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I am Amaranth, witch of the wilds. Through shadow and legend I walk, haunting mortals like you. So... Are you a vulture , I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into this darkspawn filled page of mine in search of... a bio?

Most Recent Posts

Shakti's thoughts on the Party as of 4E208



Brynja: Ah, who? Oh. I think she was part of the party that helped me break out of prison? I haven't been introduced to her yet.

Meg: Meg! She is so sweet! We are from such very different places, but I feel a kinship with her. Like she's a sister from a far away land. I only just met her, like most of them, but Meg is the one I would never forgive myself for if something bad happened to her. She was instantly kind to me and opened up about her homeland, which I get the sense she misses, like I might if I ever leave the sands of Hammerfell.

Calen: Shakti laughs. He seems good-hearted but I'm not sure if I can ever forgive him for taking advantage of my ehh... impaired state and feeding me those tales! He is quite attractive though. Did I just say that out loud?

Raelynn: Who? Breton girl? There are like five Breton girls in the Three Crowns! Oh. I do not think I've met her.

Latro: I haven't been properly introduced to him. He is pretty though. Guys can be pretty right?

Rhona: Who?

Nanine: I like her. She is strong willed. Her sword scares me. (Why is it black and glowing???) When she broke me out of the wagon I saw her disintegrate metal with magic. That also scares me. I still think her clinky-clank armour is worse in a fight than no armour though. (Sorry Nanine!)

Alim: Fellow Redguard? I haven't gotten a chance to speak with him! We have so much to talk about!

Anifaire: High elf? I saw her at the party dancing with the other Redguard. I don't know her though. I hope she's not a Dominion spy. I will have to kill her if she is :)

Mazrah: Maz! So loud! She helped rescue me! She is like a rowdy sibling that you admire for breaking all the rules and encouraging you to do the same thing. She was the first person to come see me after I got back to the hotel and she was so friendly and she even helped me get healed after I got cut on the arm. What's not to love about her? Why doesn't she wear clothes? Do Orcs not wear clothes? I hope she wears clothes in the desert, or else she will get a nasty sunburn.

Judena: Argonian! Ju-den-a. I have not properly met her, but Meg told me about her. She literally broke me out of my chains and I NEED to get around to giving her a gift for that. She was also the first Argonian I've ever seen. Freaky. Is that mean??

Jaraleet: Another Argonian! I don't know him though. I heard he did something bad?

Daro’Vasora: She found my sword! She is very fair and level-headed, and listened to my story and gave it back without even getting angry. Not quite what I expected. I hope she reconsiders her stance on tomb robbing though. I will forgive her for it though because she bought me goat's milk and dates! Most of the others seem to look to her for leadership, or at least guidance. She reminds me of my mother.

Gregor: Imperial? Beard? Black hair? Black clothes? Is he mourning? I do not think we have met.
Frippery

A Greenie & Amaranth collaboration


Three Crowns Hotel, Gilane
2nd of Midyear, Afternoon


Shakti sat in a windowsill and watched people come and go. She had snatched some food from the kitchen when no one was looking and from an empty table in the dining area and eagerly munched away as she observed the comings and goings of the various residents of the hotel. Some she had recognised from her rescue and subsequent milling about the ground of the place, but others she had not recognised or perhaps they were guests. It was a hotel after all, so she had to assume they had legitimate guests. Either way, Shakti watched them as she ate and ate as she watched. She had a bowl of stew and a piece of bread which she swirled in the hearty broth as she nibbled on it. She washed it all down with a swig from her canteen which contained water. Almost as good as goat’s milk. Almost.

"Food pretty good, eh?" After refraining from eating for almost a whole day, it was no surprise that Meg had pretty much inhaled her lunch and then gotten herself seconds. Her stomach a little filled now, she had started eating slowly rather than shovelling stew soaked bread in her mouth, so she had the opportunity to actually looked around herself and do a little people watching. Morning most she recognized, having seen them about since her arrival. There was however a face she had only seen once, the Redguard Brynja and the others had rescued. Having been distracted by her own mission and other news, Meg hadn't been able to introduce herself, until now.

"I'm Meg, by the way." She offered the young woman a smile. "Or Megana, but call me whatchu want. Sorry didn' get a chance t'meet you 'til now."

Shakti jumped a little at the voice. She hadn’t seen the other woman come up beside her, being too busy eating and staring to pay attention to her periphery. She swallowed a bite of food and responded, “Oh hello. Yes, it is very good, though I’m mostly just hungry. It is good to meet you Megana, I am Ta- Shakti, is what they call me.” She cursed herself for slipping up. She wasn’t used to codenames yet. Hopefully it wouldn’t matter, this new woman seemed friendly enough so far. Looks could be deceiving though. Shakti grinned back and tore off a piece of bread and offered it to Megana.

“Oh, thankies!” Not one to say no to offered food, Meg took the bread and took a hearty bite from it, enjoying the taste and texture. “Mmm…” Yes, refraining from food really did help remind a person how enjoyable eating actually was. Meg could only imagine how it had to be for Shakti, having been stuck in the prison. Her ventures underground in Skyrim had often and rather accidentally taken her to cells with long dead prisoners, some Imperial supporters, some of the Stormcloaks, others just having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was nice to know that this young woman who was kind enough to share bread with a complete stranger had been saved from such a fate by her companions.
“That’s a lovely name y’got there,” she commented once she’d swallowed and cleared her throat with a gulp of water. “Hm…” She decided not to comment on the fact that Shakti mentioned it was what she was called. “How’re you findin’ it here? The Three Crowns I mean, I’m assumin’ you’re from here, Hammerfell that is.”

Shakti took another bite of her bread as she thought about Meg’s question. Well, the city was nice enough, although she missed the desert and its open skies. It was somewhat claustrophobic in the tightly wound city streets and alleys. “I, I think I like it here. I am from the Alik’r desert and I miss it but... But Gilane isn’t so bad. The hotel is nice as well, even if the room they gave me is a bit, er, small.” Shakti kicked her feet a bit as she swirled some bread in the soup and took another bite. “I do not recognise your accent. Where are you from? Is it anything like this? I know the weather here can take a bit of getting used to. Or so I’ve heard, I have not actually been outside Hammerfell.” The young Redguard offered a sheepish smile to go with her comment.

“Woah, the desert…” Meg had a hard time even imagining how the weather out there had to be. Roasting in the desert sounded just about right, if Gilane felt so hot and sticky to her. Mara please don' let the desert be a place we gotta visit…

“Oh, I'm from Skyrim!” She was quick to jump on the much cooler topic. “Not like here at all… it's cool all year roun’, an’ some places there's always snow, like Winterhold. I've seen lotsa Redguard in Skyrim, even an Alik’r warrior once.” She couldn't help but notice the sheepish smile on Shakti’s face. “Some months ago, Skyrim had been the only country I roamed 'round. Stick with us an’ I'm sure you'll be seein’ lots more of Tamriel than y’ever thought was possible.”

“There are Alik’r in Skyrim? In the snow?” The notion somewhat surprised Shakti. She had never really seen snow before. It got cold in the desert at night, but it did not really snow. She wondered if it was like sand that was always cold. She tried to picture what that would be like, but it was hard to picture it in her mind. “I hope I get to see more of Tamriel. I’ve heard tales of what it is like, but to see it in person… It would be wondrous!”

“Aye, there are,” Meg replied with a grin. It wasn’t often when she found herself more knowledgeable on a subject that someone else, so she was relishing the moment as much as she had enjoyed her food just a few minutes ago. “Pro’ly just passin’ through, never really chatted with ‘em. But I did know a few Redguard in Riften growin’ up, and when I moved t’Whiterun.” She nodded in agreement to seeing more of Tamriel. “Aye… it’s pretty damn amazin’ how the differen’ places can be, just by usin’ your own two feet t’move ‘round.” She looked out of the window; catching sight of the sky, she nodded toward it. “Even the sky here looks differen’ from what I was used t’seein’ back home… I’m hopin’ maybe tomorrow I’ll feel better an’ get t’know Gilane more.”

She looked away from the window and once more set her eyes on Shakti. “So… how’re you findin’ the others?”
“Well, aside from you I’ve only spoken to two others, maybe three. There is the tall Orcish woman, Mazrah. She seems like she has a good heart, if a bit, er rough. There is also the Khajiit, Daro’Vasora.” Shakti put a hand on her sword, “She had my sword, and I traded her for it. She too was very kind, but she also seemed troubled by things. I also briefly met an Argonian, though I do not know their name, only that they freed me.” She had seen a few others stalking the grounds of the compound, but they had all seemed troubled by something. It seems there was a shadow of something hanging over the members of the group, though Shakti could not begin to guess at what it could be. Especially when she had been so consumed by her own problems with recovering her sword.

Meg nodded. "Y'mean Judena," she provided, an instant smile finding itself on her face as she thought of the older argonian woman. "She's been with us since the beginnin', pro'ly one of the sweetest person I ever met." She thought something over for a couple of seconds before continuing. "Don' be surprised if she doesn' remember your name at firs'. She can be forgetful, but she's someone y'want on yer side." That and there was just something about the older argonian that made you like her... even Durantel hadn't been immune.

"I haven' met Mazrah yet, but if Sora- er, Daro'Vasora trusts her, then so do I. An' the same goes for you." She offered the Redguard a smile and her hand.

“Judena. Got it.” Shakti said, trying the word out. “Yes, she did seem rather kind in the brief moments we interacted. I had never seen an Argonian before her.” The Redguard clasped her two hands around Meg’s outstretched hand, slightly unsure of what she was supposed to be doing. She did however, know that a smile begets a smile in return, and so she beamed back at the Nord woman. “It has truly been nice to meet you, Megana. However, it is almost midday and I must practice my sword-forms. I hope we will speak again soon!” With that, Shakti hopped off of her perch and bowed to Meg.

