly missed seeing the Dunmer sitting by a tent, eating something. The only reason Meg hadn’t missed her was due to the red hair that was so unfamiliar, reminding her less of roaring flames now and more of flickering embers.

“G’day!” she greeted, waving a hand as she made her way over. She hadn’t exactly had a chance to talk to Ivy last night, yet still found herself in awe- Meg wanted to know more about this strange, wonderful woman.

"Well hello!" Ivy replied with a smile, her chin pointed upwards as she gave a gentle wave of her hand - jewelry dancing around her slender wrist. "If it isn't Megana the Kind, I am honoured," she added, that same hand rolled in circles as she lowered her head in a graceful bow. "Come and sit! Share that good mood with me…"

"Oh, psh..." Meg couldn't help but chuckle, a hint of rose tinging her cheeks as she heard that epithet that seemed to have caught on among some of the others she had passed by today. It embarrassed her yet at the same time she couldn't help but feel a little proud of herself and the rest of their group- they had done deeds that people only sang of in songs or wrote tales about.

"Thankies, I shall!" Wiping at the heat on her face with the back of her hand, she settled down just a little away from Ivy, sitting cross legged. "It's uhm, it's good t'see you again. I'm guessin' you've been here long?"

The Dunmer's head tilted to the side and her crimson eyes narrowed. "You know… I don't really know exactly how long, a month at least," she chuckled, biting into a strawberry. "Let me think… Well when I arrived the Mage had fled and made way for the Shadow, and now we see in the stars the Apprentice… So yes, a month or so," she smiled, offering a strawberry to the young woman.

"When you live as many years as I have, time becomes… Well, you view it quite differently I suppose." Ivy said with an air of maturity, and yet her smile so full of youth and her eyes sparkled with zest. "Now, my dear darling Calen's song, from what I heard you have been travelling with them for some time, hmm?"

There was a look of extreme confusion that passes over Meg's face as she took the strawberry offered to her, mentally repeating what Ivy had said, or at least trying to while she took a bite of the small red fruit. "Ah!" she finally exclaimed once she had chewed and swallowed. "Now I know whatchu were talkin' about…" She paused in her words, wondering how old the Dunmer woman was. She knew Mer aged differently than men did, but was in by much?

"Oh yeah," she added, nodding as she finished off the rest of the strawberry, playing with the leaf she had plucked off the top. "I mean, it's been since..." She tried to remember the date, forehead scrunched in concentration before smoothing over as she waved it off. "... months, outside've Skyrim. Cyrodiil an' Hammerfell. A bunch've us met in the mountains, Skingrad… Gilane. An' now we're back home. Well, my home. Ah, well, home of the Nords I s'pose. I was born in Riverwood."

"Oh! I've been there a number of times. What a quaint place," Ivy said with a wide smile, thinking fondly of it. "I've heard a lot about Gilane. Well, from your friends… That you were there. You all seem to speak of it…" Ivy's eyes slowly until they were closed, and she took in a deep breath of the clear, Skyrim air. "And now you're home once more, what is next?"

"We do talk lots 'bout there, don' we?" Meg looked a little embarrassed. "Guess it's 'cause so much seemed t'have happened there.. life changin' really." She chewed momentarily on her lip before shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. "I dunno... I mean I'm home but I can't just stay put, y'know? I promised I'd stay an' help my friends stop the Dwemer... so this is just really a small break before goin' off an' doing whatever we gotta do next."

“Ah!” Ivy replied with closed eyes, “and what is it you’d like to do Megana the Kind, while you’re here?” the Dunmer asked inquisitively, partly to make polite conversation, and an equal part of simple curiosity and a desire to continue learning about her new friends.

"I'm not too sure, t'be honest," Meg replied with a small shrug. Falkreath seemed like a haven among a nightmare, but was it really alright for her to stay here too long while they had a task at hand? The truth was that right now, with their group having lost three friends, it was hard to know what she had to do.

Well, we've only been here a li'l bit, no need t'get all up in arms 'bout' it.

"I think maybe I'm just gonna wander here an' there an' see what comes t'me," she finally replied, eyeing the Dunmer. "What 'bout you?" It wasn't too rare to see Dunmer in Skyrim, at least not for Meg who had met all sorts of people during her childhood, but she too was curious how and why Ivy had ended up here. "How’d you end up in Falkreath?"

