Dervish

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Mercy

A Stormy and Dervs collab

Gilane Docks, 9th Midyear 4E208, sunset...

It’s a strange feeling, knowing you’re going to die. Stranger yet is being at peace with it.

Zaveed had tried to stay alive the best he could, mind you. He broke into an alchemist shop and drank a health potion within an hour of his duel and escape from that Nadeen creature and the monstrous Gregor, and while it stopped his bleeding and held him together, it didn’t replace his lost blood nor mend most of his wounds; the axe strike and being impaled by the greatsword should have been fatal wounds, but his determination to live kept his body going when it was resigned to fate. People fled him when they saw the ghastly wounds and trail of blood, the axes on his hips, and the crazed looks in his eyes. It was okay; they were not the company he wished to keep.

It was when he lost consciousness and collapsed that he knew that their company would have been infinitely greater. A world of darkness and inky voids appeared, and his own hands and arms appeared coal black with traces of blue energy imbedded to his flesh; he looked like the legions of other Khajiit in this land of perpetual darkness and cold, where the walls seemed to crawl with spiders and worms, and scores of sick and pestilent people wandered aimlessly, coughing and vomiting up sickly bile, but it was the Khajiit that stood out; the Dro-M’Athra, he knew. It was the Bent Cats that fell to the Dark Behind the World, Namiira’s realm, that worked the cold forges and served her dark bidding. They were Khajiit that lost their connections to the twin Moons and Lorkhaj, never to feel warmth again nor the taste of sugar. Their personalities were gone, any sense of the individuals that they had once been erased to the Scuttling Void. Their hideous helms looked stitched together, like some gruesome scarecrows, their armour very similar to that of the Khajiiti warriors in the Confederacy, but glowing with the same blue energy that permeated their skin. The longer he stared into the Dark, the more of their eyes turned to him. Hands reached out to grab him, and before they touched him, his eyes awoken again, the warmth of Gilane’s coast filling his nostrils and bringing him to life for a moment longer. He’d seen the Dark Behind the World, and he knew it was where his soul was claimed.

He was about to lose everything that made him Zaveed, and he knew it was up to him to use these last minutes well. Coughing up blood and forcing himself off the ground with his bleeding knuckles, Zaveed forced himself up, following the same path that he’d taken with Sevari not long ago to see the ship that had brought his sister to Gilane. The sister he’d failed to save, to redeem himself. There was no time to fight, nor scream, nor cry. He would be gone soon, and he knew that Marassa was better than him. He knew she’d survive anything, she had to.

One of them had to carry on for Sevari.

The sun was starting to dip down into the horizon, and it wouldn’t be long until the last light he’d ever see in this world would be swallowed by the sea. He couldn’t take his eyes from it, and he saw the dancing of waves shimmering in Magus’ brilliant light. The sea was home to him, it always was. What he wouldn’t give for one last voyage to sea, it was where he was meant to live and die. At least the docks meant he was close, and he’d be able to sense his home one last time. He looked up and saw Masser and Secunda above, the twin moons that were his people’s gods, where all good Khajiit went when they died. He knew for most of his life he’d never walk that moonpath, nor taste the endless dunes of sugar and the land of endless warmth. He never cared for the idea of his ancestors, if his mother and non-existent father were anything to go by; he was simply the last of a line of bastards that shouldn’t have even been born.

He was okay with that.

He set down against a bundle of nets, looking at the setting sun, a smile upon his face. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the last peace he was ever going to know.

---

What had seemed like hours of searching Gilane for Gregor had brought her finally to the docks. Such a beautiful and peaceful view that was exactly the opposite of how she felt inside. He had told her earlier that he had been going to the hotel to collect his belongings, that was a long time ago, and she had felt in her gut that it had been a lie. It had been a lie worrying enough to coax her from the hiding place of their inn room after days of being cooped up in there. Did he truly think her to be dumb?No, not Gregor. But she knew that he had gone tracking for the Khajiit. For Zaveed. He had been desperate for the scent of him since the first night she confessed to her Imperial Knight what had happened. In fact, she had been the one to really dangle that piece of meat in front of him - something she deeply regretted now that she had completely lost all sense of where he was. She sighed out at the ocean longingly. “Where are you my love?” she whispered aloud as she clutched at her chest where her heart was.

As she held herself there, she heard a gurgling, rasping cough to her left and behind her - she turned and saw him. How could her search lead her to Zaveed and not Gregor? He looked minutes from dying - covered in blood and his face seared with pain. She tilted her head to the side and moved towards him - drawn to him in this state. All at once, she felt powerful and had forgotten what she had been looking for entirely. He was there, dying. Her abuser, the monster from her nightmares. The one who had stripped her of her power and happiness. She stood before him - blocking his sight from the glorious view he had been enjoying so much. “Well well well…” she growled, almost unsure of where it came from, her brows furrowing as her eyes narrowed to thin slits with hardened steel in them.

His blue stare slowly shifted from the brilliant hues of the sunset to the figure standing before him… over him. He looked up at Raelynn, realizing who it was and in spite of himself, he smiled genuinely as he studied her brilliant golden locks in the Gilane twilight. “Hello, my dear. Care to join me in appreciating the view? I suspect it might be my last one, I was not anticipating company.” He said quietly, coughing hard into his hand, which came back red. He chuckled, embarrassed. “My, how undignified. I wish I could have cleaned up first, but unfortunately, it is outside of my ability now.”

She smirked at the audacity of it, “I’m not your ‘dear’, and I’d rather not. I’d rather look at you in your last moments. The sunset occurring in your eyes, if we want to be poetic.” She folded her arms across her chest and studied him with a scrutinous glare. “I did warn you about him didn’t I? Now look at you.” It pleased her to see Zaveed torn and shredded like this, but the fact that he was somewhat content with it sullied the integrity of that feeling. “You’re not quite dead yet though are you?” She said in a cold, monotonous tone as she lifted her foot and kicked at him just enough to shock his body with a sudden jolt of pain again. “Almost there though, I know that much…”

The kick jolted a pained hiss through clenched teeth, but made no attempt to shield himself. He tried to glance back at the setting sun. “I will not sully your moment. You deserve this, I am at your mercy. Do with me as you please.” he replied, looking up to meet her gaze. “You were right about him, but I was right about you, wasn't I? I am happy to see you escaped. I rather hoped you would, unharmed.” Zaveed said, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. “You were never in any danger from me. I resent that you forced me to hit you. I was going to come back and send you home on a ship, away from all of this.” staring down and shutting his eyes, he whispered, “Away from me.”

She kicked him again, harder this time, her foot catching him between the ribs - and yet - there was no pleasure in it. He’d already given up. His words disgusted her, and her lips turned over gritted teeth into a snarl. She sank down to his level. “Why?” She asked him, her voice barely more than a whisper now, “why do you care so much what happens to me?” Her eyes travelled down to his waist, at the dagger sitting on his belt - she reached for it. Clasping it in her hand and pulling his precious possession away. It was the one he’d driven through the heart of Roux. “Don’t act like you resent anything you’ve done to me, I certainly didn’t force you to do anything. We always have a choice. Besides, I thought you were proud of what you’d turned me into…?” She twirled the dagger in her hand with the point of the blade sat against her fingertip and she turned her eyes away from him to watch where the tip almost pierced her skin. She was distant, still no warmth lay in her eyes. Just emptiness.

Tears welled in Zaveed's eyes, and when he looked up at Raelynn again, he smiled apologetically. ”I made a terrible mistake. I am so sorry.” he coughed again, the pain in his chest searing unimaginably; her boot connected where the axe had. “I never thought I'd utter those words, I have never apologized for anything I have ever done. Not once. Ever since that first day we met, the day I hurt you, I have been haunted by it, by what I've done. You reminded me of who I was long before I became Captain Greywake, before my own innocence was destroyed by those I trusted.” the tears flowed freely now, but his gaze did not waver. “I just wanted to be an entertainer… I wanted people to love me. You… you were someone that I visited horrors upon that I had endured in a fashion from those who held power over me. For once in my life, I saw the consequences of my actions. It was way too late.” he smiled, blood running through his lips. “Keep the blade. It suits you… it's the only thing left of my life that meant anything to me. It was my freedom, a symbol of overcoming my oppressors. Use it in turn.”

He was… apologising? Really? That drew her forward, her softer side, her compassionate side. She clenched her jaw, how dare he? His story was sincere - he had no reason to lie now, and hearing it took the breath from her. Everything froze, she didn’t blink or move - the dagger stopped twirling on her fingertip. She remained motionless for a while - the only thing she could feel was her heart racing in her chest - pumping hot blood throughout her entire being. “Don’t say that…” she growled from the back of her throat, tears forming in her own eyes at his admission, at the emotional outpouring - it struck her too. The weight of the words and the absolute sincerity of the dying Khajiits apology. She couldn’t help herself - she had to take the parts that he took and stole and destroyed from her back.

“You don’t fucking mean it-” she hissed through her gritted teeth, without really thinking for pause she drove the knife into a spot between his ribs exactly where she had kicked him with determination. The way it created a new wound and just slipped into him as if he were butter, she could see why he liked and appreciated this dagger. Her own thoughts at that moment disgusted her and she flinched.

Immediately she regretted it. It was the sound of the flesh tearing that did it and she wanted to scream in his face - but even that she could not do, not even strong enough to admonish him in his last seconds. She was bored of his resolve, of his peace with death. She didn’t understand why he was just allowing this to happen. “Fight back, God damn you! Fight back!” Inches from his face, her eyes bore into his with a flaming intensity. A tone of desperation on her tongue. “Fight back!”

The blade sunk in, the final blow with his own weapon. His body was already in excruciating pain, the addition of another sharp puncturing his lung was just another reminder that he was still alive. It hurt to sob, but his body trembled and his nose ran as his vision blurred. He reached out, placing his hand over her own on the dagger’s handle. “Thank you.” he managed. His jaw grew limp for a moment before regaining his senses. He pulled the dagger deeper into his chest with a grunt, a pitiful yelp escaping his throat. “I just…” he wheezed. “Wanted to see… the sunset… a final…” the words choked him, and in his mind, he saw the darkness and blue lines reaching out for him again. They would take away everything that was rotten about him and replace it with something else. It was what he deserved, wasn’t it?

If he wasn’t going to fight then this was wrong, and yet the other option was not right either. She knew what she was about to do would indefinitely come back to haunt her. She knew it was wrong, but as she closed her eyes and took in one long, deep breath, she knew she had to do it. Killing him here right now wouldn’t give her back what she had lost - it would only take more of her away. Strip her down to someone she didn’t recognise. She was already halfway there, in her minds eye she once again pictured her child-self sat upon the shoulders of her father. That Raelynn would never do this, she still had a choice. She carefully removed the dagger from him, not moving his hand from hers and instead she placed her other hand on top of his almost comfortingly. She had told Zaveed in the warehouse that her compassion was her gift. That it was what separated her from the likes of him.

It was time to show him.

So Raelynn did as she had done many times before - with another long breath she let the flow of restorative magicka gather in both of her palms before allowing it to penetrate Zaveed’s flesh and work through his body to the wounds. It may have been the close proximity to the ocean, and that they could both hear the lapping waves breaking against the soft shore, but the magicka seemed to fall in and out of Zaveed like waves too. The golden light floating around him like an aura. She would give him just enough and no more than that.

She paused as she pulled her hands away and felt her lips trembling at the revelation of what she’d done. She swallowed down a bitter pill of regret and pain before opening her mouth and eyes again to speak, “every breath you take now…” she began as she ran her hand firmly up his arm to his shoulder, to his cheek, “is because of me.” Her tone was hollow - as if having helped him still managed to take her essence away.

“You are now alive because of me. Because of my compassion. Because of my mercy. Because I allow it.” It was horrible.

He would be alright - he might need rest and more potions soon, but his wounds were closed and he was out of the woods, she had removed him from the brink of death. How he chose to act now was on him. She tossed his blood stained dagger away from his reach and saw that his blood was on her hands too. To see it, staining her palms crimson - a reminder of what she had done… She couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t understand why she’d done it and Raelynn really didn’t feel any better at all.

Just as quickly as the claws of death had reached from him, they faded, and under her healing touch, Zaveed felt his body meshing, and the pain he had endured eroded away into little more than aches. He did not understand; why had she done this? He listened to her words, finding comfort in them, the hand upon his cheek. He looked at her with wide eyes, the sudden compassion and care for someone who had been so vile to her and people she cared for. Eventually, through aching lungs, he asked, “Why? Why would you do this for me?” he asked, bewildered and overwhelmed. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life, and she had chosen to forgive him enough, to let him live. It was overwhelming. “After everything I’ve done, and taken from you…”

“Because if I don’t… Then I simply become a monster like you, and my dreams become shattered like glass… Like yours did...” her voice was suddenly defeated - despondent, as if the choice between letting him die and letting him live bore the same consequence on her conscience. She blinked back tears from her eyes and got to her feet. Stepping back from him slowly as she attempted to pull herself together. The Breton’s eyes glazed over, suddenly cold and hardened again. “I want you to leave me alone now, and my friends too. I never want to see you again… Do you understand that?”

She continued to walk backwards from him, but there was a maelstrom of emotions within her that stopped her in her tracks, and as if some other force had taken over her body she charged back at him, diving to the ground on all fours, her hand grasping at his mane of hair to pull his face to the ground too. She felt much larger than she was - much more powerful and intimidating and without flinching she yelled into his ear ferociously like a sabre cat, “do you understand?” Her words cut through the silence like a sharp blade would through flesh. She gasped in fright at herself - not wanting to wait to hear his answer.

She was done now and completely exasperated, the Sun was about to set behind her on this day and the whole of Gilane was amber and glowing radiantly and yet she felt so full of shadows and gloom and hatred - for Zaveed, and even more so for herself. So she got back to her feet and began walking away from him for good this time, her heart heavy and mind clouded with confusion, her only desire now was to finally find Gregor. She knew somehow that he was not in any better shape than Zaveed had been. Time was running out.

Zaveed didn’t move, watched Raelynn go, a smile crept upon his face. “Perhaps I do.” he said quietly, humming an old sailor’s song as his eyes watched as the sun began to dip below the horizon. It wouldn’t be his last after all. The world became the most vibrant at this time of day, and the first of the stars made their appearance above. He stared up in wonder, as if seeing them for the first time. “Perhaps I do.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Shifting Sands

Three Crowns Hotel, Gilane, 9th Midyear, 4E208…

It had been a disastrous week, with numerous setbacks. The Poncy Man sat in his study, idly spinning a globe on his desk, a single streak of sunlight illuminating the Northern hemisphere of the globe. Idly, he thought of it like a cleansing fire of Satakal purifying the world of those who would do it ill, namely the Dwemer that had chased much of his people back into the sands and had forced them from their cities. The Alik’r were still active, somewhere, across Hammerfell’s vast landscape, which only gave refuge to those who understood its secrets and consumed those whom did not. The Dwemer were crafty, to be sure, and the Redguard alone could not withstand their machines of war, but the sands did not care how elaborate and well-tuned your machine was; it would fail all the same, as heat baked the alloys like a forge and sand would clog the clockwork gears. About the only thing that had any hope of success were the airships, but sandstorms would render their visibility moot and get into sensitive works of the machinery, an unwelcome result if one were several dozen meters from the ground.

And so, the Dwemer were content to call the cities their prize and proclaim the province as their own, but if stone walls and comfortable ports were the brain of Hammerfell, the sands and desert was the heart and capillaries. The Redguard understood it as a part of their own souls; it was something the damned Deep Elves would never understand.

He huffed in annoyance, turning his dark eyes to a stack of parchments, reports from the various cells under his watch. He was but one of a dozen leaders in the Alik’r Insurgency, and the representative of the Merchant’s Guild, and under him six cells had flourished, and the seventh… it was too new to know. Initially, Samara cell seemed like a sure bet; a bunch of companions who had prior operational experience and encounters with the Dwemer that had both the motivation and the incentive to get involved. Roux had vouched for his partner, Daro’Vasora, and finding available help was becoming increasingly difficult as the weeks drove on. Losses simply couldn’t be replaced.

After a pair of somewhat disastrous assignments, the Poncy Man wasn’t sure if he’d made a mistake or not. Supervision was required, that much was certain, which was why he’d activated Hassan and Nadeen to keep tabs on the group, although Hassan had been pulled off to deal with renegade elements that made up Irranhu Cell and had been unable to rendezvous with Samara Cell in the meantime, which he had ideally made more pliable and trusting after putting considerable expense into sponsoring a party for the group. Daro’Vasora had made a fairly sound argument that none of her group had any experience in the sort of work that was asked of them, and that they’d been constantly on the run for weeks. Perhaps they needed to be eased into it, be given some assistance from those with field experience in Gilane. It was a part of why Hassan was going to make contact and help orchestrate their next assignment, but it had been three days since his last report, and Nadeen was growing ever more suspicious of Gregor and Raelynn.

Picking through a few of the reports, numbers flowed across his vision as he tried to keep tallies of everything that had occurred the past two weeks. Twelve members of the insurency across all cells had been killed or captured, eighteen Dwemer soldiers were killed, one of the Dwemer administrators that Samara cell was supposed to capture, eight city guards, and three of the foreigners for the Ministry of Order. Rations were spread thin with disrupted supply lines, the Intrepid was lost with all hands, and the war chest wasn’t breaking even. They’d need to make a move to secure finances. Perhaps with those uniforms Samara cell acquired, they’d be able to infiltrate a storehouse…

The face of his wife appeared in the doorway through the curtain. “Pardon me, Darak, but Hassan is here. He looks grim.” she said, looking somewhat embarrassed to have interrupted. He smiled at her, his precious Laimi, and couldn’t imagine ever feeling inconvenienced by her. “Well, I best not keep him waiting, then. Could I bother you to prepare a pot of tea for us?” he asked politely.

---

Hassan closed the door behind him and removed the sword from his belt, placing it beside him as he sat at the Poncy Man’s desk. There was nothing but silence as he poured himself a cup of tea, taking his first sip before sighing. He took a second to appreciate the tastes and undertones of the tea, eyes closed. It was a few more moments of silence before Hassan opened his mouth, “I’m very much not fucking pleased with Samara Cell.” He said, he placed his cup down gently before continuing, “I met with Farukh in Irranhu Cell, their leader after Samir was put in the pits and well… died. He acted as if getting back into line and following orders was akin to agreeing to forty lashes. Now I want to give him fifty.”

The Poncy Man drank thoughtfully from his own cup, electing to hold it and the saucer delicately. “No, I would imagine not, and I am of the same heart. Did you decide to give him his fifty lashes?” he inquired.

“No, as much as I wanted to.” He shook his head, “I gave him a warning that I would come back if he didn’t toe the line again. We are in a sea alone, surrounded by sharks. We need to step carefully and step all at once with each other or not at all.”

“This cell system seems to make them think the Insurgency is all their own, in their own little worlds, rather than just a way for us to keep each cell from selling out the other.” He sipped at his tea, “Just give me the word and I’ll go back there and give them a reason to promote a new leader.”

“At your leisure.” The Poncy Man said, setting his cup and saucer down with care. “You may be right, but it also is the only way to ensure that if one cell is compromised, the others do not follow suit. What news is there of Samara cell?”

“Romantics. There are a few of them involved with each other.” Hassan spoke. “Nadeen has noticed an Ohmes-Raht around the Three Crowns more than once. Latro and Daro’Vasora returned to the Three Crowns after curfew followed by someone. A few days later, Latro was tailed by someone who looked like Redguard or some Mer.”

“Samara Cell ended their party and Nadeen was on watch, she noticed another person who may be the same one who had tailed Latro leaving as the party died down.” He shrugged, “Too many to be coincidence. I suggest we watch Latro closer.”

“Interesting…” The Poncy Man mused, knowing that the Ministry of Order was certainly making their moves. Could this Ohmes-raht be a part of Major Kerztar’s group? All of the agents that had been encountered in the field had been foreigners; it all seemed like too much of a coincidence. The romantic angle didn’t surprise him; they were not a professional army, and danger had a way of bringing people closer together. He quietly wished them good health and fortune, but so long as it didn’t interfere with their mission. Hopefully the party had helped loosen their trepidation towards him. “Agreed. When you approach them, I shall have Nadeen keep an eye from the shadows. You will see the hand they offer, she will see what is hidden behind their backs.”

A voice came out of the doorframe. “There’s trouble. Daro’Vasora and Latro have been captured by the Ministry, the Cathay with the axes. They were just marched through the streets to the palace; the girl was injured, arm broken. I was unable to ascertain where they had been apprehended.” Nadeen stepped through the curtain, stepping beside Hassan, her face ever impassive. “I do not know what their intentions with the prisoners are, but it is unclear what information they could divulge under interrogation.”

The Poncy Man made a steeple gesture with his fingers, staring past them as he contemplated the news. “Then we need to move quickly; do you feel Samara cell is capable without guidance, Hassan?”

“I do.” He nodded, “Above all else, they have a loyalty to each other. Let us wait to see what they do.”

Nadeen shuffled almost imperceptibly. It was the most subtle of signs she had something else on her mind.

“Speak, Nadeen.”

“It’s the Imperial, Gregor, and Raelynn. I suspect they’re up to something… unsavory. They’ve been sneaking off on their own, and not just for pleasure. I have my suspicions, but they conceal their tracks well. I would like to continue to pursue this avenue of approach.” Nadeen replied, a suspicious glint in her eyes.

“Very well. Hassan, I need you to make haste to Samara cell. They must be made aware of what has transpired; we must make a counter blow and soon. Irranhu Cell can wait. Let us hope they are not foolish as to attempt something brash. Nadeen, please exercise caution and continue your vigil. I count on you in ways that I could never entrust to another.” The Poncy Man said, standing. “Is there anything else?” he asked.

“Nothing of note.” Hassan bowed, “I’ll make my way to Samara’s dorms, get them to the conference room and we’ll plan something.”

“Very well. Safe travels, my friends. We know the path forward, just not the obstacles that may lay ahead.” With a nod, Hassam and Nadeen filed out of the room, leaving the Poncy Man to his study. He sat in quiet contemplation for several moments before pulling open a drawer, revealing a 40 year old vintage bottle of Stros M’Kai rum that he had intended to save for victory over the Dwemer. Sentiment is overrated. he thought, pulling out the cork and topping up his tea cup with the dark amber liquor.

If the Governor was intent on playing the game more violently, then he would return the favour. Pulling out a quill and inkpot, he began to write down the next steps to be relayed to his other cells. Gilane’s streets would run red with traitor and Dwemer blood alike, and the palace would become a burning beacon to inspire the Alik’r for leagues to take up arms against the occupiers. The long game could no longer wait, he decided, unrolling another parchment and reading its contents with destain. Bahia cell lost a full half of its members in a surprise attack two nights prior at an ambush in the docks, and the insurgency wasn’t replacing its numbers like it should have. He sighed, pouring himself another drink, wondering how many parties he’d need to host to keep morale up. Daro’Vasora had been onto something there, and then she’d been stupid enough to get herself captured shortly afterwards.

The Poncy Man drank deeply from the cup, emptying of the rum in a single go. There would be repercussions for this, he decided. The Governor would not go unanswered.

If only he could reign in the problematic cells and make something work in his favour. The people needed a victory, not a rabble of self-minded idiots committing inconsequential acts that were detrimental to the cause, like Irranhu cell. He’d hoped Hassan made his point very clear to them; they could ill afford another misstep.

---

Gilane Streets…

“For the record, I think this is a stupid idea. You’re overreacting, sir.” Marassa said, walking alongside the Thalmor emissary with her sword resting upon her pauldron and her amber eyes scanning the gathered crowd for threats. It was a strange city, and the demand to have the two murdered Indrik sailors receive a proper burial in the city and the argument that their ship was no longer a safe haven after the brazen attack, Erincaro had decided to petition the Governor for protection in the palace. It simply reflected badly to have political dignitaries to your city assassinated by rogue elements, and the Indrik simply wasn’t ready to make the voyage due to lack of supplies due to shortages caused by both the occupation and the insurgency. The Dominion was effectively trapped in harbour, and there was no real time frame for making it out to sea.

“You are the one who wished to get off of the ship and see the city, captain. “ The Altmer retorted playfully with a sly grin. “Besides, if your childhood crush is as dangerous as you claim and wanting to hang me from my intestinal tract from a lamp post because of something my father did long ago, I’d much prefer to take matters into my own hands before he discovers how flammable timber in the shape of a sea vessel really is. I’m versed in the school of Destruction, captain; I don’t fancy my odds of repelling flames that suffocate the air out of a hull.”

“As you wish, sir. Just know you’re making my job absolutely miserable. You know most of the local populace wants us dead for the Great War, right?” The Khajiit replied tersely.

“I recall it was I who personally taught you our history.”

“Well, let’s say I don’t fancy reenacting it.” Marassa said with a resigned sigh, deciding to change tacts. “The climate is agreeable, to say the least. Reminds me of Anequina, assuming someone actually decided to build cities instead of living largely as nomads.”

“Speaking of which, why is it you never earned an honourific like most of your race? It’s occurred to me from time to time you don’t really talk about the Confederacy very often nor Senchal. Everything has always been so immediate and I felt it inappropriate to ask something that might be constituted as indelicate.” Erincaro asked, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he marched at the head of the column. Marassa knew him too well to argue with how irresponsible it was.

“I was young when you saved me from that shithole of a city and I never much cared for looking back. Considering most of my compatriots since then have been elves, my birth culture never really had a chance to leave an impression. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve had moon sugar, or considered my people’s gods. It’s all been Auri-el this, Magnus that.” she said impassively, her eye catching something in the shadows of a building up ahead. “Hold up. I think-”

The arrow whizzed by her head, missing it by half a meter. “Ambush!” She shouted, and the Dominion soldiers began to form ranks around Erincaro as chaos erupted. Two of the Dominion soldiers were brought down as arrows found their mark, which prompted the mages in the outfit to retaliate with destruction spells from anything deemed to be where the archers were located, flames splashing across building faces as the alarmed crowds screamed in alarm. The shields caught a few more of the arrows, likely from only a small handful of archers, and only from a 180 degree field of fire. The attack was sprung early, Marassa decided.

Several loud yells and screams came from all sides, and several masked warriors with swords and spears charged at the Dominion soldiers, only wearing meager armour as to blend in with the populace. Marassa grunted and held her sword at the ready; she hated being right all of the time.

Bodies crashed into shield, and the disciplined soldiers of the Dominion held against the onslaught, the heavy armour many of the company wore shrugging off the glancing blows of the blades and spears while many of their blades found their marks; Erincaro, although unarmoured, was a masterful mage and the precision of the ice spikes between his soldiers was something commendable. Marassa grappled a spear away from her body and drove her head into the face of a spearman, staggering him enough for her to drive her blade into his guts, pulling through to catch another sword in a brief lock that she side-stepped out of, bringing her blade’s momentum behind her back and into an overhead strike that the fighter managed to catch. Another approached behind her, forcing her to disengage with the first fighter and igniting a magelight in the face of the second to blind the Redguard enough that he didn’t see the large blade come horizontally to decapitate him in a single strike of the blade. The first man’s sword scraped down her backplate, prompting a snarled curse and and thrown elbow that nearly connected with the man’s face. Her hand coalesced the blinding white light again, distracting the fighter enough that her gauntleted fist struck him across the face holding the greatsword, which she pivoted and drove the blade back into the man’s abdomen with both hands. He fell limp on her blade.

“Sergeant, find us an opening!” she shouted towards a Bosmer who favoured twin blades and Ferin, the Wood Elf quite at home in the middle of a mass skirmish.

“Aye, captain!” Came the reply as one of her daggers plunged into the eye socket of one of the men in front of her as the Khajiit soldier beside her was brought down with a spear to the neck. She cursed in her mother tongue and stabbed the murderer several times before the spear was able to free itself of her compatriot. Of the twelve guards, 5 were already dead to the 9 attackers, largely thanks to the assistance of magic and armour that the mostly Redguard force was bringing on them; had they been a regular Alik’r formation, the ambush would have likely been far more efficient and their warriors unmatched. This felt like rabble.

“The way we came, back alley, make us an entrance, J’Razri!” Ferin ordered the Cathay-raht in the ranks, who carried an impressively large maul and at over 2 meters in height was a force to be reckoned with.

“J’Razri will make a way!” he replied, driving his maul down on one of the warriors who foolishly tried to block the heavy weapon with the haft of his spear, but the weight and strength behind the blow knocked it aside and crushed his shoulder. The massive Khajiit grabbed the screaming man by the face and tossed him aside casually as he worked his way forward, a landslide made flesh. Now away from the formation, he was free to use the full range of motion of his weapon, and when it struck, it was sickening.

“Back him up! I’m with the Emissary!” Marassa ordered as her team moved into formation, two more of her unit killed in the process; one to the sharpshooter that Erincaro slayed a few moments later, and one of the mages was brought down by a trio of swordsmen. Marassa let out a war cry to engage, throwing her hand out and one of the fighter’s hands were encased in hard ash and the other found a shoulder driven into them to make space while the greatsword was brought up in a diagonal slash towards the third. Mercuran, an Altmer shieldman who fought with both spear and sword and showed very little magical aptitude across his life, bashed the ash-shelled fighter across the face with his shield and drove his spear into the chest of the wounded swordsman that Marassa had managed to wound with her sword. With two dead, Marassa drove her pommel into the man’s temple before turning her blade over and driving it up through the man’s neck; the strength of the blow and the width of the blade severed the spinal column and the head was retained only by sinews of flesh.

The big Khajiit had managed to secure a passage to the alleyway, but arrows were sticking out of him; he was not holding his maul as proudly as he could have been. “Shit.” Marassa hissed, grabbing Erincaro by the shoulder and leading him to the opening J’Razri had secured. Only Erincaro, Ferin, Mercuran, and herself made it to the opening, the rest of the unit had been slain in the streets. The only consolation was that they had taken down far more than they had lost, but even the loss of a single one of her soldiers in what was supposed to be peace time was unacceptable in Marassa’s eyes. “Well done, J’Razri. We need to go, now.”

“This one is not going anywhere.” The Cathay-raht had said, his breath heavy and blood was soaking through his armour plating. “Go, captain. Take the Emissary and live.” he nodded to the smaller Khajiit with a grin. “It was always J’Razri’s honour. May your roads lead you to warm sands, captain Marassa.”

“Walk the moonpath, brother.” she clasped him by the arm for a moment, meeting his gaze for a few moments before ushering the survivors away. J’Razri pulled his helm off, an impressive braid falling loose behind his head as he spat a glob of blood from his lips. He looked at the encroaching enemies with fierce determination. “You will go no further,” he challenged, slipping his helm back over his head. “The five of you verses a mortally wounded J’Razri? You should haven taken this one’s arm to make it fair. Come, kill me if you can.” He said, finding the vigor to hold his maul with a sense of determination. The enemy charged, and be brought his hammer down to meet them.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Character Opinions ft. Daro’Vasora

Brynja: Ah, miss Whitehands. I didn’t always see eye to eye with her, and she’s a typically stubborn Nord, but she’s grown on me and her heart’s in the right place. She’s a bit of a mother bear and has been mostly looking after Rhona since her unfortunate encounter with her prick of an ex, but she could stand to lighten up a bit and stop letting herself be played like a fiddle emotionally. Sure, she can’t really help if one or both of her parents were probably trolls, but she’s an attractive enough woman, by man or mer standards. She just needs to get laid.

Megana: Behind a simple and unrefined tongue lays one of the most empathic and pure souls I’ve had the surprise and pleasure of coming across. Meg is kind and full of compassion, something that would normally make someone like her vulnerable to this world we live in, but she possesses grit and is willing to do hard things to survive or protect others. She’s one of the few people who are both able to put others before herself while being able to be unflinching in her resolve to set things right in her eye. It causes friction, but look who’s talking. I’m surprised anyone’s still left after my earlier conduct.

Calen: You know, he’s not as shifty as I’d first thought. Initially, Calen struck me as a snake charmer of a Nord who disarms people with his musical talents, large personality, and charming voice, and I’d had him pegged as a swindler. Turns out the only thing he’s swindling is Rhona’s heart, the way she looks at him. He’s been surprisingly dependable and has a set of morals and values he is loathed to compromise on. I hope this war doesn’t take that away from him, he’s good for morale and if he crumbles, I think it would be like seeing a historical landmark become destroyed; the sense of how things were would be gone forever and something truly valuable would be lost.

Gregor: There’s two sides to this man. The first is the somewhat soft-spoken and considerate family man who just happens to be incredibly unfaithful to his wife by fucking Raelynn like a man half of his age but still maintains this air of trustworthiness and courage that’s reassuring. And then there’s the other, a mask slips and there’s this dark maelstrom that emerges from the pits of his eyes and takes control of his body; he becomes more rigid, jerky, and he speaks like a man truly possessed by the same impulses that serial killers seem to employ to justify abhorrent behaviour. That on its own isn’t enough for me to feel he’s dangerous to any of us, but I worry that the day may come that he’s going to snap and that mask is going to evaporate in an icy fury that threatens to consume the rest of us. He assures me he is entirely focused on the Dwemer, our mutual enemy, and the rest of us aren’t in harm’s way. But what happens if any of us cross these invisible lines he’s laid out? He’s a man of absolutes who does not see the Dwemer as people, just a pestilence he feels he is the cure for. It’s haunting to think about, and I try to think of him like how he usually presents himself; that’s the part I could see myself befriending and trusting. However, it’s but a ship floating precariously on a sea, and there’s a storm on the horizon. I fear for Raelynn’s safety, but I warned her. I just hope she can curve those impulses he has.

Raelynn Hawkford: She’s tightly wound, pretentious, and a tad arrogant thanks to her dear father and an opulent upbringing, and once I thought that’s all there was to her. After her… incident, I’ve seen a side to her that’s soft and vulnerable and caring. Even before all of that, she found a romance with Gregor that seemed to really let her hair down, so to speak. Maybe they’re good for one another? Mara, I hope so. But lately, I think we’ve actually come to appreciate one another and she’s something I actually consider a friend now; we have quite a bit in common, and she chose to trust in me when she was at her lowest point. I hope that still means something in the days ahead, because truthfully, true friends are hard to come by and it’s not a word I use lightly. She’s lost so much of herself the last while, I need to try to help her hold onto what’s left. It’s the least I can do.

Latro de Couteau: Had you told me a couple months ago that I’d have fallen for the androgynous pretty boy with long silky hair and a soft voice that happened to be a fetching musician, I’d probably have assumed you meant a quick fling, but he turned out to be so much more. We’ve survived so much, and come to depend on one another to the point where it became clear that both of our lives would have been emptier without one another. When I thought he died in Imperial City, my heart broke, and I’d never experience such joy as when he came back into my life. I was an idiot and almost lost him again in Anvil because of my own insecurities and jaded, stupid ass, but this is new for both of us. I’d only loved once before, and that burned me. This burns in another way, a hearthfire if you will. I know who he really is, and I don’t care he tried to hide that from me; his heart is pure and he feared what I’d do. I understand that, and he decided to level with me a secret no one else knows. Besides, the Reachman bard’s good with his hands. It’s always the quite ones who have the most skill and dexterity. giggles Look, he’s better than someone like me deserves, and I think he feels the same way. We’re both slightly bent and damaged goods that make a nice matching set. Scars tell a story, do they not?

Rhona Amoretto: A pretty and polite girl who got picked up by Rhea because she liked to collect sad and broken things and see the good in people, I barely had a chance to talk to the girl. She’s not a fighter and doesn’t really do anything practical for the rest of us, and we haven’t eaten her goat yet, so I suppose she’s accepted as a part of the gang. I feel like she’s kind of a liability and way over her head, but then again I’m an anti-social treasure hunter with trust issues pretending I’m Ysgramor leading his companions against a dominant group of elves who’s really good at picking locks and sneaking about so I don’t have to get in a fight. She’s barely talked since she basically beat her deadbeat husband to death with a cudgel, and Brynja’s been mothering her. It wouldn’t surprise me if she finds somewhere safe to lay low, this isn’t her fight. She probably sticks around because Calen’s her knight in shining armour, or similar metaphor you find in some pulp romance novel under some teenage girl’s bed. I know I had a few.

Nanine Tilhart: Here’s an enigma. So some affluent-looking, based on her armour, Breton woman who carries herself like she’s grown up being fed from a silver spoon her whole life shows up in the refugee camp and joins up with the Colovian Rangers, right? She sits down, and immediately tries to analyze people like she’s a head doctor and gives her prognosis of what’s wrong with a few of the party without being really prompted and then she lays low for the next few weeks, emerging for a few quiet chats. She’s just kind of there, like a wall fixture that you get used to seeing but wouldn’t notice it right away if it disappeared, but as soon as you have use of it would be strange. She’s a talented mage, perhaps a bit smug, but I couldn’t tell you anything else about her. I can’t even remember what her voice sounds like she talks so little.

Alim: Speaking truthfully, I subconsciously pat down my pockets and belts every time he brushes by me. Man’s a thief, which I respect, and he’s done absolutely nothing to slight the rest of us, but he carries himself in such a way where it feels like’s he’s casing us and plans to make off with a big haul of our valuables. It’s irrational, and as odd as it does sound, I do trust him, he just reminds me way too much of Roux. I gave Roux my heart and my unquestioning trust and he fucks me out of the biggest discovery in my life that paved his way to fame and fortune and ended up with me having a burnt down apartment and barely a Septim to my name. Anyways, he’s a brutal flirt, sometimes to the point where I cringe and die inside but the rest of the ladies in our company seem to dig it, except for Mazrah for being the most aggressive lesbian I’ve met and Judena being a very… ah, distinguished Argonian who is the most low key lesbian I’ve met. I don’t think he’s made a pass at me, but that’s not surprising. He probably has feline allergies, the wuss. That aside, he’s been very dedicated and kind to everyone and he’s dedicated to us all, and he adds an air of normality and comfort to the group. I’m glad he’s around, I like him.

Tariyeh "Shakti" Nasaaj: How can anyone not find her enthusiasm infectious? Shakti is a charming girl with a huge heart and a spirit I hope never gets crushed. She reminds me a lot of when I was her age, just starting to take on the world and make my own way outside of Leyawiin. She’s naïve and has no idea what life’s like outside of her family enclave, but she’s learning fast and she went through great lengths to get her family sword back. She was generous to me, and it turns out a bit of compromise went a long way. I had to lie about what happened in the Jerall Mountains, I just don’t want her to hate us… me for our part in fucking up her life. I really don’t want to have to justify Rhea’s fuck up and the fact I didn’t punch Rhea in the face and let us all die. Life’s funny like that.

Solandil: Remember how I was talking about pulp romances? Solandil is basically the stoic and tough love interest for our female avatar in those stories, only in the books he eventually warms up and gently makes love to the main character for thirteen pages by a moonlit river. Solandil so far has not done that, and I think he never will. Brynja kind of likes him, I think. I think it’s because he looks like a silver medal to the gold medal of the rest of the Altmer, so maybe he feels like he’s second best, so the defective-feeling Altmer and the defective-feeling Nord are probably going to make defective babies if they get together. That was cruel, wasn’t it? Look, I never claimed to be a paragon. I’ll get the little runts little ancient Nord and Aleyid helmets to hide their pale and homely faces like a good aunt…

Brynja’s standing behind me, isn’t she?

