Dervish

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

An Encounter After Curfew

Hank and I wrote stuff

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Dusk, 30th of Second Seed, 4E208
Gilane, Hammerfell

Mazrah grabbed Nuzir, who had fallen down, by the collar and pulled him back to his feet. He hung in her arms like dead weight, screaming and crying something unintelligible, and Mazrah put one of her hands over his mouth. “Shut up, asshole,” she hissed and forced him back against the wall, “or I’ll really give you something to cry about. That was just a warning. Stay away from Marien, you hear me?”

She removed her hand and he whimpered meekly. “You broke my arm!”

Surprised, Mazrah looked at the wrist that Nuzir was cradling and saw that, indeed, his hand was sticking out of his arm at a slightly odd angle. “What the…” she mumbled. Was he that weak? Her older brother, Maulakanth, had been beaten far worse without ever breaking anything when they were still children. “Well, let that be a lesson. Touch her again and I’ll break your face.”

“I’d heed her warning; My uncle was an orc, and when they threaten to do something, well, they aren’t fond of hyperbole.” a voice came from behind. The Khajiit was leaning against a wall, peeling an apple with a small dagger and impassively watching the events unfold. “So, he got a bit handsy with a friend, I gather?”

Mazrah’s head whipped around at the sound of the Khajiit’s voice and narrowed her eyes at the sight. She was relieved that it wasn’t a Dwemer patrol, but at the same time she didn’t need people of other races to stick their noses in her business either.

“Yes, he did,” Mazrah replied and shot Nuzir a dangerous glare, daring him to deny it. He didn’t and simply stuck to nursing his wounded arm and sniffling pathetically. “A barmaid at one of my favorite taverns. Sweet girl. She was in tears about it. You hear me?” Mazrah asked and shook Nuzir by the shoulder. “In tears!” Nuzir gasped and pleaded in soft moans for the cessation of this violence, and Mazrah sighed.

She turned to look at the Khajiit again and tilted her head. “Who are you?”

“That depends on you, I suppose. For now, a spectator.” Daro’Vasora replied, cutting off a slice of the apple and slipping it between her teeth. “What do you plan on doing with him?” she asked.

“I think he learned his lesson,” the Orsimer replied and dropped Nuzir to the ground, disgust evident on her face. “Now I was planning on getting the hell out of here before those gray-skinned bastards show up.” It was obvious she referred to the Dwemer, and she momentarily assumed a typically elven posture, the tips of her fingers pressed together and her lips thinned out in a small smile, before crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “Pompous assholes. Anyway, what’s it to you?”

“I’m new to the city, today in fact. Even so, I’ve noticed the best way to keep out of those ‘grey-skinned bastards’ sight is by digression.” Daro’Vasora pointed out coolly, getting annoyed by the portly man’s whimpering. She walked over to him, crouching down beside him, and said, “Quiet now, the ladies are talking.”

Suddenly, the Khajiit rammed the apple hard into the man’s mouth, enough carved away it acted like a gag. She stood up, her full height making her feel like a child next to the grandeur of the Orsimer. “Take you, for example. You are a wild, untamed specimen that contradicts the law and order the Deep Elves are so fond of. Everything about you demands attention, like a tornado or some other natural event that cannot be stopped. How long do you think it would be before this shitstain tells the guards what happened and for them to track you down? A volcano is more subtle in appearance.” the Khajiit said, gesturing down at the sad-looking man by their feet. “Break his jaw and force him to have a liquid diet for a month. Hard for a man without a working mouth to retell this particular tale, don’t you think?”

A tornado? That was a favourable comparison, Mazrah thought, and she grinned. “You make a good point,” she said in response to the suggestion of breaking Nuzir’s jaw and looked down at the snivelling heap of Redguard. “Looks like I'll be breaking your face after all. Not your lucky day!” Mazrah lifted up her foot and brought it down on Nuzir's mouth with significant force. A satisfying crack echoed through the alley and Nuzir started squealing like a pig being slaughtered, the trembling fingers of his good hand shooting up to defend himself from any further attacks and to gingerly touch his latest injury.

“As for you,” Mazrah said and looked up at Daro'Vasora with the gleam of amusement in her eyes, “I like you. You're very flattering. Keep talking.”

“Away from the rapist, his pity screams are nauseating.” The Khajiit replied dryly, starting to walk away when she looked at her hand, and back to the Redguard. “Oh. Right.”

Walking briskly back to the Redguard, she gingerly took the man’s hands into her own. “I would say I’m sorry for all of this, but I am a terrible liar.” she said softly, before suddenly gripping the man’s index and middle fingers in a tight grip and snapping them backwards with force, creating a loud crack that echoed off the walls that were only downed out by the man’s gurgled and pained screams. She offered the man a pithy rub on the head before turning back to the way she intended to depart.

“Shall we?” she asked the Orsimer, before gesturing and walking briskly away from the screams. Several alleyways later, she asked.

“So, what do I call the striking lady of imposing stature I found in some dark alley beating the shit out of a degenerate?” the Khajiit asked, her posture relaxed and loose, but her eyes darted around with predatory purpose, searching for threats in the dark.

Mazrah joined her newfound partner in crime, leaning against the wall on one arm, the other resting on her hips. She laughed at Daro'Vasora’s words. “My name is Mazrah gra-Durash, but my friends call me Maz. Who are you then, mysterious and complimentary Khajiit?”

“Daro’Vasora, my non-existent friends call me Daro’Vasora.” she replied, allowing the faintest of smiles. “Friend is a term that doesn't come easily to me, I prefer to assume the worst about people, but I can already tell you are more of a stab someone in the face type rather than a long term schemer.” with a pause, she concluded. “I appreciate that in a person. You must beg my pardon when I say you are unlike anyone I’ve met before.” she said, gesturing at the Orsimer’s immodest attire.

“You're right about that. I don't make plans, I just do what I want whenever I feel like it. I'm a hunter, so I can feed myself. I don't mind sleeping out in the wilderness. Hammerfell is warm enough. And if I want some extra coin, I'm good enough with my spear to kill you and all your friends. It's a good life.” Mazrah looked down at herself and smiled slyly. “You like what you see, kitty cat?”

That was a disarming way to put things, the Khajiit decided. There was something undeniably intriguing about the Orc, but it was hard to say if it had more to do with her tattoos and scars, her bold wardrobe, or her full and powerful figure. The Khajiit rarely paid women much more than a curious glance, but the giant beside her earned more than that. Was there an attraction? It was hard to say, and something Daro’Vasora considered often.

“You are a hard person to ignore,” she managed diplomatically, her expression unwavering. She’d mastered that much. “I will stay unique and unconventional things tend to catch my eye, people are no different.”

Deciding to change tact, she said more lightly, “I would prefer you refrained murdering myself and my associates. Except for maybe a certain High Elf, but he’s getting slightly more tolerable.” the Khajiit joked, looking over to study the face beside her. “You’re probably the only person I’ve heard of that describes Hammefell as, ‘warm enough’. The Nedes used to call this place the ‘Deathlands’ for a reason. From how you said it, I presume you aren’t a native to these parts?”

Mazrah kept her gaze focused on Daro'Vasora's face while she talked and she smirked at the steadfast, inscrutable expression that the Khajiit maintained. Whatever she thought of Mazrah’s body, she hid it well. Mazrah, in turn, let her eyes wander over Daro'Vasora when she switched topics and decided that she couldn't fault the cat for having a practical and decidedly less immodest outfit. There was a hint of her figure beneath the red tunic that she wore, however, and Mazrah liked what she saw. And there was enough to like about her face, too. Mazrah found it hardly a punishment to let her gaze drift back to Daro'Vasora's sharp green eyes.

“Then the Nedes, whoever they are, were sissies.” It was obvious that Mazrah hadn't exactly enjoyed a classic, academic education on Tamriel’s racial history. “Not a native, no, but close enough. I'm from Orsinium, up north. Are you from… what's it called? Elsewhere?”

Elsewhere? The mispronunciation was adorable. Had it been someone else, the Khajiit would have replied bitingly, but the slip-up struck her as the words of an earnest person who simply wasn’t well versed, giving Mazrah an almost innocent charm… if one were to overlook how she just brutalized a man.

“Cyrodiil, born and raised. I am an Imperial citizen.” Daro’Vasora replied. “Isn’t it rare for an Orsimer to leave the kingdom? I’ve never met someone from there, nor had the opportunity to visit. What’s it like?” she asked, her sensitive ears picking up commotion the way they came. She started surveying doorways, formulating a plan as they walked and needed a quick place to slip out of sight.

“Are you now? Interesting,” Mazrah mused. Not many Imperial citizens had come to Hammerfell since it seceded from the Empire. She looked at the Khajiit in a new light and saw how the pieces fit together. The eloquence, the tunic; it made sense. “Orsinium is… a good thing for our people. I'm proud to be an Orsimer but I don't like everything about how things are done there. Women aren't respected as much as I think they deserve. When my brother was exiled because he's a stubborn, prideful idiot, I decided to take my chances and leave as well. I haven't regretted it so far.” She paused, seeing that Daro'Vasora was on her guard. “What is it?”