Meg stood up as well and returned the bow, feeling it was probably the nice thing to. "Aye, t'was nice meetin' you as well, Shakti! Hope t'see y'around again!"

Finishing her bow, Shakti raced off towards a deserted courtyard, no doubt intent on practicing her attitudes with a sword in the warm afternoon sunshine.

Swords & Smithies

An Amaranth and Dervs collab

Gilane Streets, 1st of Midyear, Late Afternoon


After her meeting with Megana, Daro’Vasora hurried back to her quarters and retrieved the sword she’d obtained from the prison officer and decided she needed to move quickly with it before things got worse in the city; she wanted to get a new scabbard for it, or a decorative box, at the very least, and have a blacksmith appraise it for value and point of origin. It was a curious thing, one that even without a smithing background, she could appreciate the fine craftsmanship to it; had it been discovered as an antiquity, it would have been one of the nicer finds she’d ever made.

Its design philosophy seemed to be primarily following Yokudan or Redguard preference for curved blades like scimitars, which offered an incredibly long and effective cutting edge that wasn’t ideal for heavy armour, but given the climate where full plate seldom made an appearance due to heat, it was a great weapon to use, especially from camel or horseback. However, there seemed to be some Akaviri inspiration on behalf of the creator; the blade was long, and its curve wasn’t nearly as pronounced as a scimitar and it was somewhat narrower, like the katanas that the Tsaesci, the snakemen, of Akavir who had once been predominant in the Empire and the founders of the Blades, who continued their weapon and armour tradition of Eastern philosophy. It was possible that the weapon had once belonged to a Blade, or a former one, and had brought it to Hammerfell after he had left his service. An exile or defector, perhaps, from when Hammerfell broke free of the Empire? The Khajiit was fairly excited; there was a lot of personal history to this piece, but what?

The leather grip, perhaps stingray, was done in katana style but the pommel and general shape of the grip was done in a very scimitar-fashion where it was clear the weapon was meant for one-handed use, although the raindrop-shaped pommel was wide along long enough to allow for extra grip should the user need the leverage; the brass was worn down and encased over the iron, likely to imitate a much more expensive and ornate design which might have used gold plating instead. However, the entire weapon was clearly well cared for and made with an eye for detail, and on top of that, it had clearly been used by an experienced swordsman; it was a tool of conflict, not a show piece.

Latro was going to love it.

As she walked through the marketplace, she carried the weapon easily at her left side and had her features concealed under a long cloak that was to conceal her features, namely her snout and tail, and hopefully was inconspicuous enough that guards who were looking for her might overlook her appearance. They were, afterall, probably after a Khajiit with a mace, and not a Redguard blade.

Shakti had resolved to get her sword back. She was going back to the prison complex and retrieving her sword, Dwemer be damned. She might need to be rescued twice, but if she came out of it with her father’s sword, it would be worth it. She was not going to be the Nasaaj that lost the familial blade. She’d rather die. Literally. The young Redguard stalked through the sunbaked afternoon streets, her messy hair being made messier by a cool breeze that snaked its way through the buildings and alleys of the town. She had tucked her temporary dwemer shortblade in through the back of her belt for quick access. Not that she wanted to use it. Some superstitious part of her felt that the more she got used to that blade instead of her blade, the less likely she would be to find it.

She did need to find the prison again though. Thankfully the outdoor market she had wandered into was fairly populated and so asking for directions would be a breeze. Shakti approached the first fellow Redguard she saw that looked friendly enough to chat up and began, “Water and shade to you friend, do you think you could point me to the prison? My friend is being held and I need to post bail for him.” She put on her warmest smile and tone of voice as she asked her question and the merchant smiled back. “Water and shade to you, young lady. Of course I can point it out. I’ll do better and draw you a map.” The man sketched out a crude map and marked the prison with an x before handing it to Shakti, who gratefully accepted it. Something caught her eye though. She couldn’t be sure but… “I must go before he goes stir crazy!” The young nomad said as an afterthought as she disengaged from the merchant and darted her way past a crowd to try and catch a glimpse of what she had seen.

The blacksmith was just ahead, if the sign of a sword superimposed on an anvil was to be believed. Bellows of dark smoke came from the back, suggesting that its furnaces were well underway. The Khajiit entered the shop, which had its heavy doors open inward to allow whatever breeze could be caught to help cool down the stifling building. Daro’Vasora approached the counter, setting the blade down on the counter and waited for an attendant or the smith himself to appear.

It turned out the smith was a swarthy Redguard woman. Daro’Vasora pulled down her hood, as to not hide her features and draw suspicion of the smith. “Hey, I recently acquired this blade on an expedition to the North, and it seemed to be quite a bit different to most of the other blades I’ve seen people in this region carrying. I was wondering if you could appraise it, or tell me something about it.” she asked.

The smith picked up the sword, studying it appreciatively. “It’s been around for quite a few years, I can say that much. It’s definitely not a military or guard sword; it lacks proof marks and it seems a bit too personalized to fit in with any outfit I’ve come across. The steel looks like it’s high-carbon, which tells me the owner was really wealthy or had quite the benefactor for it. I can tell you that the craftsmanship is rather exquisite, but there’s a lot to this sword that doesn’t seem like any of the other smiths I know or work I’ve seen in Hammerfell.” she looked up with a concentrated pout. “Without knowing the history about this thing, I can’t really give you a price point for what it’s worth on a market, but I’ll tell you this; it was definitely worth something immeasurable to the owner. Are you planning on selling?” the smith asked.

Daro’Vasora shook her head. “No, I was planning on gifting it to a suitor who is quite a swordsman, he saved my life on one of our expeditions gone quite awry. I was hoping to have a scabbard for it, or at least some kind of decorative box. Seems like a bit of a shame to carry this thing loose out in the open.”
The smith nodded in agreement. “Doesn’t take much to embolden a thief, flash a bit of wealth and it’s like bleeding by sharks. Although, with the Dwemer curfew, my shop’s been safer than ever.” She snorted. “At least that’s one of the few good things to come out of all this. Tell you what, it’s a strange curve to the blade, but I might be able to find something in the back for it if you can wait a short while.” She gestured at a table off to the side. “Warm wine, but if you’re parched, please welcome yourself to it.”

“Please, take your time.” The Khajiit said with a smile, and she left the counter as the smith took the blade.

Shakti pushed her way past a haggling merchant and would-be customer as she struggled to tail the figure that seemed to be carrying her blade. She could not properly tell who it was, but it was someone, and it was her blade. She would recognise that unusual curve anywhere. “Gods above!” She swore under her breath as the figure disappeared into what seemed to be a smithy. She reached simultaneously for the door and her blade but exhaled and realised she should not be so hasty. She took a step away from the door and decided to peer inside the window.

Her eyes grew wide in horror and disbelief as she managed to catch a glimpse of the smith taking the sword, HER SWORD, into the back of the shop! “Desert take all of you!” She swore again and decided she really shouldn’t be tarrying around out here while her sword was due to be melted down into horseshoes. Shakti opened the door to the smithy, as calmly as a pot of water about to boil over could manage and slipped into the shop. She cleared her throat and tried to put on her best ‘Don’t-mind-me-I’m-not-about-to-lose-it’ voice, “Water and shade to you, stranger. Pardon my interruption but, that blade. Where did you get it?”

Daro’Vasora looked at the newcomer, a young woman, quizzically. She hadn’t seen her when she entered the shop, she was certain. Maybe just someone who caught sight of it in the street?

Honesty probably wasn’t the best option here; telling a stranger you broke a guard’s arm and stole it from him wasn’t a very wise thing to do. “I was on an expedition to the North, got jumped by bandits. One of them had the blade, I thought it looked valuable, so I brought it in to be appraised. Do you think it would be a nice gift for someone?” she asked cordially.

So she was lying. Interesting strategy. Shakti took a deep breath. She realised that this conversation was like a duel. Her knowledge that this Khajiit stranger was lying gave her the upper hand, and losing her cool would cost her momentum. She had to play it slow and carefully. Strike with intent. First, she would test her opponent’s defence, “That is not where you really got it, is it? Come now, where did you really acquire it?” She tried to keep her voice cordial and warm but some simmering annoyance and evidence of her thread-bare patience boiled through. Perhaps speechcraft was harder than swordcraft.

The Khajiit shrugged, the girl was being a pest right now. For all she knew, she was a kid who was bribed with the barest minimum of coin to rat loose tongues out to the guards.

“Believe it or not, I don’t really care. Why the interest?” Daro’Vasora asked, drinking from the glass provided. She really wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated by a teenager.

“I am simply interested because it is my blade. It has been in my family for generations and I would like it back. I know you stole it from the prison guards, who stole it from me.” Shakti’s tone changed from friendly to neutral-bordering-on-hostile in an instant, her facade of friendliness dropped like a piece of meat in a duneripper’s lair.

How on Nirn did she know about the raid on the guard outpost raid? The Khajiit stared back at the first girl and her sudden hostile infliction, tempting to snap back that it was no longer her sword. Instead she pulled the Redguard to the side, keeping her tone low. “Shut it, or we're both in a world of hurt. You cannot trust people to not be sympathetic to the wrong people now, understood? Tell me how you know about that particular ordeal. As for the sword, I'm only going off of what you tell me, so who are you?”