Anifaire: When I describe to you an aristocratic Altmer who was born and raised completely in Alinor, you probably think of the Thalmor, right? Authoritarian bigots who basically treat my people and the Bosmer like sword fodder and think that the races of Men are a blight? Anifaire apparently skipped all of those lessons, because she’s a meek, quiet girl who can’t seem to loosen up and seems overwhelmed by the idea of her forks and spoons being mixed up for dinner, and probably wouldn’t fucking eat if there weren’t any. She’s overwhelmed by the real world, and the fact that she wants Alim to sneak into her pants to lockpick her chastity belt and make another 13 pages of love by a moonlit river…

If you tell anyone I read that trash, I will break your legs when you sleep.

Mazrah “Maz” gra-Durash: Ohhh boy, so here I am in Hammerfell for the first time in years and avoiding curfew and I stumble across a mostly naked and physically robust Orsimer named Mazrah who is brutalizing a creep. I break his fingers, we bond, and I decide hey, let’s bring her home to show the family. Turns out being a great choice on my behalf because besides annoying the piss out of Raelynn, Maz legitimately enjoys our company and is devoted to our cause and she’s flattered me to the point where I’m starting to wonder if I like women or not. I never really thought about it, but had I not been with Latro, I maaaay have taken Maz up on her offer to see what the fuss was about. Did you know Khajiiti fur feels great on bare skin? So I’ve been told, I’m somewhat of a deviant and I’ve barely had Khajiit partners. Apparently my type is vaguely feminine Reachmen. Anyways, Mazrah’s an impressive warrior and she is blunt and to the point where she’s certainly not plotting anything devious in the shadows. She strikes me as the kind of person who would be offended by the idea of stabbing anyone in the back because then she can’t see the look in their face when she murders them. I missed such simplicity in my life.

Judena: My oldest and most endearing friend, I’ve known Judena for years, ever since I first got started treasure hunting and doing historical research for a living. She’s a kind hearted old woman, even by Argonian standards, and she’s lost so much in her life, her homeland, her wife, and of course a lot of her mind. She gets up every single day, reads her journals and carries on with a smile on her face and the warmest disposition of anyone I’ve ever met; she struggles each and every single day and asks nothing in return because she wants other people to feel good about themselves. It bothers me when people are not patient with her for things she cannot help, and I’m glad she trusts me. Once you learn how to work around her limitation, she’s the most pleasant of company and she has decades of experience and knowledge that anyone would be a fool not to appreciate. I don’t tell her how much she means to me enough, and I fear that I’m running out of time to do so. She means as much to me as Zegol did, and I don’t think she knows that.

Jaraleet: I respect Jaraleet for what he can do as a fighter, and he’s a sneaky shit who operates from the shadows. I feel like he might have been born under the sign of the Shadow, but I have no way to prove that and I don’t know enough about Argonian internal politics to know if the Shadowscale practice is still in effect. He claims he was a simple soldier, but simple soldiers aren’t proficient torturers who are socially stunted oddballs who handle relationships with the same amount of tact as a Skeever going through your trash bin. He seems to think his way of doing things is unquestionable, and while he fumbles when this perspective is challenged by someone with a bit more mental agility than he’s accustomed to, he entrenches and refuses to budge. He strikes me as someone who doesn’t believe in the divines and if Alkosh himself came and scorched half of the world in divine fire, he would still refuse to accept the obvious explanation. Meg fancies him and good for her. I just don’t know if she’s going to find what she’s hoping for there, but he seems to be thawing a bit with her around. I’ve been wrong about people before, and despite everything, I do trust him… just maybe not to make the most sound judgements on his own.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Brotherhood

A Shaft and Dervs Collab
Governor’s Palace, early morning 8th Midyear, 4E208…

“I don’t like this.” Sevari shook his head.

Kerztar’s office in the Governor’s Palace was similar to the Secret Police team’s barracks outside of Gilane’s walls in that what once were rooms simply for the use of holding treasure or guest rooms that were never used were repurposed into new things. Kerztar and the other Government staff stationed in what was once the Royal Palace had made it their own. Albeit, more pragmatic and official, rather than regal and opulent.

“You don’t have to like it, Sevari.” Kerztar said, just now turning around from his reverie in Sevari’s silence after the news, “I’m afraid that this is an order. Where I usually welcome ideas that might be better than mine, this is Governor Rourken’s orders.”

“This is some kind of fuck-up. You shouldn’t have let him handle this on his own, I told you. Roux was apprehended clean, it was quick, efficient and to the point.” Sevari found his voice raising by the last few words, to Kerztar’s frown, “It was that way because you gave me the lead. If Zaveed had his way, he would’ve abducted half the godsdamned crew to lure out the other half by sending them their cocks by courier. After, he would’ve set Villaume on fire outside Roux’s window to make him piss himself before he burst through the windows cackling.”

Kerztar rubbed at his nose and sighed, “And so you’ll have the lead again. You proved yourself when you got Hassiim after what we found out about him and the Caliphate’s spies.”

“I’m pursuing another lead on that case, you can’t pull me off of it now.” Sevari pleaded, “Find somebody else.”

“I don’t trust anybody else.” Kerztar shook his head, “Do you really believe Zaveed will spare a thought about following anybody else?”

“He barely spares a fucking thought to following you.” Sevari grumbled. “He’s too big of a homicidal prick to do anything different.”

“That’s why it has to be you, Sevari. It’s an order, be quiet and do it or I’ll let Razlinc put you in the pits for treason.” Kerztar’s eyes were hard at that, Sevari knowing when to cut his losses and fold. Now was the time.

He loved his brother with his entire heart. Not a day went by when he didn’t drift back to the night he was taken after spending four years with him and his sister. They were a family. He and Zaveed still were. It didn’t change the fact that Zaveed’s conduct so far was the sole reason he requested to transfer to another case once the chance arose. He was too loose.

“Fine.” Sevari said, shaking his head.

“I’ve called him up here to give him the news. He might take it better with you here.” Kerztar said, taking his seat finally, tenting his fingers in front of his face, “I hope you don’t have a problem with sitting in.”

Sevari let go a positively beaming grin. It wouldn’t have been happier if he started vomiting rainbows through his teeth and shitting septims. “I would love it more than anything.”

It dropped as instantly as it came, Kerztar not paying any mind to the raging torrent of sarcasm that washed over his obstinate demeanor like a deep-rooted rock splitting the waves, “Good.”

The door was opened by two of the Ministry's guards and Zaveed walked in with his usual swagger; if he were apprehensive about the meeting to come, he didn't show it. Before reporting in, he unfastened his weapon belt and let it hang over the back of a chair and removed both of his pistols, setting them upon the table matched to the chair before finally walking over to Kerztar's desk, his thumbs hooked into his waist belt. “As requested, Master Kerztar, here I am. I suspect this isn't to congratulate me on a job well done, given the dour look upon both of your faces.” he said, glancing over to Sevari before turning his attention back to the Dwemer.

Kerztar watched Zaveed’s every move. He had always been interested in the Khajiit, and not only for their physiology. When he learned Sevari was also a Khajiit, he was baffled, remarking upon the absence of a tail and retracting claws, the beard, the size of him. The fascination ended when he found out they were just like men and mer. Fallible, cruel, mortal. When Zaveed spoke, his gaze hung on the Khajiit’s all the while.

“No.” He said, simply. “Sit.”

When Zaveed finally did, Kerztar cleared his throat, “You get results, Zaveed. But your means have come under question by Governor Rourken. Be glad it hasn’t become common knowledge among her cabinet.”

“I entrusted you with the sensitivity of this mission when I agreed to give you the lead after Sevari transferred. I can see now what happens with that.” Kerztar sighed, leaning back in his chair. For the first time since Sevari had met Kerztar, it seemed like annoyance was starting to break through. “I’m putting Sevari back on the case and assigning the lead position back to him until you remember how the Ministry of Order operates.”

“Sluggishly and with undue loss of time and casualties to your own organizations?” Zaveed replied casually, arm draped over the back of his chair. “In a matter of days, I have leveraged a weak link in the very same terrorist cell that killed Mrazac, broke several undesirables out of jail while assaulting local guards, and attacked a prisoner convoy in broad daylight to free their compatriots. You wish to reprimand me for my methods? They tortured a man to death. I obtained information likewise and found out about connections we had no clue about before I took action.

“I single handedly detained their leader and her paramour in a single day and will return to interrogate another one of them later. Roux Dupris was on the wrong side of this, and he no longer served a purpose. Do I need to remind you that most of the Governor's prisoners are forced to fight to the death? I granted him a mercy.” Zaveed said, his eyes boring into the Major's. “You activated us because you wanted results, and now you wish to coddle people who murder your own in the streets and laugh in the face of your rule? I am cruel, yes, but do you not think they would think twice knowing what we are willing to do to them if they cross us?”

“It is a fine. Line.” Kerztar said, voice hanging on the vowels, “We can’t work as if this will be our way of life forever. My peoples’ rule is young and unsteady, but as time goes on, they will slowly accept it. Legitimacy will be gained on its own.”

“We are the ones who make sure it lasts long enough so it comes to fruition. I don’t have any sympathy for the people who did that to Mrazac. He didn’t deserve it.” Kerztar frowned, “But don’t fucking pretend you did any of that for Nblec. You might fool the sergeants and even the lieutenants, but you take a step back and remember who you’re talking to.”

“Certainly not a damned fool.” Kerztar said, “I don’t mind blood being shed for the cause, it’s inevitable. I can’t have agents representing my people bathing in it either and nailing young women to chairs.”

Kerztar leaned forward in his chair, eyeing Sevari then casting the gaze to Zaveed before standing. “Pick the right fucking targets.”

Zaveed picked at his claws. “Actually, it was a table, but I take your meaning, Master Kerztar. I never wished to insinuate you were a fool, and I couldn't give a damn about Mrazac or most of your people, that much is true, but pardon my audacity.” Zaveed said, standing in turn. “Your rule won't last if these terrorists feel that they have nothing to fear from you. Every attack grows their ranks, and you may end up standing upon ruins and bodies of your compatriots alongside me with the knowledge that you did the moral thing, but it cost you everything.”

Gesturing towards Sevari, he said, “We weren't given much of a choice. Serve you or die fighting. And honestly? You've been good to us, all considered, and if I have to nail every fucking man, woman, and child in this city to furniture if it ensured your reign wasn't a short footnote in history, then give me the hammer and let me work. Just do not tell me that my methods do not get results, because I scored your people a major victory. You have their leader; you may be able to find out where to find this Poncy Man and the rest of his allies are.” he leaned forward on the table, hands grabbing the edges. “So let me do my job so I may one day taste the air as a free man and your people can go to bed knowing that creatures of the night aren't going to slit their throats while they sleep.”

It was silence, deafening silence as Kerztar regarded Zaveed deadpan all through his speech and up to now. Kerztar looked to Sevari with a frown, gesturing to Zaveed. “I’m so very glad that my people can once again say that we have stories in the making of avenging heroes come down from the heavens to visit violence on the evildoers so that we may sleep soundly.” His voice was flat, “I don’t want them to fear you. I don’t even want them to fear me. You’re missing the point, Zaveed, the forest for the tree. At the end of this, I want them to fear the law.”

“Do you not think they’ll take your conduct and flip it into recruiting material?” Kerztar said, “The propaganda writes itself. I don’t even want you anywhere near a damned hammer with your attitude, Zaveed. I wanted scalpels. For some reason, your brother is the only one who understands that. He got me Roux without nailing every man, woman, child, animal, whatever to a table for some sense of the greater good.”

“He got me Hassiim without it even making a peep, after what we found out about him.” Sevari glanced at Zaveed but made no gestures or expression to show he felt strongly about any of this, either way, “I deal in absolutes. The Ministry of Order deals in absolutes. Those even above my station in the High Government of the Dwemer, guess what they deal in.”

“Not rhetoric about nailing people to tables.” Kerztar said in a low growl as he leaned over his desk to the two Khajiit in his office. He held their stares on his own for a long while. He pushed off the desk and turned his back on them, looking out his window to the city beyond. “Get out of my office and do your jobs right.”

Rising from the table, Zaveed gave a theatrical bow. “And we absolutely slaughtered the entirety of the crew of the Intrepid, very scalpel-like.” he said with a sarcastic smile, righting himself. “Until the next time, Master Kertar, I do enjoy our little chats.”

He turned to leave, tapping Sevari on the shoulder. “Back to work, yes? I do hope our partnership does not bring you undue stress. I would loathe to make you look bad.”

With that, he strolled over to his weapons, strapping them to his person with care and he didn't wait for the guards to get the door as he stepped out into the hall, whistling a sailor's shanty.

---

“That went well, don't you think?” Zaveed asked, walking down the main market street with Sevari at his side. The Cathay bit into a massive kabab he found with his nose and chewed obnoxiously at the overly large chunk of lamb. “Bloody ingrates. Thanks for your unyielding love and support, brother; it helps to know I'm not facing down tight-ass elf slavers on my lonesome. Your spirited lament of how great I was for their idiotic cause brought a tear to my eye, and Mara above, a rise in my trousers.” he looked over at Sevari with an annoyed glint. “Well, say what's on your mind, brother. You're more stoic and short of tongue than a cheap whore who got sold to a 500 stone Orc businessman who forgot what a bathhouse and cure disease potion were today.” he let out an annoyed sigh. “It's tiresome.”

“The reason we aren’t fighting through criminals to earn our freedom right now after all of this is because Kerztar knows we are his best. Before we get too far into this, let me just cut through your fucking sarcasm for a second.” Sevari spat to the Cathay at his side. The same one he loved even more than his blood brothers. “I didn’t say anything as to your results to Kerztar because we both know what you were able to do. The problem, Zaveed, is that you’re a real fucking cunt. I love you, but it’s true.”

He shook his head. “As far as why I’m especially beaming and an insufferable ray of sunshine than I usually am,” His scowl then payed testament to that, “Your sister’s here.”

Zaveed stopped in his tracks, the kabab slipping through his fingers onto the stone street below. “What did you say?” he asked quietly, looking to his brother with a slow turn of his head.

“Your sister.” Sevari said again, “The third member of this triumvirate of dysfunctional family.”

Sevari kept walking, not looking at Zaveed, not for any transgression of his own. For everything he’d learned about Marassa the past few days. To speak of her now was a courtesy, but also an old pain brought to the surface once more. “I don’t think we could simply arrange for a visit. She’s currently guarding the Thalmor Emissary in town. Easier to do from his bed, I suppose.” He frowned even darker, “I don’t care either way.”

It was a bad lie, coming from a Khajiit where lying was almost half his job.

Zaveed caught up quickly, grabbing Sevari by the shoulder. “We both know there isn't a damned Embassy! What the fuck did you do, Sevari?” Zaveed demanded, forcing the Ohmes-raht to look at him. “I know that dejected look; it's the same stupid one you get when she spurred you as a cub. You didn't think that I should know this sooner? She can't be here! The whole city's gone to shit, and…” he stared Sevari hard in the eyes, his tone hardening “Tell me the truth. Is she truly here? How do you know this?”

“How the fuck do you think?” Sevari’s face was screwed up in anger to be reminded about their younger years, “I saw her. On the ship. Erincaro’s been here, he’s the one who talked Rourken before this all started. She’s been here without us knowing until now.”

“She’s safer than we fucking are, Zaveed.” Sevari spat, “One hint of trouble and she can drop the sails and be on her way.”

Zaveed's face contorted into anger, he stepped away, scratching his claws down his axes and pinching the bridge of his nose while pacing. Suddenly, he bellowed out in Ta'agra, <Fuck you, you stupid spiteful bitch Divines! Fuck. You!>

Composing himself suddenly, he kicked a vendor's basket over before returning to Sevari. He absent-mindedly tossed a coin over his shoulder at the vendor. “Do you think you're the only one with a hate-erection for the Dominion around here? She isn't fucking safe, Sevari. Did you forget what we did to Roux's crew already?” he pressed, gritting his teeth. “I need to find her.”

“She’s on a ship, so there’s only a few places she could be.” Sevari grumbled, tossing over his shoulder to Zaveed, “You know, the desert, could be in the middle of the street. The docks.”

“It’s an Altmer ship, you know the type.” Sevari said, “Just walk around until you have to shield your eyes from a damned sun floating in the water, I’m sure they’ll just let you aboard. She’d be happier to see you than me.”

Zaveed rolled his eyes. “And I’m the cunt.” he retorted. “Maybe she would have been more receptive to you if you weren't sulking about in the dark with murderous intent. Must have been a heartwarming reunion, seeing what you've become.”

“Shut the fuck up and let’s go.” Sevari said, picking up the pace. He hated having acid spit at him. Especially when it had a bit of truth. “She’s living her life, I’m living mine.”

“And how's that working out for you? She was probably the smart one, turning you away. I didn't and it got me a new job in an exciting and exotic land where everyone loves and respects people like us.” Zaveed replied, his hands resting on his axes, irritated. “Family is complicated, is it not?”

“Mine fucking is.” He eyed Zaveed.

Sevari and Zaveed walked through the streets quick, not stopping for anything and at one point, Sevari barging all two-hundred some of his weight and towering height through a troupe of guards with an utterance of ‘Ministry of Order.’ Finally, they’d made it to the docks. At the far end of the piers bobbed an Altmer ship, the Indrik, gracefully. “There she is.” Sevari lagged a bit behind Zaveed as he started, “I don’t think our last meeting went well enough to invite another. You know, because I’m the big fucking idiot for letting everybody slaughter my family and not throating their cocks for the privilege.”

Zaveed’s eyes remained fixed on the Altmeri ship, more graceful and resplendent than the one he had captained and his heart paced. “Your words, not mine.” he replied without looking. “Is the man who actually did the dark deed aboard, or are you just projecting and blaming everyone who flies Dominion colours for the action of one man, Sevari?” he turned to face him. “You didn't try to kill me, or half of Senchal. You didn't try to kill her. So tell me, brother, where do you draw the line? Where do you leave an irrational miasma of fury behind and embrace reason?

“Get justice on the one who did the deed, Sevari, not lash out at everyone else. You've been led like a dog by people who do not fucking care about you to destroy more families than your own with the promise you'd get revenge. How many years has it been? How long have you lived for someone else? Do you think your biological family would be proud of who you've become?” Zaveed snapped, closing the distance and jabbing a finger into Sevari's chest. “Who the fuck are you? You're so twisted by hate and fear that you throw away what family you have left because the child inside of you wants to change the past and get revenge on someone who hurt you when you were young. Where is he, Sevari? What do you have to show for who you became?”

Zaveed slapped his hand on his chest. “I had a ship, a crew! I went from beaten and raped by people who took me in until I murdered those responsible and then I made something of myself!” he snarled. “I moved on, became so much more than a scared and starving boy, and I had everything. I lost it all because of you. All because you couldn't let go of something that happened decades ago, that you decided was more important than Marassa and I!

“And you know what? I've made peace with the fact your choice and appealing to our history got my crew almost entirely killed or enslaved, or that the gold you promised is gone with my fucking home. But what bloody right do you have to try and destroy what Marassa built for herself? You don't approve? Too fucking bad. You need to stop being a selfish twat who only destroys the things he alleges to love. Or do you think your father and brothers would have wanted you to make your family legacy being a murderous puppet for some Emperor who doesn't fucking care about you?” Zaveed stepped back, throwing a finger towards the ship.

“The family you have left, her and I, are you so fucking eager to lose us both because of this fool's errand? Or are you ready to suck up your pride and try to be a brother again? I bet Marassa didn't see the boy she loved, just some twisted specter of the man he should have been.” Zaveed huffed with a pause, softly, he added, “Did you even try to prove her wrong?”

Sevari took it. Took it pretty fucking well given his history of knifing men who yelled at him, much less touched him in the same moment. For all the anger that boiled up inside him, the only thing he showed was a balled fist that he let go before he spoke. “Where the fuck do you think I drew that line.” Sevari’s voice simmered with a quivering fury on his tongue, “If I didn’t give a shit about Marassa, do you think I’d still be here? Or do you think Erincaro would be dead in his sleep and me long gone without a word to either of you, again? I do this shit for a living, I kill, I lie, I make people trust me and think I’m acting in their best interest if it had a chance of furthering my goals before I disappear and leave them to the wolves.”

He cast a glance to the ship, “Instead I found her. I could’ve continued with my mission before she even got to her fucking lover.” He leaned forward at Zaveed, “I’ve drawn that line. Erincaro is fucking the woman I loved without a knife in his throat and his guts at his feet. I saved you from being expelled from service and put into the pits because Rourken willed it. Asking Kerztar to put you back with me if anything should happen like it just did with that fucking meeting. Now shut the fuck up and talk to your sister so I can start trying to be the brother I’ve always wanted to be, contrary to [i]your fucking belief.[/] I’m a shit person, I’m a liar, a thief, a murderer with too much blood on my hands. A shadow of what I was. I know it. But I’m still here by you.”

Zaveed was silent, staring at the graceful ship while listening to Sevari's words, feeling a pull in two directions. He knew Sevari was telling the truth, that he spared Erincaro Syintar's life because of Marassa's involvement with the Almer ambassador. He thought back on the meeting, the whole day's events and he wanted nothing more than to go to that ship and find his sister once more.

Instead, he said, “Not without you.”

He looked to Sevari, frowning. “It's been a long, difficult road and this reunion between us has been anything but warm, but when I go to her, you must be by my side, understood? I would love nothing more than to go to her now, but I'd be leaving a hole behind I'd never fill... You aren't the only one who's been shit at family.” he extended his hand to Sevari. “Let's go forward, together. Fuck everything else. We do this job and we go choose our own destiny. We get her back.”

Sevari regarded Zaveed with his outstretched hand. The offering of a new start, of something he had missed for so long. He remembered what he told Marassa when she offered. A resounding no, and leaving her behind for the second time. His eyes went from Zaveed’s hand to his gaze. The two shared a tense moment, Sevari feeling he was being torn apart. But he really did wonder, would his mother even recognize him if the boy she offered so much of that much needed acceptance and love to stood before her now?

Perhaps she’d say something along the lines of it being time to stop. That it was so fucking readily apparent that he loved his family so much that he did everything he’d done so far to avenge their memories. That whoever he was trying to prove that to would’ve already been impressed after twenty years of proving it in blood and scars. That this revenge wasn’t even for them now, but for him, almost. He swallowed, hesitantly at first, but he nodded to Zaveed. To his brother. “Okay.”

Zaveed clapped Sevari on the shoulder with a grin. “Okay. I can work with okay.” he said, a chuckle escaping his throat. “Now, let's go get ourselves a bloody drink and find someone to warm our beds tonight, we can regale each other of our tales and make up for lost time. Tomorrow we return to the hunt.”

Sevari breathed a sigh through his smile, a thing in such short supply for him these days, especially for being so genuine. “I’d like that.” He nodded, “I’d like that a lot, my brother.”

---

It had been about 4 hours of wine and ale in some port tavern that Zaveed infrequently visited not far from where the Indrik was moored, and neither Sevari nor him rightfully knew the name of at this point but no longer cared. Zaveed had replaced the kabab he had lost earlier, and looked at Sevari from over a pint glass. “So… have you find yourself with another woman after we parted ways all those years ago?” he asked mischievously, his eyes tracking a short-haired blonde Breton waitress as she carried a tray past.

Sevari chuckled softly, taking another swig of his third pint that night, “A few.” He shrugged, setting down the tankard, “My work so far has kept me from having too much fun. I’ve honestly been granted more downtime from the Ministry of Order than the Empire.”

“The work is tireless, but of course I’ve found time to wind down in ways I can. Whether it’s drinking in a quiet place or finding a woman to share a bed with for the night.” He looked down at his ale, his smile lessening a tad as he thought about Marassa. He couldn’t tell if it was the fact that she had come back into his life at all, or if she had come back into his life in a relationship with the son of the mer who ordered his brothers’ killings.

Silently, scenes played out in his head. He knew what the two of them were up to when he had first been about to enter Erincaro’s chambers. He imagined the loving and tender moments in their two lives together. What it was like for them falling in love. Before Sevari followed where his tipsy reverie beckoned him, he shook from it. It was only then he noticed he was scowling. He lifted the tankard to his lips and drained the last few gulps in one go. “Another.” He said to the barmaid before she even had a chance to open her smiling mouth and ask, before he half-assedly tacked on, “Please.”

Offering a sweet and well honed smile, the waitress offered Sevari a wink. “Sure thing, love.” she said, turning to pop the cork off of another Sentinel red wine and filling a fresh mug. Zaveed was transfixed; perhaps it was the alcohol, but the waitress looked familiar. The short blonde hair and steel blue eyes like the gleam of blades looked like a pair he’d lost himself in recently, and her petite frame was alluring. When she turned, she caught Zaveed’s stare and met him defiantly. “I certainly know that look.” She said with a flirtatious wink, setting Sevari’s mug before him. She moved over to lean over at the two Khajiit, leaning forward on the counter seductively. “Didn't your mother tell you it was rude to stare?” she asked.

“I would have asked her, but she was busy from one man to the next, sometimes woman, without much time to answer the inane questions of a toddler.” Zaveed replied with an apologetic smile. “You are quite the captivating woman, my dear.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that. Won’t be the last.” She said with a sly smile, pouring herself a glass of the same mug. “So, I couldn’t help but overhear you two were brothers. Sounds like you’ve spent some time apart.”

“Entirely too long. Barely recognized the man when I saw him, but I think there is progress being made.” Zaveed grinned. “He’s probably smiled for the first time in twenty years, if you’d believe it.”

The waitress grinned at both of them. “Well, the way he looks tonight, I wouldn’t have been able to tell.” he eyes caught another table across the room. “I’ll be back, fellas. Make yourself comfortable.”

With that, she was off with her tray, and Zaveed finished off his tankard. He glanced over at Sevari with a coy look. “Well, if you aren’t, I am.”

“I’m not sure she’s the type to go after Khajiit with too many thoughts behind their eyes.” He chuckled, taking another swig from his tankard, and looking at the waitress. She was pulling the exact same tricks on the two old sailors at the other table that she was at his and Zaveed’s. He’d been in enough seedy taverns to know better than to think waitresses only had eyes for him. Then again, it only really mattered who had eyes for who for the night, didn’t it? Speaking of, his eyes were snatched and held by an emerald gaze from across the room.

Had he seen the two eyes before? Where the waitress had mischief in her eyes, these had a depth that fixed him and made him totter like looking straight down the edge of a cliff to the white-tipped tides below. Take a step, they beckoned, at your peril. He swallowed once, ripping his eyes away from the woman across the room. He glanced at Zaveed and forced a smirk, “What’s your plan with the waitress?” He asked, eyes zipping to and from the gaze of the woman across the room, “Usual dashing privateer routine?”

Zaveed grinned slyly, downing his drink before sliding the empty tankard away. “I was thinking dastardly pirate. Maybe I’ll get to start a fight or two along the way, sweep her off her feet in the carnage.” He pulled off a coin purse from his belt, plucking a golden coin from the pouch and having it dance casually between fingers. “Besides, I pay rather well for regrettable life choices. Those lads over there are so routine and uninspired; I am the epitome of exotic and irresistable.”

Sevari smirked and nodded, “Oh, I’m sure they said the same of themselves before they turned gray and couldn’t even take a shit without a trip to the local apothecary.” Sevari shrugged, “You should maybe get to doing whatever you’re going to before then.”

“Oh, dear brother; legends never grow old. I'll be departed before such indignities take me.” Zaveed replied with a toothy grin before suddenly hopping the counter, grabbing another bottle of wine and pulling out the cork with a claw. He held it out towards Sevari. “It's been a strange journey, but I'm grateful you are with me once more. This is how it should have always been; to family.”

After the clanking of their respective containers, Zaveed straightened out his tunic with a sense of formality.

“If you’ll pardon me, I think our darling waitress forgot something.” he said with a shit-eating grin and a wink before slinking off towards the waitress. Taking her by the waist, he his grin did not falter. “Hello, my dear.” he purred, holding out the bottle. “You’ve forgotten to have your fill.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Guest of Honour

A Shaft and Dervs collab

6th Midyear, 4E208, Early Evening, Gilane Streets…

Even with the agony of a broken arm screaming at her with every step, Daro’Vasora felt the heat from the crowds and the conscious effect that their aggressive attention was hurling towards her. Her feet moved automatically now, conscious thought was fleeting, and being paraded through the streets by Zaveed and his Dwemeri entourage was humiliating and terrifying all at once; there was no escaping from this, and in her heart, she knew that running would only bring more pain and maybe even death. It was a prospect she didn’t care to entertain, as she very much wanted to live. Still, she tried to walk as upright as she could to maintain some air of dignity, even if her eyes refused to meet anyone in the crowd. She couldn’t look broken and defeated, there was an off chance that someone in the crowd would act, or inspire some act of defiance that would have this all worth it.

Was it, though? Was any of this worth it? Daro’Vasora thought, wincing as a hand shoved her from behind to keep her moving and jostling her arm. Roux had died in front of her eyes, and she had no idea what happened to Raelynn; she had failed them both, because she didn’t know how to fight. Now, presumably, she was being carted off to an execution and everything she was and held dear would be gone. Her mind fluttered fearfully to the thought of being soul-trapped, shoved into a gem to be used an extinguished to power a war machine. Her defiance deflated somewhat at the thought; she just wanted to run and hide and let everything wash over. She had gotten in over her head and now she was paying the price for it, her fate out of her hand.\

The feeling of hopelessness was insufferable. There was always a way out, wasn’t there?

“Try to smile, my dear; you’ve drawn quite the crowd.” Zaveed said behind her, waving at the gathered faces of the citizenry, Redguard, Dwemer, and everyone else alike. It was harrowing being the center of attention at the best of times, but the sensation Daro’Vasora felt wasn’t unlike accidently stepping on a pressure plate in a ruin and the moments of tense anticipation of what was coming next. She didn’t reply to Zaveed, instead staring directly ahead and trying to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other; she had to make it out, and she couldn’t do that if she lost her cool.

“Murderer! Blight!” A voice screamed suddenly from the crowd, and something warm hit the Khajiit on the hip. Soon, a chorus of yelling and incensed voices erupting from the crowd was deafening. The escort party formed a perimeter, weapons held at the ready, but it didn’t stop those in the crowd from tossing objects, usually rotten foot or even rocks at Daro’Vasora. Zaveed made a Tisk sound between his teeth. “It seems you aren’t the most popular person in these parts. If only one of your friends was here to take your fall…” He mused, raising a hand and shaking his head to prevent a brick from being hurled in his direction.

“Fuck. You.” Daro’Vasora hissed, her teeth clenched as her arm jostled.

“Ah, there she is. Poor luck, about the arm. Usually they’re so much more robust. If only you had cooperated, you wouldn’t be in such a predicament.” Zaveed replied with bemusement. “It’s too bad, really, that you had to do something silly like join up with a bunch of terrorists. Only a few days here, and you’ve thrown your lot in with some extremists who terrorize the citizens and murder those who champion their causes. Did you ever stop to ask yourself what your Poncy Man would do if he won, hm? Do you think he’d be merely happy if the Dwemer were to be removed, or would he continue to seek vengeance on those who accepted them afterwards? The streets would just grow more and more blooded, and you have certainly had your hand in that pot.”

Daro’Vasora spat in the dirt. “You talk too much, murderer. The simple fact you exist and have any sort of power is a testament that what your friends are doing is amoral.” she said, voice dripping with vitriol. Her hatred for the other Cathay at least gave her something to focus on that wasn’t the crowds of people and the agony in her arm. It was hard to talk, however.

“Roux had served his purpose, and he was no longer required.” Zaveed replied, keeping pace with the younger woman. “Others had much more… creative solutions for disposing of him, but you were the final gift he gave us. His death was quick, and largely painless. More than the rest of you deserve, I might add.”

“Then why am I still alive?” Daro’Vasora shot back. “You parade me through this street, to what, put a face to the enemy these people can hate?”

Zaveed shrugged. “Your words, not my own. That said, can you not see how they look at you, the embodiment of why they cannot live in peace? You really are quite hated, and you are taking the brunt of the wrath that your friends should be rightfully sharing. A pity, but I will have them dealt with soon enough. That I promise.”

“If you’re after fear or defiance, you’re going to be disappointed.” Daro’Vasora replied tersely. “I just hope someone throws their shit in your face, you bastard.”

A familiar face caught her eye and she stopped dead in her tracks. It was the Dwemer child that had bumped into her the day she had landed, looking at her aghast. His mother clutched him close to her, her face contorted into a furious scowl.

“Mother, what are they doing with her?” he asked, fear tinged in his voice.

“You monster. How dare you?” The woman shot at Daro’Vasora, who stared at her in an almost trace-like fixation. Everything seemed to be coming back in focus, and she felt an irrational sense of shame, as if she owed these people something better than she was. The Khajiit glanced away for a moment when a movement caught her eye followed by a sharp, immediate pain that flooded her consciousness. Blood trickled down between her eyes and her snout; the woman had thrown a brick, which lay upon the cobblestone at her feet..

“They should shoot you in the street, you bitch!” The woman screamed, tears were streaming down her son’s face. A guard stood between them and Daro’Vasora, cutting off her view, and she was moving again with a push.

“A real hero of the people, it would seem.” Zaveed remarked coldy.

The blood just ran down her face.

---

The day was going well enough. No Khajiit tailing him, no Dwemer putting him in cuffs, it was almost like the whole thing was a world away. At least for now, but nobody said he had to be back any time before curfew, so he would milk all he could from this. Currently, he was browsing the bazaar for anything he could get for Sora. She had the lead on him, two gifts from her versus his nothing. He just couldn’t have that now, he smiled.

He had already picked out a black dress that looked good enough for her in his eyes. How she would see it was a different question, but he would worry about that after. As he approached one of the vendors hawking different teas, wondering if he could find one that Sora would like, a group of children scurried last him. He caught himself from tripping and looked after their quickly disappearing backs in the crowd. It was then he noticed a bit of a commotion forming. He squinted his eyes to try to get a better look, but when that was fruitless, he took the first steps closer to the yelling mob.

They seemed riled, angry, hateful. Was this a protest? From over the top of some of heads in the crowd, he saw a troupe of guards escorting somebody through the street. He followed as best he could, slipping through the crowd until a feeling of dreaded, horrifying recognition caught his heart in a death grip. “Oh my Gods.”

Latro was then pushing through the crowds, shoving angrily and frenzied. He wanted to call out to her, but what use was it? That was the woman he loved, fur matted and caked with rotten food and blood. If the scene wasn’t all too real and happening before his eyes so helplessly, he would’ve been furious. He would’ve cut through this crowd wholesale and visited bloody violence on everything between him and Sora, animal, woman, man, child. As cruel and unlike him as it was, it called to mind a burning hatred he hadn’t felt in so long.

Finally, behind her was another Khajiit. A wicked looking cat with remorseless eyes. With evil in his eyes. Sevari’s words about his brother echoed in his mind and he found himself gripping the hilt of his sword hard enough to tremble under the tension. The Khajiit looked into the crowd and they locked eyes. Latro held his gaze, wondering just how quickly he could get to him and bury this fucking sword in his chest.

---

Someone apart from the crowd seemed to be moving against the ebbs and flow of the majority that caught Zaveed’s eye; a Breton face with enraged, passionate eyes stared him down with an intensity unmatched by even the most enraged of the crowd. Zaveed grinned at him and offered a wink.

“It would seem that someone doesn’t seem to share the enthusiasm for your fate as the others.” He mentioned to Daro’Vasora, taking his eyes off of Latro for a few moments to look at Daro’Vasora. “Tell me my dear, do you know him?” he asked, gently grabbing Daro’Vasora by the chin and forcing her to face in Latro’s direction. The look of shock that crossed her features was enough to tell Zaveed who this likely was.

“Ah, Sevari’s plaything. Marvelous. I had hoped to speak with him, but it looks like he is past that sort of pleasantries, would you not agree?” Zaveed asked Daro’Vasora, who starred at Latro, knowing full well what Zaveed was capable of doing to people she cared about.

”GO! RUN, NOW!” she screamed towards Latro as Zaveed grabbed her, drawing a pistol and holding it to her temple. There was no point in pleasantries at this juncture.

“Latro, was it? Why don’t you step out here, center stage. The audience would love to see their star performer make his entrance.” Zaveed called, the pistol clicked, the receiver glowing with soul gem essence. “Do it, or the girl dies.”

The crowd stopped around him, their eyes boring into the porcelain-pale skin among their swarthy selves. There was a palpable tension in the crowds and some looked set on throwing rocks at him now. A piece of him wanted them to. Eyes always locked on Zaveed’s, he stepped out of the crowd and breathed slow. The tingling numbness of a mage armor spell crawled across his skin as he regarded the Khajiit. “Your brother told me about you.” Latro spoke, voice flat and eyes blazing.

“Hopefully it was about my handsome looks and predisposition to getting exactly what I want.” Zaveed replied, appraising Latro with a quick scan up and down with his ice-blue eyes. “So tell me, Latro, what do you plan on doing? Are you quicker than a twitch of my finger, or do you think the crowd will stand by and idly let it happen? How about my diligent Dwemer companions, who are none too happy about the deaths that have been inflicted on their own? Do you feel talented enough to cross the space between yourself and myself without being gunned down, held down by a good samaritan, or killing your paramour? Think swiftly, because I have an appointment to attend to, and I loathe to be late.”

Latro looked to Sora and his eyes flashed with something more gentle, “I love you.”

He turned back to Zaveed, looking from him, to the Dwemer and the crowd. He already had his odds weighed out from the second he saw Zaveed and Sora. He wasn’t new to this but it didn’t take a professional to know he was on the shit end. As much as it pained him, Zaveed had all the cards. “Go, then. I’d hate to make you late.” Latro said, “We’ll meet again some other time if you’d like.”

“Perhaps I can schedule you in for this afternoon.” Zaveed nodded towards two of his escort. “You two, take him. If he doesn’t cooperate, kill him.” He said, forcing Daro’Vasora along. She planted her feet, shouting, “I’m not worth it, Latro! Fucking go!” Zaveed smacked her arm with the buttplate of his pistol, causing her to bellow out in agony. “Time to choose, Latro! Your skin or your girl!” Zaveed snarled, tossing Daro’Vasora to one of the other guards as he trained his pistol on Latro.

Wordlessly, and with eyes always trained on Zaveed’s own, he took the sword out of his belt. Still in its scabbard, he placed it on the ground. Arms held out to his side and grim-faced, under it his mind was racing for the next step in this game he’d been forced into. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you in the flesh. Your brother and I already met and I’m sure you saw what happened with that.” Latro said as the Dwemer took his arms in their own, not having to wrestle him, “I’m not Raelynn.”

“Cooperate and you will not share a similar fate to her. I see you are not entirely stupid, but love does strange things to one’s mind, no?” Zaveed said, nodding to the soldiers, one of whom scooped up the discarded sword and checked Latro for more weapons. They escorted him to the front of the column, to the cheers of the crowd. “One day, four key members to this little insurgency dismantled by yours truly. I had anticipated this to be more difficult.” He grinned, and the procession continued. “My brother has a soft heart and an idealistic mind; had he wished to lay you out, he would, so I would be interested to know what kinds of games of his own he is playing. Forgive my saying so, but you do not appear to be formidable in the slightest.”

