Captain Jenno — Roleplayer Guild

He inhaled- and for a moment, savoured the briny air of the open sea- before exhaling again, and pacing casually over to ship's port handrails.
It had taken a few journeys, but Burkswallow felt that- at last- he'd acquired his sea legs.
Certainly, he preferred his land-legs- They were far more shapely and weren't quite as likely to be attacked by marauding pirates- but as he stared over into the fine, watery brume that encircled the vessel's hull, and slowly trailed off before disappearing somewhere beyond the ship's stern, he could certainly understand why it was mariners were so keen to hop dry land and take to Nirn's oceans.

He still thought they were utter madmen, but he understood all the same.

He might've stood there for hours, staring down at the passing blue, were it not for the sneaking suspicion that Sweeps- in another of her foul moods- might come up behind him and shove him overboard.
Furthermore, the water brought him brief peace, but he felt there was still work that needed to be done.
So- after a few more seconds- he withdrew, and threw a glance around the top deck.

Of course, just as warm mists sailed towards the stern, the bow was occupied by a colder element.
Marassa.

Burkswallow didn't much fancy pursuing a conversation with her, truly: She'd been blunt and cold with everyone she'd conversed with in front of him, and he found that immensely disconcerting in a time of war.
Hell, even Harding had been more jovial, and Burkswallow had basically come to ask for her help with nothing in return.
(Negotiations eventually did agree on a price, pirates will give you real cut-throat deals.)

But this was a time of war: And war was fought just as thoroughly on the home-ground as it was on the battlefield.
No wall with gaps would defend a city, and no force divided would fend off an invasion.
So, steeling himself, he made his approach, careful also to keep an eye out for the Orc who'd (understandably) mistaken him for a Nightingale.
"Marassa," he greeted, as warmly as one could with a solitary word, "We've got a long journey ahead. Is there anything you want to know about your brother?"

The khajiit was quiet for a few lingering moments, her eyes still locked on the horizon. "Is he in good health? I trust he hasn't found a way to have a limb amputated yet." her tone was impossible to dissern if she was joking or not.

"He was in one piece last I saw him," Burkswallow assured her, following her gaze, "Granted, that was a while ago. But he's pretty tenacious. I suppose you all are."

"We are that." She replied, finally turning her head to look at the Breton. He wasn't as soft as he initially looked. "Although, we all did what we had to do for different reasons. Mine was entirely to keep my brother alive, since I am not one to waste years of my life for something foolish. At least, something foolish that doesn't yield reward. And here I am again, in a strange land hunting for a man who should know better than to seek a glorious death." she said, tinge of bitterness in her voice.

Instinctively, Burkswallow moved his eyes to meet hers: And suddenly, the Breton found himself barely able to resist succumbing to a flinch.
For him, the eyes had always been a very important, inaudible aspect of any conversation: They betrayed thoughts, feelings and intentions, he'd always found.
That, he supposed, is why he was so good at lying.
His eyes weren't accustomed to portraying such aspects of his personality: They were his alabaster orbs, so pallid in their milky-blue hue that one may have been forgiven for presuming he was blind.
"Or a devilishly handsome falmer," he sometimes mused.

But other people didn't have such an advantage, and Burkswallow had always used that in order to craft and direct his viva voce gift unhindered.
Until now, it seemed.
He'd looked into Marassa's eyes expecting to see Zaveed's looking back at him, pools of blue which- for reasons unknown to the Breton- inspired confidence, and betrayed any attempts Zaveed might have made to ever pretend he was anything but a leader and a warrior at heart.
But instead he was thrown: Instead he saw amber.
A stranger staring back at him.

It took him a few seconds of contemplation to reply again, although his gaze never left hers.
"Zaveed seems intent to die by the sword," Burkswallow concurred, "But... I wouldn't wager on it happening any time soon. He's much, much keener to make sure other people go that way, first."
He drew the jade-green weapon Zaveed had entrusted to him, "Even if he's just enabling."
He sheathed it again.