“You are a huntress, what happens when the predators hear the wounded cry of prey?” the Khajiit replied, settling on what appeared to be a shop that had closed for the day. She pulled a lock pick from her waist cloth and set herself upon the lock. “I knew it wouldn’t be long until your friend attracted the authorities, so I’ve been searching for somewhere to duck out of sight. Two minority travellers caught out at night and a brutalized Redguard? We would be so lucky to see a jury.”

The lock gave without much issue and Daro’Vasora slipped inside, beckoning Mazrah to join her. She closed the door and locked it behind her, stepping carefully through the shop to make sure it was vacant.

Boots passed by a few minutes later, and lights shone through the curtains that concealed the store. The threat passed, Daro’Vasora found a counter to sit on, leaning against a support post.

“Societies are seldom fair in other provinces, I’ve had a number of doors closed to me because of my race. People do not trust Khajiit, even if they prove they are more educated and literate than they are. I understand all too well what it means to be cast down because you aren’t like those in power. People like us have to make our own fortunes on our own terms, I suppose.” the Khajiit replied at last, studying the Orc’s markings. “Those tattoos and scars, they’re ceremonial, are they not?”

Mazrah had followed Daro’Vasora inside without protest -- she did not like hiding from people instead of confronting them, but even she realized that it was suicide to stand up to the guards that pursued them, whether they were the Dwemer occupiers or Gilane’s own. She made silent note of the cat’s skills with the lockpick. It was impressive. Ducking low to avoid her profile being seen through the curtains when a lantern passed the window, she cursed and found a place to sit out of sight; a table that presumably displayed wares whenever the shop was opened would do. She listened to the Khajiit’s words with a scowl on her face.

“If an Ornim is beaten then they were too weak to defend themselves and deserved what happened to them. I would never have been hunted like this in Orisinium. It’s harsh. I’m not sure it’s fair. But it means only the strong survive,” she explained and sighed.

The change of topic that followed brought a smile to her face, however. “Yes, they are,” Mazrah said and there was a warmth to her voice that hadn’t been there before. “My mother bore these and her mother before her, as long as we can remember. The ink represents my mastery with the spear, the bow and the shadow, and the scars are one each for every type of beast I have hunted. Deer, elk, fox, wolf, sabercat, bear, troll… you name it. My mother passed her skills on to me and with every new achievement, the Wise Women marked another part of my body. It goes all the way from here,” she said and pointed to the top of her skull, “down to there.” Her index finger traveled down her body until she was pointing at her toes. “Do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful.” Daro’Vasora replied sincerely, enraptured by the story the Orc spun. It was like living archeology, a story told on skin instead of stone. There was much significance to the wild markings, and superficially, it reminded her of the stripes and spots of her own people. It was a mark of who you were, just this was more meaningful than what bloodline you spawned from.

“We Khajiit simply stick with honourifics to show who we are.” Daro’Vasora said with a smile. “And while I do not doubt Orsinium sees strong and decisive leaders, does it not lead to situations where only the most physically intimidating rules? Orsinium has fallen many times in the past, and unchecked strength can lead to cruelty and stifling the talents of those who could contribute in other ways.” she observed, aware she might as well have been speaking heresy to Mazrah. Deciding to change tact somewhat, she concluded, “I’d much prefer my healer or tailor spent more time on their craft without having to train themselves to fight constantly. I’d make a terrible Orc, but I’ve kept history alive. Even fighting these Dwemer in Cyrodiil, my allies have leaned on me for what I know of the enemy because of the years I’ve spent plundering their lost cities.”

“You are right, the strongest rule. I don’t know what Orcs are like everywhere else but the Ornim of Orsinium, who follow the Old Ways of Malacath, are stubborn and headstrong. If their leader cannot best them in single combat, they will not listen to them.” Mazrah snorted derisively and continued. “Orsinium has been destroyed many times because the ruhi sim, the ‘lesser-bodied’, the… weaker races, are afraid of us, but they outnumber us. Bretons and Redguards and Nords have teamed up every time to see Orsinium burned down. My people always need to be ready for total war.” She paused and looked at Daro’Vasora with a knowing smile. “But does it lead to cruelty? Yes. Is it always the best practice? No. My father was the Hand of Mauloch of Orsinium. Leader of the warriors. He was very strong but also very cruel. My brother, Maulakanth, was groomed to follow in his footsteps, which was only possible if Maulakanth killed my father in single combat. So my father put him through… horrible, horrible abuse, really. I have no other words for it. He became big and strong -- very big and strong -- and he defeated my father when the day came. But Maulakanth was twenty-two. His victory over the Ornim that had tormented him his entire life got to him. He thought he knew better than anyone else. I tried to give him counsel but he no longer listened to me. And eventually the king was tired of his incompetence and threw him out.”

Mazrah shrugged. “Perhaps it is time for a different way of doing things now. But good luck telling them that. Enough about Orsinium, though. You said you fought the Dwemer in Cyrodiil. I’ve been very disappointed that the Redguards are not fighting back, so tell me about that.” The time for swapping stories about their heritage was over. Mazrah looked serious now. If this Khajiit was really fighting the good fight against the Deep Elves, she was very interested indeed.

“If you will humour me for a moment longer, perhaps it is that perspective that has made Orsinium feared. Distrust of outsiders, thinking friends and alliances are pathetic signs of weakness, and a value of raw strength above all else. Is it not a strength to recognize your weaknesses and find ways to rectify them? Nords are incredible warriors, but they lack mages. Bretons are the opposite, and Redguards are renown swordsmen, but technique alone can’t pierce superior plating and a fearless warrior culture. They feared your people more than each other because they recognized that they had other strengths. Is that not a strength in its own?” the Khajiit asked. “It would be like if you were pitted against a Senche-raht, you’d want to even the odds with weapons and equipment because you alone are no match for something of that size and strength. Turning to others to make up for your shortcomings is a strength; you’ve utilized my skills to evade being caught in a battle you may not win. You’re welcome, by the way.” Daro’Vasora said with a smile.

She adjusted, leaning forward to stretch her legs, mulling over their mutual situation. “The Deep Elves are a cunning and ruthless enemy that have used machines and weapons that outclass anything we have. The same Imperial Legion that fought the Aldmeri Dominion to a standstill was brought down in a matter of hours to their airships and hand cannons. So far, any attempt to bring the hammer down on the anvil has resulted in the hammer shattering. We need new ways to look at everything, because the old ways don’t work.” she admitted.

Shifting and nimbly sliding off the counter, Daro’Vasora approached the seated Orc, who still was almost eye level with her. She placed a hand over her heart, her tone rigid and defiant. “My uncle was an Orsimer, and he was the man who taught me all of my skills and to appreciate the wonders of the world and the people in it, died in that attack. He died fighting to protect two young boys, and I was too late to even try to save him.

“I lost one of the very few people I loved that day, and because of that, I may not be a warrior nor particularly strong, but I will keep fighting these bastards on my own terms. I have my wits and my knowledge, and that alone has brought down their powered armour even if I wear nothing but thin leather and carry a mace that can’t can't dent their alloys. I have a group of like minded individuals, who like your Redguard, Nord, and Breton enemies of yesteryear, have joined together to fight a singular overwhelming enemy that terrifies us. I want you to witness it yourself; strength isn’t just how much you can lift or how many foes you can vanquish, it’s about admitting you’re outmatched and finding a way to win, anyways.” the Khajiit implored.

I am not good at these speeches. she thought, suddenly feeling the urge to chew on anything to keep her focused.

Mazrah kept her face under control for as long as she could but a few seconds after Daro’Vasora was done talking, she cracked a smile and burst into laughter. “Great gods of nowhere, do you always talk that much? I didn’t need that much convincing, Daro’Vasora. You’re probably right about that whole ‘working together’ thing. I’d love to meet your group. See who’s been taking it up with the Dwemer, even if you haven’t been winning. It’s better than doing nothing. And… I’m sorry about your uncle. Like I said, I don’t know much about the Orsimer of the Empire. I’d like to hear more about him some time.” She paused and got to her feet, now positively towering over Daro’Vasora, but she felt this uncle of hers deserved a salute. Mazrah placed her hand over her own heart now. “He died a voshu tumn. A good death. That’s all any Orc can ask for. Malacath is proud of him, I'm sure of it.”

Daro’Vasora felt a flush of embarrassment; she really did prattle on when she lost herself in thought, didn’t she? She cleared her throat, sparing herself a few moments to look away and compose herself. “I suppose it’s part of my charm, but yeah, sometimes, when I’m nervous or trying to make a point words tend to flow like wine.” She returned her gaze to the Orc’s beautiful golden eyes, and even in the low light they seemed to shine brilliantly. “Thank you, one day perhaps I’ll tell you more about him. He likely wasn’t at all what you’d expect, but he always did the right thing.” she sighed, shaking her head. Was there such thing as a ‘good death’? Perhaps, but she would have given anything to get him back. “You are kind to say that, Mazrah. Should we carry on?” she asked, gesturing towards the door.