“Latro… why did you do this?” Daro’Vasora weezed, tears soaking her eyes and fur along with her own blood. “You should have ran. Fucking… urgh.” she grunted, from frustration or pain it was hard to say. She looked crestfallen; she looked up to look into his face. “I can't keep you safe. I didn't want this, why?” she pleaded.

To be honest, Latro didn’t have a plan. If Zaveed was right about Sevari, about him having a heart, perhaps he Khajiit would be loyal enough to him to free him. Perhaps he’d be loyal enough to free Sora as well. This was his gambit, every other option thrown to the wind. Latro swallowed, trying to play up his own panic he had hitherto been trying to suppress, “I don’t know, Sora.” He said, offering a sorry gaze at her, “I couldn’t. I couldn’t fucking watch this all without doing something. We’ve survived a lot together, I can’t leave you.”

“I'd hoped you'd have a better plan than this… we're going to be swinging by a rope by tonight, I fear.” she replied, struggling with a lump in her throat. “I didn't tell you where I was going in case it was a trap, I… I wanted to protect you. After everything, I can't deal with the thought of losing you.”

“How touching.” Zaveed sneered behind them, his pistol held casually to their backs. “You were always going to be fine, my dear; Governor Rourken requested you personally. Your lover, however… hm, perhaps she'll have a use for him yet. Maybe the pits? I do love a good mystery, don't you?”

“Fuck you.” Latro tossed over his shoulder, “You’d best hope I die in those pits or I’ll come back for you.”

“Ah, empty threats. A personal favorite of mine.” Zaveed chuckled, jabbing Latro in the back with the pistol barrel. “Your actions thus far make you far too easy to predict. You cross me in any way, she pays the price. Would you like me to demonstrate what I did to Raelynn for your benefit? That is what would happen. It is not an empty threat; my words are ironclad.” the Khajiit promised.

Latro decided to keep his mouth shut. It wouldn’t do anything any good to trade insults with this Khajiit. Now that he was firmly in the Dwemer’s clutches, he’d have to tread lightly. He could say any hard words that came to mind when this was over with and had his hands wrapped around this Khajiit’s neck.

---

They had arrived at the governor’s palace without any further incidents, and a few of the city guard had joined the escort, having rightfully figured that the prisoners being escorted were very important to the Dwemer, and despite some odd glances at Zaveed, they wisely elected to keep their comments to themselves. The outer gates were opened at their approach, a fixture once kept open now closed off to the outside world since the crackdown began, and Daro’Vasora once again found herself climbing the long and gilded steps to the entryway, Dwemeri soldiers stationed along the steps and through the courtyard to act as a deterrent for attacks. A pair of sentries opened the double doors to allow them inside, and before long, and ascending an elevator of Dwemeri construction, they were escorted to the Governor’s office. Rourken’s aide was ever present at a desk outside of the doors, and once he recognized Zaveed, he hurried inside. The doors were opened to permit entry.

Zaveed led the way and reaching what he felt was an appropriate distance, knelt in front of the Governor’s desk. Kerztar was there, unsurprisingly. The Khajiiti privateer still felt the rumours between Rourken and Kerztar were legitimate.

“Your Excellency, Master Kerztar… may I present to you Daro’Vasora and Latro… something or other. She is the leader of the insurgency group that has recently come into your city and caused irreparable harm this past week, including the murder of Administrator Nblec Mrazac, the freeing of political prisoners and terrorists, and assaulting the city garrison and releasing all sorts of unsavory criminals back into Gilane’s streets. As requested, I present her to you, and Latro here happened to come along for the trip. Something about being in love with her, it’s very sentimental, I assure you.” The Khajiit grinned, looking Rourken in the eyes.

Rourken stood from behind her desk, wearing a green and black dress this time, but the jewelry was the same. Daro’Vasora wondered if they had sentimental value, or even enchantments. “Exemplary performance, Zaveed.” she said, taking notice of Daro’Vasora’s arm. “What happened to her arm?”

“She resisted, so I persuaded her.”

“I see.” Rourken said, studying Zaveed’s face for a few moments before turning to regard Daro’Vasora again. “We can mend that easily enough. Jnand, please fetch a healer for Miss Daro’Vasora, if you’d please.”

“Yes, your excellency.” Her aide said, bowing before hastily departing the room.

“You may take your lead, Zaveed. I am sure the Major would like to debrief you. Your partner, Sevari, also has news to report today it would seem. You have served Volenfell well today.” she bowed respectfully. “Please take the time to refresh, you’ve been busy.”

“As you wish.” He said, rising to his feet and adjusting his waist belt. “Until my services are called upon once more, I am at your disposal.” he said, turning to leave the room. Offering a wink to his two prisoners, he strode out of the room with an arrogant smirk and soon had departed. The four escorting Dwemer remained, however, although they stepped back to take position up near the walls.

Rourken studied her two prisoners with interest, gesturing for them to take the seats at her desk as she gracefully returned to her own chair, setting down as lightly as a feather. “It is good to see you again, although I had wished under more pleasant circumstances and without your regretful involvement with the unsavory elements of this city. I had hoped that you’d have had sympathies for what we are trying to accomplish here, and I feel that perhaps in time you still may. It is why I had personally requested you, and miss Hawkford. Curious how Zaveed has failed to apprehend her.” She pondered aloud.

“Oh, he kidnapped her, alright. He also murdered my friend in cold blood after cutting off and mailing his fingers to me.” Daro’Vasora spat back. “Do you understand the kinds of monsters that work for you in this gilded tower, Governor?”

Razlinc cradled her fingers together, considering Daro’Vasora’s words. “Your appraisal, Major?”

“While it is true I’ve never paid into the business of sending saints to capture sinners, as the saying goes,” Kerztar said from his seat next to Razlinc’s desk, sighing, “I never intended for such grievous injury and insult. Zaveed was always less… professional, than his partner seemed. The ends we are after don’t sit well and justified with me.”

Latro bitterly huffed, Kerztar responding, “Professionalism in all things. You find this laughable?”

“Was it professional to slaughter a city? Did the ends justify the means then?” Latro said through gritted teeth.

Though the guards along the walls seemed to stir subtly, the Reachman didn’t go any further but bore holes through Kerztar and Razlinc’s eyes. Kerztar frowned, “You’ll have to take those grievances up with Governor Fallinar. We may share Clans, but no different a mer in ideology and beliefs from mine will you find.”

“Mhm.” Latro responded simply, spiteful sarcasm lacing it.

“Conduct will be reviewed, I assure you.” Rourken promised, looking her guests in the eye. “But extremist actions require extreme counter measures. Until your group arrived, we had attempted to handle things tactfully and root out these elements without causing much of a scene. It is regrettable you have been caught up in it, but surely you understand that there would be repercussions. How many Dwemer have died at the hands of the Poncy Man and his deplorable followers, do you think? Far too many.” she said, her face darkening somewhat. “Nblec Mrazak was a good mer who only wanted our peoples to find peaceful coexistence. He loved Redguard culture and actively participated in it; he spent his own coin and time trying to eliminate poverty and actively campaigned to use our technology and expense to provide clean and purified water for the entire city. It was to be his legacy and his way to show that the Dwemer had much to offer this province.” she sighed, shaking her head as her gaze fell upon Latro.

“As I’ve explained to Daro’Vasora the first we’ve met, Clan Kragen is not our own. My administration can do little except for admonish them for their conduct, and this is exactly why I am trying my damnest to ensure that Volenfell becomes a beacon of progress for all of our people so warlords like Fallinar do not become the norm.” She turned to Daro’Vasora. “You are a historian. You know of the Snow Elves’ fate, and it was not my people who had anything to do with that. Do you know how easy it would be for us to simply order the entire might of our technology to strike down like Volendrung itself upon resistance? What happened to Imperial City disgusted me. Give me a chance to prove to you that my intentions are pure and my motives are transparent; I simply cannot control every aspect of what happens in this city, and sometimes elements under my authority act outside of what I would consider tasteful behaviour. You are a link between my people and your own, help me find a better way. I loathe the idea of the streets filling with blood because extremist elements grow emboldened.”
“I…” Daro’Vasora began, turning her head and looking to meet Latro’s gaze. “I want to believe you, but all I see is your creature puncturing Roux’s heart in front of me and the torture he inflicted on Raelynn. You want to start making things right? Arrest Zaveed. Take him off of the streets. Show that his actions are not what you represent.”

Kerztar’s eyebrows went up at that as he frowned in thought. He finally nodded, “Rest assured that he will be reprimanded. I’ve not yet decided what action should be taken, but I have considered that route now that I know the extent of his strategy. I’ve known for some time he took a crueller and more hard-handed way to things.”

Latro let it go unsaid that he already had several actions being considered as to what should be done to Zaveed. It was not a usual thing to come across men like him, but now, every fiber of his being wanted to match Zaveed. Evil for evil, until they found out just who was better at it. Even now, he felt his breathing becoming more rapid, heart almost beating its way up his throat. He swallowed, sighing. Kerztar again looked to him, “Have you something to add? To suggest?”

To Latro’s surprise, Kerztar didn’t seem in the least bit patronizing in his questions. “No, Major.” Latro’s frown remained ever-steady, “It’d be best if you didn’t ask me for suggestions.”

Kerztar considered the man before him, his face, posture. He nodded, “No doubt it would be.” Kerztar said before turning to Razlinc, “The verdict is yours, Madam Governor. What should happen next?”

She considered the line of questioning for a few moments, her fingers separating as she placed them upon her lap. “He has done his duty as requested and without hesitation, and I am not in the habit of punishing subordinates who had done what they felt was within their authority. It is a failure on our part that we did not monitor their actions closely, so for now, take him off of the assignment and give him leave. You will have to discuss his conduct with him, is this agreeable?” she asked Kerztar.

Kerztar nodded, “Of course. Perhaps pairing him back up with his partner for the next few weeks will help set an example for him.”

“Oh, so much better.” Daro'Vasora replied sarcastically. “Two psychotic murderers can plot far more efficiently than one.”

“Do not mistake our cordial disposition as acceptance nor this meeting as an attempt at reparation. You are both my prisoners and stand accused of engaging in terrorist activities; I just happen to believe you can be rehabilitated, Daro'Vasora, and Latro shall be handled with the same grace you will be afforded. His safety and comfort should keep you satisfied enough to cooperate, should it not?

“Typically, I would sentence him to fight until his sentence has been fulfilled. It would seem that is disagreeable for both of you, so here we are, at an impasse. We are reining in a valuable asset out of good faith, not because you demanded it. The rest of your group will be regretfully dealt with in an appropriate fashion. You two, plus miss Hawkford, stand to be granted immunity and pardons for your part in these affairs should you cooperate.”

Daro'Vasora scowled. “Ever so generous. You'll do anything to shrug accountability, won't you? That perfect image you seem to want to project to the world while others get their hands dirty under your watch. I suppose we'll see your true colours soon enough. Let the others go, permit them to leave the city. They were coerced into action because they had nowhere else to go.”

“We both know that's impossible. Do you think I am so foolish as to not recognize that your companions seem to keep throwing themselves at my people and wish for revenge for Imperial City's fate? There was never going to be a diplomatic resolution, you and I both know this.” Rourken responded tersely.

“So condemn him!” Latro’s voice rose, “Do something to keep your peoples from slaughtering Thousands!”

“And risk war, Latro? Risk enmities that will grow like weeds years down the line to engulf our childrens’ Tamriel?” Kerztar asked, “Has this world not seen enough of that yet?”

“You saw to it that we saw more than we had ever wanted since the Great War, you fucking bastard.” Latro growled between bared teeth and wild eyes.

“Perhaps this was the wrong time to choose to have a civil discussion. It will not compromise our hospitality, I assure you.” Kerztar rose a single hand and the guards grabbed Latro and Sora up, “Since this healer is running late, we’ll bring you to him.”

He turned to Latro, the pair sharing a lop-sided gaze of hate-stoic professionalism, “As for you, you may wait in one of the suites for your significant other there.”

With a nod, Kerztar’s guards gently but firmly guided them out of the room and to their respective destinations in the Palace. When their paths finally diverged, Latro left his gaze on Sora, eyes sorry and pleading. He was determined as ever to make sure she was safe, albeit at the cost of throwing his own safety to the winds. When they’d made it to the suite, one of the guards opened the door and pushed Latro in. With clumsy, near-fall footsteps that pounded off the ground, he collided with the wall in front of him. He was still bound in manacles so it was a very unpleasant thing to hear a familiar voice behind him.

“What the fuck have you gotten yourself into now, Reachman?”

---

The medical wing was a very tidy place that seemed to have no shortage of material and machines that Daro'Vasora had never seen before and could spend years studying. She was instructed to lay down on a padded slab, and a medical assistant helped her lay down with her arm held for her. The assistant told her that she would be back momentarily, leaving the Khajiit to her thoughts, namely a fear that Latro was being interrogated by Zaveed as she lay there helpless.

A few moments later, the assistant came back and came with a few bottles. She held one up for Daro'Vasora to see. “This one will help your pain. This one will be to help heal the bruising and bleeding you are enduring, and this one will help your bones mend while you are in a cast. I will caution you; they have an unpleasant taste we cannot dilute.”

She wasn't exaggerating; the second bottle had a chalky taste and a poignant aftertaste that nearly made Daro'Vasora gag, but the others went down easily enough. Within seconds, her arm no longer hurt and she didn't feel the cool cloth wiping her face. The assistant measured her arm, and came back shortly after with a brass sleeve that she slid over the Khajiit’s arm and using a pump with a hose, she clamped the cast shut and screwed it in place, fixing the hose to a fill nipple and soon the cast was being filled with a soothing sky blue fluid that felt warm against her skin.

“Two or three days, and you should be good as new.” the assistant promised. The whole procedure was quick, and the medicine was unlike any she'd seen before.

“This is incredible,” Daro'Vasora said with genuine awe, looking over to the assistant, a pretty girl with silver hair. Roots suggested it was dyed. “What else can your medicine do?”

“Well, diseases are a thing of the past and we can regenerate damage or corrupted tissue. We've eliminated scarring, burns, and infections. Without an immediate cause of death or a hyper-aggressive infection or poison, you'd be hard pressed to find a physically ill Dwemer. We needed to prepare for the strange climate and diseases we weren't accustomed to back on Nirn.” she smiled apologetically, shaking her head. “Sorry, that must have been rude.”

“Not at all. A few centuries of isolation would make you vulnerable. I can't believe that didn't occur to me.” Daro'Vasora admitted before a thought crossed her mind. “What about something like mental illness and brain injury? It's a rather vexing problem without a solution here.”

“A broken arm hardly means a damaged mind, but I assume it's not for you that you're asking.” the assistant smiled. “There's been some progress, we can mend the damaged tissues, but the connections are much trickier. There are machines we've been trialing with various degrees of success, perhaps you have someone who would be a willing volunteer?” she asked.

“You know I was arrested, correct?” Daro’Vasora queried.

“Of course, but it's not my business to fret over anything other than my patients’ health. This is a good opportunity to study Khajiiti physiology. I could just go ahead and do it, but I would like consent first.”

“Knock yourself out, as long as it isn't invasive.” Daro’Vasora conceded, realizing she might have stumbled on a way to help Judena and Gregor. The assistant returned with a syringe.

“This might sting a bit.”

---

“You understand I have two choices now?” Sevari asked, casually swirling a glass of liquor. The bottle it had come from, which was a piece of art itself, squatted on the table he was sitting at.

“You and your fucking choices.” Latro frowned, eyes rolling, “Fuck it, just tell me.”

Sevari sighed, throwing back the rest of his glass’s contents. There was a bit of a pause as Sevari rose, arms crossed, and walked to the opened balcony doors. The sheer pale pink silk sheets billowed in the breeze on either side of him, framed by the gilded double doors and the cityscape beyond. “You know a lot about why I’m here. If you even uttered a wrong word, it would jeopardize this house of cards I’ve worked so hard to keep from blowing over in this damned storm.” Sevari said, “Believe it or not, the Dwemer arriving actually made my job somewhat easier. Now you and your friends come along and start stomping and shouting and having a grand tantrum around my little house of cards.”

“I would do anything to ensure that those cards don’t even shift a fucking hair.” Sevari turned to look at Latro, who regarded him with the same kind of defeated indifference he’d had the day they first met, “Anything. So my two choices are deciding if what I mean by anything is good or bad for you.”

“So?” Latro asked, distrust and fear making his palms wet and heart pound.

Sevari turned to Latro, making his way over at an easy pace. With one hand, the Khajiit placed it on his back and led him over to the balcony. Latro could feel winds, the temperature change. It was slightly colder than when he was at ground level with Sora. He also took in the cityscape, the domed buildings, the sea. Sevari spoke, “How tenuous do you think my position and safety is here, Latro?”

Latro was going to say something but he felt Sevari’s hand press into his back and he involuntarily stepped forward, closer to the parapet. “I’m among my enemies and they have no idea, but a single mistake, a single fuck-up.” Latro took another step forward, his stomach pressing up against the parapet now, “Do you think that people pushed to the brink and without choice will choose the safety of the person next to them over their own?”

Latro’s hands struggled against the shackles they were in, every fiber of will put toward not looking down. It wasn’t long before he felt himself start ever so slightly bending over the parapet. He bit his lip as hard as he could, eyes welling up and then the cityscape was a blur of tears. “They’re polite, but do you really think they’d go through the pains of investigating the death of a terrorist?” Sevari asked, lips agonizingly close to his ear, making him flinch back from them. “You’ll just be another corpse.”

Suddenly, Latro’s stomach left the parapet, with a hard push. His arms and legs flailed, the descent pushing his guts up into his head. He could feel the wind through his hair. He made to scream but the impact was too sudden.

“You wouldn’t have even heard me before a garrote was wrapped around your bird-neck.” Sevari stared down at him. He’d been tossed back from the balcony and now Latro saw the sinister looking smokey tendrils of magicka in Sevari’s hand. A fear spell. Not that he ever needed it. “My brother is going on administrative leave soon, as I hear it. You’re going to be put under my custody.”

The external door bolt disengaged and Daro’Vasora was guided into the room by one of the sentries and the door shut behind her. She felt like she’d accumulated one hundred years worth of filth and grime upon her person in just a few hours, and at that point she wanted nothing more than to bathe and find Latro to make sure he was safe. Stepping inside the room, her eyes adjusted and she saw Latro sitting on a chair with someone looming menacingly above him. When she saw that Latro was unharmed, at least physically, the tension subsided a bit, but she still was on edge for who this stranger was and what he’d done to Latro. “Who is this?” she asked at last, stepping closer to show some form of solidarity with her lover. Her mind was still somewhat hazy from the ordeals she’d suffered when it clicked.

Ohmes-raht.

“Sevari.” she breathed.

“Daro’Vasora.” Slowly, Sevari stepped back from Latro and the Reachman could breathe that much easier. He didn’t like his mind toyed with by spells and the like, but that fear was real, no matter the source. He swallowed, looking from Sora to Sevari and back. He couldn’t tell what was going to happen in the silence between them. Sevari simply retook his seat and poured out three glasses of the liquor he had been drinking before either of them came. “I’m tasked with watching over you. This will be your room for the duration of your stay here. You’ll notice the bath, the bed, the assortment of alcohol I’m currently enjoying.”

“The balcony,” Latro narrowed his eyes to lethal slits at Sevari’s smirk then, “Don’t bother, you’ll die in the attempt if you try at it. Drink?” He pushed one of the glasses towards the two of them with a finger.

Daro’Vasora didn’t hesitate; she grabbed the glass and drained it in a single go, none too gently setting it down. “I met your brother. He’s a piece of shit.” she replied indignantly, grabbing the bottle and topping up her glass once more. “I see Latro isn’t covered in blood and broken fingers, so what do I owe the pleasure?”

“He is, isn’t he?” Sevari smiled at Sora and then nodded towards Latro, “He and I are fast friends. I would never hurt him if I didn’t have to.”

“Fuck you.” Came Latro’s voice from behind Sora. Sevari leaned to meet eyes with him.

“You want those shackles off or…?” Sevari raised his brows and frowned. Without an answer, he stood with two of the glasses he’d poured, brushing past Sora and waved Latro to stand. When he did, he turned around to offer Sevari his shackles. They finally clinked and snapped open, tossed carelessly onto the bed.

Sevari placed Latro’s glass down on his chair and retook his seat at the other end of the room, next to Sora. “See, we can all sit here and talk like civilized people.” He turned to Sora, “So, did my brother talk about me much?”

She drank about half the glass, more thoughtfully this time, and replied in Ta’agra. <Civilized people do not break people’s arms with a smirk, stab a prisoner through the heart, and torture a girl whose only crime was getting caught up in some insane shit; she’s never hurt anyone. Zaveed never asked any questions, just tried to force me into an impossible choice. Why are you working for them?> she asked, looking the Ohmes-raht in the eye.

Sevari’s brows raised at that. It had been a long, long while since he’d met another speaker of the language. It was good that being in the Penitus Oculatus that they kept him refreshed if he ever needed to pose as a Khajiit he was not. He looked at Latro and then to Sora <I had nothing to do with that. He didn’t learn that shit from me so don’t go spitting acid in my face over some shit that wasn’t my lead I was pursuing.> He frowned at her then, mood gone sour, “Your friend here might have been roughed up the first time we met but I told him I wouldn’t have fought if he didn’t.”

Sevari breathed, still frowning at them both as he downed his liquor. “I’m not his keeper, I’m sorry for your friend, though.” Sevari poured himself another one but didn’t move for it for the time being, “I’m only working for them because I have to. If you really need to know, I’m sure Latro has answers.”

He stood, coming closer to Sora, <Not everything about my allegiances are cut and dry, friend. But that knowledge is dangerous to anyone who bears it.> he said in hushed tones. Sevari looked at Latro then back to Sora, <Nothing of that is to be discussed here.>

Daro'Vasora looked over at Latro, intent on picking up that particular thread in private. When Sevari approached, she stood her ground; he likely didn't intend on harm. <Do you really think any Dwemer can speak our tongue? Our people rarely, if ever, crossed paths and they probably thought us to be illiterate beasts. What allegiances are those? You keep hush about them, and your actions tell me you don't have any loyalty to the Governor or her lackeys, so why approach Latro? You don't seem enthusiastic about our detainment or your psychotic brother. So, level with me, with us.>

<You think they won’t find the fact that we aren’t speaking plainly in a tongue they understand to be a little odd?> Sevari narrowed his eyes, sitting back down and sighing, <Zaveed was hired to bring me here to fulfill a task given to me by people far away from here. I was forced into service when they found us after we were shipwrecked. It just so happens that your Poncy Man is a piece in a game that’s been playing out since before we were born. Empire against Empire. Man against Mer.>

Daro'Vasora nodded. At least Sevari wasn't entirely closed off; it was something she could work with. <We could merely say we were eager to speak our mother tongue since we are so far from home, and return to Cyrodiilic in a moment. I am sure Latro is probably lost and annoyed.> she replied, smiling at him from behind her glass.

<Look, Sevari; I’m an Imperial Citizen. I don't have any love of the Dominion, and I don't think you do either. You help us out, we help you out. We're in a bad spot now, but playing along with Rourken’s game might be an advantage. You could have killed Latro many times, and you didn't. For that, you have my gratitude. Please consider what I am asking; there's no need for this cloak and dagger nonsense when we are willing to cooperate willingly.> she said, filling her glass once more and finding a seat next to Latro.

“It's been a long while since I spoke my mother tongue, thank you for humoring me. These days, that is in short supply.” she said conversationally. “If you told me I'd be a Dwemer prisoner in a place a month ago, I would have told you to lay off of the Skooma and get away from me. So, are you and your bother close?” Daro'Vasora asked.

Sevari frowned even deeper at the question, “No.” he shook his head, “Believe it or not, he used to be a young boy who wanted nothing more than to entertain, to make people smile.”

Sevari had a smile of his own thinking back on the memories before it dropped, “But I failed him a very long time ago. I failed him and our sister. Put us on opposite sides.” He shook his head, downed another glass, “But the past is for the dead, no? What of you? Or Latro?”

“I’m an only child.” Latro spoke simply, “Your brother is a piece of shit.”

“So I’m told.” Sevari said said dryly, “Daro’Vasora?”

“Both of my parents and my sister are still back home, it's been a few years since I've seen them, but I have written.” Daro'Vasora replied, omitting details just to be on the safe side. She frowned, trying to imagine what had gone so wrong to turn the boy Sevari described into the bastard she met. “My sister was supposed to visit me in the Imperial City this month. I was going to show her around, make up for lost time. Now I don't even know if she's alive.”

“I would think so. Kerztar has never mentioned having to make trips farther south than Bruma. I doubt the Dominion would be any worse, coming up from Anequina.” Sevari said, “Latro’s Reachmen have enjoyed their recent time though, I hear.”

“What?” Latro asked, perking up immediately at the mention of that. “What do you mean?”

“The Western Reachmen have moved east, the Forsworn have been driven deeper into hiding, put to work in Cidhna mine or put to the headsman’s block. Many of the Clans who had been at war with the easterners are at peace and they’re positively licking the asses of the Dwemer for it.”

Latro shook his head. No doubt, his clan was among them. His lips worked at the words but nothing came out for a bit. He finally worked up the courage, “What of the Crow-Wife clan? Does Witch-Mother White-Horn live?”

Sevari shrugged, “I’ve no idea. Hammerfell is Kerztar’s jurisdiction since his disagreement about Fallinar, the fair-ruling Governor of Skyrim, marching his army south and parlaying with the Empire.” Sevari frowned, “I haven’t even been to Skyrim for years now since Titus was killed. I never liked dragons either. Forsworn less.”

Latro winded down. Part of him wanted his mother to be alive, his father too. All so he could ask them why, ask them how they were, even. Maybe just his mother on that last one. He was sure Sevari could understand resentment lasting for a very long time. “Oh.”

Daro'Vasora's heart skipped. This was the first she heard of Dominion campaigns since Anvil. Reaching out to take Latro's hand, she asked, “Do you know what lands the Dominion has taken, or what fronts they opened? We've been in the dark ever since escaping Anvil.”

She squeezed Latro's hand in her own, hoping to offer reassurance. His past was certainly becoming reanimated, no matter how hard he tried to leave it behind. They were both quite so far from home.

Sevari shook his head, “Our intelligence networks that are that far south in Tamriel went dark after the Dwemer attack.” Sevari’s head hung as he shrugged, “I’m working off of orders given to me more than a month ago. I don’t even know if the Directors or the Intendants are alive in Chorrol.”

Daro'Vasora considered this. “You're with Imperial intelligence, aren't you?” she asked quietly. He was being very upfront about his situation, so Sevari must have felt it safe to talk in the room regardless.

Sevari nodded once, slow. “I’ll try to do what I can about your situations. I can’t have my asset within the Insurgency cooped up where he can’t do his job.” Sevari narrowed his eyes and smiled suddenly, “You fucking smart ass.”

Latro shrugged. Sevari pointed to Latro, finger wagging as he let go a little chuckle, “Daro’Vasora, you have a risk-taking, blind-lucky Reachman.” Sevari took a step forward, serious as if somebody had snapped their fingers, “But be more careful. Don’t think just because Zaveed is on leave that he’s poofed into thin air. If I was still young and held no qualms, I would’ve just killed you. It’ll take a few more times of me having to pull you out of the dirt to put you back in now.”

He looked to Latro, then Sora, “Be thankful.”

Daro'Vasora let out a long sigh. “As much as one can, given their circumstances.” she agreed tepidly. “It could always be worse, and while things aren't ideal, at least we're not completely on our own. If I hear anything of interest, I'll pass it along. In the meantime, I'll play her game and see what shakes loose. Just promise me one thing, if you'd entertain a bruised and broken treasure hunter for a moment longer.”

“Within reason.” Sevari nodded.

“Do everything you can to keep Zaveed from killing any more of our friends.” she said softly, her eyes drifting towards the floor, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “After today, I can't lose much more than I already have.”

Sevari opened his mouth first before said anything, closing it back up before speaking again, “Of course.” He said, nodding, “Everything I can.”

“Thank you.” Latro said. Sevari nodded and offered his hand out, Latro taking it and they shook.

“It pays to protect your assets. They’ll do the same for you sometime down the line.” Sevari said. “I have other things to do, tell anybody Sevari of the Ministry of Order will have their balls on a necklace if they do so much as speak too harshly to his prisoners.”

The door shut behind Sevari, leaving Latro and Sora alone in the room. It was a few moments of silence before Latro spoke, “I’m so sorry, Sora. I couldn’t leave you when I saw you paraded around like that.” He threw his arms around her and kissed her forehead softly.

She buried her head against his chest, her injured arm keeping her from returning the gesture. She sniffed, fighting back the emotional weight that pressed against her like a dam that was ready to burst. “I know… I know. Normally, it would have been the most romantic gesture, but I couldn't lose you, too. After what happened today… I can't. When they took us separate ways, I feared they gave you to Zaveed or someone like him.” she paused, suppressing a sob. “...I thought I lost you.”

“Never.” Latro smiled, looking at Sora and taking in her expression. To be honest, he didn’t have a plan when he saw Sora, throwing himself on the mercy of the Divines to keep him safe. Odd that Sevari would ultimately be his savior, “Never, Sora, not ever.”

He leaned back from her, chewing his lip before he spoke again, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions about Sevari and I.”

She shook her head, wiping her snout with an arm. She didn't care it was gross at that particular moment. “I just figured you two came to a compromise. He's not what he initially seemed and he's trying to leverage you for his own goals. Is that about it?”

Latro nodded, “I would think so. But I know he’s working for the Dwemer on account of his brother, I knew he would have to do something about me in this situation.”

“What did he tell you, exactly? Last I heard you were going to get the drop on him. Now we’re locked up in a rather fancy suite, I have a broken arm, and we might not be getting out of here alive. Funny how life turns out.” she replied.

Latro smiled sheepishly, “Yeah,” he said before working at the words he continued with, “He told me about as much as he told you. Jaraleet and I, we took a man to some safehouse.”

He leaned forward and talked in hushed tones, “He’s working for the Empire here in Hammerfell. As odd as it sounds, he is on the same side as us. The Poncy Man has deals with people in Cyrodiil.”

That didn’t surprise her; he did claim he was a member of the Merchant Guild; it all but necessitated cross-border trades. “Well, I suppose we’ll see what happens next… I’m sorry, Latro.” Daro’Vasora apologized, a sigh heavy on her breast. “I should have told you about the note I received, that I was going off alone. I knew it was a trap and I went anyways. I couldn’t leave him.” she said softly, as if admitting something with guilt.

Latro nodded, quietly sighing, “I get it, I know.” He cooed, stroking Sora’s hair before chuckling, “I just did the same for you.”

She groaned, although not irritably. “I guess we really do deserve each other. Well, since we’re in the kind of prison that would bankrupt a working stiff to stay a night in, care to help me into the bath? I need to wash blood, sweat, and rotting vegetables out of my fur. And please don’t tell me you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Only when it’s you.” He winked and then laughed, a good thing he did after all of this business. It told him he still had a sense of humor, and if you could laugh, things aren’t as bad as they could be, Francis had told him. “Now come, let’s get you into that bath.”

She couldn't help but smile as she accepted his help standing and walking over to the washroom with its polished brass fixtures. “Well, almost looks be enough for two,” she purred as she turned the faucet. “I think tonight needs to just be about us, tomorrow can wait. I'll tell you everything about who I am, what Roux was to me, the things I've done. I want you to know who I was before all of this, and then we can decide who we will be after it's done.” she reached over, cusping his face in her hand delicately. “This isn't the end of our song, my love. It's only just begun.”

Character Creation Opinions/Methods/Discussion.

@BrokenPromise I just saw this now and had no idea that the URL thing was even a feature. You just saved me a lot of frustration for the future!

Remembrance / Armistice Day

Today marks the 100th anniversary of the end of the First World War. I wanted to take a moment to say thanks and remember the horrors of the war and the world that our veterans helped give to us so us and people around the world can know a time of peace as prosperity that has never been known in all of human history. It is important to remember our family and friends who fought, and those who died on this road, and to make sure we never forget the sacrifices they made to give us the lives we live now.

My great uncle Herb landed at Dieppe in WWII and was nearly fatally wounded that day. My friend Brian was killed in Afghanistan by a roadside bomb. It was a part of his job to keep the roads clear of explosives for soldiers and Afghani citizens alike.

I feel like a lot of people have begun to forget the war, and take this period of peace for granted. It's important to remember that after years of nationalism and military build up and centuries of mutual hatred between nations, all it took was one 18 year old Serbian nationalist to start the most seminal event in modern history. Millions died, hundreds of thousands in the opening months of the war alone. We think such a thing to be impossible, but the people in 1914 likely thought the same.

So today, take time to appreciate what we have and what it cost for us to get here. It's a day of sombre reflection and gratitude, because 100 years ago today, the groundwork for the world we live in today was laid, and while many of us will live long and happy lives, millions of young men who were as young as many of us never would.

We will remember them.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Swallowed by the Ocean

Storm and Dervs Collab

---

6th Midyear, 4E208, Early Evening, Gilane Commercial District…

The streets of Gilane were golden at this hour as the sun was winding down on the horizon. The ocean was ablaze with a vibrant vermillion right at its edge which faded out into oranges and golds, to yellow and then back to a lush blue. A beautiful sight that the young Breton appreciated as she stared out towards it. She had always loved sunsets and sunrises, something about the familiarity of them reminded her that the world would always keep turning, no matter what was happening on the surface. She sighed dreamily and continued on her way, parchment in one hand of a map to a warehouse, and a package she was couriering in the other.

Today she had managed to work up the effort to indulge in herself, she had bathed, had been massaged by the handmaidens of the Three Crowns, and they had even styled her hair. It was a common theme for Raelynn. Her method of cleansing herself of pain and upset was to put on a pretty new dress, don a new hairstyle, douse herself in fragrance... Today, every detail was merely a mask that coated the torment that had well and truly seeded itself inside of her, it had taken root and was growing every day. The longer she left it, buried it, ignored it… The more she seemed to feel it later. Her lip trembled at the beauty of the sunset, just watching it brought her a temporary relief.

But, she had a job to do yet. As she walked with languid strides throughout the district of warehouses,her eyes glanced from the map to the path in front of her, the distraction so consuming that she hadn't realised how far out from the busy streets she had gotten.

A fool's error.

Eventually she found it, she was surprised at how derelict it looked from the outside, windows boarded over and cracks in the walls. Her father had said his buyer would be inside, and she knocked on the door before stepping inside. If the outside was bad, the inside was worse. Dusty, dark, and even damp too. The sound of water dripping somewhere. A strange combination of things set her on edge and she immediately felt that something was amiss, knowing that she had been stupid to come here alone.

The door closed behind her, the dark concealing the features of the one who had shut off her escape. “Hello, my dear.” a familiar feline voice drawled from the darkness. Zaveed stepped towards her, hands resting on his axes, an upturn on his lips suggesting either a smile or a smirk. “I see your father met his end of the bargain. Cooperate so I may meet mine, yes?”

She knew the voice straight away and hearing it here cut through her like a knife. She spun on her heel, finally looking upon his face. The face that had eluded her and yet had haunted her so prominently since the last time she had been with this Khajiit. Her face fell and her voice shook as she began to back away from his approach, “no, no, no…” was all that she could muster to whimper at him, fumbling backwards through the dark. “My father? No… He wouldn't do this.”

“If it’s of any comfort, he did it to protect you… and him. The price was simply an exchange for your little group.” Zaveed said, bringing a finger up under Raelynn’s chin to force her to meet his eyes. “A pleasure to finally meet you properly. No harm will come to you, so long as you play your part. You may even get to return home properly by the end of all of this. Come, have a seat.” he said, gently guiding the Breton towards the center of the warehouse with a hand on her shoulder.

Even though he was guiding her, she pushed back against him. A slight show of resistance as her heart raced in her chest. Part of her was ready to fight her way out and the other was accepting of it. “What do you mean?” she asked, “an exchange? Why? Tell me what's going on.” While she couldn't understand her father for doing this, she had to trust him, trust that he knew what he was doing. He would never put her in real danger. She let the thought of him having planned something settle her nerves just enough so that when she sat in the seat, she wasn't as shaken.

The Khajiit pulled up a chair, setting it across from her and he set himself down with a sense of gravity, scratching his neck before resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. There wasn’t an intensity to his eyes, and in a lot of ways, the way they darted around made him seem distracted or at least unfocused. Eventually he turned his gaze back towards Raelynn slowly. “Your friends, the terrorists. Things are being set in motion that you are powerless to prevent, but are instrumental in seeing through. Soon, the entire house of cards will come tumbling down; we know about the Three Crowns, we know your leader is Daro’Vasora, and she’s on her way as we speak. I paid your father a visit the night after I let you escape… you led me right to where he was. Did you know he is an affiliate of the Governor?” he asked quietly.

“Sora? She is coming?” She asked with a wide eyed, fearful expression before quelling it with a seperate thought. Of course he'd allied himself to Rourken. He was the perfect mole. Just hearing it from Zaveed first worried her but she was able to brave a smile instead, “of course I did.” She lied convincingly, noting the Khajiit's posture, a strain in his face. If he wasn't going to hurt her, she saw no harm in pressing him. It was a risky move but she was going to take it.

She rose from her seat and walked to him, her breaths slow and steady as she placed her trembling hand on him. “And what of your own house of cards? What does Rourken hold on you?” she of course knew, but she wanted to hear him say it.

Zaveed allowed her to approach, and he tensed at her touch. “It matters not. I don't harbour loyalty to her, or the Dwemer. It simply wasn't my choice.” his jaw rolled, and he worked out a kink in his hand. “I do not wish to partake in this particular venture, but it is this or languishing in a cell or dying with the odds stacked against my favour.” he paused, his gaze meeting her own. The tension on his face was chilling. “I never play poor odds, understand?”

He reached out and took Raelynn's hand gingerly in his own, observing the residual bruising and scars. “You could have had this healed properly. Why didn't you?” he asked.

She too was forced to look at her hand as he touched it. Something about him touching it turned a knot in her stomach and she pulled away. The reason being that the days following the attack had been too difficult. Her father and Zhaib had done the best that they could, but they had no magical ability - and after that, she had been too scared to show anyone else. She’d done the best that she could do with her own skills, but it had been too late to stop scarring and completely mend the nerves. “I thought the scars would… look good. I’ve never had one my whole life. I thought it was important to keep this one,” she lied again, bringing it back behind her in a fist.

She realised how close she was stood to him, and her nervous disposition in the face of her torturer made her step back, her eyes fell to the floor. “We all land in positions with unfavourable odds at some point, I --” she stopped herself, changing the subject, “you know, I still don’t even know your name.”

“Zaveed, of Senchal.” there was no hesitation in his reply as he stood to face her properly, not closing the distance. They both knew she wasn't going anywhere, and his posture was relaxed. “You are more right than you know, I've had a lifetime of unfavourable odds that I had to surpass, often such messy and brutal events that have formed me into the thing that's kept you up at night. No one dreams as a child they will one day be responsible for the torture and murder of others, and I do not take pleasure in it most of the time. It's simply something one has to do if it is required.” he looked down for a moment, his fingers tapping upon the blades on his hips.

“Why are you involved in all of this?” he asked suddenly, scanning her face for answers. “You don't seem to be the kind of person who willingly walks into this sort of affair, this subterfuge and murder and torture. I make no apologies for what I am, or what I do, but you must be aware that the people you work with have far worse creatures lurking under their floorboards than I.”