"We'll find him soon enough," he assured her, tone certain, "I met him the first time by fortune. I'd say I'm long overdue another bout of it."

Marassa glanced at the glass scimitar, not recognizing it. She had not, after all, seen him much at all in the past two years. "He's always been very free with sharing his wealth with others. He may not think himself a good khajiit, but he's never been consumed by lust for gold. He never knew what he wanted until people started respecting him." she studied Burkswallow's face, the Breton man's features unsure of what emotion to take. It was simple for Marassa; a stoic, indifferent gaze was often most people received from her. It was no wonder why people gravitated towards Zaveed; he was much more animated and open hearted. It was asking for trouble.

"Unlike him, I've never been concerned with the welfare of others or the fates of strangers. It consumes him. It's pathetic." she said at last. "Are you certain you can find him again?"

Burkswallow considered these words for a long time, in total silence: Then, after what must have been at least a solid minute, the most peculiar thing happened.
He laughed.
He laughed, and turned his gaze back to the horizon Marassa had previously fixed hers on, until his joy slowly faded into mere breaths.
Then, he shook his head, as if in very mild disbelief, "I would've said the same, had you asked me three months ago."
He smiled a most unusual smile, unfitting of the current circumstances.
"Three months ago, I didn't care, either. I didn't care if my next hit was blind, or helpless. Just as long as I got a good rush of adrenaline and a trophy out of it, why should I have, right?"

He shook his head a second time, grinning down at the floor boards.
"And then that stupid Argonian got involved. On muscle memory I dragged her from a collapsing building, and ended up dropping a sewer tunnel on her instead. Can you believe it?"
He gestured over his shoulder, towards Sweeps, whom was leaning against a mast and peering out into the distance as though she could see some great sight invisible to any other. She was enchanted by the sea.

"And who do I end up taking her to, hoping they'll take her off of my hands? Only Zaveed and his merry band of psychos and underdogs."
He paused, and breathed in the sea air again. It relaxed him a little.
"I collaborated with them once, just so they'd help me escape Imperial City, and somehow ended up getting rounded into their little squad."

He breathed out, "But, you know, I wouldn't have changed any of it. I was some thief living life for the thrill, not a friend in sight, not that I wanted any. Now- and I'm not entirely sure why- I give a damn, and it feels great. Had things gone differently in The Skeever, Harding might've gutted me, and I went in knowing that because people I suddenly care about are on the line. I wouldn't have minded dying trying."
He slid his hands into his pockets.
"I think I see where Zaveed is coming from, there. If I'd died a nameless thief then they'd have exhumed my corpse from the palace and then buried me in a shallow grave. No great final battle, no charge into Sovngarde. But when you've got friends to die for, death in battle doesn't seem so bad. Better to burn out than fade away."

He lingered on this thought for a moment.
"I'm not certain of anything. These're uncertain times, and my luck isn't fantastic these days. But I'm confident we'll find him again. And if not, I've people I can turn to for help."
Some dulcet tone in his mind's eye made a small noise of curiosity.
"But I should hope it doesn't come to that."
Hmph.

The khajiit blinked at Burkswallow's sudden burst of joviality. "Maybe you're right. I had someone to care about." she said, pausing. "I don't think I was ready to let that go."

Marassa followed Burkswallow's gesture towards the argonian woman, utterly at home aboard the ship deck. She kept her eyes upon the woman as Burkswallow explained his own connection to Zaveed. It did explain a lot; Zaveed was rather good at finding people in times of crisis. It helped he also appeared to have a plan, even if he was as clueless as the next man.

"Nothing is worth dying for." she said simply. "Everyone I know who thought of a reason did so without changing a thing other than removing themselves from a world that could have used them a bit longer. Or not." She looked back at Burkswallow. "Burning out or fading away, or however colourfully you want to put it, ends up the same. A void where nothing can be changed." she caught the hesitancy in his voice. "Your thieves guild associates?" she asked.