“Just wander and see, huh?” Ivy asked, blinking in Meg’s direction. She brought her thumb to her lower lip and pressed at it. “Really… that’s how I found myself here! I just wandered and chased the stars. Truthfully I think I was sent here by someone, or something… I followed an idea, a dream…” Her eyes narrowed and looked like flickering embers. “But who can say for sure? All I know is I’m glad I did - because how else would I have gotten to meet Megana the Kind!” She grinned, taking another strawberry and eating it - stalk and all.

“I think that you’re very special Meg, never lose that which makes you, well, you!” Ivy added, giving the young Nord a cheerful smile.

“Oh… there ain’ nothin’ too special ‘bout me,” Meg hastily replied, feeling a little embarrassed at the compliment. “There’re other really nice folk around, an’ I probably wouldn’ be as I am now if it weren’ for them.” She smiled, though there was a hint of sadness there. “A couple of them aren’ here, an’ I dunno if I’m even going to see them again…” Her voice trailed as she continued to fiddle with the leaf from the strawberry top, turning it this way and that. “Brynja, Fjolte… they’re Nords like me. Brynja we lost in Gilane. Fjolte was gone when I got back with Zaveed.” She let out a big, loud sigh before attempting a proper smile. “But he’s with his family, an’ that’s a good thing, eh? I kinda hope I can find my family too, once all of this is done an’ over with.”

Ivy tilted her head at that, and placed a hand down on the grass beside her. “Your family? Well of course,” she blinked happily - trying to picture just where Meg came from, what kind of relatives she had. A big family, most likely. A big family indeed. Ivy blinked again, “how long has it been since you saw your family?”

“It’s been…” Meg rubbed the back of her head as she tried to think over that. “More than a few months for sure, feels like years though. I left ‘em before all this started, in Whiterun.” Her mouth pulled to the side in contemplation, wondering how they must be, but then she hastily forced herself to smile. She didn’t want to see dark and gloomy around this friendly woman. “My ma went off t’Sovngarde when I was a li’l kid, so I grew up with my Pa. We moved aroun’ some but ended up in Whiterun… I have a step-ma an’ a kid brother, Sylven.” She wondered if he grew at since she had seen him.

“Pa used t’be a soldier in the Imperial army b’fore he came over t’Skyrim an’ met Ma,” she continued. “I’m pretty damn sure they must’ve gotten outta Whiterun fine.” Stendarr, make my wish be true, please.

“Maybe they made it here!” Ivy suggested with a smile, leaning closer to Meg. “Lots of families fled and found themselves here…” her eyes narrowed and she glanced around, leaning closer still to whisper in Meg’s ear; “lots of cheeky children running around…” Then she giggled.

"You- you think?" Meg turned to look Ivy straight in the face, trying to find something that told her that maybe what she was saying was the absolute truth. "My brother, he's..." Meg's voice wavered to a stop, realizing that she honestly did not know much about her little brother. When she had gone on her own adventures, he had been a baby, barely able to sit by himself. Her infrequent visits home showed her a different sibling that the one she had seen previously.

"I hope he's one of those children," she admitted, eyes shifting away from the Dunmer's visage so that she was looking at the ground. "I know I should have the hope that they'd be aroun', it's just kinda scary t'think maybe it might not be like tha, y'know? Kinda buildin' up hope an' then havin' it not be true is kinda scary..." She felt sheepish even as she said it, shaking her head.. "I shouldn' be saying stuff like that..."

Sensing Meg’s upset, Ivy wrapped her arms around the young woman and gave her a comforting squeeze. “You can say whatever you like to me, if it’s in your heart you have to say it,” she smiled, pulling out of the hug to meet Meg’s eyes. “There’s all kinds of children, like I said… One in particular that I found once in my tent looking through my things!” she huffed, but with no ill-intent. “Cheeky of him, but I let him keep a bracelet or two,” she giggled again, her voice quieting to a hush.

“A lot of families camped over there-” Ivy said, pointing a long finger in the opposite direction, towards the other side of Falkreath. “Of course, some of them are in the inns too… But most over there,” Her ruby red eyes caught Meg’s again, and she gave the woman’s arm a nudge. “You should go, and if you’re scared then maybe take a friend.”

Green eyes following in the direction Ivy pointed, Meg took in a deep breath, held it in for a few seconds before slowly breathing out. She then nodded, allowing some confidence to creep within her, even if it was simply borrowed for the time being. The day had gone well, what with meeting Daro'Vasora and Do'Karth.

