Dervish

Mass Effect: Sinless

I've got a turian soldier demolitions expert who has a grenade launcher, heavy pistol, and a shotgun with explosive rounds plus a bunch of explosive-based powers. He also is horribly prejudiced against humans, quarians, batarians, and krogan.

Kyo carefully picks locks. Ardan negates the entire door.

Mass Effect: Sinless

Race: Turian
Gender: Male
Class: Soldier
Age: 42
Homeworld: Oma Ker

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Appearance:

Ardan is a powerfully built and burly turian who has been conditioned by a lifetime of military conditioning and his own drive to strive for peak physical fitness. Standing at 6’05” (182cm) and weighing around 208 pounds (94 kilograms), he maintains a strict military-style fitness regimen, situation permitting, and a mostly regulated diet that permits few luxuries. His carapace is indented and marked from scars from years of combat experience and entirely too many close calls with shrapnel, he’s fortunate to still possess all of his limbs and digits and both of his eyes.

His face is covered by one of the Oma Ker colony markings, a dark blue that sometimes gets lost in the pale grey tone of his carapace when in darkened conditions, a constant condition on Omega. The entirety of his fringes are coloured, and a singular symmetrical line runs down his face, just under his pronounced cheek plates and across the bottom of his chin, and the left and right sides of his rectangular, serrated nose are similarly coloured. Much like his personality, it can be subtle until you begin to notice it, then it becomes very difficult to ignore.

His eyes seem to compromise between his tone and markings in that they are a pleasant blue-grey that are narrow and skeptical, if not outright distrustful, of people outside of what little close circle of friends and acquaintances he has left. Were it not for his perpetual predisposition to sneering and otherwise being dour of disposition, he could possibly be poster material for the Hierarchy recruiting vids, but those days are long behind him.

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Psychological Profile:

Ardan Parvius is a classic example of a man whose entire life and beliefs were shaken to the core and responding in a less than ideal manner. Where he was once assured of the Hierarchy's supremacy and how it was a turian’s duty to fight until the enemy could no longer do so or there were no more turians left to fight, the fact that the humans breached galactic law and had put the turian military to shame during the Relay 314 Incident and the subsequent coddling the Council gave humans eroded the once ironclad faith Ardan carried in the Hierarchy. Now aimless and unsure of where his place is in the galaxy after coming from a strictly regimented society where all facets of life are assured, Ardan has had a degree of difficulty adapting to his new circumstances as a gun for hire on Omega. As a result, he is a bitter, sarcastic, and largely apathetic individual who lacks the direction or purpose that once defined him.

This has led to several career changes, an ill-advised and doomed marriage and little, if any, friends. While he is still boastful and confident to people he meets, inside he is like a puzzle that has been dropped; several pieces don't fit where they should and the whole package isn't quite coming together. Nonetheless, he is still an extremely capable individual with several decades of combined military and mercenary experience and a talent for getting the job done. While his personality might put him at odds with his comrades, having some form of structure and leadership in his life may be exactly what he needs to get himself back on track and reclaim some sense of the purpose he had once had.

Adran is also a compulsive snacker, and a bag of nuts or other salted treats are never long away from his person. He enjoys collecting handguns and military paraphernalia as they remind him of a simpler, much happier time. A childhood toy, a stuffed volus, is one of his most cherished and sentimental belongings that now sits on a shelf in his apartment along with several other personal effects.

He possesses a degree of animosity and resentment towards Citadel Space and he harbours a lingering prejudice towards humans for being unwelcome newcomers to the galactic stage that demand far more than their station would permit, krogan for being warmongering savages that would try to conquer the galaxy the moment the genophage is lifted, quarians for being nomadic freeloaders who were more than capable of finding a new homeworld or colony in their 300 years of exile, and batarians for being utterly hostile to innocent lives and their practices in slavery and torture. However, as an operative, Ardan is capable of looking past his prejudices and working with members of most species in the galaxy and he has an easier time seeing individuals as exceptions to the rather unfortunate rule.

Despite his more self-centered approach to life and apathetic nature, Ardan still believes in order and the duties a turian must perform, and a lot of that means sticking up for people who cannot stick up for themselves and to preserve innocent lives. He has on numerous occasions risked his life to protect a non-combatant, regardless of species. While he is very much a typical product of Omega, he still adheres to a personal code of conduct.

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Equipment:

• Elanus Risk Control Services M-100 Grenade Launcher
  
• Kassa Fabrication M37 Falcon
  
  *Omni-blade attachment, improved heat sink, optical sight
• Elanus Risk Control Services M-3 Predator
  
  *Hammerhead rounds, improved heat sink
• Elanus Risk Control Services Medium Guardian Armour
  
  

Abilities:

• First Aid
• Fortification
• Proximity Mine
• Adrenaline Rush
• Concussive Shot
• Fragmentation Grenade

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Bio:

Born on the turian colony of Oma Ker in 2138CE, Ardan Parvius was the second born son to Varvius and Octaana Parvius, a turian artillery officer with the 78th Artillery Regiment and a fighter pilot with the 16th Flotilla respectively, giving the Parvius family a rather distinguished military pedigree and yet another cemented piece in a storied family mosiac. From a young age, Ardan learned of his family’s legacy and place in turian society on both his parents’ knees and grew up knowing that his parents could be gone any day, perishing answering the call of duty. Because their service often took them across Citadel Space, Ardan was constantly on the move and all but assured to follow in his parents’ footsteps and becoming a career military man.

While his older brother Casius would enter his mandatory 15 year public service position as a police officer on Palaven, Ardan joined the military in 2153CE and after basic training he was enlisted in the 105th Combat Engineering Corps due to his high scores in mathematics and sciences. Keeping in touch with his parents’ units via Extranet packets on an allotted biweekly basis, Ardan’s career took him across Citadel space, joining in larger military exercises on turian colony worlds and joint exercises with allied asari and salarian units, leading to friendly rivalries with the 10th’s counterparts from the other Council militaries.

While most of his career was training and rising up the rank structure, reaching Corporal after 2 years of service, Ardan did see combat on remote worlds, engaging with pirates, turian separatists, and others operating outside of galactic law. His unit, being a combat engineer regiment, was largely responsible for establishing base camps, building defenses, and laying area denial weapons like landmines and turrets to deter the enemy. At the earliest opportunity, Ardan took Sapper and underwater demolitions training, wishing for an opportunity to bring the fight to the enemy.

These skills brought Ardan into specialized strike teams that acted in support of the infantry regiments and were used to destroy bunkers, breach buildings, and sabotage enemy infrastructure and vehicles. For his role in destroying an enemy artillery emplacement ahead of the main assault, Ardan was given the Banner of the 105th to carry on parade for the next month and several commendations from his superior officers. This would be the height of his career, as the next year was relatively peaceful without any major combat deployments until word came of an unknown alien race activating the dormant Relay 314. Soon, an Ardan Parvius two months after his 19th birthday would be deployed to Shanxi in what would be the largest military deployment of his career.

Ardan’s first meeting with humans ultimately ended up being a long-range firefight where him, his fellow sappers, and the infantry they were attached to spent hours shooting at distant muzzle flashes. The first time he saw a human up close was the corpses of the line they had overrun, and he found the humans to be unnervingly similar in appearance to asari. Thinking they were some distant cousin of the asari, Ardan spent most of the conflict paranoid about the humans having powerful biotic capabilities which they seemed to be holding back as some kind of strategic gambit to hit the turian forces should they overextend their supply lines. The human forces were quickly overrun and the planet was soon under turian control. A month long occupation followed, luring the turian garrisons into a false sense of security.
When the 2nd Fleet broke through and hit the turian positions, the once dominant turians found themselves on the defense and constantly losing ground to the fresh and vengeful human forces. Ardan fought hard and scored kills against human armour, including two Grizzly and three Mako tanks, before being ordered to retreat. Very nearly defying orders, Ardan and his unit reluctantly left the planet to regroup with the fleet.

When they found out that turian casualties at that point were higher than the humans, Ardan demanded his commanding officer convince his superiors to organize a strike force against the human supply lines and disorganize their forces before they could regroup and dig in to prepare for another invasion. Although rebuked for his insubordination, Captain Orodis nonetheless began to coordinate and organize an advance strike force with the Fleet with the blessing of high command. However, before the turians could counter-attack, a ceasefire was called and it came known that the Council was negotiating with the humans, the asari leading the efforts, further lending credence to Ardan’s suspicion that humans might be their distant cousins. Furious with the resolution of the conflict and how the turians, the most powerful military force in the galaxy, was forced into a treaty with the humans after suffering heavier losses was a scar that was, in Ardan’s eyes, an unforgivable embarrassment.

For the first time in the sapper’s career, Ardan started to think that maybe the turian Hierarchy had grown soft and would not be prepared to meet its peacekeeping mandate if its response to future threats was equally flaccid and spineless. Were the turians not the ones who had single handed stopped the krogans during the Krogan Rebellions? Ardan asked the Spirits for guidance, the spirit of the Hierarchy, of his Regiment, of his family, and he found no answers or comfort. Finding out his mother had lost a leg after being shot down in the conflict did little to steel Ardan’s resolve, and after watching the televised treaty being signed between human and turian representatives, most insultingly of all the Hierarchy agreeing to pay war reparations, was too much for Ardan. After 4 years of service, well short of the mandatory 15 years of public service turian culture demands of all citizens, Ardan deserted from the military, disappearing from the public eye for some time.