“Yes, let’s,” Mazrah said with an earnest smile. She stepped outside gingerly, her long years of experience as a hunter subconsciously having activated her stalker-mode now that the guards were looking for them, and swept the street with her eyes. It was getting quite dark now and Gilane looked mostly deserted, save for a few stragglers making their way home. “Oh, right,” Mazrah mumbled. “The curfew.” She had forgotten about that. She turned her head to look at Daro’Vasora, whose grayscale fur and dark red tunic made her almost invisible in the shadows, and asked: “Where to?”

The Khajiit was finishing locking the door behind them while carefully slipping the lock pick back out of sight. “I have a place where I am staying with my companions. You’re welcome to come along if you think little old me might help you get what you want, I know we could use someone like you.” Daro'Vasora said, gesturing further down the street.

“That sounds great. I didn't have anywhere else to stay. Thanks!” Mazrah followed Daro'Vasora as quietly as she could, and added: “Just toss me a pillow and I'm golden, by the way. Don't need a whole bed.”

“Same, we can take turns using mine. Word of warning; some of my roommates are kind of tight asses. They're probably going to have a fit, and it's going to be magnificent.” Daro’Vasora replied, firing back a wink as the skulked along through the darkness. “I have to say, I couldn't have asked for a better night out.”

Mazrah grinned from ear to ear. “I think you and I are going to get along juuust fine.”

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Inventory update:

• Out of the three necklaces Do'Karth grabs, one is just plain gold. One is cursed; when Do'Karth tries it on, it paralyzes him for an hour and causes him to lose bladder control. The last one is worn by Tmeip'r during rap battles, which bumps up the wearer's speech by two levels

@Gcold

"For you, love."

Later...

"What has this one done?!"

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Sorry for the wait; act 2 is live.

Go have fun, kids <3

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Gilane, Hammerfell

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30th of Second Seed 10:00am

The voyage to Hammerfell proved a stark contrast to the disorder and havoc that ensnared Anvil in an iron claw. Kynareth smiled favorably upon the Intrepid, the winds carried the ship swiftly over shimmering turquoise waters, the sky above bore no promise of rain or foul weather while the air warmed considerably. For once, Brynja shirked her armor, finding the humid air almost unbearable. And for six days, the Intrepid made record time sailing across the open waters. From the ship on certain occasions, those aboard the ship could see the coastline of Hammerfell, a drastic change compared to anywhere in Cyrodiil or Skyrim for that matter. By mid morning of the 30th, the city of Gilane came into sight. It was unlike anything Brynja had seen. The architecture alone was different from anything Skyrim had to offer; high sandstone walls with curious domed roofs that were adorned with light catching materials that brought out brilliant hues, with many of the more wealthy looking homes even electing to use what appeared to be gold. Sweeping curves dominated the style, with inviting windows and archways, and beautifully intricate stained glass. While the Nords preferred simple and practical designs that were as robust as its people, with ample use of timber and cemented cobblestone, many of the Redguards lacked access to an abundance of forests and masonry had to come from local sources, which often were buried within constantly shifting sands, along with short and robust foliage.

It was an opposite world to what Brynja knew; mountains gave way to endless seas of sand, the forests for only a few small hardy palm trees that struggled for what little water was available, and muscle crippling cold to skin scorching heat. For those aboard the ship who weren’t used to such climates, the interior of Hammerfell was going to be extremely dangerous and dehydration was a threat that many to the East with its vast rivers and lakes would have failed to appreciate. Best to stick near the coast for now, the Nord thought, the tropical ocean breeze both invigorating and somewhat ominous. The oceans gave life; leaving its side would bring peril.

Standing beside her was Rhona, the enchantress had long since discarded the bloodstained dress in favor of her own linen gown. Her eyes were wide, empty, and stoic, as if she weren’t really seeing what lay before her. The night of their escape, Sora had tried to broach the subject of what happened with the man in the alleyway, but Rhona couldn’t handle it at the time. She could do nothing but cry, and when she wasn’t crying, she refused to eat, much less sleep. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and she refused to take care of Tobias, pushing the goat away when he approached. And by the fourth day onboard, Brynja decided that enough was enough, Rhona was going to tell her what happened whether she liked it or not. With some gentle coaxing, and offerings of wine and cheese, Rhona opened up, her words not making any direct sense, leaving Brynja to piece the puzzle together.

Brynja had taken to Rhona then, effectively keeping her under her wing, and giving anyone that wished to speak with her a death glare. The young woman needed to work through her actions on her own time, and come to terms with what she had done. She made sure the enchantress ate, and watched over her while she slept. And on the last evening spent aboard the ship, Brynja sought out Calen. If there was anyone that could help lift Rhona’s spirits it had to be him, where she encouraged him to speak with her when he had the chance. But this was a new day, and the city of Gilane was now in view.

“Everything will be fine, Rhona.” She said, an attempt to reassure her.

“Mm.” Was all she could muster, it was as if her eyes weren’t really seeing anything at this point.

The port was fast approaching, the Intrepid making towards an open mooring on the elaborate dockwork that allowed for larger vessels to offload passengers and cargo without the need to anchor far offshore and row in, tide permitting. The port seemed to be bustling, with sailors and dock workers, as well as visitors prowling the expansive network. The city seemed peaceful, and somewhat inviting; however, everyone knew that peace was a fleeting thing. It seemed that no matter where they went, disaster seemed to follow. It put a bit of a damper on the excitement of travel and leaving the troubles of Cyrodiil behind.

Roux pulled Daro’Vasora aside as they watched the helmsman navigate his way towards their destination. “There’s no expedition, I thought you should know.” he said.

That prompted a curious look, “So what’s this, then? Trying to get me back into your life with no follow through?” she asked.

That prompted a single grunt of a laugh, “Not quite. Running into you was something of a random circumstance, but a fortunate one. I’ve been going back and forth between Gilane and Anvil for the past month now, trying to find people who are knowledgeable about what’s going on in Cyrodiil, the Dwemer situation.”

The Khajiit’s ears folded back. “And what do you know of the Dwemer, Roux? Just stories that scared travellers babble to you?” she asked, a threat of menace in her tone.

He gestured towards the mooring, where a robbed figure and a pair of armoured figures approached; even at this distance, Daro’Vasora could recognize the profile; the Dwemer were here. Her heart sank, and she stared at the Breton beside her with accusing daggers. “Why did you bring us here? They’ve slaughtered thousands!” she demanded. “We are all going in chains if we dock!”

“Things aren’t that simple, Daro’Vasora.” He replied softly, letting out a sigh. His eyes looked tired. “They’ve been here for longer than the news of the sacking of the Imperial City. After dispatching armed resistance and ensuring riders and ships couldn’t pass word of what happened, they moved into the cities of Hammerfell and began to set up provisional governments. After the news of the Imperial City made its way back, they permitted travel once more and things are business as usual for most citizens. The city guard is still mostly Redguard, with Dwemer patrols and officers enforcing curfews. Citizens are allowed to keep personal weapons, but use against any official is met with immediate capital punishment and those who are detained are either never seen again, or sent to the arena. The new Governor enjoys her bloodsports.” Roux shook his head, his eyes meeting his feline companion, “I’ll explain more later, but know that as long as you and the others keep a low profile and don’t openly defy the Dwemer, you’ll be fine. But that’s not why I brought you here.”

Daro’Vasora was tired of the word games, “Okay, enough. What do you want from us?”

“This past week I’ve gotten to know everyone you brought in from your group, every single one of them has experience with Dwemer invasion and occupation. You’ve fought them, you’re knowledgeable and have motives to see them through. The insurgency needs allies, and people who are capable and willing of doing what needs to be done. This peace, this quiet… it’s under an iron thumb. I won’t say that Hammerfell’s had it like the butchers of Cyrodiil inflicted, but every one of us has lost something, someone.” He looked down, away from her, his hands white knuckled as they gripped the railing.

“I had a wife and daughter. Had. After you and I parted ways in the worst possible way, I was suddenly beset with wealth and fame, and it got me into some circles that I never thought I’d be a part of. I met Valerie and we had something, you know? Little Elodie was along shortly after, and it was when she came into the world I knew I had to be a better man than I was. I always meant to apologize if I’d seen you again, I was young and foolish. It doesn’t excuse what I did, Daro’Vasora. I could see it in your eyes the way you looked at me when I first found you in the bath house that I’d left my share of scars, and I honestly had no idea until that moment. I don’t ask forgiveness, just… understanding. I’m not that man I was, and that Valerie and Elodie were on one of those ships that tried to get away when the Dwemer first came to the city. They never found the bodies.” he said softly, a hand cupping over his mouth as he struggled to maintain his composure.

For once, Daro’Vasora didn’t know what to say. Roux clearly had pain inside he was keeping down, and she could see that same haunting look of loss she’d seen on so many faces the past few weeks. The man she’d known wasn’t this sailor who selflessly waited until everyone the Khajiit came with to the city was on board, who kept Rhea’s body immersed in salt and wrapped for a proper burial instead of tossing her out to sea to prevent illness and decay, the one who spoke frankly of having loved and lost at the hands of the Dwemer. It was a moment that put in perspective for Daro’Vasora that she wasn’t the only one who’d lost a loved one since the Dwemer returned. She steeled her resolve; the past was the past, and if nothing else, both shared a pain and cold drive for vengeance against the Deep Elves. It would be enough to start some sort of working relationship.