"You're right," she replied, smiling at Ivy- this time it was a natural one that wasn't partially forced or tinged with any other emotion. She reached out and took hold of Ivy's hand, squeezing it. "Thank you. I'mma do what you said." Letting go of the woman's hand, she got to her feet. She could do this, she owed her father that much.

Besides... "Vaba do'shurh do."

It is good to be brave.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Lemons
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Lemons Resident Of The Bargain Bin

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The Snake And The Dragon

Lemons, Morty
---
Nighttime, 17th of Sun’s Height

Gaius was sweating and red in the face from dancing by the time he finally broke away from the dense crowd in the town square, walking with a tipsy weave away from the press of people. Looking up at the stars, he realized suddenly that with all that had been going on, he’d neglected to worship (and it wasn’t like there were shrines scattered across the Alik’r and the Druadach) for quite a while. If memory served, there was a shrine to Arkay just outside the city, and he wasn’t drunk enough that he would trip over the gravestones. And so he walked through the dark, quiet lanes of Falkreath, the quiet calling of nightbirds accompanying him as he tried to remember the direction to the temple.

It had been rather easy for Jaraleet to spot Gaius as he broke away from the dense crowd that had gathered in his tipsy state. A frown settled on his face as he saw that the Imperial was heading in the direction that led outside of the city, he might not know the man personally but, seeing him interacting with the others in the group, made it clear that he was no stranger to the others. “It’ll probably be for the best to follow him and make sure everything is ok.” The Argonian thought. Given their current predicament, it was a rather foolish thing to go out of the -relative- safety of the town in the assassin’s opinion.

Given the man’s inebriated state, and Jaraleet’s own rather fast walking pace, it didn’t take too long for the Argonian to catch up to the Imperial. “Going somewhere...Gaius, was it, no?” He asked, unable to hide the note of skepticism in his voice. It was, all things considered, rather odd for someone to leave the festivities when they were in full swing as it stood and, in truth, while the other members of the group, those that had been there since the Jerall Mountains expedition, seemed to be familiar with the man, he was still an enigma as far as the Argonian assassin was concerned. “You’ll have to forgive me if I seem overly suspicious but, well, it is rather strange for someone to leave a feast in the middle of it, especially to go outside the city itself, wouldn’t you agree?”

Despite his intoxicated state, Gaius was still a soldier, and so when he heard a voice from behind him in the middle of the night, he whirled around, arms reaching to where his weapons would ordinarily be. A moment passed before he realized that he had no weapons with him at the moment--he would need to see the blacksmith--and that the person behind him wasn’t a danger to him, at least not now. With a sigh, he relaxed, squinting at Jaraleet and chuckling a little bit. “Never been to Falkreath, have you? Come on then, I’ll show you where I’m going.”

He beckoned, and--drawn by the light of candles--he arrived at the graveyard. Even the keeper of the graveyard was at the town square. Though the sounds of the party could still be heard in the distance, he felt isolated, contained in a bubble of quiet tranquility that was sorely lacking in his recent life. He stepped up upon the threshold of the Hall Of The Dead, and knelt down. Before him was the ever-familiar interlocking squares and sphere of Arkay, backed by candles that silhouetted it with a gentle light. Closing his eyes, he began to pray.

The reaction speed from Gaius had surprised him but, even so, Jaraleet hadn’t been worried, having already noticed that the man was unarmed. “No, can’t say that I have been. This is my first time on Skyrim, as a matter of fact.” The Argonian replied, nodding when Gaius offered to show him where he was going.

The assassin followed the Imperial in silence, but the presence of the tombstones and the candles clued him in soon enough to where Gaius had been heading before he had interrupted him. When Gaius entered the Hall of the Dead, Jaraleet remained a respectful distance from the man as he prayed to Arkay waiting until he was done before he spoke again. “I must admit, I didn’t figure you as a religious man.” He said, before pausing for a second. “Although, admittedly, I don’t know you all that well...and my people are ather different from yours when it comes to worshipping, so that might have played a part as well.”

Gaius stood, eyes still lightly closed, and sighed out a heavy breath. It felt good to be so close to a Divine again after so long. “The Oblivion Crisis nearly destroyed my home. It was only Akatosh that saved us. What sort of Imperial would I be if I didn’t pay my dues to the gods?”

Then he turned--still stumbling slightly--and stared at Jaraleet. The candles behind him cast his face into darkness, leaving him almost entirely a shadow. “What do you worship in Argonia? All I really know is that you come from a tree called the Hist, at least...somehow. What is your name for Akatosh?”