The next time anyone from the Parvius family heard from Ardan was his brother Casius receiving an Extranet packet from an unknown source that turned out to be Ardan letting him know he was safe and in the Terminus Systems some three years later, putting as much space between him, humanity, and the Hierarchy as possible. Ardan managed to get a few more messages back and forth with Casius, who was now serving as a hastatim, and now acting as an emissary between Ardan and his parents. The former soldier disappeared for quite some time, only trying to contact his family once every few months. Before long, Ardan came to Omega, hoping to make a new life for himself far from what her perceived was a corrupt and ineffectual galactic government.

The next three years had not treated Ardan kindly, as trying to adjust to life on the largely lawless station was far outside of the orderly and lawful existence he had lead up until his departure from the military. He took up work with a building firm that needed someone with expertise in blasting rock, or tearing down old buildings, and for a while, Ardan found a humble calling that brought in enough pay to support a small one bedroom apartment in a mostly turian district, a mostly out of the way place with few amenities and beneath the notice of the gang warfare that seemed to sweep across the asteroid colony like clockwork. And so for years, Ardan somehow avoided making any meaningful social connections as his life was a routine and regimented cycle of work, exercise and training, and preparing to do it over again.

He had a few belongings to his name, including a small crate of things he’d managed to grab from Oma Ker before his defection, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that he needed more than his old service pistol for defense. Coming from a society where violent separatist groups were an expected part of life, living somewhere that was owned and run by street gangs was enough to make the turian realize that the quiet times wouldn’t last forever. His fears were validated when his company began to mine a new section of rock to expand a commercial district and discovered a strain of rare metals.

Knowing that it wouldn’t be quiet for long, Ardan quickly answered the call for a citizen militia to form by one of the more proactive members of the community, Regalus Vendaris, one of the community’s security officers, and immediately the community banded together and began running drills and training in anticipation for what came next. Within the week, a gang called the Crimson Fist arrived with a force of 30 men, who upon arrival declared that they were there to provide “security” for the new discovery. For anyone who had been on Omega for longer than a week know what that particular amount of double speak amounted to.

The gang was allowed into the community, uncontested, and unaware of the trap that was lying in wait for them. When the Crimson Fist arrived at the gates to the dig site, they were held up at the security gates and that’s when a firestorm erupted around them from the concealed militia; a section’s worth of ordinance was unleashed from the capable hands of military-trained turians who made short work of the Crimson Fist group, and from their bodies pried military-grade weaponry and technology to supplement their civilian and surplus arms, and the more pragmatic in the militia made arrangements with ethically-flexible doctors who needed the bodies for organs and testing purposes.

Ardan found a spark he’d been missing in his life for a few years; he’d missed the combat, the fighting alongside a fireteam. It felt good, he fight the pride and dignity seep back into his bones.

He blasted rocks for three more years.

Granted, he trained constantly with the militia and with the new influx of credits from the mining operation and the growing population of their humble community he could afford new weapons and arms that could even make gangs with mechs and armoured support hesitate to press their luck, but a few of the dumber or more risk-loving ones took their shots, and the results weren’t much better than the Crimson Fists three years prior. Ardan found himself away from the community more and more, taking side jobs as a gun for hire or to pick up needed supplies, and it was on these excursions that Ardan began to frequent a strip club at neighbouring Rhytheia District, the Blue Oasis, and it was there he met his first, and only, wife.

In a whirlwind romance, if one could call it that, Veetsha D’alyt, an asari, and Ardan got married a week after they met in a sketchy registration office and moved into a new apartment in Rhytheia District shortly after Ardan left his job with the company and the militia behind. His quality of life was better, and he found a more martial application for his skills, and they were happy for about three months when Veetsha up and left with most of their meager belongings and left Ardan little more than a recliner, the coffee table (sans seat), the built in vidscreen in the living room wall, and his collection of sidearms and the stuffed Volus plus toy he’d deemed worth saving as a memento of his home and life back on Oma Ker. Ardan, not being one to flex his convictions, was back as a regular of the Blue Oasis a week later. This time, he tipped a bit less.

Without much else in the way of options, Ardan became a freelancer, often taking jobs that involved taking down smaller gangs and criminals with outfits that required a replacement set of hands, Ardan spent decades building up a name for himself as a man who could get things done to the point where he could start commanding a price. From clearing vorcha out from undercities to smuggling jobs to commando-style raids that called upon his expertise with explosives, Ardan was contented with his corner of Omega and more often than not, the turian wasn’t hard pressed to find someone who wanted to buy him a drink and offer him a side gig. When news came of his old community being overrun and Regalus dying heroically in a last stand, Ardan simply raised a glass for an old fallen comrade.

Such was life on Omega.

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Strengths:

• Ardan is a very disciplined fighter, as is drilled into most turians from youth. He does not lose his cool in a firefight, and he will stand his ground until victory or death, or a sound tactical retreat.
• Courage and Ardan go hand in hand, and he is not afraid to stand up for his convictions on and off the battlefield. While some may see him as uncompromising, one could count on him to be unwavering in his commitments and see things through to the end.
• Demolitions expert, Ardan is professionally and has a hobbyist proficiency in all manner of explosive devices and has an intuitive knack for yield sizes and how to properly rig together an IED out of spare components, and his throwing arm is impressive; if a grenade can fit somewhere, he can almost certainly toss it in, and he has an uncanny knack for being able to range the trajectory of a grenade or rocket launcher.

Weaknesses:

• Ardan is very prejudiced, if not outright racist, towards humans, krogan, quarians and batarians. He is very slow to trust, let alone like, anyone from these species for a number of reasons. While he’s not petty enough to let it get in the way of getting a job done, on a personal level it is an uphill battle to earn his respect and admiration.
• Still largely a military man at heart, Ardan has had a difficult time adjusting to the lawless Terminus Systems’ way of life. He has a strict personal code of ethics he is very reluctant to cross, and while he remains determined to succeed and forge his own path free of the Hierarchy’s regulations and treaties. He simply does not understand the finer points of life on the street and he often is frustrated at the lack of clean, simple military-like solutions in this region of space.
• Ardan is a very competitive individual whose pride will not let him back down from a challenge, often leading himself into dangerous situations what he handles recklessly. He believes himself to be one of the best, and while he does have the skills to back up his hubris, he does not take well to losing.

Misc:

• Right mandible twitches when Ardan is irritated or annoyed
• Ardan will often idly fiddle with whatever he is holding, he enjoys keeping his hands busy, and it is a coping mechanism when he’s nervous
• Ardan is a guarded personality type that will often cross his arms when he is in disagreement, if he is unsure of someone’s intentions, or if he remains unconvinced about a decisions or course of action.

Shadowrun-style Mass Effect adventure

Shotty yes.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

@Dervish

Mungry Crempsus!

Current thots: I wish I hadn't had to drop this, the plot is so thick you have to stick it in a forge to shape it. Wonder if I could jump back in at some point.

@Lemons

Always an option, if you have time! I'd be happy to have you back in!

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

@Lemons Tell me yer thots friend.

Merry Christmas, btw!

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Birdcage in the Sky

Sora’s Lost Days

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13th Midyear 4E208, Governor’s Palace, early evening…

Another page was crumpled in a ball and shoved from the mirrored desk, joining a litter of three other failed attempts at finding words for something that was impossible. Daro’Vasora slumped down on the desk, staring back at her reflection and her emerald-coloured eyes over her forearm flat against the surface. Had she always looked this tired? She wasn’t sure; she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

It had been days since she’d seen Latro or heard from Sevari, and she had held out hope that her lover was safe and Sevari would return with information, but word of neither arrived, save for the news that the convoy that was heading to the prisoner transfer was assaulted by insurgents, and many of the Ministry of Order’s men were slain in the ambush; Sevari and Latro were nowhere to be found. Daro’Vasora had tried to tell herself that it meant that they were safe, that Latro had escaped and found the others, but she couldn’t lie to herself so readily and she had cried herself to sleep.

To the Governor’s credit, her daily visit was a short one that was sympathetic. A new dress and sweets were provided, and the governor herself took off her necklace, leaving it with the Khajiit. It was a malachite pendant housed in a Dwemeri alloy harness covered in the simple, bold designs that the Dwemer seemed to favour. It was a pretty thing, and didn’t seem to fit someone of Razlinc’s station. The Governor smiled and explained that it had been her mother’s, the stone a gift from a Chimer suitor. That alone made the necklace more valuable than anything the Khajiit had ever found in her life, and yet it sat on the desk, unmoving with the now melted chocolates for two days now.

She pulled up another parchment, free of words, and stared blankly at the page, knowing that the words she committed to it could potentially ultimately either be the salvation of her companions or their doom. A speech, something to placate the populace. The publically humiliated terrorist leader publicly denouncing the violence and her part in it while exalting the virtues of her captors and how well they treated her and what they could offer Gilane and Volenfell. It was a lie, a sham, and every time she put words to the page, she either felt like she was consigning people she cared about to death or about to sell her soul for a little more time for them. After what she’d seen lurking far below the palace, however, she knew horrors awaited the streets in Gilane. Words weren’t going to prevent that, nothing she could do would.