“Whoa!’ Shakti exclaimed involuntarily as she was swung to the side by the Khajiit woman. Her hand instinctively grasped for the Dwemer shortblade but she restrained herself when it became obvious the Cat-woman wasn’t going to shiv her in the stomach with her claws. The Redguard girl talked fast, keeping her voice low, “I am Shakti of the Alik’r, I was imprisoned before being freed by an Orcish woman. Her name is Mazrah. She told me about the other raid. She even suggested one of you might have taken it. I did not believe her. I appear to be wrong.”

“Mazrah.” Daro’Vasora replied, shaking her head. It certainly was a figure that left a bit of an impression, and it certainly lined up with what she’d heard. Still, news of this Redguard joining the ranks was completely new; the Khajiit had no idea.

Then again, I was the one who brought Mazrah into all of this without saying a damned thing to anyone. Daro’Vasora reminded herself, clearing her throat.

“Well, that checks out. Who else was there, where are we staying? Do you know who we work for?” Daro’Vasora asked, desperately wanting to believe that this girl was authentic.

“I do not know who you work for, I have not spoken with any others. The only other I interacted with was an Argonian, she carried a staff and freed me from my shackles with some sort of magic. Your base is at the Three Crowns Hotel, that way. I have a room there as well.” Shakti jabbed her thumb in the direction of the hotel as she finished her rapid fire answers. She felt like a cornered Mitana-cat, like the ones she had seen in cages on the docks of Sentinel. She even felt the hairs on her neck standing up.

The Khajiit sighed, her posture going loose, and a chuckle escaped from her throat in relief. “Well, isn’t this something. I believe you, we could have avoided this particular engagement if someone had elected to tell me about you. You’ll have to excuse my Argonian friend, her memory isn’t what it used to be, even before I met her. Truth is, you’re right how I came across the sword. I was attacked by an officer trying to find a manifest and I took it from him when I managed to take him by surprise, because it is a nice blade and I didn’t want him running me through when my back was turned.” she glanced towards where the smith had disappeared. “And don’t worry, I’m not getting it melted down or whatever you think I’m doing. I was going to give it to someone I cared about… I didn’t expect its owner to show up.”

Shakti’s face lightened up and tension seemed to leave her stance, an audible sigh of relief escaping her lips. “Oh good. I was afraid you were going to sell it. It’s not like I have the money to buy it back.” Her tone had reverted to its usual friendly and sort-of-melodic-but-not-quite-in-tune state and she offered a grateful smile to the Khajiit. “I, er, hope you weren’t expecting me to pay you for it.” She quickly added, realising that perhaps expecting the Khajiit to just give it up for free might be a little too naïve. Shakti reached behind her back and pulled out her Dwemer shortblade and offered it to the other woman, hilt first. “I know it is not quite equal but perhaps you can still give your friend a gift.”

The gesture was of kindness and utterly unexpected. The Khajiit’s hands wrapped around the offered scabbard and she offered a slow blink as she processed it. “You… you don’t have to do this.” Daro’Vasora said, unaccustomed to generosity from strangers, especially when she clearly was in possession of the girl’s rightful property. “Don’t you need this, why don’t you sell it?”

“It seems our paths were woven together for a reason. I think you should have it. “ Shakti encouraged her with another smile and pushed the blade fully into the Khajiit’s paws. “I don’t need any other blades, and I do not need or want the gold. Besides, I just took it off of a guard anyway. I cleaned it and sharpened it as well.”

“Well, that makes two of us, yours just might be a tad more sentimental, however.” Daro’Vasora said, accepting the blade outright and fastening it about her waist. She noticed the smith coming back through the door with the Redguard’s blade. “At least allow me to return the generosity.” she said, approaching the counter.

The smith was holding a scabbard that almost looked like it was an exact fit for the blade, and its finish even mirrored that of Shakti’s sword, as if it came from somewhere similar. “Well, it took a few tries, but I remembered this one came in a few months ago and never seemed to belong to anything. I thought the curious blade might belong to it, and what do you know.”

Daro’Vasora smiled, reaching for her coin purse. “To what do I owe you for this?” she asked.

“40 gold, it’s pretty nice, but it’s not much of a use to me if I can never find a blade to seat in it. Usually I’d charge three times that rate for something of this quality and scarcity, but honestly? I’d just be happy to have the shelf space back.”

A few heavy coins were placed on the counter in a stack, which the smith took. “Would you like a receipt?” she asked.

“No, I can’t imagine it’ll be returning any time soon.” The Khajiit said, placing her hands together and bowing. “You have my thanks, and may Zenithar look over your business.” she said. The smith smiled, slipping the coins in her apron before disappearing to the back. The Khajiit turned to the girl. Taking the blade in its scabbard and offering it to the Redguard, she asked, “So Shakti, was it?”

The Redguard girl could barely contain her delight at seeing her beloved sword again. She was practically bouncing up and down at the prospect. And that scabbard! It was a perfect fit but, it was nicer and in better condition than the old one. Where did the smith get such a thing? It was very similar to her old sheath as well, and yet slightly different. There was an air of familiarity to it, for certain. Shakti knew it from someone or somewhere. She had seen it before, but the memory was like an early morning fog over an oasis in the Alik’r. She watched the Khajiit pay for the scabbard and eagerly accepted the blade when it was offered to her. “I know this sheath,” the Redguard girl mumbled under her breath to the nameless gods of the desert, “But from where?”

It didn’t matter, at least for the moment. Shakti held the sword up to her face and pulled it halfway from its sheath, inspecting the blade to make sure it was still in good condition. Satisfied, she returned it to its place and hung it, blade up, from the empty baldric around her torso and waist. The familiar weight did more to ease her than a million mulled wines or Potions of Calm Mind could ever do.

Shakti mussed up her own hair and responded to the Khajiit. “Well, my real name is Tariyeh, but don’t tell anyone else that. Shakti is my middle name. What’s your name?”

“Daro'Vasora,” the Khajiit said, offering a hand. “Or Vasora, if you prefer. It's good fortune we met today, I just would have preferred knowing you were with the company before showing up at the smithy.” she replied with a smile. “If you're hungry, I'd be happy to grab something to bite with you to hear your story, Shakti.”

Shakti shook Daro’Vasora’s hand and nodded in agreement. “I am glad we met as well. Sorry we were not introduced before. Things at the hotel seemed busy and I tried to keep out of trouble.” Also she had a wounded arm, but that wasn’t the point. “I would love something to eat. Do they have goat’s milk around here?”

“Only about as much as sand.” The Khajiit grinned. “Come on, let's see what catches our fancy. At least the occupation hasn't spoiled good cuisine.”

Her sword in its rightful place, Shakti led the march out of the smithy and back out into the hot afternoon bazaar. The smells of a hundred different foods wafted and mixed freely, but Shakti could pick out a few that she recognised. She smelled roasted duneripper steaks and goat legs, she spied fresh dates and was further drawn to the bleating of goats and the promise that it made.

A few minutes later, the two were seated at a shaded table with a pitcher of goat milk between them and a pair of lamb kebabs a piece with some honey dates on the side. Daro’Vasora started off with the dates; she always liked food she had to work through. “So, you’re from the Alik’r?” she asked.

In between bites of date and sips of goat milk, Shakti found time to answer. “Yes, I’m from a tribe that lives in the Alik’r. We move from place to place, all around the desert. It’s our home. Where are you from? Where do you call home? Many Khajiit come to Hammerfell for the warm climate.”

“Leyawiin, in the far South of Cyrodiil, it’s pretty close to being tropical swampland, but I’m still not quite used to this dry desert heat. I can’t imagine living out in the desert like your people or the nomads of Anequina down in Elsweyr. I never had many occasions to go to either here or there because it’s simply not a good place to look for ruins, you run out of supplies chasing rumours.” Daro’Vasora explained between bites.

Shakti tapped her chin, “I’ve heard of Leyawiin once or twice. I should like to see it one day.” She finished her glass of milk as Daro’Vasora elaborated. “The desert can hide many secrets. I’ve seen many tombs and been in many ruins in the Great Alik’r. I know a man who lives in one… under the sands! You must know that the desert does not like thieves and if you take, you must give in return. I have borrowed a few books from ancient places but I do my best to put them back when I pass by again.” Satisfied with her answer, Shakti went back to happily munching on her meal.

The Khajiit allowed a smile to purse her lips, knowing full well her typical expeditions were not of the respectful sort the young Redguard abided by. “Probably for the best, it’s been my life work to rediscover artifacts lost to time and procure them for clients, historical collectors, nobility, ancestors of sorts, simply rich people. We Khajiit tend to have this way of looking at the world where if something is left unattended, it’s unwanted and it’s a shame for it all to go to waste. So, if some ruby inlaid sword that was held by some Emperor eight hundred years ago commands a price equivalent to some patron’s happiness, I provide that service. I’ve always loved history, the stories of the world. There’s nothing like that rush of discovering something that you only read about in stories and holding it with your own hands, knowing you were the one who made that discovery.” she held her hands out in front of her for emphasis, looking at a pair of Dwemer soldiers marching past with rifles slung over their shoulders. “And sometimes, history shows up in the most unlikely of places.” she murmured.

Shakti nodded grimly. She understood that some people had to do unsavoury things to make ends meet. Still, disturbing the sacred dead to rifle through their possessions, only to pawn them off to some rich noble? The thought was nigh unthinkable. Surely the dead would rise from their graves before they would let some adventurer cart off their prized helmet or sword. She had felt anxious merely borrowing texts from ancient temples, let alone marauding a crypt! With actual dead in it! However it seemed like not the wisest decision to verbally chasten her new friend (who had explicitly mentioned it was her life’s work) about her job, so the Redguard girl held her tongue. Surely they wouldn’t make HER maraud a tomb? Would they? She internally shuddered.

