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    1. MacabreFox 10 yrs ago

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6 yrs ago
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Preferred RPs: Medieval/Historical/Fantasy/Victorian/Advanced/1x1

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Rescuing Princess Peach


A Collab by @LadyTabris & @MacabreFox

Anvil, Sometime after the duel with Meg

Brynja had worked up an appetite by the time she finished her last duel with Megana. She didn’t quite feel like eating tavern food, and decided to wander the streets of Anvil, a chance on her end because there was the likelihood of her getting lost. She had told Marius to tell the spectators that the next duel would be in two hours, it would give her time to rest her weary bones and replenish her energy. She rounded a corner, slowing her pace. She didn’t recognize the area, but she did - hold on…

She caught the sight of two city guards holding a rather ragged woman between them, and if she weren’t mistaken, it was Anifaire. Puzzled and concerned, she approached the guards, hand resting on the pommel of her longsword.

“What seems to be the problem here?” She asked, her auburn brows knitting together in annoyance.

“Found a-” the first guard began, turning to face the newcomer. He stopped, glancing at the woman and her sword, then his partner interrupted his thought.

“Nothing at all,” he said, moving to continue their patrols. He shoved his friend, who hadn’t begun to move yet. Reluctantly, the other guard followed.

“Coward,” he muttered to his companion as they left.

“Not worth the effort,” the other insisted.

Anifaire, eyes wide, watched the guards leave. Her gaze turned to Brynja, thankful to no longer be alone both in the city and with those guards. She wasn’t sure what they would have done, but she was glad she never found out - the opportunity was gone now that she wasn’t alone.

“Thank you,” the Altmer muttered, still a bit confused. “I’m not sure what they thought…”

“Aye, doesn’t matter now. Good thing I came along when I did. What happened?” She asked.

“The bank wouldn’t let me access my father’s funds. He told me I would always be able to.” She frowned. “It’s never happened before.”

A frown turned into a sympathetic smile as Brynja realized the source of her mistreatment, “Where are you staying?”

Anifaire sighed. “Nowhere,” she replied. “I was relying on that money.” .. to get on the first ship out of here, she finished mentally.

She nodded, as much as she suspected. Brynja shifted from one leg to another, before deciding on what to say, “Well… I don’t mean any offense. Folks probably think you’re common riff raff with the way you’re… well, you get my point. I’ve got a room over at the Flowing Bowl. Why don’t you take it?”

With a frown, Anifaire glances briefly at her dirty clothes, but she knew it was the truth. She only wished it wasn’t. “Really? I-“ She hesitated. She’d been getting so much kindness from this group of people. It was completely unlike anything she was used to back home. Even her mother had a certain firmness. Yet, here, in this unfamiliar place she’d somehow found people so willing to give up what they had when she was struggling. It occurred to her that she had never considered what poor people did before. “Thank you,” was all she mustered.

“Don’t mention it. I know a hot bath, and a good night's rest will do you some good. C’mon, I’ll walk with you so no one bothers you again, eh?” Brynja started off for the inn when she asked Anifaire.

“How have you been? I see you keeping to yourself… but it never hurts to ask.”

“Well, it’s just,” Anifaire paused, considering how to put her feelings into words. “It’s a lot to handle. I’ve never been around anything like this before, and I’m not really.. used to strangers, either. I don’t know how all of you seem to just… handle this.”

“No? It comes… easy for me. Served as a House Carl for damn near eight years. Served as a healer in the Legion too. You’ve… got to work together with your companions whether you like them or not if you want to make it through alive.” She paused, thinking on what Anifaire had just told her, “Where do you come from anyways? I mean, what was life like for you before you signed on with the company?”

“I’m from Auridon,” Anifaire replied. She hesitated. “My father is prominent in the government there. Life’s been… easy, in retrospect. I was free to pursue my studies at leisure. I only left my parent’s home a few years ago, to go to the University. This is… very different.”

It all made sense now to Brynja, she could understand why Anifaire acted so reserved and rather prim and proper, “And that’s how you found the company? So… what now? Are you going to head home?”

“That’s what I was thinking. I came here to go deeper into my research, get hands-on with Dwemer ruins and I just didn’t intend for it to be quite this hands on.” She shrugged. “I was trying to get the funds for the journey home, but now it seems I may need to find another option.”
“I’m certain you’ll find a way. Gods know I have. I’ve just convinced the innkeeper at this tavern to let me host a duel for free board and all the ale I can drink. Works out good, as long as I win. Granted, I’d rather heal people than put on a show to earn some coin, but what can you do?” Brynja paused, trying to recall the last time she saw Anifaire fight, so to say, back in the Jerall mountains. “So, remind me again, what can you do? Any magic?”

“I, um, study Alteration magic. I know, not really the most useful thing when Falmer are swinging swords at you.” She had been wondering if destruction would’ve been a more useful study. In what she’d begun to think of as her life before, alteration had been one of the few things she was good at, but now it made her feel useless.

“Mm. Not quite. How skilled are you in Alteration?” The sight of The Flowing Bowl came into view. Brynja wracked her brain, trying not to confuse Alteration with Illusion, and attempting to find an idea on how Anifaire could raise money for a ship home.

“I’m not bad,” she replied, not certain of herself. She had never been confident or passionate about her magic the way she was with Dwemer research.

“Hm. Seems like you’ve got yourself in quite a pickle. But come on, we’ll get you cleaned up right and proper then.”

Together they entered The Flowing Bowl, many of which glanced first at Brynja and then to Anifaire. Their expressions were mixed, some intrigued and others disgusted. Nevertheless, Brynja guided Anifaire up the flight of stairs to the room Marius had given her on agreement.

“Right. Here we are.” She opened the door, and checked inside before holding out her hand as a gesture for Anifaire to head inside. “When you’re finished washing, come and see me downstairs, aye?”

“Thank you,” she replied. She stepped inside the room. When she closed the door behind her, it felt wonderful just to be completely alone.

She took the time to clean herself up, even scrubbing her hair and stripping completely to rub her skin until it was raw and dirt free. In her bag she had only the cloak Alim gave her, along with the two pairs of clothes. The dress she was wearing when she fled the Imperial City was cleaner, if torn up, but it was preferable to muddy clothes. She put it back on and set the dirty clothing aside.

When she finished, she remembered that Brynja had asked her to return downstairs, so she left the room, hair still wet - something which would have been unspeakable once - and made her way down the stairs towards the main tavern area, looking for the other woman. Brynja had taken a seat at a table near a window overlooking the exterior of the tavern, a plate of food before her. She looked tired with bags under her eyes. Nonetheless, Brynja happened to look up in Anifaire’s general direction and waved at her.

Anifaire made her way over and pulled out the seat across from Brynja. As she sat, delicately folding her skirts as though she was still wearing a fine gown, she eyed Brynja’s plate a bit jealously.

“Thank you, truly. I feel much better, even just after washing up.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Brynja caught Anifaire’s longing gaze and a soft smile danced across her lips.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat, the barmaid will be back over after she’s done making her rounds,when she comes, order what you want, it’s on me.” She explained, “I’ve been thinking about what you can do to get passage back home, if you care to hear.”

Anifaire couldn’t help but glance around to see how far away the barmaid was, but she tried to hide it. Still, Brynja’s idea intrigued her. “What were you thinking?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong… I’ve never studied Alteration, but… do you know how to lessen the weight of an item? Make it easier to carry?”

“Yes,” Anifaire replied. A bit of relief flooded into her - it was something she could do. “I can do that.”

“Good good. That’ll help you,” She fell silent, trying her best to collect her thoughts, “so here’s what I’m thinking… head down to the harbor, and ask the ship captains if they’ll grant you passage to the next port or wherever their destination. But offer them to help unload or load the ship. You would make the process easier on the sailors and the help would be appreciated.” By then the barmaid returned to the table, her attention shifting to Anifaire.

“What’ll it be?”

“I -” Anifaire stopped, a bit surprised. She hadn’t considered what it was she wanted. “Do you have any… fish? Some kind of fish would be lovely.”

“Rice, or potatoes?” the barmaid asked.

“Rice,” Anifaire answered with more certainty. The barmaid turned to walk away, and remembering a bit late, Anifaire blurted out “thank you!” a bit too loudly. A bit embarrassed, she turned back to Brynja.

“Do you think it would work?” she asked. “It sounds possible.” She’d never thought of her abilities as particularly useful before. After some sleep… maybe she would try.

The barmaid returned quickly with a hot plate of fish and rice. She couldn’t tell what type of fish it was - something local, probably - but it was of little consequence to her. Her manners were ingrained into her life; despite how hard her stomach growled, she sat straight in her seat and ate delicately without the idea of eating faster even crossing her mind.

“It couldn’t hurt to try, I’m sure they would need the help. Maybe check with one of the trading ships, they’re bound to have a large amount of cargo.” Brynja watched Anifaire, taking note of the way she ate her food. Very prim and proper. Something her own mother tried her hardest to instill in her.

Pausing in her eating, Anifaire looked up at Brynja, trying to look her directly in the eyes to emit sincerity; however, she felt nervous, and cast her eyes down to her food as she began to speak. “Thank you for helping me. Being here has been very…” she recalled the guards who had tried to accost her outside the bank, the thieves in the alleyway, and, finally, the dwemer, “frightening. But you have all been so kind to me.” She continued to pick at her food. Even while eating politely, the food was disappearing quickly. Where at home she would’ve paused and enjoyed the meal, setting down her utensils and holding conversations, now the only thing in her mind was the bed she had seen in the room upstairs and how nice it would be to lay there. Still, one couldn’t simply abandon propriety.

It was odd, hearing such words come from Anifaire. Brynja tried to think back on when she had last spoke to the Altmer woman before her but she couldn’t recall, not since the Jerall Mountains. Brynja shook her head after considering the nature of her words.

“It’s tough when you’re alone out here… sometimes it helps having someone looking over your shoulder. Your food is paid for, you should get some rest too.” Brynja rose up out of her chair, and made to head off, when she stopped, something nagging at her core on the inside. She could do more to help Anifaire…

“Here, it’s not much, but it’ll help.” Brynja pulled out the other coinpurse Marius had given to her after the first duel of the day, and set before Anifaire. “Alright then, I’ve got more septims to rake in.”

Anifaire looked down at the purse - something she may have considered to be very little coin once. Speechlessly, she sat as Brynja moved on, until, the surprise wearing off, she finished scraping the last crumbs of food from her plate. A nap was calling her name.
Fightin’ Gals




The Flowing Bowl - Early Afternoon Outside, 2:00pm

“How ‘bout a fight then?” The voice belonged to none other than Megana, her gaze shifted to where she stood on the opposite end of the circle. Her limbs throbbed from fending off her last opponent, she wasn’t tired yet by any means, just from the hard blows the Imperial had delivered. Brynja couldn’t help but grin in return, a peculiar thought crossing her mind.

“You wish to test your strength against me?” Brynja called out, moving to stand in the center of the circle. “Then come meet me here.” She drove the point of her blade into the ground between her feet. Meg would be her third contestor if she agreed to challenge Brynja.

"That's right," Meg replied with a nod, ignoring the others around her, some who seemed a little indignant that the chit of a woman was coming between them and a fight, and others who simply believed she would fail. Truth be told, she was quite sure she would fall, but there was nothing like a duel between friends, just like when she would train with her Pa. "Don' think I won'!"

She pulled her sword from its scabbard and entered the into the makeshift fighting circle, the grin on her visage much easier to note than the determination in her eyes.

It was hard to keep a grin off her lips as she moved towards Meg, her hand outstretched towards her fellow kinswoman, “A fair fight then.”

Meg looked at Bryja a moment, noting the grin on the warrior's face before taking a firm grasp of her hand and shaking it. So from arm wrestling to dueling? Well, at least this contest gave Meg a chance to win. "Aye, for sure. Wouldn' be fun if it was anythin' but, eh?"

She lowered her voice loud enough for Meg to hear, “If I win, I’ll split my earnings with you.”

Eyebrow rising for a split second, Meg couldn't help but smirk at the proposition. "Soun's like a plan t'me," she muttered under her breath; like Brynja, her voice too was only audible enough for the other Nord to hear in the current hubbub. Meg could very well use the gold, seeing she hadn't been been or expected to be paid any time soon.

She let go of Brynja's hand and moved back, sword held out before her, making a convincing show of analyzing her opponent. She would lose the fight, yes, but she had to make it convincing... and fun.

A heavy stillness filled the air as the crowd looked on in anticipation, the only voice breaking through was the sound of Marius’ call for bets, “Place yer bets! Bets! Who will win? Will it be the short and fiery Nord? Or will it be Brynja, our towering stone giant? Come on, place yer bets!” A flurry of people rushed to Marius, slipping what septims they could spare into his hand, each speaking with excitement.

“Put my money on the big lass!”

“Here! Put mine on the fiesty one! Give that underdog a fighting chance!”

Before the throngs of people had a chance to thin out, Brynja made her move. She gave Meg a slight nod to indicate she was ready, and without further delay, closed the distance between them in three lengthy strides. She appeared an intimidating figure dressed in her full suit of steel armor, but it was the way she moved, purposeful, her longsword coming up, and brought it down in a calculated swing.

She moves fast! To be fair, Meg hadn’t ever been on the receiving end of Brynja’s attacks, so it made some sense that she had no true idea as to how her companion fought. Of course, the same could be said vice versa. In all their time together, the younger Nord had been keeping mostly to her bow, though she was more proficient with her sword. And it felt good, feeling the weight of another sword hitting against hers as she brought it up just in time to stop Brynja’s swing.

It was clear that this current battle of strength wouldn’t end well for Meg, she could already feel her sword being pushed down. However, she wasn’t about to give up… not this quickly anyway. She ducked and scrambled to the right, and as she did, she grabbed her hilt with her left hand now, pulling it away from under Brynja’s sword. Blade now free and now behind the Nord, Meg attempted to strike at the other Nord’s legs. A gasp went up from the crowd at the counter attack.