“To your first question, what kind of Imperial you’d be if you didn’t worship your gods, I believe it is something that you already know the answer to. Or at least I think so, I doubt that anything I’d say would have too profound an impact on what you think. But I can see why you’d have such a reference towards your gods, the sacrifice of Martin Septim was a great one and, unlike the Thalmor, I don’t believe such a sacrifice should be erased...even if we Argonians were holding against the forces of Oblivion.”

He paused for a second as he pondered on the next question that Gaius had made to him, thinking on how to answer it. “It is….complicated to say.” Jaraleet finally began, crossing his arms over his chest. “What you call Akatosh we, or at least so says the myths passed down by the Adzi-Kostleel tribe of Murkmire, call Atak, or the Great Root if you’d prefer. We believe the growth of Atak, and from it’s confrontation with the serpent Kota, and subsequent fusion into the being known as Atakota, that Nirn sprang forth.” He continued on, pausing for a second to allow Gaius to process the information that had been relayed to him.
“Along with this there’s the presence of the Shadow, which devoured the roots and gave us the knowledge of mortality, but leading to the division of Atakota into its original components.” He paused again, realizing that the Imperial probably wouldn’t understand some of the terms that he was saying. “To clarify, the serpent Kota is the being that is usually associated with the name of Lorkahn, as for the Shadow, it is none other than Sithis itself. Are you following me so far? As I said, it is a complicated tale.”

Gaius blinked for a moment, eyelids drawing together in something like confusion. “So...Akatosh and Lorkhan fused together and created Nirn. And then Sithis ate them, which created mortality and divided Akatosh and Lorkhan again?” He sighed, knuckling his eyes. “Maybe it’s the mead, but I think I get it. For the most part. Do go on.”

Jaraleet couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, a smile forming on his face. “That is the gist of it. The myth ends with the Shadow re-awakening due to the confrontation between Atak and Kota, consuming them both and shedding the skin that was Atakota. In this way, the Shadow covered all roots and promised to keep them safe.” He finished, stepping closer to the Imperial soldier and patting him on the shoulder. “That's it, how we Saxhleel see the creation of the world.” Jaraleet said, pausing for a second as he pondered whether or not to say what was in his mind before, in the end, deciding to give voice to his thoughts. “I am surprised that you didn't so much as flinch when I mentioned Sithis, giving what people usually know of it.”

“Probably the drink,” chuckled Gaius. “But, seriously. Maybe if you killed for Sithis like the Dark Brotherhood used to, then we’d have a problem. But as it is? It’s Sithis. It exists. I mean,” he laughed again, “it’s not like you murder in its name. Death’s always there, watching over our shoulders.” He nodded respectfully at Arkay’s shrine. “And as long as death is there, so is Sithis.”

“You’re very eloquent, by the way,” he added suddenly. “I’m impressed.”

“Well put. Though I should clarify that Sithis isn’t just death itself. I can’t deny that groups like the Dark Brotherhood existed, that Death isn’t a part of Sithis, but it’s more than that. Sithis is change, and all that entails. It is life and death, it is the tree that grows, changes, and dies, in that Sithis is also present.”

He paused for a second when he registered that Gaius had called him eloquent, causing the assassin to let out a sheepish chuckle. “Thank you, I’ve been called many things but never eloquent.”

Gaius raised his eyebrows. “‘It is life and death, it is the tree that grows, changes and dies, in that Sithis is also present?’” He smirked. “And you say you’ve never been called eloquent.” The world swam lightly around him as he stepped heavily forward and laid a hand on Jaraleet’s shoulder. “When we liberate the Empire from these Dwemer dogs, I’ll see to it personally that you get a powerful position in the Legion.” He didn’t usually toss promises about so liberally, but communing with a Divine (and drinking) had put him in a fantastic mood.

“That is, if you want it,” he added as an afterthought.

The offer from Gaius caught him by surprise. Him, a member of the Imperial Legion? If he had been the same Jaraleet who had set off from the Imperial City he’d have laughed, said something about how the Empire had nothing for his people so why would he want to be part of the army that had made it? But he wasn’t the same Argonian, and the offer gave him pause.