All she was was a single, stupid girl in a foreign city who got in over her head and in trying to lead people to safety away and ended up bringing them into some overzealous insurgency that she didn’t even know if it was altruistic or opportunistic. Did it matter anymore? Did any of it? She stood up from the desk and headed to the balcony to clear her head. She was falling in love with the early evening breeze of the city, how Magus shifted ever so slightly as the hours ticked on, revealing more colours hidden within the city streets. She knew that somewhere down there, her friends were waiting, probably scared shitless about what had happened to her and Latro. Her mind lingered on Judena, and how she never told her how much she meant to her, and how the Argonian would wake up every single day for weeks wondering where Daro’Vasora was, and then re-discovering that she was gone forever. The constant anguish of the thought made the Khajiit choke back a sob. Megana would almost certainly be doing everything to try and find out where she was, even if it got her in trouble… Raelynn wouldn’t be able to do anything, not the way she was, broken and terrified. Did she blame herself for Roux’s death, Daro’Vasora wondered.

A breeze rolled by and prickled her bare arms, and for a moment she allowed herself to imagine it was Latro’s reassuring caress, like when she awoke from the nightmares. She had never allowed herself to believe she could ever be loved by anyone, nor feel it in turn, but ever since her and the Reachman had been trapped below the Jerall Mountains, hunted by Falmer, she felt a bond to him, a bond that had only grown stronger, even when she had feared he died in Imperial City, and when she foolishly nearly squandered it in Anvil. He didn’t look at her fur or pointed teeth with disgust, her slitted pupils with distrust, her tail in mockery. He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world, and that he’d found something in turn he no longer needed to hide in the shadows from. They loved each other, and it was the most pure and reassuring thing Daro’Vasora had ever experienced in her life, and it meant something. They’d never be able to have children, and society would frown on their union, but none of that mattered.

Nothing mattered anymore. The future she’d dared dream of was torn from her, the beautiful rose only she’d been able to grasp had been torn from her and only barren soil remained in Latro’s wake. It was too late to save him, but it didn’t mean she had to bow and submit to those who took him from her.

“You never wrote me that song.” she whispered to the golden sky. Her eyes widened with realization, and Daro’Vasora hurried back to her desk, and for the better part of an hour, the quill danced across paper, words coming to life before her eyes. The page filled, and she held it up to dry, watching on as the ink took to the paper to bond together like lovers. She smiled at the thought.

I’m like a stupid girl again.

The Khajiit returned to the balcony, humming a melody as she read the words over the page, trying to find a tune. It had all been so quick and spontaneous, she knew it wouldn’t be fine work and she certainly wasn’t a bard.

Still, she knew it was something he would have loved. She stood, staring at the amber-hues of the sky, perfectly preserving the moment in her mind like the fossil that took its namesake.

“I’ve never been good at this,” Daro’Vasora said to the sky, her voice carrying somewhat past her balcony. “You never had the chance to write me that song that you promised, and it was something I know I loved to tease you about, Latro… I just wish it had a chance to come true.

“You know, ever since I was young, I always had a fascination with singers and songs, how they could whisk you away to far away lands and tell a story that leaps out into your heart more than words on a page ever could. When I first laid eyes on you, with your dark hair and those eyes I could get lost in for hours, I fell in love with your voice. It took a while, but the rest of me followed suit. There’s days where I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but you’ve been the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Latro de Couteau. I’d hoped one day to fall in love with your voice all over again when you finally sang me that song that was just for me, I couldn’t think of a greater gift.” she grow silent, wiping an errand tear that had rolled down her cheek away.

“Now I realized that the greatest gift of all would be to have you back, and I was too stupid to realize that sooner. How many times have I lost you, only to find you again, to promise that it would be different this time? This time… you didn’t come back. I feel like it’s stuck this time, and my heart shatters at the thought, but you don’t need me to be crumble now. To the love of my life, who I fear I’ll never see again, I will say goodbye to you the same way I laid eyes on you, with a song.” she smiled, sniffing as her eyes welled up with tears and she inhaled deeply and sang, her voice high and light, the melody carrying from her lips well, even if she didn’t have a range to express herself,

Forever lingering among the stars
The view is ever far
Up above the moonlit high
There sits a birdcage in the sky

I waited here so long and brave
Isolated from people in a grave
Made up of my soul and mind
No thoughts for those I left behind

But here you are, not letting go
Among the stars all alone
Finally hearing a song that wasn’t mine
In this birdcage in the sky

You unlocked the cage and picked my lock
This beautiful thing quite the shock
I hesitantly took your hand
And when I leapt my life began

It felt like we fell for hours but even so
Holding hands I was no longer alone
The ground came close and though we’d die
You freed me from my birdcage in the sky

But you spread your wings, and we were aloft
You saved us from perilous drop
Soaring into the great unknown
There was no telling how far we would go

We’d finally found what we’d been missing
A song from someone who was listening
Though one day we would say goodbye
You saved me from the birdcage in the sky

Her voice trailed off, and she listened to the sound of rustling palm trees and the sing song of birds, taking in everything as if for the last time, for tomorrow everything would change. She had hoped that wherever Latro was, he had been listening. She smiled at the sky above. “Goodbye, Latro. Thank you for finding the best of me, for not giving up on me, for showing someone who didn’t deserve it the most genuine love and compassion she’s ever felt. Though we part ways and our souls may never meet again, you will always be with me. Always.

“I love you Latro, to the moons, to the Sands Behind the Stars, and when it all comes to an end, my heart will always yearn for you. You made me realize who I could be, who I wanted to be, and who I will be for you. I’m not ashamed of who I am anymore, of what I am. I don’t feel like I am in the wrong body, or that I’m carrying a mark of shame. At the end of it all, at the end of this trail, and though I no longer feel your embrace, I know you are with me. Thank you, for showing me my own moonpath. Thank you, for being the light of my life and freeing me from my cage. I hope you felt the same way; I feel it in my heart.” she said, clutching her chest. She looked down for a moment before looking at the moons above. “Give me strength for these final steps I must take, and I carry you in my heart; may your roads lead you to warm sands. Daro’Vasora knows in her heart who you were, and she will always find you when she looks to the stars.”

She walked away from the balcony, gripping the railing one final time, her touch lingering as she stepped away and returned to the desk, carefully folding her song and placing it gingerly on the desk. Producing another parchment, she set down to write what was effectively going to be her eulogy. Tomorrow, she’d have to give her speech to the crowd, and tomorrow, she would tell the truth to the gathered masses knowing full well the consequences of defiance. She would even wear the Governor’s necklace while she gave her speech. Glancing over at the balcony, two songbirds danced and fluttered along the railing, prompting a sad smile.

She would never see an evening as beautiful as this one again.

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

Parting Company

10th of Last Seed, The Howling Wolf Inn, late that night…

Do’Karth had quietly snuck back into the room he had shared with Sevine, the Nord snoring softly when his footfalls entered the room. The door had been unlocked; perhaps she had left it that way for him, or in her anger and frustration had forgotten to fasten the bolt behind her before she let herself drift off to sleep. He thought about rousing her, but decided against it; her words stung him to the core, and how casually she disregarded him when he needed her most still burned in his heart. She had not come to his aid in the aftermath of his dire mistake, and now it had come down to this. He’d been a fool to love her, to think she’d stand by him when things grew difficult, when he dared share his thoughts. He had seen too many friends die for a war he did not believe in, serving under men so cruel they might have been the Daedric Princes themselves.

Quietly, he gathered his things, rejecting the urge to scream at Sevine, to continue a fight that had ended it all. He thought about those who remained, Niernen in particular. Do’Karth sighed, knowing how the Dunmer felt about him. He wished he could go to her now; she would have understood his plight and been grateful for his company, but Narzul was not something he wanted to get entangled with. Fastening the drawchord on his rucksack, Do’Karth hoisted it on his back and turned to leave, noticing the amulet of S’rendarr still sitting in the corner where he’d dropped it. He’d leave it there, it was no longer of use to him. His gods had abandoned him when he needed guidance most, and if Sevine turning her back on him was their punishment for him daring to accept happiness in his life after years of trying to make amends for the crimes he committed, he no longer wished for their blessings. They were spiteful beings that were devoid of sympathy and heart. They could not understand the plight of mortals, and they would never try.

“Goodbye, Sevine. This one is thankful for the time we had together,” he said quietly, reaching the doorframe and his hold lingered on it for a few moments, a part of him wishing he could stay and make things right.

No, she made her choice. This one was not one of them. he reminded himself, and his heart hardened. “But your path was never going to include Do’Karth.” He concluded, stepping fully outside and closing the door one last time. He knew it would be the last time he saw the fiery hair he loved so much, and felt his warmth against him, the compassion and affection in her eyes, the way they had met and she had wanted to feel his ears. He thought of the day they confessed their darkest secrets to one another, and had instead of judgement, found acceptance and warmth. The tears rolled freely down his cheeks, damping his fur, and his bare arm wiped indelicately across his face. Memories that he’d cherish but would never relive; Do’Karth was a nomad, and he had to pay a penance for a life he was never meant to have. He’d likely never find love again, and maybe he didn’t deserve it. He abandoned his friends along the way for love, didn’t he? Jorwen, Solveig… he swore he would guard her, and he did not follow her. Jorwen had accepted him first and foremost, and now he was a slave or dead to the Kamal.

Do’Karth would find him, he decided. Even if he died in the attempt, finding and rescuing Jorwen would be the singular thing his redemption would mean. He left the inn, stepping into the unfamiliar Jehanna streets. He’d nearly lost himself in this damned city, nearly killed a man for simply being a racist piece of gutter trash, but still not worthy of death. He’d destroyed the relationship with the one person to ever show him love and compassion, and he turned his back on the other. There was nothing but pain here, and he knew that if the company kept the way it was going, he would be laying more friends to death, or forcing them to do the same for him. It was not something he wished to go through again.