Burkswallow took that excuse happily, and nodded the moment she made the suggestion.
"The very same," he said, "I'd rather not go to them, though. Slimey dogs," he laughed again.
Then, he shrugged lightly, "And, you can think of it however you like, I'm not here to change your mind. But at the end of the day, men like me- thieves and those who pray on the weakness of others- we don't really have anything to contribute to this world, not really. Not as we are."
He withdrew his hands from his pockets again, and used one to sweep a stray strand of hair behind his ear, "This world doesn't need us as thieves. But as people willing to die for the sakes of others who actually deserve to live? Well, I think that's a damned fine way to go out."

He turned his gaze skyward, "I'd rather go into that void screaming and chasing the souls of wickeder men than slip into it quietly, in the dead of night."
He grinned lightly, "Ironic, coming from a thief."

"You actually believe you and the others are going to change anything?" Marassa asked impassively. "Just watch. The world will continue on, regardless of what you do. The flow of a river may be diverted, for a time, but it always ends where it was meant to go." she turned her gaze back to the ocean before her. "The sooner you accept that this is a futile fight and the only thing that matters is the people you care for, then the sooner you will come to terms with the fact that you don't owe the world anything. You're starting to sound like my brother."

He seemed no less jovial to hear this. He simply followed her gaze again, back out to sea, smiing still.
"No, of course we won't change anything, O` hero of Tamriel," he chimed, softly, light heartedly.
"I don't care if we change anything. I don't care if I die and they dump my body into the sea. At least I fought for something, a cause bigger and more important than I was. For once in my life, the right cause."
He nodded, "Mhmm. And maybe sounding like Zaveed isn't such a bad thing, either. He's giving some people hope. Regardless of whether you think it's in vain, real hope is something that lasts until the last breath."

"Hope doesn't keep you sheltered and fed. Hope gives you false ideas that are crushed by advanced armies who violently will take everything you've ever cared for from you. You say you don't care if you die, but I assure you, you will." she turned back to look at Sweeps. "You care about her, do you not? Will throwing your life away bring her anything but grief? And what if she perishes following your lead? Will that be a worthy cause?" Marassa shook her head, something akin to sorrow creeping across her features. "I don't think Zaveed really understands what he's asking of people, or really understands that the people he holds close to him will die if he keeps the way he plans. There's no future in a grave, and for what? To kill a few foot soldiers?"

"I hate to be the one to break it to you, Marassa, but... that advancing army is coming whether we have hope or not. It's hope that's giving us the strength to rise up and attempt to fight back. If we all shared your outlook, we'd all be buried under the ruinous streets of Imperial City."
He traced her gaze to Sweeps, and at last a frown etched its way into his features.
"I care about her, certainly. Just as I do any of my friends... but this isn't about me, Marassa. Is it selfish to not care about my own mortality, if I feel as though I'm risking myself to make the world better for her? For Vingard? Hell, even for Bethalda, the moody old cow."
He shook his head, "I don't think so. You can't convince me it is. Besides..." he smiled a weak, sad smile, "You don't know me and Sweeps very well, but seeing me get mutilated may very well make her day. We're chaotic that way."

He turned back to face Marassa, "And she doesn't follow my lead, at least not like you think she does. I involuntarily gave her the chance to escape a life of servitude and take up another of adventure, and she's taken to it like a fish to water. If she grows frightened, she's free to leave. In fact, I... have been considering encouraging it, for some time."

He sighed, and leaned against the ship's rail again, staring once again into the water.
This time, it was not so therapeutic.
"You realise that what you say to me today makes no difference, I trust? You can invalidate me as a man, as a soldier, as any significant contribution, and tomorrow I will still rise ready to fight. And I will do so because I saw Imperial City burn, and I don't want to see it ever again."
He drummed his fingers against the wood, "I haven't always been so willing. As I said before, I only intended to join Zaveed for a short spell... but this feels important. This is something I care about, whether I'm confident or otherwise."
He frowned again, "You die eventually. There's the chance I'll die very soon. And I'm comfortable with that because I feel as though this is a cause worth dying for. Are you so keen to strip that away from me?"
He locked eyes with her again, "Because you can take that confidence, and I'll still go to meet my maker. But I'll be small. And afraid. Is that much better?"