“I’ll...think about it, Gaius.” He finally said, still processing the offer. “It is true that I’m a fighter, but I am not sure if I’d be a good leader of soldiers. Or a good soldier for that matter.” He said, letting out a soft chuckle. “But I thank you, truly. Never in my life has someone made an offer, a promise, to me of that sort.” Jaraleet said, smiling at the Imperial man.

One last warm smile came to Gaius’ face. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my service in the legion, Jaraleet, it’s that the leaders who think they’re the best are often the worst, and that the reverse is also true.” He stepped back, giving a sort of casual, offhand salute. “Just remember that if you’re ever in the Imperial City, the Guard is always open to you.” The smile turned to a kind of lopsided grin. “Now, I’m going to see about getting some more mead.”

“Thank you Gaius.” The Argonian said, before grinning at the imperial soldier. “And you best hurry, otherwise I think you’ll have trouble getting some more mead.” Jaraleet said, letting out a soft chuckle. “As for me, I think I’ll abstain from the festivities. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

With that, Gaius wove away, back towards the festival. The Argonian followed in his wake shortly afterwards, albeit heading further away from the festival rather than back towards it like the Imperial had done.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Greenie
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The Navigator and the Shield


By Lemons, Stormy, and Greenie



Late afternoon, 19th Sun’s Height
Falkreath




Ivy had been infirm for most of the day, a headache weighing her down. The feeling was familiar, like all of the spinning she could do and achieve without feeling dizzy would hit her at once and her surroundings would whoosh in endless circles. A nagging feeling that ran the length of her spine and into each limb like a hot poison.

Eventually what had been festering was birthed from inside of a shell, an image, a sound, a smell. Just a split second for her to make sense and find the message within. From the birth came instant relief - like sinking into a hot bath on a cold day. The vertigo had gone and she lifted her head from her pillow, mulling over it… What do you mean? she asked herself, looking up through the split ceiling of the tent - up at the sky as it was beginning to grow darker. The hum of sunset rolling through.

Her bare feet worked the rain-kissed grass beneath her as she let her senses carry her to where she needed to be - intuition pulling her in a hard direction. The Dunmer wasn’t able to leave - to venture beyond Falkreath and into the wild. As tough as she was emotionally, she wouldn’t fare well against any real foes. Not alone, definitely not alone. She had to find someone, and convince them that she wasn’t… well, that she wasn’t what people usually thought she was. Crazy.

She needed someone who could read the sky, and someone who could hold back fire.

The time for pacing was over, and she set off into the town centre, the new guests had all but settled in, and she could distinctly remember that at least one of them was shiny in the way that she needed them to be.

“Hey! Hey there, hello!” she called out after several minutes of flouncing around the town - her red hair tied in a bouffant and long, heavy plait. The woman in question had been just moving around. Without warning, Ivy slipped her own arm through the woman’s elbow so they were linked together - she didn’t want her to escape. Ivy recognised her as one of the new arrivals to Falkreath, and she looked to be either a Redguard or an Imperial… Maybe both. In any case, Ivy smiled up at her. “Good morning, I need your help.”

Sirine blinked. Four months previously she would have probably elbowed whoever took hold of her so easily and taught them a lesson, but her time in Scorpion' Song had made her immune to that sort of thing. Still, she was surprised to see the exotic Dunmer woman, the one who had put on such a performance, to come and seek her out. Though the group had spent a long time together, she still felt like a stranger among them for the most part- she could only imagine what was probably going in Zaveed's mind when people interacted with him. Still, they had to try- she had to try. For all their sakes.

"Hello, good morning," she repeated. What was her name again? Ivy? She wasn't sure if that was simply a nickname or perhaps the woman's actual name, but that would have to do for now. A careful smile now set on her lips, Sirine gave the lady a nod. "You're Ivy, yes? I am Sirine. What sort of help do you think I would be able to offer?" Did this woman know her from somewhere, or was it just a hunch on her part that she could help with... whatever?

“I was hoping you might be able to help me find someone,” Ivy replied, her arm linked to Sirine, but her big red eyes tracing the sights in front of them, moving from left to right - then up and down. “I’m looking for an armoured man… Traveled here with you!” Then her head turned, and she looked Sirine in her eyes - having ignored the question of her name to jump straight into things. “It’s very important,” there was a frailty in her voice that wasn’t normally in her throat - but it gave her a croak that gave a clue as to the woman’s true age to someone with an astute ear.