He walked, reaching the gates of the city, and he looked back upon it and the people he was leaving behind, hoping they would understand why he could never say goodbye; he would never be allowed to leave Gustav’s clutches due to a damned contract he couldn’t read. With a sigh, he raised a hand to the city and placed another on his heart. “Goodbye, friends. Do’Karth will not forget you.” He said quietly, and he settled down the path, his bare feet and the tip of his staff the only sounds going into the night.

Do’Karth’s gods spoke no words of protest.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Echos of the Soul

A Shaft and Dervs collab
10th Midyear 4E208, Late Evening, Former Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary…

It was quiet in the mausoleum-like sanctuary, the rest, relaxation, and training area of Kerztar’s secret police force and Zaveed sat by the hearth going through pages of prisoner interment reports, searching for Bakih Al Nahel and comparing matching names to the written description he’d recorded after parting ways with Sirine, looking for the least Redguard looking Redguard of them all, and finding out that Sirine’s mother was an Imperial. He stopped for a few moments, feeling a headache coming on and as he pinched the bridge of his nose, he noticed that his hand was shaking. Looking at his disdainfully, he set down the papers on the end table and grasped his hand, feeling ashamed and angry at he was too weak to kill off lingering pain and emotional damage like he had so many men. It wasn’t as if he could take an axe to his own heart; his own dagger had proven to make those matters so much worse.

He stopped, inhaling slowly throw his nose and out through his mouth a few times, trying to calm himself down. The high he’d experienced from surviving the unsurvivable had worn off, and he was becoming increasingly aware of the little things that were putting him on edge. The grinding of a sword, people practicing magic, long shaped shadows… he was ill at ease and found himself snapping at his compatriots for minor infractions and comments, specifically how shitty he looked to be doing.

“Well enough to open your entrails and feed them to Merrunz.” he’d snarled at one Bosmer, and the shattered glass near the walls of the room where he’d thrown glasses and bottles to get people to leave the common area were a sign of the tempest waiting within. He wasn’t in the mood to entertain, and he knew he wasn’t well; he needed to do his job, even if there was a toll he wasn’t quite seeing the scope of.

He went to drink from the bottle of wine he had next to him and discovered he’d already consumed the whole thing. He grunted, annoyed, shoving it away with his fingers. It would be another projectile should someone disturb him, he decided.

He was still wearing the orange tunic Sirine gave him, and he’d given his armour to the blacksmith and tailor to mend while the company alchemist had given him a routine of healing potions to finish mending his aching and broken body. Breathing was harder when he strained himself, he’d noticed, and it hurt to bend down. He opened the tunic at the chest and ran his fingers along the diagonal slash, frowning as he recalled the nightmarish thing bringing the axe down upon him. He didn’t even see Gregor’s sword enter his body, on account of it being behind him, but a reason he felt so irritable today was one of the mages practicing shock magic was making him tense and flinch with the cackling of the lightning-like discharge.

He opened one of his potions and he drank, not caring if it tasted like goat scrotum. It would help get rid of the bruising and swelling he still endured. He wanted to return to himself, who he was at his best. With any luck, Gregor died and wouldn't be shitting nightmares into alleyways ever again.

His blue eyes gazed into the flames, the yellow tongues of fire reminding him of Raelynn's golden hair. He was trying to reconcile what she'd done for him with what he did to her.

---

Afternoon of the 13th…

The ghost town. Sevari was perched atop the dune on his horse, looking down on the ghost town in which the Sanctuary was hidden. Why was it always a ghost town or some equally spooky shit the Dark Brotherhood had to have? He coughed up something from his still-healing lungs and spat it to the side, kicking his spurs into his horse’s flanks and letting her amble into the ghost town.

He knew he was close when the horse began to huff and pound the dirt beneath her hooves, shaking her head in protest. No horse wanted to go near the door to the Sanctuary. As he walked up to it with his own two feet, he could imagine why. Through the skeletal hallways of the decrepit building, he found it. A door made of material that seemed to be solidified from the darkest spaces between stars. As it sensed Sevari’s presence, it spoke, “To whom shall I open, if I open at all…?”

It was like a chorus of whispers right in his head, that part of it, he never got over. Why they couldn’t just tear the door down and replace it with a door and regular fucking locks was beyond him. He coughed up a gob of bloody mucus and spat at the door, “Fuck off.”

It immediately began to rattle and grate open across the sandstone it was set in. “Sevari…”

“Mhm.” He stepped through and soon he was in the common room. This felt… odd. Just not right. Thunderhead and Two-Shafts weren’t here sharing drinks, Forosien wasn’t talking anybody’s ears off. He scanned the room, the sophomoric decor doing nothing to his mood anymore. That Lucky Lady statue had been decorated- or desecrated depending on who is asked- by Forosien and Saffi. He took a seat at the bar, grabbing up a corked bottle of wine.

He bit into the cork and yanked it loose, spitting it off somewhere in the room before he drank deeply, four long gulps of it. He wiped his lips and chin off on the sleeve of his coat, watching the candle’s flame dance. He was alone, content with it. He wondered if Zaveed was here yet. He hoped he was. He was the only reason he came back to this place.

“Sevari?” a voice came from the entranceway. Zaveed was wearing a house robe that left his chest, and the massive scar, quite visible. He was walking more in his usual stride, but less deliberate and confidently. He walked around to where Sevari was sitting, his face pale and etched with concern.

“I'd heard what happened… Bright Moons you made it back. Are you hurt?” he asked, grabbing the back of a chair, supporting his weight. “I was worried I'd lost you.” he admitted quietly, his state unfocused as he gazed at his brother.

“I…” he said, lips working unsuccessfully at forming around the words, but they just couldn’t. He’d killed an innocent man in his own home for the crime of defending it from a stranger, from him. He’d chosen Zaveed over his blood brother in Al-Aqqiyah. It was hard. It was a choice he never wanted to make.

Over the years, the fact that he hadn’t seen Suffian in so long, over 15 years. Now Hammerfell, in Al-Aqqiyah. He glanced at his sleeve, swallowing and gulping down another mouthful of wine when he saw a bit of blood still on the edge of his sleeve. It was a choice he never wanted to make. But he did.

“I’m glad you’re still alive.” Sevari said, looking at Zaveed and remembering Gregor’s words. That the child he knew was nowhere to be found in the man before him now. Sevari looked Zaveed up and down, the scar, his aura. Just… different now. But those blue eyes, there was a glint of the same eyes the orphan boy in Senchal had. “How… how are you? What happened?”

He dusted off a seat next to him, gesturing to it, “Sit, sit.” He said, the first genuine smile he had in a while, “I missed you.”

Zaveed sat slowly, feeling like he weighed a ton. He stared into the flames that reminded him so much of the girl his heart yearned for. “I more or less died.” he smiled ruefully. “It didn't take, I got better. Sevari…” he looked over to his brother, his eyes distraught.

“Gregor nearly soul trapped me. I felt myself being torn from my body. It was like being raped, but you know that nothing but eternal torment and then nothingness awaits. He's a conjurer, a talented mage. I tried to find Marassa and found him instead, one of my quarry in our hunt. I nearly had him, he was no match for me. Then…”

Zaveed stared back into the fire, his companion for the past few nights that brought him calm. “He has monsters at his fingertips of the likes I’ve never seen. I saw the Dark Behind the World. I felt myself being pulled into that nightmare by the Bent Cats… my skin looked like theirs. Choking back a sob, he buried his face in his hands. “I shouldn't be alive.” he wheezed.

Lightning quick, he sent the candles hurtling into the wall in a clatter, standing and kicking his stool across the room. First Suffian and now this. He stood, shoulders heaving in rattling breaths, “I had him.” Sevari said, “I had him. He was right fucking there! I had him and I walked away from that necromancer bastard!”

“Sevari.” Zaveed's cracked voice cut through the tomb like room. “That's enough. All the better he yet lives, it was Raelynn who saved my life.” the Cathay said, soaked eyes staring pleasingly at his brother. “A life for a life. The score is settled and I am alive. Do not burden your heart with vengeance. Let go.”

“So what?” Sevari said, “We’re only going to make more scores staying here. With the Dwemer. Everything I worked for is gone, now. There’s no more friends for me in the world after I did what I did in Al-Aqqiya, Zaveed. It’s just us. Just me.”

Sevari took another stool and set it down next to Zaveed, gulping down a mouthful of wine. He rubbed at his face, sighing, “I want to find Marassa.” He said, his voice low, “I want to just make sure she’s safe and then disappear. Retire in Stros M’kai. Even Yneslea or Esroniet, no more Penitus Oculatus, no more revenge, just live my days peacefully. Quietly.”

Zaveed stood, finding a white Alinor wine by the Lucky Lady statue with his gaze and walked over to it, plucking it up with care. “I have an asset working the tavern drunks for gossip about Marassa's whereabouts as we speak. In exchange, I am trying to find where they are detaining her brother. Seems I'm not the only one with a missing sibling.” he said, pulling the cork with a claw and setting it on the statue’s hand. He drank deeply before slumping against the dias.

“What did you do in Al-Aqqiya, brother? You look as haunted as I feel.” Zaveed asked, the bottle reaching his lips once more.

“He made me choose. Suffian, my blood brother. He made me choose between the mission, between revenge, and you.” Sevari shook his head and looked at his hands, “I never wanted that. To choose between my families. But I did. I’m wanted everywhere now.”