“Truthfully?” she began with a sigh, before taking her seat again, sitting in as ladylike a posture as she could, legs crossed and back straight as an arrow. “I don’t know. I guess I got swept up in this growing hurricane of events… I used to be a simple tavern healer in Skyrim until I wanted a change of scenery. One of the terrorists saved my life in The Imperial City, and I’ve… been with them all since.” She smiled as she thought fondly of Alim, and their first foray into danger. She placed her hands neatly in her lap and looked down, a smile still on her face. Forgetting for a moment where she was. “To me, you’re a terrorist. To you, I’m a terrorist. Morality and right and wrong is far more grey than that though, isn’t it, Zaveed?” She emphasised his name.

He remained standing for a few moments longer, chewing over her words. “It has been my experience that morality simply is too simplistic of a perspective, we each have in us the capacity for great altruism and great cruelty. It's our environment and the people around us who shape that, defining us along the way.” he returned to his seat, throwing an elbow over the back, a claw digging thoughtlessly into the wood. His face remained impassive as he lost himself in the sea of thoughts and memories.

“You understand, then, how a fateful event or encounter can change your life in ways you could never fathom. I grew up as a street urchin, my mother was a prostitute in some Septim a dozen brothel and my twin sister and I were discarded when her master decided we weren't worth the fish and bread to keep alive, so barely old enough to feed ourselves and suddenly, it was to the streets.” he exhaled through his nose, his lips creasing in annoyance. “I've seen people's callousness to the poor, the starving, even if their eyes hold pity, it's their lack of action and love for the filthy creatures that matter in the end. It was after my brother left us and she was caught by the Dominion that I took fate into my own hands. It was a decision that would turn a scared boy who wanted nothing more than to be an entertainer to make people smile at him into what you see before you.” he pulled his claw free, gazing disdainfully at the wood grains upon it. “You find yourself in a not dissimilar journey to the one I underwent.”

Raelynn listened to Zaveed’s story. It wasn’t too dissimilar to her having listened to Gregor’s story. Zaveed’s words did not poke at her insecurities, however. “I will not become like you…” she hissed, “I may be greedy, and manipulative, and, God’s… Mean! But I have real compassion. Nobody ever showed you any love did they?” Raelynn wanted to smirk, she wanted to wound him with her words but it was too dangerous a game to play. Instead, her tone fell halfway between genuine concern, and somewhere along a line of taunting malice. His story pieced together the puzzle that was Zaveed, though, and she understood and in some way felt the pain of it with every word he was speaking. It only made her realise that the two of them had a connection that was forged in violence. She looked at her hand again, gasping.

The Khajiit chuckled and winked. “Oh, I’ve been shown love, it just depends on how much they decide to charge for the night. I’m sure I’ve unintentionally sired a few more stories just like the one I’ve told you in the making, but perhaps they’ll fare better than I.” he said, his eyes taking on an impish glint. If her words tore at him emotionally, his face didn’t register it. His expression softened when she regarded her hand once more, the mark where he’d nailed her to the table changing her forever exposed to the world. “You may become like me, you may not. But I can see a look to your eyes, you’re changed now and there is no going back. You will not allow another to harm you like that again, you will do unspeakable things to ensure that.” He smiled, reminiscing about something or another that called to that particular experience. “If you wish to survive this war and weather the atrocities you have and will continue to witness, you will have to adapt. The fact you can sit here and even look at me, chatting away like we’re old acquaintances instead of something decidedly darker tells me enough. You are already adapting to unpleasant circumstances, am I wrong?”

“You don’t know me Zaveed,” her tone suddenly defensive and sharp, she leaned forward in her seat, her posture dropping. “Stop addressing me as if you do, as if I’ve been a project for you. I simply have trust that whatever this plan you have is, that it is not going to go the way you think.” She laughed quietly before leaning back in the chair once more, hands returning to her lap. Inside, she felt a searing, angry pain and feared that was going to simmer over at the surface before long. He thought that she was stronger, and changed. She was, but it was currently concealed under layers of pleasantry and a fake smile. She would not be able to hold this position for much longer. Being in his aura was enough. She closed her eyes and thought of Gregor, of his beautiful rage and violence.

“Everything will go as I will it. It always does, even setbacks only prolong the inevitable conclusion.” Zaveed replied as he gazed at her with steady eyes, but his tone was one not of a boast, but almost as if it were resignation. “I was ordered to take you to her, the Governor. I've let you make the choice to go free, and I regret that you must spend time in my company in this manner once more. This… is a strange thing to admit, but I've never quite been in this position where I can see the aftermath of my actions quite so clearly. Life just simply moves on, but here I am forced to linger on it.”

“How truly benevolent of you...” she said with an ounce of spite to it. She ran her tongue over her lips and opened her eyes again. “I don’t think you see quite clearly enough what lies ahead of you. I really don’t think you know anything.” Her face darkened, and something in her eyes changed, while he seemed to soften and resign, she only felt more powerful in her position amidst the storm brewing within, she placed a finger in her mouth and bit down on it with a wry snigger. “What do you want from me here, Zaveed? You act as though you’re doing me favours and kindnesses. I don’t see it that way. You are going to pay a heavy price for what you did to me, even more so for having the sheer audacity to do it again.”

“Oh, nothing much. You will sit there and watch the spectacle unfold. Then maybe, if you’re good, you get to leave.” Standing up suddenly, Zaveed was suddenly towering over Raelynn and he placed a hand on the back of her chair to lean over her, the other resting on his dagger at this back. “You can perceive me any way you wish, I am simply passing time until she arrives. Personally, I’d prefer a polite conversation to the tedium of silence, but it is what it is. You overestimate your allies and your sweet, darling Gregor.” A cruel grin crossed Zaveed’s countenance. He leaned further down and whispered in her ear, “What do you suppose the mad bull will do when he finds you’ve fallen into my clutches again? Will he plot his next steps with care to lure me into a trap that is to his advantage, or do you think he’ll charge after me with reckless abandon where he will be completely at my mercy?”

The way the Zaveed towered over her like that rattled her enough to unshackle something within, it was just like before - trapping her where she sat. As if by instinct she swiftly lifted her left leg and smashed his knee with the bottom of her boot with as much force as she could gather from her inferior positioning. In this situation of fight or flight, when threatened - Raelynn chose to fight. “Back off!” she snapped. They way he spoke about Gregor like that, it riled her up. She used her right leg to stamp down upon his foot. His intrusion upon her personal space - his threat - his words… “You will be at his, if you’re lucky.” She leaned up to meet his face - a fury coloured her eyes even in the darkness, and she began to wave her hand, summoning Magicka into her palm. “I tire of you now,” she spoke softly, almost seductively at him.

A bit of fight, that was good. The kick to Zaveed’s knee stung, but the adrenaline was enough to dull the worst of it, but the stomp down on his foot was enough to hobble him momentarily; enough for him to catch a glimpse of the spell forming in her hand. He rolled his eyes, irritated as he closed the distance, dagger in hand. “This is why I don’t behave civilly most of the time, my dear.” he said, grabbing her wrist and smashing the pommel into her temple, making Raelynn’s vision start to blur. He caught her as she stumbled, and almost tenderly the Khajiit settled her down into the chair once more as her vision began to fade. “Stupid girl.” Zaveed muttered, the dagger slipping back into its sheath as the world went black.

---

Earlier that day…

Couriers seemed to have this uncanny ability to find people anywhere, any time. So when Daro’Vasora, disguise and all, was back in the marketplace looking for oil suitable for opening doors silently, the man approached her from the side as to not alarm her.

“I’ve been looking for you, something I’m supposed to deliver - your eyes only.” The man said, handing a parcel to the Khajiit before suddenly taking off back the way he came, as if she was one of many deliveries the man had to do today. She stepped off to the side into the mouth of an alley so she was out of the way, curious as to what the parcel was and who sent it. Anyone she knew from back home wouldn’t have known she was there, and the Poncy Man would have likely send a missive in the Three Crowns. It was something of a mystery, and at least it would be easy enough to solve.

Unwrapping the package’s carefully tied string with impeccable measurements and even lengths on each end that had been done by skilled hands, she found a small box inside where something definitely heavy was shifting inside. Curious, she lifted up the lid and nearly dropped the box when she saw the contents.

A pair of severed fingers were seated on a strip of burlap and upon one of the fingers was a ring she recognized immediately; it was Roux’s. Her heart sank, and a feeling of intense remorse and fear filled her as she dared herself to look at the package once more, seeing the corner of a note sticking out of the corner of the burlap strip. She carefully plucked the parchment out with pinched claws and unfolded it, and read the message.

Composing herself, the Khajiit closed her eyes as she folded the note and slipped it back in the box. There wasn’t much time to prepare for this, and the letter made it very clear that if she didn’t come alone, Roux was dead. A part of her still resented and hated the man, but after their history and time together, it was hard to set aside the stronger feelings that lurked in her core.

“Damn it all.” Daro’Vasora muttered.

She knew she was going to be walking into a trap, and she was going to have to go anyways.

---

Now…

Daro’Vasora scouted the outside of the warehouse thoroughly, looking for guards, lookouts, or even alternative entrances. The building lacked windows, save for small slits in the limestone that weren’t even large enough for a child to slip through, and apart from a pair of side doors on either side of the building, the main entrance way was a set of double doors large enough for a wagon to fit through comfortably.

Side door it was.

She worked the lock carefully, lubricating it and the hinges as she worked to reduce the amount of noise she could before opening the door, where it slid open nearly silently due to her precautions. She picked a door that was on the North side, away from the bright sun, and she slipped inside the building cautiously, mace in hand, and so began the nerve wracking steps into the unknown.

Nothing seemed amiss, just lines of shelves and packaged goods that one would expect from such a building, and the lack of enemy presence made her fur stick up on end; something was wrong here, she knew she had the right place but nothing so far even made a peep.

A groan caught her ear and cautiously, she moved like a serpent from cover to cover, her footfalls silent as she went. Rounding a corner, her eyes caught two figures tied to a pair of chairs.

It was Roux and Raelynn. Her heart pounded like it was going to burst; Raelynn was captured again? She had just seen her earlier, everything seemed normal and the Breton girl actually seemed happy for a change after the party.

Daro’Vasora looked around for a sign of danger, the trap waiting to be sprung she was sure was there. Maybe whoever it was had stepped out, their timing off? No, she thought, feeling very exposed all of a sudden. They were very specific for the time. she thought, which is why she arrived hours before it was indicated. They had to be here, but where?

She pulled her dagger free from her wrist, deciding that if she was quick and quiet enough, she could probably cut their restraints quickly and have them out in only a few seconds. It was a risk worth taking; standing around and deliberating was only playing into the enemy’s hand.

Riddle Thar, guide my steps. Daro’Vasora thought, and she headed into the opening, closing in on the pair of captives.

Something clicked above her and to the right, and the Khajiit turned to the sound. From the top of one of the shelves and concealed between boxes came a figure that had one of the Dwemer pistols trained on her. “I see you received my invitation well.” he said, climbing down with relative ease and not taking his eye off the Khajiiti woman for a moment. She took in his full measure; he was a tall, handsome Khajiit with grey fur and a black mohawk of a mane and a pair of piercing blue eyes that were hard to turn away from. She turned to face him, both of her weapons at the ready; she didn’t like the odds; he could shoot her at any range and those axes on his hip were definitely something he knew how to use far better than she could fight with a mace. She gestured towards Roux, who hissed at her, “What are you doing here, Sora?! You fool!”

“Why did you let your fingers get cut off and your stupid ass tied to a chair?” she snarled back, looking back towards the Cathay. “Well, I’m here. What do you want?”

Zaveed grinned, gesturing towards her. “Your presence, of course. With that delivered, I suppose I don’t need quite so many guests. Only two hands, you see.”

“So let them go; I’m here, do a trade. Take me instead.” She hissed. Whatever the outcome came today, she knew it would be a disadvantage. She knew what happened to Raelynn, and this was likely the same Khajiit that tortured her before. She was really banking off of the idea that he’d be treating her with a bit more kindness; they were both of the same race, after all. Khajiit had a hard time finding kinship outside of their enclaves, she felt. Maybe it wouldn’t be different with him.

The sound of Sora’s voice, and of other voices pulled Raelynn back to consciousness - and her eyelids fluttered momentarily before she opened them fully to survey the room again. This was different now, she was bound to the chair which instantly caused her heart to pound in her chest, and returning anxiety pulsed through her with every heartbeat. This was as she had been before, she began to whimper in confusion and fear, turning her head to look at the blurry figures around her. She counted three.

“I could, but the Governor wants both of you lovely ladies in her company in an expedient manner, but accidents do happen.” Zaveed mused, stepping over to Daro’Vasora. “So, allow me to make this plain; you have a decision to make, Daro’Vasora. Which one of your friends will be coming with us? Your former lover and expedition companion, Roux, or your new friend and ally, Raelynn? It sounded as if you two left quite an impression on our dear Governor, she would really love the matching set.”

Daro’Vasora’s ears pulled back and her eyes narrowed. “You’re asking me to pick who dies. Are you fucking mad?”

Zaveed shrugged. “No, just a pragmatist. You’re a leader, you make difficult decisions all of the time. This is but one more, is it not?”

She looked to the two Bretons aghast. Roux shook his head. “Sora… I’m so sorry for everything. If anyone has to die, let it be me. I… I told these bastards too much, they did…” he scrunched his eyes, recoiling at the memories. “This isn’t a choice. Take her and go!” tears flowed down his face as he fought feebly against the restraints.

“Roux, I…” Daro’Vasora began, her eyes darting to Raelynn.

She had paid attention to the conversation, and in this state, the concussion, the pain, the tension in the room -- her lips formed words she didn’t think about fully before they fell, exhausted and desperate; “It’s okay if it’s not me…” She could only just start to make out the figures now. Zaveed, Roux, Sora. She knew that she was looking her Khajiit friend in the eyes, “it’s okay if you have to save him, I understand… It’s okay if it’s not me.”

“Shut up; you’re concussed.” Daro’Vasora said to Raelynn, her mind frantically trying to find a way out of the predicament. There was only one way, she decided. “No one’s going to die here today, I promise.” the words were empty, but this was no time to give into fear, nor madmen.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, girl.” Zaveed said, stepping closer. “Choose, or they both die.”

“Fuck. You!” Daro’Vasora shouted, and suddenly she turned on Zaveed, swinging her mace to bring it down upon his crown, to which he easily sidestepped the swing, grabbing her arm in his hands and using her momentum against her, flipped her hard onto her back, winding her. She barely had time to gasp when Zaveed pulled her arm tightly into a bad angle.

His boot came down a second later and a sudden blinding pain caused her to scream out in agony, accompanied by a sickening crunch.Tears streamed down her face, and for a few moments, she couldn’t make out words, just the impossible ringing of her brain trying to process what had just happened. She managed to get to her knees, sobbing as her arm hung limp at her side, and she feebly clutched at the throbbing pain.

“You bastard! You fucking piece of shit!” Roux screamed at Zaveed, trying to wrestle his way out of his restraints; blood was pooling around his wrists as the rope grew tighter.

Zaveed crouched down beside Daro’Vasora, yanking her ponytail back. “It’s time to make your decision.” He purred.

She screwed her eyes tight, not daring to look. She was hyperventilating, not daring to condemn either of them. “Please…” she pleaded. “Don’t. Please. Leave them.” her words came out as if they weighed as much as a bullion of gold a piece.

“Sora.” Roux spoke softly.

Her eyes opened and she focused on him through a veil of tears.

“I am so sorry.”

Zaveed released her suddenly, almost affectionately touching her shoulder. “I see you’ve made your choice.” he said, walking over to Roux, dagger in his hand.

“No! Fuck, no! You can’t, I didn’t!” Sora was suddenly very lucid and trying to get to her feet against to do anything she could. “You bastard!” she screamed. Zaveed turned and kicked Daro’Vasora hard in the chest, causing her to sprawl out across the floor, clutching her arm as she let out a pitiful moan.

Zaveed turned back to Roux, leaning over him and grabbing him by the shoulder. His expression was soft, thoughtful even. The Breton bared his teeth at him. “Do it, you fucking coward.”

The knife slipped in between his ribs a few inches, and Roux felt the sudden blinding pain acutely. Zaveed whispered softly into the man’s ear. “I have punctured your heart. You only have a few moments to say what you need to before you lose consciousness. Use them well.”

Withdrawing the blade, Zaveed stepped aside, cleaning the blade on a cloth.

Daro’Vasora looked up at Roux and the crimson pool forming on his chest. “No, no, no…” she pleaded. Roux smiled sadly, almost dreamily at her.

“It’s okay, Sora. It is. I get to see my wife and little girl again.” He coughed, wincing at the sudden explosion of pain. “If I could go back and change everything I did to you, I… I would have, Sora. You never did wrong by me and I fucked up, I got… so… so greedy.”

His eyes grew heavy and he struggled to keep them open and his head upright.

“You’re… better than I ever was. For me, be better than us both.” he said, a weak smile forming on his lips as his eyes shut for the last time. “May your roads…”

And he was gone.

Daro’Vasora screamed and Zaveed stood impassively, not looking at any of the figures in the room. “He was brave, even at his worst.” He said solemnly, as if for his own benefit. “It’s time for us to depart, my dear.”

He walked behind Raelynn, and the knife cut into the rope at her wrists, enough that a bit of work would do the rest. “Your chance is coming.” he said quietly to her as he walked away, scooping up Daro’Vasora’s dropped weapons as he sheathed his knife and holding her mace as he pulled her up to her feet. “Well done.” he said to her, forcing her to walk towards the double doors, which now opened up to reveal a troop of Dwemer soldiers.

“Zaveed?” The sergeant at the front of the column said, looking at the mess behind the Khajiit. “What happened here?”

“Things got a bit out of hand; this is their leader, Daro’Vasora.” He smiled at her. “She resisted.”

“Very well. What of the girl?” the sergeant asked.

“Guard the building, and clean up the mess. I will be back to interrogate her later. I believe she has more information and leverage that will draw more of her associates out of their holes.” Zaveed pushed Daro’Vasora forward, past the sergeant. “No one lays a finger on her without my permission, understood?”

The sergeant muttered under his breath. “Fucking goon.” before issuing orders to his troops. Four fell into line with Zaveed, and they stepped out into the Gilane evening.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Jubilation and Reprieve Part 2

---

The usual swagger of the Orsimer huntress had been hijacked by an uneven, wobbling gait, but Mazrah managed to maintain her unflappable and graceful air as best she could. She had briefly left the party to go to the toilet somewhere and to freshen herself up, as the moon sugar would have otherwise knocked her out cold if she remained on that floor. On her way back to the conference room she came upon Meg, who looked just as out of it as she was. Mazrah hadn’t talked to Meg before but there was an open, earnest look to the girl’s face that she interpreted as inviting, and Mazrah ran over and gave her a big hug.

“You’re at the party too!” she said loudly and planted a kiss on Meg’s cheek. “I don’t know your name, but you look nice. I’m Mazrah,” she explained, slurring her words, and pointed her index finger at her chest, “and you are…?”

It took a moment for Meg to find the words, shock by the sudden ambush, even if it was an extremely friendly one. "M-Meg," she replied, a little embarrassed and perturbed by the orsimer but wishing to hide it as well. She wasn't as drunk as before, having freshened up and guzzled a glass full of water, but she was still on the tipsy scale. "I mean, tha's the short version- m'whole name's Megana. You're... Mazrah, right?" She stepped back a little so that she could look at Mazrah properly and gave the much taller woman a smile. "Shakti'd told me yer name couple days back. Nice t'finally meet ya!"

“Oh, Shakti!” Mazrah said and looked like a woman who had just seen the cutest puppy in the world. “I love her, she’s so precious. Yes, I’m Mazrah, I also just told you that,” she smirked and wagged her finger admonishingly. “I think someone has maybe had a tiny bit too much to drink! But that’s okay, I won’t judge you. Hey now, what’s this?”

She touched the amulet of Mara that Megana wore around her neck. “I know what that means,” Mazrah said slyly and tilted her head, her eyes going up and down Megana’s form. “Are you looking for looove?”

Meg flushed. "Sorry, I'm still kin'a tipsy righ' now," she admitted before looking down at her amulet. "Oh!" This was the first time anyone had actually noticed it on her, or at least mentioned it to her, aside from Zahir at the market yesterday. "Uhm, well... it's more a keepsake? A friend gave it t'me a long time ago." It seemed the Nord was still a taken by how forward and fierce Mazrah seemed- it was almost enviable to the friendly but still introverted Nord.

“Awh, you got my hopes up there for a second, young lady,” Mazrah teased, her lips turned down in an exaggerated pout. Her eyes betrayed her jest, however. She was still a little flustered from the effects of the moon sugar and her embrace with Raelynn on the floor of the conference room earlier, and Megana looked very cute. “How has your evening been so far? You okay?” she asked, adopting a slightly more serious tone in case there was support to be provided to a sister in need. Meg must have had a reason to be stepping out here.

"Oh, it's been good so far," Meg replied. And she supposed it had, so far, despite her sulky mood that had her leave Jude's table, or her nosiness being halted by Jaraleet's words... Well, truthfully, it still irked her a little, and now that she thought of it, there was a small crease on her forehead.

"Say..." Looking at the Orsimer, she decided maybe having the opinion of a third person wasn't too terrible. "Uh... can I ask you a question?"

”Yes!” Mazrah said with enthusiasm and stepped in line next to Meg before hooking her arm through hers. “I will marry you! Oh, I’m so pleased,” she swooned, before she laughed and winked. “I’m kidding. Fire away, Meg.”

The sudden impulsive reply took Meg by surprise, though this time she couldn't help but laugh as well. She could tell Mazrah was a rather fun and funny individual; she would have to make sure to get to know her when she wasn't drunk or already mentally preoccupied.

"Well," she started when she finally composed herself, "say y'got someone y'really like, an' somethin' unfair's happened to 'em. They're tellin' you it's fine... but y'still wan' t'do somethin' at least..." Her voice trailed; she was being vague on purpose, and she wasn't sure if she made any sense.

“I understand perfectly,” Mazrah said with sudden clarity. “That’s the whole reason I’m in Gilane in the first place. A friend of mine was groped by a filthy drunkard and she didn’t tell me about it until days later. I had to really work it out of her, she was so ashamed,” the Orsimer said tersely. “She begged me to just leave it, but not on my watch! I tracked him down here and I beat him up. That’s how I met Sora, she happened to be in the neighbourhood and wanted a piece of the action.”

"Woah, now tha's impressive." Meg stared at the orsimer, the words she spoke resounding in her mind. Was this the same sort of situation? She wasn't sure, but the fact was that Mazrah did something for a friend in need, even when said friend didn't wanted her to leave it be. "Yer a good frien'." She wanted to be a good friend to, the best even. With all eyes narrowed in his direction, wasn't it fair that at least someone stood up for the argonian?

"I'm thinkin' I gotta clue what I havta do then," Meg muttered, mostly to herself though she was audible enough that Mazrah would be able to hear her. That said, she looked up at the orsimer and gave her a grateful smile. "Thanks. Looks like Sora really knew what she was doin' when she brought y'here. Nice t'have you part of our group!"

That prompted another hug from the Orsimer. “You’re so sweet, Meg! Glad to be here,” Mazrah said and grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, by the way, but whatever it is, go get ‘em.”

This time Meg reciprocated the hug; if she was sweet then Mazrah was by far an even sweeter person, in her opinion. "I know, sorry 'bout that, just askin' ye a weird question outta nowhere... can' really say wha's what but... well I know what I gotta do, an' y'helped me." She was nervous, sure, anticipating negative reactions from more than a couple of people, but in her mind, there was a single course of action she had to take.

"Hope t'chat with ya soon then, Mazrah," she added as she broke the hug. "Hope y'enjoy the rest of the party!"

“I will,” Mazrah said and waved Meg goodbye, before she headed back to the party herself.

---

Anifaire, after wandering away from the table she’d shared with Alim for a time, was set on making her way for the table covered in liquor bottles. She hardly knew what she would find in any of them, but considering the words of the Khajiit earlier and her enjoyment of two glasses of mead with Alim, she was interested in finding out.

She stepped up to the table, eyeing bottles and reading labels. She’d heard of their names, of course, but it gave her little insight into what she was actually supposed to do with the contents. Hesitantly, she picked up a bottle, uncorked it and sniffed.
“Auri-El,” she swore, placing it back on the table. That wasn’t like the mead she’d just enjoyed.

“Not too used to drinking, I take it?” Jaraleet asked the Altmer woman, having noticed her reaction to the smell of the content of the bottle she had just picked up but a few seconds ago. He approached the table and, with his free hand, picked up the bottle that Anifaire had put down. “Ahhh, rum. Not sure from where, but probably a bit too strong if you are just starting to drink.” The Argonian said after sniffing the bottle’s contents.

“It would probably best if you started with something lighter, like ale.” He said, bringing up the bottle of ale that Meg had left with him. “Like the one in this bottle.” He said with a smile before chuckling as he remembered something. “But where are my manners, I think I'm getting ahead of myself. After all, I don't think we've been properly introduced.” The Haj-Eix said, bowing his head slightly in Anifaire’s direction. “My name’s Jaraleet, pleased to meet you.”

“I am Anifaire,” the Altmer replied. She was a bit startled by the Argonian’s arrival, but she did her best not to show it. Judena was the first one she’d ever spoken to, and that had been a surprise. But this one seemed a bit different, in a somewhat intimidating way. Still, he was showing her kindness, so she would be polite as well. “Yes, I’m not accustomed to drinking. I’ve only ever had wine, and mead, just a moment ago.”

“Oh, good!” Mazrah said as she appeared from somewhere behind Jaraleet, a look of marvelous revelry on her face, holding two bottles of something or other in her hands. “I love being there for someone's first time,” she added with a sly grin. “I'm Mazrah. Your name I just caught, Anifaire, but who are you, bright scales?” Maz asked, looking at Jaraleet with curious eyes, wondering if he was anything like Judena.

“As I was telling Anifaire but a few moments ago, my name is Jaraleet.” The Argonian replied to the Orsimer, turning to look at Mazrah. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mazrah.” He added, smiling at the Orc. “Did you too come in search of a drink?” The assassin asked curiously, looking at the pair of bottles that Mazrah held in each of her hands.

Amused, Mazrah rattled her bottles and shook her head. “No, Jaraleet, I’ve got the booze already covered. I came over because I haven’t met you two before and I’m drunk and high as a kite and I want to make friends. So, by my decree, us three are now friends!” she declared, beaming a tusky grin, and raised one of her bottles in a toast. “You’re very polite, Jaraleet. That’s nice. How about you, Anifaire? Are you polite or are you like me?”

“Well, I… I would never be rude,” Anifaire answered hesitantly. Wait, she wondered, was that an insult? She was taken aback because of the orc woman’s approach.

“So, Mazrah, how are you enjoying the party so far? I understand you are one of the more recent additions to our little group.” The Argonian said, having noticed Anifaire’s sudden confusion and, slight, discomfort. He doubted that the Orsimer war truly having any problem fitting in if the disposition that she had shown so far was any indication, but he figured that a shift in topic would probably be a welcome change for the Altmer woman.

The visible confusion on Anifaire’s face was cause for Mazrah to chortle shamelessly. “Of course you wouldn’t, you’re a proper lady. I’m not! You can tell the folks back home that you met a real barbarian, they’ll love that,” the Orsimer said with a wink and a nudge before turning to address Jaraleet’s question.

“Oh, the party’s great! Did you see me rolling around on the floor with Raelynn earlier? She’s real cute, that one. And yeah, I’m new. Only thing I’ve done so far is helping out with one of the missions. We freed Shakti and a bunch of other prisoners. Look, Shakti is right over there!” Mazrah pointed at the Redguard girl amidst the other people, still looking quite drunk from her earlier encounter with Daro’Vasora and Mazrah herself. “She’s cute too. Lotta cute girls around here, actually…”

Anifaire looked over where Mazrah pointed, noticing a Redguard woman she hadn’t met before. The group was growing so much so that Anifaire found she couldn’t keep up, but to her relief, she didn’t find the influx of strangers as alarming as she would’ve at the beginning of this mess.

“It is nice to meet you, Mazrah,” Anifaire said. She wondered why she felt, while a bit on edge, a bit more relaxed than she would’ve usually. Was that what alcohol does? Wait, cute girls? She couldn’t keep up.

“No, I didn’t notice that. Raelynn must have been quite intoxicated, it’s hard to imagine her doing that.” Jaraleet said in response to Mazrah’s question, laughing slightly. He was glad to hear that Raelynn was seemingly enjoying herself after their conversation, she deserved that after what she had went through. He nodded when the Orsimer huntress mentioned that she had freed a bunch of prisoners, one of which had also joined their ranks.

“Ah, I didn’t knew about her. It is good to see that she had joined us.” He said, looking at the Redguard girl that Mazrah had pointed towards. “I’m glad that mission was a success, there’s nothing more abhorrent than denying someone their freedom. To treat them as if they were cattle.” The Argonian said somberly, a hint of anger in his voice. Shaking his head slightly, the Argonian poured himself a glass of rum with his free hand and raised it on an impromptu toast. “To you Mazrah, and to the success of your mission.” He said, smiling at the Orsimer. He usually wasn’t one for such gestures, but slavery of any kind was something that the Haj-Eix loathed to his very core and he was glad that the Dwemer’s prisoners had been saved.

Anifaire turned to the table, glancing around for something that didn’t smell too bad. She picked up a taller bottle, by the smell of it, it was wine. The wine was of good quality, definitely enjoyable, and she took a few drinks of it.

---

Once more making her way into the conference room, Meg scanned the entirety, trying to pin down the Imperial man who had joined her and Jude earlier. Granted he wasn't hard to miss, so it wasn't long before the nord woman made her way to Gregor, a little relieved he was by himself so that no one else would accidentally overhear the conversation.

Of course this relief was largely overshadowed by trepidation. She knew she had to know, if only for herself, but who would take kindly to being accused of lying and being a murderer? Don' be stupid Meg- that isn' what yer gonna do. She hoped, anyway.

"Heya," she called as she neared him. "Uh, sorry 'bout just leavin' you an' Jude earlier."

Gregor watched as Meg approached, having spotted her eyes looking at him from the other side of the room, and wondered what she had to say to him other than an unnecessary apology. He had made himself comfortable on a chair, his left leg laid across the knee of his right, and rested his free arm across the railing of the chair next to him. “Don’t worry about it. Come, sit with me,” he said and gestured with his hand for her to occupy the free seat. Some insidious instinct in the back of his mind, probably after having picked up on the hesitation on Meg’s face, told him that he had to be alert. If Meg took the chair his arm was draped on, she would immediately be in his physical sphere of influence. It was a power move Gregor wasn’t even consciously aware of. “Speak your mind.”

"Uh... yeah, sure." Meg looked down at the chair he had gestured to and nodded, settling herself down without really thinking about it. He seemed perfectly friendly to her, and if anything her nervousness settled the slightest bit. "Well... I've been wantin' t'ask 'bout that mission y'all went on, y'know, the one on the last of Last Seed?" She slouched over slightly, looking at her fingers as they splayed over her knees. "I talked t'Jaraleet the other day... he tol' me he wasn' the one who offed the dwemer... why'd ya say t'was him then?" She finally looked away from her hands and up at the Imperial man.

Divines bless her, Gregor thought and smiled condescendingly. “I see there has been a misunderstanding.” When Jaraleet brought the topic up and indirectly accused him of lying, Gregor had been concerned and felt cornered -- perhaps bolstered by the wine, Gregor did not see Megana as a threat at all. She was a simpleton who had too much to drink and who failed to understand the subtleties of the game Gregor had played. This would be easy to defuse. The Imperial patted Meg’s shoulder reassuringly and continued. “Jaraleet interrogated the Dwemer. He used some… less than pleasant methods. Nothing that should have killed him, I agree, but unpleasant all the same. After the safehouse was besieged by the Dwemer’s allies, I was left behind to undo his shackles and get him moving. That is when he just… died. I tried to save him but whatever happened to his heart was beyond my skill. There is a principle in philosophy called Ocato’s Razor, named after the Elder Councilman. It says that the most reasonable and probable explanation is the one that is most likely to be true. Considering the circumstances, I said my best guess as to the cause of Nblec’s death was the interrogation he suffered at Jaraleet’s hands. Stress can kill a man, did you know that? And Nblec wasn’t a warrior, he was a soft magistrate who spent his time making friends with the locals.” Gregor paused to take a sip of wine and watched Meg’s reaction closely. “Do you understand?”

In her current still fuzzy state of mind, it was a lot to take in and process. Blinking, Meg looked away from Gregor, trying to wrap her mind around what he was saying. So he too didn't believe Jaraleet killed the dwemer, rather it was his techniques? But... ain' tha' the same thin'? She frowned, trying to piece her thoughts together as well as remember what her friend had told her two days earlier. "But... Jaraleet tol' me... he said tha' he was sure what he did wasn' the reason." She looked around the room, trying to see if she could catch sight of the argonian. "He was tellin' the truth... he was sure it was somethin' else. An' I believe him. I don' think it's right people thinkin' he killed the dwemer if it was somethin' else." Her eyes returned to Gregor, unsure of what he might be thinking.

“I’m sure that’s what he believes,” Gregor said and let the words hang in the air for a few seconds, nursing his wine, before he continued. “Accidents happen. Jaraleet is a professional. I’m well aware of his service with the armies of Argonia and his position as a torturer and a killer.” Half gamble, half educated guess, Gregor allowed himself a small smile at the manipulation. It was obvious that Meg considered Jaraleet to be her friend and he figured the peasant girl wouldn’t like hearing such things about him. “Still, that does not make him absolutely right all of the time. He never meant for the Dwemer to die and his techniques should not have led to Nblec’s death, but here we are. Jaraleet tortured him and then he died. These are the facts. Like I said, my best guess was that one thing led to another. I never outright claimed that it was his fault. It just strikes me as the most probable explanation. Stress kills people, like I said. Some men are born with weak hearts. The Dwemer spent six hundred of their years in a pocket realm of Oblivon; we have no idea what that does to someone’s body. And so on and so forth,” the Imperial elucidated, his tone languid and relaxed, as if they were talking about strange weather phenomenon, deliberately showering Meg with knowledge she would have no way of knowing, trying to drown her doubts in a torrent of information.

“Either way, you have to consider that it is in Jaraleet’s own best interests never to admit that Nblec’s death was his fault, regardless of the circumstances or the truth. Do you really think he would readily accept responsibility for such a thing? If I killed him, I wouldn’t sit here and confess that to you either,” Gregor said in a low voice, his eyes black and depthless. It was easy to lie when you technically spoke the truth. “That said… Jaraleet and I already talked about this. He understands that my first reaction was to blame the interrogation, and he forgave me. I told him that I know that, whatever did happen to Nblec, it wasn’t intentional and I don’t hold him responsible. Other people might, but I don’t control their opinions. What more is there to be said about this?”

Meg's hands were now gripping her knees tightly, her shoulders hunched and head drooping to such an extent that her hair swayed forward, partially hiding her face from view. She didn't want to hear what he was saying, not after it had taken two days for her to finally accept what she had learned about the torture and push it the back of her mind. Once again she was being shown the truth that she knew nothing of the cruel ways of the world, she knew nothing about her friends. Her eyes stung- she quickly brought her hands up and pressed the back of her thumbs against her eyelids, refusing to let any tears escape.

It was her own fault after all. Jaraleet had told her he was handling it- why hadn't she listened to him? All this encounter had brought forth was realization of how naive she truly was. It brought a terrible taste to her mouth, overriding her drunkenness so that she felt that she could finally see everything clearly.

"I... guess yer right... really ain' anythin' more t'say." Meg let her hands fall loosely to her side as she rose from the chair. "I'mma take my leave now."

“One last thing, before you go,” Gregor said and held up his hand. “Don't be too hard on Jaraleet. He is a good man who means well. His methods are a product of his past. The war between the Argonians and the Dunmer is famously cruel, Megana. The unfortunate reality is that we find ourselves fighting a similar war now against the Dwemer, a race who did not hesitate to butcher defenseless citizens in the Imperial City. If Jaraleet kept things from you, he did that because he wants to preserve your innocence. It is a beautiful thing that should be nourished because once lost, it can never be regained,” Gregor explained, his voice somber. “You have a sweet heart and I admire that.”

What was she supposed to say to that? Meg didn't know, so she remained silent. She felt hurt and yet she felt guilty at feeling that hurt. What Gregor was telling her was true, and for the time being her previous intentions of confronting him were just fading memories in her mind. Did she really have a sweet heart? She didn't think so, not with how much judging she was doing.

"He... told me t'leave the matter be," she finally replied, voice rather dull and lacking any of the vibrance from when the party had started. "I shudda listened t'him." Her hands clenched into fists. "G- goodbye for now."

No longer having the heart to party any longer, Meg made a beeline for the conference room's door.

---

“It appears that almost everyone has gotten themselves well and drunk.” Nanine noted wryly, sitting down next to Jaraleet. She had a small plate of food, and a cup of water. She wasn’t fully prepared to let go of her senses just yet. And besides, if she drank she would sing and if she sang everyone’s eardrums would begin to bleed. “I don’t believe we’ve ever gotten the chance to properly say hello. Nanine Tilhart, former Legionnaire. A pleasure to be involved in an extremely dangerous and likely highly foolish endeavour like this with you.” She took a small bite of food, before continuing.

“Have you heard anything about what the Poncy Man has planned next? I presume it isn’t to cut his losses and dump all of us into the sea, since we’re having a feast right now. But neither have I heard of any other missions he might have planned.” It had been bothering her since the near failure of their own mission, and the failures of the other missions.

“That would seem to be the case, yes. Fairly standard thing that happens at parties, as far as I understood it. Never been in too many.” The Argonian replied, chuckling slightly at his own comment. “But that’s a rather obvious thing for me to state, isn’t it?” He added, taking a swig from the bottle of ale that Meg had left in his care. “And, no, we’ve never had the chance to have a proper introduction. Jaraleet, former soldier of the An-Xileel’s armies.” The Argonian said, the lie rolling off effortlessly from his mouth as if what he was saying was the truth and not a mere fabrication with which to protect his identity.

At the mention of the Poncy Man a frown worked its way into Jaraleet’s face, causing the Argonian to make a clicking sound with his tongue. “No, I haven’t heard anything from him.” He replied after a second, placing the bottle of ale down in the nearby table. “Why so worried about him?” The Haj-Eix asked, wanting to somewhat steer the conversation away from the topic of their host. “I thought this party was, much like Daro’Vasora said, to celebrate, no? To forget both the past and the future and focus on the present, a sentiment that I wholly agree with.”

Nanine shrugged. “Once a soldier always a soldier, I suppose. Spent a few years in Skyrim worrying about what would happen next, and the next mission, sorta became ingrained. Its part of the reason why I argued Mazrah into wearing a disguise rather than walking around as a giant easily identifiable beacon That was exhausting, believe you me.”

Jaraleet did have a point though. Perhaps she should give her concerns for the future a rest, if only for a moment. Perhaps not a rest. Just less focus than she normally did. Slightly less. She gave a small grin, looking over at him. “Besides, I’m doing you a favour. If I get too relaxed, I’ll end up singing. And if I end up singing I promise your eardrums and at least three other people’s eardrums would burst, and then Raelynn and Brynja would have to sober up to fix it. Really, I’m protecting you.” She looked over the room, chuckling quietly to herself. At least everyone else was fully enjoying themselves. “I have ten septims that say Raelynn is the first to pass out entirely.”

