It was supposed to be a pleasant trip to High Rock. It was supposed to be a day or so of bliss before he returned back to Alinor. Eldayon had missed the Black Eagle by a day or so. It was an official Thalmor ship that ferried only Thalmor officials to and from Alinor. The Thalmor had many such ships but not enough to stay in one port for an extended length of time. Because of the previous war with the Empire, Eldayon would rather not board an Imperial ship. Not that there were any ships charting any trips to Alinor. His plan was to set sail to Highrock instead. Though it was still part of the Empire, it was left out of the war. Its people also had Elven blood and though they were still men at heart, they weren't as hostile as the Imperials or gods forbid, the Redguards. There ships from Alinor came to and from reliably enough. Instead of waiting for a month or for another Thalmor ship, he could wait a week or so for another merchant ship to take him to the home isles. That was how Eldayon found himself on Arslan’s Fortune. 

An hour or so ago there was rough weather but Eldayon didn't worry about it much. Now, half a wine bottle deep, he was tipsily trying to escape the vessel he was in. The ship moving roughly from side to side wasn’t helping. 

“Mara’s blood.” He cursed softly as he tried to navigate the ship. 

Random bits and bobbles rolled from one side to the other. Making the Justiciar’s path a little harder. He could hear screaming and yelling. That and the sound of battle. It must have been coming from the upper deck. Under any other circumstance, he would have been a fool to brazenly follow the noise of conflict. However smoke was quickly filling the hallway he was in. His choices were either to join the fray or burn to death. 

“Of all the days, of all the days.” He kept repeating. His run of luck kept getting worse by the minute. Finally he saw the way back up to the main deck. His luck seemed to be changing. He swiftly made his way towards it. On his way there though, he felt something tugged at his robe. He looked down to see a sailor. He was clearly injured from what little he could see. 

“Help.” The poor Breton muttered out. The last of his strength being quickly sapped out of his body. 

Eldayon gave him a boot to the face. A swift kick to free himself from the sailor’s grasp. Then he sprinted for the ladder leading him up to the main deck. Only before he could do so, he would crash onto some miscreant looting the lower deck for valuables. The two paused for a minute. Studying each other in the dim lights of the lower deck. Eldayon studied the man. He seemed to be an Imperial. A pirate? Just his luck, pirates were boarding his ship. Then he noticed something else about the man. There was something on his neck. Something that quickly caught his eye. An amulet with an axe shaped charm. Oh the irony of a Justiciar running into a Talos worshipper. He two exchanged what could have been the longest glance at each other. One that of confusion that turned into bitter resentment. 

Before Eldayon could utter a single word, he felt the man’s fist connect with his jaw. For a few seconds he was left stunned. He almost fell to fist feet if he hadn't caught a hold of the wall first. The pirate tried for another jab but this time, by some miracle, Eldayon evaded him. The Justiciar was still shaken by the sudden punch to his jaw. It took him a second to recover. Only to be followed up by a blow to his stomach. This left Eldayon winded. However it also sobered him up. Eldayon couldn't use his sword. Not in such tight quarters. Instead he had to fight with his fist. Eldayon tried to hit the man with his own blows but the pirate was much more adept at this style of fighting. The pirate grinned at him mockingly. This ticked off the Justiciar to no end. This lowlife scum was getting the better of him, a Thalmor official. The best of the Aldmeri Dominion. Eldayon pushed him back and in doing so the pirate crashed into a lamp. Spilling oil on himself. Eldayon would now grin at the pirate. Then he stretched out his arm, opened his palm and let out a short and small burst of flames. 

The commotion on the main deck was joined by a man screaming in agony as he ran up the stairs from the lower deck. Then he was followed by a hooded figure in black. Finally Eldayon had reached the relative safety of the upper deck. Of course it wasn't much better up here. There was chaos all around. Here though he could finally draw his sword. The ceremonial blade of his family now put to the test. 

“Mara preserve me.” He silently prayed as he drew Larethor’s Wrath.