“I Killed him. I made the choice.” Sevari said, “I thought I’d never see him again and have to choose between you and him after all these years. I Killed him and held him as he died and I’m the last of my blood. He didn’t even look like I remember him. Vengeance changed him even more than it did me.”

Zaveed sighed, muttering quietly. “Damn it all.” he had no emotional connection to Sevari's biological family and he only knew of Suffian by name. The thought that Zaveed's existence caused that chaos and forced Sevari to choose left a bloodied knot in his gut. “You could have went with him. It's what you wanted, isn't it? Your blood family?” he shook his head, crossing the floor towards Sevari.

“You don't owe me anything. You barely know who I am anymore, either. Just a few damned weeks where we've barely talked to each other as family or friends. For what it's worth, it hurts to hear that you were forced to make that choice, that you lost everything you hoped to have back.” Zaveed drank again, setting it on the table. Not knowing what else to do, he wrapped his arms around Sevari in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry.

“You're all I have left in this world, you and Marassa. I know what vengeance can cost a man, and you never deserved to pay that price.” Zaveed said softly.

Sevari trembled under Zaveed’s embrace and his words. This was the first time in years that he had been shown something other than cold professionalism or anger. Even Suffian didn’t treat him like family after everything. He held back a choking sob and squeezed Zaveed’s arm. “We always have a choice.” He said, quietly, “Always. I was never close to my blood family, besides my mother and Suffian. My mother is dead and Suffian has become a man I barely could see the old him in.”

“If I don’t have you or Marassa, Zaveed.” He took a breath and whimpered out another sob he tried everything to hold back, “I have nothing left. I wasn’t lying to Marassa when I told her the price on my head meant death if I ever set foot in Dominion territory again. The money I gave you was so bloody I was relieved to be rid of it. An outlaw in three countries, a traitor of both the Dominion, Elsweyr, and now the Empire. And my own damn blood.”

“Everything has crumbled in my hands.” He took Zaveed in an embrace, “This family is all I have to go to.”

“We don't have to worry about bloody coin any longer; the sea did an admirable job washing that clean. We have several decades of catching up to do. I'm not planning on going anywhere, even if Marassa chooses her duty and comfortable life over us. I’m at peace with that. Come, join me by the fire.” Zaveed said, pulling away from Sevari with a reassuring smile and a hand on his shoulder.

Zaveed grabbed his wine and sat down in his customary seat once more, propping his leg up on a box. He felt more like his usual self, albeit more sentimental and grateful for Sevari having finally coming around to the brother Zaveed had missed. “I always felt blood didn't mean shit when it came to family. You and I don't share a drop of blood, but you're no different in my eyes than Marassa. Hopefully mother choked to death on a cock, the whore.” he said, drinking back the bottle.

“It's strange, between the fear and the aches and the emotional tempest in my soul right now from my ordeal, I don't hate Gregor. It was him or me, and I underestimated him. I've become complacent in my older years.” Zaveed said with a terse smile. “I keep mulling over the past few weeks in my mind and heart, and I remember Raelynn most of all. She hates me with every fiber of her soul, but she saved me because she wanted to show me her compassion was something I could never take from her.” he held out his hand in front of him, the fire light leaking between turning fingers. “I nearly killed her lover and she still used much of her power to stabilize me, and she told me to leave her and her friends alone, that I live because of her. Do you think she was wrong to do this, after what I've done?”

Sevari thought in that for a minute. He wiped his eye as he looked at the fire, taking in the warmth it offered. His mind meandered back to his conversations with Zaveed. We all have a choice, he’d said. Choices. It seemed a constant in Sevari’s life, everyone’s life that there’s always those few hard choices that make life what it is. Once they’re made, you can never go back. He frowned, sighed, leaned forward in his seat and propped his elbows on his knees, “We all have a choice, don’t we?” He said, “I guess it’ll be your choice to make her wrong or right in doing what she did.”

The words stirred something in Zaveed's heart. His own words had always meant picking an outcome for yourself, right or wrong. He'd never considered that when choices involved other people, they had a say in what it meant… what it was worth. He thought about that night, the ferocity in her eyes as she drove his dagger into his heart, the look of horrified resignation when she realized she couldn't go through with it, the furious frustration that grew from sparing his life. He lived because despite how much she hated him, she wouldn't sink to his level.

He felt filthy, degenerate. How would he cope with this time he should never of had, this chance to earn the gift she gave him.

“Perhaps you are right. This is my chance to be better than I was, to pay it forward, as it were. But first, there is something I must do for my associate. It seems fair, a life for a life.” Zaveed mused, picking up the stack of prisoner portfolios he had taken out from processing, promising the cute clerk to bring them back and her something special for her willingness to turn a blind eye for an evening. “The thing is, Sevari… I don’t know what the right thing is anymore. I don’t know what it means to be whatever it was that she saw that was worth saving. It’s been eating at me, and I am no closer to an answer. I am still myself, that hasn’t changed, but how do I move past everything that’s come to define me like barnacles on the bottom of a ship?”

Sevari looked at his hands, “I’ve been chasing vengeance for 20 years, Zaveed. For half my life. Everything I did up until now has been for one goal.” He said, shaking his head, “The money I dropped in your lap was from years of robberies, smuggling drugs and artifacts, murder for money, extortion. I never stopped to ask myself if it was right. If that was what the people I was trying to avenge would want.”

“It isn’t so much throwing your sword away as much as it is what cause you pledge it to.” Sevari shrugged, “Men don’t become evil all at once. It’s a long, straight road down, until you stop to look back and it hurts your neck to crane it so high. Men change. I know it all too well.”

He shook his head, leaning back in his chair as he folded his hands in his lap. “I’ll never be the young boy who shared lamb with you and Marassa in Senchal.” His voice was low and forlorn, “But I can be the man who makes sure at least you and I get back to being as close as we were, and never losing myself again. It’s us, brother. Fuck the rest.”

Zaveed chuckled in spite of himself. “I hope not, you were a bit of a cryer.” he said, smiling towards the flames. “Nothing will be the same, certainly. But I’m willing to try, at least, to do something different. You speak of your crimes like I’ve not been party to quite a number of rather high stakes actions against unwilling hands. I’ve lost track of the number of people I’ve killed, stolen from, extorted… you know, the kind of mischief that they sing about in bloody songs in taverns like it’s romantic but leave out the part where a man screams for his mother while his entrails are sewn across the deck of a ship he’d only been on a month. I won’t apologize for that time; Tamriel is not a kind place, and it chose us to follow a certain path that many consider unsavory. It doesn’t mean one is beholden to that path forever. Look where we are now; did you ever think we’d be having this conversation in a Dark Brotherhood sanctuary, generously serving what one might considered indentured servitude?” he scoffed, drinking until the bottle was empty and casually tossing it to the floor. “So, what then? What’s next? You know neither of us are ever going to find peace.”

“No. Maybe not.” Sevari said, frowning into the fire and stroking his beard, “We’ve been savages too long, I’ve got a price on my head in half of Tamriel. If I don’t die in a pool of my own blood in the middle of a road in a place no one knows my name, I’d be surprised.”

He shrugged, chuckling bitter, “I’ve robbed and killed through half of Tamriel, there’s no way I can man a counter at some general store in Skingrad.” He said, “There has to be some way we can leave this behind. The Dwemer, Hammerfell, all of this.”

“Well, one day I’ll find myself a ship of my own again. Could always use a first mate.” Zaveed offered with a casual shrug, throwing an arm over the chair. “My first love will always be the sea, a man is free there, no one cares who you are, just what you can do. I wish you could see it like I do, Sevari. It truly is a thing of wonder.”

“I’ve always been more of a bandit than a pirate. The gang all went our separate ways a few weeks before I showed up in your tavern asking after you.” He said, chuckling, “I rode away from that robbery with 3,000 septims. The Thalmor will never forgive me for robbing that war fund caravan.”

“Life on the roads is hard, rough, but the closeness of a gang is something I’ve missed for a bit. What’s Wayrest like nowadays?” He asked.

Zaveed clucked his tongue. “My, weren’t we just talking about change? Live a little. I promise I will only lightly tease you if you get sea-sick.” He grinned, looking over to the Ohmes-Raht. “Wayrest is as it has been for some time now, a Corsair Republic where captains come and go to ply their trade, recruit for their vessels, drink the town dry and whores make a fortune. It’s more or less paradise, as free as a man can be. If you think you are a rotten scoundrel, take a walk around Wayrest street’s any given night and you’ll feel like you’re a pious man. I never made my way there as much as I’d have liked, perhaps it was because a part of me took the whole privateer business and my letter of marquis from the Queen quite to heart, another part of me felt that flying under the same flag as Marassa kept me close to her.” His face scrunched into a frown as he sighed, resuming his vigil by the fire. “I’m doing everything I can to find her, I promise. I trust Sirine to do right by me, she already has. She helped clean me up and gave me new clothes after my brush with Gregor, and I paid her handsomely to get information on Marassa’s whereabouts. I promised her in turn to help find her own brother and to get her out of that shithole of a tavern she’s working at. Probably the first woman I paid without the intention of bedding, I’ll admit.”

“Ah, how saintly of you. You’re a changed man already, Zaveed.” Sevari smirked, “Do you need me to go back out there and work some taverns? Where was her brother last time she’d seen him?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sevari; I might behead a homeless man for sport to keep up appearances.” Zaveed replied dryly before continuing, “Dwemer arrested him, same way we were caught. They were pirates caught out at sea when the hammer fell, if you’ll excuse my play on words. She thinks he’s alive, and the only way to know that for sure is to find out anything in this stack,” Zaveed patted down the pile of papers on the table next to him. “Matches his name and description. It’s what I’ve been doing for the past three days, recovering from my injuries outside… and up here.” he said, tapping his temple with a claw.