Jaraleet laughed slightly at Nanine’s comment about her singing. “Really, that’s your excuse?” He said to her, a look of amusement on his face. “I think we’ve all dealt with things far worse than terrible singing, oh sure a few might complain but I don’t think it’d be the catastrophe on par with the Oblivion Crisis that you are making it out to be.” He said, chuckling slightly and taking a swig from the bottle of ale. “Speaking seriously, you do know it’s fine to relax right now, no?” He said, more quietly and with a more serious tone to his voice. “If something was going to happen, it’d have already happened. If the Dwemer had attacked us, well we would probably be on the run at this very moment. And if the Poncy Man had deigned to get rid of us via this party, I’d wager we’d all be twitching on the ground poisoned.” The Argonian said, looking at the partygoers and smiling slightly.

“A soldier who is constantly on the lookout, always expecting an attack, will burn out sooner rather than latter. They will become useless, like a sword that wasn’t properly maintained and which broke mid combat.” He spoke, shaking his head slightly and letting out a sigh. “It’s fine to take a moment to relax, go and grab a drink or something.” Jaraleet said, taking one final swig of the ale that Meg had handed to him and placing the, now empty, bottle on the nearby table.

“You seriously underestimate the catastrophe that is my singing voice. I was banned from singing during my time during the legion after one night of one to many ales.” Nanine laughed quietly before leaning back. “Perhaps you’re right Jaraleet if bad things were going to happen, they already would have and worrying about them might just end up with me breaking when I’m needed. Then again, I haven’t broken yet. I’ll trust you to drag me to a tavern and forcibly pour ale down my throat if you think I’m getting too burnt out. Don’t worry about me too much until then. I’ll be fine, promise. Been a while since I’ve had an actual mission and group to worry about anyways.” She waved a hand, downing another piece of food. “Legion’s honor. I’ll be fine.”

Jaraleet shook his head, laughing slightly at Nanine. “Again with the excuses, do I need to call Sora over here and have her bring over a bottle of Stros M’kai rum?” He asked her, a look of amusement on his face. “I meant what I said, you'll end up breaking down sooner rather than latter if you don't take a moment to relax. Doesn't has to mean you have to get drunk enough that you’ll wind up doing something monumentally stupid...just something that'll take your mind off of what's going on. No Poncy Man, no Dwemer, nothing. Just this moment of peace and, well, not quiet but revelry, I suppose.” The Argonian said, shrugging slightly.

“Please, Sora is too busy to heckle me into relaxing by her standards, but your threat is taken well within warning. I’ll try and ‘relax’ a bit Jaraleet. Maybe not going so far as to take Moon Sugar, but I’ll think less about the job. If only for tonight.” She stood, her plate finished, and smiled at him. “Thanks for the advice, Jaraleet, I think I’ll go and mingle a bit to see if I can’t make it work. See you around.”

---

After Ani had wandered off, Alim decided to lounge where he had planted his ass. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, sighing.

Feeling the comedown kick in, Raelynn spotted Alim sat in the corner, free of Anifaire’s company - and as she sashayed her way through the tables she decided now would be a fantastic time to say hello. She waved at him from a distance, actually taking some of the food now - a sweet platter of bite sized pastries and sliced fruits.

“Alim!” She called with a beaming smile, before placing herself in the seat beside him and letting the fruit platter sit on the table.

Alim had a nice buzz going. He wasn’t without his wits. He never lost his wits. But he wasn’t crisp either. “Hey there, pretty thing. How’re you?” he asked her, taking one last sip of his third mead, placing it on the table, drawing his eyes from her to the fruit platter. “Ooooo.” His low, smooth voice curling into a satisfied ‘yes’ as he plucked an apple off of the platter.

“Well, I feel like I’m floating on a cloud-” she chortled agreeably as she leaned forwards against the table - as if stretching. “Hungry though… Got an empty stomach problem right now, thought I’d share some fruit with you since you were kind enough to when last we met.” Even when drunk, she kept a formal way of speech - it just sounded a little more slurred and blurry around the edges as her eyes skimmed the room, glazed over from the substances she’d been feasting on. “So, you and Ani tonight…”

“I think she had fun.” Alim replied. “She likes mead quite a bit. Though she’s the kind of girl to stay proper about it. Like you in a way.” He chuckled at the thought and closed his eyes as he lounged. “We had a good time. Now the party is winding down. If I had just arrived I’d try to sleep with someone around now but, I think I’ll just relax.” He bit into the apple, his bejeweled rings glinted in the firelight.

“Me? Proper? This evening?” Raelynn chuckled and clutched her chest, nudging Alim in the side. “I’m… I’m a little bit sure that I almost had a romantic liaison with our new Orc friend…” Her eyes narrowed, already the memory was foggy but the imprints of Mazrah’s fingers were still on her skin tingling away as the moon sugar wore off. “So I’m not all that proper, apparently,” A strawberry caught her eye and she lifted it to her lips for a bite, “but thank you for being so honest about that one Alim, and for thinking I’m proper.” She gave him a cheeky smile. Something about alcohol made people feel so free to just be themselves.

Alim gave her a smile that showed his teeth, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Anytime, beautiful.” he replied casually. “You can usually count me to be honest with people I enjoy. I only lie half of the time.” He said, finishing his apple lazily, and with a subtle movement of his muscled arm, he tossed the core into the bin past two other tables. It made it in, albeit barely. “And usually it’s to people who I want something from and have no real care for.” He paused for a moment, and then rubbed his face with his strong hand. “You know the funny thing about being proper is how unwound you get when you let yourself be unproper. I think for Ani it’s all she knows. You though...you’re a lady of the court.” He spoke as if he had met and dealt with many court members before, an earnest surety in his voice.

“Ahhh, Alim I know not what you mean. I know even less of Anifaire and perhaps I may catch her for a quiet conversation before the night is through… Do you like her more or less after tonight?” she asked, skirting around what else he had said of her. Lady of the Court she thought to herself, her drunken mind not entirely able to dissect what that meant. She was going to let it go, but the champagne wouldn’t allow it - “what do you mean I’m a Lady of the Court?” She stretched her elbows out over the table and placed her head into her hands. It was starting to feel heavy now, and so were her eyes. She hoped that the food would give her a second wind, and so she turned back to the fruit and picked up more of the strawberries.

“Oh, sorry.” He said, realizing he had been thinking aloud. “I meant that you know when to be proper and when not to be. And you know how to use it to help you in situations. It was a compliment.” Alim called for some water, two cups, to be sent over. “I learned how to be that way but I never got used to it. You make it look easy and I admire that.” Once the water was sent over, he took his cup and nodded. “As for Ani, I think I do. It’s a bit early but, I do feel very protective of her, and she’s as cute as a button.”

She mulled over his words momentarily as she helped herself to more fruit from the plate. “You know, if you get a chance to meet my father while we’re here, you’ll get a masterclass in being that kind of proper…” she smiled as she thought of him, it had been good to see him. Even if he was incredibly tense. She turned back to face Alim with a friendly smile as he spoke about the Altmer, but the expression turned to confusion when he described her as ‘cute’. Not a word I’d use she thought, her thoughts turning to words that tumbled from her mouth - albeit more tactfully (slightly) “You… you know she’s a lot taller than you, right?”

Alim looked at Raelynn. “...Are you saying I’m not cute since I’m bigger than you?”

“That’s not it!” she laughed, pulling herself from a slouch to an upright sitting position. “You’re cute in your own way, I suppose if you can see it then that’s what matters, it’s cute that you think she’s cute… so that makes you cute and I guess her too?” A bemused look creased over her face as she thought about it, “I don’t know… I think…. Cute.”

Alim sipped his water as he watched her tackle this philosophical subject, brows raised. He quenched his thirst when she was finished and simply said. “Thank you.” he said. “I don’t know. She’s taller than me and very pretty, but I think of her like she’s a cute...4 foot tall girl who’s learning about the world, it’s adorable.”

He picked up one of the strawberries too. “Anyway, sorry about vaulting between you and Gregorian earlier. Has he lightened up?”

“Don’t apologise,” she began in a light tone “it’s a party, and yes I think he has. Although I must admit I haven’t seen too much of him. If anything, I am the one who needed to lighten up - or cheer up - or one of those things, probably both.” She picked up one of the glasses of water and took a sip - it was icy cold and refreshing and exactly what her body needed at that moment. “My goodness, I’ve never had such nice water…” she mused to herself before placing the glass back down.

“No I was…” he stopped. Clearly she had no idea about the chat he’d had with Gregor before. Best to keep it that way. “Yeah the water’s great.” He took a big sip. “I think I’ll go to the beach sometime soon. Maybe bring Ani. Gilane’s coast is beautiful.”

“What are you talking about? You keep trying to tell me something Alim, you did it the other day too.” Her voice was suddenly sharp like a razor and she changed her posture - straightening herself up, between Alim hinting at something, and Gregor giving him an apology earlier - she could sense that something was amiss. Alcohol was making her feel bold. “You don’t like him, do you?” she asked, a defeated tone underpinned the statement.

“Oh I think he’s a big asshole.” Alim retorted casually. Then he realized he probably should elaborate. Great, my mouth opened. He sighed and set his drink down.

“Look, back when we first came to Gilane, I sort of stumbled upon him and we had a chat. Granted I didn’t know him very well, or your relationship with him back then so I wasn’t the best sport either. But…” he took a deep breathe. “I just mentioned your name and he got very...defensive.” Alim didn’t want to make her lover to be the bad guy. Even if he had qualms about him, it was her choice. Still, she asked. “I guess I was being curious and slightly protective. It was probably my old tendencies to act the part of a Knight showing its ugly head. Anyway, when I grew curious he became defensive and called me a bastard, telling me I wouldn’t know anything about loving a woman like you and I stole his wine and wasn’t very helpful defusing the situation. Yada yada yada…” He shrugged. “Long story short, I left before things got too heated and I slept on a roof that night.”

She didn't know what to say. But the more that Alim shared, the more her face dropped and she shrunk away from the rogue, her arms wrapping around her torso as if to deflect it. She knew the story was true, she knew both Gregor and Alim well enough that such a heated conversation could happen between the two of them. “Woman like… me?” The words just hovered there, and all signs of mirth left her as she thought on them. “What does that even mean?” The way the words stuck around made her feel dirty - exposed.

“I… I am sorry he said that to you.”

She unwrapped her arms and gazed down at her hands, and the scars and bruising there. “I know that you… think that of him, but… He took my pain away, Alim, he forgets himself, yes, but he is a good man.” Her voice cracked as she spoke the words, realising how grateful she was for Gregor - and Alim too. “I only hope that you can see that one day, my friend, you're important to me too. A different way, yes, but what you think of me - it matters.” She tried a smile, and brushed some of Alim’s hair back behind his ear. “You don't do you? Think less of me?”

Alim felt her fingers brushing his hair, and he looked her way, silent for a moment. “I don’t think less of you.” he said, honestly. He couldn’t say anything else about what she had said, because he couldn’t tell her what she would want to hear. For now this would do. But he did want to add. “I don’t hate Gregor, by the way. I’m used to people who think that way. There’s rough sorts, there’s people who let their demons take over every now and then. It happens.”

“We all have our demons, some are worse than others… I don't know Alim.” She placed her head into hands and sighed, unsure of whether this was more alcohol related silliness, a post moon sugar lethargy, or the weight of thinking about two of her dearest companions having tense words over her. She picked up a small square of chocolate from the plate and ate it slowly. “I don't need everyone to be friends, but I don't want to feel caught between my friend and, my boyfriend.” She knew that Gregor would be irked to see them together, even if Raelynn did look like she was moments from passing out.

She snapped out of it, the sugar hit from the chocolate reawakening her and dragging her back from the gloom. “So I'm not!” she declared, with a tiny giggle. “I want to see to it that you find a love of your own with Anifaire after all!”

Alim looked at her wide eyed. He had no idea how she got from him and Gregor to him and Anifaire. Then again, he did smell some moon sugar wafting from her and he placed a hand on her shoulder. Love!? “Sloooow down there.” he laughed. “It’ll work out, and you’ll have a front row seat. But let’s give it a little time.” He looked at her, wondering if she was a bit too ‘drugged’ (for lack of a better term) to stay awake much longer. “You ok? You think a nap might be good?”

“No, there's no time to wait you goof,” she replied with another titter of laughter. Raelynn pulled the hand that was resting on her shoulder around her, skooting her chair closer to his. The breton placed her head against his shoulder. “I don't need a nap, I just want to watch everyone be happy. Maybe tomorrow we’ll all be dead or somethin’...” she sighed contentedly before chuckling mischievously - “Hey! Would a lady of the court do this?” before he would have a chance to react, she swung her legs up onto the table with such gusto that the plate went flying to the floor with a clatter. “Oops!” She sat up from the hug and looked at the mess on the floor.

As she picked up the tray and returned it to the table, it seemed that Alim was himself dazed, and so she took the opportunity while he was elsewhere to weave her way back through the crowd once again. ··

---

Gregor came to up Daro’Vasora with a big grin on his face and grabbed the Khajiit’s attention by tapping her on the shoulder. “Did you see what Raelynn and Mazrah did with your moon sugar?” he asked, all previous tension between them forgotten in the amusement of the moment. “I didn’t think Raelynn was capable of such untethered revelry.”

Daro'Vasora's reaction to the touch was much more muted and lethargic than usual; she was well and thoroughly intoxicated. Having found herself a nice and large floor cushion off to the side where she could nurse herself with food and water to dilute the… she wasn't even sure what she was drinking at this point. She looked up with a half smile before registering it was Gregor. She blinked, surprised.

“Oh, hey.” she said, her happy visage returning a few moments later. “All according to plan. I wanted to see who would get it and let Sheggorath reign for a bit.” she giggled in a surprisingly feminine and girlish way as her tail swept the floor behind her, an appendage she no longer felt. “Raelynn exceeded expectations… I'm surprised you were okay with that. Mazrah would have been happy.” she observed, her normally fluid mind articulating in stuttering blocks. She was too drunk to properly care.

Gregor, having also drunk quite a lot at this point to help forget his conversation with Megana, pulled up a chair while he laughed to himself. “I feel comfortable enough in my relationship with Raelynn to have her frolic around with a giant Orcish woman for a bit, yes, though I did intervene eventually. But, to be honest,” he said and leaned forward with a sly grin, “it was quite an enjoyable sight. Mazrah was very happy, as far as I could tell, and with good reason.”

Daro'Vasora frowned. “She's very pretty, you know. Raelynn. I'd always grown up wishing I looked like her. After I left my cozy little city and found out what life was like everywhere else.” she pulled her tail in front of her, grooming it. “This always kept me behind, sneered at. Few people trusted me.” she looked up at Gregor's face. “There's a darkness to you, I don't know what, and that's fine. Just… promise me you won't hurt her. She needs you.”

Gregor met Daro’Vasora’s gaze silently as his grin melted away, his knee bouncing up and down and fingers fiddling with his ring, for a long time before he spoke. “I’m not going to hurt Raelynn. I’m going to hurt the people that do. That darkness you see in me… it’s what’s going to keep her safe. I’m a killer, Daro’Vasora. My hands and my blade are stained with the blood of dozens of monsters. I am that which the nightcrawlers fear. The Khajiit that captured and tortured her? I will find him and I will kill him too,” he said quietly. “I would never hurt Raelynn. I love her.”

“I don’t know what any of that means, just that it worries me.” Daro’Vasora said with a shake of her head. “What makes any of that different from any of the people you’ve gone after? I’ve sensed this hunger to you that consumes you, and I think it has the reigns. These things you say… do you even know when to stop?”

Gregor frowned. Was she daft? “They prey on the innocent, I put them to the sword. One is a crime, the other is justice. You do realize that jarls and counts pay money for such a service, right? When I talk about monsters, I mean vampires, outlaws, Daedric cultists, necromancers… vermin that need to be exterminated. Tolerance of intolerance isn't tolerance, it's weakness. Every society needs its own monsters to hunt the ones lurking in the night,” he said, gesturing animatedly while he talked. “Surely you understand that?”

The Khajiit rolled her eyes. “And maybe even some doughy deep elf administrator.” she shot back tersely. “You paint yourself like you're a mercenary, some paragon for virtue and S'rendarr’s mercy, but there's more to it than that, isn't there? I'm met my share of sellswords, even worked with a few… even a Dawnguard lady once. None were like you, Gregor. The drink peels back layers so whatever lurks beneath your pleasant veneer shows itself. I have no clue what it is, and I don't want to know. Just don't let it out.”

“No, not Nblec,” Gregor parried and held up his hand admonishingly. “I resent that statement. He was hardly a monster. We never meant for him to die, and I’m still not sure what actually killed him.” Wilfully ignoring her comment about alcohol, Gregor took a large swig of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten our conversation in Anvil. That’s what ‘lurks beneath’ the surface, as you so flatteringly put it. I’m afraid of what’s waiting for me,” he said and sighed. “That’s all.”

“So… what is it?” she asked with a resigned sigh. “Look, we all have things we want to keep others from finding out, I get that.” Daro'Vasora's mind fluttered to Latro's confession for a moment. “All I care about is each and every one of us making it home when this is all over. I never thought I'd be saying that, but these guys matter to me.”

The Khajiit looked up at Gregor with a slow blink. “And Raelynn in particular trusts you, loves you. She told me that much tonight. I just want to make sure that the part she sees isn't the part I see. What does it mean for the rest of us if you lose your shit?”

Gregor was lost for words for a moment. Raelynn had told Daro’Vasora that she loved him? No, not exactly, he realised. Just that much. He opened his mouth to respond to and closed it again, unsure of what to say, and instead let the rest of what the Khajiit said sink in. “The part that you see,” he repeated. “I don’t think you understand Raelynn all that well. She’s seen much more of that part than you ever will. And you know what?” he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She loves it. The power, the rage, the violence; it’s what she wants. It’s what makes her feel alive, and safe. We have our tender moments too and I swear to all the gods above and below that my feelings for her are very much sincere, but the things that frighten you just drive her mad.” He paused and smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. Raelynn and I are perfect for each other, in every way.”

Daro'Vasora sighed, slipping a bone between her teeth and grounding away at it. “A fire is always comforting when you are at camp. It means you are warm and safe, it keeps predators at bay. But when a freak wind comes through and blows the flames onto something dry, you cannot contain it. It spreads and consumes everything. This… thing, it's a wildfire waiting to break out. The fact you readily admit to it being there and something you lured her in with strikes me as particularly careless, like you're flaunting it. You didn't survive all these years by being careless, did you? None of us did, especially now.”

“You make an awful lot of assumptions for someone so young,” Gregor said; he sounded amused. “Fire is mindless, uncaring. A poor analogy for someone like me. Perhaps you haven’t lived long enough or seen enough of the world to know that aggression and violence are useful tools that can be honed and controlled by a man who needs them. You’re right, I survived all these years, and I wasn’t careless. I was prepared, always evaluating and learning, and I faced foe after foe and I survived. But I was alone, Vasora. Even if I was working with other people, I did not belong with them. When they died, I survived. Now I am no longer alone. It changes things. And besides, what harm is there in being honest with an honored friend at a pleasant party?” Gregor asked, tilting his head. His smile had not yet left his face. “Why would you call that careless? Are you plotting against me? Have I something to fear from you?” He waited just a second, almost as if he was expecting a reply, and then cut off anything Vasora might have said by dismissing his own questions as rhetorical. “Of course not. We are allies. I can trust you.” There was a twinkle in his eyes and the implication was unmistakable.

It sent a shiver down her spine. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she glanced away. “I've seen enough of the world to know what it's like, Gregor. Where do you think my sunny and welcoming disposition comes from?” she asked sarcastically, but not bitingly. “I'm just deep in the drink and not weighing my words like I should. I really want to trust you, that whatever you have going on is a force of good for everyone here that won't ever be unleashed on any of us. I've never seen you anguished or furious, and that's what worries me. What happens then? It's one thing when you're in control of yourself, it's another when hard emotions take over.”

She shook her head, a slight smile crossed her lips. “Even if I wanted to be dangerous, I'm not really built that way. I've hurt my share of people with my mace, sure, but that was always to buy time to get away. I'm a treasure hunter, not a fighter. I'm used to being alone, like you, and expecting absolutely everyone to betray me. This is the first time I think I've had to really consider others’ needs before my own.” she hesitated, wringing her hands. “That's what really scares me. Everyone here, they look up to me to guide them. I just stumbled into this and I have no idea if I'm doing it right or I doomed us all.”

Satisfied that he had disarmed Daro’Vasora’s suspicions for the moment, Gregor exhaled slowly and let the anger he had felt at her prying and prodding melt away. She was right, they were all drinking and not making entirely sound decisions. He could forgive that. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing well,” Gregor said kindly. “I asked one thing of you and you brought me to the headquarters of an active resistance against the Dwemer. It’s all I could have asked for.” He laughed and took another sip. “I don’t envy you your position, though. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be responsible for so many people. It’s something I have actively avoided throughout my life. I didn’t inherit my father’s business, I never actually joined the Vigil, and I dodged the draft during the civil war in Skyrim. It’s admirable that you’re even trying in the first place.”

He rubbed his chin, combing through his beard, and appeared to deliberate for a few seconds. “But I have been around the block a few times. I have fought many fights and won every time, one way or another. I don’t mean to imply that I think you need it, but if you seek advice, I’ll help you think things through.”

“It just occurred to me we really don’t know much about each other.” Daro’Vasora replied, thankful for that cloud having drifted over. This was the side of Gregor she thought she could actually befriend. “I had no idea you were really a part of all of that in your personal life, or maybe you did say something in Anvil. Memory’s not all that sharp right now.” she smiled apologetically before shaking her head.

“It’s a strange feeling, I understand Rhea better now than I did before because I can see exactly how the stress and fear tore her apart like it did. I didn’t exactly try to fall into this role, I just happened to have the right connection and everyone kind of looked to me to lead when Roux and I had our little plan. Now I’m just trying to inspire people and bring out the best in them, I’m just terrible at it, as you probably guessed.” she chuckled, pulling the bone from her teeth, looking over its knurled texture. “And honestly, if you’re offering training lessons for how I can be a better fighter, I’d be grateful for the opportunity. I had a sparring session with Latro that ended wonderfully, but it occurred to me how woefully unprepared I am to even hold my own against a one armed, one legged Redguard who’s half blind and deaf in a duel.”

“I don’t think I did,” Gregor said, thinking back to their conversation in Anvil. “I am quite secretive about my personal affairs with most people. Well, the short version is that I’m the son of a prosperous merchant from Bravil. I was apprenticed to become a jewelsmith. My father died from a terrible illness when I was twenty-eight summers old. It’s possibly hereditary,” he said, deliberately downplaying the truth, “so I left home to find a cure before the same fate could befall me. That’s what I was talking about, back in Anvil. I discovered my true calling as a witch-hunter and that is how I’ve made a living the past decade.”

He smiled and pressed his fingertips together. “As for a training session, that’s not entirely what I meant by ‘advice’, but I don’t see why not. I can’t help you with your mace, though. My father insisted it was an uncivilized weapon. Swords only, I’m afraid.”

That made her laugh. “Oh, but didn’t you know civilization was built on the back of clubbed weapons and then spears? Besides, all you need to do is smack someone hard enough and all the fancy plating in the world doesn’t matter. I always liked the idea of a 50 Septim mace destroying the value of a 5,000 Septim suit of armour, it’s humiliating.” She grinned, absentmindedly reaching to where her weapon would have been at her hip before realizing she didn’t wear it to a party for some reason.

She thought over Gregor’s story, surprised by the candor of it all. She blinked, thinking of what to say. “Is that why you’re here, with us all? To try and find a cure and hopefully the Dwemer in all of their fancy technology came up with medicine we can’t even dream of?” she asked, not insincerely. “I am sorry about your father, and your family. I truly am. But forgive me for saying so, but I can’t imagine you have delicate and dexterous enough fingers to craft jewellery.” she said with a grin.

Gregor nodded in response to her summary. “That’s right,” he said softly. “The ecclesiarchy, the College of Winterhold, alchemists, researchers, old books, my father and I tried everything and came up with nothing. If anyone in Tamriel developed the means to cure us, it would be the Dwemer. So for that, I am grateful that they have returned, but it is a selfish gratitude. I know that the world would be better off if they were gone again, so I am trying to combine my personal quest with their defeat. Perhaps if we ever capture Rourken I can force the truth out of her, or something. Anyway,” he said quickly, eager to move on to the next topic, “you insult me, madam.” He took off his ruby-studded silver ring, like he had done earlier, and gave it to Daro’Vasora to inspect. “I’ll have you know that is my handiwork.”

She took the ring with care and began to appraise it like it was one of her finds in some Nordic barrow; much to her surprise, the work was detailed and exquisite with absolutely no tooling marks or scratches, and it was uniform in shape and material consistency. It gave her a newfound respect for the man; he certainly was capable of creating something beautiful.

“Well, colour me impressed. It’s beautiful.” she admitted, handing the ring back with care. “Maybe when this is all over, I’ll ask you to do something nice for me. I do have an eye for the finer things in life.” she smiled, shifting in her seat to a more receptive position, her body language looser. “I promise I’ll try and help you the best I can, to find something, anything that can lead to what you’re looking for. I guess years of learning how to read an undead language is going to pay off, huh? You know, as weird as it sounds, I actually know what you mean, the gratitude for them being back. I’ve studied them for a lot of my life, along with other dead civilizations, and it always fascinated me how advanced they were while we might as well have been struggling to master mud huts. I thought it was tragic they all vanished, no one should have to face annihilation like that. This is a second chance for them, and they’re doing it all wrong.” Daro’Vasora frowned, rubbing the back of her neck, feeling how numb her extremities were. “I don’t think they’re bad people, just that they’re scared and angry. What did you think of the Governor?” she asked.

It was a strange feeling to rope Daro’Vasora into a quest he had no intention of actually pursuing. It was idle hope to think he could get the Dwemer to divulge their medical secrets, if they even had a cure for such a thing. The dishonesty of it made him hide behind his wine for a bit while she talked, and he was glad that she asked him about something else.

“Governor Rourken,” Gregor said, tasting the name and title in his mouth. “Very intelligent, very capable. Her presence and her authority are undeniable. I think she is dangerous and not to be underestimated, but perhaps her desire to integrate with the existing Redguard population is a weakness that we can exploit. You could interpret that as sympathetic but I think that’s naive. The Dwemer are an existential threat. In short, I should very much like to kill her and hope that someone like her never returns to Tamriel again. For our sake.”

“I…” Daro’Vasora said, her face scrunched in consideration. “I don’t think she’s wrong? At least, her aim. This was her home; Gilane is the city where Volundrung fell and her clan settled, it’s why the province is called Hammerfell. The Dwemer never met the Redguard before they vanished; The Yokudans didn’t come over until after they vanished. I wonder what they thought, finding entire cities just empty. I would have thought the entire land was cursed.” the Khajiit smiled sadly. “I thought she was a very impressive woman, someone I would have liked to meet under better circumstances. I just don’t think killing her will be a smart idea… she said what happened in Imperial City was the work of another clan, another warlord. What if in her absence someone like that takes control of Hammerfell? I just… I don’t know the answers here. I just think this whole thing is tragic and horrible all around.”

“She is arrogant,” Gregor said with finality. “The Dwemer were gone for thousands of years. I don’t care that it was merely centuries for them. That is still a very long time. They are refugees, Daro’Vasora, not the rightful rulers of these lands, but they are too prideful and obsessed with dominance to see that. If they had come in peace, their knowledge and skills would have made them welcome guests across the breadth of Tamriel. The dark elves fled Morrowind with nothing and the High King of Skyrim still gave them Solstheim and made sure they were allowed to live in Windhelm. Are their lives perfect? No, far from it, but they are strangers in a land where life is hard enough as it is. Such are the cards they have been dealt.”

He shrugged. “Do you see the difference between them and the Dwemer? They walk and talk like it is somehow perfectly natural that they are master and commander in Hammerfell again. I spoke to one of them on the day we arrived and she welcomed me to ‘Volenfell’, as if I was the biggest stranger of the two in these lands. It’s simply unacceptable. I don’t think she’s right and even if she is, it’s not some ideological dispute. They threaten our way of life. And by ‘our’, I mean everyone on Tamriel. The Dwemer don’t belong here anymore.”

“I don’t dispute that, it’s why I’m here bumbling in an insurgency instead of heading home to my family, but… well, that’s the word. Refugees. All of those people outside of Skingrad, did they not deserve to live, as well? Rourken told us the plain her people were banished to is dying, and this is their one shot at trying to survive. While individuals are capable of great evil and cruelty, I don’t believe it’s right to condemn an entire race to death because of their leaders.” She thought about the children playing in the streets, their harried mother, the boy who called her pretty. It was all so damn relatable. “They couldn’t have just shown up and been welcomed back, it’s like you said, it’s no longer their lands. I doubt anyone would have welcomed them back or accomodated these strangers showing up in their borders, it would have been another Saarthal all over again. It’s not an easy situation and I don’t really think there’s a right answer, but I refuse to believe the only solution is genocide. We have to be better than they are.” Daro’Vasora said with an air of determination, looking over at the rest of the party guests.

“Everyone here has a family, a story of their own. Those are what we’re trying to protect, Gregor. They give our lives context and meaning, and these deep elves, as misguided and destructive as they are, they too have their own stories and families. I can’t stop thinking about Nblec; he sounded like he was a good man who genuinely wanted to fit in with the locals. I think about the boy and his mother, just people, Gregor. Not monsters that come down from the sky and slaughter my uncle in his own store, not creatures that forced me to abandon everything I worked for in my life. I cannot forgive those who wronged me, and I will see this through because of it, but I don’t see why one day, we can’t coexist. This war really isn’t any different from all the others, it just hurts more because it’s happening to us now.” the Khajiit said, grabbing for her wine glass once more.

“Don’t do that,” Gregor said. There was a hardness to him now, and his voice rang with the implacable nature of steel. “Don’t humanize them. We don’t have to be better than them, we just have to survive. You said it yourself; we fight for the lives and stories of the people we know. You cannot simultaneously consider the tragedies that will befall your enemies. Nblec told us he had a daughter. Perhaps she is an orphan now. It changes nothing. He wasn’t supposed to die but I shan’t lose any sleep over it either. The die has already been cast, Vasora, and it was cast by them. Blood begets blood and it won’t end until we fully subjugate them. They will continue to resist our efforts to recover our sovereignty until they no longer have the means to do so. Maybe then we can think about coexistence. But for the time being, while they are still our tyrants to be overthrown, do not empathize with them.” He looked at her intently, as if he was trying to drive this point home with more than just words. “Or you will find yourself faltering at a critical moment and they will strike you down without a thought.”

Daro’Vasora stood, her face impassive as she gazed out into the gathered people, mingling among themselves and washing away the hardships of the past several weeks through revelry. “‘Don’t humanize them. We don’t have to be better than them. Do not emphasize with them.’” she repeated Gregor’s words as if they they were mantra. “I wonder if that was the same speech that the commanders gave their soldiers before they sacked Imperial City? What you say is exactly the kind of thing that allows those kinds of atrocities to happen, and violence begets violence. I’ve read enough history and studied enough ruins that contain entire people’s final moments that I know how those ideas can spread like a miasma. One crime leads to one in turn, which escalates until such a point that no one can inherit the ruins that are left behind.” She looked back at him, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. “If you wish to defeat your enemy, understand them. Find what drives them, and then dismantle that. If you go in blind with nothing but hatred in your heart, well… you were a Ranger, briefly. Try not to make the same choices they did.” Daro’Vasora said, tidying up her dress.

“Ask Latro what he thinks,” Gregor said and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Perhaps he will do a better job at convincing you of the necessity of cruel methods than I can. He was the first to agree with Jaraleet when he suggested that we interrogate Nblec, you know. The look Latro had in his eyes then -- I’ve seen it before, but only in people who know war.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him all about it when we next rendezvous, I assure you. You know, I’ve seen the future; it’s written all over the walls of those who died centuries before, and I’ve sold their priceless possessions for a thrill. History is a giant cycle, if no one learns from it. The only thing that changes are the faces of those who refuse to get off. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Gregor, I’ve got to go freshen up. Enjoy the party.” she said, stepping away with even strides as she headed to clear her mind.

---

After his chat with Nanine, Jaraleet had decided to head towards the area were the assorted food and pastries that had been gathered for the party lay in their trays. He had been drinking sporadically since the start of the party and while he still wasn’t inebriated, the Haj-Eix thought it best to prevent such a thing to come to pass. And so he found himself in front of the food trays with a plate on one hand, picking up a few pastries to eat.

With a cup in her hands Judena saw Jaraleet eyeing the sweets, she called out in Jel. “I wouldn’t have taken you to have a sweet tooth, Jaraleet.”

An empty plate to her left, a pitcher of wine to herself. On her third goblet, beginning to feel the edges of her vision smooth out, taking it slow - tempted as she was to try and keep up with the younger members. While Jude joked at length of her age, there were only a few things where she stubbornly stuck to a pace she set only for herself.

“Come spend time with this certain honoured elder. Come, come.” She beckoned.

Smiling, Jaraleet went and sat next to Jude. “I’m not one to normally indulge in sweets.” He replied, easily switching back to their native Jel. “But, well, I decided to indulge tonight. I’ve been drinking a fair bit and I thought it could use something that would give me some energy.” The younger Argonian said, chuckling softly. “Feel free to take some if you wish, it’s not like there aren’t trays and platters full of them next to us.” He said, chuckling lightly before taking one of the pastries and taking a bite from it. “How have you been Jude? Enjoying the party?” He asked once he was done, remembering that it had been quite a long time since he had talked with his fellow Saxhleel.

“Yes! While my dinner companions ventured elsewhere, the food and wine has been delicious. A real treat!” She took a generous sip, “All healed up from earlier this week, lessons with Anifaire, enjoying the sea where I can. Nothing of real significance. Taking Daro’Vasora’s warning of sticking in pairs to heart. I wonder why such a warning was administered even with the success we saw helping the Peculiar Man.”

She pondered with a shrug, “There is probably a reason upon further examination but there has thankfully been many other things to distract myself with.” Tapping a nail against the cover of her logbook. “I take comfort in your presence here Jaraleet.”

“If anything were to happen to me there is someone here to read my words without a problem.” She noted sincerely, in spite of darker meaning - it was true. She would be happy knowing if she were to pass on while they were all together as a group someone would be able to understand her logs. “Thank you.”

Jaraleet had been listening to Jude’s words with a smile, happy to hear that the older Saxhleel was having a good time. However, when she said that she took comfort in his presence he was taken aback, his surprise only growing with each word that Judena said. “You….you do me an honour that I don't deserve.” He replied, bowing his head slightly, his voice choked up ever so slightly. “I promise you Jude, that as long as I'm here nothing will happen to you.” The Haj-Eix said softly, voice solemn, before falling silent as hesitation entered his mind. “But….should something happen, I will make sure to protect your history, your logs. This I swear.” He said, giving Jude a small smile.

Reaching to cup his face she held him there for a moment, “Thank you. I’ll hold you to that promise.” Squinting contentedly. “I believe in a great many things but I firmly believe you should always speak truthfully and immediately of your feelings for others. Good, bad, complex. Speak them with honesty.”

“For you Jaraleet I feel comfort, solidarity. I see in you embodying home, our home in every sense of the word.” She said her tone adopting a more serious note. Speaking of Argonia earlier had set her thoughts to how she grappled with homesickness for Soulrest but she felt that same longing for her other home she built with Leonora. In Jaraleet she saw everything about Argonia being carried on the shoulders of one soul. “The good, bad and complex feelings we all share for our homes.” She echoed.

Jaraleet was surprised when Jude reached to cup his face, but did nothing to pull away or stop the motion and let the elder Argonian do as she wished. He was touched by the words that followed, by the fact that she felt comfort and solidarity from his presence. And yet, those same words unsettled and confused him greatly. He smiled sadly when she echoed her earlier words, unsure of what to say next.

“You...you do me a kindness that I'm unworthy of.” He finally said, his voice choking up again as he spoke, before falling silent again, unsure of how to continue speaking. Of what he should say.

She patted his cheek in somewhat admonishment, brushing away the mere concept. “Your worth was established when you were brought from the depths of the Hist. It is simple as that.”

Jude sat back with a smile, she drank her wine. Words she sometimes struggled to believe herself, but in Jaraleet she saw familiar conflict she wished to help him quiet.

Jaraleet fell silent once more as he considered Jude’s words, a troubled look settling on his face. “Thank you Jude.” He said finally, looking at the older Saxhleel in the eyes. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I think I will excuse myself from the party, enjoy the rest of the night.” He said, smiling at Jude, before standing up.

He needed some air, some quiet, to think for himself. He had also seen Meg leave the party in what seemed to be quite a distressed state, something that worried him as well and that, now that he was leaving the conference room as well, he fully intended to check out.

---

Gregor had found Raelynn again in the buzz and excitement of the party and this time he grabbed her hands. “Gotcha,” he said and pulled her in, a warm smile on his face. “You’ve been floating all over, haven’t you? Like a radiant butterfly. Come, sit with me.” His voice was soft and low, meant only for her ears, and he gestured towards two free chairs towards the back of the room.

She didn't speak, and instead enjoyed the feeling of his hands against her. Following him to the chairs, thankful to at last be brought back to his side after an evening of laughter and joy, and new experiences. He seemed full of it too, the light and airy feeling that followed letting yourself unwind. She sat back in a chair tucking one leg under herself, the other hanging freely.

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when he realized they had nothing to drink. “Hold that thought,” Gregor said and closed the distance to the bar with long strides, had a quick conversation with the bartender and returned with a bottle of Cyrodilic wine and two glasses. “There we go,” he said as he sank back into his chair and poured them both a drink. He took a large swig immediately before he placed his glass back down on the table and looked at Raelynn intently for a few seconds before he resumed

“I was born in Bravil, but I weathered the worst of the Great War in Bruma. My mother took me there to stay with her family after my father went away to fight. I don’t remember much from that time, but I do know that my mother did her best to make it as happy and carefree for me as possible. Despite her best efforts, my earliest memories have a cloud of uncertainty and fear hanging over them. It frayed her nerves a little and I don’t think she ever fully recovered.”

Gregor paused and took another sip; he seemed to be staring over Raelynn’s shoulder at something in the middle distance. “My father made it back home in one piece and we all moved back to Bravil. The city was ruined by the siege and subsequent occupation by the Dominion, but my father was a smart man and he made a fortune as a merchant during the rebuilding and revival of the city. We were wealthy -- well, reasonably so, I don’t think my father’s business could ever compare to your family’s, but I wanted for nothing. Then my brother, Marcus, was born, and a few years later my little sister, Julia,” he said, speaking with a deliberation and intonation that betrayed that this wasn’t a spontaneous story; Gregor had been planning to tell Raelynn about this for some time now.

“We were happy. My father came home from his work with a smile on his face every day and my mother coddled us. She was patient and loving and perceptive in those days. Sometimes she’d know something was bothering me before I knew it myself. There were… moments that she would snap, and retreat back to her reading room with migraines, but I don’t blame her. Like I said, the war did a number on her. She feared every day that she would receive news of my father’s death and that she would have to raise me alone.” Gregor cleared his throat and met Raelynn’s gaze. He was smiling, but there was a sadness in his eyes that looked it came from somewhere deep within him.