“You see, Sirine - I have some tasks for you and your group and this one, this one requires a shield.” The Dunmer said, walking on - pulling Sirine with her. “A very timely task… Maybe the most important of all…” That made her stop, and she glanced at Sirine again - her flurry of movements and words slowing as she realised that she had been acting like an excited child, as opposed to a composed and mature woman. “Let’s just find the Shield, and I’ll explain everything.”

Unable to keep herself from raising her eyebrow, Sirine couldn't help but feel a little taken aback and more than a little confounded at the way ths woman spoke and acted. "Find someone?" It seemed rather odd to her that she would be the one asked for such a task. Why not Megana who seemed to know everyone and their pets? Or someone else more familiar with the group? Well perhaps this woman did not know the divide that still seemed to linger. Yes, that had to be it...

Mentally, she chided herself, knowing that she herself with those sorts of thought was part of the problem.

"Let me think," she decided to reply, holding up her free hand. "That is, of who you might be searching for." Whatever this woman wanted had her a little intrigued, but she really did have to pause and wrack her mind a little. 'Armoured man' immediately had her thinking of Gregor, but the 'shield' caught her off guard, though it was not too long before she figured out who Ivy the Dunmer might be talking about. "Ah, I think you mean the Imperial man, Gaius? I... hm, well I can surely help you find him if that's what you wish." Even if she hadn't really interacted with the man, she knew what he looked like and recognized his voice and mannerisms.

"Gaius…?" Ivy said, closing her eyes and letting his name sit on her tongue as she drew the word out. "Gaius…" she said again. The Dunmer reached out a hand, as if gently grasping at the air to find him, before opening her eyes. "Sirine, my sweet," she began, opening her eyes. "I will trust you to help us find him. Maybe let's see where we find ourselves…" she said hurriedly, turning them on the spot in a certain direction, toward the tents. "If we walk here…" then they were off - Ivy resuming an arm in arm way of walking with Sirine.

Like a child being towed, Sirine allowed herself to be led, though she made the effort to walk side by side with the Dunmer woman. Frankly, half of her wished to laugh out loud at how preposterous this all seemed, but she recognized the determination in this woman’s actions, and at the least of it, she knew that there was no harm or malintent in her. “I haven’t actually conversed with him much,” she mentioned, even though she knew fairly well that wouldn’t deter her. “He has the look of a soldier. We found him in a prison in the Alik’r Desert.” It seemed like ages ago when she had fearlessly made her way into that place with only a single thought in her mind: Save Bakih.

“Perhaps I’m simply projecting, but he seems the sort who may want some quiet… perhaps he’s chosen to rest somewhere further away from the cluster of the tents?” It was a thought at least.

"Dilly dally, shilly shally. Absolutely not!" Ivy replied with a laugh and a dismissive shake of her hand. "In the prison? Locked up was he? In that case he most likely wants to make up for lost time and get down to something important!" There was a touch of strain in Ivy's voice, as if the weight of the task was pressing on her shoulders.

She lifted her head to the sky, raising a brow at the shade of blue, of the way that the sun was beginning it's descent again. "Also, it's afternoon. Maybe he isn't in the tent. Men have to eat, big man like your friend there - he would probably be looking for something tasty… Meat, probably grilled or smoked… Hmmm?" She stopped walking, and turned her head back to Sirine - oblivious to how her behavior was making the young woman feel. "We might intercept him on his way to the Inn…"

Sirine gave that thought a nod. He had seemed quite eager in the fight against the Centurions and had done quite a bit of damage by himself, and managed to fare better than quite a few of them. Perhaps the older Imperial did have some fire left in him which would be useful for… whatever this woman thought they could accomplish. As they continued to walk, her eyes swerved from person to person, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Imperial. At one point she thought she saw him, but it turned out to be somebody else carrying a shield, a Nord from the looks of it. Not that it was surprising- this was Skyrim. However, it wasn’t long before she did spot the man Ivy was searching for.

“There,” she said quickly, pointing him out to Ivy before raising her voice, calling out for the Imperial soldier. “Gaius?”

The Imperial in question jolted at hearing his name from a voice that, even though he knew the name of its source, was still altogether unfamiliar to him. The long, half-eaten skewer of meat in his hand fell to the ground, and he gave it a cross look before picking it up again, turning to…

“What is it, Sirine? And...Ivy, was it?” He dipped his head politely to her. Now that she wasn’t dressed up, painted, and cavorting across tables and stages, he could see the wrinkles by her eyes that betrayed age that, in an elf, was formidable indeed. It would not do for a soldier of the Imperial legion to disrespect his elders (as long as they didn’t ban the worship of one of his gods).