“I’m sorry.” She managed, as the ship was coming into dock, “I’d like to hear about them when you are able.”

“Thank you. It’s more kindness than I deserve, to be frank.” The sailors tossed lines of rope over the port side of the ship, and dock workers tied them off to the cleats that lined the deck. Roux cleared his throat, and the amicable facade resumed, “The Dwemer waiting down below are just customs officers. They’re mainly looking for contraband, like weapons, drugs, things of that nature. They might question you about the Dwemer items in your possession, but they’re old relics. They might just confiscate them if you present them and your documentations, but don’t hide anything. Stick to being a scholar and an explorer, be friendly and cordial. Make it seem like you like them. These Dwemer tend to be fairly lenient and even kind when they aren’t challenged, but if they suspect you were actively fighting and killing their men, everyone on this ship could be in peril. Understand?”

“Weylkend clear.” The Khajiit replied with an irritated huff. Taking a few moments to compose herself, she watched as the dock workers worked to put a ramp onto the Intrepid. Roux and Daro’Vasora went down to greet the three Dwemer that came aboard.

“Welcome to Volenfell, travellers. You are the captain, I presume?” The robed elf asked, not unkindly. His robes were purple, and a curious side arm was affixed to his belt. However, it looked more there as a symbol of authority rather than malicious intent. His companions carried more of the firearms that Daro’Vasora had seen far too many times before, but the design was different. Even their armour looked to possess a different design philosophy behind it, and it appeared lighter than the heavy warrior plate; their heads with ornately braided hair was left uncovered. Their skin was a light tan-grey complexion that wasn’t entirely unpleasant; they looked like antiquities come to life.

Roux smiled, and had his papers ready, “Yes, Inspector. I am Captain Roux Dupris of the Intrepid, registered merchant vessel. We sailed from Anvil, which was besieged by the Aldmeri Dominion. No cargo, just passengers, and one body that needs a proper burial.”

The Inspector took it in stride, “News of the attack has reached us far sooner than you might suspect. A Dominion vessel arrived late yesterday to speak with Governor Rourken. I do not intend to keep your passengers held for long, just long enough for us to do our inspection. Do you have anything to declare?” he asked, his eye catching Daro’Vasora and her Dwemer jewelry. She felt her throat tighten as the Dwemer regarded her.

“Might I inquire where you came across the Dwemer craftsmanship in your possession?” he asked.

“I am a scholar and researcher, sir.” she replied, doing her best to seem friendly and open. She presented the remaining bangle and necklace to the Inspector, who looked them over with a curator's eye.

To her surprise, he handed them back with a smile, “Remarkable. As much as I would love to own such a piece of history for my own collection, it is not my duty nor ethics to confiscate pieces of our ancestor’s culture from private ownership. You’ve studied our people, Khajiit?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. For at least the past 8 years, Dwemer and Alyeids are my area of scholarly interest.” she answered, offering her notes from the expeditions for his inspection. The Inspector carefully thumbed through the pages, his eyes wide with interest. Thankfully, he didn’t go to the later pages, where her notes on the modern contraptions came up.

“Simply wonderful. There is much from our history that is lost to us, and we hope to relearn it. Thank you for keeping our civilization alive through the many long years of our absence. If you are willing, please take your findings to our cultural center in the palace grounds. You will be compensated for your contributions. Please excuse me, I’ve a ship to inspect before I can release you to the city proper. Thank you for your time.” With a respectful nod, the Dwemer carried on with Roux at their side, leaving Daro’Vasora blinking in confusion. What just happened?

---

After half an hour, the inspection was concluded, and a coroner’s party was sent to retrieve Rhea’s body to bring to the Temple of Arkay in the city with directions of how to reach there, as well as the time for her funeral service. The Inspector and his guards bid the passengers farewell, and gave them each a metal token that granted them access to the city. Guides immediately made themselves available, as well as vendors, and soon they crossed the threshold into the city gates and found themselves immediately surrounded by a bazaar with shaded vendor stalls carved out of the side of long buildings, hawking wares with enthusiasm and intensity that suggested a fairly lively populace. It was an oddly familiar sight, even with the occasional Dwemer patrol walking along the streets, even a few of the vendors were Dwemer, selling all sorts of interesting culinary wares, mechanical contraptions, and other odds and ends. It almost seemed like both the native Redguard populace and the newcomers were integrating rather well; they didn’t seem like they were brutally suppressed and in a moment of surreality, someone bumped into Daro’Vasora, and before she could snap something indignant to the inattentive prick, she looked down and saw the face of a Dwemer child, who stared up at her with wide eyes. She’d never seen a Dwemer child before, and he had three friends, or siblings, who all gawked at the newcomers. A ball sat at her feet, and a harried woman with a Redguard-style set of dreadlocks but decidedly Dwemer features came hurrying over, “I am terribly sorry! Please pardon my son, you know how children are. They’ve just never seen a Khajiit before, it was hard to explain your people to them.” she explained in a hurry, looking both flustered and embarrassed. Without thinking about it, Daro’Vasora bent down, picked up the ball, and handed it back to the child, who continued to stare in disbelief.

Brynja grabbed Rhona by the shoulder, whispering in her ear, “You stick close to me, you hear?”

“Thank you, kitty lady! You’re pretty!” the child beamed, and went to reach out to take the ball back. “Can I touch your fur?”

“Uritz!” The mother snapped aghast, “Manners, young man!”

The boy’s hand recoiled. He looked back to his mother, the Khajiit, and then took off with a drawn out, “Byyyeee!” as the kids took off again with the ball. The mother apologized again and took in pursuit.

“Everything about today hurts my head.” She muttered to Judena and Latro.

“Dwemer children…” Rhona whispered. What a sight that was to behold. Never in all her life did she imagine she would have had the opportunity to lay eyes on a living breathing Dwemer child. And Brynja shared the same unspoken thoughts, although it put her more on edge to experience the Dwemer living and breathing so casually after what she experienced not only in the Jerall Mountains, but the Imperial City, and the raid on Elenglynn. She had her own suspicions, but she kept her mouth shut, better to stay alive than end up dead.

The group carried on until they reached a junction that took them away from the sprawling bazaar and the crowds until Roux lead them to a fairly large hotel called the Three Crowns Hotel, a surprisingly luxurious place that couldn’t have been cheap to stay the night with balconies off most rooms, a large fountain in the front, and a courtyard bathhouse that was in reality supplied water from a complex of ancient Dwemer piping and machinery; the entire city of Gilane was built around an ancient Dwemer settlement, Daro’Vasora knew. Still, the group was lead inside and through the halls until reaching a red curtain flanked by a pair of armed guards, who looked at the approaching group suspiciously.

“The Ra Gada stand proud and ready.” Roux announced.

Evidently, it was a passphrase of sorts, as the group was then ushered in by the guards and told to make themselves comfortable on an assortment of luxurious furniture, including a number of flow pillows and rugs. A pair of hookahs sat open and ready, and wine pitches sat near a wall of assorted bottles of different vintages. After a few minutes, another curtain opened and a portly, albeit fatherly, Redguard man with a well-trimmed black beard and a a flowing white ensemble with a golden waist sash came into the room, where he greeted Roux with an embrace and the pair kissed one another on their cheeks as a greeting.

“I am pleased to see your travels kept you safe, and you’ve brought friends with you. It warms my heart to see you, Roux.” the man said.

“Likewise, these are all people that I know would have something to offer our cause. They are no friends of the enemy; they’ve fought them in Cyrodiil and bring both knowledge and experience of affairs outside of Hammerfell’s borders.”

“Splendid.” The man clasped a pair of meaty hands together in a loud clap and studied all of the faces in the room. His disposition was warm and inviting, like he was hosting a house party. “My friends, welcome to Gilane and my establishment, the Three Crowns. You may call me the Poncy Man until we’ve come to build a relationship based on trust and proving ourselves to one another, but know that I am a leading member of the Hammerfell Merchant Guild and I have balked at the occupiers since their arrival and wish to see my city streets free once more. It has been my considerable finances that have enabled men and women like you stand up to tyranny and demonstrate to my countrymen that we have nothing to fear from the occupiers as long as good people are willing to stand up for what is decent and right.” He said, slapping his fingers into a palm to emphasize the last few words. He smiled apologetically, stretching his arms out invitingly.

“I must apologize, you all must be exhausted from travel. You are all my guests in this establishment, and since there are others like yourself here who are a part of the cause, we have set some rooms for your group that you may share to act as a home base, as it were, while here. I speak frankly and openly to you, as word has reached me of the trials you have endured in Cyrodiil. We are brothers and sisters bound by a shared struggle, and for that it is my genuine pleasure to offer you some comfort as long as you assist the resistance to the best of your abilities. Should you wish to join us in our quest for liberty, you are welcome and honoured guests who will be using this establishment as a safe house. You will appear to be customers and vacationing guests, so it will not arouse suspicion as you come and go. But for now, we have four suites set aside for you, please divide yourselves by sex in respect to the privacy of the women. Rest for today and tonight, tomorrow we will speak again and if you wish to pursue a partnership with us against our enemy, and we shall plan our first moves together. If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to.” He bowed slightly. “Welcome to Hammerfell, please enjoy what Gilane has to offer in the meantime.”