Raelynn just listened while holding the glass in her hand, and Gregor sat close to her. It was quiet back here - a sanctuary in which he obviously felt safe to share his story with her. She tentatively took a sip of wine, wary of whether to continue drinking, but she did anyway. Knowing that he wanted her to. There was an intensity behind his eyes as he recollected his memories, and the picture that he painted for her was the colour of melancholy. She took slow breaths before placing her hand on his leg, breaking eye contact only for a moment so that she could find the best place to comfort him. She was instantly reminded of their first night together - squared away at the back of the inn by the fire with a bottle of wine, their bodies growing closer. Only now they were as close as two people could get. That evening in Anvil he had shared a secret with her, but now he was baring his soul.

Her fingers caressed him and she gave him an encouraging smile, both interested in his story and knowing that this was his life, and that he wanted to share it with her. “I can’t imagine it, Gregor. She sounds like an incredibly strong woman…”

He laughed. “She was.” Gregor ran his finger along the edge of his wine glass and took a moment to recollect his thoughts. It was getting harder to think straight. “My brother always wanted to be like me. You know what children are like. He grew up to be different, though. I never had any desire to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a merchant, so when I entered an apprenticeship to become a jewelsmith instead, Marcus took his chance and replaced me as the heir of my father’s little mercantile empire. I don’t think he ever understood why I wouldn’t want to become the new patriarch, but he continued to respect my wishes, and I know he was envious of my… personable character,” he said and smirked. “My sister was a sweetheart, through and through. Always playing with dolls, stuff like that. She wanted to be a mother more than anything. She…” Gregor paused and swallowed hard. He laughed again, but it was strained this time, and he looked away. “She probably is, by now. I imagine Marcus married too. I’m an uncle and I don’t even know it. I left them all behind ten years ago without telling them anything, Raelynn.”

Even though she hung on his words, part of her was meditative in thought on how much Gregor had to tell. She had always known he was older than she was, that he had seen more than her - but the gravitas of his story now picked at her, and made her feel in some way, insecure. He had siblings, maybe nieces and nephews. Here she was, alone. Just her father and mother and experience as an apprentice mage. The only significant chapters of her life so far. The way he described his family made her realise how little she had done with her own life, how few marks she had left anywhere. She turned her head away selfishly as her brow furrowed, but she continued to touch him, to draw it out of him. She took a deep breath and returned her gaze to him, against the hearthfire he looked so captivating. Her immaturity in life made it hard for her to find a point to relate to him, she couldn't find the words to say to him, only nods and hums of acknowledgement; “ten years is a long time to be away… I'm sorry…” was about all she could muster to say to him.

Gregor nodded slowly. “We used to throw parties too. You know, for family and friends. I can still see my mother,” he said, and his voice was thin and shaky, and it was as if he was following her with his eyes as he cast his gaze slowly through the conference room, “walking, no, floating through the house, her dress billowing behind her, making sure that everything was just perfect. She would be done preparing the house hours in advance and still she would move the floral arrangements this way and that, sometimes just an inch, polishing the silverware, telling us all not to touch anything, and then she’d give me a kiss on my forehead and send me outside to play until the guests arrived.” He bit his lip and blinked a few times, fighting back tears. “She had long brown hair and green eyes, the color of moss, and her smile lit up the whole room.”

“She sounds a lot like my mother…” she said with a sigh, thinking of her, what she would doing. It had been a few years since she had seen her - but not ten. Her mother hadn't been of a nervous disposition either. She understood Gregor's pain then - even if it was only a minute fraction of it she felt it. “I think you would like my mother,” were the words she said as she let her fingers intertwine with Gregor's, to remind him she was here, to anchor him back from the sadness he was wading in. “She is feisty, like a tigress,” she whispered with a smile, leaning over to Gregor to plant a sympathetic kiss on his cheek. Raelynn lingered there as she caught her own breath back, feeling his emotions spill over into her. She pictured the scene of Gregor's childhood home, his mother whirling around to make things beautiful. “She sounds wonderful, I'm…” unable to think of anything else to say, she simply resorted to pulling him close and allowing her fingers comb through his hair comfortingly.

Her touch, her words and her breath on his skin brought him back to the here and now and Gregor chuckled at the way Raelynn described her mother. “With a husband like that, I expected no different from your mother,” he said and gave her a kiss right back. “And you’re right, my mother was a saint. My father’s death, it… well, it broke her,” he whispered and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He was vulnerable now, more than he had been in many, many years, and it scared him to break down all of the walls he had built around his previous life. But Raelynn deserved to know. She needed to know. Like a monsoon, an immense pain moved over him and he felt drenched in the sorrows of his regrets. Gregor looked down at his shaking fingers, casting his face in shadow, clutching Raelynn’s left hand tightly while she ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair, and saw through blurry eyes that a tear dropped down from his eyelashes and onto her skin.

He breathed in a deep, shuddering breath, like a soldier gasping for air through a sucking wound in his lungs. “I had a wife,” he managed through trembling lips, and the agony was unmistakable. His skin burned where it had been inked in her likeness.

If his agony was unmistakable, then hers was silent and locked away tightly in the moment. She didn't flinch. Maybe this was because she had known all along, she had made note of the woman on his arm their first night together. Suddenly the insecurity she felt rose to the surface, sitting in the form of tears in her eyes which she allowed to fall noiselessly. She dare not even breathe in this moment. Everything lately had been so much for her. But the one thing that had been keeping her above water, were the growing feelings for Gregor. Falling in love with him, surrendering herself to him, losing herself to him, rebuilding and transforming to someone better because of him...

That he would be her first love was magical, but knowing in complete certainty that she was not his bruised her heart and all it once she felt a cold hand clutching at it violently, stopping it from beating right there.

“I…” she eventually began, him squeezing her hand kept her steady. She focussed on the twinge of pain that it caused her wounded nerves, instead of the pain ripping her chest apart. It was a selfish feeling, truly. He was older, he'd had a life and she knew it. She knew this from the moment they met. So why did it sting so? “I know you do…” she said mistakenly - she turned to face him with a smile and a masked expression upon her face as if it was okay, and that she understood - even if everything inside was the opposite. “I know she must have been wonderful too…”

“No, no, Raelynn,” Gregor said after looking up and he shook his head, trying to guess what she was thinking. His cheeks were wet with tears. “I did. After I read the journals my father left behind and I learned of the Sibassius family curse, as it were, I did not tell her anything either. She was a lot like you,” he stammered and laughed. “So, yes, wonderful. But she would not have understood what I was setting out to do, nor would she have accepted it. You’re different. Leaving her without so much as a note was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was… necessary,” he said with finality and nodded to himself. “In my darkest nights, I wondered if I was wrong, but… well, what’s done is done. She would have stopped waiting for me years and years ago.”

He looked up at the ceiling and sniffled, questioning if he was doing the right thing, looking for mercy from gods he did not believe in. “Her name was Briar.”

What Alim had said now made sense to her a woman like me is different to her… True or not, it was the winding path that insecurity and self-consciousness were dragging her down. Still, she remained graceful in her posture, in the way that she touched him, in the way she smiled. She did not for one second stop touching him. She couldn't, it was too late for that. She would not show Gregor what she was thinking, not now. She would show him only dignity. She could barely hear him against the thundering sound of her own heart in her chest. But she heard the name, and instantly offered him a smile when he shared it; “like a wild rose,” she remarked, feeling the thorns of that rose cut her deep.

That prompted a smile in return. “My mother said the exact same thing,” Gregor said and squeezed Raelynn’s hand. “I didn’t mean to spoil your mood. I tell you these things now, my dear, because I think you should know them. You deserve to know about my past and about the decisions that I’ve made, to know who I am. No, sorry, who I was. You already know who I am today.”

“You haven't spoiled my mood.” Raelynn said with warmth, pulling him to her again, placing a kiss on his forehead this time. “I know that…” She thought of her words carefully, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck as she did so, “I am not as experienced in life as you, but I'm trying to understand you because… Because you're right, it is important to know all of who you are.” With one more long breath she tried to let Briar go from her own thoughts, to return herself to Gregor fully. She couldn't stand to think of him seeing her weak or hurt anymore, Gilane had been so hard in so many ways, this was just another thing that she would have to let go of. She gripped Gregor tighter and smiled at him, arching a brow playfully in his direction, “I was almost married myself you know…” she quipped, just wanting him to smile.

That caught Gregor by surprise. His smile turned into a grin as he processed this revelation. “I should have known I wasn’t the first to pursue you,” he said and playfully elbowed Raelynn in her side. The monsoon had passed; the walls had been knocked down and he had survived. He wiped his own cheeks dry first and then did the same for Raelynn. “Tell me that story.”

She closed her eyes and pictured her would-be groom and smirked, “it's a short story I'm afraid. My parents tried to arrange for me to wed a butcher boy named Lazenne.” Her hands found their way from his neck to the centre point of his back between his shoulder blades where she began to draw circles and lines as she spoke. “He was, rather bland and so I refused. The end.” She began to laugh at how ridiculous it must sound - he had shared such a beautifully rich story and this was all she had to regale him with. “In hindsight, I don't believe they were serious and I do believe this was their last ditch effort to have me on my way out of the family home.”

“So cruel,” Gregor chuckled and his eyelids fluttered as he enjoyed the sensation of Raelynn’s fingers on his back. “How long was that before you did leave?” His eyes shot open and he suddenly looked concerned, like a man who had been caught doing something improper. “I just realized I don’t really know how you ended up in Cyrodiil in the first place.”

“Hmmm" she began to think about it, making note of Gregor's enjoyment of her touch, and so she scratched a little harder in the spot and let her hands travel lower. “It was about eight years ago, actually. I took myself to the College of Winterhold and studied there for some time. Eventually I grew bored of the stuffy walls and well… I lived in Skyrim until just mere months ago when the winds of change and ambition blew me into Cyrodiil.” She freed her hand from his and waved it around, as if to mimic her floating on a breeze from Skyrim to The Imperial City. “So much has happened since then, I almost feel like it's been years since I left…”

“Tell me about it,” Gregor mumbled and slowly wrapped his arms around Raelynn’s waist, rubbing her spine with his thumbs. He moved in closer and his lips found hers and he kissed her with all the love and tenderness he could muster, trying to convey through touch alone that Briar was just a memory and Raelynn was all he wanted. “You still taste like moon sugar,” he whispered and laughed.

She pressed her forehead to his, and brushed her fingers over his lips gently. With her eyes closed she blacked out all other thoughts and let herself feel every touch he placed on her skin. She found herself speechless - something that was happening more and more where Gregor was concerned. She had no moon sugar to give him, but she knew of other ways to help him see the stars.

---

The festivities had gone on for a long while as Latro watched from his seat, easy and contented smile playing about on his lips. It warmed him so much to see everybody amongst each other, old faces and new talking up a hubbub among the room that was cacophonous in the best way. Laughs, smiles, loving caresses, it reminded him of good days spent with Francis and the travels he’d had to meet his many interesting friends.

One thing remained to be said though, there was an elephant in the room. It was the very reason that until now, he had kept himself from mingling with the others. At every point he caught sight of Calen, it brought back the memories of the safehouse raid. The terrifying fight, the hasty and bloody retreat. How he’d had to dig Calen’s blood from under his fingernails and how it tainted the water red when he bathed the first time after the mission. The feeling of it still wet on his skin and damp in his clothing, the way his shirt stuck to him before it dried and flaked off with the itching.

To think hard words over a disagreement could have very well been Calen’s last memories of him. His only impression of Latro to be someone so quick to condemn someone out of spite for their views that weren’t so different from his own in all honesty. He finally rose from his seat, approaching the man in question until he stood before him, clearing his throat sheepishly before speaking equally as such, “Calen. I’d like to talk, if you’ll have it.”

Calen was sitting at a table and was caught off guard in the midst of his daydreaming, and looked up with surprise to see Latro looming over him. He stammered, “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Please sit.”

The night had been somewhat uneasy for him. Usually he was the life of the party, the one jumping on top of the table and belting out a drinking song or two having the time of his life. Now, he was just filled with aches and pains he thought were supposed to have been cured. He felt exhausted despite the fact his last few days were spent resting. Even the champagne, even as delightful as it was, didn’t taste nearly as good as the water did. He spent all night watching the others instead, occasionally finding a moment to feel like his old self again, such as singing a few verses with Alim or sharing stories with Shakti -- but shortly after, he’d find himself grappling with his own mortality again. Watching everyone enjoy life, he realized that he was a hair’s breadth of away from not being able to see or experience any of it again.

With all this on his mind, he felt like he needed an outlet. He felt like he needed a way to express how haunted he felt, but instead, he looked at Latro and asked, “How are you enjoying the party?”

Latro chuckled half-heartedly in the midst of Calen’s gaze, all at once both jubilant, wistful, and grim. It reminded him too much of Raelynn, too much of himself at one or another point in his life. To see the carefree man now haunted by too many things to care about, it was as if his last hope in his own chance of being the easygoing, run-of-the-mill traveling bard had died with Calen’s eyes. Such was life amidst this Dwemer business, he supposed. He raised his glass of champagne and drank the last of it, “I’m enjoying it well enough.” He said simply, words going unsaid playing across his face, perhaps betraying themselves to the other man. Instead, he listened to the other part of himself, the one that wanted to pretend that this was just a party for the sake of friends coming together, and not what it really was. Or at least felt like to Latro, “What of you? I saw you with Alim, I’d have liked to join but, um,” He threw the thought of not wanting to ruin Calen’s time by butting himself into it over his shoulder, “I was busy talking amongst some others.”

He could feel the weight in his chest with every word that wasn’t the most heartfelt apology he could muster until it felt as if his ribs would implode into themselves. Anxiety set his leg to bouncing and his lip to getting chewed until he finally just threw it out onto the air, “I’m sorry, you know.” He began, finally getting the courage to look Calen in the eye, “I should’ve visited you.”

“Why should you have?” Calen casually remarked. There was a hint of humor in his voice, though his eyes were aimed away from Latro’s. “The room reeked like antiseptics.”

After a brief moment of awkward silence, Calen continued, finally taking Latro’s sentiment seriously, “Don’t worry about. I… I understand why if you don’t like me. You and the others have lost a lot, and I… I don’t know, I would probably feel differently if we traded places.”

Latro smiled crooked at that, nodding his head, “Maybe you would.” He said, shrugging, “I know what I said to you, I remember how I felt saying it and after everything. I felt like I owed it to you to come visit you in your room.”

Latro looked at the ground, idly flexing his fists before he spoke again, “Truth be told, I don’t hate you. I don’t even dislike you. I know everything that’s happened so far has been a shock to you, I know it wasn’t a leisurely time for me. I’m sorry for the way we started out.”

Latro offered his hand to Calen, “As long as you’re with us, you’re a friend of mine.” Latro had his easy smile, but his eyes told of different feelings, “If you’ll have me, of course. I don’t know many people that would do what you did for me during the raid. Thank you.”

The Nord looked up and gave him a half-hearted smile as he clasped his hand around his. He replied, “Even after almost… well, dying -- it’s still weird to think about and hear myself saying it -- I can’t really say that I, well… feel any differently. Maybe you’d call it a weak heart, but… I still believe there could’ve been a better way. I believe that there still is a better way.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Jubilations and Reprieve

4th Midyear, 4E208CE

Three Crowns Inn, Conference Room…

---

A spoon rang out against a glass in the domed room, where the companions were gathered, milling about wondering what the note they had found on their beds was about. It read, in urgent lettering, HEAD TO THE CONFERENCE ROOM IMMEDIATELY; THERE IS NO TIME TO EXPLAIN, and true to its prose, absolutely no elaboration was made. Other than the oil lamp lighting in the room, there was little to suggest what it could have been about. As the last of the group finally made their appearance, Daro’Vasora made her appearance from a side entrance holding the glass, dressed in a red and black dress without shoes, electing to let her bare feet touch the warm tile.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to face an uncomfortable truth; you’re all a bunch of tight-asses and probably haven’t relaxed since we landed in Gilane. So, in light of this urgent matter, Latro and I have agreed that we were in dire need of a course correction.” Setting the glass down, she clapped her hands and through a curtain came a number of catering staff, bringing out all manner of drinks and food, from ales and rums to fine wines and cheap grog, lobster and trout, salmon and oysters, cheese and breads, fresh fruits, nuts and dates, and an entire cooked pig. Some pastries existed for desert, such as baklava and pudding, but the main attraction was certainly the amount of chilled liquor sitting on frost salts. Daro’Vasora smiled at the staff and thanked them as they filed out of the room, she clapped her hands together, picking up her glass and filling it with a champagne and began to hand it out, repeating the process for each person in attendance.

“I know things have been tense since we got here, and especially after our assignments turned into a shit show that have us all on edge… Calen, I’m glad to see you’re on your feet again, this one’s for you. At least you’ll have some inspiration for a new song, eh?” the Khajiit said with a wink. Calen gestured back to her with a wink of his own and raising the glass of champagne she had just filled for him. Her expression softened as she looked each member of her group in the eyes, seeing how much so many of them had changed in such a short amount of time. “For those of you wondering how such a banquet and feast is possible, well, let’s just say I’ve spent time with our dear Poncy Man and maybe made him have a change of heart about us. We’ve been through a lot, and we are strangers to his land who were asked to do extraordinary things at great risk to ourselves. I might have suggested that helping sponsor a night such as this might be beneficial for all of us in the long run, and well, you see the fruits of that particular talk.” Daro’Vasora said, sweeping an arm across the tables and everything within them.

“You know, it’s been an incredible journey, and for the new faces in the room, I’m glad you’re here with us, and I hope you’ve felt welcomed. So many of us have been together since an ill-fated expedition in the Jerall Mountains where we were hired on by Rhea Valerius, a woman who was so full of excitement for the world and the people in it, she did everything in her power to keep us safe when our lives were in danger. She stayed with us all the way from the expedition, intending to pay us for our services, and of course shortly after Imperial City became under siege and we’ve been on the run since, fighting battles against the Dwemer, surviving a refugee camp, and ultimately escaping a Dominion ambush in Anvil.” A frown covered her face as she looked down and somewhat crestfallen.

“I am not proud of how I conducted myself towards Rhea in those final days, and her last memories of me were of this ingrateful shit that cursed her out for only trying to keep everyone alive at any cost. Her intentions were always pure, even if her actions left a lot of questions in their stead. It took me too late to realize that everything she did was always to try and make sure that we were safe, and it was at great personal cost. I’ve only shouldered a portion of the responsibility she did, and I can feel its crushing weight.” she shook her head, a slight morose smile upon her countenance. “And I think I finally understand. I just know that in her final moments, she looked so happy to be accepted by all of us that having us all together and not casting her aside meant everything to her. Having us all stand here now, together, would have made her contented. And with that said, that’s just what we’re going to do; we’re going to celebrate so hard tonight for her, for us, for everyone we’re fighting for, the Aedra are going to hear us and tell us to shut the fuck up.” The Khajiit grinned, holding her glass high. “To us!” she cheered, taking a drink from the glass and setting it down.

“So, for tonight, let’s just forget about tomorrow and yesterday and focus on the here, and now. Let’s celebrate each other, our friends and companions, our loved ones,” She said, looking towards Latro with a wink. “And let’s celebrate life itself. We’ve all been through a lot, we’d be idiots not to take a few moments to appreciate the fact that despite everything, we’re still here and we’re not going to go quietly into the night.” she said with a smile towards everyone. Turning back to a table, she picked up a practice lock and a set of lockpicks, holding it up for everyone to see, along with a small leather pouch.

“Before I lose you all to the drink and gorging yourselves stupid, allow me to set the mood; this here is a lock I’ve been cracking open nearly every day for four years, and I’ve taken it everywhere with me to keep my skills sharp. The first person who can open it and bring it to me gets a bit of moon sugar to really party hard. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been talking too much and I need to drink so much I forget half of it. Thanks for coming.” she concluded with a wink, heading over to the wine tray with measured strides that were sure to become much more chaotic as the night went on.

“I’m not sure which is more concerning; that Vasora was acting so happy or the Poncy Man is actually pleased with us.” Calen commented with a humored quip. “The drinks and the food might just be poisoned.” Truly, it was a rather macabre comment to be making given the recent events, but it was likely due to such recent events that Calen had resorted to gallows humor -- he probably had more reason to than anybody. He was only seen as fit enough to be moving around since this morning, and it showed. His face still beared the visage of an exhausted man with half the vigor he usually had, and the loose, flowing, and silky Hammerfell garb exposed the upper half of his chest while the lower half was still wrapped up in clean bandages. A little bit of the local perfume was used to try disguising the smell of the antiseptic ointments, but it just gave the herbal fragrances a medicinal undertone to them. Still, redness had returned to his cheeks, and a weary smile was a smile nonetheless.

"I s'pose then at least we'd have full an' happy stomachs. Dyin' hungry sounds terrible." Megana lifted her glass and took a gulp of her drink, enjoying the different taste of ale that wasn't like any she'd had in Skyrim. A party was the last thing she had expected after reading the urgent sounding message on her bed, but she couldn't say she was disappointed. All this delicious food and drink was just waiting to be consumed- pardon her blasphemy but it reminded her of the tales she had heard about Sovngarde, except of course that this was something she could actually touch and smell and eat without needing to die first. There had been the slight temptation to have a go at Daro'Vasora's lock rather than partake in some of the delicious pastries she had semi-consciously made her way to, but Meg let it be for now. She knew she'd probably be able to open it with minimal struggle, but even then she wasn't one who fooled around with moonsugar despite having been around it on many occasions. Alcohol was her vice when she wished to indulge, and over and above that, it was her sweet tooth she was planning on pampering right now. The others could have the victory of picking a lock.

“Moon sugar? I’ll try anything once,” Mazrah said as she got to her feet with a grin and made her way to the lock with a swagger, dressed as scarcely as she always was. She’d already started drinking before Daro’Vasora had even finished speaking. The towering Orsimer picked up the lock and the tools necessary to pick it, starred uselessly at them for a few seconds and after gingerly fiddling with the lockpicks for half a minute, broke out into laughter. “Does it count if I simply smash it apart against the ground?” she asked loudly and shook her head before putting the whole thing back down on the table. “I have no idea how that works,” she admitted sheepishly and sauntered back to her seat, winking to everyone that made eye-contact with her. “If anyone wants to share that moon sugar with someone and go on an adventure together, you know where to find me.”

---

Gregor watched the proceedings from the back of the room, close to the bar, with a lazy smile playing around his lips. After he had discovered that the invitation pertained to a party and not an enemy invasion, Gregor had dressed into his black clothes, sans cloak; the high-collared, long-sleeved black turtleneck and dark breeches were closer to formal wear than his Hammerfell linens. Raelynn was on his arm and he turned his head to plant a tender kiss on her cheek after Daro’Vasora finished speaking. He was done hiding their relationship from the others, and immensely enjoyed being able to show his affection in public. “Quite nice of the Khajiit to repair our relations with the Poncy Man after… well, you know,” Gregor said in a low voice and squeezed Raelynn’s hand while he idly fiddled with the embedded ruby in his silver ring. His gaze found Calen, much closer to the center of attention, and he took a deep breath. The young Nord looked terrible, even if some life had returned to his cheeks by now. “He looks better. I suppose I should go and speak to him in a bit. I never visited him while he was in the infirmary. Couldn’t muster the courage,” Gregor admitted, repeating the words he had said to Jaraleet a few days before. “Well, either way, this is quite nice, isn’t it? A real change of pace. I dare say it reminds me of the parties back home. How does it compare to High Rock?”

Her blue eyes traversed the room lazily. It had been quite some time since the entire group had been together - it was nice to see them all, especially Calen. Raelynn had listened intently to Sora’s words, they hit her hard for some reason this evening, and she took a shallow sip of her wine as the Khajiit finished - raising her glass only slightly as her response. She eyed Sora up and down in her pretty dress, and it made her feel a slight sadness. She hadn’t changed at all - still she was dressed in the same black dress from the evening prior. It was hardly formalwear - not by her standards, but it allowed her to blend into the background - or at least it would have if Gregor was not by her side. He looked so handsome in his own outfit, and he commanded their corner of the room with his powerfully intense aura, even when he was relaxed she could sense his energy. She smiled.

“Oh it doesn’t compare at all,” she began with a playful smirk, “for a start we wouldn’t have an Orc around - or Khajiit’s in frocks. I wouldn’t be wearing Mage armour to a party either. Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way tonight,” she said quietly in earnest to Gregor, taking another relaxed sip from her glass, squeezing his hand right back.

“Oh yeah,” Alim agreed, referring to Raelynn’s comment on the comparison between this parties and get-togethers in Highrock. Apparently, Alim had managed to infiltrate the room and get behind the bar counter. As much as it seemed like he appeared out of thin air to most. He really just climbed into the window through the kitchens and made it past the barkeep without the man noticing. Alim was pouring himself a drink now right between Gregor and Raelynn, announcing his presence with his casual comment. “They are quite different. Then again, if they’re in high society they’re not as fun. Then again, there’s nothing like taking an aristocratic woman home at night.” He winked, and took a shot.

They hadn’t spoken since their tense confrontation on the balcony, and Gregor eyed the sudden appearance of Alim with a perceptible measure of wariness before he chided himself and let his guard down. It was a party -- let bygones be bygones. “I’ll take one of those, thank you,” Gregor said and pointed at whatever it was that Alim was pouring for himself, and then offered the Redguard his most winning smile. “My apologies for our last conversation, by the way. I meant less than half of the things I said. As for aristocratic women,” he continued and looked back at Raelynn with warmth in his eyes, “they are in short supply around here. I wish you luck in your endeavor; you shall need it.”

She raised an eyebrow in curiosity - Alim and Gregor had talked? Alim and Gregor had a conversation that had warranted an apology? Curious. She let her hand fall against Alim’s arm as he poured a drink for Gregor, gently squeezing it; “you should give us a song my friend - get us started off, High Rock style… What say you to that?” She looked up at him with wide eyes, and a glint of mischief. “I know someone who might enjoy the caramel tones of a rogue like you…” She moved her head to look over at Anifaire in the distance, and then back at Alim.

Alim poured Gregor his drink, sliding it to him easily. “Oh, believe me. I never need luck in such a task.” he said, clinking his own glass with Gregor’s before the man even lifted the drink up to his lips. He patted Gregor on the shoulder to show he felt no hard feelings, though Alim knew if he stuck around there would be hard feelings again and he would have a difficult time not making quips so instead he decided to enter the party proper. He gave a laugh at Raelynn’s comment, giving a sly look back. “Oh you think so?” he asked, refilling Raelynn’s glass with a wink. He vaulted over the bar counter on the Knight’s left side and slid into the party proper.

“I would but I’m just not prepared, honestly.” He scoffed, reaching into his vest to pull out a flute. The instrument looked earthy in color and archaic in design, with bronze rings around it. He’d won it recently and had gotten somewhat good with it. Though he’d keep it simple. He found his way toward a stool at the fore of the room, placing a foot on it as he cleared his throat and began to play. He thought for a moment of what song to begin with. Red Diamond was too solemn, and Sway as We Kiss was for later in the evening. He’ll go with an old High Rock favorite of the lower classes, Mystic Touch. It was far more catchy and less provocative than the title suggested, though if the words were sung it would have a few steamy phrases. As it were he just played the tune.

Calen, from across the room, seemed to almost immediately recognized the tune. Even in his state, he found himself bouncing up and down with excitement -- he hadn’t heard this song in a long time! How did it go again? Even though he was slightly unsure of himself, it didn’t seem to be enough to cause hesitation, for his voice cut into the song and in tune with the flute.

“O, magicka bleeds from the stars above,
and through them Aetherius shines!
I’ve no need for diamonds and silks, my love,
‘cause I’m caught by your spell,
and tonight you’re looking so fine!”

---

Having excused himself from Raelynn to go catch up with Calen, Gregor alerted the Nord to his presence with a gentle touch on his shoulder before pulling up a chair and sitting down across from him, a sincere expression on his face that could be construed as both reassuring and somewhat guilt-stricken. “Calen, my friend… it’s good to see you out and about again,” the Imperial began. “I’m sorry I didn’t come and visit you before. You were in good hands and I thought you needed rest, but… well, the truth is that I did not want to confront my failings.” He smiled a weary smile and dropped his hands in his lap, waiting for Calen to render his judgement.

“Sir Gregor, my friend, I did not realize you were the one who shot me!” Calen jested, followed by a chuckle which he chased with another sip of champagne. As he caught his breath, he looked at him once more, winking, and said, “If you did not want me talking to Raelynn, you need just ask.”

Gregor laughed. “Yes, it was quite a difficult angle from the interrogation room, but I managed,” he said, going along with Calen’s jest for a moment. “And I shall have to take that offer into serious consideration, young man. I fear you will steal her away if you speak more than two words to her. Seriously though,” he continued and cleared his throat while combing his beard with his fingers. “I should have been there with you when the Dwemer attacked. Instead, I was with Nblec and I could not even save him. If you had… you know, died, it would have been for nothing and it would have been my fault. So for that, I am sorry. You were right when you protested.” He shrugged. “Hindsight, right? If only it was so easy for all of us to judge these things in the heat of the moment.”

“Yeah, I was right wasn’t I?” Calen said nonchalantly as he leaned back in his chair, then draping one of his arms over the rests dramatically as he tilted the glass back and slowly slid what was left of his champagne down his throat. It was obvious that the gesture was overplayed and done for comedic effect than anything, as if to accentuate the cockiness of his words, but as he returned the glass to the table, so did his typical demeanor. “But, hey, nothing we can do about that now, right? We’re not Psijics, what’s done is done. This has given me plenty of restoration practice, though.”

To show what he meant, he planted a hand over his bandages, and his brow furrowed in intense focus before a soft, warm (albeit dim) light. It had a fraction of the same intensity Raelynn’s magic had, and it only lasted a few seconds before the light dissipated in the air. Calen let escape a sigh of minor relief. He looked back up and said, “Ah, well, at least it’s kept Raelynn from having to baby me.”

“Very good,” Gregor said with a nod and a smile. “I always preach that self-sufficiency should be every man’s goal out in the field. Well, I say that, but to be honest I learned that from the Vigilants and from my father, before he died. He was a Legionnaire when I was but a child and taught me everything he knew as I grew up.” He looked up as one of the waiters passed by and quickly snatched two glasses of champagne before handing one to Calen. “There you go. To your health and prosperity,” he said and raised his glass in a toast. “By the way, Calen, I heard that there might be something between you and a very pretty girl named Rhona. Is there any truth to that?”

“Man’s trying to get me drunk before the party even begins…” Calen muttered humored quip under his breath, though it was in good nature, before accepting the glass and taking a small sip. He smiled at his company and said, “Gregs, you shot me over one woman, why dare I introduce you to another? Have you no sense of irony?”

Holding his hand to his heart like a man gravely offended, Gregor tutted and took a sip of champagne. “My friend, you wound me so. I am fully satisfied with my companion -- you need not fear any of my lethal reprisals over another.” His voice had taken on an unmistakable faux-dignified air as he acted along with the little play they were concocting, but his ability to stay in character left something to be desired and he broke into a smile. “I really am very glad that you will recover, Calen. All jests aside, however, I am genuinely curious about this woman. I’ve only ever seen her in passing and I haven’t forgotten the mother-bear stare I got from Brynja when we were sailing on the Intrepid whenever I looked at Rhona. What’s your story together?”

“Hm, well, let’s see…” Calen began, leaning back into his chair as he began wistfully recounting the beginning of his journey from Skingrad. “Well, I just so happen to be a homewrecker. She ran into me first, away from her… husband? Ex-husband? I’m not really sure. Anyway, he… he wasn’t a pleasant man. I didn’t know any of that at the time, I just helped hide her from whoever was chasing her back in Skingrad. Threw Cezare off her trail. Took her to a nearby lake -- well, she took me, I don’t have a sense of direction -- and, uh, we ended back up at my wagon. Had a few drinks, one thing led to another…”

The warm smile on his face was telling as he fell into silence.

“Very romantic,” Gregor said with a pleasant twinkle in his eyes. “Saving the damsel in distress. I should have seen that coming.” He hid behind his champagne glass for a moment while he tried to forget the fact that a romantic outing for Raelynn and himself consisted of sacrificing a defenseless elf’s soul to the dead gods of a dead realm. He admonished himself mentally -- there was no sense in thinking that way. He should be glad that she was so accepting of his methods, not ruefully wish for things to be different. They weren’t.

Calen laughed and said, “Yeah, I’m living every Nord’s dream aren’t I?”

“Actually, I think that might be more of a Breton ideal,” Gregor replied, having recovered from his moment of doubt. “You’re a little light on the weaponry, blood and glory for a traditional Nord. Right?” He stared at Calen and slightly tilted his head, as if he was seeing him for the first time. Perhaps that’s why he had immediately taken to Calen so much the very first time they met back in Skyrim: he wasn’t like the rest of them.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Calen grumbled as he crossed his arms on the table and hid his face in them. After a brief moment and lifted his head back up and admitted, “Honestly, I might just be the worst Nord from Skyrim. I don’t have a fightin’ bone in me, I can’t help it! That’s just more of my elder brother’s speed, I guess.”

Gregor blinked. “I wouldn’t say that. You threw yourself in front of Latro with nary a second of hesitation, the way I heard it. Courage is the first step towards martial prowess.” He finished his glass of champagne and gingerly put it down on the table, staring at the way the manifold lights around the room refracted in the crystal. “Tell me about your brother,” the Imperial said softly and looked back up to meet Calen’s gaze.

“His name is Murtagh,” he replied, “so far as Nord names go, he already had me beat. He joined the Legion army and trained at Castle Dour, but when the civil war broke out, he felt that the dishonor of desertion was preferable to having to fight fellow sons and daughters of Skyrim. He ended up travelling between smaller villages like Rorikstead; did mercenary work, helped them build their defenses, and their militias in case of bandits or dragon attacks. Never fought one, I think, but I’m pretty sure he helped evacuate Riverwood at some point.”

“Hmm. You know, I was in Skyrim during the civil war and the dragon crisis as well and I traveled those same roads, just with a different purpose, defending the people against a different evil. There were a lot of opportunists during that time, simply looking to make a quick septim on the back of innocent people’s misfortunes, but I remember the people like your brother more. He sounds like a good man. Maybe our paths even crossed,” Gregor mused and smiled at the thought. “Makes me wish I kept a journal or something. Alas, I didn’t, and I don’t remember any of their names now.”

“He's a good man.” Calen agreed with a nod. “He was kind of my inspiration for seeing the world in the first place. And I, his, for spending a little bit of time at the College to learn the arts. I have to admit, I envy him.”

“I was already a grown man for many years before I picked up a blade,” Gregor admitted, took off his silver ring and held it out for Calen to see. “This is my handiwork. Feels like a lifetime ago now and I doubt I have half the skills I had back then, but I was a jewelsmith before I was any kind of fighter. You never know, Calen. You still might grow to become more like your brother.” With a final smile and a nod, Gregor put his ring back on and got to his feet. “Excuse me, my friend, I have taken up enough of your time, and I am sure there are others who wish to speak to you and wish you well. That, and I’m hungry,” he said and grinned.

“Take care,” the Imperial said and squeezed Calen’s shoulder before setting off for the buffet.

---

Mazrah raised her glass in appreciation of the music being played and turned her head to talk to the people sitting closest to her; Daro’Vasora and Shakti. That was no accident. Mazrah was a brash woman who could absolutely not be described as shy, but even she enjoyed sitting near the people she knew best. “This is nice, isn’t it?” she asked and winked at the young Redguard girl. “I’ve never been to a party like this before. Have you? Probably not, right?”

Shakti had left her outer robes in her room and sat next to Mazrah, wearing only her dark, earthy tunic. She did however, keep her sword strapped to her belt, even as she sat nursing spiced wine. The aftertaste was horrible, but Shakti found that if she kept drinking she would never hit the aftertaste part of taste. “Yes, this is quite the gathering. The last place I saw so many people drinking and eating together was with my tribe back in Alik’r.” The Redguard girl said cheerfully, a look of flushed happiness on her face.

“That must be extra special,” Mazrah commented and downed her drink in one go. It was the strongest stuff she could find; Stros M’kai rum. “To have a party surrounded by nothing but desert. The Ornim of Orsinium also know how to throw a party, make no mistake, but it’s a much more… turbulent affair. It is tradition to boast as much as you can and to fight whoever calls you out on your stories. You eat and drink whatever you bring with you and if the chief’s longhouse is still standing at the end of the night, something went wrong. It’s quite a sight.” Mazrah laughed to herself at the memory. “But this is great, Daro’Vasora,” she added quickly and flashed the Khajiit an earnest grin. “I’ve always thought that fighting is unnecessary for having a good time. Thanks for inviting me.”

“It was no party, only dinner. Most days the whole tribe eats and talks together around a fire.” Shakti explained while watching Mazrah down drinks in single gulps with wide eyes.

The Khajiit was contented to listen to Mazrah and Shakti talk among themselves, listening to their individual cultural flavors of celebration with interest and amusement. When Mazrah turned to address her, Daro'Vasora was busy chewing a date to reply immediately, thankful for the interluding bit of words Shakti said when the Redguard noticed her Khajiit companion was verbally incapacitated. Washing it down with some white wine, Daro'Vasora composed herself before speaking.

“It's my genuine pleasure; just because you two are new to this lot doesn't mean you aren't a part of us. We've all gone through quite a lot the past couple of months… Shakti was briefly a, ah, guest to our Dwemer friends and you've been on a bit of a quest yourself in occupied lands, Mazrah. We all have a story to tell, it's important that we all take time to listen to them once in a while and celebrate what we do have.” she smiled behind her glass, setting it down. “And I for one am grateful for my two new and very colourful friends, a lively and wild Orsimer with entirely too much spirit and drive for one body, and a young but headstrong Redguard who is just starting to explore the world. Reminds me of a certain Khajiit that left her home to chase down stories and myths because her city wasn't big enough for her dreams.”

“If only I had another body to share all that spirit with,” Mazrah said in a sultry tone and glanced as seductively at Daro'Vasora as she could manage. The Khajiiti body was too alien for the Orsimer to be attracted to but she admired her willpower and quick wit, and that counted for something too. She laughed, giving Daro'Vasora an easy out, before pouring herself another shot of rum -- she'd immediately confiscated an entire bottle from a young Redguard waitress who was far too timid to tell her off.

That prompted a reaction; Daro'Vasora choked mid-drink and covered her mouth with her hand to prevent an eruption of liquids at the Orc's sultry suggestion. The Khajiit wasn't unnerved by the request, quite the contrary, she just didn't know if she liked women or not, but there was a much more important factor to consider. She recognized the implications of Mazrah's tone immediately; she'd used it many, many times. “Well, kind of you to offer, but I think my Latro might object to you carting me off to bed. I don't think he'd be fond of sharing.” Daro'Vasora grinned sheepishly.

“Who is this other Khajiit you are mentioning?” Shakti asked innocently, in between sips of her wine. Suddenly she realised. “Oh! Nevermind.” Giggling, Shakti looked in her cup, “Sorry, I don’t drink much.” Perhaps the wine was stronger than she thought. Or she had drank more than she had thought. Was this her first glass or her second?

