[i]17th of Sun's Dawn Daggerfall[/i] [hr] [i]“First impressions: Disappointing.”[/i] To some, perhaps the sight of a horse suspended above the wide carrack would have been an interesting sight – to others, likely not. While the hooves dangling down from above his eyesight added a quality to the scene almost dreamlike in its bizarreness, the faint smell of foamy horse odor, combined with the foul stench that the heaving sailors emanated, was far too overwhelmingly pungent for Eno’s fragile nostrils to let him find anything worthy of wonder in the mise-en-scene – men, mer, and animals, nothing more, nothing greater… perhaps except the quality of the woodwork all around. The gangplank underneath his sandaled feet did not even let out the slightest creak as he and Llaran walked up towards deck. That was commendable. But the horse being lowered down with ropes, looking him in the eye as it slowly disappeared from sight, was not. That was just absurd. Just as he did not like men and mer, Eno also did not like animals; not only were they erratic and loud, but also, they were creatures without a sense of proper hygiene. Perhaps except cats, who had a mind to clean up their filth; no wonder some folks treated their more sophisticated subspecies as fellow sapient beings, he mused to himself. Perhaps there was merit in the idea – after all, they [i]were[/i] often more hygienic than Nords, although the tall woman who’d just passed by him seemed to prove an exception to the norm. The soft smell she exuded was either perfume or enchantment, but either way, it was not bad taste, just overtly feminine; likely daisy with a small hint of ginger. He thanked the forces of fate for providing someone to shroud his nostrils from the stench of foul sailor. “Faster, boy,” he urged Llaran as they walked down the main deck towards their room, which, they were told, was to be stationed underneath the quarter deck, thankfully away from the rabble. Finding himself dissatisfied with his spear bearer’s pace, he sped up his steps, moved in front of him, and feeling courteous, opened the door and held it open so that the fatigued boy could move in. “Thank you, master,” the young Dunmer huffed out as he moved in and finally found a chance to put down the two chests on his back. Eno wasn’t very elated about having two chests instead of one or three, but he did not want to strain Llaran further by adding another chest on top of the other two, and, well, they hadn’t been able to find one large enough for both their possessions. “Well, we’re here, master, aren’t we?” Llaran asked once they entered the room, his eyes glinting with excitement. Dragging the two chests inside, he shut the door afterwards, and set out to reorienting the things in the room in accordance to his master’s wishes while Eno lied on the bed. “Yes indeed,” Eno replied blandly from his resting spot. He watched Llaran’s movements, trying to see if there were any improvements in his motor skills. “And, uh, the spear?” “Put the shaft on the table, leave the tip as it is.” “If that’s all, can I, uh, walk around the ship a little bit? There’s some interesting folks around, don’t you think?” “Yes. So no.” Llaran faced Eno with a quizzed expression. “Stay put for now.” The young Dunmer pouted. The fact that his master did not let him sate his curiosity was perhaps the worst thing about him. “Do as I say, and I will give you another lesson in wrestling when I return.” “Really?” “You know it.” With that, Eno left the room and headed once more towards the deck. [hr] Outside, with nothing surrounding him but sails, rigging and clear sky, Eno felt safer than he did below deck, where he was surrounded by thick planks of wood not only below, but also beside and above as well. Normally, he would have chastised himself for feeling ‘safer’, for that would mean that factors aside from himself played a hand in his safety – for Eno, heresy. But perhaps because of the mental toll of their journey, or perhaps because of reasons as of yet unknown to him, he chose not to. He switched expressions to the default ‘disgusted Dunmer’ in case of someone interrupting his solitude, and walked over to the railings on the starboard side, his fingers trying to get a feel for the softness of the wooden railing. There were sailors around still, but on this side of the ship, the salty, almost citric smell of the seawater was dominant enough for him to be able to ignore them, and focus on his eyesight, as irritating as it was underneath the sunlight. The first subject that was to walk up the gangplank was, given the clothing and the staff, an awfully conventional mage. The woodwork on his staff disappointed Eno to a degree that he did not deem the man worthy of further observation; it wasn’t even [i]lacquered[/i], for Vehk’s sake. Most of these so-called mages were in reality craftsmen’s apprentices, he believed, not actual magicians. They simply replicated whatever was taught to them and sought no more than the technical values of whatever it is that they wished to replicate – it was a true disgrace, sullying the meaning of the word, yet not even adding anything more to it in the process. Then came up an Argonian so disgustingly weak that Eno could not help but admire its tenacity. With its thin, crooked limbs and skittering gait, it seemed almost insectoid to Eno, not unlike the scribs that populated his once-homeland. He watched it silently disappear down the deck, like a cockroach hiding within gaps between flooring and furniture. This did not bode well to Eno, who was convinced that the ship was carrying its fill of beasts already, be they human, horse, cat, or lizard. Being a Dunmer certainly had its charms – there was no judgement on why you disliked everything and everyone. Eno silently wondered if he was vitriolic by nature of his character, or by nature of his race. Or was his character a product of his race? “Too much think, load of junk,” he reminded himself, as his childhood tutors used to remind the more questioning students amongst his group. He procured a half-carved Idol of Vigor from his pocket and began whittling on it with his pocketknife, trying to deepen the gap between the idol's head and its shaft.