It was unusual for Sirine to talk to this man at all, but that hardly deterred her- she was quite good at dealing with strangers and he wasn’t one, even if they’d had minimal contact. “I do believe her name is Ivy, yes…” She paused and gave a nod to the Dunmer woman before looking to the Imperial man once more. “She mentioned she was looking for you, it seems she has a task at hand for us, though what exactly I’m yet to learn of the details.” With that said, her dark eyes returned to Ivy, clearly waiting for further clarification.

“Yes, yes,” the Dunmer replied with a wave of her hand - as if introductions were unimportant when time was of the essence. “I’m Ivy, that’s correct.” Her intense red gaze shifted between the two, and she wriggled her fingers almost nervously. “Maybe we should find a quiet place to discuss this…” She scanned the area again, clearly frazzled by something, her eye kept twitching - which wasn’t helping at all in her desire to not look like a madwoman, but then she marched onwards, knowing that curiosity would have them follow as she headed towards a dip on the hill, surrounded by a number of trees, a crater of grass shielded by oak.

The Dunmer perched herself up on a boulder there, waiting for Sirine and Gaius to catch up.

Gaius had spent a great portion of his life as a soldier. There was a great deal of risk in his line of work; risk of death, risk of capture, risk of any number of things. It was nigh-genetically burned into his brain and body to never follow a strange person off from inhabited ground to a place that’s ripe for an ambush. Not unless there was a very good, concrete reason. So it was perhaps a testament to the trials of the past few months that it only took him a few seconds of deliberation to give vent to a sound that was simultaneously a sigh, a grumble, and a grunt of affirmation before turning to Sirine and jerking his head in the direction Ivy had taken. “Well, shall we?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before following, finding her waiting on a boulder, looking for all the world like a statue. “So. We’re in a quiet place. Discuss.”

Should I tell a lie? Would that be easier? she mused to herself in the pregnant pause that hung over Gaius’s words. Or just dress up the truth to be more palatable for them…?.

“Several days ago, we sent out a group to collect supplies,” she began - trying to appear as serious and business-like as she could. Her back straight, ever if she was cross legged on her seat. Her hair catching the sun. It burned brighter. “They have not yet returned from this mission, and those supplies are very important. We need to get them here…” Lying felt awful, she thought. It felt like a horrible taste in her mouth, but one glance at Gaius’s severe expression knew that to speak as herself might bring undue attention to the cause. And if that happened, all would be lost.

Her face scrunched up and she heaved a great sigh. The taste was too awful to bare afterall. “That was a lie,” she confessed, and relaxed her posture. “I…. I need you both to promise me that what I’m going to share will be kept secret, and that you won’t go blabber mouthing to everyone.” Ivy’s eyes then danced between Gaius and Sirine’s, but her expression was no longer that of a confused woman - no, her expression was natural and the red in her eyes was enough to command attention. The energy in their circle shifted too, it became quieter, as if there were a wall around them, bringing them closer.

"I can't speak for Gaius as I don't know him well enough, but I'm not one prone to divulging that which has been told to me in confidence." Sirine had her arms akimbo, fists resting against her sides as she watched Ivy. "What is it that you want us to do, Ivy? I believe I can also speak for Gaius if I say just about nothing could shock us at this point in time."

A nod from Gaius. “I may be a soldier, but I’ve done a bit of wordplay in my day.” He nodded sharply. “Unless keeping it a secret would directly jeopardize those that I’m here to protect, you have my silence assured. So,” he exhaled heavily as he ran his hand down his beard, “what is it?”

“The opposite, in fact, Mr Gaius,” Ivy said, her eyes narrowed as her voice quieted. “Last night I received a vision of sorts,” she confessed, not sitting on the point for all that long. They would either believe her, or they wouldn’t. But the very fact that they had already answered her call, was reassurance to her that they would believe.

“I saw, felt, heard… It’s more of a feeling-” Ivy added, placing an open hand to her chest, “a feeling in here.” There was a grave tone in her voice, and she rubbed her thumb in small circles over her fingertips. “I felt the heartbeat of a horse, I heard a scream and I felt absolute fear and then nothing.” Even sharing the vision - vocalising it, brought back it’s lingering sensation and she squirmed, visibly recoiling - her toes curled. “Something is happening, somewhere beyond these walls. What it is, I do not know - I only know that my heart pulled me to Sirine here, and then to you…” her eyes locked to Gaius and she pushed herself from the rock. “We cannot risk another soul from your group knowing about this - the situation is already balanced on the edge of a knife and to rock it too much… Well, the outcome may well be horrific…” The Dunmer turned her intense gaze to Sirine. “I am asking a lot of the two of you, but something tells me that you’ve both been asked to do stranger things… What say you? Will you investigate this?”