“Do you know when they made landfall?” He asked, “I’m not telling you how to go about this. I want to find Marassa too. I could go back to Gilane, scour the taverns and inns for Marassa, bring some of the others? Only a matter of telling them to report her location back to me, tell them it’s a sensitive case.”

“I’m afraid not,” Zaveed admitted. “Just when the Dwemer first arrived, whenever that properly was. If you want to keep playing our hand close to the chest, maybe. I just want to see her safe, but I fear if she hears that a bunch of Ministry agents are questioning for her whereabouts, she’ll go so deep we’ll never see her again. I’m also concerned, possibly rightfully so, about the terrorists finding out about her again. If they find out she’s a person of interest to us, she’s as a good as dead.”

“So, it’s just us then.” He nodded, sucking his teeth, “Alright then. I’ve found people who didn’t want to be found before. Just a matter of getting to known insurgents, finding a lead on whatever cell condoned those attacks. I’ve got a score to settle with them anyway.”

“Very well. I’ve been sitting in this miserable heap for far too long as it is.” Zaveed said with a trace of a smile. “Shall we go get ready for a night on the town?”

“Dress to impress, Zaveed.” Sevari stood with a grunt, “I know I will.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Additionally, participation will have to be maintained going forward; any noticeable long term absence or inactivity will be considered grounds for removal. Life happens, but we also need to make sure that everyone in the game is putting in a similar amount of effort. If things are simply too busy, then it would probably be best if this game wasn't distracting from it.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

In a Nest of Vipers

A Dervs and Shaft Collab ft. Stormy

---

The table was set for a fine dinner, much like the one Daro’Vasora had enjoyed at Salosiox’s manor with Raelynn when they had first met. The room was dark and spacious, and only light seemed to come from above, despite the lack of an evident source. However, this time, she knew she was the host. A nice table cloth with a golden trim wrapped around the circular table, and her two guests were dressed in finery, much like herself. Roux, ever so dashing in a black and blue ensemble with a tulip on his lapel and his blonde hair kept in a nicely kept ponytail, and Raelynn was wearing a fetching and revealing white dress that the Khajiit found herself in envy of; Raelynn was beautiful in ways she was not, and she was effortless in her appearance. She frowned, instead focusing on the meal she prepared… which wasn’t much else other than stale bread and questionable mutton. It reminded her of her time in the refugee camp in Skingrad, yet her two companions were dining as if it were gourmet.

Raelynn cleared her throat from her seat at the table, a sweet smile on her face as a giggle of mirth erupted while she raised her glass, “a toast to friendship!” she exclaimed, in her honeyed voice. The Breton tilted her head to the side, to look Sora in her eyes, she blinked slowly and appreciatively in the direction of the Khajiit. “A toast to Daro’Vasora!”.

It pulled the Khajiit back to the present and she smiled, raising her own glass to the toast and a clang of three glasses touched. She was glad to be here, with friends; amends were made with Roux, and Raelynn seemed to be more herself after her encounter. Still, it was strange they were doing this in a warehouse and not the conference room at the Three Crowns, but still, she wouldn’t complain; the danger was gone.

“I’m grateful to you both, this is for you. I was never sure if I was doing the right thing by you, but here we are.” she smiled, drinking from the glass. It was surprisingly tasteless and not at all refreshing. Still, it didn’t distract from the quiet and private revelry. Roux smiled, his lips were red; that was strange. “I need to leave soon.” He said, his mouth was filled with blood. “My wife and daughter, they’ve been waiting for a while. I chose them over you, you know. It wasn’t a hard choice, to think I’d end up with a cat, but I’m glad you’ve come around again, Sora… maybe it was a bit too little, too late though. Was this way of getting back at me, for all those years ago?” he asked. Blood was dripping from his mouth on his shirt. Daro’Vasora starred, her mouth agape. “You’re not well. What are you saying?” she asked.

“You chose me, in the end. Not to carry on with you, but to gift to a killer. It wouldn’t have happened but maybe if you’d kept better control of your friends, we wouldn’t have had to say goodbye.” He sighed, wiping his bloody mouth with a handkerchief. “I never had a chance to make amends.” he said regretfully, his head slumping.

Daro’Vasora’s claws dug into the table cloth; something wasn’t right. “Roux? I don’t know what to say. I didn’t choose you, I… I tried not to choose anyone! I went there to save you both. I’m sorry! What more could I have done?!” she demanded, her eyes narrowing with tears. “I never asked for any of this!”

Raelynn reached out a hand to touch Daro'Vasora comfortingly, but it was almost a cold comfort - as if the woman were possessed with an entirely fake happiness. She turned her head and smiled at Roux, her free hand was placed on his shoulder. “You will be okay now, but I did tell you Sora, my friend, that you could pick me.” Her head turned swiftly to snap back onto the Khajiit. “I wonder why you didn't…” she purred as she picked up her glass and took a sip from it, clinking the rim of hers to Roux’s before finally adding, “let your rose bring you to green lands.” It was completely incorrect.

Both of Raelynn's hands were bleeding, but she was unperturbed by it. It was as if she hadn't realised at all, that the left had a hole through it and the bleeding would not stop. Momentarily her face slipped to an expression of fear - as if a mask had shattered and slipped away, “don't let me stay here, don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me,” she repeated over and over with more panic setting into her tone the more times she said it. Finally, the clink of a glass stopped her and reset the scene. Raelynn was smiling again, glass in hand, the bleeding had stopped and there was not a trace of the blood now. “To friendship!” she exclaimed once more.

There was a pit in Daro'Vasora's guts, but she smiled and clinked glasses once more. “To friendship.” she agreed, looking down at the table cloth, and at the center of the table was a plate covered in human fingers. She grit her teeth and her eyes went to Roux, who was missing all of his fingers and his eyes as he sat perfectly still, slumped in his chair. A dark figure came out of the shadows and stood behind Roux. The grey fur coat and black mohawk were in shadows, but the ice blue eyes seemed to be glowing. “Hmm, it would seem as if Roux has had enough for tonight, my dear. Don't worry; you won't see him again.”

Daro'Vasora tried to stand, but she found herself tied to her chair and she struggled as Roux was pulled away into the darkness. Zaveed's glowing eyes never left her, nor did they blink.

Raelynn watched as it all happened, a gleeful expression on her face - as if it were merely a game. “Have you come to join the party?” she asked the Khajiit with a beaming smile. Suddenly, as if she recognised him at last her face dropped and she turned her head away - eyes filled with dread and absolute horror. She hid her hands under the table and tried once more to smile - as if not wanting him to see her fear. “There is no seat for you…” she uttered quietly, in a sickly sweet tone.

An ethereal chuckle filled the cavernous room, Zaveed’s eyes a pale specter of death. Suddenly, he materialized next to Raelynn, caressing her hand menacingly. “It is okay to scream, my dear; Daro’Vasora cannot help you. No one can.”

Suddenly he was behind Daro’Vasora, hands on her shoulders. “You won’t get away, you know. How does it feel that others should take the punishment for you? That no matter what you do, it will never make a difference? I will get what I want. And I already have so much of yours…” he purred in her ear.

Suddenly, the warehouse was lit, flames consuming the ceiling, but from the rafters, hundreds of ropes hung around the necks of people she recognized from Imperial City, the Colovian Rangers, and her companions, all with ghastly masks upon their faces as they had struggled to their last breaths. Latro hung next to her family, blood running down from his eyes, and La’Shuni’s hands were wrapped around the rope on her neck, her eyes staring lifelessly into the flames next to their mother and father.

She tried to scream, but the rope about her own neck was too tight, and she felt tears streaming down her face as she stared at Raelynn, pleadingly.

As Sora watched Raelynn amidst the chaos, she would see that gradually her white hair was turning black from the root through its entire length - her expression foul - and somewhere off in the distance behind the flames stood a shadowy figure - imposing and strong. The black caught her dress as the absence of colour took over Raelynn’s form entirely, her smile bright and beaming as she stood from the table - blowing Zaveed a kiss as she looked upon Sora again, her eyes cold as ice even in the flames, “the things that frighten you drive me mad.” She said in a low hiss as she leaned over the table to Sora. “Drive me mad…”

“The power, the rage, the violence…” It wasn’t just Raelynn’s voice anymore. Lurking underneath it was Gregor’s deep tone - his drunken words. “The power, the rage, the violence…” She repeated as she began to walk backwards slowly - drawing closer to the flames and the figure. “The power… The rage… The violence… It drives me mad.”

The further that the Breton walked, the more tempestuous and furious the flames grew, threatening to consume all. As she got only feet away from the shadow, the flames caught her dress alight, and so quickly tore through the fabric down to her skin. She looked over at Sora again in horror as the flames engulfed her - reaching out a hand towards the Khajiit before shouting one final thing, “I thought you were my friend!”.

Daro’Vasora tried to pull against the rope, to reach towards Raelynn, unable to breathe or scream, until she noticed a nail hovering over her hand. “It’s time.” Zaveed purred.

The nail came down.

Daro’Vasora screamed, her eyes opening suddenly. She was in the room in the Dwemer palace once more, Latro laying next to her, suddenly awake from the sudden scream. Her eyes darted around in the dark, fearfully, and she stumbled out of bed, naked and feeling entirely vulnerable as she stumbled towards a pitcher of water, splashing it upon her face as she wrapped her arms about herself, moving to the balcony outside, the open air inviting. It had seemed so damned real, and she rubbed her hand, not believing for a moment that it wasn’t impaled. Burying her face in her hands, she began to shake.