“We’re going to fight like that, eh?” Brynja twisted, narrowly escaping the blow that would have cut through a gap in the knee joint. She backed off, giving Megana room. The other two fights had taken most of her stamina, but she knew she could endure. She had to be practical and efficient. With the space that she had given Meg, Brynja decided to taunt her, hopefully enticing her to attack her first.

“You move fast for someone whose father was a hamster. Did your mother smell of elderberries too?”

Meg couldn't help but snicker at that comment. Rather than taking it offensively, it caused her amusement because her father could easily have been seen as a small furry creature among towering Nord men. "Well y'know, mice're usually too quick t'be caught. As for Ma, I couldn' rightly say, but I'm thinkin' pro'ly cheese."

That said, Meg switched her sword to her right hand once more and shortened the space between herself and Brynja, this time striking at her sword arm.

She had limited options. Knock Meg back, deflect the blow and fight in close quarters, or retreat again. Brynja dropped her opposing shoulder, and drove it down towards Meg, aiming to body check her. At the same time, she brought the edge of her longsword up against Meg’s blade.

There was no chance for Meg to do anything with her sword, not with her falling to the ground due to Brynja’s body check. An oof sound escaped her as she landed on her back, a slight grimace as she felt rocks pressing into her. She still had a hold of her blade, so her hold tightened around the hilt before slackening. She let go of her her sword and it clattered to the ground.

“A’right, I yield,” she called, lifting both hands in the air from her position on the ground. She hoped that was enough of a show for those watching them.

For those that had placed bets on Brynja, they gave a cheer and went to collect their funds from Marius, while those with bets on Megana turned away, disappointed that the fight had ended rather abruptly. However, for Brynja, she moved towards Meg, hand outstretched as an offering to help her to her feet.

“You alright, Meg?” She asked softly.

Meg nodded. She could have prolonged the match, but she didn’t feel it would be the wise thing to do, especially if Brynja was to fight more people. Taking hold of the sword with her right hand, she reached up with her left and took hold of the offered hand. “Aye, thanks.” As she pulled herself up, her sleeve slipped a little down, showing the edge of the bandage still covering the half healed stab wound from when they first arrived in Skingrad.

“What the- Megana Corvus. Just what the hell is that?” Brynja demanded, not releasing Meg’s wrist quite yet. Her grip actually tightened as she brought herself to look Meg in the eye.

“When did this happen? And why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Meg looked away for a moment, trying and failing not to seem like a child getting in trouble. "Been a while now," she finally muttered. "Got in a l'il trouble back when we first got to Skingrad. It's almost healed now as is... y'all had lots on your mind already, what with the Rangers. I didn' wanna be a bother when it wasn' a big deal, y'know?"

“You’re coming with me.” Brynja said, and proceeded to drag Meg over to Marius, who remained rather docile and didn’t attempt to struggle.

“That was a good fight lass! Here’s your cut. When do you want to fight again?”

“Give me three hours, and I’ll be good as new.” Brynja gave a curt nod, and without letting go of Meg, dragged her away from the crowd and into the entrance of an alleyway.

“Let me see it.” She demanded.

Meg pushed her sleeve further up so that her complete forearm now showed, not wishing to further annoy Brynja. Truthfully she felt slightly
giddy at the attention, but there was also the 'you're in trouble' feeling that made her inwardly cringe.

"Well," she said, looking at the slightly stained bandage, "there's it."

Brynja shook her head, clucking her tongue like a disapproving mother, “What are you trying to do kid? Get yourself killed? Cuz that’s what you’re gonna do if you don’t get this cleaned right quick. Just look at this, Meg. This is borderline infected. What the bloody Daedra did you do to it? Did you try and clean it?” She pushed and prodded around the wound, shaking her head.

"Ow!" Meg winced a little but kept relatively still. "I did, mostly! Didn't really think of its since we had t'leave Skingrad." She knew it was stupid but she'd been in such a mood during the journey that it hadn't even crossed her mind to look over her arm.

"Uhm... so... can you fix it then..?" She looked up at Brynja, sheepish as well as embarrassed at having to ask now.

“Course I can. That’s what I did back in Jerall too, remember? C’mon let’s get you to the inn, so I can clean this first before I heal you.” Brynja released her, the look in her eyes softening. “And I’ll give you your half of the winnings too.”

"Oh, right those." Meg finally resheathed her sword, and then let out a little sigh as she pulled her sleeve back down. "It'd be nice, finally havin' some gold." Taking in a deep breath, she slowly let it out before looking to Brynja once more. "That was fun, the duel, even though it was short. And er... thanks for... y'know." She nodded in her arm's direction. "Lead the way."

Moments passed before Meg and Brynja took a seat in the corner of the inn, she had cornered the cook, and claimed a bowl of hot water with a fresh cloth. Brynja settled into her seat and gestured for Meg, and then remembered the gold. She didn’t even bother counting out the winnings, just handed her the entire pouch. She had made plenty from the two duels earlier in the day.

“There ya go. Now lay your arm out flat on the table.”

Meg did as she was told and laid her arm as Brynja said, though her eyes still rather wide as they stared at the money pouch. "Woah... y'sure 'bout givin' all that to me?" She looked to the older Nord, blinking. "You did most've it, y'know."

“‘Course I am. What do you think I’m going to do with all this money? Blow it on booze, that’s what. Marius is giving me free room and beer anyways.” She folded a corner of the cloth, and dipped it into the hot water. Her eyes looked to Meg, “This might be hot, but it won’t burn you.”

Brynja applied the wet cloth to the encrusted wound, and began to clean away the filth that had accumulated, along with the scabs. Her gaze focused entirely on the wound that she didn’t bother making small talk, not that she didn’t want to, but because her work entranced her. She repeated the steps of dipping different corners of the cloth into the hot water, eventually soaking its entirety, and gave her forearm a good, rather abrasive, stroke that cleaned up any remaining gunk. While the wound was clean, that didn’t mean it was healed.

“Ok. This might itch, but it doesn’t look so bad as I thought.” Brynja wiped her hands on the sides of her pants before grabbing Meg’s wrist with one hand, and holding her free hand inches away from the wound. She closed her eyes, and focused on drawing out the restorative magick stored within her. She was exhausted from the dueling, but she hadn’t spent any of her magicka. Slowly, a pulsating white orb swirled beneath her hand. The flow of magicka radiated out around Meg’s forearm, enveloping it entirely. It felt like minutes, when it was really only seconds before she pulled her hand away. The wound healed without so much as a scar.

“There we are. How does that feel?”

"Bloody good," Meg replied, shaking her head. "Always amazes me when I see someone fix up wounds like that." It was also something she was envious of, but she'd never had a head for magic, and neither did the people she'd grown up around.

She gently poked at the wound, tense as if expecting pain, and letting out a breath when there was none. "Thanks so much- and I promise in Talos' name I won' let a wound go untreated again. Promise." She gave Brynja a sheepish but hopefully convincing grin.

“Good. If anything just come to me for goodness sake. If you let that go any longer, I would’ve had to lop your arm off, and then you’d be Megana One-Arm.” Brynja winked, the wound hadn’t been that badly infected, but she hoped that got the point across.
Matters of the Heart




21st Second Seed, Anvil 02:00AM

After having dinner and wine with Alim, Rhona retreated to her room for the remainder of the evening, keen on staying out of the public eye in case her path crossed with Cezare, and letting herself sober up. Tobias trailed happily behind her. Part of her wondered if Cezare had followed her to Anvil, especially after her brash encounter with him after two years spent diligently traveling. In all honesty, Cezare reminded her of a wolf on the prowl. He would hunt her down no matter what it would take. She crossed the threshold of the rented room, taking in the sight of the furnishings were simple and few. A wooden framed bed pushed against one wall with a bedside table, where a stout tallow candle sat, like a stoic keeper of the room. She shut the door behind her, sliding the bolt into place, and closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the worn plank. When she opened her eyes again, Rhona made her way with care across the floorboards, hearing their protests under her weight as they creaked and groaned. A miniscule flame appeared between her fingertips as she concentrated on drawing her magicka, she lit the chubby candle, watching the fire cling to the wick. Her eyes focused as the flame danced and wavered, growing brighter. The exhaustion consumed her, like the flame glowing, bringing her to sit on the edge of the bed. She couldn’t break her gaze from the dancing candlelight, as if she had slipped into a trance, and even though her eyes were locked on the flame, her mind let down its walls, letting in an overwhelming tide of emotions that caused her throat to tighten. Her eyes began to burn as she struggled to swallow the lump choking her of the ability to breathe.

Damn it. She brought the heels of her palms to her eyes, applying pressure to shirk the sensation of crying. Her efforts were wasted. Rhona shook like the last leaf of autumn clinging to a branch in a gusty gale. Sensing something amiss, Tobias approached her, pushing his muzzle against her in his attempt to comfort her. She couldn’t handle the poor goat at this time, and perhaps he sensed that as well, as he took a seat between her feet.

I never wanted this… and Cezare of all people. What did I expect? That I could avoid him for all of these years, and think nothing would come of it?, an anguished sob escaped her, she squeezed her eyes shut tight as hot tears flowed down her cheeks, her hands covering her mouth. No one needed to hear this. And that made her cry harder.

No. Rhona stop this. she chided herself, but it wasn’t as easy as telling herself mentally. She reclined back onto the bed, curling into a fetal position, she put her thumbs in her mouth, and bit down, trying to give her body a reason to quit crying. Anything was better than this agony, but that didn’t stop the personal attack she slipped into.

I’m nothing but a coward. Look at me. I never wanted this. I never wanted any of this. And I can’t even tell anyone no. A moan slipped out, one that physically hurt to suppress. Her chest felt tight, and it hurt to breathe, but she didn’t care.

Look at how you’re acting. Why would you ever treat Calen like that? And you have half the damned mind to flirt with Alim? Think of Aurelia, what would she say? It’s been months since she left, and here you are acting as if she never existed. Rhona what the hell is wrong with you? You’re nothing better than a damned whore without any fucking common sense. On and on this went, until she had quite literally cried herself to sleep.

Hours later…

When she woke, the candle had burned low, she knew it was late in the night, but her throat was parched, and she needed something to drink. Her tongue weighed like a mud brick left out in the summer sun, dry and hot, and her head a pounding mess. She moved her stiff legs out from under her, climbing out of bed as if she were an old woman suffering from an arthritic condition on a rainy day. Rhona located the water pitcher on the small table, and much to her luck, it was empty. She contemplated on returning to bed out of laziness, but her bodily discomfort wouldn’t let her. So, she slipped her feet into her boots, and headed downstairs, glancing back once over her shoulder to check on Tobias. He was fast asleep at the foot of the bed. Much to her relief, there were only two people downstairs, the innkeeper cleaning up the remaining mugs from the tables, and a distinct figure seemingly sleeping at the counter. She knew it to be Brynja from her impressive stature alone, she hadn’t removed her armor, and snored softly.

The innkeeper addressed her on sight, “Is there anything you need lass?”

“I just needed to fill my pitcher of water, if you’d be so kind.” Rhona said.

He nodded, “Sit it there on the counter and I’ll fill it.” She left it where he indicated, and before she turned to head back upstairs, Rhona paused, and turned back around, her gaze lingering on Brynja. The woman needed a proper rest, she didn’t deserve to sleep downstairs if she could help it. She crossed the room, and stopped beside her, taking in Brynja’s condition. Reaching out, Rhona rested a hand against her back.

“Brynja.” Rhona called, shaking the giant of a woman softly. She didn’t move.

“Hey. Brynja.” She tried again. This time, Brynja uttered a groggy moan, though she still didn’t move.

Brynja. Wake up.” Rhona shook her, harder this time, causing Brynja to lift her head. She turned her gaze to look at Rhona, the expression on her face uncertain who was waking her up.

“What?” She growled, her voice hoarse and scratchy, like sand grating against wood.

“I can’t let you sleep down here.” A smile twitched at the corners of her lips, Rhona settled down on the barstool beside her.

“I was what?”

“You were sleeping. Do you remember where you are?” At her question, Brynja’s eyes scanned the interior of the room, where she groaned in annoyance.

“Damn it… hic... I guess you’re right.” Just then, Marius reappeared with the pitcher, and seemingly thinking that the now awake Brynja would need water to help sober up as well, brought an extra pitcher, and two tankards. He offered a smile before disappearing into the kitchen. Brynja accepted the water readily, and drank straight from the pitcher. She set it down, now empty, and turned her attention back to Rhona, her eyes narrowed into slits.

“Gods, you look horrible.” Brynja commented.

“Huh? Oh… I… couldn’t sleep.”

“Mm. By those eyes, you’ve been crying.” A silence came between them, causing Rhona to shift awkwardly.

“Why did you fall asleep down here?” Rhona changed the conversation, honestly, she was far too exhausted to even talk about what troubled her. She filled her tankard with water, relishing in the relief it brought her parched mouth.

“Guess I got too drunk… happens sometimes. I gave Anifaire my room, poor lass. She needs a good rest.”

“You gave up your own room? Where did you think you were going to sleep after that?”

“I dunno.” Brynja’s grey eyes were bloodshot, ringed with red, and it appeared she had a hard time adjusting to the dim lighting inside. “So, who’s got you all sad and looking like you have a broken heart?” It was like Rhona couldn’t escape her, she fidgeted with the tankard before sighing. Might as well give her an answer.

“Myself.”

“And what did you do, to yourself?”

“I’m being an indecisive idiot.”

“Is it Calen?”

“How-”

“I watched you on the way up here. You avoided him like he had the Bone Break Fever. So, what happened?”

“It’s nothing. Really.”

“If it’s nothing then you can tell me.” Brynja raised an eyebrow, she didn’t like it when people avoided her questions, or tried to play off their inner turmoil. She could see Rhona struggling to muster up the courage to broach the subject, but she needed to come to terms with it if she were going to move past whatever afflicted her.

“It’s a long story.” Rhona tried again, but Brynja only smiled, there was no escaping her.

“I’m listening.” The two women stared at each other, Brynja unwavering in her attempt to get Rhona to speak her mind, and Rhona fidgeting with even finding the right words to say.

