Sihava let out a heavy breath, ballooning her cheeks as she lost herself in thought. The road was long, and the night was beginning to fall. Far too early. Again. Strange.

Inzoliah continued her travels in the western end of High Rock, around Daggerfall. In her travels as of late, she had noticed that it seemed to get darker faster in this area of the province. It was only around 4 pm, she had estimated, and yet it appeared much later. Strange. Just as strange was the presence of another Dunmer a few strides ahead of her on the road. The Mage quickened her stride and came to match the other woman’s pace at her side. “Tis strange to see another Dunmer so far from Morrowind, or even Cyrodiil for that matter.”

Sihava glanced to the side, a little smile lighting up her face as she nodded. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she concentrated, biting the tip of her tongue. Through the magicka between them, she sent out a bright feeling of agreement and friendliness, and then one of the few words she could reliably communicate: [i]Sihava[/i]. Following that, a brief feeling of inquisitiveness and the word [i]name[/i] made it through. Hopefully the other woman wouldn’t find the thoughts too intrusive. She’d occasionally had a bit of trouble with that in the past.

As she turned more fully towards the much older woman, she noticed the faint shimmer of a huge stretch of illusion magic that covered nearly half her body. She raised an eyebrow, but made no other motion, refraining from gesturing at it. There was clearly a reason it was hidden, and it wouldn’t do to be rude.

The Mage Dunmer raised her eyebrow at the strange thoughts that entered her mind, but they were suddenly familiar. She recognised the strangeness as Mysticism magic, something she had seen other mages use many times back in the Synod in Cheydinhal. Inzoliah had only ever used it in the context of enchanting and soul gems, and that had been a lifetime ago, almost literally. “Ah, you speak through Mysticism?” Inzoliah inquired after feeling a thought wonder about a name creep through her mind. “My, that is curious. My name is Inzoliah, I’m somewhat of a mage.” The older woman smiled slyly at her own underplaying of her life’s work. She had learned that people generally found it off putting if you opened with ‘I’m a master fire mage, want to watch me burn this entire mountainside down?’ Inzoliah glanced up and down at the other Dunmer and tapped her chin as they walked, “I’m going to guess you’re a merchant? A trader of some kind? But, I wonder, what kind of merchant is a mute?” 

Looking up at the sky for a moment, Sihava wondered how she would quantify the concept of a vow of silence. Again with the tip of her tongue between her teeth, she parsed together a few images: the temple of the Divines, in Solitude. The feeling of prayer and exaltation. And a priest, finger pressed to his lips as if to say [i]shhhhhh.[/i] And then, feeling just a little bit put off--[i]you can't just ask someone what kind of merchant is mute! How rude![/i]--she barely restrained herself from asking about the illusion cloak that Inzoliah wore. But doing so would give away her skill as an illusionist. Best not to reveal that so willy-nilly; mystery was the best defense she had.

Although...however rude the question might have been, it was still a question, and Sihava could still answer. Who knows, it might even net her a coin or two if she was lucky. A few quick images of some of her wares--fine clothes, a very fancy Dwemer necklace she’d found someone selling on Solstheim, some rapid flashes of various potions and ingredients, a pile of semiprecious stones, and a brightly gleaming soul gem--the word [i]general[/i]--a shrug. She pointed to her pack with a quick jab of the thumb and gave Inzoliah a questioning glance as if to say, [i]want to take a look?[/i] 

Again, Inzoliah felt images infiltrate her mind. A large room, a chapel maybe. Hope and longing perhaps? The last one was definitely a priest, shushing someone. The Divines silenced this woman? It seemed odd to say the least but they say the Divines worked in mysterious ways, so who was Inzoliah to make heads or tails of the Aedra. She had never put much stock in them, personally. She shrugged, “Well, if that’s what happened, it sounds terrible.” Inzoliah dismissively waved her hand before continuing, “I’ve never bothered much with the Aedra. I’ve always put more faith in the arcane. Fire mostly.” She let the topic drop. Probably best not to insult someone’s faith after having just met them. 

The other Dunmer girl made a ‘look over here’ gesture with her thumb and made a curious face. She wanted Inzoliah to look at her wares, the Mage realised after a moment had passed. “If you have any scrolls, I’ll take a look at them, or even just some vellum. Sometimes I make my own scrolls to sell to other adventurers.” This whole situation made Inzoliah feel as if she was doing more talking than she had ever done in her life. One-sided conversations were like that she supposed. “Are you headed there too?” The older Dunmer asked, pointing at the rapidly approaching inn.

A puff of bemused and frustrated breath escaped Sihava. Clearly, she hadn’t quite managed to communicate what she’d intended: whatever Inzoliah thought had happened to her, it wasn’t a vow taken in faith. But, she reasoned, she was more or less used to the miscommunications, so no harm done. She’d correct her with writing once they reached the inn. Though she’d initially planned to keep traveling through the strange darkness, yesterday’s preturnatual night had prickled at her in a way that she didn’t trust, and she thought that perhaps she’d seen faraway eyes shining in the gloom. She was in no hurry to repeat that particular experience, and so when Inzoliah asked if she was also heading to the inn, she responded with an emphatic nod.

She was lucky with the sales, too: she [i]did[/i] have a few spell scrolls stored up in her pack. Nothing spectacular--mostly restoration and alteration, which she found were the easiest to sell to common folk--but hopefully, at least one would be to Inzoliah’s liking. In addition, she carried a tight roll of vellum with her wherever she went for communicative writing, and she had enough that she could spare some scrolls’ worth. Never let it be said that Sihava Blackthorn would turn down money.