“Yes, I see what you mean. It isn’t something I would choose to do, but not everyone is me thankfully. Did the Dwemer really come marching out of the ground after all this time?” Shakti asked in a hushed tone.

Daro’Vasora rapt her claws on the table, feeling somewhat uneasy of how much she should tell the new addition, or even admitting that the Dwemer returning and occupying Shakti’s country and killing her people was likely the fault of her new friends, so she decided to feign some ignorance. Wasn’t it enough to be actively trying to fix the problem?

It’s not like you’re the one who activated the damned device, Sora… but you didn’t exactly try to stop Rhea, either. she thought grimly.

“I have no idea where they came from, the ground, the sky, some rift between worlds… You’d have to talk to someone who spent the better years of their lives studying the theoretical causes of their disappearance that one. The others and myself, we saw the Jerall Mountains erupt in a cascade of energy, and a few days after returning to Imperial City, airships swooped in from the sky and Dwemer troops overwhelmed the city, killing everyone who got in the way, and many who didn’t.” Her rapping turned into digging a gouge with a nail on the limestone as her voice grew terse. “But yeah, it’s them all right. I studied their ruins for so long I was able to cross reference what I found with the new materials these ones brought with them… they’re basically the same as when they disappeared in the First Era.”

“That’s… horrible!” Shakti exclaimed, her voice getting a little louder than she intended. “I can’t imagine what things you’ve seen. I had hoped this was the only place they had occupied. “ She took another bite of her food, “I’m sorry to have brought that up. Surely the memories it brought up were not pleasant.” She could tell by the look on the Khajiit’s face that they were not. “Let us speak of nicer things. Have you traveled much? I’ve never been outside of Hammerfell, I would love to hear of things beyond the deserts.”

Daro’Vasora waved a dismissive hand. “Look, it is what it is, and everyone’s got an awful story from the past couple of months. It’s why I’m doing what I’m doing, why I’m trying to find ways to bite back at the Dwemer. The prison break, rescuing you from a transport, capturing an administrator… bits and pieces to see what starts to break. But I’ve been around, mostly around Cyrodiil, but I’ve been in Eastern Hammerfell once or twice, the sites of a couple of the old Orsiniums, High Rock, Skyrim, Morrowind. Always wanted to travel to the Dominion to see how the Ayleids changed when they went to Valenwood, or the traces of the Aldmeri heritage in Summerset, but it’s hard to get a visa as an Imperial citizen, even if you are practically neighbours with people who are supposed to be your mortal enemies… never stopped father from trading with Dominion merchants, even after the Great War cost him a leg.” The Khajiit smiled, remembering her father’s endless tenacity and unflappable spirit. “The world is a big, incredible place and it’s strange to think of how much the world can change moving even a few miles from home, but even halfway across the continent, people are still people. Even the Dwemer remind me of people that I’ve met in my travels, I’m not sure if that makes it easier or harder for me.”

“You really have seen most of the continent!” Shakti’s face lit up in amusement and excitement, “Has everyone in your group traveled as much as you? How long have you been in Hammerfell?” She felt a little guilty about bombarding the other woman with so many questions even though they had just met, but… but she just HAD to know! “You are right, these Dwemer don’t seem too different from any other elves. A man I know who fought in the Great War told me it reminds him of that. Just different elves, he says.” The war technically ended in a stalemate, although most Redguards considered it a victory by another name. Was this one going to end the same way?

Shakti’s enthusiasm was infectious, to say the least, and Daro’Vasora found her heart a bit warmed by this girl who seemed to be bright eyed and full of wonder while everyone else in her life seemed consumed by despair and anger; it was a good reminder that people like Shakti were worth all of the hardship, they were the ones who were going to put the world back together in the end. “Honestly? It’s only been a few short days. We arrived near the end of the month and immediately fell into what has had to been going on since the occupation started. The Dwemer here are different than those we fought in Cyrodiil… a part of me almost feels guilty about all of this.” she said, remembering what happened to Nblec Mazrak, who seemed to have been a good man who was tortured to death by people she had started to consider friends.

“Oh so you have only seen Gilane?” Her eyebrows raised in surprise, “You’ve yet to see so much! I’ve only been in Gilane a few days myself, a few of which were stuck in prison, but I already miss the open dunes of the Alik’r. There is something magical about the sands. I’ve spent my whole life out there and I still have not seen all of it. I doubt the Dwemer have either. The desert makes easy prey of the unprepared. Still, I am glad these Dwemer seem less likely to, er, kill then the ones in Cyrodiil.”

“Hasn’t been much of an opportunity to leave, I’m afraid.” Daro’Vasora admitted, looking towards the crowds passing in the street. It all seemed so normal, even with Dwemer mucking about and guards questioning people as they passed. She turned her gaze back to Shakti. “Magical, huh? You must be pretty in tune with your surroundings to get that sensation, I just see a uniform sea of dry death. I suppose it’s partially my duty to let you appreciate the wonders of a city; your experiences so far haven’t been stellar, it seems.”

“The true beauty of the desert lies below and above the sands. The stones in the desert are truly beautiful. And the way the dunes shimmer like a sea under the twin moonlight! Oh you should see it!” If nothing else, Shakti’s passion for her home bled out of her words. “What do you think is beautiful about the city?”

There was an artist to Shakti somewhere in there, it was hard not to smile. “Perhaps you can show me one day, when things are less… adversarial. Gilane is beautiful, I admire the way it blends ancient Yokudan sensibility with Dwemeri architecture and modern Redguard sensibilities, like the domed roofs and stained glass, how everything seems to catch the light and show a certain illuminessence. It’s far more beautiful than home, and most of Cyrodiil, truth be told.” Daro’Vasora replied, taking a thirsty drink of her own milk, which stayed on the fur on her lip.

“I’ve never really liked the city, but… but I think you are right. It does have its own charm to it. It feels like you could disappear in the crowds and no one would know.” Shakt tapped her chin as she took a bite of a date and finished her thought. “I suppose we should head back to the hotel soon, we’ve tarried long enough.”

“You are probably right. Well, cheers, to making new friends in unlikely places.” The Khajiit replied, raising her cup.

“Yes, cheers!” Shakti agreed, matching her cup to the Khajiit’s. They both took one last sip of goat’s milk and Shakti sighed contentedly. “Just when I was getting used to sitting down it is time to keep moving. We will speak again soon, I am sure of it. Oh, and tell me how your friend likes the gift.” The Redguard girl placed two of her three coins on the table and watched as Vasora did the same.

Offering one last bow, Shakti turned and headed back towards the hotel, father’s sword at her side.
Prison Break


Late Afternoon, 31st of Second Seed
Streets of Gilane

@Father Hank @RTRON @DearTrickster @MacabreFox @Amaranth



It was such a wonderful night. Among friends, a purpose and mission. Far more exciting than providing basics for survival, certainly! It was outside of the aging Argonian’s expertise, something that became apparent to the other members who had seen some form of militant organization, strategy as it were. The feeling of purpose was strong but she struggled to remember why she felt as much.

The cooling night, warm stone streets - light reflecting from the ancient dwemer remnants that made up the foundation of Gilane. Beauty and history everywhere she looked. Judena crouched, blue linen draped over her head barely concealing her unique profile. Doubly so for the likes of their new Orc member, Molver. They hid for some reason in alleyways casually observing the receding crowds of people, paying particular attention to guards for some reason. Judena thought it rude to ask again as to why they were there in the first place, surely she asked before. She saw Nanine and Bryjna across the ways, she lifted her arm to wave but thankfully thought better of it. Observing guards meant they shouldn’t draw certain attention to themselves.

The alleyways themselves were inconsistent in length and size, built around aging structures compensating in space that crumbled away centuries ago. Narrowing unexpectedly while widening in others. Curiously the Dwemer spheres and larger automations avoided these areas to some degree. They patrolled the streets with no problems.

She patted her chest where her logbook sat. Gripped the shaft of her spear.

“Maeve, how much longer are we expected to wait? I am having difficulty remembering why we are here… is it a parade? Why would we come armed to a parade I wonder.” Judena began then snapped her fingers, hissing quietly, “It is because the Poncy Man asked us to be here. I would refer to my logbook but that would require proper reading light and I feel as though drawing attention would be a terrible idea.” Rudeness aside, she inquired anyways. Always better to ask than to not know - thankfully her companions understood her need for reminders. Tolerating the need was another thing.

“Rest assured I am ready to do whatever it is we are to do.” She said, earnestly.

Unknown to Judena, the three of them drew sticks to who would pair up with the forgetful mage prior to their gathering. Mazrah drew short.

Where Judena was full of optimism and enthusiasm despite constantly forgetting what they were supposed to be doing, Mazrah was growing more annoyed every second. Nanine had insisted on disguises, arguing that Mazrah’s appearance was far too distinctive, and now the Orsimer found herself wearing a light robe that covered her entire body and a sash wrapped around her face, like some common bandit. She hated it. And while she had respect for Judena and the condition she suffered from, her repetitive questions and the wildly different names she used for Mazrah (seemingly everything except ‘Mazrah’ itself was fair game) were getting on her nerves.

“Not a parade, a prisoner escort,” Mazrah corrected Judena for the umpteenth time. “We’re going to break them free. Nanine will signal that it’s time to attack by destroying the Dwemer’s weapons and armor with magic.” That was the light at the end of the tunnel, some earnest combat, and Mazrah was very much looking forward to seeing the battlemage at work. “When the signal comes, follow me and -- look at me, Judena, this is important -- free the prisoners as fast as you can, alright? Don’t forget. Free the prisoners,” Mazrah said, staring intently in Judena’s eyes, her index finger pressing against the Argonian’s sternum.