Marassa was quiet for a time, pensively reflecting on a distant memory. "You are who you are. Nothing more, nothing less. I do not attribute people to titles. I have known good soldiers, I have known bad. I have known thieves with morality, some who would take from those who have nothing. People cannot be so easily attributed to mere titles." she paused, drumming her fingers on the bannister, her claws clicking on the wood. "You do know that had Zaveed, myself, and the other so-called Heroes of Tamriel failed to stop the Emperor and his spell, Tamriel wouldn't have become ravaged by war and would be united against this new threat? Perhaps even the dwemer would have become enthralled. The thousands of dead can't speak for themselves, but they would be able to had we failed. One man tried to stop war by removing people's will to wage it, and he was overcome. Nothing he did mattered in the end, just like this storm. Either it will be weathered and pass, or it will overcome us all. What individuals do rarely matter in the end. Eventually, Emperor Felix Mede would have died of old age, and with him, the spell, most likely."

The khajiit looked over at Burkswallow. "How you expend your life is up to you. I gave up the man I loved so he could survive and return to a family that needed him more than a dead war hero. I may very well die; it matters not. I am here because the only person I care for who is left is still in danger, and if I can keep him from meeting his end foolishly once more than that is enough. I just don't delude myself with notions of grandeur. Absolutely nothing any of us will change a damn thing. If it comforts you to think you're going to make a difference before you die, then that is your right as a man. It does not make it any more correct, Burkswallow. The sands of time will wash over you, and in time, everything you've ever tried to accomplish will erode into the sands of time itself. Forgotten."

The thief contemplated this for a moment, and then turned to Marassa with a neutral simper.
"Everything is forgotten, that's true... so I guess it really doesn't matter either way, does it?", he straightened up.
"Everything I've ever tried to accomplish will erode into the sands of time..." he recited, folding his arms behind his back.
He turned, so that he was facing in the opposite direction, and stood at her side.
"You know what? I can only hope."
He chuckled, dryly.
"It's been nice speaking with you, Marassa. Moreso than, and in ways, I fear you'll ever really understand."
He contemplated clapping her shoulder, and then dismissed the idea, "I'll see you around."
Burkswallow bowed his head lightly, politely, and then walked off, to appreciate the sea from the vessel's other side.

"She's right, of course," his misleadingly soft spoken, totally venamous patroness cooed, "You are, naturally, going to die a pointless death, my dear Melancholius. And history will remember you for nothing."
"Thank you," Burkswallow replied aloud, "I care little for the critiques of daedra. I've started to think you get such a bad press just because of your piss poor people skills."
"I can change that, you know. You can go down in history as a Nightingale: A living shadow to fulfill my bidding."
"Thanks, no thanks."
"Perhaps I'll offer it to that Marassa girl, then... I like her a lot. So jaded."
"If I won't obey you, how likely is she to?"
"A good point made by a fool. Miracles do happen. Perhaps your luck is changing."
"It's not."

The khajiit watched Burkswallow go with a sad shake of her head. The man was foolish, idealistic to a fault, not unlike a new convert to a faith he'd been neglecting his entire life; the Cult of Zaveed. Still, in a way she admired him for his candor, his conviction. It took a lot for a man to give up his old ways for a cause above himself, and it was respectable, in a way. Was that not what Sevari's father did? The old general likely gave his life to buy his estranged son time to escape. Had Marassa truly not cared like she vocally professed, she would have likely given up hope of Sevari's survival when the Thalmor had claimed him. Perhaps it was that same sense of hope that propelled her from the safety of the Dominion and her life to rejoin her brother in yet another fool's quest, something she was certain would result in death. But if she truly believed that, why did she come? She didn't owe Zaveed her life, not anymore. So why rush to his aid? Why save Sevari, a man who chose another woman over her?