“You’re a tough woman.” Rhona groaned through a strained laugh. She shook her head before sighing, “I’ve been traveling the last two years because I left my husband,” she watched as the smile on Brynja’s face disappeared, “and I had met a group of people on my travels. There was a woman… Aurelia… and we became lovers. We were happy together, until she asked me months ago to leave with her and our friends to Valenwood. For whatever reason… I chose not to go. Not because I didn’t love her, but because…”

“Because you were afraid?”

“Yes. I’ve never left Cyrodiil until then, save for our few trips to Rihad. To me, Cyrodiil was safe. It’s what I knew. And maybe I’m just a coward. I don’t know. But I stayed behind, and when morning came, she was gone. Gone before I had a chance to say goodbye.” Rhona took a sip of her water, “I came back from Rihad, and stayed here to raise funds to travel. When I had enough, I headed for Skingrad. And that’s when…” She paused, her teeth biting into her lower lip, “I crossed paths with my husband.”

“Did you both live in Skingrad?”

“No, no. I lived with him in the City, he must have fled with the other refugees to Skingrad. He… he tried to take me back. I didn’t want to go back with him, so I hit him, and I ran. That’s when I ran into Calen. He helped me hide from my husband in plain sight. Quite literally. After Cezare, that’s my husband, had left… Calen took me to wash up, he had smeared dirt and dung on me, made me look like a Redguard woman needing directions. He was kind…”

“And?”

“And he helped lift my spirits that night. Helped get my mind off the idea that Cezare would come back for me, find me, and take me away with him.”

“Why did you leave him, your husband that is?”

“Why not? He was an abusive drunkard with a bad gambling habit. He almost killed me one night. There’s no reason a sensible woman would have stayed, regardless of what people said.”

“Fair enough. So Calen. It sounds like he treated you kindly. So why the aloofness? Why avoid him after he treated you with kindness? Did you think about how that might affect him?”

“I… I didn’t want him to end up getting hurt. Cezare knows who Calen is, if he saw him with me, he would kill him. Cezare wouldn’t care. I just didn’t want to see Calen get hurt because of me.”

“So you did what you thought was best. You avoided him to protect him.”

“Yes. That’s why Durantel is teaching me how to protect myself. So that if Cezare comes and finds me, which I know he will since he knows I’m alive, I won’t go back with him. No matter what.”

“And did you tell Calen this?”

“...No. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You chose not to be honest with him?.”

“Mm.” A silence came between them again, each drinking from their mugs respectfully. Brynja set her tankard down and gazed long and hard at Rhona. The woman appeared conflicted, and she could sympathize. Her words reminded Brynja all too much on how she handled Rorik and the death of Iona. Instead of telling him the truth, she swept her dirty secret under the rug, and letting that regret to torment her all these years later.

“But that’s not all of it, is it?” Brynja asked through a soft sigh, she could tell from the way Rhona’s body tensed at the question that the woman had not told her anything. And why should she? Rhona hardly knew her, save for the night on the road that she could barely sleep. She shut her eyes, trying to block out the remnants of the lucid dream she had, the anguished face of Iona lying cold and dead in her arms. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s just… it helps when you let out the things that are bothering you, instead of becoming a fire of self-destruction.”

“Why is it men make us feel the way we do? Aurelia never made me feel so conflicted.” Rhona sighed, her fingers tightening around the slim handle.

“It’s not men… it’s the idea of being found attractive. The idea of being loved, desired, and wanted. It’s because their words can be poison to our hearts, and we readily cast ourselves off the cliff and into a raging sea of trouble.” Now it was Brynja becoming the somber one. A hard lump formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow.

Her voice cracked, “...and for what? For a chance to be told we’re pretty? That we mean the world to them? That we’re the only ones that could ever make them happy. Men think with their cocks, not their heads.”

“Your words couldn’t be more true.” Rhona shook her head, she propped her chin up in the palm of her hand, resting her elbow on the countertop. “I just feel… guilty because I flirted with Alim. It makes me feel like…” She paused on seeing Brynja’s eyes squeezed shut, tiny tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

“You want to free that heart of yours from its troubles? Be honest. Be honest with your heart, and with others. I promise you Rhona, you won’t feel so guilty. People don’t deserve anything from you, but it’s nice. And your heart will thank you for it.” That silence came between them again, leaving Rhona wondering what had pained Brynja so much. The giantess sighed, a conflicted smiling crossing her lips as she opened her eyes. “You’d better get on upstairs and get some rest.”

“What about you? You said you gave Anifaire your own room, where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll be alright.”

“I don’t believe that. Come. I’ll give you my bed, and I’ll take the floor. My back could use the stiffness. You need a proper night’s rest.” Rhona rose up from her barstool, and beckoned to Brynja. She knew that Rhona wouldn’t take for an answer, not with that look on her face.

“Fine.”
Am working on my sheet! Should have it done here soon.
Anvil, Harborside - 21st of Second Seed, Midday



Rhona

The city of Anvil bore a familiar atmosphere all too well for Rhona. It had been a little less than a month when she left for Skingrad. The weather hadn’t changed much since her departure into Rihad, or even when she left for Skingrad. The air still held the salted scent of the sea mixed with warm air, spices, and now, honeyed flower blossoms and the faint smell of tobacco smoke drifted like a thin blanket. The sights, sounds, and scents of Anvil made her feel sleepy, as if she needed to take a century long sleep before she could shake the tiredness from her soul. Her mind strayed to Durantel, he had taught her so much in so little time, and yet her tutelage was far from over. She thought of Cezare, and of Calen. Part of her wondered if he had escaped from Skingrad before the Dominion tightened its grip on the city, or if he had managed to become caught up in the fiasco. She hoped for the latter. She wondered about Calen, would he pay homage to the temple of Dibella? Rhona had avoided him as much as necessary, she had resigned herself to a degree of pleasantries, that’s what she told herself at least. After all, Aurelia’s leaving was still a fresh wound in her heart that she was still trying to mend. Rhona had rationalized it in every way possible, but it always came back to the fact that she was too scared to set foot outside of her known world, and to place faith in Aurelia, and her friends. But was it different with Calen? Were they just friends? Yes. That had to be it. And it wasn’t necessarily the fact that she didn’t like him as an individual, but rather, she didn’t want to hurt him. What if Cezare found her again? Or rather, what if he found her, and she was with him? She shuddered at the thought alone. His anger, that unbridled rage, especially when inebriated, Gods it terrified her. She endured that pain for so long, she couldn’t bear the thought of bringing anyone else into his destructive path, even for a piece of temporary happiness.

And that was it. In every blinding way, every deceivable concept, in those quiet regions of her heart that she buried deep inside, Rhona believed that she had made the right choice… even if it meant for her to make a sacrifice for her own satisfaction. Wasn’t that the right thing to do? Her mind darkened like a storm cloud brewing on the distant horizon, no, Calen was a follower of Dibella. She had let herself be weak in his presence, she had sought comfort in him like she had Aurelia. Didn’t she know better? Her throat tightened. Perhaps she was too naive for her own good, or at least too much of a coward to admit it out loud. Gods, she was a fool at heart. A hopeless romantic, easily swept up in the tides of passion, and temporary love. And that was that. Besides, she had her training with Durantel to focus on as well. He had taken her training seriously, and he certainly had no fondness in dilly-dallying. She appreciated the Altmer for his diligence and tenacity to see her training through.

She hadn’t realized that her train of thoughts consumed the time spent walking to the docks, but it didn’t take long for her to sit herself down and spread out her belongings. She began to hawk her own wares at passerby’s. Rhona recognized a series of familiar faces dotted amongst the crowds, and some even stopped to say hello. By early evening she had enchanted half a dozen swords, amulets and trinkets. She had enough coin for a room at the tavern if she wanted, plenty for food and wine, and more importantly, enough left over to buy some charged soul gems. Now if only she could find the vendor again… Rhona gathered up her belongings and set off into the city, searching for the man that had supplied her with soul gems on her last stop. Her feet were sore from the five days spent traveling, and all that was on her mind now was, find some soul gems, and then get some hot food in her belly, plus a nice hot bath if she could spare it. Not to mention a soft bed to rest her head.




Brynja

The Flowing Bowl

She always surprised herself in the least, finding a tavern without any prior direction had its uses. Like a bee to a flower, Brynja found herself crossing the threshold of The Flowing Bowl. The structure appeared as old as the Oblivion era, if not older. The floorboards protested under her weight as she headed for the counter, Brynja lowered herself into a barstool, her gaze sweeping across the patrons around her. Her arrival caught the attention of the barkeep, a tanned man with black cropped hair. He was much older than her, at least ten years her senior, but he still had his good looks about him, she would give him that. He sidled on up to her, stretching his massive bear-like hands across the counter/

“What’ll be for ya?” He asked, her ears picking up on the distinct dialect between someone from the Imperial City and Anvil. His words were softer, and slower, with a bit of a twang.

“Gimme a bottle of your cheapest ale.” Brynja fished out what coin she had left. Her gaze focused on the gleam of the gold septim as she slid it across the counter towards the barkeep. Money was always a fickle thing when she wasn’t looking to sell her blade, and with the entire incident of Rhea being unable to pay them accordingly, Brynja needed a way to make some more coin, and fast. She watched as he claimed the septim, and proceeded to fill her a mug of ale. When he returned with it, she welcomingly accepted it. Finally.

As he turned away, Brynja called out to him, “Say, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

He turned back around, an eyebrow raised, “Oh? And what’ll that be?”

“Well, it looks pretty slow around here, and with as many people that are filtering in through Anvil, I’m surprised that you’re not packed to the brim.” Brynja commented, taking a sip of the frothy ale.

“Aye, it’s not busy during the daytime hours, as the soldiers are busy with work, but during the evening, they all come crawling here. So what’s this proposition?” She could tell he was curious.

“I know I could draw a crowd. How about some good ol’ fashion dueling? No fight to the deaths or anything, just a simple bet. Two fighters. Me against someone else, the patrons would come and place their bets with you. You keep a percentage of the septims earned-”

“And for yourself?”

“Simple. The bets placed against me, I keep. Plus a free room, and as much ale as I can drink.”

“...You’re a big lass.”

“Aye.”

“You’d drink me dry.”

“Never. Think of all the gold that would come flowing into your pockets. I’ve done this before and it works out quite well for both parties. You attract more patrons with thirsts needing to be quenched, and me, I get a roof over my head, plus something to drink.”

“How good are you with a blade?”

“Look-”

“Marius.”

“Right, look here Marius, I served as a House Carl for the Thane of Windhelm for nearly eight years. I was a healer in the Civil war, brother of mine taught me how to fight. What more could you want?”

“Gods be praised.”

“Aye. So we’ve a deal?”

“Aye. When will you start?”

“Bring me another ale, and let your patrons know. I’ll be ready by late afternoon.” Brynja said. She almost couldn’t believe her luck. Here she was, finding another willing innkeep who would to her have free room and ale by helping attract patrons via a sword fight with anyone that had a desire to put their blade to hers. Part of her felt like an idiot, like an attraction part of a troupe, but she also couldn’t shake the feeling that this was an exceptional idea. What could go wrong?

An hour later, Brynja found herself standing outside of The Flowing Bowl, her entire suit of armor and sword at ready. A crowd of curious onlookers had assembled, mostly drawn due to her towering height, and curious to see who would challenge her. She owed it to Marius, he had done as she had asked, and spread the word like wildfire. He even enlisted the help of a serving maid to help fill the mugs of thirsty patrons while he beckoned to the onlookers.

“Step right up! Who wants to challenge this fierce and deadly Nord warrior from the icy lands of Skyrim? Don’t be shy! Just a simple dueling matching, no killing allowed. C’mon folks!”
Kyne’s Tear
7th of Last Seed, 4E 205

@Macabrefox & @DearTrickster




When Sevine single handedly swung the jellyfish above their heads, Maj had covered her eyes peeking out only when the jellyfish successfully made it aboard The Golden Slug. She let out an audible sigh of relief. Their luck somehow held. When her bright green eyes tracked back down to the ongoing chaos of the Kyne’s Tear fishing for jellyfish would prove to be the easiest part of the night. Rain continued to fall, the rough stormy sea splashed across the deck. She ran a hand down her face, pushing hair away. The water soaked into every fibre of her clothing, she felt the weight and the cold.

They had to break up the mass of them, there wasn’t a square inch of deck space not occupied by those richly accessorized monsters. The werewolf was at large still and their fellow company were trapped in the thick of it. It was clear to Maj where they needed to be next.

First, to take care of her stumbling, concussed superior. Gently tugging on the crook of her arm she leaned close enough for the breton to hear, “Miss Fontaine, go seek shelter. You’ll be no use out here with that head of yours! Go on now.” She guided her to the railing and shooed her away. “Watch yourself, hang on to the railing.”

Ariane nodded holding the tender head of hers, taking her advice by leaning on the railing. She watched her go, wondering if she’d be open to speaking more in depth of the Golden Slug after they survived the ambush. When she got talking Ariane had plenty to say. Having an academic about in the company was a treat, regardless of the extremely different castes they grew up in.

Maj turned to Sevine, the fiery haired Nord with impressive fishing skills. She saw the bow on her back, eyes lingering on it. They flicked up to Sevine, “You ready to join the fray properly, eh Sevine? Thin the bastard’s numbers!” She shouted over the roar of the storm.

“I’m going to do what I do best!” Opening her palm for her to see, magicka pooling in her hand. “Summoning demons from the depths of Oblivion!”

Sevine’s hands drifted to the axe at her side, and lifted the Chitlin shield from her back, “Right! I’ve got your back.” She let the axe move loosely in her hand, warming up as she swung a couple practice strikes.

She crouched then straightened back up, almost missing a crucial step. “We’re about to charge into battle without a sound? Before I cast a single spell we have to do this one thing Sevine. It has to be loud and it has to be [i]proud.[i]”

Maj spread her legs apart, bending at the knees to crouch low. She tucked her arms into her sides, looking expectantly back up at Sevine. “Come on, I’m not moving until we let out one soul crushing war cry.”