Judena nodded solemnly, the weight of her position rather heavy. Mazrah withdrew her finger and Jude rubbed the spot.

Nanine stood next to a market stall, pretending to browse its wares. She wore leather armor hidden by a set of robes, as someone standing in plate armor in the heat of Hammerfell was sure to attract attention. A small sash went over her face, her dark hair braided and tightly hidden under the hood of the robe. A steel longsword sat on her hip next to her own sword. She couldn’t bring herself to leave it out of her sight, but didn’t want to draw it during the raid.

She went over the plan once more in her head, to reassure herself.I’ll hit the escort with a lightning bolt to get their attention, then a disintegrate. While they’re distracted, Brynja and the four resistance fighters will attack and engage them. Mazrah will get Judena to the prisoners to free them, then we’ll all run like oblivion itself is on our heels and rendezvous at the Three Crowns. Simple. She was relieved that she had convinced the others that disguises were necessary, even if it had required promising a favor to Mazrah. The gleam in the orc woman’s eyes upon Nanine agreeing was a cause of minor concern, but she’d cross the bridge when she came to it.

Her eyes were drawn by the sounds of the crowd moving aside, loud voices calling for the path to clear. Four guards were clearing a path to through the street for the cart behind them. That would be their target. She turned to watch it with the rest of the crowd around her, waiting for an opportunity.

By Nanine’s insistence, Brynja had given up her steel plated armor in exchange for her tunic and trousers, her cape wrapped around her shoulders, partially obscuring her face. She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of freeing these prisoners, what with the Dwemer operating inside Gilane as they did. While she didn’t fear conflict, the memories of the Jerall Mountains, and the attack on the Imperial City had put her on edge. Not to mention the attack on Elenglynn, along with the near slaughter at the internment camp. The Dwemer weren’t to be trifled with, to make this mission a success, they needed to minimize the possibility for casualties. Her hands rested on the hilt of her longsword as her gaze stared down the cobblestone street, just barely out of sight in a shadowed alleyway. All she needed was Nanine’s signal.

The wagon creaked slowly through the wide cobble streets, the crowd of citizens ever-impeding the pace of the convoy. Shakti could tell the guards were getting frustrated at the slowness of the transport. They were already running late and these gawking rubberneckers were doing nothing but staring at the six or so prisoners chained together. The Redguard girl sat with her forearms on her knees, trying to make out faces in the crowd in the slowly-darkening evening light. It was, of course, a fool’s errand. She knew no one in the city except Israhal’s contact, who was just as likely to kill her as save her to prevent the spilling of secrets. There was also the Knight she had ‘dueled’, but he was just as likely to be leading the column. All in all, Shakti found herself in a pretty terrible position. Oh yeah. She had also just lost her father’s sword. She needed to get that back.

As the wagon passed Mazrah and Judena’s position, Nanine took a deep breath. Showtime. The crowd had finally cleared as the civilians realized what was coming through, and she had a clear view of the four guards in front of it. They were only half-alert. After all, who would attack a prisoner caravan in the middle of a city firmly in the grasp of the Dwemer? People with very low self preservation instincts. Nanine thought with a grim chuckle. Lightning formed in the palm of her hand, and she stepped out onto the street, facing the cart. The guards perked up at the sight of her, but didn’t realize what was happening quickly enough. By the time they noticed she was wielding magic, Nanine was throwing it.

Lightning crackled and roared, shooting down the street and crashing into the chest of a Dwemer with the force of a charging mammoth. He flew backwards, slamming into the cart and crumpling to the ground. As soon as the thunderbolt left her hand, Nanine started charging the disintegration spell, both hands held together. The other guards and spheres reacted almost instantly, weapons being drawn and battle cries yelled. Nanine waited a heartbeat, as the spheres became even with the four guards in front, and then released her spell. The blood red ball of mist arced through the air before crashing into the ground amidst the charging guards and spheres. Groaning and grinding could be heard as metal began to give way beneath the spell, crumbling to flakes.. The signal was given, and the fight was on.

“Go!” Mazrah hissed at Judena, pointing at the burst of magic that began to eat away at the weapons and armor of the guards closest to where the spell detonated.

“Free the prisoners!” she said one last time before dashing out of cover and towards the convoy, spear in hand. The Dwemer and Redguards had their backs to her, their attention fully focused on Nanine and her magic, but if they had been looking the other way all they would have been able to see was a gray-green blur anyway. Mazrah’s footsteps were fast and heavy on the road and by the time one of the Dwemer -- her target -- heard her approach, she was already soaring through the air. Time seemed to slow down as the Dwemer turned his head and locked eyes with the airborne Mazrah for a split second. She had leapt so high that she was sailing over his head and it was almost comical to see his eyes widen in shock before her spear lanced down like a heron’s beak and punched through his armor with ease. Mazrah pulled her spear back as she finished the arc of her somersault and flipped into an upright position, landing gracefully on one knee, the fist of her free hand slamming into the ground hard enough to raise dust in a circle around her. Now aware that they were the target of a two-pronged attack, the other guards turned to face her, yelling in alarm and gripping their weapons -- the ones that hadn’t disintegrated, that is.

They were in for a fight now. Though her ferocious snarl was hidden behind the scarf that veiled the lower half of Mazrah’s face, her eyes were alive with the ancestral berserker’s blood that pumped through her veins. She rose to her feet and brandished her spear with a flourish, inviting her opponents to test themselves against her. Meanwhile, behind her, the Dwemer guard crumpled to the earth as he bled profusely from the gaping puncture wound in his neck and gasped for breath, unable to comprehend in his final moments what had happened to him.

There was a sizzling noise and the whole wagon was bathed in a sickly blood-red light. Metal creaked and crunched as it flaked off in chunks. Shakti sat ramrod straight and looked for the source of the light. It looked to have come from an alley, but she could not tell which of the myriad of dark passages the spell had flown from. Shakti twisted her body over the edge of the wagon to get a better look at what the guards were doing. Mostly they were whipping their heads this way and that, trying to figure out who had just rusted their weapons and armour to metal-ash. If the Redguard girl had blinked she would have missed the blur that suddenly shot out from the dark, easily leaping over a Dwemer guard and lancing him in the throat. The other prisoners practically simultaneously started to attempt escape, and Shakti was no exception. She stood up and tried to hop off of the wagon, before realising that the irons around her wrist were chained to the floor of the wagon, preventing runaways. Sort of undeterred, (but slightly alarmed at the increasing sounds of violence around her) she shook the irons and wrenched at the chains with her one good arm until that one was surely bruised as well.

Judena stood gripping her own spear in one hand, in the palm of her other hand she spoke the spell for Ironflesh, magicka pooled in her palm building up into the shape of a large transparent blue diamond the cool tone brightening her face. She brought it toward her chest, it disappeared into a light that surrounded her entire body. Ready now to fight. Mazrah was right, this was no parade.

She repeated in her mind like mantra, Free the prisoners! Free the prisoners!

Avoiding combat would help her remember, but it certainly could not be helped. She gripped her spear skirting behind Dwemer backs, one particular guard advanced on Mazrah, she stuck the butt of her staff under their legs forcing them to trip. Smoothly moving past toward the end of the wagon, the rear guard having the moment after Nanine’s attack to compose themselves. A sphere now facing Judena head on, it’s golden sword arm and crossbow for its other. It raised its crossbow firing a bolt directly at her chest. Jude dodged left, the bolt stopped dead against the invisible barrier dropping uselessly to the ground. The impact felt but no penetration. A bruise surely would appear there tomorrow. Her beard expanded, she planted her foot pivoting fully expecting the sword arm to strike next. Striking out she lodged the head of the spear into its arm, throwing off its follow through. It attempted to load it’s secondary bolt.

She held the sword arm away, close now she slapped her hand against the sphere’s face plating using transmutation. Transforming the metal of the sphere to thin and softened gold. Stripping away the armour encasing the soul gem strapped into the base of its neck. It flailed it’s sword arm trying to back away. Judena freed her spear, aiming true for it’s head she pierced through it’s lower jaw, slashing the soul gem. It limped immediately, falling to the ground.

Jumping over the remains she dashed to the back of the wagon readying frostbite in her palm to chase away the Dwemer guard. The freezing spell coated the guard’s arm, trying in vain to protect their face. Hissing, she warned, “Back away! Go!” They relented the space, calling for help and finding cover on the other side of the wagon -- or at least, attempting to do so, as the guard found the orichalcum tip of Mazrah’s spear slamming into his guts as he rounded the corner. She violently jerked her spear up and out of the Dwemer’s intestines, prompting a guttural spray of blood and gore. “Crunzurga, rohi rakh!” Mazrah yelled in old Orcish and twirled her spear around her as she turned back to the rest of the guards that she had been dancing with. Revenge, lesser blade! It felt good to give them a piece of her mind.

Free the prisoners! Jude had to act quickly.

Using transmutation once again, softening the iron to gold she smashed the lock. Tugging open the door she spread the doors wide. “Please be patient while I weaken your restraints. We mean you no harm.” The faces all looked to her, races of man and a couple mer. Young and old faces, fleeting fear or defiance. She stepped into the back of the wagon, carefully stepping around the minimal space, some shrinking away at her presence others involuntarily getting her tail in their faces. “Very sorry, I will work quick!” Starting from front to back she felt the strain on her magicka begin as her transmutation softened shackles left and right. She blinked blearily arriving finally with a sigh to Shakti. The youthful Redguard woman held up her wrists, brown eyes regarding her with curiosity.

A look Judena was familiar with, gently cusping the shackles, “A strange sight to see an Argonian so far from home and stranger still in the back of a wagon, I only hope this leaves a good first impression.” She cracked a gummy smile. The spell complete Shakti pulled apart the restraints easily.