Because she loved them. That's all there was to it. The dwemer would succeed, or they would fail. Whatever result occured then didn't matter, so long as the people she cared for were kept safe. Was it not the same thing that drove Burkswallow, even if his affections weren't quite the same? Nobody risked their lives for others without caring. The only difference was the scale.

She knew that the reason she fought was to reach a point where she no longer needed to, where she could set down her sword for good and carry on with life. A thought gripped the khajiit; what if the only reason she kept joining these fruitless expeditions was because there was nothing else for her? No family, no friends. An empty home with little warmth.

It was no wonder why she soughtought the battlefield. It was the only way she felt alive.

"I suspect there's more we can learn from each other yet, Breton." Marassa whispered to Burkswallow's back, as she saw the fire-haired Breton captain approach him, predatory lust dripping from her like burning embers.

Burkswallow sighed irritably, as his Daedric mistress spoke further.
"I could make it change," she suggested, in the same tone a merchant might say the phrase 'But for you? I'll cut you a deal!'
"At my say so, every lock you pick could surrender without even the slightest resistance; Your 'gift of the gab' will flow like the mead of a Nord's household, and guards in every city will find themselves strangely preoccupied as you loot to the content of your wicked little heart."
"Tempting."
"See?"
"Still no."
"... you are the most irritable and ungrateful little mongrel, Melancholius. I have offered you powers other thieves only dream of."
"Then pick one of them, leave me alone."
"Why do you refuse me, still? Do you not realise what an asset a Nightingale would be to this war?"
He hesitated, then grimaced. She had a point.
"And of course, you will have your gifts to lend! The winds would blow in your favour, not that of the dwemer."
"... you can't promise that."
"Can I not? Am I not she, lady luck?"
He gritted his teeth.
"I've no interest in being your slave."
"Slave! Oh, how ghastly a word. You would be my servant."
"Surprisingly not that comforting."
"Must we bicker still? You spoke with heart and soul to that khajiit: You said you were willing to die for this war. But you are not willing to deal with me?"
"Would you be offended if I called you a fate worse than death? You're a fate worse than death."

The two lapsed into silence.
"You are a very selfish man, Melancholius. They'll burn, and it will be on your head."
"Of course I'm selfish, I'm a thief."
"Oh? Did you not just tell her that you were a soldier?"
"Not your soldier."
"No... no, indeed not."
"Why are you still pursuing me, anyway? There must be hundreds of thousands of better thieves out there."
"Because I refuse to be beaten by a mortal with an attitude. You will bow your knee to me and you will do so willingly, by the time your moment-long life has ended. It is your destiny, and my desire."
"Oh, well in that case," Burkswallow perked up, "Bite me."
"I needn't. At the rate you're going, you'll soon do yourself harm."
"Let me make this clear, once and for all. I'll wear the armour, but I will never- never- give you my soul. I didn't run from a life of bureaucracy to live the life of a servant. Is that clear?"
"Crystal."
"Will you leave me be, then?"
"Never."

The Breton balled his hands into fists, clenching them tightly. Then, he exhaled again.
"Well this has been lovely, will you leave me be?"
"That is not your choice to make. But I can see, today, negotiations are poor."
"So you're electing to leave?"
"I am choosing to remain quiet. Lest you throw a fullblown temper tantrum."
"And why do you care about that?"
"I do not intend to recruit a manchild."
"Maybe I should throw that tantrum, then..."
"We will speak again soon, Melancholius. Very soon."
And with that, Burkswallow found his mind free of Nocturnal's influence, at least for now.
Silence settled, like a fine mist of relief.
He sighed, contented with this, and rubbed his forehead.
"Well isn't everyone just a regular ray of Magnus today?"

"Talking to yourself, I see." Harding said as she approached Burkswallow with a mischievious grin. "I always figured you were a bit daft to be a thief, but it has an appeal to it. You can never be quite certain when you're being used, can you?"

Burkswallow fought back a frown: Of course, of course somebody had overheard him.
"Nine damn it, Nocturnal."
She laughed, cruelly.

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