Sevine chuckled, if she were to die this night, she couldn’t deny her request, “On my mark then!” She rolled the axe in her hand, and shook the tension out of her shoulders, “For Sovngarde!” the cry tore out of her, the words fading into a terrifying bellow that she could feel in her core.

Maj sucked in air filling up her diaphragm, “Wahoooooooooo!” With the drawn out ‘ooh’ she straightened, head thrown back. Their war cries ripped out garnering the attention of some nearby remaining Dreughs - fighting amongst the fiery backdrop, they successfully distracted them. Fuelled with adrenaline, Maj’s eyes lit up as her hands were brought together in a hard clap. The purple orb of her conjuration spell formed in the palms of her hands, she slowly pulled apart her hands, fingers splayed open the orb growing size. She spoke the spell as familiar as a bard would sing their favourite song.

Throwing her hands above her head then throwing the orb to the deck, an inky pool of deep indigo swirled outwards in a circle, a line of magic shot up over six feet into the air - widening. First the angular icy head poked through the top of the portal, then the cylindrical hammer of an arm reached out next. Standing up from its slouch the frost atronach stood fully over six feet tall, its head turned to Maj waiting for its first order.

She pointed, “Clear a path, Snowflake! Swat the Dreughs out of the way!” She swept her arm out over the deck.

It slowly turned to the Dreughs acknowledging its temporary master. Long strides brought it thundering across the deck closing in on the dreughs, like a battering ram it swung its arm at the first Dreugh it encountered connecting with its middle. With a powerful throw the Dreugh sailed overboard a subsequent explosion told Maj it landed on a jellyfish. She pumped her fist, “Keep ‘em coming!”

Sevine hadn’t experienced much Conjuration in her life, even on the field of battle, conjurers and mages were far and few between. However, this wasn’t the time to ogle at the atronach Maj conjured, she had to clear the area. It was then she noticed Dreughs swarming Niernen and Narzul.

“We have to help them!” She said, turning her head to look once at Maj, before racing off towards her first opponent. The Dreughs were unlike anything she had encountered. The monsters reminded her of crabs, deformed and mutated crabs plated in gold.

Hyyyaaaaaggghhh!!” She roared, her axe swinging up into the nearest Dreugh. The tenacity of her shout caused the crustacean to turn and face her. The blade of her war axe connected with the joint in its forearm, cleaving the limb off and maiming it effectively. The clawed forearm fell to the deck as a pained screech erupted from the Dreugh.

The large pincer that sprouted from its back drove into the wood between her feet seconds after she sprang to safety. Sevine whirled around, and drove the axe up into the joint of the foreleg, crippling the monster more so. She reclaimed the axe, a sickening shlup! resonated as she dislodged the weapon, causing the leg to buckle and falling limp.

“Aye!” Her thoughts linked with her atronach, hands still glowing faintly of the conjuration spells duration. The lumbering atronach threw its ice spear of an arm back, the Dreugh facing it was ready for its attack, blocking the tip of the spike with a claw scraping against the ice - failing against the unyielding strength of the atronach. It was pushed off its spiny legs to the deck. Snowflake impaled the creature, Maj shouted to Sevine, “There’s your chance Sevine!”

Sevine moved in for the kill, the familiar blood lust coursing through her veins as she charged into position. A primal scream reverberated throughout her body as she brought the axe down, the blade slicing through the clicking mandibles and splitting the head open. One more swing of her axe, and she had decapitated the crustacean monster, its body falling limp.

Turning to face Maj, she spoke, “Onto the next one!” Their teamwork had paid off for the better, but the Venim siblings weren’t holding on well, she could see that they were losing ground fast, and if they could just reach them, they would have a fighting chance!

Maj pointed Snowflake, they were splitting the monster’s attention but through the crush of bodies it wasn’t quite enough. Snowflake crushed its next target with the hammer of its arm and impaled another holding it in similar fashion for Sevine once again to make short work of its death. They pushed closer, within shouting distance of the dark elves.

“We’re here! Just hang on!” Maj huddled closer to the back of her atronach, directing where she could keeping an eye out for imminent attacks whether that would be at the hands of their enemies or allies.

The simplicity of the ice atronach attacks baffled Sevine, though she didn’t have time to ponder over it. Her focus centered on the Dreughs at hand. Together, Maj and her, plus the atronach were making short work of the remaining monsters, there were still far too many for the Venims to handle on their own. And that was when they heard Gustav’s orders to get the hell out of the way. Sevine’s footsteps faltered, she couldn’t leave them there… not like this.

Maj and Sevine looked on in horror as a Dwemer bolt from the ballista sailed over their head, the bolt imploded on impact, consuming the immediate area around the werewolf, dreughs and their comrades in a blazing inferno. Sevine skidded to a stop, a gasp tore from her lungs as she reached out for Maj, her knees buckling from the sight.

“Mara help us!” She bellowed, her eyes wide and mouth agape. Maj latched onto Sevine’s arm, their combined weight cutting Sevine’s forward momentum.

Snowflake came skidding down to one knee - arms thrown around their bodies, Sevine and Maj roughly herded to safety. Flames blasted across the frost atronach back - violent drafts of steam erupted as the ice melted. Maj covered her head making herself small, Snowflake disappeared at the damage, successfully protecting the pair of women.

Suddenly the chaos became muted, even the screams seemed to quiet.

Warmth washed over them in healing light, it came in waves from one singular spot. Maj stood up straight shielding her eyes to see who was responsible, time seemed to slow. The figure of Wylendriel became clear as the spell dissipated. Maj felt it down to the marrow of her bones, a tug at the soul.

“Not Mara.” Maj said, unable to tear her eyes away. “Kynareth.
oh snap Stormmyyy you got my interest bby
Skingrad Refugee Camp, near the Colovian Rangers’ encampment, evening of 8th Seed 4E208CE.

As much as Daro’Vasora hated to admit it, but she was actually enjoying seeing everyone again. The last time they’d all been together and not fearing for their lives had been up in the expedition camp on the peaks of the Jerall Mountains, and while that felt like a lifetime ago, she had grown to know and appreciate members of her party and reaffirming her unlikely friendship with the likes of Judena and Latro, and perhaps most shocking of all, Brynja. She had the lute she had given Latro back in Imperial City in hand and was idly strumming to some of the songs she was most acquainted with that didn’t require much in the way of technical prowess; it was mainly to fill the air with song and help set people at ease, including, ideally, Durantel, the haughty Altmer prick that she half expected to replace his broken flute by pulling it out of his ass. Somehow, he even seemed less insufferable than usual, and against all odds and probability, actually seemed to make new acquaintances of his own, such as a Breton girl who had some Nord-like fairness to her. She apparently had a goat, brought to her by a blond Nord, they seemingly had met before as he took a seat beside her, even handing her a pair of boots, though he certainly oozed of charm and a degree of sleeziness, and another Breton girl that wore armour and looked like she was quite out of place amongst the riff-raff. The Khajiit didn’t bother inquiring who these new faces were, she was sure they’d make themselves known in time if they weren’t temporary additions to the camp.

Daro’Vasora had been quite thrilled to present Latro back to the group as a whole, explaining he was a Ranger and had managed to save the lute she’d given him. She didn’t bother trying to hide her fondness for him and they sat close to one another, and to show even she wasn’t to be shown up by Durantel, she invited Gregor and Jaraleet to join them since the kindly Imperial healer did take concern for her well being after her daring defeat of two of those piloted suits, and Jaraleet was… well, capable. He didn’t say much and seemed to just come and go as he pleased.

Rhea was keeping largely to herself, although she caught her glancing at the people she considered her own with a look of… what, exactly? Guilt, anxiety? She seemed bent on ensuring everyone was safe and looked after to atone for what happened since the ruins, but here she was, probably having all of that catch up to her. Nobody heard much of Count Hassildor over the past couple of days, and even the guards seemed to be less assertive than usual. Maybe it was the calm before the storm, or everyone was finally admitting to themselves this refugee crisis wasn’t going to resolve itself. The Khajiit didn’t care, overly much; the Rangers managed to secure fairly regular supplies from people in turn for their efforts, which included handing out supplies that they had “liberated” from the Dwemer out to refugee groups, and showing those interested the newly captured technology, including the two suits Daro’Vasora took credit for capturing. She barely thought of the Mer she’d blinded and killed in the one; bastard had it coming, along with the rest of his shitty cronies. She just was giving them a taste of what they’d already been doing, it wouldn’t cost her sleep.

By Baan Dar, she was going to take credit for her actions. It felt good to do something, what, heroic? Who knew? Who cared? The Khajiit was riding a high, and she knew that wherever Zegol was, he’d be smiling down on her for picking herself up and getting things done. Daro’Vasora was not someone to sit around when opportunity knocked.

“So, not sure if you guys noticed the two fancy Dwemer suits over there? I did stop them, with help, of course. A bunch of frost mages and a pair of particularly strapping Argonians later, and out comes the soul gems, but my, it was exciting. It felt good to get a few licks in, to show those Dwemer assholes that they aren’t as invincible as they want you to believe. We even went down the ruins after them, flushed them out one by one. For people called the Deep Elves, they sure were inadequate at holding off the Rangers. The rest of you should sign up, beats festering in this depressing dump. By the way, who are those guys?” she pointed with her toe towards Rhona, Nani, and Calen. “I’m not sharing my rations; Brynja already eats enough for three of us, she’s a growing woman who needs to crush a few dwarf necks.” Daro’Vasora said, scrumming out the chords for A Daggerfall Mistress, which was a bawdy tavern song out West that made its way to the capital, to lighten the mood somewhat.

Brynja grunted as she passed a bowl of stew into the hands of the newcomers, “I’d rather drink a barrel of ale than eat a gallon of stew.” Once everyone had a bowl, Brynja settled down onto the ground, waiting for her stew to cool. She had little spices to cook with, salt and mugwort that came from the Breton with the goat. She claimed it was used as a seasoning, and Brynja had to admit, it did give the soup an aromatic flavor.

“Don’t forget that Solandil and I destroyed the airships with our bare hands.” Brynja nodded at Rhona, she had met her on arriving back at camp right away.

“Remind me your name again, lass.”

“Rhona. I’m an enchantress by trade.” She offered a half smile, and raised the bowl of soup up towards Brynja, “Thank you for the stew.”

Rhona turned attention to Calen where she whispered, “Thank you for bringing my boots to me, and for looking after Tobias.”

“My pleasure.” He responded with a wink.

“Mm.” Brynja’s gaze shifted towards the Breton besides Rhona, “And you? Who are you?”

Nanine looked up from her stew, having been in the process of devouring it. Though she wouldn’t admit it, it had been a while since she had eaten as she’d given her rations to a family that had none. ”Nanine Tilhart, former Imperial Battle Mage turned adventurer for hire. Rhona has graciously offered enchanting lessons to increase mmy meager skills. My appreciations for the stew.” She glanced over at the Khajiit.”I don’t suppose you managed to grab their strange staves did you? The ones that shoot small projectiles and tear through armor.”

“I’m curious as well. It’d be quite beneficial to have some of the weapons used by the Dwemer, if only to learn how to best defend ourselves from them at the very least.” Jaraleet chimed in from his position next to Raelynn once Nanine had stopped speaking. He too was curious if Vasora, or any of the other rangers for that matter, had managed to get their hands on the strange armaments employed by the Deep Elves. “Ah, but where are my manners, my thanks for the stew.” He added, turning to look at Brynja as he spoke. “My name is Jaraleet, former mercenary and, for now, Colovian Ranger, pleased to meet you all.” The Argonian said before turning to look at Daro’Vasora. “Gregor here had told me that you recuperated shortly after I left you in his care.” He said, motioning towards the Imperial before continuing. “But it is nonetheless good to see that you are in good health.” He said to the Khajiit before turning his attention back to his stew. He wouldn’t admit it, but the march back to the refugee camp had tired him greatly and, as such, the assassin was grateful for both the hot food and the campfire.

Gregor smiled and nodded graciously when he was mentioned and gestured towards but said nothing just yet. He had never been the type to interrupt a conversation for something as trivial as an introduction -- that could wait. Instead, he simply looked at Daro'Vasora, for it was her turn to respond.

“I was winded, not bleeding out of my ears. Thanks, though.” Daro’Vasora replied, glancing up at the Argonian for a moment. “You might have been a bit too eager about the whole damsel in distress thing.”

“Ah, I see, my apologies, I was unsure what kind of damage you might have suffered when you fell after prying loose the hatch that kept safe the power source of that Dwemer contraption so I thought it best to leave you in the hands of the mages so they might take a look at you.” The Argonian said. “I apologize if the manner in which I carried you out of the battleground produced discomfort, it seemed the most efficient way to take you out of harm’s way at the moment. And there is no need to thank me, it’s the duty of each and every soldier to aid their brothers and sisters in arms.” Jaraleet said before continuing to eat his stew in silence.

Judena stood empty bowl in hand, having finished her portion. She nervously looked to all the new faces, Brynja asking for their introductions was a good sign they were in fact, new but she desperately hoped she was not misplacing them. She crouched down beside Meg, her hunting and gathering partner. Settling on her haunches. Jaraleet spoke adequately and clearly, she hoped he hailed from Argonia. It had felt like a long time since she had been among other Argonians. To speak freely in her native tongue was a little slice of home.

Since the strange day Durantel had joined Meg and herself, she harboured fresh pangs of courage to read the letters. He held true to his word, he never once spared a glare her way nor rattled mean spirited words her way. Mostly avoiding her outright. Judena felt it was curious behaviour but took no offence.

Latro rejoining the group was indeed spectacular news, those who joined the rangers had returned in one piece and it was truly a relief. Suffering more losses would have been unreasonable after all they had gone through together. She settled her bowl down beside her leg, “Latro it is an enormous relief to see you once again. Fate has a funny way of drawing us all together.”

“To the new faces, I sincerely hope you are new, if not - I deeply apologize for not recalling our first meeting. Please, try not to take offence. My name is Judena Callisar,” she removed her logbook from inside her robes. “For decades I have found joy in appraising ancient artefacts, scouring for history, and using my skills in alteration to discover the past.”