Brynja needed to provide cover for Mazrah, and Judena, there were ten guards and a Dwemer sphere, though six of the guards still had their gear and weapons in tact. Six too many. Her feet were coming down hard as she burst from her hiding spot, the four rebels along the opposing wall burst forth, their own blades drawn.

She led the four rebels at full speed, causing three of the guards to turn and face them head on. The adrenaline coursing through her veins was a familiar sensation. Brynja swung her long sword in a sideways arc, aiming at the midsection of one of the guards, where he shimmied away, just out of touch. She left the four rebels to engage the two other guards.

A black orb coalesced in Nanine’s hand, glowing with the dark energy of the Oblivion plane as she prepared her spell. She threw the summon in front of the four guards. A Frost Atronach exploded into existence, swinging its club. The already wavering guards were brought to a complete halt, and Nanine prepared her other summons, throwing it next to the Atronach. A Daedroth appeared, crocodile teeth grinning savagely down at the guards. Deciding to take the better part of valor in the face of such creatures, the four guards turned and fled through the streets and alleys of Gilane.

Nanine allowed herself a small grin, sending the Atronach and the Daedroth to help Mazrah on the side opposite of Brynja and the rebels. Before she could move closer to the fight, not wanting to fire deadly spells into the chaos of melee combat, the sound of armored boots hurriedly slamming against the cobblestones behind her caught her attention. Turning around she saw a patrol of six city guards moving towards the fight, weapons drawn. Nanine hastily threw a thunderbolt at their feet to slow them down, and turned and ran to the cart.

It was time to go.

Shakti’s eyebrows raised in surprise as the strange creature transmuted her shackles. So this was an Argonian. She had heard tales, and vaguely knew what they looked like but it was quite something else to see one in person. Still, there was the business of an escape to attend to and Shakti was not one to waste a chance like this. She stood up and nodded a quick “Many thanks, Argonian.” to Judena before hopping out of the wagon and trying to figure out which way the prison was. Stepping over the body and spilled guts (Gross!) of a Dwemer guard, she struggled to see the way they had come from through the streets and fleeing crowd. Her heart deflated slightly. She had known all along that it probably was not the best idea to immediately rush back into prison just to retrieve her sword, no matter how special. But the fact she could not even see the prison made the point hit home. Narrowly avoiding the wayward blow of another guard, Shakti scrambled around the chaos, searching for something she could use as a temporary substitute. Unfortunately, whatever had disintegrated the guards’ weapons and armour was fairly thorough and the young Redguard woman was left out in the cold, vainly searching through blood-streaked bodies for anything resembling a sword.

Nanine arrived at the wagon, glancing over her shoulder. The city guards were getting closer. “Alright! We need to get going! City guard patrol is on its way!” She yelled, turning around and throwing an icy spear at the approaching guards, it glanced off of a quickly raised shield, and Nanine cursed, gathering more spells. There was a crunch and a scream from the other side of the wagon, as her frost atronach clubbed down one of the guards facing Mazrah. Nanine threw a lightning bolt, this time causing the patrol to scatter as it raced towards them and crashed into the cobblestones.

“M, grab J and lets get out of here!” Nanine shouted over the cart to Mazrah, she didn’t need to tell the rebels twice. They had already cut down the guards they were facing, two on one being an easy fight, and were guiding what prisoners they could into the alley way and into the shadows of the night.

Using her spear to step out of the wagon, Judena stopped to catch her breath. Extensive magic still took a wind out of her, the last of the prisoners scattered to the wind darting every which way. Her allies were taking to the other guards. She felt a swell of pride unaware of a guard in her periphery. Within a split second she turned the full weight of the guard on her, a hand slamming her head against the wagon. It rocked with the weight. Such strength! Fleetingly, the briefest of admiration. The ironflesh held once again, but she felt its force weaken. Wrestling with the guard, they tugged the scarf down over her eyes, where she struggled to loosen their grip on her clothes. She hissed all the while swinging her elbow out wildly, they grasped her head again slamming into the cobblestone. The mage armour cracked and disappeared. Bewildered she brought the shaft of her spear up in defence, a boot of the guard snapped clean through the oak - cracking across her jaw.

She felt the cold and ancient weapon against the base of her neck, the curve of the blade suggested an axe and a singular look confirmed that. They swung high and she caught the axe just below the head of the weapon in her hands - squeezing fists around it. The shock of the attack rippled down her arms, sending a painful reminder to her shoulder. Her vision doubled, but her arms held steadfast the Dwemeri guard grunted against the resistance.

She croaked, “Help!

Finally, a sword! Shakti triumphantly lifted the strange looking sword from under the mutilated corpse of a Dwemer guard and twirled it a few times, getting a feel for the weight and size of the thing. It was not too long or heavy, which was good because Shakti’s left arm was still throbbing with pain and so she would only be able to use one arm effectively. Judena’s weak cry for help caught the young Redguard’s attention and she whirled to face the sound. The Argonian who had saved her was now pinned against the wagon’s side by a bloodthirsty and angry looking guard. Shakti was not about to let her erstwhile saviour be butchered, no matter how bizarre looking they were. Springing at the distracted guard, she plunged the Dwemer blade through his sternum with a satisfying (if slightly gross) noise. The guard went limp and his axe clattered uselessly to the ground, leaving the rest of his bodyweight to fall backwards onto Shakti, who, startled, propped him up for a moment or two before heaping him off onto the ground. She tried to think of something witty to say, but gave up and silently offered her hand to the Argonian.

Following Nanine’s instructions, Mazrah ran up to Judena and Shakti, taking deep breaths to try and slow her thundering heart. Her robes were torn and covered in blood -- some of which was her own, as a Dwemer Sphere crossbow bolt had hit her in the arm and one of the guards had landed a glancing blow against her thigh, but most of it wasn’t -- and her scarf hung lopsided around her face, revealing one cheek full of tattoos and ritual scars. “Up, up,” she said impatiently and did not stop to wait for the Redguard girl to pull the towering Judena to her feet, grabbing the Argonian by the hem of her clothes and yanking her up in a single motion. She spared Shakti a single glance and was surprised to see a young girl there, barely a woman yet. “Girl, follow the Argonian, alright? You’ll be safe with us,” Mazrah said in the most reassuring tone she could muster, considering the circumstances.

“I’m not-!” Shakti began and then cut herself off. She sighed and realised it probably was not worth arguing about, not now at least. The reinforcements had arrived despite Nanine’s best efforts to slow them down and Mazrah turned to face them, her spear whirling about her body in a blur as a threatening display. “Go! I’ll distract them for a while,” she said and immediately emphasized the point by charging forward and leaping over the six guards with ease. She could hear Nanine’s conjured monsters (who were awesome and terrifying in equal measure) follow her into the fray and knew that the attention of her enemies would be divided between her and the Daedra. After she landed, she kept low to the ground and struck like a coiled viper, using the enormous reach of her spear to fire off quick jabs and thrusts without fear of retaliation. She had no interest in committing to the fight; she was just buying time for the others to flee, and then she would retreat to the rooftops, using her climbing skills to her advantage. Mazrah figured the guards would not be able to follow her there.

Judena groaned, “Muh-maybe another knock about the he-head will…” She trailed off a hand holding her jaw. Dwemeri blood soaked through her clothes, unaware to her - struggling to remain coherent her feet finding the ground for her. Grounding herself she scooped up the remains of her spear hugging it close as she cut a path down an alley following Nanine, assuming Shakti was behind her. The young Redguard woman held her new blade in a reverse-grip and trailed closely behind the two others, occasionally glancing to see if that Orcish woman was also tagging along.

This was her only chance, it was now or never. Brynja turned just in time to see Judena and one of the prisoners making their escape into an alleyway. She would bring up the rear, and as she cleared the cobblestone road towards the alley, she spared a glance backwards over her shoulder at the Orc, she could handle herself. She hoped.

It didn’t take long before Brynja caught up with Judena, noticing at once something was wrong with the Argonian, “Judena? Judena, are you hurt?” She asked, her focus on moving ahead, yet split with her companion.

Looking up to Brynja at the far away sound of her name - Judena replied, “Mhm. Cuh-can walk fine.” Holding her throbbing jaw. “I can wait.” She kept her eyes forward, focused on Nanine’s back. There’d be no use in stopping now.

For Judena’s sake, that stubborn old lizard, Brynja grabbed her by the forearm, and slid her arm over her shoulders, one hand against her waist for support. Brynja wasn’t going to take no for an answer from Judena. She wasn’t about to risk her dropping unconscious. At least they could keep up without falling behind.

“Mhmm.” She said.

Jude didn’t protest. “If you insist, my friend.”

Nanine glanced backwards, making sure everyone was keeping up. Byrnja was carrying Judena, good. The prisoner girl that had stuck with them was following, even if she did look confused. She could still sense her summons, battling alongside Mazrah, so she could only assume that the orc was still alive. Regardless, they couldn’t go back for her. More city guard patrols were doubtlessly going to react to the commotion, and they needed to be as far away as possible. They’d just have to trust Mazrah could handle herself.

As the number of remaining resistance fighters dwindled, Mazrah found herself on the receiving end of a determined counter-attack by the city guards. They attempted to encircle her but clever maneuvering brought Mazrah to a position where she was with her back against the wall of one of the houses that lined the street they’d been fighting on. She opened her mouth to say something witty but realized that the time for fun and games was over when one of the Dwemer raised a crossbow and aimed it straight at her heart.

“Uh oh.”