Latro’s blood thumped in his head at how he was awoken from his already restless sleep. When he realized he was not, in fact, back in the brothel was the moment he realized the one sobbing and quaking was Sora, not Mirabelle. Unlike Mirabelle, though, Latro could comfort Sora. He slowly came to Sora’s side, cooing out, “Love? Love?” Until he sat beside her, pulling her into an embrace, her head nuzzling hard into his chest, “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

They stayed like that until they were ready for sleep again, which was not for hours.

10th of Midyear, 4E208, The Governor’s Palace,
Gilane, Hammerfell...

The cast had come off the day before, and Daro’Vasora could scarcely believe that her arm felt completely normal since Zaveed had broken it. The cast and the fluid that was pumped into it daily was some kind of healing potion that was gradually soaked into her skin, and while it took a while to completely dry out the fur of the almost luminous cyan liquid, but once she had, it was like nothing had happened. Her and Latro had both been bathed and fed well, and it was almost like staying in a fancy hotel, if you were not permitted to leave your room. The Dwemer had treated them well, those that visited never overstayed their welcome. The same medical attendant that had healed Daro’Vasora came by to top up the cast and check on her vitals as well as make pleasant small talk while asking a few questions about Khajiiti physiology, and attendants changed the linens every few days and provided reading material and changes of clothing for the two of them. Daro’Vasora had found herself in dresses not dissimilar to the ones she’d seen Razlinc Rourken wear in both of their meetings, and Latro similarly looked dashing in fashion that was befitting a Dwemeri citizen. Their old clothing was washed and brought back folded, and so far, Daro’Vasora wasn’t in quite a hurry to put it back on.

Both Daro’Vasora and Latro had made the most of their time together, it being the most private time they had since they’d first gotten together. They ate together, sometimes bathed together, made love and quietly read the books provided, and there was never a shortage of conversation for the two of them. She asked him about his life in the Crow-Wife Clan and the Forsworn, lessons on how to sing better, and tales of his travels and his experiences. Likewise, she told him of life at home, her relationship with her family, Zegol, and some of her expeditions and finds. It was entirely candid and welcome, and despite knowing that the both of them were prisoners and their friends were still in danger, it was hard not to feel somewhat relaxed and easy to forget that the Dwemer weren’t their friends. They just had to make the most of a bad situation, but Daro’Vasora knew that it was to help soften them up somewhat for when the Governor or her men came knocking.

And on the 10th, they did.

Sevari and some other foreigners, a Dunmer and two Nords, of the Ministry of Order greeted Sora as she opened the door. Some of the others pushed past her before Sevari, who entered last and nodded to her, <Your Reachman will be safe soon.>

“You fucking Khajiit and your foreign tongue. I bet you were happy when Krennic’s Cathay-Raht were joining us for this.” One of the Nords grumbled with a voice like distant thunder.

“You’ll know the exact moment when I’m happy, Thunderhead.” Sevari said, casually strolling to Latro and offering out a pair of manacles, “It’ll be when I’m responding to a scene and you’re one of the casualties.”

“What’s this?” Latro asked, eyes going from Thunderhead’s death stare at the back of Sevari’s head to Sevari’s own gaze.

“Prisoner transfer. Kerztar arranged one with your little group of terrorists.” Sevari smirked at Thunderhead as if he was sharing a joke with Latro, “You’ll be glad to know you’re valuable enough to be exchanged for three Nords.”

Latro ignored Thunderhead’s utterance of ‘fuck you’ as he lay his wrists inside the manacles Sevari held out to him, the things snapping shut around them. Once again, he was a prisoner, as if the Dwemer were reminding him of their respective stations one last time. He stood and Sevari lay a hand on his back, the Dunmer stepping forward and shoving a sack over his head, “Can’t have anybody recognizing that pretty face of yours and trying anything.”

Latro felt himself be guided by Sevari through the room, “I love you!”

He couldn’t tell if Sora heard him but from behind the sack he could hear Sevari speak in the Khajiit tongue, <He says he loves you.> Latro felt a bit of relief as Sevari relayed his words, he assumed, then added deadpan in Cyrod, “How sweet.”

Daro’Vasora resisted the urge to chase after Latro, calling after him. “I will find you again! I love you!” she said, her arms wrapped around her waist as she watched Latro being pulled away; she never knew if she was going to see him again, but she had to hold out hope that Sevari was genuine in his efforts to keep them safe. If this prisoner transfer was legitimate, it would at least mean Latro was safe. It was all she could do to maintain her composure.

Kerztar arrived at the doorway just as they left, nodding to Sora, “Razlinc wants you. Come with me.”

“Oh, this should be good.” Daro’Vasora said, giving an annoyed huff as she watched Latro marched off by secret police at Sevari’s guidance. She sighed, looking to the beardless Dwemer who remained and reflecting how strange it was. “Best not keep her waiting, then.”

“A wise precaution.” Kerztar agreed, gesturing for Daro’Vasora to leave the room.

---

“You look well,” Razlinc said, walking astride the Khajiit down a polished corridor, arches letting in natural light and the refreshing coastal breeze. “Had I not seen you when you were brought to me, I would have not believed you suffered your injuries. Was your room to your liking?” she asked.

“Sure, it was a regular stay at a luxury resort. I wanted for nothing, except freedom.” Daro’Vasora retorted caustically, exercising her formerly broken arm, not quite believing that there wasn’t a kink or fracture remaining; it simply was a miracle they managed to heal it as thoroughly as they had in such a short time. She decided that being combative at the moment might be the wrong tact to take, she sighed. “I mean, considering our opposition to one another, I have been treated kindly and far more dignified than I would have expected. I will admit it was easy to forget I am a prisoner at times. I still do not quite understand why you want me, however. What separates me from the rest of your insurgents?” she asked.

Razlinc offered a polite smile, gesturing the Dwemer jewelry Daro’Vasora still wore. “You may very well be one of our best options for connecting the people of Tamriel to ourselves. You understand our history, our materials; you value it. I can also sense a certain degree of acceptance or understanding towards us. If our return to Tamriel is going to be long lived and fruitful, it starts with making connections like yourself. Perhaps with some rehabilitation, I can offer you a position here. Have I not been accommodating thus far?”

Daro’Vasora looked out at the city through the arches, shaking her head. “My friends are still out there, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again. It’s hard to trust in your intentions when you have none to let them live.” She turned to face the Dwemeri governor, whose namesake was for her entire clan. “How did you think people were going to react to this violent uprising you’ve orchestrated? Just quietly and meekly accept new rulers who take lives by the thousands just to make a statement? You might not have indiscriminately slaughtered the citizens of Gilane like in Imperial City, but everyone in this city lives under the yolk of a tyrant. There’s curfews and secret police snatching people in the dark, and yet you think you are just and right in standing here in your polished, gilded tower? Have you even walked the streets to see the suffering these people endured?” The Khajiit demanded, not caring about the consequences of her words. A guard moved forward to strike her, but Razlinc put up a hand to stop him.

“And you might be right, Daro’Vasora. I’ve made mistakes, and plenty of them. Perhaps we could have done things differently, but we couldn’t put our entire race’s existence to chance. The bridge between Exodus and Mundus is fragile, and I fear that should it fail, tens of thousands of my people will perish. The actions of the Dwemer across Tamriel is that of a wounded and terrified animal lashing out at the shadows, not caring who it harms so long as it lives to see morning.” Razlinc replied, her countenance showing signs of sorrowful resignation. “I want to be a part of this world, to see it at peace, to show the world what the Dwemer can offer outside of fear and war. When you first came here, under the guise of a historian who wanted to see her life’s research in the flesh, I was so pleased and grateful. I had no idea that people took an interest in our legacy, what we left behind, to have a passion for our achievements. The people of Tamriel are so varied and beautiful, so inspired, I wanted to offer you the opportunity to learn from us as we learn from you. Tell me, Daro’Vasora… had I come alone to this city and asked for the land to rebuild a home for my people, do you think the Redguards would have tolerated my existence? To give up what they had to give us the gift of life?” Razlinc asked.

The Khajiit thought for a long while before shaking her head slowly. “No, I don’t suppose they would have. I don’t even know what I would have done, myself. I never thought I would have ever had the chance to actually meet the Dwemer, let alone interact with them like we have. The good and the bad… it was all interesting. Then airships showed up in Imperial City and killed my uncle and a lot of people I’ve known for several years.” Daro’Vasora replied tersely, clenching her fist until her claws dig into her palms painfully before releasing the tension, her face returning to an impassive mask. “You’ve said it before, it wasn’t exactly your fault or the rest of Clan Rourken, but you’re invaders, all the same. How many lives have been destroyed from you forcing yourself as rulers in a strange land?”

“Too many for my liking, but I will not apologize for securing a future for my people.” Razlinc replied, arriving at an elevator, where an attendant opened the gate for them to board. “We can talk in circles, Daro’Vasora, and our answers will always be the same. Wrongs were done, decency verses survival. I doubt you’d have many qualms about following in my footsteps if our positions and fortunes were reversed. I hope that one day, if a stranger comes asking for your help, you receive them well, because you and I both know how that usually goes.”