“Daro’Vasora, when you have a moment I would like to hear your thoughts on the dwemer constructs you dealt with first hand. Very valuable observations, I am sure.”

The Khajiit smiled in return. “Tomorrow, when there’s light. I’ve got a pair of walking trophies I’d love to show you. Don’t worry, Judena; I will remind you.”

It was hard to wipe the grin off Meg's face, even while she sipped at her bowl of soup, green eyes watching, taking in the sight before her. Four days. She had to keep reminding herself it had been only that long since she had last seen Brynja and Sora, even though it felt like so much longer She was thrilled to see they were back, and with Latro nonetheless. A sure tear -or was it a few?- had found its way to her eyes, which she continued to blink away even now. She'd had faith she would see Brynja, Daro'Vasora and Sol once more, but Latro? While the small glimmer of hope had remained in her heart, it had been covered by the dark cloak of reality.

Even as she listened to Judena, grinning slightly at her apology to the newcomers, Meg looked from the familiar faces to the less familiar ones, including some she had briefly met in the refugee camp when she wasn't out in the forest. The Nord waved her hand, the look on her face calming slightly as her grin shifted to a smile, though her legs continued to shake excitedly, as was their habit.

"Megana Corvus' my name, but y'all can call me Meg, nice an' short." Though those who had met her in the camp would surely know her name, she was quite sure she had never seen any of the new faces that had accompanied her friends from the Rangers. "Nice t'see you lot." If her older companions trusted them, she would as well. From what it sounded, it seemed quite a lot had happened. Meg couldn't help feeling a little envious, even though glory was never what she was after... rather the adventure.

Mortalmo stared down at his stew as the others exchanged greetings and conversed. He had accepted his portion from the Nord cow reluctantly but without incident. Pride only went so far, and for now, he needed to eat. He lifted the bowl to his lips and paused before taking a sip of the lightly steaming broth. It was... adequate. He took another sip then, eyeing Rhona, and on either side of her, another newcomer. To her left sat the Breton that had introduced herself as Nanine Tilhart, though the more concerning of the two was the figure to Rhona’s right; a Nord pretty boy that looked several shades too slimy for Mortalmo’s taste.

He looked away then, and instead chose to focus on finishing his stew. It was none of Mortalmo’s concern who Rhona chose to consort with. The wretch already rubbed shoulders with a goat, why not a Nord dog? Unfortunately, it would seem that his staring had caught the Nord’s attention.

“I don’t bite, friend!” Calen chirped, extending out a hand from across the way for him to shake. He had hoped to diffuse any awkwardness amongst the group. “What brings the pleasure of your company?”

Mortalmo stared hard at the Nord youth. He glanced down at the outstretched hand and sniffed, before drawing his eyes back up to meet the Nord’s own. “Never have I heard of a dog that did not bite. You may be the first.”

“I only bite if it's asked of me.” Calen said back to Durantel with a wink, though withdrawing his hand nonetheless.

Nanine snorted quietly. Durantel was a typical High Elf, but Calen certainly seemed able to handle it and then some.

Brynja stretched her legs out before her, and groaned at his words, “Don’t pay him much mind,” she cautioned, before glancing at Durantel sideways, “Still haven’t forgotten that you called me a cow, Durantel. And yet you eat my stew without a complaint.” Her eyebrows rose at him, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. Her gaze shifted to Rhona who procured a wooden pipe, and packed it full of herbs. A stream of fire leapt from her fingertips igniting the pipe, where she blew the smoke out her nose as she tipped her head back, seemingly avoiding both Nanine and the Nord.

“A cow that can cook is certainly something worth commending.” Mortalmo quipped back. “Your stew was palatable and for that I am grateful.”

Her expression turned to surprise at Durantel’s unexpected compliment, “Well… thank you.” She cleared her throat, avoiding any sentiment, and turned her attention back to the blond Nord, “So, what do you call yourself? And moreover, what’s a fellow Nord doing all the way down here in Cyrodiil?”

Anifaire took a seat next to Durantel, grateful for the hot stew that was available. Without even considering the flavour or those around her, she sat and began to eat quickly. Manners stuck with her, and she tried to slow down after a few bites to be polite. She was simply grateful for the hot meal, as, with the others ducking in and out of camp and her lack of cooking skills, she’d had sparse full meals and a lot of bread in recent days.

“Calen,” he responded, “Calen Smallwood -- family name, that; not an earned one. Mayhaps hoping to change that. Ah, but jokes aside, I was just hoping to see more of Tamriel. Then, well… I guess I got roped into this mess at just the right time when people were trying to escape. Helped to get them here, as much good as that did ‘em. At least they're alive, though.”

“Calen!” Gregor suddenly exclaimed, a roguish grin on his face. “That's it. I'd forgotten your name. Nice to see you again, but unexpected, so far from home.” The heavily-armed Imperial raised a hand in a proper greeting and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind his ear with the other. He'd already finished his stew by now, his silence having allowed him to eat as fast as possible without staining his beard, and he figured now was a good time to make himself known. It wasn't everyday he ran into old acquaintances from his time in the North. “Do you remember me? My name is Gregor. I made use of your carriage service a year or two ago.”

He then turned to look at the rest of the assembled Rangers, mages, travellers and oddities and inclined his head in their direction. “Pleased to meet you all, by the by,” Gregor added, his grin having diminished into a warm and genuine smile.

“Gregor!” Calen repeated aloud, throwing his hand across the clearing once more for good shake with a look of remembrance and a huge toothy grin. “The Vigilant if I'm not mistaken! And here I thought Tamriel was hiding a great, wide world on the other side of those mountains. It would seem that it couldn't be smaller!”

Gregor’s face betrayed nothing. “I worked with the Vigilants, yes, but close enough. Good memory.” Calen looked like his first introduction with war hadn’t changed him a bit. It was nice to see some unbridled enthusiasm in the midst of this sudden and devastating conflict. “Small world, indeed. Glad to have you here. Either way, I’ll stop hogging the limelight. Once again, nice to meet you all,” Gregor said and leaned back a little, emphasizing that he was done talking.

Raelynn didn't want to eat the stew. It was filled with an assortment of foraged foods of questionable quality. The entire thing just sat in the bowl taunting her. She'd eaten worse, sure, but looking into the miserably desperate bowl made her appetite disappear. She dragged her spoon back and forth through the now starchy broth. She longed for something real. To be at a table with people of her stature. Dignified individuals. She longingly imagined how it would feel to sit on an actual cushion, to drape herself in fabrics.

She took a few pathetic mouthfuls of the stew before placing the bowl at her side. That would be it. If anyone were to ask she would simply explain that she was tired and felt too sickly to eat it. Or she'd tell them that fresh manure would have been preferable - depending of course entirely on who would ask her why she was leaving such a full bowl. Stew is for peasants with no teeth! she thought to herself as she got up to take a wander around the camp.

Everyone was seemingly occupying themselves with idle chatter, she rolled her eyes at it all. It was all so ridiculous. Here they were, in the middle of a catastrophe and yet they found time to sing, gossip, and scoff down bowls of shite. She wanted out of here, she wanted a bed, a real fireplace and some privacy. It was all starting to grind on the Breton mage. Her hair was looking frazzled, her cloak all but destroyed, she hadn't eaten food with flavour since her last morning in the Imperial City.

She retreated out of sight of them into shadows and started… crying. But she was crying silently. Just long empty sobs with no sound. She kept it in but felt the hot tears well up under her now dull and overtired eyes. She felt haggard and ugly, like she was going to waste away. She slumped down onto her knees and stayed that way while she continued to weep, in the only slightly private spot she had found herself in.

Jaraleet had continued to eat his bowl of stew in silence, but continued to pay attention to the conversations around him. It seemed that he had found himself amidst a group that had travelled together for quite some time, if the banter and atmosphere of familiarity where any indication. The scene brought on a sense of nostalgia to the Haj-Eix, as he remembered his fellow brothers and sisters who still remained in Argonia and, in some cases, scattered throughout the rest of Tamriel.

Any further thoughts were interrupted when he noticed that Raelynn leaving the perimeter of the campfire. It hadn’t taken him too long to notice that the mood of the Breton healer was heavy, a fact that was rather evident by her apparent lack of appetite and silence throughout the conversation. He briefly pondered whether or not to go looking after her, but in the end decided against it; they hadn’t known each other for too long and he doubted that his presence would be welcome, not to mention the fact that, in truth, the assassin didn’t care all too much for how Raelynn felt. He was grateful towards her for healing his wounds, but asides from that the Saxhleel hadn’t much attachment towards her.

He thought about chatting with Gregor, the only other person with whom he had exchanged more than a few words aside from Raelynn, but the Imperial seemed busy chatting with Calen. The self-proclaimed Imperial Battlemage seemed rather busy….staring at a few of the individuals gathered near the campfire. A strange thing to do, for sure, but Jaraleet decided not to bother her, although it did make him suspicious of Nanine. “It is a pleasure to meet you Meg, and you as well Raj-Deelith Callisar. It is always an honor to speak to one such as you.” Jaraleet said, deciding to join in the conversations happening around the campfire. “I don’t recall having seen either of you amongst the Rangers, I take it that you two stayed here?” He asked both women curiously.

"Aye, we stayed here," Meg piped in, looking at the new Argonian. She had seen Argonians in Riften as a child and later as a wanderer near Windhelm, but she'd never actually had the chance to make a proper conversation with more than a couple until now. Judena had been the first she had grown close to, and it was a nice thought that she could make another acquaintance of the same race.

"We decided t'go foraging' an' help out with those who stayed behind," she continued. "I gotta say though, sounds like y'all had the adventurin' of a lifetime out there!"

Judena perked up at Raj-Deelith, she flapped her hand at Jaraleet, “Honoured Elder! Please you may call me Judena or Jude. There is no need for honorifics here, I am simply happy to see you. As Meg said, we spent our time here collecting food - scarce as it has been. I decided to stay behind and Meg joined me to keep company. Would not have been half as successful without her.” She grinned at the Nord, “I am relieved to see those who joined the rangers returned safely.” Raelynn’s departure from the fireside did not go unnoticed. Perhaps the stew did not agree with the kindly breton?

"Aye," Meg agreed, setting down her now empty bowl. "Sure am glad t'see them again. Who'da thought four days felt like four months, eh?" With that said, she looked to Jaraleet. "Uhh... what's that word y'called Jude? Ra- er- somethin'?"

“Raj-Deelith, it is a word in our native tongue of Jel to refer to honored elders.” Jaraleet replied in response to Meg’s inquiry, smiling towards the Nord woman. “My apologies, I sometimes forget that our native tongue isn’t so widely known.” He said, bowing his head slightly as a sign of apology before turning to look at Jude.

“I’ll try and remember that Raj…..Judena.” The assassin said, just realizing midway that he was referring to Jude with the honorifice once again. He had to admit that he felt embarrassed, something that he had not felt since he had been a small hatchling and his trainers chastised him for stupid mistakes. He shook his head to clear his thoughts before continuing to speak, “Aye, many of us managed to return safely thanks to the help of the mages amongst the Rangers. But others were not so lucky, and I am sure that most of us are returning with new scars. I know I do at least.” He said grimly, his hand moving to his left side and hovering over the cauterized wound. “The Dwemer are a terrible foe, but the victory today proves that they can be defeated.” The Saxhleel said, smiling towards both Jude and Meg once he was done talking.

Meg was reminded of her own wound, caused more by stupidity and far less exciting story than she believed was the cause for Jaraleet's wound. Still, at least it was healing, and mostly it was a dull pain now, serving only to remind her to be much more vigilant from now on.

"Sure's nice t'hear that," she said as she stretched out her legs towards the fire. "The day they came to the city... I just ran. As hard as I could." She shook her head. "Still kinda surprised I didn' get killed in all that chaos."

Judena patted Meg’s shoulder comfortingly. She addressed Jaraleet, “Do not fret Jarheap. Even if you were to forget I would not hold it against you.”

Jaraleet was confused by the way Judena had called him, but thought best of bringing it up and merely nodded towards the elder Saxhleel with a smile. “You shouldn’t be ashamed Meg.” He added in response to the comment made by the Nord woman. “We were caught by surprise, there was nothing we could do. I too was forced to run from the Imperial City, so do not be ashamed of your actions that day.” He said, offering the woman a smile. “Plus, I’m sure that you’ll have plenty of chances in the days to come to repay the Dwemer for forcing us all to flee from battle.”

"Heh..." Meg appreciated both Judena's comforting pat as well as Jaraleet's words. "I'm countin' on it... those bastards gotta pay for all this." This was accompanied by her hand motioning towards the refugee camp in general. "I'm just... I'm still stumped. I mean... first dragons, now dwemer... what next?"

“It does not matter.” Jaraleet said quietly in response to Meg’s words, looking down at his empty bowl. “Don’t mistake my words for indifference of what you are going through, it is natural to be confused in such times.” The assassin continued to speak, looking at Meg directly in the eyes. “Yet, all the same, it doesn’t changes anything. We are soldiers right now, no matter what we were before the Dwemer came, and our sole purpose is to defeat the Deep Elves and protect the rest of Tamriel.” He spoke with conviction, settling his empty bowl down and reaching for his backpack. “But, that doesn’t matters for the moment.” He said as he retrieved a bottle from the pack.

He uncorked the bottle and took a swig of its content, letting out a contented sigh. “Would you like some? It’s Theilul, a type of Argonian rum. I managed to salvage this from my home before fleeing.” The assassin said with a smile, extending the bottle towards Jude and Meg.

Meg thought about it a moment before allowing her grin to return. It seemed like forever since that drunk night in Imperial City. "Why not?" She reached out and took hold of the bottle, not in the slightest bit worried that it may be too strong for her to drink. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she took swig of the Theilul, blinking as she swallowed. "Huh, that's different." She took a quick second sip before offering the bottle to Judena, though she was unsure if her friend would partake or not.