With that, the Poncy Man turned back, leaving the group to their devices. Deciding the only fair way to divide the lodging accommodations was to draw names to sort the rooms, Brynja called out the names.

“Ladies first room, Megana, Anifaire, Nanine, and myself. Second room for the ladies, Rhona, Judena, Raelynn, and Daro’Vasora.” Putting that cup down, she picked up the second cup with the men’s names. “And for the first men’s room, Jaraleet, Solandil, Durantel, Latro. And finally, Alim, Calen, and Gregor. Try to behave yourselves, we’re guests here.” she said with a hint of warning. The guards escorted the two groups down separate hallways, and led them to their accommodations.

Their quarters were sprawling, each with four beds separated by wooden privacy barriers and a number of padded benches and chairs, a dining table, private dressers and a wooden chest at the foot of each bed. Floor-to-ceiling curtains concealed a balcony with cushioned seating and side tables. All considered, it was surprisingly luxurious considering the accommodations everyone had endured for the past several weeks, save for the brief days in Anvil.

Now free of obligations for the evening, the companions were free to discover Gilane at their own leisure and decide where their paths would lead.

Character Creation Opinions/Methods/Discussion.

@Karkinos It can always be a bit of a crapshoot if people make it past the interest stage, and if they do apply, if they stay interested. Something I did in my current RP I'm running to start was have an open campfire collab for people to introduce their characters and socialize (since they were all working on the same job), and I think it really was a hit with people because they could hit the ground running and just go nuts while my coGM and I finished touches for the game proper. I think having little writing games and exercises to warm people up may have some merit, so I might expand upon that.

Character Creation Opinions/Methods/Discussion.

@Karkinos Best way, I found, to avoid the "too long to start" situation is to write out the intro post before the application deadline is done and then plugging in relevant characters and details afterwards so nobody's waiting for long. I also give deadlines for when the next move along post happens several days in advance to let people know to get a post up before then before the game goes and just keep a step ahead.

Character Creation Opinions/Methods/Discussion.

What is your opinion on character sheets?

@HaleyTheRandom

Pretty much essential if you want to have any sort of order and consistency to your roleplays. I like them because they give me something to reference when I'm writing because it's hard to remember all the details of every character, even my own, months down the road and I need to recall something, be it an appearance detail, a piece of seldom used equipment, skill, or part of their history that is suddenly relevant. A good character sheet also tells you who a character is and in my games, I request people have detailed histories with all important information, because I A) don't accept "it'll be revealed in the roleplay" as an excuse because chances are, it'll never come up and B) it prevents players from changing critical details about their characters later on, like conveniently adding stuff that contradicts what was approved or giving themselves a backstory point that would resolve or add a favourable condition to a character like, I don't know, suddenly a character is nobility and the guards are sworn to protect them or some shit.

You can also tell a lot about a person's ability to cooperate with a GM by how well they respond to criticism and suggestions during the review process of a character sheet, as well as how well they can craft a reasonably solid character. A big reason I ask for pretty involved character sheets is because I've seen way too many games go right into the shitter because GMs take anyone who applies or don't enforce standards, and suddenly you end up with personality clashes in games, power-gaming prone characters, cringy edgelords and Sues, and just generally a fustercluck that can ultimately drive players away from a game if everyone isn't on the same page to start. Best way to do that is to have a firm set of standards and expectations, review and give feedback on sheets, and filter out anyone who has a crap personality from the get go. If someone's willing to put in the extra effort in a character sheet and respond well to feedback, there's a good chance they're going to be a good fit for the RP, simple as that. If you aren't going to put any effort into a character sheet, why would I pick you over someone who did? There's plenty of games more your speed, I just build mine based on what I've found works over GMing for six years. I just don't want to deal with bullshit after the game launches and find out the player has an attitude, power or metagaming problems, or they can't be assed to read others' posts.

Faceclaims? Real life? Anime? Digital? Hand drawn? None?

One thing I've seen in other RPs I found really kind of cringy and awful is people using excessive faceclaims of actors or models or whatever and posting a lot of gifs all over their character sheets of this actor saying quotes or making expressions or whatever, it was distracting and it gave the impression that they cared more about the aesthetics of the actor rather than adding substance to the character itself. I don't like using real-life people for the most part, I do if it's required, but I personally don't care for it. I prefer semi-realistic artwork to be used, and crediting/ linking the artist if possible. I don't usually require an image in my games if you can't find something that works for your character, I always ask for a written description regardless. There's always minor details that a simple picture can't always convey. Main thing I ask people do is not use anime pictures because they're thematically jarring outside of the genre.

Color codes?

I'll do them if most people want them, but generally I find a game gets by just fine without them. Saves on formatting, at least.

What's the 'right amount' of images?

A profile picture, and images related to the character like what their armour and weapons look like, markings, tattoos etc. Visual references are amazing when they serve a purpose.

Freeform or GM provided code?

I usually do basic CS coding for players, but they're free to spruce it up as they see fit, so long as the contents remain the same.

Things that should be be included/excluded?

I'm not really a fan of "excluding" things, but basically the essentials for me are,

Name
Vitals (height, weight, age, race, etc)
Appearance
*Personality (depends on games, this is more describing quirks, tastes, mannerisms etc. than trying to force something arbitrary on a character that hasn't been played yet, I sometimes leave it out)
Background
Equipment
Skills
Miscellaneous stuff that doesn't fit in other categories

What is your character creation process? Is character creation just all together overrated?

Usually I start off with a rough idea of what I want to do with a character before I even start writing (something like a pacifist non-lethal character who fights with a staff and has a code against killing, or alcoholic tomboy mechanic who likes painting and practical jokes, or Lara Croft inspired relic hunter who is terrible at fighting but is an expert with a lockpick, for quick examples) and then I kind of work on the story aspects for them. How did they get to the point they're at during the beginning of the RP? They know this and this skill, how did they acquire them? Just keep asking a bunch of questions and keep filling in the answers as I go, and it kind of goes in a flow of "A happened because of B, which resulted in C" where the story covers the major life shaping events and experiences that happened to the character, and what the result was.

For example, "Tim became fascinated with street racing due to an incident shortly after his 16th birthday where he escaped from his rivals on his way back from night classes by car jacking someone at a set of lights and narrowly escaping death at the hands of his pursuers and his inexperience behind the wheel and found it awoken an incredible high", or whatever. Just give context to why a character knows what they do, why they can do what they do, and for the love of god, give them some friggin' character flaws. Do this enough times, covering the bases from their formative years to the present, and you've got a pretty details backstory that should be logically consistent and gives weight to the other aspects to the sheet. I want to know why Hector the Well-Endowed is the greatest swordsman in the Southern Hemisphere; simply making the claim and not giving any context is lazy and uninspired. It also tells me that you want your character to be a super badass without having to give merit to it or have them sword-chop their way through every situation with ease.

From there, it's a matter of figuring out what kind of skills and equipment make sense in the context of the character, and the appearance can be done at any time depending on inspiration or drive. I do try to streamline a lot of the content and not involve a lot of filler details for brevity's sake, but a character sheet acts as a resume for any roleplay. It shows you give a shit about making a good impression towards commitment and interest rather than winging it and joining on a whim.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Gold was everything, and after everything Do’Karth witnessed, he was suddenly repulsed by its lustrous hue. The Sload had amassed an impossible collection of the precious metal, and it was evident the creature worked where he slept, and how many unwilling bodies were forcefully grafted with the material to satisfy the monster’s twisted tastes? Perhaps it was the blood that still filled the Khajiit’s mouth with copper, but he wanted no part in any of it. However, a pragmatic part of his mind reminded him that all of it was valuable and could be bartered with; Sevine might also fancy some of the jewelry, herself. Not particularly being picky, Do’Karth grabbed a handful of the necklaces and amulets and shoved them into his budi, limping all the while and using his staff for support.

The airship lurched, the damage dealt in the skirmish evidently throwing it into its death throes. Despite his injuries, Do’Karth’s body naturally adjusted to the shift in balance as he stepped outside and looked at the churning water below; his gut sank and fear began to grip his heart. He was terrified of the open ocean enough without injuries, but now a voice rang through his mind like a dull ache.

You will die.

The Khajiit shuddered, and not just from the cold. The ship around him was tearing itself apart, lurching from the explosions and chains ripping themselves from their moorings, any safe passage down was gone and it left a few stranded souls to contemplate their very limited chance at escape. At least the airship was losing altitude; the drop likely wouldn’t kill them if they waited long enough, but it seemed that each second was begging to be engulfed with flame. Do’Karth closed his eyes and muttered a silent prayer, hoping to find the strength to survive and make his way back to the Tear and Sevine, who must have been worried sick about him. He heard the sailor jump, and soon vaporize in yet another in a seemingly endless string of explosions and found that he didn’t question his mortality anymore; he just wanted to see his love again one last time.