Sirine didn’t really put much faith in anything, especially not visions, even if she didn’t shun them or say they were false and just figments of her imagination- just because she didn’t trust in something didn’t mean it wasn’t true. She hardly cared for divines or daedric princes, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, meddling in the lives of mere mortals. Still, how could she simply leave without telling anyone anything, especially on what might be a wild goose chase? “Let me think this over,” she muttered, resting a loose fist against her mouth, eyes narrowed and lowered towards the ground.

“Do you at least know where about this… investigation should take place?” she asked after a moment, raising her eyes to look at Ivy. “An hour from here? A day? Or more perhaps? While I don’t particularly mind heading out, if it’s something that will keep me away for the entirety of the day, I don’t think I’ll be able to leave without telling someone something."

Glancing sidelong at Sirine, Gaius knuckled his eyes. “I’m fine with investigating on something like this; Divines know that there’s been stranger things I’ve been tasked to do in the Legion. But I would like to know what I’m investigating before I start investigating it.” He shrugged helplessly. “The heartbeat of a horse doesn’t tell me much, Ivy. If I’m going to put my trust in you, I need more to go on. Where am I going? East? North? West? Perhaps south, even? What am I looking for? A dead horse? People screaming?”

He gave a little shake of his head, sighing. He wanted to trust Ivy, he really did, but there were so many variables, and so much unknown, that he just couldn’t bring himself to move on such little detail.

The Dunmer brought her thumb to her lips, gently pinching at the skin with her teeth. Trying to make as much sense as she could of her vision. What they wanted to know wasn’t unfair or unreasonable. After a drawn out silence, she eventually spoke. “You follow the Steed,” her heads tilted upwards. “He settles in this direction now…” she mumbled, pointing a hand in the direction of the constellation. “He will guide you to where you need to be,” there was a certainty in her voice - the certainty that she was indeed correct. The energy around her shifted again, as she looked at Gaius and Sirine both.

“As for time… Time is just sand, slipping through the glass until it’s too late, Sirine. We’ve used so much already. Our moments will collide, and you both have to be there, soon. Or it’s too late…” If only Ivy could make them feel, or even see what she had - the urgency might register with them both. But right now, they were looking at a woman telling them to go out into the dark on naught but a hunch. Someone they’d only just met, no less. "I will tell someone, we can't risk you being followed by worried friends…"

Sirine let out a sigh, looking down at the ground, arms crossed over her chest. It was difficult to simply up and leave, to trust this stranger, somebody she knew nothing about… Her lips tightened and she bit down, a niggling reminder poking at her conscience. Hadn’t she decided to trust a complete stranger, and vice versa? Hadn’t fruits been borne from that trust, lovelier than she could have ever dreamed of? Perhaps it was her turn to help someone in need?

Another breath escaped her lips; her hand reached up to lightly grasp the coin around her neck. She nodded. “Very well then. The Steed, hm?” She looked up to the sky, and though it was still too bright to see the constellations, she was more than familiar with following them rather than maps on land. “What do you say, Gaius?”

Gaius dropped his head, taking a deep breath and fiddling with the knife strapped in the small of his back. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be in this,” he picked at the haphazard set of mismatched plates that covered his body, “but if Sirine is up for it, then it’d be a shameful thing if I let her walk out alone.” He nodded sharply. “I’ll come.”

"Alright then…" Ivy said with a relieved sigh, feeling a knot of tension leave her body. "I'm going to fetch you a horse and cart… You're going to need the cart…" she said, pinching her chin thoughtfully as she looked over to the stables. "Take some time to gather what you need -- but be quick about it, you must leave before dark and there isn't much time before then now. And remember, say nothing..."

The Dunmer gave them one last look before she made her way to the horses. A pang of guilt struck her, she knew what was out there, she knew the dangers. Were they ill-prepared by her withholding what she knew. When Ivy was out of sight she cast her gaze on the horizon - the sparse and desolate plains, wartorn and ravaged. They would either make it in time, or die on the way.

All that she had was the faith and hope that they wouldn't.
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