The gate closed and the lift begun its descent. “So, Daro’Vasora, since history is already written in the stones and sands of this land and our being here isn’t going to change, I want you to help me find a better way forward since it’s clear my approach isn’t quite as effective as I’d wish. You have a unique perspective that being isolated for centuries has robbed from us, and to make it more palatable to you, the more you assist us, the more we can take the boot from your friends’ throats and possibly offer amnesty to those who would take it.

“You were caught up in a war that was not your own, and perhaps you felt you chose the right side, but the fact you are here alongside me and not in a prison cell for your actions should be taken as a mercy and a show of my good intent. Zaveed is being watched, and he should no longer be able to harm anyone the way he has again. If he goes rogue, I have no issues putting rabid dogs down. So starting today, prove to me you are willing to work towards a brighter future for all of our people with me, and I will grant your friends a place in that future and do everything in my power to hold the other clans accountable for their actions.” she paused as the lift reached its destination, the gate sliding open. “Even if it may lead to war one day.” She added with grim determination.

That caught Daro’Vasora off guard, to the point where she didn’t join Razlinc stepping forward. “You would go to war with the other clans?” she asked, dumbfounded.

The Dwemer governor turned and faced her Khajiit companion with a smile. “It wouldn’t be my first choice, but what happened to Imperial City and the others is an atrocity I cannot forgive. But right now, I cannot do anything while Volenfell is in such turmoil and the rest of the world is looking for a weak link in our armour. If such an event were to occur, I’d want to do it with the rest of Tamriel at our back, understanding that clan Rourken is here to become a part of Tamriel, not subjugate it. We are powerful, yes, but we are not infinite in number and reach.

“You have studied history and war, Daro’Vasora; you know how hubris and cultural supremacy often falter in the face of a dedicated and numerous foe. Barbarians have sacked cultural powers many times before, and forgive me if that seemed indelicate. I do not think such things about the people of Hammerfell, but it is hard not to think of Dwemer having superiority when it comes to technology when the Redguard are still armed much like we recall the races of men from centuries ago. It’s surprisingly stagnant.”

“Unfortunately stagnant.” Kerztar added, “History marches on, times change, but it is almost the only thing that does here. I’ve heard stories of this Great War of yours, how it shattered Tamriel through to the core. It makes our war with the Dunmer look like a skirmish.”

Kerztar sighed, “This Empire from Cyrodiil, The Thalmor. Crowns and Forebearers. Stormcloaks. The Insurgency. We aim to help break a cycle.” Kerztar shook his head at Daro’Vasora, “A cycle that you must be tired of, all of you, am I wrong?”

The Khajiit shook her head. “Do you know how many times I’ve read the thoughts of great leaders who claimed the same noble intention? Nothing ever lasts past a generation. The next happens, and then the next, and the lessons that were learned in blood are lost before some other hotheaded warlord riles up a disenfranchised populace to war once more. Peace never lasts, it can never last. The only reason this war feels like a true injustice is because we’re living through it, not reading about it hundreds of years later. Yes, I’d love to live in a world where nobody’s trying to murder each other for nationality or religion, race and long memories, but I’m not an idiot. I’d rather read about someone like me suffering than be that person, but here I am, not sure if I’m going to survive the year or lose the few people I care about because I got caught up in some world shaking event that should never have happened.” she sighed, placing a hand on her chest. “That I had a part in causing. The only reason your people were able to return at all, I’m certain, is because of what I had a hand in.” the Khajiit admitted.

Kerztar froze, eyebrow cocking as he looked to Razlinc then back to Daro’Vasora. “What you had a hand in?”

“The Jerall Mountains.” Razlinc said, suddenly dawning on the obvious conclusion. “The Planebridge Coordinate.”

Excitedly, she looked to Kerztar and locked eyes with Daro’Vasora. Suddenly, she crossed the distance to the Khajiit, tears in her eyes. “Whatever you did, you saved more lives than you’ll ever know. You must carry a terrible burden for everything that’s happened to you and the ones you love since that day, but know that I will try to make this worthwhile in the end. We will earn our place here, and you will be honoured for what you have done for all Dwemeri people. Thank you.”

The Khajiit’s arms hung loose at her side, not returning the gesture. It was tempting to dig her claws into the woman’s back, but she refrained. “All we did was shove a Lexicon back into its housing. We thought it was a way to keep ourselves from being overrun by the Falmer.”

“It was so much more than that.” Razlinc said, releasing Daro’Vasora and composing herself. “It had the coordinates to where Exodus, the plane we have been banished to for so long, and it connected our plane to Mundus. It thinned the veil between us, not unlike the Oblivion Crisis or the Planemeld we had learned about after our return from exile. It was how we knew we could go home; our own Planebridge Coordinate became active suddenly and received an influx of energy from a far off source. Think of it like a lighthouse, a way to see the way through the cosmos and planes of Aetherius. The amount of energy required was incredible; you literally have to rip a hole in time and space to create the bridge between planes. The Jerall Mountains is well protected now, but because of it, my entire people won’t perish and be removed from existence when Exodus collapses in the not too distant future.” she smiled tersely. “To think it was what Lord Kagrenac had planned to do to the Chimer and Nords at the Battle of Red Mountain. Perhaps in a way, it being us who were removed from Mundus was probably a mercy. Have we not paid for our mistakes?” she asked quietly.

Daro’Vasora’s mind was racing; the lexicon they had inserted into the device had opened the bridge between this Exodus plane and Tamriel, and Razlinc said there was another device like it on the other side in Exodus. They needed to communicate with the same coordinates… was that right? It was a lot to take it, but the sudden revelation gave her hope; maybe it was information she could use and pass onto the others. Maybe she could learn more from Razlinc and the other Dwemer, but she had to be careful not to scheme. It would only close the governor off. “We… found the body, a skeleton, of a Dwemer who passed away. The jewelry I wear came from that body, the lexicon was by the body. Maybe they removed it on purpose when the device was activated?”

Razlinc stood in contemplation for a few moments, her hands behind her back, posture erect. “Perhaps, but there is no way to be certain without studying the location. Come, Daro’Vasora; you’ve proven yourself an unexpected ally and savior to my people, and for that you have my gratitude. Perhaps, in time, we can arrange for your freedom and you will be celebrated. There are more things I wish to show you. Please, join me.”

The Khajiit nodded and fell back in step with the Dwemer. “You do know that if I’d known then what I know now, I would have absolutely refused to go through with it.” She added, knowing a bit of defiance would seem much more acceptable and normal instead of gleeful obedience. Razlinc had been far more often than Daro’Vasora ever thought she would be, and she had to play her part of begrudging but idealistic prisoner.

“I do not doubt it, nonetheless, sometimes great things happen completely by happenstance.” She replied. “I do think, however, curiosity would have gotten to you eventually. All the answers and mysterious you’ve tried to solve, suddenly there for the taking.”

Daro’Vasora was silent, her teeth grinding, wishing she had something to bite down into. She wasn’t even sure if the governor was wrong about that.

They walked through the subterranean corridors, not nearly as presentable or opulent as the upper levels, and it gave a very industrial vibe Daro’Vasora expected from most ruins. A pair of large alloy doors loomed ahead, flanked by a pair of Centurions that watched with impassive faces as they approached. The giant cogs and gears of the door moved at their approach, and Razlinc stopped in front of the door. “What I am about to show you is impressive, to be sure. It’s how we will ensure peace in this city should we not find a compromise, Daro’Vasora. I need you to be aware of how much is riding on your cooperation. You will help us find our peace, or I shall be forced to make it.”

The governor stepped forward through the doors, leaving Daro’Vasora with an unsettled pit in her stomach. When she stepped through after Razlinc, she suddenly became aware of several subdued mechanical sounds until her eyes adjusted. A number of mechanical constructs that looked like Centurions, roughly half the size and without the mask that the large ones outside the door bore, moved nimbly and almost quietly given their mass and speed; they were sprinting. A number of large obstacles were in the way, and the machines bounded over them with agility and grace, climbing walls with almost athletic prowess without much in the way of a slow down. Rotary cannons covered one arm, along with a double barreled harpoon gun. The other was a hammer instead of a hand covered by a retractable wrist blade that seemed certainly capable of cutting through a man or penetrating even thick armour. The smile upon Razlinc’s face was menacing, and the low lighting did nothing to assuage Daro’Vasora’s impression.

“You have done more than one thing for my perception of this world, my friend; you made me think of how wasteful and tragic the blunt assault on Imperial City was, the needless bloodshed and carnage of so many people. So it occurred to me that there was a program we had started already that would minimize casualties and could surgically strike against those who would take up arms against us. These are the Assassin Centurions, the new face of anti-insurgency warfare that we have at our disposal. When we finish their design and architect their protocols, they will sweep through the streets like a flood and remove the terrorists that plague our city. If you do not wish your friends to be considered terrorists by this technology, I suggest you cooperate fully and entirely, Daro’Vasora. We Dwemer are nothing if not efficient.”

“Efficient.” Kerztar said, a hint of something in his voice, “Have you heard of the trade town of Al-Aqqiya? My team was sent there to validate intelligence gained from interrogations that Al-Aqqiya was a hub for the insurgency’s smuggling operations and a place they were funneling in foreign fighters.”

“They were pinned down and steadily losing ground after the entire town armed themselves, Krinnec arrived with four of these things you see now.” Kerztar frowned and sighed, eyes closing, “That was only the first generation. Al-Aqqiya is no more. Help us make sure that we won’t have to use these things to hunt down your friends and every terrorist and their supporters in Hammerfell.”

Daro’Vasora could only stare.