Dervish — Roleplayer Guild

Hegathe Streets…

Guard and prisoner alike clashed in hasty, heated battle that poured out into the streets, looking more like a riot than a prisoner escape attempt. Much like Torir promised the various prisoners moved actively to keep the trio safe, a thanks of sorts for giving them a chance at retribution and potentially even freedom. Some, like most men are likely to do, raced away when they had a break to escape an uncertain fate. The Hegathe guards that had responded to the disturbance certainly weren’t anticipating the wave of fury that rushed to greet them, especially with their own weapons.

Reigenleif was walking on her own, supported by her staff. The Nord woman was certainly tough, and a fighter at heart. Despite her leanings towards learning, she certainly was no coward in the face of danger, and Zaveed kept close to make sure she didn’t fall too far behind. While she perhaps wasn’t up for fighting, she was making use of her powers to mend her wounds. Doubtless, she would need rest, provided they could reach safety. As if reminding him of his own issues, Zaveed flinched, his arm finally protesting the deep gash that had traversed his arm above the bicep. He would have never have admitted it, but putting Reigenleif down to support herself was a cry of relief he desperately needed. He’d left one of his two stolen blades with a prisoner who could make use of it, as he was fast approaching a point where he could even lift his wounded arm, let alone wield a weapon.

This… is not good. he thought grimly, finally leading Reigenleif and Eleyna down the back alley they had picked for their retreat earlier off the main street. The prisoners had begun to disperse and the guards were being driven back, and nobody wanted to be there when the dwemer soldiers arrived. Taking a moment in the shade, Zaveed slumped against a wall to catch his breath. Removing the excess layers of his disguise, the khajiit sliced a strip of fabric from the flowing Redguard garb he had donned himself in and wrapped it tightly about his arm, hopefully slowing the bleeding. He wanted nothing more than to collapse there and rest, but he knew stopping for too long was asking for trouble. With a nod to his companions, they continued on, making their way back to the safe house.

A commotion sprang forth from up ahead, the unmistakable sounds of conflict. The trio hurried along as quietly as possible, coming up to a terrace in the back alley that acted as someone’s shaded sanctuary from the stifling heat, although currently it was unoccupied. Feeling a sense of apprehension, Zaveed warned the others to stay low as he went to investigate by moving outwards, towards the streets where he could get a better view. Before he could peer around the corner, the distinctive crack of one of the thunder staves filled the air. The khajiit pressed himself back against the wall hard, his heart pounding. It felt like his breathing was going to quit. With a second crack, the khajiit willed himself to look.

Outside of the safehouse, Darak Mashad’s body laid beside his wife’s, a hole neatly in each other heads. A troop of dwemer soldiers stood around the captives, those unfortunate to be found in the safehouse, many in the heavy and near impregnable heavy armour that Zaveed had seen tear through the Legion forces in Imperial City. Still forced to his knees before a dwemer officer was a face that Zaveed feared would be put in that situation.

The orc looked up at the officer defiantly, who offered him a disapproving gaze instead, as if Gorzath was a child who needed to be told that what he had done was wrong. “I am disappointed, you know. I was rather quite excited that the Heroes of Tamriel I had heard so much about from the units in Cyrodiil were coming here, to Hegathe of all places! I had rather hoped you would all behave and be received as honoured guests, but now the streets are alight and scores of dead line the streets because you supported a bunch of misguided rebels.” The dwemer clucked his tongue, admiring the pistol in his hands. “Alas, I was hoping we could have become friends, and I would not find you here. Regrettably, the punishments apply to all people, despite your admirable record.” The barrel was leveled at the orc’s forehead.

“You’ll die for th-” Gorzath began defiantly before a sudden crack filled the air and his head jerked backwards, pieces of bone and soft tissues violently ejecting from the back of his skull. He dropped lifelessly, hatred still in his eyes. Zaveed pulled back then, not daring to watch the rest of the executions. He slunk back with haste to the two women and immediately collapsed, back against a wall, and his head buried in his hand. He didn’t move for several seconds, the shock of what he’d just witnessed come to light. His mind wandered back to the first days, outside of the Rift…

No. Focus, or you’ll die like him.

“We need to get moving. To the backup sanctuary.” He said, accepting a hand to be helped to his feet. The khajiit, Nord, and Breton all disappeared back down another side passage, yet another crack filled the air behind them.
_ _ _

Nightfall, The Old Mosque…

Hours had passed and the city finally seemed to have spent its fury in the day’s uprisings. Scores of dead on both sides were still unclaimed in the streets, and the group was directed to what was commonly referred to as the Old Mosque, an old decrepit building in the Old City, where some of the oldest buildings in the city were found. It was hard to say who controlled where, because it seemed like every other block was occupied by rebel fighters or dwemer soldiers. The entire city was effectively split into fragments, although it wasn’t looking promising for the rebels. The dwemer had barely begun mobilizing and reinforcements were sure to arrive from outside of the city.

It came as something of a shock to discover that traitors had been feeding the dwemer command with information about the safe houses and what the Merchants Guild had been doing since the occupation. The various members’ stores and warehouses had been marked weeks in advance, and within only a couple hours of the uprising, every single one had been raided, the occupants executed. It’s what had caught Gorzath, who paid the ultimate price of being in the wrong place in the wrong time.

Rashad, the guide who had escorted the Heroes into the city and had introduced them to Mashad on the first night, had found Zaveed, Reigenleif, and Eleyna and had brought them here. He assured them that the others were being looked for before departing again, promising to find out who the mastermind behind the safehouse raids were. As something of a parting apology, he had revealed that the equipment that had been smuggled into the city was being kept in the Old Mosque and they were welcome to retrieve their personal effects. Healers had attended to the wounded, and they were pointed to bedrolls to rest off the weariness of the day.

Over the next few hours, everyone was accounted for and brought to the Mosque. It was fortunate that only Gorzath had been killed, although that did little to alleviate Zaveed’s sour disposition. He sat against a wall, holding a mug of ale, not paying attention to anything around him. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt aimless and more than a little overwhelmed. The scene in front of Mashad Textiles flashed through his mind repeatedly, his grip on the mug threatening to crack the ceramics. Suddenly, in a burst of anger, Zaveed threw the mug across the room, shattering it across the old pitted wall. The khajiit stormed outside to clear his head, it wasn’t good for the others see him like this.

He’d let enough of them down for one day.

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