Judena declined. “Thank you, Jarnolle. That is kind, but that rum has not sat well with me ever since I was a youth. I found nord mead and wines to be a bit more preferable.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. But I suppose that only means that there’s more for me, and for Meg if she wishes to drink more.” The Argonian said with a smile, hiding his confusion, and slight discomfort, at the fact that Judena seemed unable to recall his name after such a short while. He took the bottle of Theilul and took another swig before offering it to Meg once again, giving her a quizzical look alongside of his offer of the bottle. A sort of unspoken question about Judena’s confusion about his name.

Taking one more swig, enjoying the drink with every gulp, Meg noticed the look on the other Argonian's face. "Ah, Judena kinda forgets stuff, but ya just gotta remind her an' she'll do her best t'remember. She writes down lotsa notes as well, bloody useful t'be honest. I'm sure she'll write down your name when she gets a chance." She took a smaller sip this time before holding the bottle out for Jaraleet to take.

“Ah.” Jaraleet said as he took the bottle, taking a small sip of its content before speaking again. “My thanks Meg, I’ll endeavor to remind Judena of my name in case she forgets about it again.” The Argonian said, taking yet another drink of the Theilul before offering the bottle again to Meg. They continued to share the contents of the bottle until it was empty, with Jaraleet listening in on the other conversations going around the campfire in silence.

Nanine settled back next to Rhona, enjoying the smell of the woman’s pipe even if she herself didn’t smoke, as the conversation swirled around them, her empty stew bowl beside her. With nothing to add to the conversation, she turned her efforts to remembering particular faces she wanted to draw later. Meg, with her slightly wild grin and visibly vibrating with excitement, like someone had trapped lightning and it was just so happy to be here. Nani had to smile at the sight. It was cute.

Durantel, with his disdainful facial expressions and words, was cold, but not cold enough to hide something that lurked just behind his eyes, like a glacier on top of the flooded ruins of Winterhold, hiding deep secrets. Was it longing? Regret? Nanine couldn’t tell. Perhaps she was just imagining it, wistfully thinking that life imitates the stories.

With Gregor it was far easier to tell what emotion was in his eyes. The thing that kept his charms from fully reaching his face. The man was driven, and driven harshly. Something bore on him, something he couldn’t escape, like a violent thunderstorm gathering atop a mountain, ready to bring ruin to the small village beneath it. His secrets were his own, however, and Nanine’s interest remained artistic.

The other Altmer, the younger one, looked out of place. It might have been her general demeanor, that of someone who had just recently been thrown into circumstances like this, or perhaps it was how she tried to retain her manners despite being just as hungry as Nanine herself had been. Regardless, she reminded the Breton mage of an ornate teapot, left out in the middle of the woods.

The Khajiit brought a wry smile to her face, looking like...well, like a cat who had just caught its prey, and was smugly laying in the sun and enjoying its victory. Nanine had to wonder, however, if the possible consequences for destroying and airship and stealing the suits even crossed the other woman’s mind, or if she was too busy basking in the glow of victory to think of the future. Nanine’s eyes almost unconsciously shifted between these five people, striving to commit their expressions and body language to memory. It was a strange, and doubtlessly creepy, way to start her first interactions with them, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Lady, you’re being creepy.” Daro’Vasora confirmed, handing the lute over to Latro so she could accept a bowl of the stew herself. “So what kind of maiming is on your mind? Rug, fur coat, boot liners? Try me, I’ve heard everything. The only people who stare like you do either want to murder someone or screw their brains out. Sometimes both, I don’t judge.” She sniffed the bowl before shrugging and taking a spoonful. “Much.”

Nanine gave a start, realizing she’d been staring too long again. Embarrassment colored her cheeks, and she floundered. ”Oh, by the Nine, I did it again. Shit! I told myself I wouldn’t do this.”While she struggled to articulate, Rhona spoke up.

Rhona chewed thoughtfully on the stem of her pipe, smoke rolling out of her nostrils. She gave Nanine a sideways glance before turning her attention to the Khajiit, “I’m certain Nanine means no harm. After all,” she swept her hand out, gesturing to everyone gathered around the campfire, “it is a curious sight to see so many different faces seated around one such place. From my travels, Mara has brought many a curious face across my path, and sometimes… those people become our allies, even if for a short time.”

“Yup, we were all brought here out of Mara’s love, and not the totally far-fetched idea that there’s thousands of people from a city in one place who’ve been displaced by a Dwemer invasion. I wish I had your optimism, or whatever drugs you partake in.” The Khajiit replied deadpan, carelessly eating the contents of the bowl. “My apologies, but allies is a strong word for someone I’ve never even seen before. What do you do, exactly?”

She pulled the pipe out of her mouth, considering both Daro’Vasora and her words carefully, before turning her pipe upside down and tapping it against the ground, removing the ashes effectively. Tobias had wandered off into the darkness behind her, most likely finding himself something delectable to munch on.

Rhona shook her head, a ghost of a smile appearing before vanishing altogether, “Forgive my broad words, but I meant those here, present in this circle. Not the thousands of troubled souls beyond this fire. Think what you will about me, I cannot change the winds of Kynareth, it is her breath that guides me across the lands. The first path I crossed was that of Calen’s, and here he sits--” Calen waved his hand, “--I next crossed Nanine’s, and here she sits. Then it was Durantel, and he is a part of this group. As you were with the Rangers during these last few days dealing the Dwemer a deadly blow, I had the opportunity to meet your fellow companions, Megana, Judena, Alim, and Rhea. And here they all are.” She shrugged a bit haphazardly, “And now here you are.”

“I said it before, but in case you didn’t hear, I shall repeat myself. I am an enchantress by trade. I’ve travelled across Cyrodiil and beyond for the last couple years.” Rhona blinked slowly, before turning towards her rucksack, rummaging around until she found what she sought, she refilled her pipe, relit it, and stuck it back her mouth. Before her eyebrows rose, “Would you care for some? It’s just Mugwort and lavender. It has a natural relaxing effect.” She extended the pipe towards her.

“I never realized that an invitation for a meal and a fire was divine intervention. Perhaps I should have blamed lady Kynareth for the lack of attendance at my childhood birthday parties.” The Khajiit replied, turning down the pipe with an extended palm. “So, enchantress, huh? Are we talking making men walking weapons of destruction or faire trinkets that allegedly improve your sex life while lowering your appetite? One of which would be useful in present circumstances, the other if your name is Durantel and want to be somewhat appealing towards courting a woman.”

“How about the stew? I thought the stew was great.” Calen awkwardly interjected, trying to diffuse the tension.

“It’s not bad. Could use more skeever chunks, those little shits are everywhere.” Daro’Vasora said agreeably.

“At least someone likes it,” Brynja nodded her thanks to Calen before turning to glower at Vasora, “Well you don’t have to eat it, y’know.” She resisted the urge to knock the bowl out of her hands, but thought better of it. This was just how Vasora was, it would take her time to trust anyone, much like herself.

Nanine focused herself, a sheen of frost covering her gauntlets as she connected with magic to calm her flustered nerves, grateful that the conversation had moved on.

Rhona shook her head, laughing softly, “Over 9 years of experience enchanting weapons, amulets, circlets, rings, clothing, and armor. There’s only a few enchantments I’ve yet to learn, but yes, turning men into walking weapons I can do.” Her tone changed, “As for helping men court women, that is outside of my expertise. Love is… not my forte, I can’t enchant the hearts and minds of men.”

“I beg to differ.” Calen muttered beneath a barely contained smirk. Rhona glanced at him, her cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink, and then quickly turned her attention back to Daro’Vasora.

“Oh hush, Brynja, it’s just fine. I might even get seconds if it lasts that long.” Daro’Vasora assured the Nord. She pulled the mace from her belt, holding it out so it caught the firelight. “So, let’s say I wanted this enchanted to cause paralysis after smashing someone’s kneecap. Is that something you can do?”

“It’s not one I’ve done often, but I know it, and can do it, if you have the coin of course. Soul gems aren’t cheap.”

Daro’Vasora pouted. “And so much for being allies. We’re supposed to look after each other.” she said with a wink. “Tell you what, I’ll think on it and see if I can’t find something worth your while. I’ve spent my time around Tamriel the past few years digging up artifacts and selling them off, I know what’s worth more than a few coins for your trouble. I might like you after all.”

Rhona nodded in agreement, “Fair enough, you find me something of value, and I’ll enchant that mace of yours. Same goes for the rest of you.”

“A dagger with the potential to paralyze an opponent would be a most welcome utility.” Mortalmo sized Rhona up. Was this asking too much of the Breton? How much she valued the services he offered would remain to be seen. “Perhaps I would have use for an enchanter after all, girl.”

She shifted uneasily, Durantel had proved a most dutiful teacher in the past few days, and what he had taught her was helpful already. In her eyes, the least she could do was to fulfill a simple request as his. Rhona took a puff from her pipe, smoke seeping out from the corners of her mouth, “But of course.” It dawned on her then, that since she hadn’t seen Calen in three days time, she had no idea if he had seen Cezare again. She swallowed hard.

The Altmer bowed his head. “I am most thankful. And be assured that I will earn this boon.”

Alim poked his head into the small clearing, leaves and a twig in his thick mane of hair. They had decided to have a party without him? “Oh…” he said, squinting. “I see how it is.”

Judena glanced around at the rustling nearby, Raelynn still on her own but the sudden appearance of the rogue had Jude waving Alim over, “Come Alim, the bush is no place to get dinner. We would know, having already checked ourselves!” Cackling a little at her own joke, knowing he would appreciate the attempt.

Nanine had finally managed to stop her embarrassment, the frost dissipating from her gauntlets. She needed to explain herself before Daro’Vasora’s narrative took hold.”I apologize if I made anyone uncomfortable, earlier. I draw in my spare time, and like to draw specific moments in my journal later. Like an adventurer lightly strumming a lute, eager to brag about her victories over an enemy not seen in centuries, basking in the glow of victory and the warmth of a campfire. So I tend to unconsciously stare at people or things in those moments to try and capture every detail, even though I only need a few moments to remember things perfectly. So no maiming on my mind and no screwing for you I’m afraid.” Nanine smirked lightly. ” You’ll have to find someone else’s private life to judge.”

Gregor had followed the conversation with no small measure of amusement. Daro’Vasora’s caustic wit and devil-may-care attitude reminded him of some of the smarter Nords he’d met during his time in Skyrim, and wasn’t characteristic of her race at all. It was always funny to see people defying stereotypes. The male Altmer was predictably condescending, but beyond that there was a sharpness in his gaze that Gregor had only seen in the most cunning of people before. And so his thoughts went round the campfire’s attendees, forming first impressions, creating opinions… but there was a part of him in the back of his mind that rendered far more sinister judgements, like a whisper at the edge of his hearing.

Not a threat. Not a threat. Might become a threat. Not a threat. Dangerous, be watchful. Not a threat…

“So, Nanine,” the Imperial said after clearing his throat and smiled. “What do you make of this handsome mug of mine, eh?” Gregor’s tone made it clear that he was jesting, following in Calen’s footsteps when it came to keeping the mood light, but only half. He really was curious what someone so experienced in observation would make of him now. After everything.

“Hope you don't mind settling for second best!” Calen immediately pitched in, raising his mug of whatever mystery drink they were serving and winking at Gregor with a humored smile. This earned him a sharp look from Durantel, though the elf remained silent.

Nanine paused a moment, smiling at the banter, as she studied Gregor’s face. “You’ve certainly been blessed with good looks and an eternal youthfulness that elude most, but age is beginning to catch up with you. It is small, a wrinkle here, a grey hair there, but it exists. You’ve the build and easy movements of an adventurer, as with most of us here.” She paused, chuckling lightly. “And the easy charisma of someone who knows he’s blessed with good looks.”

Her voice became quieter as she moved onto the shadow that hung over him. “Unlike the rest of us, however, there’s something else. Something in the way you move, something in your eyes. You move as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, and as if it never quite leaves your mind. It prevents your smiles from filling your eyes, your laughs from being as loud as they could be. You move as if you’re being chased. Whatever it is, it’s not as simple as the death of a loved one, or a betrayal. People driven by that have different looks, a smoldering rage or a burning desire in their eyes. The look behind your eyes is...intense. And unyielding. Like steel.”

The easygoing half-smile on Gregor’s face slowly disappeared as Nanine talked, his dark eyes locked into her grey gaze. It was the first time someone had paid sufficient attention to him to read between the lines since he’d come back from Skyrim. A dark look fell over his features, their beauty briefly stolen by melancholy and the very steel that she spoke of, and Gregor finally averted his gaze when she was done talking, her judgement rendered. He briefly opened his mouth, as if to speak, but appeared to think better of it and closed it again. Gregor felt the eyes of the others on him now while images of the horrible things he’d seen and done raced through his mind.

Suddenly, and without warning, he climbed to his feet, brushing the leaves out of his cloak before his hands went over his various sheaths and holsters, absent-mindedly performing the same gear check he had done a hundred times over. “That was… quite perceptive, Nanine,” he managed, the act of getting up to leave returning some measure of control over the situation back to him that allowed him to speak. “We all have our demons. If you’ll excuse me, I have to…”

Gregor trailed off and gestured vaguely with his hands towards the rest of the refugee encampment behind him. He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders and, after a final curt nod, set off at a brisk pace into the gloom.

Nanine watched him go, murmuring, “Perhaps it’d be best if I stopped talking the rest of the night.”

Mortalmo watched the Imperial take his leave with narrowed eyes. That one warranted caution.

A silence filled the camp at Gregor’s departure, one that made even Brynja feel unsettled. She cleared her throat, and turned her attention to Alim, “Well it’s about time you got here,” she grunted as she climbed to her feet, where she filled a bowl of stew, and handed it off to him before claiming a bottle of ale for herself. She settled down beside Daro’Vasora, where she uncorked the bottle.

“Where’ve you been, Alim? Off chasing skirts again?” She took a mighty swig from her bottle, and pointed it at him, her eyebrows raised as the corners of her lips turned upwards.