Another violent explosion nearly threw Do’Karth off of his feet, and it felt like his insides were tearing themselves apart with the sudden motion, causing him to scream out in pain; the brutalizing he’d endured still caused him anguish, but he was alive and moving. Grabbing onto the gunwale, the ship lurched and suddenly began to tear. It was coming apart, and it was clear he could not remain. As the first half of the airship broke into the surface, Do’Karth forced himself over the gunwale and he stared at the brackish water below, feeling as if it would be the last sight he’d seen.

It rushed up to greet him, and he closed his eyes. The impact rocked him, his entire body burning with agony from the impact, and as he screamed, water filled his lungs and he knew then that he was going to drown. His staff was clutched in his hand, the hardwood miraculously buoyant enough to pull him upwards, and he knew there was a direction he needed to go, but he wasn’t sure if he had the strength or the will to go there. All around him was black, except for the fires and the light above; why would he want to go back to that place? All the anguish and suffering, it could just end if he let his lungs fill up and soon it wouldn’t be agonizing.

Still, despite this, his body thrashed on its own accord, panicking at the lack of oxygen, trying against all reason to stay alive. The bubbles escaping his lungs floated upwards, and he knew then where he needed to go, and in a desperate effort, he kicked up hard to try and break the surface. When he did, he tried to breathe in deep, but his lungs were still filled with salty death, and he coughed, struggling between trying to take in breaths and exhaling the water, not knowing what to do. He felt himself growing weaker, and the struggling grew less and less, and his eyes began to shut.

Suddenly, a pair of hands jerked him by the collar, and his eyes opened once more, seeing the face of the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen before, her hair as bright as fire. Despite himself, he tried to smile, and his eyes shut once more, not sure if the voice calling his name was Sevine or something in his mind.

The inky darkness swallowed him, and it all went dark.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

A Shaft and Dervs production
Anvil Habour, 22st Second Seed, sunrise…

Sleep had not come easily that night, despite how bone tired Daro’Vasora felt from the travel. Paradoxically, the comfortable and clean room had felt strange and uneasy compared to her far more improvised sleeping arrangements the past several weeks, pitching tents and sleeping on bedrolls on uneven ground. It probably also didn’t help that Roux, one of her more persistent rivals and two-time paramour, had found her and covered her room expenses for three nights in exchange for ripping her off on the second occasion by stealing King Greklith’s scepter from under her nose while she slept. It wasn’t exactly a fond reunion, but it was a part of the game with people in their trade; trust nobody, but use them when you can. You win some, you lose some, but the losses lingered like bruises on your reputation and pride, and she vowed to never let herself be screwed over like that again. The only reason she even listened to him the night before was that she couldn’t afford not to, she simply didn’t have the money.

The light of Magnus began to creep across the city behind her, illuminating the far reaches of the Abecean Sea before creeping ever closer to the harbour itself, the masts of great ships catching the light like tree trunks competing for energy. She sighed, both caught up in the romantic imagery of a good sunrise, and thinking that maybe her ruthless ability to cut attachments was in fact a bit of a character flaw. She didn’t even say anything to Latro; she had been so angry and caustic towards Rhea, wanting to cut as deep as she could, that she lost herself in the moment of triumph and never looked back. A wave of guilt washed over her. Daro’Vasora never meant to abandon him, especially after reuniting with him at Elenglynn, but life wasn’t the typical light-hearted adventures she typically enjoyed, and she was at a loss for herself and what to do.

Some gulls squaked overhead, looking like their biggest problem was fighting over fishermen’s scraps, and she considered how lucky they were that that was the only problem they faced in any particular day. For someone with such a rigid and twisted heart, it was beginning to get so wound up that it was beginning to hurt.

“You wouldn’t have even said goodbye, would you have?” Latro stood behind her, fist shaking under its own tension. His view of her on the docks stood blurry and black against the spreading fire that was sunrise. To think that she had made him think he was as important to her as she was to him made him feel like the lowest fool to walk the streets. The same fool braying and bleating to every passerby about the friend he’d lost, how she was this tall, the color of her eyes, the shades of her fur, her name. All parts of her that he missed with each stranger’s utterance of no or a disinterested shrug, each a boulder on his chest. “I looked for you last night.”

He stepped closer, “I looked for you in the Imperial City. When I came to among the Rangers, the first thing I asked about was you.” Now he stood next to her, not knowing whether to grab her by the shoulder and ask her not to leave or to yell his blessings to her flight in her face and trudge back from where he came. “Say something to me.”

As if he were an apparition that could will himself into existence by thinking about him, Latro was suddenly upon Daro’Vasora, startling her. She turned to his voice, the angst and despair etched across his face, his tense body language, she couldn’t bare to look upon him without shame filling her. “Latro, I…” her words faltered. Her arms wrapped about her waist, her teeth ground against each other. “You didn’t deserve that. You deserved better than what I did, who I am. I’m not a good person, I’m selfish, I’m grieving, I don’t know what’s real anymore, and after everything, all I can think about is how it’s all because of Rhea. I never meant to walk away, I guess I thought either you’d be there still, or we’d find one another again. I’m so used to people coming and going out of my life, or betraying me, I never saw myself becoming that person.” The words just came out, like a dam breaking. She leaned back against the rope-bearing post and slid down, not trusting her legs to support her. She felt small, wanted to be small. She expected tears, but everything was happening too fast, her body simply didn’t know what to do. “I guess sorry is meaningless, yeah?”

“What were you even going to do?” He threw his arms at his side and shrugged, “Wander alone forever? Find another group to abandon? Or were you just going to walk fast and hope I could catch up?” He added in under a growling breath, “Or that I’d fucking want to after that?”

He wiped the first of the tears of anger and resentment away with a sleeve. Sniffling, he looked out beyond the coast and shook his head at the audacity of the woman before him. How dare you, he wanted to ask, how dare you treat my trust and kindness like a leisure trip to end whenever you fancied it. “What happened to all those good, good words about the cave? About the lute?”

“I meant it all.” She replied, her voice sincere. She looked up to meet his scornful gaze, letting it burrow into her soul. He deserved at least that much. “I don’t know what the plan was, I suppose trying to find something familiar and comfortable. I just had to get away from the others, the constant death that follows it. Zegol would still be alive had Rhea not fucked around with Dwemer technology, I’d still have a home, and I wouldn’t have been dragged into this bloody war that was started because our fearless, stupid leader decided that she knew better than everyone else. I appreciate you, above all else, and I genuinely care about you. I just… I don’t know how to reciprocate that. I just ran into a man I used to run jobs with, he paid for my inn room. We had a thing I thought might have been romantic. As soon as we found something valuable, and I mean you could buy a nice lakeside house valuable, he got me drunk enough to pass out and when I woke up, him and the artifact were gone. Weeks of research and setting up an expedition, gone. He gave me a pity charity because the asshole now owns a ship and had some semblance of a soul, I suppose.”

She sighed, her gaze returning to the cobblestone street she sat upon. “Look, I’m only telling you this because I’ve been where you’re standing, and I want you to know I never meant to be like him. I never think far ahead, I get focused on a singular thing and pursue it at the expense of everything else. I don’t know how to really process someone actually giving a shit about me that wasn’t Zegol or my family, I set out to hurt the person I thought deserved it, and didn’t stop to think how it would hurt you, too. I’m not a good person.”

He couldn’t help but bite his lip to stifle the shuddering little breath at the mention of Vasora running off on a half-cocked romantic tryst without even a word to him. A reflex, like yelping when you’re cut. “All I fucking hear is that this is all Rhea’s fault. Maybe. Maybe you’d still have a home and Zegol would still be alive and there wouldn’t be that fucking light in the sky. If we didn’t do something, who’d be still alive to go to that home?” Latro frowned, letting himself lean on the ropes, “I’m glad I’m alive. I’m glad I saw you and the others when I was with the Rangers. And I’m at least a little glad you’re alive too, even if you decided to fuck off with somebody else at the slightest coaxing.”

“People might be pieces of shit in the places you go, Sora, but don’t you ever go insulting me like that. Zegol and your family might be the only ones you feel you can trust, but...” Latro gritted his teeth, “To some of us, this right here is the only gods damned family they have left in this shit world.” He looked at her with something softer and more vulnerable than hate or resentment then, “You can’t possibly fathom a world where someone could trust you with their life and hold to that. Look at me.” He whimpered, arms out at his side as if trying to convince her he wasn’t a hallucination, “Just start. Fucking. Trying.”

“Nothing happened. I didn’t run off with anyone; he cornered me and shoved money at me, that’s it. You think I’m going to run off with the same asshole who gave me the same trust issues we’re talking about right now?” she shot back. “You misunderstand me.” Daro’Vasora grunted, getting back to her feet. She was still quite a bit shorter than Latro, but at least this was more even footing.

“I never meant to leave you, and I wasn’t going to. I meant what I said, I just… it was a lapse of judgement in the moment until I could gather myself. You’re with the same people for weeks and weeks, you don’t just feel like you cut ties immediately when you leave. I guess a part of me always thought we’d find each other pretty quickly, and I wasn’t wrong. And that’s what I am to you, family?” she asked quietly.

Latro may have gotten caught up in his emotions, but he wouldn’t show it when Sora stood before him, lending a dose of reality to his words. He swallowed when she finished, mind racing towards almost anything to say in the moment, but it dragged. Almost too long, when he slowly bridged the gap between them with a hand at a cautious pace, a finger hooking around one of hers, “The others, maybe. I...” He trailed off, only meeting her eyes in glances, “I’m fond of you, Sora. I have been since the lute, and it hurt me when you disappeared.”