“Yes, that’s my idea as well. I must confess, this early dusk doesn’t sit well with me. I’ve slept under the stars all over Tamriel and this is the only place where the dark sets my neck tingling.” The Dunmer Mage rolled her shoulders. “Well, if you do have some vellum, what say we conduct our business in the common room of the inn?” Seemed a little safer and easier than conducting a transaction while on the move, besides, the inn was only a little ways out now. 

The smile returned to Sihava’s face, and she accelerated a touch, eager to get out of this odd shadow. She hadn’t eaten much that day, preoccupied as she’d been with finding an inn to stay at during the long night, so the prospect of a bowl of Daggerfall stew and a cup of hot spiced wine was welcome indeed. She was in the middle of fantasizing over soft, crusty bread by the time she clomped her leather boots up the wooden steps, stepping out of the rapidly falling dusk and finding a table near the fire to drop her backpack off.

The Loyal Hound was a nice place, she thought. Could’ve done without [i]that many[/i] deer heads, but the decor was...charmingly rustic, she thought. It could have been nicer, and she would perhaps need to check the bed for bugs--one never knew at these roadside inns--but any kind of inn was a welcome sight after a day on the road. She was aching for the stew that she smelled wafting out of the kitchen. But business before pleasure, as the saying went. She wanted to be set up by the time Inzoliah came to her table, and so she rapidly dug through her bag and picked out what few scrolls she had, laying them down before taking out a tightly-sealed bottle of ink, uncorking it and dipping a quill pen in it before slicing off a piece of the vellum with her dagger, writing in elegant curling script:

[i]My name is Sihava Blackthorn. I apologize for any misunderstandings on the road; I have taken a vow of silence in the name of…[/i]

She hesitated for a moment. Though Inzoliah had mentioned that she didn’t put much stock in the Divines, she still obviously didn’t want to reveal her true patron. Which Divine would fit the vow of silence best…?

[i]...Arkay. In addition to the roll of vellum (I would rather not sell much of it, as I need it for messages such as this), I have five scrolls: one of Fast Healing, one of Heal Other, one of Waterbreath, one of Detect Living, and one of Ease Burden. 70, 90, 90, 110, and 80 Septim, respectively. You may make offers for the vellum, as I typically am not called on to sell it, and so I have no price for it.[/i]

With that done, she set aside the quill, corked the ink, and waited.

Inzoliah noticed the other woman’s pace pick up as she pointed out the closeness of the inn. She must be hungry. Or tired. Or eager to make some coin. Maybe all three. Regardless, she let the Mute Merchant pull ahead of her. Inzoliah felt no need to rush, a little more fresh air wouldn’t hurt. Especially if the inn was as packed as it sounded. 

When she did finally make it to the door she lingered a moment before finally going in. She had no particular reason for doing so, but it made her feel better nonetheless. The first thing she noticed was every source of the hated element in the room. Every torch, candle, lantern and hearthfire she mentally noted where they were and then tried to triangulate the area in which she could linger as far away from their menacing auras as possible. Unfortunately the other Dunmer seemed to have decided they should do business near the fire. Much too close to the fire for Inzoliah’s comfort. She exhaled slightly before heading over to the mute woman, who had set up all of her scrolls. The Mage quickly sat down at the table, positioning herself across from the fire, so she could keep an eye on it at all times. “Twould be best if we conducted our business with haste. I mislike being surrounded like this.” Of course she left out that she meant being surrounded by fire and not people, though she wasn’t particularly fond of the types of people that were found in inns such as these. Local drunks usually. Travelers who kept to themselves were alright in her book though.

Inzoliah used her hand to flatten the note that the other woman had set up and read it silently for a moment. “Sihava, an unique name. I have never heard it before, your parents must be very interesting people.” she commented plainly, sincere in her words though dryly delivered. “Since you would rather not part with much of your vellum and I lack the funds to purchase the other scrolls I shall be brief. I offer you 10 septims for a single scroll of vellum. ‘Tis more than I usually pay in a city, but we are not in a city and I am willing to part with more because I like to support fellow Dunmer.” As she finished her sentence she reached into a pouch around her waist and pulled out 10 septims and stacked them in a tower on the table. 

Sihava nodded and grinned. Unrolling the vellum, she settled on a scroll’s length of it before shearing it off with the dagger again. Sliding it across the table to Inzoliah, she counted out the Septims--ten indeed--and rammed them into her purse, which responded with a satisfying jingle.

Picking up the pen with whatever remained of the ink inside it, she wrote out [i]a pleasure doing business,[/i] before tossing the note offhandedly into the fire and sweeping the rest of the vellum and the scrolls back into her bag with a flourish. She’d organize it later, but for the moment, presentation trumped exactitude. 

Then, abruptly, she stood. [i]Now then, Sihava[/i] she thought, grin only growing, [i]let’s see about that Daggerfall stew.[/i]

Inzoliah watched the other woman cut the vellum into the proper length for a scroll. Her dagger seemed of unusually high quality for a travelling merchant. She put the thought out of her mind and was just grateful Sihava found the price acceptable. She was really not in the mood to haggle. The Mage picked up the blank scroll deftly and slid it into her knapsack, watching as the Merchant wrote out a note of thanks and then cast it into the fire. That seemed a very ill omen indeed. As soon as Sihava had stood up and left, Inzoliah had evacuated the table as well, eager to be rid of the fire. She needed a cool drink after that.