Alim had his mouth half full of one of the chicken legs that was roasting on the fire, and he nearly choked on it when she spoke. The spellsword banged on his chest with his fist as he swallowed what he could. “I take offense to that, I don’t chase skirts!” He declared. Though you could tell he wasn’t truly hurt. He opened his mouth to clarify, but it took him a moment to find the words. “I just enjoy flirting... and if the flirting bears fruit, then you know I won’t complain.” He placed his hand on his chest for emphasis.

“Besides,” he began. “My true passion is shiny things, adventure, and then women...in that order generally. Unless the woman happens to be interested in me too, then the others take a back seat.” He spoke matter of fact as if it was the natural order of things. “All three are preferable however...ANYWAY, enough about me. What has been happening here while I was napping?” He asked. Without warning, it looked as if he plucked a flute out of the air, though quick eyes would see he had grabbed it from his pack at this side. He didn’t play just yet however, instead wanting to hear the answer first. He’d only give a tune to keep the hearty vibe going, anyway.

Brynja shrugged, “The newcomers were introducing themselves. We’ve Nanine, Rhona and Calen,” She gestured to the trio seated together, “Then you just missed Gregor, and there’s Jaraleet, both from the Rangers… and by the Gods! Latro is alive!” She leaned forward suddenly, double checking to make certain he still remained at Daro’Vasora’s side. She nodded, and then leaned backwards again.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Alim, from the familiar tone I take it you are part of this group rather than a recent acquaintance, no?” Jaraleet interjected at the mention of his name, giving a slight bow of his head in the direction of the Redguard.

Alim listened to Brynja, and then gave a smile at the mention of Gregor. They hadn’t been properly introduced but even that small glimpse, he could see the man had been somewhat flustered. But then, an Argonian! “Ah, tis a pleasure sir.” He said, and held his hand out to shake. He wasn’t sure if that was the correct gesture to give to one of the Black Marsh peoples but he was certain Jaraleet would find it polite. “Always good to have an Argonian on board.” He said. From his experience, they were often very skilled at whatever they put their minds to, and Alim valued skill highly.

Jaraleet smiled and shook Alim’s outstretched hand firmly. “Ah, you are too kind.” He said with a light chuckle at the mention that it was good to have another Argonian on board. “I’m a mere recent acquaintance, I’m not sure if I could be considered to be ‘on board’ as you put.” He said, scratching the back of his neck slightly as he pondered on Alim’s words. “Though, truth be told, I wouldn’t be opposed to the notion, given the present situation.” He added before chuckling once more. “Ah, but that is not for me to decide, is it? You’ve already shown me a great kindness by inviting me to share in your food, it would be impolite of me to request more.” Said the assassin with a smile.

Mortalmo eyed Jaraleet appraisingly. “What are your capabilities, scaled one? This ensemble has faced significant peril in the past few weeks alone. It would not be in the best interest of one lacking worldly experience to go down any road with us.” The lizard did not appear incompetent as far as the Mer could gauge, though it would never do to overestimate a mere animal.

“Well, I know my way around a blade better than most I’d say.” Jaraleet spoke in response to Durantel’s inquiry, patting the sheaths in which his sword and dagger rested. “But, aside from that, I’m also adept at sneaking by enemies should the need arise. Quite useful for scouting ahead of battle, in my opinion.” The Argonian continued on. “I’m also proficient in making alchemical concoctions, which could prove useful in the days to come.” He said, deciding to omit that his knowledge of alchemy was rather confined to the making of poisons rather than any of the more beneficial concoctions for which most alchemists were known.

“Very well. I do not claim to be the leader of this assortment by any stretch, though I believe I speak for all here that possess sense when I say that I suspect you would be an asset, rather than a hindrance.” Maybe Mortalmo’s words would ring true; if he had to guess, the time for the Argonian to place some substance behind his statements would arrive soon enough. Surely this group was a beacon for strife.

“Thank you for your kind words.” Jaraleet said in response. He knew that the Altmer’s words weren’t said out of mere kindness, not after the display he had done when Calen had attempted to be friendly towards him, but the Haj-Eix had no desire to be confrontational with him, especially if he had been travelling with this group for long. The Altmer had proclaimed that he wasn’t the leader of the group, but his words still could carry some weight behind them and, as such, Jaraleet preferred to be polite. “I know that my words aren’t sufficient to earn me a place amongst you, after all trust is a precious commodity that shouldn’t be squandered. Especially not in times such as these ones, but, if you give me a chance, I can promise you that it’ll be worth it.”

“If you can swing a blade as good as you say, then you’ll be of use to us.” Brynja nodded her head in agreement. After all this time Rhea still hadn’t said a word, she figured that she must’ve been exhausted. “It’s always good to have another blade around.” Durantel nodded his assent at Brynja’s words.

Anifaire had finished her stew, and was looking at the pot, her stomach still unsatisfied. She found was less uncomfortable in the presence of these strange people than she had been at first, even with the new additions. It seemed this was the way her life was, now. She was glad Alim had arrived, and wondered if he would play his flute.

Durantel’s speaking had drawn more attention to their side of the fire than she would have liked, and she shrunk a bit away from him. She felt self conscious, both because of the new faces and that she looked far from the noblewoman she was, her skin and clothes uncomfortably filthy and torn up.

“Among other strange things we have witnessed, that we have no doubt seen the last of.” Judena commented, scratching at her ‘beard’ as she spoke, she glanced at Anifaire. “We are in no short of capable minds to match our brawn. We need to confer, share thoughts and expertise. Anifaire,” Judena looked to the downtrodden Mer, perhaps she would appreciate some distraction. “Is one of the experts on Dwemer, she specializes in studying them. Was it culture you focused on or technology?”

Anifaire looked up in surprise when Judena spoke, but the topic brightened her mood. “I studied mostly language in particular, but of course, language impacts and is impacted by culture, so it is wider than that.” She paused. “What do you study?” She still found it odd that this Argonian was studying something so in depth.

“That is amazing! Perhaps with your help we can try to understand what they are saying, Anifaire. Demystify them.” Judena enthused. “I simply study and date artifacts. Find out how old they are, where they are from, who was once connected to
them. Then I remove those centuries, restoring them back the best I can discovering things hidden by age. If you want my dear you are invited to sit and watch as I work. Piece restoration is truly inspiring.” She said happy to see Anifaire engaged. Truly it would take a dedicated team, resources, and workspace to continue their study of the Dwemer in depth but they could make due by crafting theories while on the road.

“I would love to watch some of your work,” Anifaire replied.

Nanine perked up at the mention of Judena dating and restoring artifacts. She’d have to see if the old argonian could verify her family’s stories about her blade.

Mortalmo rose to his feet then, glancing about those still gathered around the campfire. “If you would all be so gracious, I think I will take my leave of your company now.” He glanced up at the darkened sky. “The night drags on, and I must say my prayers.” The Mer turned on his heel then, and retreated from the soft glow that the fire provided. Rhona watched him leave, she would need to rest soon, he had promised to continue her training tomorrow.

By the time Solandil had sorted his errands for the day and found his company, he found several had already retired for the night - and they were also joined by newcomers. Some were still eating, and upon seeing a still bubbling pot of stew over the fire, Sol felt great relief. Since the Ranger’s arrival back to camp, Sol had spent several hours trying to find an affordable blacksmith to repair the broken leather strap on his chest-plate. Of course, in a camp such as this one, any kind of labour required payment. Even if he had had money available, all people wanted was food and water, each of which he had sparse amounts that he was unwilling to part with. After several rejections and failure of intimidating folk into doing it out of goodwill, Sol had simply haphazardly knotted the two frayed ends together, leaving the plate lopsided, but steady. For now, anyway.

Joining the circle of companions, Sol slumped into a sitting position beside the young rogue Meg with a sigh, dumping his battered armour beside him. His shirt still remained damaged and leaving his skin to the open air, but at this point Sol was far too hungry and tired to give a damn. Glancing at Brynja, his fingers traced his chest absent-mindedly, reminded of the wound that no longer sat there.

She rose to her feet, and filled a bowl of stew, part of her wondering just how they ended up with so many wooden bowls. Brynja handed the bowl over to Solandil, a small smile on her face, “It’s about time you got back. We’re almost out of stew.”

Meg had just been about to stand up, a yawn smothered by her hand when she noticed Solandil had sat down next to her. It had indeed been a long time since she had seen him, and if she was being honest, he was a much more appealing sight that Durantel. Sure, the other Altmer wasn't as insufferable as before, but she was still slightly iffy around him.

"Long time no see!" she greeted. "Glad t'see you're in one piece." She looked to Brynja as well, smiling. "Same's for you too, y'know. I missed you 'round here!"

Brynja nodded at her, “It’s nice to know you’re all alive and well. I hope you didn’t get into anything too dangerous while I was away.” She narrowed her eyes at Meg before winking.

“Uh…” Meg blinked before glancing sideways, sheepish look finding itself on her face. “Not really! Been pretty quiet ‘sides the obvious.” She did not want to be scolded for her little misadventure!

“Mm, well that’s good to hear.” Brynja said through a stifled yawn. The hour was late, she’d have to get some rest soon.

Meg chuckled at Brynja, seeing the other Nord was as tired as she was. "There's lots I wanna catch up with both of you, but I'mma leave it 'til the morn when we're all rested an' not talking slurred an' eyes half closed." She gave a friendly pat to Sol's shoulder as she came to a stand, stifling another yawn with her free hand. "Sleep well y'all." Waving at everyone in general, she trotted off in search of her bedspread and sweet dreams.

Judena watched Durantel’s departure, eyes on his back. The pages of her logbook remembered their strange day, she dug the butt of her spear into the ground pulling herself to stand. “I hope you have a pleasant evening, Durantel. We will see you on the morrow.” Her tone was pleasant but her eyes burrowed. While it may come as strange for her to address the Altmer now, perhaps she would share what had happened with someone. Another perspective might clear the clouds surrounding it. As she was, she was content spending time by the warm fire light and commit new names with their faces to memory.

Mortalmo stopped momentarily in his tracks, now nearly entirely shrouded by the blackness of night. Without turning around, he called back, “And you as well, Judena.” His voice was strained, though with each syllable spoken, the something made an effort to snag some of that tautness away. “May you have a satisfactory slumber.” Then he was gone.

Jaraleet observed the interaction between Judena and Durantel in silence. The departure of the Altmer, and particularly his comment on how late it was, reminded the Saxhleel of how much time it had passed since he had gotten a good night of rest and, as such, he decided to retire as well. “I think I’ll follow in Durantel’s footsteps and retire for the night. My thanks for the stew, and for allowing me to join you as well.” He spoke to the gathered members of the group, “If it’s acceptable to you all, I’ll pitch in my tent close to those belonging to you.” He added, waiting for an answer before picking up his rucksack and stepping away from the campfire to pitch his tent.

“By all means,” Brynja said, nodding her head in approval at the Argonian, “and I’m off to sleep as well.” She rose to her feet, stretching one more time before she departed from the warmth of the campfire to her own tent.

Nanine watched Durantel leave with curiosity. She found it odd that the Altmer would be even moderately civil to the Argonians of the group, but call Calen a dog. Usually people hated the beast races more than they hated the others. Something to think about later.

“It appears the night is drawing to a close. Thank you again for your hospitality and, if it is not too much to ask a bit more from you, I’ll be sleeping next to the fire.” Nanine began her nightly ritual, undoing her earrings and carefully storing them in her pack, before bringing out a brush to take care of her hair. The motions were automatic by now, and she hummed lightly to herself. She’d take care of her sword later.

Calen set the wooden bowl by his foot; it was licked clean of every drop of stew that was served in it, and he looked up at the battlemage as she packed her belongings together, thinking with careful consideration if he wanted to--

“I have a covered wagon.” Calen said abruptly. Not so careful, evidently. His disposition was nonchalant, matter-of-factly; his proposition was one made out of generosity less so than it was out of any lecherous intent. Gesturing to the rest of those who remained around the campfire, the bard continued, “It’s warm, private -- and the offer’s open to any of you, if you don’t have a place to rest your head or anything. It’s no big deal.”

Rhona stood up, taking the gesture from those that headed off to bed, that it was time for her to do so as well. Tobias’ head swiveled up at the sound of her getting to her feet, and trotted over to her. He let out a small bleat as he rubbed his head against her leg. She stooped to pet him, and sighed, “I’ll be going to bed as well, goodnight.” And with that, she slipped into the shadows, Tobias trailing behind her.

Anifaire huddled as close to the fire as she could manage once the others had headed off. She wasn’t sure if anyone had noticed her presence by the fire at night. When Nanine had mentioned she would be sleeping by the fire, as well, Anifaire first instinct had been panic. That was awful close for a stranger to be sleeping. But the panic faded quickly. All of her experiences these past few days had been uncomfortable, and she’d basically resigned herself to not experiencing a comfortable setting again anytime soon. In order to get out of here she needed money, and for that, she needed a bank - which would be inside the city. And there were the Dwemer to contend with.

Usually not one to speak up, Calen’s offer of the wagon was too good to refuse. He had made it clear to be an open offer, and Anifaire stuttered over her words for a few moments, starting sentences and then rephrasing, before she finally spat out, “I would appreciate the shelter for the night.” Her face was red with embarrassment as she looked at Calen, though through the crusted mud and grime it was unlikely to be visible. She would simply be grateful to be off the ground.

“Not just for the night,” Calen added, “for as long as you need. The nights are getting colder, right? I don’t know how many of you have slept outside during a Skyrim winter, but a chill like this never bothered me anyway.”

“Winters in Skyrim are the worst. Especially when you’re on watch in the middle of the night. Thank you for the offer Calen, but I’ll let Anifaire take the wagon. It’s a nice night at anyrate.” Nanine gestured to the sky.

“Thank you… both,” Anifaire said. She gathered her cloak around herself tighter, still covered in mud, but about to sleep off the ground. In all her life, she never thought she would be so grateful for something so small. She’s never even considered she might have to sleep on the ground, let alone doing so coated in mud.