Mazrah laughed again, at Shakti’s expense this time, and reached over to give the girl a reassuring pat on the arm. “We all have to start somewhere. Don't worry, you'll be tossing them back like nobody's business in no time,” the Orsimer said and turned her attention back to Daro'Vasora. “Your Latro? The scrawny thing? He's prettier than me, I'll give him that,” she sulked, but the amused look in her eyes betrayed that she wasn't being serious. “Shame. It's true what they say, the good ones are always taken.”

A smile crossed Daro'Vasora's lips. “I don't know if I'm one of the good ones, I did break that man's fingers for you, but flattery will always get you far.” she said, her tail flicking mischievously behind her. She finished her glass, deciding it was a much more entertaining conversation if inhibition was gone. “I do love my scrawny man, he's got a good heart and I always had a thing for soft, soulful eyes. A lot of muscles and the ability to crush watermelons between thighs was always an eye catcher, though.” she said, winking at Mazrah. Topping up her glass and Shakti's, she looked to the Redguard. “The important thing was you caught on in a timely fashion. Let's see how much it takes before you don't.” she said impishly, sliding the girl's glass closer.

“Now, now, let's not pretend I'm all muscle,” Mazrah said with an insidious smile, shifting in her seat to emphasize the natural curves of her body. “But fair enough. I don't know him at all but I believe you if you say he's good people.” She downed her shot, smacked her lips loudly and set her sights on Shakti; the more Mazrah drank, the more intense and piercing her gaze became. “Yes, Shakti, let's see what you're made of. You said that you're not a girl anymore -- prove it.”

“Alright-” Shakti said, closing her eyes and puffing out her chest, ‘-you’re on!” The young Redguard grabbed her glass and easily slammed down the rest of her drink, and before the glass had even hit the counter she was pouring herself another. Soon she had drank that one as well. And another, and another! The world was getting a bit wobbly and slightly fuzzy, everything sort of looked like a mirage. “I can… drinksh ash well ash anybody here!” Shakti declared victoriously.

Wordlessly, Daro'Vasora plucked the wine bottle from Shakti and walked away for a few moments, returning with a pitcher of water and a loaf of bread, along with a platter of other things to munch on. Setting it down in the table, she began to nonchalantly fill Shakti's glass with water and serving her slices of bread. “Easy there, cub; you don't want to vomit out all of that good wine.” she said with an easy smile. “Eat something, you don't want to pass out early, do you? You'd miss all of the fun.” she reached over, patting the Redguard upon her shoulder. “You certainly proved that you can drink Mazrah under the table. Are you sure you aren't your tribe's champion?” she asked playfully.

Shakti watched blearily as Sora replaced her wine with water and gave her some snacks to munch on. Perhaps she had drank a bit overmuch.

Mazrah burst into a raucous fit of laughter and nodded vigorously in agreement with Daro'Vasora's words. “You beat me, that's for sure! Well done.” Subsiding into amused chuckles while staring at Shakti's unfocused eyes, Mazrah thought to herself that she couldn't let the Redguard girl stay ahead for too long and threw back two more shots of rum. “This stuff,” she said and looked at the now half-empty bottle of rum, “is good.” She produced another shot glass from one of the tables and handed it to Daro'Vasora, topping it up with a mischievous grin. “Now, Shakti, you stick to water for the time being, alright? Maz wants to see how much the cat can drink.”

The Khajiit shot back the rum easily, although the sudden sting at the back of her throat made her eyes water momentarily. “Oh, not much, I assure you. I rarely find myself in situations where getting thrashed on the drink is neither safe nor particularly wise. We'll see what tonight holds, yes?”

“Bah,” Mazrah scoffed dismissively. “You're safe now, so let's find out. We've assembled the most dangerous people in Hammerfell into one room. If the Dwemer surround the hotel and attack us now, that would just be convenient. We could advance in any direction!” she added with bravoure and downed yet another measure of rum before giving the Khajiit another shot.

“Oh. Did you see that? I did it anyway. The boasting,” Mazrah said and laughed sheepishly. “Old habits die hard, I guess. One second,” she said suddenly and disappeared for half a minute before returning with at least a quarter of the roasted pig, skewered on a stick. “Anyone want a bite?”

Daro'Vasora giggled, putting up a polite declining hand. “I'm good, I want to try a bit of everything before I forget what taste is.” she said, knocking back the second shot, prompting a sudden cough that she covered with a cloth. “My word, how on Nirn do you drink this shit!?” she exclaimed, her throat burning.

“Yesh, sticking to water sheems wise.” Shakti rubbed her eyes and gulped some water down. Everything was so fuzzy! She rubbed her eyes again. If she squinted right, the people across the room looked like dunerippers. Most troubling. She took a bite of the bread Sora had so kindly brought her and looked over at the other two women. “Are all of theshe people friends of yours?” She asked, surprised at the amount of humanoid shapes she saw mingling in the room.

Daro'Vasora grinned, running a claw around the rim of her glass, causing a pleasant sounding ring to escape from its mouth. “In a way, yes. We've been through a lot together, and some of us became very close. I wasn't expecting near death experiences to help me find love, but I’m not complaining.”

Emerging from behind the rapidly diminishing shishkebab of pork like a predator looking up from a kill, Mazrah swallowed hard and wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand. Her tusks remained greasy, however. “One of my friends once told me that ‘all is fair in love and war’. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that those words follow one right after another in a common Redguard proverb,” she said and belched. “Oof, that one came from all the way down in my toes,” she chuckled with a smirk, looking at Shakti, wondering if it would amuse or offend the young woman.

Shakti threw back her head and laughed at the Orcish woman, “Everything you do is so loud!” For some reason, the sheer volume of her burp was highly amusing to the young Redguard, who kept giggling into her glass of water even as she drank.

“That’s right!” Mazrah said and thumped her clenched fist to her chest twice before joining Shakti in laughter. “Claim your space and own it, Shakti. I’m here and I’m bigger, better and badder than anyone else, and I intend for them to know that.”

The booze had hit Daro'Vasora's bloodstream now and she had a hard time maintaining her carefully managed air of indifference she usually kept her gaze as; she found it hard not to smile. Downing another shot of the rum, she poured two more glasses of wine, offering the other to Mazrah. Holding hers aloft, she cheers. “Well, here's to love and war, then,” she purred.

The Orsimer took the offered glass of wine with a grateful nod and raised it to join the Khajiit in her toast. Her golden eyes, positively radiant in the soft lighting of the reception area, met Daro’Vasora’s gaze with warmth and she giggled. For all her bravado, the rum was getting to her and she couldn’t muster the will to pronounce the Khajiit’s entire name, honorific and all.

“To love and war, Sora,” she repeated softly and with feeling.

Shakti too raised her glass, but said nothing and instead gulped down some water and hopped off the stool from which she was seated, legs still a bit wobbly. “I’m going to shay hi to the others!” She declared, waving her hand as she swaggered away into the crowd.

---

Judena astutely recorded Daro’Vasora’s small speech to her log book. Catching the tray of champagne before it passed for a glass of her own. When she finished Jude shuffled the book back into her shirt, gently tinking the glass with her nail in approval of the jovial idea. She looked left and right, eying the food with a little excitement. Such extravagance! Jude only hoped she could manage to keep up with all the youthful attributed group members. She shuffled over to the steaming platters of fish.

“Yes… yes this will do.” She said happily.

"Looks like y'had the same idea as me!" A laugh left Meg as she approached Judena, cheeks flush from having had a little more drink than she would on a normal day. The pastries she had picked off the platter had pretty much been inhaled by the Nord, and now that her sweet tooth was satisfied, she was looking for something with more substance so that she didn't fall prey to drunkeness too soon.

"An' a good idea," she added, looking at the argonian with a smile. "I've been missin' you! How're you findin' Hammerfell? I forgot... have y'been here b'fore?" She knew Judena was much more travelled than her, but the last time she had asked about it was in Imperial City. Even as she spoke, her hands moved to one of the platters, ready for a fishy snack.

Humming through the various options she replied to Meg, her vigilant dear friend. “Why yes I have! Only the Alikir Desert could have given my tail such patchy scars from the heat and sand. Gilane is a city rich with Dwemer history and artifacts. As we have properly found out.” She held up a nail, “How have you found Gilane my youthful friend? Found any success in writing letters home? I have been down to the ocean during the hot days, teaching Anifaire some magika lessons. She is quite the astute student!”

She loaded up her plate and beckoned Meg to join her at one of the tables, which she did, after filling up a plate herself and abandoning her glass for a bottle of ale instead.

Gregor, who had been filling a plate of his own, wandered within earshot as he inspected the buffet table, selecting a meal fit for a king. He looked up to find two people he hadn’t talked to yet, Megana and Judena, and smiled at them both. The champagne (and whatever it is Alim had poured him a glass of) and the affable admosphere had put him in a good mood and he felt like making friends, even if one of them was a towering Argonian. He noticed how Judena invited Meg to sit with her and cleared his throat. “Good evening, ladies,” he said and offered a slight bow. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. My name is Gregor. Do you mind if I join you for a spell?”

Judena looked to the imperial man and gave a shy wave. “How polite! Please do join us, Gregor. My name is Judena Callisar.”

Meg looked at Gregor, who she only knew from a distance, and nodded. She had been thinking of talking to this man in the near future- while she didn't think that future was quite right now, there wasn't any harm in learning more about him. "Sure thin'!" she replied enthusiastically, giving him a grin as she plonked herself down on a chair. "Me an' Jude were just talkin' 'bout Gilane, I'd asked her if she'd been 'roun' here 'fore, an' aye she has! My first time... findin' it real hot here." She tapped at her head. "Even got m'hair chopped short t'combat the heat." She ended that with large gulp from her acquired bottle.

Her enthusiasm was infectious and Gregor found himself grinning like a young lad as he took a seat next to Megana and across from Judena. Gregor knew her accent, but it had been a while since he’d heard anyone talk like that. He associated it with simple people and his first impression of the girl did nothing to disprove that notion. No matter; there was nothing wrong with that. “You know, I agree,” he said conspiratorially and tugged playfully at the collar of his black shirt. “It’s far warmer than I’m used to, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. There is something to be said for rolling out of bed and not being cold.”

"Huh, never though' o' that," Meg replied. It was indeed true that she didn't have to shudder at the thought of stepping on cold stone floor without boots, like back home. "Don' really even need t'use a blanket here much at night. The mornin's nice 'nough as well... midday though." She grimaced to show exactly what she thought of that, though it ended in a giggle.

“Quite right,” Gregor said. He grabbed his cutlery and cut off a slice of chicken, his brows furrowing in appreciation as he chewed and washed it down with a sip of wine. “Say, how did you two end up with this fine group of people, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Meg took another long sip from her bottle before setting it on the table. "Hmmm," she intoned before actually replying, "joined 'em at the Jerall Mountains... first time goin' to a dwemer ruin." She poked at her fish as she thought of that disaster. "Seems like ages ago." Her voice trailed to a stop as she finally took a nibble of her food. It was tasty, perhaps a little spicier than she was used to, but she welcomed the taste- it went well with her bottle of ale.

Jude replied, neatly tucking some vegetables onto her fork. “Correct.” With her opposite hand she pulled out her logbook flipping through checking some of her facts - reading the date, “15 of Rain’s Hand, a month and one half ago.” She nodded solemnly, reading her own words aloud, “‘The green menacing shaft of light seemed to reach far and high into the night sky. The disaster it wrought on the expedition hung over our heads like that of a hundred souls lost to the mountain side’s collapse.’ It is too bad that was your first and possibly last chance to see a Dwemer ruin as it was Meg. The pieces brought out from any one of the ruins was unique!” She pointed to her companion with her fork, “What an exciting time it was! Hatching new theories on their culture and way of life, plotting out how old a piece could be...”

Meg was dubious but she remained quiet, nursing the ale bottle in her hands as she listened to the argonian scholar speak.

Judena sighed wistfully, a mix between a hiss and a throaty rumble. “Gone are the days of academia for the Dwemer.” She took a generous few bites. “What brought you around Graccus?” Bright golden eyes turned to the Imperial man, her bristly ‘beard’ wrinkled against her neck. “I am ashamed to admit, I have not made time to meet with every new face of our diverse group.” Her tone apologetic.

“Graccus…” She tested out his name, unsure of how it sounded. “That cannot be right.”

"It's Gregor," Meg supplied with a little giggle.

Judena squeezed her eyes shut sheepishly replying, “Thank you Meg. I am very sorry Gregor for mistaking your name. My memory slips so easily when I am distracted.”

“That’s alright,” Gregor said, a little too quickly. He could feel the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end when Judena forgot his name -- it was awfully familiar, and the way the Argonian closed her eyes in embarrassment caused him to see, vividly and life-like, his father doing the same thing in his mind’s eye, years ago. He took a deep breath and conjured up a smile. There was no reason to assume that her forgetfulness was anything special; while Gregor was far from an expert on Argonian physiology, Judena looked old enough to be suffering from the simple and inevitable effects of age. “I have heard some things about this expedition you went on, but not much. One day, I should like to hear the full story, but something tells me that it is not suitable content for a jovial party. As for myself, I merely happened to be on my way to Skingrad in search of work when the Dwemer invaded Cyrodiil. I signed up with the Colovian Rangers at the first opportunity. And the rest is history,” Gregor explained and took another measured, civilized bite of food; very different from the Orc he saw gorging herself from the corner of his eyes.

“Of course, things did not go entirely according to plan, and now I find myself much farther from home than I would have wished,” the Imperial continued. “The company is good, though.” He smiled and something twinkled in his eyes when he cast a glance in Raelynn’s direction.

Judena followed his line of sight and saw Raelynn, the Argonian mage as always was none too subtle. She paused for a second, realization coming over her, “You and Raelynn are together! That is very sweet, is it not Meg? I could not be more proud that not only can we, as a group, trust and rely on one another but also…” She patted her chest, unknown to most where her wedding band sat on a necklace, “Find love.”

She smiled a gummy smile at Gregor. “That is wonderful, truly. I would toast to it.” She raised her glass gesturing to Raelynn and then to Gregor.

“To love.”

Normally, Gregor would have been embarrassed, but he did not care in the slightest right about then. He returned Judena’s smile and clinked his own glass against hers. “To love,” he echoed. He did not fail to notice that she had remembered Raelynn’s name correctly and that put him at ease. Hopefully Judena wasn’t suffering from dementia or amnesia after all. Gregor did not like the idea of having to confront his greatest fear while he was having such a good time.

“Calen and Rhona are an item as well, did you know that?” Gregor asked casually, glancing sidelong at Judena to gauge her reaction.

Jude gasped, turning in her seat to eye the bard and enchantress. “What other relationships have been blossoming right beneath my nose? Would you believe that I used to have a real nose for the certain goings on where group relations diverged?” She laughed with delight pulling her goblet of wine close for a few sips. “I wish I knew how to express how happy that makes me. Bards nurture their talents to give our world and our emotions artistic meaning, taking these things to another tier of understanding. The only time I have experienced the level of liberation is communing with my family’s Hist.”

She sighed with content, “Actually that is not entirely true. I have felt the liberation love has afforded. I may not recall but I know in the marrow of my bones what it is to feel when one is in love.” Patting her chest once more. “Love,” She gestured to the room “Is such a wonderful thing.”

Love, Meg muttered inaudibly in her mind as she lifted the now near empty bottle to her lips once more. Been only waitin fuckin' years for tha' shit. Her drunken state knew she was feeling what people would describe as sour grapes, but she didn't particularly care at the moment. How long had she worn Mara's symbol on her chest, both in hidden and open? At this point she was convinced the gods had contrived to keep that sort of fulfilling feeling away from her.

Gregor did not even notice Meg’s change in mood; he could not look away from Judena, even if he wanted to. “You can’t recall?” he asked, uncertain, and swallowed hard. Why was he so scared of this? It’s not like whatever Judena had was contagious. His own amnesia lay more than a decade ahead of him yet. He had time, the means and the resources to prevent it. And still… to see it in another person filled him with fear. “What happened?”

Judena turned back to Gregor and cocked her head, “Oh! I presumed you to know, I was once married but it was after my accident. Some a little over thirty years ago I had suffered a tremendously damaging head injury from…” She paused trying to remember exactly she flipped to the front of the logbook reading the list of facts, they were old but relevant points, “Ah, yes of course. The swinging boom of a sail struck me. Without a proper healer on board to fix such an advanced injury my memory retention had been permanently altered.”

“Each night I almost completely forget the day and struggle to remember new things throughout the day.” She explained, pointing to her logbook. “I write everything down to refresh myself.”

Perhaps aided by the effects of the alcohol, Gregor’s fear became mixed with equal parts pity and sympathy, and he fell silent while he picked away at his food. Someone that had lived this way for more than thirty years probably didn’t need his pity, though. Gregor had learned that from other people with disabilities. “I am glad you have found a way to live with it,” he said at length and looked back up to Judena. “Your perseverance is admirable. Funny thing, I was talking to Calen earlier and mentioned how I wish I had kept a journal while I was in Skyrim, but I never did, and now I don’t remember the names of the people I met. And here you are, a woman who keeps a meticulous journal because otherwise… she’ll forget. There’s poetry in that.” The Imperial smiled and took another sip of wine. This stuff was making him strangely sentimental.

Her bottle now empty, Meg stood up, leaning against the table to keep herself steady and off the floor. As much as she wished to stay by the argonian, the talk of love and relationships had her feeling a salty. "I- I'mma go take a li'l walk," she announced. Without warning she leaned over and gave Judena an out of the blue hug, squeezing hard before letting go and stumbling back. "See ya both later." A guilty grin crossed her face as she gave an awkward wave and turned away to walk off. Jude patted Meg’s arm before she let go.

Judena felt the mood inexplicably shift between Gregor and Meg, was it something she said? “Before I was rather flippant with proper notation, categorizing artifacts by word was always a chore especially when I could not record in my native language. Cyrodiilic is clunky you see. All my logs are in Jel, naturally.”

She observed Gregor, commenting, “We can certainly talk about something else, I understand the curiosity of my condition, however I can see it has made you somewhat uncomfortable.” She offered instead a way for Gregor to decide what they speak of next, “I can speak volumes of Argonia, I imagine Jaraleet has been particularly guarded against sharing secrets of our culture.” She said looking to her fellow Argonian now approaching Raelynn, “I have always maintained the mystery of Argonia fades with the more the outside world understands of our people, the same applies to Argonia understanding others whom we share the continent with.”

“Or we can continue gossiping about others in the group.” She added playfully.

“You’re right, Jaraleet has been very secretive,” Gregor said absent-mindedly as he watched Meg get up and walk away. He looked back at Judena and fiddled with his cutlery for a second before he laughed uncomfortably, sheepish and self-conscious. “I’m sorry, Judena. My father died from an illness that made him forget who he was in the final months of his life, and... “ he trailed off, averting his gaze again. “It’s not your fault, honestly, I think it’s the wine, but you reminded me very strongly of him, and I just -- I need to go clear my head. I’m sorry. I hope you have a good evening.” He got up, grabbed his plate, gave Judena a respectful and apologetic nod and walked away to find a different place to eat. He took a deep breath -- his heart was racing in his chest. Oh, papa…

Frowning she watched him go, sneaking in bites at the side of her mouth trying her best not to take the sudden departure of her company too personally. After clearing half of her plate she wrote down their conversation - short as it was. Topping off her goblet of wine and setting to finishing her meal, not putting a single scrap to waste.

---

Raelynn sat and watched the goings on with a glassy expression from the outskirts of the room, one leg crossed over the other, wine glass in hand. She tapped her foot against the floor in time with Alim’s music, and enjoyed the revelry from the comfort of her seat. For a moment, she brought her thumb and forefinger to the the bridge of her nose and rubbed gently, snapping her back into the moment, a sigh escaped her lips before she took another sip from her glass. Curiously, she found herself raising an eyebrow again - she was sure she had drank more of her wine, yet the glass was still full. Oh well, down the hatch it goes…

“Enjoying yourself Raelynn?” Jaraleet asked as he took a seat next to the Breton woman, holding a glass of rum in one hand. The announcement of the party had surprised him, especially the fact that the Poncy Man had agreed to it, but in the end the Argonian assassin had decided to relax after a few moments of inner debate. It would do him some good to relax, and this little social evening that Daro’Vasora had organized gave him an opportunity to talk with Raelynn, something which he had wanted to do once he had noticed her disturbed state after the 3rd. “How have you been holding up?” He asked quietly, sipping his drink as he waited for a reply.

Jaraleet's sudden appearance took her by surprise, she had been deep in thought until that point - just quietly observing, not expecting to be bothered. Jaraleet didn't strike her as a social butterfly, however, so it was little wonder he joined her now. “Jaraleet… I have been well!” she replied, lying through her teeth as she took a sip from glass. She turned to face the Argonian and gave him a polite half smile, “and you?”

“I have been well, thank you. A chance to unwind would do me some good, though I expect that is true for us all.” The Argonian replied, letting the Breton’s lie slip by for a second as he took a sip from his glass as well. “I'm not dumb, you know?” He replied half-absentmindedly, taking in the sight of the other members of their group enjoying themselves, before letting out a sigh and turning to look at Raelynn. “When did it happen? The second?” He asked softly, taking another sip from the contents of his glass. “And don't play dumb either, I can tell what happened.”

Wow. It was just like an Argonian to be so crude about it. Dumb? She became so tense that her leg began to shake with it - whether it was anger or embarrassment that it was so painfully obvious, of course it was to him. Her jaw clenched and she dragged the silence out until she felt that she could speak, turning to him with an emotionless gaze but a wretched smile, “this conversation is done, kindly get the fuck away from me.” She straightened herself up in such a way that it pulled her from Jaraleet - a wall building between the two of them. After mulling it over for a stretch more, she turned back to him, the smile gone, and her voice more stoic, “you don't get to call me dumb, Jaraleet. Not anymore, not now…”.

“Not, it's not.” The Argonian replied calmly, unperturbed by Raelynn’s angry outburst towards him. “You are angry, I know that. Probably not at me, not truly, but I do make a convenient scapegoat towards which you could direct it, no?” The Argonian said, taking a sip of his rum. “I also know that this...fear, this anger, coiled up inside of you won't just go away by pretending that everything is fine and by drinking luxurious wine.” He said, pausing for a second to contemplate. “But such luxuries weren't available to me when I was interrogated, only choice I had was to confront what had happened to me.” He finished, shrugging slightly and drinking from his glass again.

She laughed dryly at him as he continued to try and steer her to talking to him, the nerves of her hand ringing out in pain and so she breathed through it while she thought of a response - knowing he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. “So I suppose I just roll over and listen to you talking then because you had it worse.” He wasn't wrong, the anger was misdirected - but to just openly approach and ask her about it, at a party of all places. “Look at them all Jaraleet,” she motioned out to the group - watching them have their fun with their bonding, drinking, and eating. Smiling. “If you think I'm pretending everything is fine, you're very, very wrong about it.” Her lips pursed and she looked him straight in the eyes, hers watering in the corners. “Everything is not fine, and really Jaraleet - you're the last person I want to discuss this with.” She placed her wine on the table in front of her, afraid she might shatter the glass with her tightening grip. “Afterall, he fucking used your methods - do you know that? Oh yes Jaraleet, we left quite a mess…” she hissed, sounding like a coiled and angry snake.

“Not because of that, no.” The Argonian began, having fully expected another outburst from Raelynn. “But because, much like you, I've went through the same pain as you, I understand what you went through.” The assassin continuing, swirling the contents of his glass before taking one sip. “Because I'm the only one with such knowledge? Do you think I'm the only one who knows how to pull the nails off of someone’s hand?” He said quietly, not breaking eye contact from Raelynn even as her eyes watered at the corners. “We both know I'm just only one among many in the face of Nirn who knows, and employs, such methods.” Jaraleet spoke, unperturbed by the mounting anger that the Breton woman was displaying. He let out a soft sigh, shaking his head slightly as he contemplated what to say next. “It's not something that goes away, not truly.” He said quietly, his eyes taking on a far-off quality as if he was witnessing something that had happened a long time ago. “You just learn to live with it.” The Haj-Eix said, taking another sip of his rum as he waited for the outburst that was surely to come.

“It makes me feel so very relieved that you and your ilk are just… one of many.” Sarcasm rang out on her voice as it snuck through gritted teeth. The way he spoke about pulling nails off of hands made her ball up her fists and cringe. “Jaraleet, please. I'm not ready for this. If this is your way of asking me whether I said anything then you can sleep easy tonight knowing that you were not named…”

“I can’t talk about this, not right now. I'm sorry…” She took another large sip from her glass, giving a little cough afterwards. Was he trying to comfort her? In his own unusual methods? The thought of this being the Argonian’s way of comforting her made her laugh softly. “When I'm ready, we can talk.” With a wavering smile on her lips, she pressed the edge of her glass to his. “I'd like to try and forget it tonight, even just tonight.” There was a mild forgiveness in her voice - she couldn't blame him for asking and wanting to speak, maybe under better circumstances she would have shared. “Enjoy the party Jaraleet - I'd tell you to let your hair down a little but…” her voice tittered into a girlish giggle as she made a joke. She was trying to warm into that party spirit.

---

Anifaire’s eyes widened as her gaze wandered from platter of food to piles of bread. Her stomach rumbling, she tried to appear nonchalant as she made her way over to fill a plate the moment Daro’Vasora had finished speaking. She hadn’t eaten a feast of this caliber since she’d left home.

She piled the food onto her plate higher than she would’ve deemed acceptable once, but food was no longer a matter to skimp out on. Selecting the choicest seafoods, she made her way over to a table where she sat alone, an empty glass in front of her. She delicately set the utensils next to her plate, ordered as well as she could. Truly, no one outside Alinor had any class when eating. It had been true culture shock at first, but now she filled her own glass with wine despite how strange it made her feel. She couldn’t escape the feeling that she was never supposed to do that. The Altmer day straight backed and carefully selected her utensils one at a time, taking small, polite bites. She revelled in the opportunity to savour the meal.

A short while later, unexpected company sat across from the Altmer. Daro'Vasora, freshly tipsy from her encounter with Mazrah's terrible influence, set herself down with surprising grace considering the situation. She smiled at Anifaire, arranging her own utensils properly as she spoke.

“You strike me as someone who has seldom enjoyed an evening out in her life. You are always so guarded, so proper. You are sitting here alone looking lost and miserable, you know. Did I ever tell you I come from a fairly high born upbringing?” she asked the Altmer in a posh tone of voice, finishing arranging the utensils just so. It was an exaggeration, but she had to learn proper court etiquette when she served in castle Leyawiin and her mother was in a fairly lofty position. “One thing I have discovered in my travels is that being proper is boring, and frankly, quite useless out in the world. You need to learn to express yourself and discover who it means to be Anifaire.”

The Khajiit plucked a trout delicately with her utensils, cutting into it with disciplined precision. It hopefully conveyed to Anifaire that she wasn't the only one with an air of sophistication.

Anifaire watched the Khajiit with wide eyes, surprise showing itself on her face. She opened her mouth to speak but wasn’t sure what to say, pausing with her mouth agape.

“Useless?” she repeated. She stopped, stunned that someone might think such a thing. “It’s… it…” she frowned. “It’s comfortable.”

Without breaking eye contact, Daro'Vasora placed her arm on the table next to the plate and carelessly brushed the utensils off of the table, crashing them across the floor. She repeated the gesture on the other side, another loud symphony of clattering metal filling the air.

“How clumsy of me.” she said, picking up the plate and settling into a comfortable slouch, tossing a chunk of the fish between her pointed teeth. She gestured with a pair of fingers towards Anifaire. “You say you're comfortable, but you're sitting board straight and you can't even enjoy your meal without going through some stuffy ritual that was drilled into you since you were a girl. Look, you're a sweet, but terribly naive person who was way too sheltered. Look around you, look at everyone.” the Khajiit said, twirling a finger above her head. “Tell me what you see.”

Anifaire stared down at her half-empty plate, utensils gone. She considered picking up the food without them, or retrieving the utensils, but she couldn’t bring herself to do either. Grudgingly, she listened to the Khajiit and peered around the room.

What did she see? A few phrases came to mind. She saw people eating and drinking. She saw people who were intimidating. Some who she thought of warmly. But it was a simple conclusion.

People who are capable.
People who aren’t like me.

She thought the words with sadness. She had no idea how to fit in with this situation. A party, it was, more than a dinner. The Altmer couldn’t find the words to answer the Khajiit, uncomfortable looking down at her plate. She felt a mild urge to scoop up potatoes with her hand.

The Khajiit smiled, reaching over to put a hand over Anifaire's. “I know that look, you don't need to feel left out. Tonight's the night you get to be who you want to be, we're all friends here, right?” she said, removing the hand to jut a thumb towards where Alim was urging on other musicians.

“Y'know, I see the way you look at him. He's a lot of things you admire but are too embarrassed to admit out loud. He's exotic and lively, outgoing and courageous, someone who has an easy charisma and an impulsive and spontaneous personality. You know he's a thief and he's been a naughty shit, but it makes you feel a part of something adventurous by association. Why don't you tell him how you feel?” the Khajiit asked, placing the plate down and leaning forward on an elbow, her chin resting on a palm.

Anifaire’s face reddened by the word as Daro’Vasora spoke. She couldn’t bring herself to look over at Alim, either. She opened her mouth to utter some kind of lie but deflated a bit. Her stomach was urging her to continue eating, so she finally picked up a drumstick and attempted to take a bite without getting grease all over her face.

“He’s just friendly to me,” she muttered.

“Uh-huh. Let's find out, shall we?” Daro'Vasora said with an impish grin. She turned around in her seat, cupping a hand to the side of her muzzle to amplify her voice.

“Hey, Alim! Come here a second!” she shouted.

When the Breton-Redguard swaggered over a few minutes later, Daro'Vasora leaned back with an elbow on the back of her seat. The other hand tapped along to the music that was still playing, claws dancing along the table. “Anifaire here was just telling me how cute she thinks your butt is and is too shy to ask you to dance. Would you care to show her the ropes?” she asked sweetly, giving a wink that only Anifaire could see when she glanced over.

Anifaire sat, mouth wide open, cheeks red, staring resolutely at Daro’Vasora in shock. She held the turkey leg in her hand, using it to almost hide her face. Alim wouldn’t believe that… would he? She hoped not.

Alim had been playing for a solid chunk of the party at this moment, and he had been running out of songs that fit the mood so in a way he was thankful that he’d been called over. Everyone seemed to be engaged in talk even without his musical support. But when he stepped over, even Alim was halfway shocked. The adventurer laughed. “Really?” he asked, wondering that if this was true, how drunk Anifaire had to be. Of course he knew a thing or two about lying, so he doubted it. But…

He ‘sheathed’ his flute onto his sash belt and held a hand out to Anifaire. “Well she can tell me all about it.” he said, offering to dance.

“Uh,” Anifaire coughed, trying to swallow the bite of turkey and struggling to drop the leg back to her plate. She scrambled quickly for a napkin, trying to wipe her face and hands as quickly as she could. Some distant part of her considered kicking the Khajiit under the table.

She glanced at Alim’s offered hand, though she couldn’t quite look him in the face. The truth was, she’d always sort of liked dancing at her father’s dinners. She hefted her glass and finished the last of her wine, the only glass she’d had and the only one she intended to drink, never having drank for pleasure in her life, before grudgingly standing up from the table. She glared resolutely at the ground.

Hesitantly, she spoke up. “I would.. um, I… do like dancing. But, now that Alim’s here, there’s no music.”

Alim was usually sly and flirtatious with about any pretty woman, but with Anifaire it was different. He felt like he was far younger and less...dishonest wouldn’t be the right word. But he didn’t need to put on a persona of any kind. “I didn’t know you could dance.” he said.

Anifaire shrugged a bit. “Well, probably nothing like… this. I was used to, erm.” She wasn’t sure of the word. “Dinners.” She wrung her hands uncomfortably.

“I’ll let you guys figure out the rest, try not to have too much fun.” Daro’Vasora said, briefly placing her hand at the small of Anifaire’s back and meeting her eyes with a reassuring smile and a wink before taking off to rejoin the rest of the festivities.

---

Shakti managed to find her way to a table and fumble her way into sitting down next to a man she didn’t know. Her brown skin looking more red than any other colour, she smiled at the friendly-looking lad and offered a greeting, “Hope you don’t mind if I sit down next to you, I think I’ve had a bit much to drink.” She giggled at her own overindulgence before continuing, “Wait, I saw you in the infirmary, when I was getting my arm healed!” Gesturing first at the scar on her arm and then at the bandages on the man’s chest, she went on. “I heard your wound was grave! I am glad to see you are still among us!”

For the last minutes, Calen had spent some time on his own and watching the others enjoy themselves until a young Redguard woman had found herself next to him. Indeed, she was quite tipsy, but nonetheless exuberant as she invited herself to sit down next to him. Then she seemed to recognize him, prompting Calen to look self-consciously down at his own bandages. He said, “Oh yes, well, let’s not buy the pig while it’s still in the bag -- the night’s still young, yeah? Can’t spell grave without rave.”

“What is a rave?” Shakti inquired sincerely, never having heard of the term before, “Is it some sort of gathering?” That much she could infer from the rest of the joke. Shrugging off the conversational misstep, she hopped over to a new topic. Keeping her voice somewhat low, as if a bit embarrassed she had to ask, Shakti leaned in slightly, “What happened to you?” She hoped it wasn’t too rude to ask. In Redguard culture wounds and such were seen as a brave and respectable, and meant that the wounded had faced down Death itself. However, Shakti also knew that other cultures were different and did her best to tiptoe around the subject for fear of upsetting this obviously still wounded man.

Calen looked thoughtful for a moment as the events replayed through his mind, bringing on a bit of a shiver, but as he looked at the intoxicated Shaki again, a curious little smile was brought to his face. Normally, this would’ve been the perfect opportunity to spin one of his tall tales and sensational stories like he was prone to doing so often. Perhaps another one of those for old time’s sake would be nice to cut back the edge a bit, and entertaining people while they were drunk made it about twice as fun. For what felt like the first time in ages, he put his acting chops to the test, and looked around the room suspiciously before leaning in close to Shakti’s ear.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He said, hyping up the anticipation as the corner of his mouth curled up a bit. “Are you sure you want to know? Even talking about it could be risky.”

Shakti’s eyes gleamed in the light at the prospect of being privy to some eldritch information or story. She was a dunerabbit who was firmly in the sights of a desert fox. “Of coursh! I will not tell anyone else!” Her voice was struggling to keep quiet, her excitement causing it to involuntarily raise in volume. She practically bounced her seat as Calen displayed juuuuust the right amount of wariness.

“I was part of a covert operation.” Calen whispered, his eyes growing as wide and gleaming as Shakti’s. “I was the architect, actually. To capture and ensure the safe return of a high-ranking administrative official of the dwemer forces on behalf of the insurgency.”

“One of the other missions? I was rescued in one of them!” Again her voice became much louder than she had intended through sheer excitement and energy. Calen was quick to hush her and look around the room, his eyes darting in all directions before looking back at her and nodding.

“One of the very same.” Calen confirmed.

“So did something happen? How did you become injured?” Shakti asked, fully hooked into the tale from the first sentence.

“Well, it began with my associates and I, Latty the Blooded, the Last King of the Reach, and… Captain Casimir af-Shadda keeping watch outside of the safehouse after the successful capture the administrator. Then out of nowhere, an explosion tore Captain Casimir asunder, leaving nothing behind but a fine red mist. Latty and I ran for cover, giving the Dwemer time to advance on our bunker -- they knew they wouldn’t be able to get anywhere close to the building with us guarding it. Latty the Blooded held off dozens of armed and armored soldiers at a choke-point with just his bare fists while I prepared our secret weapon…”

“You were on a mission with a King?!” The shock in her voice was almost enough to sober her up. Despite Redguard culture having a strange relationship with nobility in general, royalty was still held in high regard.

As Calen was telling the story, he made sure that Shakti was sufficiently distracted so that she didn’t notice him untying the red sash from around his waist. From seemingly out of nowhere, raised it into the air and tied it around his forehead, before drawing two finger guns from his sides.

“Whoa!” Shakti exclaimed, having been too drunk and enraptured by the tall tale to have noticed the simple sleight of hand trick.

“Two completely automatic Dwemer cannon prototypes. One in each hand. Latty jumped out of the way while I unleashed Oblivion on them. Bang, bang, bang, bang! Each explosion sounded like Mehrunes Dagon himself, laughing -- but there were more soldiers than there were mini-cannonballs. I tossed the empty cannons aside and retreated with Latty.”

Calen took a brief break from his bullshitting to take a quick sip of champagne, but now caught up and invested in the story himself, he was eager to continue and caused a bit of the champagne to drip from the corner of his mouth.

“We rejoined our comrades inside the bunker. The battlefield was perfectly evened out with five on our side and ten on theirs… but my one failure was that we didn’t know that they had brought with them a full sized cannon. They fired at Latty the Blooded, but I pushed him out of the way, and took it to the chest. It broke my sternum, both of my clavicles, every single one of my ribs, and part of my spine. I was technically dead for two minutes. The administrator who we had captured? The force of the impact alone was enough to travel through the air behind me and kill him. I’m only alive because of… the healing powers of Rae-- uh, Raediant the Aedra.”

The whole story sounded like something she had heard when she was merely a child at her mother’s knee, listening to tales of ancient Ra Gada heroes and their flight from the mad King of Yokuda. She sat and listened with bated breath as Calen wove his tale of devastation and heroics (on his part, of course.) She had no idea what a cannon was, but guessed it was some kind of magical weapon that could kill scores of troops with a mere glance just based on the picture Calen was painting in her mind. She ooooh’d and aaaahhh’d at his twists and turns and sat, gasping when he described what had wounded him so badly and killed the Dwemer administrator.

Shakti gestured to the group at large, “One of them is an Aaedra?” This time, her voice was kept very low. If there was a divine being among them, there was no telling what could set it off and cause it to destroy her puny mortal form on a whim.

“So they say,” Calen whispered back in a hushed voice, “but some speculate that Raediant may just be the survivor of an ancient human civilization, and that she has such an extensive mastery of restoration, that she was able to prolong her life for thousands of years -- and she only looks to be in her mid-twenties. Her blood might just be closer in relation to the Divines than anyone else in the world.”

“Wow…” Shakti had no idea what to say. In her alcohol addled mind, she was slightly fearful of the idea of working with a creature of the divine persuasion. She really did not have much knowledge of the gods of Cyro-Nordic culture. Most of her spiritual life was spent with the ancient gods of Yokuda that her tribe had worshiped since they had come to this land thousands of years ago. There was one thing she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“W-Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” Calen began, “unlike my injuries, the mission that I had personally concocted to free you was no mistake. There’s something special about you. I believe that you can help me save the world!”

“You concocted the mission yourself? Save the world? From what?” Shakti’s bullshit alarms finally started kicking in and she began to sound a bit doubtful of this whole thing.

There was a short moment of awkward silence and a look of confusion that had at first frozen Calen’s growing grin in place, but slowly melted it away. He raised his eyebrow and tried to recover, “Uh… really? The dwemer. You know, the whole… invading force threatening all of Tamriel? Toppled an empire? Occupied Hammerfell?”