Despite everything, the Khajiit smiled at that. “I don’t give gifts easily. For me, it was the dashing Breton who whisked me out of danger when we were neck-deep in a Falmer infested cavern, and maybe even a bit before that when I first saw you playing the music. I knew I couldn’t let that stand, the world is poorer without music, and it would be without you.” she chanced reaching out to touch his arm, hoping he wouldn’t recoil, despite the initial physical contact. “Latro, I don’t mean to do the things I do, and I meant what I said. I want to be better, to learn to trust again. Will you help me do that, to be the person who’s actually worthy of those things you said? It’s nice to know that someone who isn’t a greedy treasure hunter’s taken a fancy to me, and I’ve gone so long without anyone I can trust, I’m not sure if I remember how.”

“I would like that very much.” Latro smiled. He spared a thought to sitting back on the hard cobblestone but thought better, “As much as I appreciate the beauty of an ocean sunrise, I would like to sit on something that isn’t rocks. I won’t drag you back to the others. A stroll, then?”

“I’d like that.” She admitted, adding, “And maybe something to eat. I’d like something that wasn’t pulled out of the bush.”

The two of them continued along the boardwalk, the city starting to wake up around them with the rising sun, which now illuminated the majority of the harbour and brought a bit of warmth. “I really am sorry, you know.” she admitted, looking over to him. “I just need to make my own decisions for a while, not tag along with a group that’s just trying to survive under the guidance of someone I don’t think is qualified for the job. I want to regain some semblance of the life I had, you know?”

“I do.” He said, scratching at his chin, “And I’m sorry for attacking you from the first word. We’re all a bit tense with everything. The Dominion, The Dwemer, the world’s closing in on us and… Well, I’m trying to clutch onto whatever normalcy I had before this too. So much that I lost sight of how this is making even you feel.”

Admittedly, highly emotional outbursts like these left one drained and hungry, Latro was no exception. When they passed by a vendor in the town square just setting up shop, Latro handed over all the coin needed for two meat and vegetable skewers. As he and Sora waited for the meat to cook, all the while stomachs growling ever more intensely from the smell of the seasoned meat, he couldn’t help but appreciate the port city once again after it had been so long since his last visit. It remained to be said that some of the wonder at seeing a city so full of grandeur had dulled after his first visit to the White-Gold City, but after everything, he breathed in this little moment peace and serenity as readily and with as much pleasure as the smell of the food. “It’s been some time since I’ve walked these streets. The last time I was here was with my mentor. He planned to duel the local fencing master in a contest of longswords but it turned out the woman had taken to the road for the same reason, albeit with the fencing master Cheydinhaal.” He smiled, remembering a time when things were so different from this, “We spent our time here instead with one of his many far-flung friends, a graduate of the Bard’s College all the way from Skyrim. These skewers have called my name ever since, I think.” He chuckled. “Did you and Zegol ever visit?”

She managed a quick few bites while Latro spoke, chewing quickly and swallowing before speaking herself. “Mostly me, but I came alone about a half dozen times, a lot of it because I enjoy the climate, but expeditions and research brought me out this way. Port cities are the best place to network and get leads. Zegol and I came here when I first moved in with him, he thought the experience would be a good one for me and he had to pick up supplies from a shipment, it cost him a lot less to go there himself to pick it up than to hire a courier, his shop was just really getting its footing around that time.” She smiled. “It’s always been a good memory for me. You know, I’ve heard about those fencing competitions happening a couple times when I was in town. It’s strange to think if I bothered to watch, I might have recognized you when we met.”

She was quiet for a moment, considering her words. “So, what’s next? For us, I mean.”

“I’m not quite sure. We are in a port town, we could be anyplace in a few days’ time.” Latro shrugged. To be honest, leaving the others would lay a guilt on his shoulders he couldn’t take two steps under.

Stopping in her tracks, she took Latro by the arm. “Look, there’s something I need to say. Roux, the former partner I ran into, offered a job. I don’t trust him at all, but maybe it’s a chance for me to show you my world and get away from all of this insanity for a while. Go to Hammerfell, start fresh.” She sighed, putting her hands behind her head. “On the other hand? I’ve had my fill of ancient elves in my life for some time, and I still want to do something that can make a difference, but I don’t know if I can or not. Part of me wants to go back to Leyawiin to see my family, warn them about the Dominion and the Dwemer, the other part of me feels like I’d never make it. All I know is whatever I do, I want to make sure you’re with me, and if you think something’s wrong, no questions asked. I’m with you.”

“That means a lot to me.” Latro smiled, letting go a small chuckle, “We could go to Stros M’kai and hide for some time. Wait for the world to settle. If you can’t shake the urge to go back south, I’m with you.” Latro nodded.

A not small amount of relief washed over her as she met Latro’s gaze. “I suppose we’ll have to find ourselves a ship, then. I had a chat with my ancestors last night; they seem to think that I still have some role to play in the weeks ahead. I suppose we’ll have to see. We could pretend to accept Roux’s offer and ditch him as soon as we get across?”

Latro shrugged, “He doesn’t weigh heavy on my conscience. I’ve no qualms with doing that.” He bit his lip and sighed, looking off to nowhere in particular but thinking of the others, “The others do, though. Does our plan accommodate them or…”

As much as he wanted to be by Sora’s side, he couldn’t help but feel guilt slowly tighten its grip on his mind with every word. He didn’t want to seem ensnared by the bonds he’d made with the others, but they were just that- bonds. He looked to his friend, his eyes not telling of anxiousness or eagerness.

Her gaze shifted, the memory of the previous night’s events still fresh. Her mind raced over what they had told her, and a mixture of unfamiliar emotions flooded her.

These people, these friends of yours, do not turn your back on them and discard them like so many others. Walk the path your heart tells you and you will never make a wrong step; should you choose, and should you learn to trust and embrace those around you again, you could do great things, Daro’Vasora.

Shani-ko’s words materialized in Daro’Vasora’s mind like a starburst. Maybe it was time to walk a different path, or at least try to find it. “Well, at the very least, we should find them again and hear that they have to say. The goal was to get to safety, and that’s been achieved. Maybe it’s time to part ways, maybe it’s time for something new. I’ve kind of found that life doesn’t want me to do things in a tidy little box, so one step at a time. However,” the impish grin found her way across her features as she winked at Latro. “I’m glad you agree about Roux. There’s something rather poetic about gaining his trust and then stabbing him in the back when he’s most vulnerable. He’s a real piece of work, and no amount of coin or bauble is going to make amends for what he did to me. So how about this; we agree to his conditions to charter the ship and tell him that we’re taking his offer and turn that around and let others know that we’re leaving and they’re welcome to come along if that’s what they want, and part ways amicably with them if that’s what they choose. Everyone wins, everyone’s happy.” She proposed chipperly.

“I hope that’s how it turns out.” Latro muttered just loud enough. He gripped his own arm and sighed, managing to at least take a bite of his skewered meat and chew with his thoughts, “I’m with you. Let’s go and do just that, soon. It’ll be better for everyone if we propose it sooner rather than later. We both disappeared without warning.”

“It’s part of my charm, really.” Daro’Vasora said, her own attempt at light hearted banter coming up short. She let out a heavy sigh. “I need to work on that, I’m not used to being invested in people.”

“Well, we’ll get there.” Latro chuckled. He took another bite of his skewer, gesturing to a nearby bench, “For now, we can sit. I’m not quite ready to take on the load of this daring escape yet.”

Taking his cue, Daro’Vasora made her way to the bench and took a seat, realizing how much her legs felt like weights. She’d probably walked more the past month than she had in a year, and now she wasn’t constantly in danger, it was beginning to weigh down on her after rest. “Well, tomorrow we can become sick of ships and former partners. It feels like we’ve been doing this for a lifetime now, I never could have imagined that this all would have happened when I took what was going to be an easy and probably boring contract with abnormally high pay. I need to start reading the contracts better.” she remarked dryly, sighing. “I’m sorry I made you worry, like I didn’t care how you felt. It wasn’t it, it’s just a reflex at this point. I’m not used to sticking around when things get heavy, learning how to handle the problems of the living were always so much more tedious than stealing from the long dead. They tended not to come back and murder me in earlier gigs.”

“I know how easy running can be, truth be told. Not everything easy is right.” Latro shrugged with his smile, “But, damn it, easy always sounds better. I never got on well with my father and after some of the deeds I’ve done, my mother lost hope in me. I’m glad I found Francis, and I’m glad I found you. So, if there’s one thing you won’t be able to run away from it’s my companionship.”

“If anything, we can all run together. I mean,” Latro chuckled, “it’s what we’re about to do, anyways. I’ve fought for lost causes before and the Dwemer first, then the Dominion? As much as I hate to say it, the cause seems lost. The Gods rest Kylian’s soul, but I don’t know what hope there is in the Rangers. I only ever joined them to avenge you.” Latro smiled, “By your presence here now, I’d say you don’t need that yet.”