“I have a spare blanket in my pack, and a change of clothes. They might not fit you right, but they’d be better than the mud caked things you have now, at least until they can get washed.” Nanine offered, neglecting to mention that both were her only others. She’d buy more in town if necessary.

Anifaire turned to face the other woman in surprise. “I… really? I would love to wash these. Thank… you.” The generosity around her was both foreign and unexpected. At home, these things had been provided for her without question, and she’d never considered what it would be like to even lack them. Suddenly, she felt like she should have been more grateful to her family’s servants.

“No problem at all.” Nanine said cheerfully, pausing in her brushing of her hair to ruffle through her pack and gather the blanket and spare change of clothes. She got up and handed the folded pile to the High Elf with an earnest smile, before heading back to her pack and resuming brushing her hair.

Terms and Conditions May Apply




A Collab by @BurningCold and @MacabreFox

Skingrad, 5th of Second Seed - Late EveningThe Forest

Little streams of wind whipped at Mortalmo’s ears as he strode from the camp; an irritated cacophony of shrill whistles to exacerbate his already troubled thought process. While the creases forming across his visage betrayed only agitation, his psyche was churning with black thoughts. Ever since the odd confrontation with Judena, he had secluded himself from contact with others, deigning instead to pray. His cries for guidance had fallen on deaf ears. Now though, Mortalmo meant to pursue a different avenue of convalescence. He needed something familiar, something to allow him to exert some measure of control. To that end he ventured beyond the shantytown clinging to Skingrad, and off into the woodland.

He made sure to avoid the route previously taken with Judena and the Nord.

Upon coming across a suitable clearing, Mortalmo extending his arm out carefully, palm held wide open. Purple flickers of arcane energy flitted between the tips of his fingers. A single moment of concentration came and went, and then the spell was cast. Glowering before Mortalmo was a hulking mass of grey flesh, the skin marked by cruel red paints. A violet longsword shimmered into Mortalmo’s still outstretched hand a moment later. The Mer pointed the blade at the Dremora before him.

“Try to kill me.”



After leaving Nanine, Rhona headed out to the forest, she needed to replenish her water skin, and running water was freshest. She kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Cezare hadn’t found her. She wondered where had Tobias had run off too, but she knew that Tobias was not a pet, he had chosen her for company and if he wished to leave, she wouldn’t stop him. She picked her way through the trees until she arrived at the stream she had found two days ago. Kneeling, she let the water flow into the leather skin before she closed it off.

“Kynareth, I thank you for giving me this water. Let it nourish my body as your rain nourishes the land.” She kissed the water skin, and rose to her feet. She set off to return when she heard a curious sound not far from her. It sounded like someone was… fighting? Curious, she made her way in the direction of the commotion until she arrived at a clearing.

Mortalmo ducked beneath the swinging arc of the Dremora’s warhammer, delivering a swift cut to the back of the creature’s leg, causing it to drop to one knee. In the next moment, Mortalmo’s ethereal blade had removed the Dremora’s head from its shoulders. Breathing deeply through his nostrils, he watched dispassionately as the corpse toppled to the ground even as it began to fade into ash. The thing had posed a greater challenge than the three that came before it, yet still, for the next fight Mortalmo decided to eschew the longsword in favor of a smaller and more mundane armament. He began to reach for his dagger’s sheathe then, when an interloper made her presence known to him. He narrowed his eyes at the figure across the clearing. Slight, shapely, and with features both rough and fair. Perhaps of Breton descent, at least partially. Certainly she was no pureblood.

Mortalmo raised a hand in greeting, the sharp steel hanging from his belt momentarily forgotten, and took a few steps forward before calling out, “Girl! What is your business and from where do you hail?” His tone was incredulous and rife with irritation.

She startled at his tone, flinching as if she had been struck. Oh what had she gotten herself into now? She took a step forward, but dared not another move. She had to answer him, despite the churning in her gut.

“I came for water, and I heard you…” Rhona gestured at the clearing, indicating that his antics had caught her ear.

He glanced down to the area surrounding him. Several piles of dust and ash dotted the glade. He looked back up at the woman, his expression softening by the barest fraction. “It seems the sounds of my training caught your ears. Now, I shall be more specific in my line of questioning. Do you originate from the camp bordering Skingrad?”

“Well yes… I’m not a refugee though. I came from Anvil just a few days prior.” She had the feeling he preferred short and curt answers, he looked so severe for an Altmer, and he was far older than her.

“I see. What are you called, girl?”

“Rhona Amor-” she caught herself, “my name is Rhona. And what of you, sir?” Her grip tightened on the wooden staff in her hand.

Mortalmo’s eyes narrowed then, and a smirk played across his lips. So she was hiding something. How adorable. In another time, that little slip would have had her dragged kicking and screaming into a dungeon. Now though, he couldn’t afford to care. “You may address me as Durantel.” The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

“Durantel then. A pleasure to meet you.” She gave a slight nod of her head, when a most peculiar thought ran across her mind. Would he even consider it?

“Can you teach me? How to fight like that?” Rhona asked, thinking of how useful it would be to become far more physically capable of fending off Cezare should be lay hands on her again. Her forearm still bore the angry colors he had left. And more importantly, from what she had seen of Durantel, he had had efficient training.

Now that was certainly interesting. Teaching the wretch before him might have been beneath his station... but even that wasn’t entirely true, was it? He was walking ground that he had never once before tread. To the Thalmor he would be a disgrace, to those beneath the Dominion’s boot he was a villain. His true identity was dead to the world, and now he assumed the alias of a common drifter. Confiding in someone for the first time in nearly a decade... and it was a thrice damned lizard.

What was he? What was she?

Surely Breton. Trace amounts of Mer blood already put the girl in higher esteem than the rest of Lorkhan’s spawn deserved.

“I am an enchantress… I could offer my services to you as payment.” She added softly.

He gazed at Rhona appraisingly. “I will teach you what I can, to the best of my abilities. I have no use for an enchanter at present, however.” He paused, a muscle in his neck spasming. His lips twisted into a grimace. “It is of no matter. You will find some other way to be useful.”

Rhona shifted uncomfortably, she wasn’t sure what he meant by finding other ways to be useful, but in the current situation she needed to know how to defend herself proper. Viras had taught her what he knew, but it was little in regard for actual defense.

“Very well. I… know a few destruction spells, and my staff can set things aflame. My staff is how I fight. I just… hit people on the head with it. But I want to know more. I need to know how… to hurt someone. How to intimidate them. To get them to leave me alone forever.” Her chest tightened at the words she spoke, not realizing that her knees were shaking.

The smirk found its way back onto Mortalmo’s face. If he didn’t know better, he would say that he’d already taken a shine to this wretch. At the very least, she was intriguing. A darkness crept into his voice that hadn’t previously been present. “It sounds as if you are not asking for typical combat lessons.”

Her brows rose at his suggestive tone, what was she trying to accomplish exactly? She wanted Cezare to leave her alone, for good. But did that mean she wanted him dead? Rhona couldn’t
bring herself to answer the question directly.

She lowered her gaze, staring at the tips of her bare feet, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip, “There is someone… I am afraid of. My… husband. I left him two years ago to find freedom and peace… and after all these years… he’s here. He’s here in this camp, and he found me. I won’t go back with him. No matter what it takes, Durantel. I won’t.” Her throat tightened, she shook her head before lifting her gaze again.

He felt a pang at her words, sharp and swift. A wife fleeing from the husband that she so greatly feared. What had this man done to her? His mind drifted to Faewynn, and a deep scowl came to twist across his visage. “It is reprehensible, his actions. He has mistreated you, this is apparent. And then... he came looking for you?” Something fiery wrapped itself around Mortalmo’s heart.

“Yes, I will help you Rhona. I will teach you what I know, and in turn you may teach him.” He fixed her with a dangerous stare. “Teach him to fear you far more than you ever feared him.

A hopeful smile crossed her lips, “Truly, this has been a wondrous day. Azura smiles upon me.” She took a step towards Durantel, and bowed at the waist, it only seemed proper.

“Thank you, for your kindness.”

Azura? That certainly warranted further questioning at some point. Mortalmo remained impassive though, for the time being. “I once knew someone, someone dear to me, that was in a plight similar to your own. It grieves me to say that I was unable to help her. Auri-El as my witness, I won’t fail another soul that has been wounded in such a way.”

The words he spoke sickened him. The sincerity with which they were uttered nearly made him gag.

Her brows furrowed at his words, her heart went out to him, women that suffered at the hands of men made her heart weep with sadness. She remembered the tragedies Aurelia spoke of from her own husband. Rhona could feel the hard lump forming in her throat as she remembered how she wept in her arms. Rhona could do little at the time to comfort her, and so she let her cry until she could cry no more.

“It is… more common than I would wish to believe. I am sorry… that your heart has known such pain.” She shook her head, digging the end of her staff into the soil below. Rhona shifted her weight with unease, “Cezare and I… our parents arranged our marriage. My mother believed that our union would be prosperous, but alas, such was not what Mara intended.”

Mortalmo gestured to the overturned log that he had been using to catch his breath between fights. “Sit with me,” He said, acquiescing to his own request. “And tell me about Cezare, if you are willing. I would appreciate knowing what sort of man I have been tasked with helping you... deal with.”

As commanded, she took a seat next to Durantel, placing her staff beside her. She locked her fingers together, and considered his request. With a heavy sigh, she shook her head, “Where do I start?”

“From the beginning I suppose is best.” Rhona answered her own question, and nodded solemnly, “I was nineteen when we married, he was but twenty-three. I had had my heart torn to pieces by a lover from my youth, Sayyid was his name. He convinced me to run away with him, only one morning in a field near Chorrol, I woke up and found him gone. He had taken everything I owned. I was but sixteen then. It was a year later when my mother arranged the marriage. At the time, Cezare was away fighting in the Legion. She set a date, three months after his end of service. He was handsome, and I suppose some would consider him to be as such still.” Rhona began to subconsciously wring her hands, but continued speaking nonetheless.

“He never told me what happened in the war, what he did, or what he saw… but he started drinking. More than what I would consider normal. This carried on for a few years until one day, as I was balancing our ledger… I noticed some discrepancies… so I went to the bank, and asked them to show me their records. And Cezare…” She could feel hot tears on her cheeks, “he had spent all of his inheritance. He started gambling, we were in debt, and he had taken loans from the bank, none of which he paid back in full. And when I confronted him that evening…” She took a deep breath, that caused her entire body to shudder, “I shouldn’t have asked him. I knew better than to ask him anything when he was drunk. He was always so angry, and that night was no different. But he was so angry, Durantel.”

And so came the tears, “He threw a chair at me, and I fled up the stairs. I locked myself in our bedchamber but he broke down the door. I thought… I thought I would die that night.”

“Fear gripped my heart after that, I walked with muscles tensed. I felt that if I so much as did anything wrong, it would send him into a rage, and it often did. Gods forbid if I ever forgot to supply the house with alcohol, or have supper prepared for him. So I started to pocket my coin, I hid every piece of gold from him… I refused to keep living there with him. And so I left.” She used the backs of her hands to wipe away her tears, a strangled smile appearing.

“And yet here I am, blathering like a fool to you about my estranged husband, who I am utterly terrified of.” She turned to face him, “You must think me weak.”

For a long time Mortalmo was silent. He stared away from Rhona as she spoke, searching the sky above them for something that he knew was not there. When at last he came to look at the Breton, his face was aghast, and his eyes were wet. He blinked the moisture away, and waited a few more moments as his expression regained some semblance of composure. Why should he care for the petty squabbling of animals?

Why indeed.

When he spoke, his voice was steady, though quiet and hollow. “How vile. How absolutely wicked.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply. “You may be weak, girl. But you are not foolish, as far as I can tell. You fled his presence, which was clearly the only intelligent option afforded to you.” His words took on a harder edge then. “If you are weak now, then I will see to it that you become strong.” His eyes searched hers as he spoke, a mixture of determination and compassion evident in his stare. Something else lingered there too... was it regret? Perhaps guilt.

“Mara has brought me many curious people into my life as of late,” She reached out and patted his hand, “and surely, you are amongst them.” Mortalmo’s eyes darted to his hand as she touched him. He remained still, however.

Rhona drew her hand away, and shook her head, “I just want him to know that, no matter how hard he may try, that he must leave me be. That I am no longer his to claim.” Her hand moved to cover the dark splotchy bruise he had left, “Never will I return with him, and when I die, it will be into Arkay’s arms I go.”

“You will be free of him, this much I can guarantee you.” He frowned at her. “I do have a number of conditions to lay before you. Firstly, I suggest that you make arrangements to prepare whatever tent or bedroll you may have near my own small camp. I do not desire to scour the entire miserable shantytown for you should I have wisdom to impart or an important topic to discuss. This may also be good for your piece of mind, should Cezare discover your exact location. Secondly, if you are indeed intent on entering my tutelage, it is likely that you will come to meet some of my associates.” He paused, looking at Rhona very carefully.

“And this is of the utmost import. Nothing that we discuss in this glade will be known to them, or any other individual that you should come across. I need your word that you will swear our arrangement and anything else we might have discussed here to secrecy. Your own history, of course, you are free to disclose. Thirdly, I will help you with your difficulties with Cezare. In return, I will need to be able to rely on you for assistance should I wish it.”

Rhona consider his terms of agreement to training her, they seemed somewhat reasonable, though she did have one question, “If I am to relocate close to your campsite… what should I tell your associates about my sudden appearance, should the question arise?”

“Tell them that our goals happened to align. That I’ve... taken you under my wing, in a sense. A word of warning, I am not well liked among the brunt of them.”

She nodded dutifully, then this was it, “I agree to the terms and conditions then.”

“Excellent. While we remain here, we might as well begin your tutelage in earnest. As a sign of good faith between the two of us.”

Surprise filled her, Durantel would keep his promise, and so they would start now, it would seem. Her brows furrowed, from a bit of confusion, “What would you have me do?”

Mortalmo’s eyes lazily followed a hare as it bounded across the clearing.

“Let’s start with something small.”
Here's my thingy for Leif if he was a starving artist grunge rocker trying to make it in Seattle:


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