Mazrah bent her knees, gathering up all of her strength, and leapt up and backwards with a balletic backflip, landing on the edge of the house’s first-floor balcony The crossbow bolt missed and harmlessly buried itself in the front door below her with a loud thwack. The Dwemer yelled and hollered in dismay and alarm as Mazrah scaled the second floor like a nimble gecko and clambered onto the roof where they could no longer see her. Even the one assailant that they had managed to corner had escaped -- that must be a bitter pill for them to swallow, she thought and grinned as she dashed across the rooftops, effortlessly leaping across the gaps between the houses and shops, until she spotted her allies escaping below her on foot through the winding alleys and passageways.

Suddenly and without warning, Mazrah dropped into their midst. “Hello there!” she said cheerfully and flashed a smile, immediately keeping pace with them. “That went well, don’t you think?” Shakti did not know what to think of Mazrah suddenly reappearing in their midst like nothing had happened. This whole group that had rescued her seemed very strange. Not bad, but certainly strange. “Where are we going?” Shakti inquired, keeping her voice barely above a whisper, so as not to alert the guards or anyone around who might be listening.

Nanine’s hands crackled with lightning again, and she whirled around to face whatever had landed amongst them. She breathed a sigh of relief at the realization it was Mazrah, turning around to keep hurrying along. “Death be damned, I almost zapped you. When we get safe I’ll get that bolt pulled out of your arm and see to any other wounds you’ve got while Brynja looks over Judena. ” She spoke over her shoulder to answer Shakti’s question. “We’re going somewhere safe, for now at least, where the Resistance is being organized. These alleyways should take us straight to the back entrance, away from prying eyes. And, hopefully, away from where the Dwemer will be looking for you and the other prisoners.”
29th of Second Seed, Evening
Gilane, Hammerfell


It was cold. Shakti shivered, even wrapped in her robes and tattered cloak. She leaned against the wall, next to the door to a small, out of the way watering hole. She had spent the better part of an hour trailing a man wearing the same type of cloak as hers, albeit in somewhat better shape. The type of cloak only a former Knight of the Moon would have. Or daughter of a Knight of the Moon in her case. Israhal's contact had been right. There was a Knight here. She had seen him speak with some of the Dwemer and Redguard patrols as he snaked his way from bar to bar. Evidently he knew them or had some ties to the local government. She had finally decided that this place was small and out of the way enough for her to make her move. She did not plan for it to get violent, after all, she only wanted information. There's no telling what a drunken former knight might do though, so she kept her guard up. The door opened and a Redguard man, with his arm around an equally drunk Redguard woman wobbled out. Shakti caught the door as it swung back and slunk inside.

The smell was terrible. Like vomit and cheap but overly strong alcohol had mingled together for far too long. It was smoke filled as well, no doubt the result of several men in the corner puffing away on hookahs and pipes in the style of foreign lands. Shakti kept her cloak over her mouth as she slowly and methodically picked her way through the small but fairly crowded establishment, searching for her target. Finally she spotted him, and with one hand on her sword she did her best attempt at a swagger over to him. His back was towards her, too busy chatting with another man wearing the uniform of the city guard. Shakti took a deep breath and tapped the man on the shoulder. He turned his whole body to look at her. He was fairly average looking, not quite attractive but not ugly either. She guessed he was a Breton or Nord based on his pale skin, although pale skinned Redguards were not totally unheard of. Sentinel was on the Iliac Bay and a frequent destination for Bretons seeking knighthood outside of High Rock, which explains the high numbers of Bretons in the Knights of the Moon.

"Huh? What do you want, girl?" The man's accent was definitely foreign, but Shakti could not place it, not through the slight slurring of words that came with the nice buzz the man was speaking through.

"You are a Knight, correct?" She asked plainly.

"Might be I am. Wait- That cloak!" His eyes flashed from suspicion to realisation in an instant. "Where did you get that, girl?"

"I think you know exactly where I got it. Taren Nasaaj, what happened to him?" Her tone came out very accusatory, possibly a mistake. She did her best to contain her rising emotions. Control, control, control! She repeated in her head. She grimaced inwardly, hoping the man wouldn't totally shut her out.

His eyes narrowed. He got out of his seat. He was taller than Shakti, but she did her best to project her presence. "I suggest you scurry back to wherever you came from, girl. It's best you don't know what happened to him." His tone was dark, threatening. She did not like the implications. The room felt like a powderkeg. She saw in her periphery the man's companions eyeing her warily. Their hands were all below the table, no doubt clutched around weapons. Despite the tension in the small bubble, sounds of merriment and the clinking of glasses still radiated throughout. "Tell me what happened." Shakti insisted, as forcefully as she could. "Last warning, girl. Leave." She couldn't back down though, not now. Her pride wouldn't let her. "I've come too far to let you stop me. Tell me what happened to him and I will leave." The emotion in her voice had changed. Gone was the blunt force, replaced with deadly calm.

"Don't stick your head where it doesn't belong!" The man roared as he lunged at her. Luckily, drink had slowed him, and Shakti had enough time to dive out of the way. She half-rolled-half-tumbled to the right, narrowly missing a man carrying a drink. The drunken knight (if he even was still a knight) crashed into a table, upending it and sending the occupants scattering. Unfortunately the man's companions were not so deep in the drink and were faster. One of them was already brandishing a scimitar and vaulting over the table after her. The other had gone around to try and cut off her escape from the door. She could not fight them here, not with all these people. She pushed her way through the rapidly panicking crowd to try and make it to the door before the man could cut her off. The small door was rapidly becoming clogged with people trying to escape the fight, Shakti among them. This did have the added effect of preventing the second man from cutting her off, he himself becoming entangled in the mob, reaching in vain for her. She could hear the curses and grunts of the knight as he got up and started hurling people out of the way. Desperately, Shakti pushed and pushed at the people in front of her, stealing a quick look back at the rapidly approaching threesome of trouble.

Finally, she resorted to literally throwing her body at the stuck group of barflies, causing the doorframe to splinter and the six or seven people to spill out onto the stone of the streets. Shakti herself almost tripped and fell on the poor fools who had fallen as she stumbled out into the cool night air. As soon as she was free of the crowd she spun back towards the door., her hand on her sword. Sure enough, almost immediately the three men, all brandishing blades, made a beeline for her. The first man, the one with the scimitar advanced and swung at her in one motion. She drew her blade and slapped the scimitar away in a fluid motion of her own. She then riposted with a downward cut that the man counter-parried. She hopped backwards, anticipating a counter-riposte that never came. The Knight advanced on her, his Cyrad-style longsword drawn. This time she was the first to attack. Shakti dashed forwards, feinting to the left before swiping upwards at his heart. It would have been a killing blow had the man not blocked it and redirected her blade towards the stones of the road. Even drunk, the man was obviously well trained.

The gale wind of emotions in her heart was slowly dying down and Shakti was beginning to realise she was a bit overmatched. The third man thrust at her with a wicked-looking-knife and she barely strafed left in time to avoid a jab in the ribs. She circled the three men, her sword held neutrally at her centre. Her eyes were rapidly scanning the area for an escape, but she didn't dare to move her head, lest she give them an opportunity to attack. The Knight roared and swung a terrible overhead blow that if it had landed would have bisected Shakti for sure. If it had landed. She sidestepped the blow and in return smote him across the back with a solid chop. Luckily for his spine, he was wearing chainmail and leather and thus the blow was mostly absorbed. It did however, have the force to send him sprawling against the ground. Before she could react and finish him, she heard the whistling of a sword and instinctively raised her bracer to block it. Sometimes acting on instinct was a good thing, especially if one has honed their instincts. This was not one of those times. The scimitar cut straight through the hardened leather of the bracer and bit deep into her arm. Shakti screamed in pain and lashed out with her foot, planting it firmly on the man's chest and sending him stumbling backwards. Despite the horrible, burning, searing pain in her left arm she seized the moment and took off running, slamming her sword back into its sheath as she sprinted down the path.

She looked back and saw the three men desperately running to catch her, but she was too fast. They were rapidly fading into the darkness as the gap between them grew. Ignoring the pain and focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other, the young Redguard did not notice the Dwemer patrol until it was too late. She turned and made a last ditch attempt to turn and slide between them, but the two guardsmen were prepared. One of them merely stuck his arm out at head height and brutally clotheslined her. Nearly causing her to flip over as she slammed painfully into the ground. The fall combined with the cut on her forearm was too much. The last thing she remembered was the two helmeted heads of the Dwemer soldiers staring at her.




When next Shakti awoke, the world was a grey fuzzy blob. She blinked twice and sat up rubbing her eyes. Her head ached and her left arm throbbed badly. She tentatively considered looking down, hoping maybe if she didn't look the wound would go away. It wouldn't of course, so she forced herself to inspect the damage. The bracer itself was split in the middle and dried blood coated it. She delicately unstrapped the bracer and pulled the torn sleeve of her robe back. She instinctively sucked her teeth. It was bad, but not crippling. It was sore when she moved her hand and arm but the fact she could move it was a good thing. Idly scraping dried blood from her arm she next inspected her surroundings. Some sort of holding cell. It was made of stone and save for a high window that let light shine in, there was only one way out, a metal door with no visible windows. She stood up and stretched. Her body felt bruised all over. She wondered how long she had been out for. It had to have been at least a couple hours, because of the light. She felt for her sword, which of course, wasn't there. Shakti mumbled a curse and then quickly prayed to Satakal to forgive her foul language. She needed to get the sword back. It was her Father's after all! Luckily, the Dwemer hadn't taken much else from her, save her knife, her food, and her satchel it was all in. She hopped up and grabbed the edge of the window with her one good arm and hoisted herself up the rest of the way with both of her arms and peered out into the daylight. Squinting, she could make out some of the city landmarks and, from what she could see and couldn't see she guessed she was in the city dungeon. A child could have figured that out! She let go of the window and flopped back onto her straw mat. Her stomach grumbled. Maybe just a few more minutes of sleep before escaping...