Shakti tapped her chin. “I understand that they are invading Tamriel, but the whole world? And me being important to that?” Her voice trailed off as she tried to piece his story together. Redguard culture was full of heroes, but it was also very much focused on Knightly orders and brotherhoods and all of that. Single men don’t win wars by themselves. Well, unless your name is HoonDing.

“Allow me to let you in on a secret,” Calen started, trying to regain steam, “no one else knows about this. I’m not a brilliant tactician because of my brains. I wasn’t the architect of those missions because of years of battlefield experience. If I have one power, any power at all… it’s clairvoyance. It doesn’t help me all the time…”

Calen glanced down at his chest, but his eyes slowly crawled back up to meet Shakti’s.

“But I have a very strong sense of intuition. The Dwemer aren’t going to stop at Tamriel, they’ll always want more. I don’t know what it is about you, but you’re special. Don’t ever underestimate yourself. As long as you believe in yourself like I believe in you, there’s nothing you can’t accomplish.”

Shakti followed his gaze down to his chest and then met it again with a quizzical look. This truly was an odd man. She supposed being clairvoyant would do that to a person. “I guess I’ll have to believe in myself then.” She didn’t sound fully convinced, but if her years of studying sword-fencing and the ancient Ra Gada texts about it had taught her anything, it was that you had to throw yourself fully at things, even if you don’t understand them at the time. Mastery was a journey. She shrugged as a conversational semicolon and nibbled on her piece of bread. “I do not think you ever gave me your name. I am Shakti of the Alik’r.” She inclined her head slight in a pseudo-bow.

“Calen,” he replied, mirroring the bow of her head, “of Solitude.”

Finally, the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile; a shit-eating grin, really, and he leaned back into his chair as he said, “So did you like my story?”

“S-Story? Did… did you make all that up?” Shakti said, slightly incredulous, her eyebrows arched in puzzlement.

“Only some of it. I embellished.” He admitted with a flushed grin. “Honestly, I’m just a bard. I’m just supposed to entertain people… but that mission and the dwemer? Me getting hurt? Most of that was real, I just… well, it was fun while it lasted, yeah?”

Shakti let out a groan and flopped her face into the table to disguise her even-brighter-red-than-before cheeks. She really had just let this man give her a run around. She felt like a goat being herded back into its pen at dusk, something she had done a million times. Now she knew what the goat felt like.

Shakti wished she had more wine.

“Hey, hey, hey… don’t feel too bad, Shakti.” Calen said, leaning in and placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all in good fun, right? We’re having a party. It’s okay to have fun. Besides… how do you think we managed to trick the administrator into following us?”

Shakti sat back up, her brown freckled cheeks still flushed red as the dunes at sunset. “But you said… and I believed… I cannot... “ She groaned again at her own foolishness. “I suppose you were not doing it to be mean. You do tell a good story, you must be a very skilled bard.” She had to admit that it was pretty easy to fool her though, so perhaps he wasn’t that skilled.

“To good stories, then?” Calen suggested, then wincing from the pain in his chest as he reached for a bottle of champagne at his table and pushed it into Shakti’s hands. He grabbed his own glass and continued. “To defeating the Dwemer… and to you too, Shakti. You may be drunk and gullible now, but you’re a survivor. You fought long enough to stay alive and be saved and I reckon you kept on fighting. You’re one of us now, aye?”

“I guess I am one of you now.” She affirmed as she poured some of the champagne into Calen’s glass and, finding she had no glass of her own, taking a sip of the liquid out of the bottle. “To good stories, and to your recovery!” She declared after noticing his wince.

---

Seeing Anifaire and Alim thoroughly invested in one another, Daro’Vasora made like a thief and slipped out quietly from the scene, letting their mutual affection do the rest of the work. She was feeling pretty well, all considered. Most of her friends and companions were relaxed and jovial, but one caught her eye who seemed to be somewhat despondent. The Khajiit frowned, looking towards Raelynn, who sat alone and was making no effort to join in the revelry. She’d only heard rumours and second hand what the Breton had endured, and her mind wandered briefly to the day she spent in each other’s company, meeting Salosoix and Governor Rourken in a single day. A lot of the light and pride was gone from Raelynn’s countenance, and Daro’Vasora felt she needed to do something to try and reach it.

Walking over and clutching a bottle of champagne, she stood a few feet away from Raelynn and gestured to the seat next to her. “That spot taken?” she asked kindly.

“It’s not, I suppose you’re going to fill it though?” she asked with a wry smile, her conversation with Jaraleet had poked at her wounds a little, so she was glad to have company to take her mind off of it. She tapped the cushion of the seat with her hand. “You look nice by the way, I’m surprised that you know how to scrub up so well…” normally it would have sounded malicious, but this evening it was some friendly sassy patter to start their conversation.

Following the accepting gesture, Daro’Vasora sat down as gracefully as she could, although her extremities were beginning to feel a bit numb. She smiled sincerely at the complement, fixing a stray strand of her mane behind her ear. The compliment was backhanded, she knew, but it was still from a good place, the Khajiit decided.

“You are too kind. You should have seen me back in Imperial City, when I actually had something of a wardrobe. Believe it or not, I am quite the cosmopolitan woman.” She said, taking a drink of the champagne straight from the bottle before offering it to Raelynn. “Your attire is quite striking, yourself. It is something I would likely find myself wearing on a trip out of town but not expecting anything too rough and tumble in my day. It makes me realize that we haven’t really had much of an opportunity to get to know one another, and you looked a bit lonely, if you’ll forgive my saying so.” he face turned to a frown, her eyes glanced away for a moment. “I just thought you needed space after you returned, and I wanted to make sure that you didn’t feel pressured into talking. I’m not really good at this sort of thing, but… well, I always admired you and I genuinely enjoyed that time we spent together. Hopefully my being here can bring some of that back for you.”

“Do I really look that sad?” she asked, her voice low as her eyes fell to the ground. “It’s written all over me isn’t it?” The Breton sighed and took the bottle from Daro’Vasora, drinking straight from it too. She changed the subject, not wanting to hear the answer to her questions. “Actually my Mother made this, it’s nice to wear something that makes me look… Less like a princess, from time to time.” She handed the bottle back to her companion. “Thanks for doing this, by the way. I might not look all to thrilled…” she placed a hand on the Khajiit’s arm gently, “but it really is nice to have this time together. I barely know them all, and yet I do at the same time.” She let her eyes gaze over the room again, and to see everyone happy - to see Calen out of his bed, even Latro. It made her laugh - or perhaps the laugh came from the mouthful of bubbles she had consumed. Nevertheless, she enjoyed the feeling of warmth, good and honest warmth that was spilling through the room - intoxicating everyone.

“Maybe when all of this is said and done, I will have to commission her to make me something. I quite admire her craftsmanship.” Daro’Vasora smiled, taking the bottle back. She listened to Raelynn’s gratitude, a surprisingly genuine sentiment, and she looked to the hand on her arm with surprise; it was a rather intimate gesture she never expected to receive from the Breton. She placed a hand on top of Raelynn’s, offering a slight squeeze. “I knew I had to do something. After everything that’s happened, well… you heard my speech. How was it, too much? Off the mark?” she asked, chuckling while shaking her head. “I’ve never been good at the damned things and improvising with my oration, but as long as the sentiment is there, that’s what matters, right?” she asked.

“It was a little heartfelt - I was quite shocked you found the words actually. I’ve heard your other emotional outbursts a lot more.” She smiled, and drank a sip from her glass - which was still strangely full. “I liked it a lot though.”

“I think we all needed to remember what it is to just live and remember who we are when we’re taken away from this war, this invasion. I think about Zegol and Rhea all of the time, how I feel like I failed them both. It’s a strange sensation for me, I’m not used to feeling accountable for people and their well being, or being attached to them. I guess a lot has changed lately.” she looked across the room at everyone with a smile and a light laugh at some of the antics. It really felt like a group of friends who’d been together for years. “I just wanted to remind us all, including myself, that things aren’t always going to be going the way they are. Nights like this will become the norm, at least that’s what I’m fighting for. For us all to live, not just survive.”

Raelynn had simply been nodding along to the Khajiit in intervals of acknowledgement while she had shared her thoughts, listening to her made her feel better inside - she was right after all, and just hearing Sora reaffirm all of these things made her feel less isolated and alone. “Speaking of living - how about you give me a go with that lock of yours? I wouldn’t mind a pinch of that Moon Sugar…” She smiled and drank again - she knew that she didn’t want to get too heartfelt with Daro’Vasora - as nice as it was, it would only bring her mood down, and she wanted to have fun. Everyone else was.

“Back in a moment. Don't let anyone take my seat.” the Khajiit spoke, standing up and heading to the table where the lock was sitting.

While she waited for Sora to hand over the trinket, she lifted her hands behind her head and took out two hairpins to use as lockpicks, letting some strands fall loose around her face, literally letting her hair down at last.

A few moments later, Daro'Vasora returned, nodding appreciatively at the new hairstyle Raelynn sported. She handed over the lock and took her seat, scooping up the bottle. “It's a good look. You should try it more often.” she said, drinking heavily from the champagne. “So, am I wrong in assuming you've locked yourself out a few times?” she asked.

She smiled playfully and took the lock, feeling that the wine had sufficiently gone to her head she placed the lock into her lap and tucked the strand behind her ear before placing the two clips into the lock slowly. “Put it this way, I was a very naughty student at the College who just wanted to read all the books in the library…” a low giggle was heard as she twisted her fingers against the lock.

As she tilted the lock she was hit by a sharp pain through the fingers of her left hand as they seized up spontaneously. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip - unable to move her fingers around the hairpin. She breathed slowly, making her mouth a soft ‘o’ shape as she let go - the hairpin didn't move and she was able to flex her fingers free of the paralysing effect. “Heh, I guess my nerves are still somewhat frayed…” her voice was soft, but defeated. Still, she went back onto the lock and with a few more deliberate clicks, twists, and shakes, it finally opened and she beamed at Sora. “Too easy friend, too easy!”

While Raelynn’s hands worked, Daro’Vasora took note of each of them, the bruising and the puncture wounds, the difficulty the Breton had manipulating the small and fine objects. She didn’t try to stop her, because to offer help or to tell her she shouldn’t do it would be to rob her of her own self-determination. Instead, when Raelynn popped the lock, Daro’Vasora put on an exaggerated pout. “Oh, beginner’s luck. I suppose I have to live up to my end of the bargain…” she said, untying the small pouch from her waist belt and offering it over to Raelynn with mock pageantry. “Raelynn Hawkford, for overcoming my devious challenge, I present to you the spoils of your labour. Please take it from my humble hand before I decide I want it instead.”

She took the bag with delight in her eyes, and then grasped the Champagne, taking another big gulp from the bottle, finding that it was the very last dregs. “It seems we got through that a little too quickly - and in a not so ladylike fashion at all. I’m half-scared of what will happen when I stand…”

“I think I might see if our green friend will enjoy indulging in this Moon Sugar later. Something tells me she will oblige…” She slouched back in her seat - more relaxed now than before, she even found herself leaning closer into Daro’Vasora, her mind carrying her to a memory of her companion from only days ago. “You know Daro’Vasora… Gregor is indeed dangerous.” She looked down, in a forlorn fashion, taking a meek sip from her wine glass - chasing down the champagne bubbles and giving the Khajiit a moment to consider her words, before pulling her head back up with an exceedingly kittenish smile, “dangerously good in bed,” she couldn't help it and she started laughing - and loudly, from deep down in her stomach, immensely proud of herself.

The bait and switch caused Daro’Vasora to groan, although not entirely put off. “Oh trust me, I know all about you two…” she muttered, noticing that the room was starting to blur when her eyes darted around. The fact she maintained a fairly robust vernacular surprised her, she decided. It had been quite a long time since she had this much to drink.

To be fair, you’ve been keeping food down and doing the rounds with the others… she thought, suddenly aware of how close Raelynn had leaned towards her. It was a very accepting gesture.

“You sure you don’t want the sugar for yourself? It’s always so fun to see the uninitiated hit their first euphoric wave… you’re quite agreeable when you’ve been drinking, you know.” the Khajiit said, shaking her head with a slight upturn of a smile. “So, Gregor’s treating you right? I hope I was wrong about him… he just, well, gave me the chills when we spoke in Anvil. Maybe it was just fatigue.” she murmured, her mind not quite as quick as usual to draw the connection between him and the death of the administrator. She’d already given Jaraleet an earful, it was enough, right?

“Pardon me, but you're the one who loosened me up with the champagne…” she said with a wink. “I think I owe Mazrah some fun after our first meeting. I'm in the mood for fresh starts and new friends tonight - for once I shan't be greedy.”

Her eyes found Gregor in the room and she focused on him from a distance, admiring him longingly as an audible sigh of infatuation slipped out. “He must be doing something right, I'm falling in love with hi-" she cut herself off before she could finish, but she knew Sora had heard, “don't you tell anyone I said that… Or I'll off you…” there was no malice in her tone, but a little embarrassment. She was in too good a mood to let it foul the meeting and so she opted to playfully nudge Sora with her elbow.

Daro’Vasora began to giggle before it turned into a much more hearty laugh. “Oh, there’s the Raelynn I know. Tough on the outside,” she poked the Breton over the heart. “Soft on the inside.” she enjoyed her companion’s more human side, the one that wasn’t prim and proper and a bit stuck up. “I guess that makes two of us,” she said, nodding towards Latro, who was strumming away at her lute. “I suppose we’re both a little… ah…”

She raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “mmmm, he’s a real gentleman Sora.” It was the first time she had used her name so casually, and she placed her lolling drunken head onto the Khajiit's shoulder. “I like him a lot. He really… Was there for me, he has a great heart.”

Without thinking, Daro'Vasora rested her head atop Raelynn's. “More than I deserve.” she replied with a sad smile. “So, what about you and I? Are we friends?”

“You have really cheered me up tonight, Sora. I think for that alone then yes, we are.” She sighed contentedly.

“Tonight's for everyone. It broke my heart to see you weren't quite a part of it yet. Friends…” she tried the word on her tongue, deciding she liked it. “It's been a while since I really had any of those. Tonight's just full of surprises.” she purred.

---

As Daro’Vasora made her exit, Alim glanced her way to make sure before turning back to Anifaire. He seemed more casual and caring than anything. “You know, we don’t need to dance if you don’t want to.” he said warmly.

She glanced around at the present company, suddenly feeling a bit more self conscious. “Maybe,” she started. “We could dance. Or.. eat. Or drink.” She paused, her cheeks still hot as she remembered something Daro’Vasora had said. A look of shock crossed her face and she fumbled to speak. “She said- When she was- She- You know- She was lying right? About- um- About your b- not that it isn’t- I mean- no- wait.”

She gave up.

“Slow down, slow down,” Alim said, unable not to smile. He held his hands up. “I know she wasn’t telling the truth. You didn’t look drunk enough for that.” He decided not to make a big deal about it to save her embarrassment. “Why don’t we grab something to eat, and then if we get drunk enough I am sure we’ll dance then.” He winked.

Anifaire nodded slowly, thinking she could definitely go for seconds. “Alim, I’ve never been drunk.”

Alim blinked, unable to think of a response to that. “Really? You just never had the chance to or did someone keep you from not?” he asked her, guiding her over to one of the tables and hailing one of the waiters for some food. “That’s not a bad thing, I’ve just never met a high class person that hadn’t been a drunk deviant when they had the chance.”

“In Alinor, I spent most of my time with people my mother’s age. I didn’t really get along with the other students. I was different,” she admitted. She’d started avoiding the term ‘Alinor’ once she’d gotten settled in the Imperial City because it seemed to make people uncomfortable, but somehow she didn’t think she needed to be careful around Alim.

“What was it like in Alinor?” Alim asked, honestly curious. He’d traveled the breadth of Tamriel, but not too far outside of it. His time as a sailor was mostly skirting the southern coast of the continent. He sat down across from Anifaire at their table. When he spoke of the city, he seemed almost like a young boy that hadn’t gone outside of his own town yet. He kicked his feet up on the back of another chair, placing his hands behind his head as he thought of it. “I always figured I would go someday. The war sort of saw to that not happening yet, but I’m sure I’ll get the chance. I heard it’s very wonderful.”

“It’s beautiful,” Anifaire agreed with wonder. She thought of her home. “My favourite thing was the architecture. It’s.. warm there, but it’s a different warm than here. We lived in a villa, in the capital. The city is massive. I’ve never seen anything like it, really, though Gilane is fascinating.” She paused for a few seconds, hesitating on her words. “I found Cyrodiil a bit drab.”

She picked up the empty tankard in front of her and looked from it to Alim a bit questioningly.

She really spoke like a high class, he realized. He suppose he should have noticed earlier. “Cyrodiil can be drab, definitely. Near the coast it’s more exciting, I find.” He turned to her. “Did you tell me before? I forgot why you left Summerset…”

“To go to the university in Cyrodiil. It took nearly fifteen years to convince my parents.” She realized she didn’t know similar things about Alim. “Where are you from?”

Alim called the waitress over, asking to pour them both some mead. “Don’t worry we’ll start small.” he told her, and smiled. “It’s sweet too.” After that Alim picked up his mug and took a sip. He hadn’t had mead in awhile. Might not be as good as Skyrim mead, but it wasn’t bad at all. “I grew up in Highrock, and for the latter part of my childhood I was here. Or, in Skaven. It’s a city north of here. I think you’d like there as well, though it’s a bit more cutthroat.”

He placed his mug down and leaned back on the chair. “After that I went everywhere except Morrowind and Summerset, pretty much. I sailed off the coast of Blackmarsh for a short time.”

“I think I like Hammerfell,” Anifaire said. She lifted the mug and took a hesitant sniff before trying a mouthful. She looked at Alim in surprise. “It’s good.” She took another couple of sips, surprising herself with her eagerness to drink the honey-ish substance. “Is it all this good?”

Alim looked at her. “...eventually.”

“Oh,” Anifaire said. She had no idea what the meant, but she forgot about it and took a few large gulps of the mead. “I want to try others.”

---

Feeling suitably in the party spirit now, Raelynn stood at last from her chair - and had to wait a fraction of a second for her head to catch up with her. The wine had really gotten to her head. But yet, she was on a mission - and sauntered across the room to where Mazrah was sat, laughing and making herself at home. With her own glass in one hand, and a bag of Moon Sugar in the other, she slid behind the Orsimer woman, tapping her lightly on the shoulder, her own legs wobbling slightly under the weight of wine and champagne on an empty stomach.

“Mazrah,” she began quietly - holding out the bag in her hand in front of her with a spirited smile. “Consider this one a warm apology for a frosty introduction…”

Now this was a surprise. Mazrah looked up to find that it was Raelynn, of all people, who had picked Daro’Vasora’s lock, obtained the moon sugar and decided to give it to her. “Fuck me sideways and call me Latro,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “How did a proper lady like you know how to pick that lock?” The Orsimer accepted the offered bag of narcotics, got to her feet and wrapped her arms around the petite Breton in a fierce bear-hug. “Thank you, Raelynn. Consider yourself forgiven!” Mazrah squeezed a little, laughing at the sensation of Raelynn’s back popping, before letting go and putting her hands on her shoulders. She tilted her head as she looked down on the Breton, who was eye-level with the Orsimer’s cleavage, and squinted mischievously. “What say you and I share this sugar, eh?”

“How else can one access the best books in the library if one cannot sneak their way in with a few choice tools?” she said in a sing-song voice, flipping and flicking her hair in an arrogant fashion - proud of her accomplishment. She laughed, and also shrieked a little too loudly when Mazrah hugged her so violently. After she put her back down, Raelynn patted her arm gently, averting her eyes from the large breasts in front of her face. “You are… Welcome!”

“Share it? You want me to indulge in the Moon Sugar?” Raelynn blinked, partly in shock, partly from intoxication as she steadied her gaze. “That sounds like a recipe for disaster…” She pursed her lips into a pout, and moved her eyes back and forth, really considering it - for less than one second. “Let’s do it!”

It seemed impossible at first, but Mazrah’s grin managed to occupy even more real estate on her face as Raelynn agreed to share the moon sugar. “That’s the spirit,” she said, sat back down and motioned for Raelynn to join her. “Now, let’s see here,” Mazrah mumbled, slightly slurring her words as her large fingers clumsily undid the straps holding the bag closed. She found herself staring at a pile of small, white crystals that looked like unrefined sugar -- hence the name, Mazrah figured. She fingered one of her tusks while she picked up a crystal with her free hand and held it against the light, wondering what to do with it. “It looks… it looks like you’re supposed to eat it?” she half-said, half-asked, and glanced sideways at Raelynn. “What do you think?”

“Yes, I believe so. You know that this is a holy substance for the Khajiit, when they consume it - to them it is like they are consuming portions of their God’s very souls… It’s very special to them, Mazrah. Really quite fascinating.” Raelynn took a reasonable pinch from the pile in the bag, and sprinkled it onto her tongue. She nodded at Mazrah, encouraging her to take the rest of it. She didn’t immediately feel any different for taking it - yet.

“That’s fucked up,” Mazrah said and laughed. “Who in Oblivion eats their gods? Alright, whatever, I shouldn’t judge. Cat gods, here I come!” She tilted her head back and simply upended the bag of moon sugar over her open mouth, catching the crystals with a surprisingly long and dexterous tongue -- though perhaps not that surprising, all things considered. She could immediately feel the crystals begin to melt and disintegrate in her mouth and decided against chewing; something told her that it was supposed to do this by itself. Eventually she swallowed the remains and looked at Raelynn with excitement in her eyes. “And now we wait.”

Only a few seconds from taking the Sugar, and feeling it melt into a syrup down her throat did Raelynn begin to feel tingling through all of her limbs - tingling that immediately made her giggle in shock, her eyes wide as she allowed the sensation to wash over her. “Oh… hoo… ho… ha..” she began to speak in non-words, and just sounds. The portion she had was far less than Mazrah, and even taking into consideration their size difference there was only one thing that she could think to say - “oh my Mazrah, you’re about to get fucked…” which was followed abruptly by hysterical laughter.

“Oh, good,” Mazrah practically moaned as a honeyed warmth and numbness came over her like a blanket. “It's been too long since I've had a good shag.” She grinned but her mouth almost immediately went slack and she sank against her chair. “Woah,” she managed through uncooperative lips and frowned, before quickly deciding not to worry; she didn't want to be afraid of something while she couldn't move. That would only lead to panic. Quite the opposite happened, in fact, as an overwhelming sense of joy and amusement bubbled up from her gut and rose into her chest. She began to giggle, drool leaking from the corner of her mouth, and managed to raise her hand with great effort in order to wave it uselessly in Raelynn's direction. “Hi,” she slurped and bust out into a tremendously loud belly laugh.

Raelynn watched as Mazrah sunk into a blissful state of euphoria - wondering if she too would have the same reaction. She continued to giggle and enjoy tingles across her body she waved back at Mazrah, “hullloooooooooooo…” she slurred, drawing out the last syllable and finding it hilarious to do so. Unfortunately Raelynn was not quite as lucky as Mazrah to have a chair, and when the Sugar really kicked in, it was like being wiped out by a wave on the beach and she tumbled to the floor on her back, arms outstretched. “Wow....” she whispered while staring up at the ceiling, she swore she could see the stars.

Her sense of humor soared to new heights (or lows, depending on how you looked at it) and the sight of Raelynn falling spread-eagled on her back was the single funniest thing that Mazrah had ever seen. She laughed so hard that she turned silent, merely gasping for breath between bouts of cramp-inducing fits, and slid off her chair as if she had turned into a liquid. She joined Raelynn on the floor and managed to grab her hand, interlocking their fingers. “Mhmmm,” Mazrah whispered, her voice husky and breathless, before she was beset upon by another wave of giggles, tears of hilarity streaming down her face. It was like her whole body had become an erogenous zone and the sensation of Raelynn’s small, dainty fingers against her own was divine. Mazrah closed her eyes and was immediately treated to a spectacle of fractal light and shapes, twisting and turning haphazardly into infinity. “I can see forever,” she managed, and squeezed Raelynn’s hand.

“I can see a big black cat dancing in a hat!” she roared in response to Maz, giving her hand a squeeze back, feeling her tiny fingers be enveloped by the hand of the green giantess beside her. She moaned aloud in bliss as the room seemed to fall silent around her, everything crumbling away except the sporadic laughter erupting from Mazrah, and her own delighted purrs. “Ohhhhhh yes, now I can see forever too, it's so pretty. Almost as pretty as you my new friend!” She opened her eyes and looked at Maz on the floor - she was so vibrantly green and shiny and sparkling and all manner of things. She began running the fingers of her free hand over Mazrah’s bare stomach, before poking gently at her breast - the ones that had been so close to her face moments ago. “That is a magnificent rack you have, Orsimer,” she cooed dreamily, admiring the physique of her, and enjoying the colours she was displaying.

Shivers ran up and down Mazrah’s spine when Raelynn touched her stomach and and her eyes shot open after the Breton pressed her finger against her breast; her skin was far more sensitive than it normally was, even through the fabric of her top, and she looked at Raelynn with a heavy gaze. “Don’t tease me like that,” she said in a low voice and placed a hand on Raelynn’s bare thigh, her fingers drawing shapes on the pale skin. “You might get more than you bargained for.” Her lips split into a lazy grin upon receiving Raelynn’s compliment on her bosom and she looked down at her own cleavage. “Indeed. I grew them myself,” she said and immediately broke into hysterical laughter at her own joke.

“My word, what is going on here?” Gregor asked as he approached, a glass of wine in hand and an awfully amused look on his face. He had seen enough to know he did not have to worry about the fact that Raelynn lay giggling and stupid on the ground. Moon sugar wasn’t something he had ever partaken in himself, nor was he likely to, but he had seen the effects and knew that, in moderate dosages, it was harmless enough. Gregor was very much enjoying his own buzz at this point and shamelessly sank down on his rear next to Raelynn, adopting a relaxed posture, one knee propped up for him to lean his arm on. “It looks to me like you made a new friend,” the Imperial said to his lover and he gave Mazrah a polite nod, raising his drink in greeting. “Pleased to meet you, Mazrah. My name is Gregor, but I don’t expect you to remember that now.”

“Mmmmmmmmmazrah, this is my Gregor…” she whispered (not very quietly) against her ear, before blowing a little air on her neck joyfully. “Gregor this is Mazrah, I was just telling her that she has beautiful, bouncing, bubbly, big, bountiful, blossoming, bosoms!” she chortled at her own alliterative description of Mazrah's body. The blonde Breton grinned up at Gregor from the floor, catching his eyes with her own - under the influence of the moon sugar they were more beautiful and haunting than ever and she bit her lip at the thought of being close to him later. “Mazrah, Gregor is my… he’s my…” she thought long and hard about how she would describe him, eventually propping herself up onto her elbows and declaring, “he’s my handsome Prince!” She smiled from ear to ear, poking her tongue out in an adorably dorky fashion, before turning back to Mazrah happily, “don't you think he’s handsome?”

Gregor had to admit that Raelynn was right about Mazrah’s breasts, but thought it wise not to speak on that subject himself and took a sip of wine instead. He laughed, sincerely and openly, when Raelynn called him her handsome prince and stuck out her tongue at him, and his dark eyes were filled with love and desire as the crow’s feet by their corners became more prominent than ever; such was the totality of his smile. He had not felt such simple, wholesome joy since he was a young man without wrinkles of any kind.

“No,” Mazrah said with a smirk, and rolled on her side to press herself against Raelynn and wrapped a long, powerful leg around her, pulling her in closer. “But that’s not his fault. I don’t swing that way, princess. I like you much more,” she added and nibbled on the Breton’s ear before remembering that her lover was quite literally right there. She pulled back a little but remained close to Raelynn and traced the outline of her jaw with a finger. “You’re a lucky man, Gregor,” Mazrah said and looked at him, meeting his gaze.

“I know,” Gregor said softly and took Raelynn’s free hand in his own.

She quivered at the pleasurable sensation of Mazrah nibbling at her ear, a burst of laughter followed and she slapped Maz’s thigh. The pint sized mage twisted her body around so that she could see her new friend and look upon her eyes. “If I was to swing in your direction, and if I were an Orsimer warrior like you then I would happily remain here and we could tie ourselves in knots under the stars…” she dragged a finger over Mazrah's lips, down her chin, then her neck, to her collarbones until she finally found her breasts again - and this time she gave one a hefty squeeze. “But as it stands - I'm certain that your… that your jubbly bits are bigger than my head. You are simply too much woman for me!” She giggled joyfully at Mazrah before turning back to look at Gregor. “But this one…” as she spoke, her smile faded as she looked deeply into his eyes - entranced by them, “he is my perfect storm… and I daresay that I… that I-" Before she could finish speaking, she spotted the long, powerful thunder thigh propped over her and burst out laughing again at the sight of it before giving it one more hearty slap for good measure.

Gregor’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of what Raelynn might have been about to say, but he resorted to having another sip of wine when she was interrupted by the realization that Mazrah had caught her in the iron vice of her legs. Their level of physical intimacy had now reached a point that caused him to raise an eyebrow and clear his throat loudly; though there was something to be said for the sight of Raelynn entangled with another woman. He blinked a few times and cleared his head of the thought. “Alright, let’s get you up,” Gregor said and moved into position to help Raelynn on a chair. “You’ve teased our new friend here long enough. I fear that if you touch her any more, she will not hesitate to steal you away from me.” He glanced at Mazrah, smiling to show that he meant her no ill will.

She nodded. “Quite true,” the Orsimer said casually and acquiesced to Gregor taking Raelynn out of her embrace by untangling their limbs and rolling onto her back once more. Raelynn staring into her eyes and squeezing her breast had almost made her abandon reason and abduct the Breton then and there. She was going to need some time to calm down. “Oh, you’re right, I can see the stars too,” Mazrah added softly and stared up at the ceiling, her breathing slow and deep.

While Gregor was glancing at Mazrah, his back turned for merely a split second - Raelynn bounded onto her feet and began weaving her way drunkenly through the party, deciding upon who would be the next friend she would make while her spirits were still high.

“What the--” Gregor began and whirled around to see Raelynn disappear into the midst of the party. He took a deep breath and sighed before looking over at Mazrah and raising his arms, palms-up, as if to say ‘what gives?’

The Orsimer laughed and clutched at her abs. “Ouch, this is really starting to cramp now,” she groaned and tried to relax.

---

It was probably the first time Meg had had so much to drink, but she wasn't about to stop now. Cheeks as red as apples, she had found her hands on yet another bottle of ale -why fix what wasn't broken and chose something else to drink?- and decided to sit back and relax in a corner while attempting to think over a very crazy idea that wouldn't stop dancing in her head. Looking around, she caught sight of a familiar face; a dopey grin came to her face as she attempted to rush over.

"Jara- ahh!" In her inebriated state, she tripped over her own feet; instinctively she hugged the bottle as she fell to her knees. "PHEW." At least it was protected! Still on her knees, she giggled as she waved at the argonian. "Hiya!"

Jaraleet was about to speak when he noticed Meg tripping over and falling to her knees. The Argonian quickly stood up and went to check on the fallen Meg, the reason behind why she had tripped quickly becoming evident as he noticed her reddened cheeks. “Hey to you too Meg.” The Argonian said, shaking his head slightly albeit he was smiling nonetheless. “Want me to help you get up?” He asked, deciding to not comment on the bottle of ale that she was currently holding between her hands, offering one hand to the kneeling form of the Nord woman.

Meg thought about the simple question for much longer than it warranted thought before nodding emphatically. "Aye, thansh!" She took hold of Jaraleet's hand and managed to pull herself up with one hand, the other refusing to let go of her precious bottle of ale. Still a little weak in the legs, she fell face first into the argonian.

"Ow," came her muffled voice.

Jaraleet had noticed the unsteady wobble to Meg’s leg and, as such, had moved his second hand to support her while she regained her balance. Unfortunately, it seemed that he was a second too late as the Nord woman came crashing face first on top of him; fortunately he managed to regain his balance and stopped them both from falling into the ground. “It seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, haven’t you?” The Argonian said with a light chuckle, having placed one hand on Meg’s waist to help steady her up and, hopefully, stop her from falling again.

"Too much? Nooo..." Even as the words left her she knew he was probably right. A sulky look on her face and her lips pouting like a child, she nodded in agreement. "My legsh, they jus' don' wanna work, silly things." She was lucky she was being helped up, it gave her the chance to find a chair without falling to the ground yet again.

"I'mma sit!" she decided, her free hand waving at the chair as if trying to summon it over. "I'm- I'm o... kay." She spoke the words slowly, not really for Jaraleet but mostly for herself so that she could understand what she was saying- the words seem to be slipping from her mouth before she could even think about them. "I... I wanna tell y'somethin'. I got... an idea!" She gazed up at the argonian, green eyes glazed and shining.

Jaraleet couldn’t help himself and chuckled when he noticed the sulky look and pouting lips with which Meg was regarding him with, a fond smile drawing itself on his face once he was done chuckling. He helped Meg move towards the direction of the chair she had been waving towards and, once they got there, to sit down. With that done, the Argonian pulled a nearby chair and sat in front of Meg. “Hmmm, if you say so.” He said, unconvinced, when Meg muttered that she was ok, moving one of his hands towards the bottle that she was still clutching. “Hmmm, and what idea is that?” He asked her, still smiling at the Nord woman. “By the way, would you mind sharing?” He added nonchalantly, gesturing at the bottle of ale. It’d probably be a good idea to get that out of her hands.

For a split second Meg was about to refuse- it was her bottle!- but even drunk she was reminded that he had generously shared his drink when they had been no more than strangers. Feeling slightly ashamed of herself, a sniffle escaped as she nodded, holding out the bottle for the argonian to share.

"Sharin' is carin'," she reminded herself, her sulking expression changing to one of pride. She then took a deep breath before leaning in conspiratorially, hand up to her mouth to whisper. "I- I think I know it! Who dunnit!" Thereafter she jerked her head comically to the side, as if to see if anyone was eavesdropping on their conversation. When she saw everyone was too busy in their own conversations, she turned her head back to continue her whispered conversation. “It… it came t’me when I was gettin’ m’hair chopped off. It’s… gotta be them. Or him.” She put a hand to her chin, finger tapping against her lips as she made a show of thinking.

Jaraleet smiled as he took a hold of the bottle, taking a swig of its contents before he turned his attention once more towards Meg. He listened in silence as she continued speaking, a mounting feeling of dread welling up within him as he started to piece together what Meg was talking about. “By the Hist, please no.” He thought inwardly, taking another swig of the bottle’s contents. “What are you talking about Meg? Who did what?” He asked her quietly, his mind desperately trying to think of a way to shift the conversation away from the topic he thought it was heading towards.

Meg started at the argonian as if he had grown an extra head. Her head tilted to the side as she narrowed her eyes. "You know," she replied, adding emphasis to the words before she scooted forward in her chair so that her knees were nearly touching his legs. "'Bout the ... " Even in this state she knew better than to speak out loud, simply mouthing the word "dwemer." Her eyes widened and her eyebrows rose, hoping he got what she was saying. "Thinkin' 'bout it, pretty sure t'was 'im..." Once again she mouthed the name of her prime suspect, Gregor, and then waited, seeming almost puppy-like as she waited for approval at having hopefully solved the mystery.

“Sithis damnit all.” Jaraleet thought as Meg began talking, just like he had guessed, about Nblec’s death, his worries increasing as Meg mouthed off Gregor’s name silently. This was bad, he knew that Gregor was a dangerous man and he was afraid of what might happen should Meg start snooping around and unintentionally, or even worse intentionally, set off Gregor. Despite the arrangement that the Haj-Eix had managed to strike with the Imperial, truth was that the former still didn’t knew too much about the latter’s situation particularly when it came to what might drive him to take desperate actions.

“Yeah, of course I remember.” The Argonian said quietly, leaning forward slightly. He placed the bottle of ale at a nearby table before he placed both of his hands on Meg’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it Meg, I’m already looking into it. But, you are right, Gregor is someone that I suspect.” He said quietly, his mind racing to try and find a way to diffuse the situation. “But I’m already looking into it, it would serve no purpose to go throwing off accusations against each other right now, correct? We can only rely on one another right now, and driving wedges inside of the group could be dangerous, no?”

"Uhmm... I guess?" Meg blinked up at Jaraleet, slightly confused as she had thought he'd be more pleased or relieved. Maybe she really was a little too drunk and not thinking straight? The last thing she wanted was to do or say something that would ruin their group. But then, what about just dumping the blame on the argonian for something he hadn't done? "But- but it's- it'snot fair... you're not- you didn'- everyone thinks..." She let out a huff and crossed her arms over her chest, irked that he was probably right and that staying shushed was for the best. "Not fair. I don'- I don' like it. At all."

“No, it’s not fair.” The Argonian conceded, regarding Meg with a small smile. “But it’s just the situation I have to deal with it.” He said quietly, falling silent for a second as he thought about what to say next. “However, I do appreciate that you are worrying about….all of this. Really, I do.” He said, smiling at Meg and giving her shoulders a light squeeze. “But, like I said before, I’m looking into this, alright? Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to make things right. But, I think, that right now we should let things lie down for a bit.” He said, moving one hand to take the bottle of ale again and taking a swig of its contents before offering it to Meg again.

Meg's let out a breath before finally nodding. At least he knew then, right? That had to be enough, right? It didn't feel like it to her, but she couldn't blatantly go against his wishes... right?

Taking the bottle from him, she put it to her lips and took a long swig before setting it back down against her lap, though she pushed it to the edge so that the argonian could take it if he wished. "Fine," she finally intoned, falling silent for a good few moment before speaking once more. "We... we're friends. 'Course I'mma worry. Y'need t'get used t'it."

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Jaraleet replied, smiling at Meg. “I’m just worried as well, is all. I don’t want any trouble breaking up within the group and you getting hurt, that’s all.” He said, taking the bottle from the spot that Meg had placed it and taking a swig. “Just like you tell me to get used to you worrying over me, well, you get used to me worrying in turn.” He said, chuckling softly. “Seems fair to me at least, doesn’t it?”

Meg flushed, scowling a little before giving way to a guilty giggle of her own. "'S'pose y'got me there," she admitted, feeling embarrassed but flattered at the same time. "Fair's fair." Hands now free, she brought them to her face and rubbed her eyes, trying in vain to clear the fuzziness that invaded her mind. "Y- you keep the bottle... don' think I need more. I'mma go wash m'face an' get some water."

Jaraleet laughed slightly when Meg conceded her defeat, smiling contently at the Nord woman. “Exactly, fair’s fair as you said.” The Argonian said, happy that Meg was willing to let the topic of his unjust accusations lie low for the moment and thusly evading the possibility of Meg inciting Gregor’s ire. He nodded when she told him to keep the bottle and that she was going to go and wash her face, but a frown appeared on his face when he remembered the state in which he had first seen her. “Hey, do you want me to go with you or something?” He asked her, a note of concern in his voice. He could tell that Meg was in a much more sober state but, even so, a small part of his mind worried that she might wind up tripping again and hurting herself.

"Hmm..." Meg carefully stood up, testing her weight. She was still intoxicated, but she didn't think she'd be falling over anytime soon. "I'm thinkin' I'll be okay." She took a step to the side, testing her theory, and it seemed for the time being she was right. "Aye, I'm good!" She flashed a grin in the argonian's direction, hoping to shoo his worry away. "I'll b'fine!" She reached out with a finger and poked his face to emphasize her point. "See ya later, Jaraleet!"