That made her heart skip a beat, wrapping her arms around her waist, she looked away to conceal the bashful expression that surely dominated her face right now. “Well, I don’t think I ever had a dashing hero care enough about me to put his life at stupid risk because he thought I died. That’s definitely a first.” she looked over at him, blinking quickly as if trying to see Latro for the first time. “Do you really mean that? Why? I’m just some sharp-tongued cat with incredibly flexible ethics and a profound love of history. I’m not the kind of lady they write stories about.” she added quietly.

“When you find him, let me meet him. I’m not a hero, I’m just someone who fell in with this outfit. I did everything I did because it’s just the right thing.” Latro laughed, “But, I appreciate the sentiment, Sora. I mean everything I say, lying to you or anyone would be…” he trailed off as the irony of his own words touched him. She or anyone else he traveled with- even Francis- knew nothing of where he really came from, the things he really did. “It would be heartbreaking for me.”

Oh, look at that. My heart still works. she thought, feeling like a young girl again before letting a sheepish smile break through. “I’ll hold you to that, and I guess since we’re sticking together, we’ll have time to figure each other out along the way, dents and all.” Taking a chance, she leaned over, grabbing Latro by the chin and kissing him softly on the cheek once more. “Not all heroes wear shiny armour or refuse to curse, you know.”

Latro brushed his fingers along the cheek Sora kissed, nervously clearing his throat of nothing and placing his hand under Sora’s, “I suppose that’s true.” Latro nodded, “Do you think the heroes knew they were going to be heroes at the beginning of it all?”

“Gods, no. Anyone who seems to think that ends up becoming a tyrant or a serial killer, or die an early death. There’s a reason we only remember their names after they succeed. How many do you suppose died along the way trying to be better than they were?” She put forth, wrapping her fingers around his own. “I’ve read enough stories and heard enough tales to wonder why there were so few people worth remembering in all those who ever lived; takes quite a miracle to become someone worth committing to paper, it seems. Being uniquely chosen by the Divines also helps, and that certainly rules me out.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that just yet,” Latro shrugged, a small smile upon his lips as Sora’s hand gripped his own, “Someone needs to be their entertainment, and here we are.”

That prompted a rueful laugh. “So, I can win back the others’ affection with the power of music, huh? I burnt the bridges with Rhea more thoroughly than any siege weapon ever could. Besides, what’s really keeping us all together?” she asked.

Latro chewed his lip for a moment before he spoke, “Camaraderie?” Latro shrugged, “I just never thought to strike out on my own. It’d certainly be more dangerous that way. It helps I like the lot of you.” He smiled.

“What made you join the expedition? I never got around to asking before everything fell apart.” Daro’Vasora asked suddenly. “You always seemed like it was an odd pairing for you to work a job like that.”

“Money.” Latro answered simply, “Easy money. Or I thought. Until we almost drowned, what, twice? And blew up a mountain.”

“Stick with me, and I’ll become a monthly occurrence. It’s never a dull moment.” She replied with a wink.

“Honestly, since meeting you, it hasn’t been a dull moment even when you weren’t around.” Latro chuckled, “But good songs a boring time never makes.”

She leaned over, whispering into his ear, “Find me at the Frisky Dolphin later tonight and I’ll show you a good time.” She said in a sultry tone. Standing up, she stretched like nothing happened, staring off at the horizon with a grin on her face. “Now, what do you say we find our wayward flock of misfits and see if they feel like swindling my ex?”

“That sounds delightful.” Latro said, before standing with Sora, “Finding our band of merry misfits, I mean.” After a moment of walking, he turned to Sora, “Is the Frisky Dolphin even real?”

“One way to find out,” she purred, flicking her tail in front of his nose before heading back the way they came. “Now, if you were a bunch of well-intentioned idiots with poor life choices, where would you go in a city that isn’t on fire?”

Star Wars - The Old Republic: Legacy

Spoopy and I write stuff for fun

Some people just were ungrateful by nature, and Woosie certainly fit that bill. No “thank you, Zekha” or “I do questionable things when I’m drinking with strangers”, but instead a look of disgust crossed her otherwise appreciable features that weren’t connected to the things jutting out the back of her head. “Chubas? Really? Yoka to Bantha poodoo.” the Twi’lek said, prompting the Dug to roll his eyes in a fashion that a father might make when his unruly child refused to eat vegetables. He picked one of the squirming amphibians up and bit its head off, chewing obnoxiously all the while.

“You’re welcome, also, you don’t have much room for being a judgemental prick considering your drink of choice tastes like fuel emission leaks.” he managed between bites, shoving the rest of it in his elongated snout and chewing more thoughtfully before continuing. “Do you own anything other than armour? I’m curious; I figured you’d appreciate something that pinches your ass less when you’re strutting about, scowling half of the cantina to death.”

“Eh, they watered it down if you ask me.” She replied plainly, taking another sip of her drinking and spiraling it around in her cup. But her eyes didn’t seem like they were focused on him or the glass. She continued sarcastically, “Now I wonder what your beady little eyes are doing around my ass and why you’d rather see me in pants.”

“I’m practically eye level with it, and you’re always eager to take the lead. My options are limited since it’s blocking off the scenery.” Zekha replied noncommittally, downing his current drink in a single go, sliding the glass away from him on the well-polished surface.

“Who’s your friend? He looks a little stiff.” She added. It was suddenly clear who she was studying at this point, appraising the older gentleman beside Zekha who was wearing some telling brown robes. Woorah leaned back in her chair and propped her foot up on the bar as if she was relaxed, but the movement in itself had subtly placed the position of her blaster holster right next to her hand. The spinning the glass of Nacroleth in her other hand was a diversion.

The bartender seemed as if he was about to walk up and bark at her for propping her feet on the counter before noticing this himself and instead said nothing. He turned around and watched carefully, silently, as he continued cleaning glasses and preparing drinks.

Ugh. Jedi, nothing but trouble and smug cult ramblings. They don’t even pay for jobs well, pricks. Zekha thought, wishing he immediately had another drink to down. He wanted to find contracts, yes, but this seemed unfair. He gestured to the bartender for another drink, glancing at his partner. “Oh, this should be great.”

"Excuse me there, pardon my assumption but you have the look of a mechanic..." the voice came, low and vaguely threatening. At least it wasn’t the self-righteous bullshit the Dug had come to expect to those who wore those robes, but it did make him tense up and eye the lightsaber on the man’s hip with profound skepticism. He’d heard Jedi had a sort of precognition for what their adversaries did, and it was how they were able to deflect blaster shots with deadly precision, and if Zekha were to pounce on the man to make his ugly flat face flatter, he’d likely be skewered with the blade before he mentally decided to do just that. A morbid part of Zekha’s brain wondered what colour the blade that killed him would be. All he had to do was whistle and his drone would unleash a shock prod on the man, but that would only buy a couple seconds at most, which was ample time for Woosie to put a hole in the man’s chest.

Deciding he wasn’t completely left without options, Zekha regarded the Jedi with an annoyed gaze. To be fair, it was pretty standard for him.

“Best mechanic and engineer you’re going to find in this sector or the next, you have an eye for talent, I see.” He leaned forward, bringing his face closer to the Jedi’s. “But knowing your type, Jedi, you couldn’t afford my services.” the Dug replied scornfully.

The signature rumble of something likely very expensive detonating caused the cantina to shake somewhat, the glassware shaking with the filtered concussive force. Woorah looked around curiously, as if to ascertain where it came from. Suddenly, the Jedi’s young protege, a young girl (of course it was; lecherous creep), urging him to come take a look at something. The man looked annoyed in contrast to the girl’s rather alarmed expression and he excused himself. Zekha drummed his fingers on the bar table, watching the pair go. “So, Woosie… is it wrong I’m curious to see if that was theirs?”

“It better be theirs.” Woorah remarked dryly, but the apathy in her voice was betrayed by a look of minor worry. A perturbing thought intruded on her mind that perhaps it was possible that something went wrong in the construction of one of her own demolitions and blew up her own ship. It wasn’t impossible -- only improbable. She thought herself too practiced to make such a rookie mistake, and if that was the case, then she ought to have her license revoked. Finally, she sighed and rocked herself from her seat and onto her feet, resting her hand on the grip of her blaster.

“Well,” she began, “now is as good a time as any to advertise our trade. We should probably expect trouble.”

Zekha snorted. “And I thought we just wore the blasters for show.” he remarked sarcastically.

The two made their way out of the cantina, immediately being assailed by the acrid scent of combusting material and hyperspace fuel. They stood a bit behind the Jedi, recognizing the scrap as their own. The heat radiating off of the wreckage was intense, Woorah noticed, burning hotter than it reasonably ought to be. Zekha spoke,

“So I could fix that, but I charge by the hour and I might retire from old age before I’m done. Alternatively, if you want to find who did this, you’re in luck. We’re the best damned bounty hunters you’re going to find before the trail goes cold.”

“Whoever was responsible used thermite explosives.” Woorah commented, looking at a puddle of molten metal that was collecting underneath the vessel. “That much damage on a ship of its size suggests it’s high-yield. Probably 53-R, it’s what I would use. Czerka Arms’s influence, even here on Eriadu, makes it pretty affordable.”