The metal door swung open with a crash, startling Shakti's eyes open. She sat up like lightning as her eyes focused on the two figures standing over her. "You. Get up." The voice was harsh and grating, almost inhuman. Well, it wasn't human. It was Dwemer. The figure in its burnished armour brandished a spear at her, forcing her shakily to her feet. On her way out of the cell, she noted it was dark again. A few more minutes indeed. She thought grimly. Stupid stupid stupid! The two Dwemer led her down a corridor and into a holding cell with a few other prisoners. When she dragged her feet getting into the other cell, the spear-wielding guard gave her a shove that sent her stumbling fully into the area. Shakti cradled her injury and surveyed the other prisoners. No one she recognised. Mostly fellow Redguards, though. Local resistance or just petty thieves and troublemakers? Turning back to look out of the bars, her eyes searched for her things amongst the pile of items on the other side of the room. It was impossible to know for sure, but she thought she spied the hilt of her Father's sword. She imagined herself as a powerful mage and tried to will her imaginary telekinetic powers into bringing her the sword. Worth a try. She thought, giggling inwardly. Her nonexistent magicka reserves depleted she turned back around and resigned herself to sitting back against the bars, rubbing more blood and dirt from her wounded arm with her cloak.

Hours had passed. Prisoners had come, prisoners had gone. Seemingly at random, although Shakti had a few theories on patterns amongst the prisoners. One, the ones that had been taken were all healthy. No one with an obvious wound (Shakti included) had been taken. Secondly, they seemed to take the biggest and fiercest-looking prisoners only. Perhaps they thought they couldn't handle feeding the big ones? Seemed unlikely. She settled on the theory that they were probably being separated between prisoners who could fight in the arena. It would explain why they were only taking healthy prisoners. After all, no one wanted to bet on a wounded fighter. It would also explain why the bigger ones were being taken. Shakti counted herself lucky that she had sustained a wound. If I had not been injured, I might be dead or fighting for my life right now. She silently thanked the nameless Desert Spirit and Diagna and rested her head against the cool metal of bars.

Eventually they stopped taking prisoners out, and even the influx slowed to a trickle. In total there were perhaps six of them, counting Shakti. She was getting bored and began to trace the motions of sword-forms in the air when the Dwemer guards returned and ordered everyone up and into a line. Shakti was second-to-last in line and thus couldn't see where they were going very well, but eventually they were bombarded with the late afternoon sun, still as hot as she remembered from all of two-ish days ago. Much to all of the prisoner's lament, they had to stand in said hot afternoon sun for the better part of an hour, slowly watching the sun set as the Dwemer guards argued with the local Redguard officer about something. Shakti couldn't make out exactly what they were arguing about, but it seemed like something to do with a delayed wagon. She supposed they did not wish to travel at night for fear of ambushes, but the delay was causing them to consider it. The Redguard officer was telling them to wait out the night, because they were sure to be attacked if they attempted travel, but the Dwemer counterpart was insisting on sticking to the schedule and that they would travel through the night. It seemed that the Dwemer won out and the prisoners were herded onto the wagon once it arrived and chained together so that they could not run, at least not easily.

As the wagon began to move, Shakti attempted one last telekinetic summon of her sword, which to her dismay, failed like the first. Temporarily defeated, she slumped down and settled in for the ride.
Hello! I'm very excited to join!
~ Low Hoth Orbit ~

Aisa ran her fingers across the control console on her green-and-gold Stinger and brought the engines up to half capacity, letting the gravitational field of Hoth do the rest. She grasped both of her hands around the control columns as she guided the through the atmosphere. The small ship paroxysmally quaked as it shot through the upper and then lower layers of Hoth's atmosphere and into a blizzard. Aisa struggled with the controls single-handedly as she activated her navigational sensors to aid her in flying blind in the vicious snowstorm. Finally the sensors hummed to life and Aisa let out her breath as she took full control of the sleek ship once more. The cockpit lit up as the navicomputer projected a flight path towards the beacon through the near-perfectly white storm.

The Mirialan Jedi weaved her craft through peaks and canyons, guided only by the red line projected onto the cockpit transparisteel and the Force. Reaching out with her senses, Aisa felt her way through the snow and sleet that pounded the ship with only the Force. But at the same time she felt something else... a shadow over the planet, distracting her from her flying. Her eyes shot open and she resumed manual flying. The soft beeping of the Navicomputer increased in speed, indicating her nearing to the origin of the beacon. She cut the engines down to 30% and circled the area, searching for a landing site, tilting the craft for a better view. Fortunately, closer to the ground, the storm had mostly broken up or it was likely she would be trying to land blind.

Aisa brought the ship down in a small valley north of where the beacon- and her friend- supposedly lay. Even sitting in her cockpit, it was cold. Each breath brought a puff of air out into the small space. She took a moment to center herself and focus her mental energy. There was still a shadow hanging over the plane. At least that's what it felt like. Something was clouding her senses. Was it something about Hoth? Was it related to the artifact Eva had come here to retrieve? Or was there something worse... like a Darksider? Aisa shook her head clear. There was only one way to find out. She tapped the button that opened the canopy and climbed out.

It was cold. So cold that any aroma or taste or feeling that Hoth had was overpowered by the bitter, painful cold. Aisa cracked open the supply case that lay behind the pilot seat in the cockpit and put on the parka over her Jedi robe, pulling the brown cloth hood over her head first, followed by the heavier parka hood. She also withdrew a cold weather survival backpack and strapped it on her back before finally pulling her datapad out of the dock in the control console and closing the canopy with the Force. She slapped her hip to make sure her lightsaber was in its place before she tapped on the datapad to make sure she was heading in the right direction.

"Let's find us a missing Jedi." Aisa declared, to no one in particular. Her old master had a utility droid and after traveling with him for so long, she found herself chatting to it idly. Bad habit. Maybe she should get herself a droid. Although her Stinger was barely big enough for her let, alone a droid. Either way, she should really stop talking to herself.
Aisa tinkered with her ship on a small smuggler's moon. It was mostly deserted, which is why Aisa liked to come here to meditate and mess with her ship's systems. There was an abandoned hyperdrive fueling station that had a landing pad and a stash of old smuggler's tools used to fix up ships away from the prying eyes of governments. Her ship was small, an S-100 Stinger, but one that she had continuously modified for better performance over the course of a year or so. She was no mechanical whizkid but she found tinkering with it to be meditative. And lately, she needed the meditation. Her mind was a maelstrom of emotions. Recently her longtime friend had gone missing with her master and no one had seen or heard from them since. She had spoken with her friend Eva just before they had departed and she had told Aisa that the mission was a risky one. The Mirialan Knight did not trust her friend's master to keep her safe and she had been vocal about it, but alas they had departed and now that Eva had gone missing, Aisa was afraid her worst fears had come to pass.

Frustrated by the stubbornness of a certain shield capacitor, Aisa groaned and stepped away from her ship. She lay down on its nose and closed her eyes. When she was stuck with a problem where merely cutting it half would not suffice, she relied on the Force to show her the way. She pictured the ship- No, it was not her ship. It was- Eva's!

Something about it felt off. It was in Hoth, where Eva had said it would be. Why had the Force shown her that? There must be a reason! She could not wait any longer. The vision felt disturbing. The Force was telling her to take action. It had to be. Aisa hopped off of the nosecone of her fighter. She needed to get this thing flying again so she could find her friend. She had upgraded the hyperdrive to a class 1.5 instead of the stock class 2, however this put quite a drain on the power supply and thus, there was not enough energy to have both the hyperdrive and the deflector shields active at once. Which was her big conundrum. There HAD to be a way to bypass some non-essential systems to give more power to the shields, at least enough so they would not just short out when you turned them on.

There was not. At least, as far as Aisa could see. Not without installing a whole new (and bigger) drive to power it all. Well, she would just have to do without deflector shields for now. She picked up the panels she had removed and placed them back on her ship, before locking them in place once again. Aisa stood back and admired her handiwork. It was a nice looking ship, with its starburst pattern of alternating rays coloured green and gold. Okay, enough standing around. Eva might need her help.

Aisa slid her way back into the cockpit of her fighter and placed the helmet on her head while simultaneously flipping the ignition switches and beginning startup sequences. The onboard computer bleeped happily and the Stinger rumbled as it floated easily out of the relatively thin atmosphere of the moon. She hoped the smugglers would forgive her for leaving the tools out like that, but time could very well be of the essence. She punched the coordinates for the Hoth system into her navcomputer and brought the ship up to lightspeed. She smiled a small smile as the ship's punchy new speed was on display for the whole galaxy to see.

As the ship warped into the system, Aisa concentrated. Which planet had the ship been on? Snow. She had seen snow on the ship. The sixth planet! It was a frozen ball of ice as far as she remembered, but if it meant finding her friend, she would melt all the snow on the planet. She kicked the Stinger's sublight drives into high gear and began scanning the surface for any signs of a ship or some evidence that her friend was there. Sure enough, a soft blip appeared. Some sort of beacon. It WAS a Jedi beacon as far as her ship's databanks could tell. Which meant that the Force HAD lead her here on purpose! There was a second blip though. Another ship, damaged by the looks of it. As quickly as she could, Aisa shut off her engines and floated, running silent and watching the other ship. A cursory scan of the ship revealed that there were no life signs aboard. Curious. Why was it still operating? Even more worrying, why did it look like it was preparing to land?

Troubled by this development, Aisa prepped her ship to begin landing.
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