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The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

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

<Snipped quote by DearTrickster>

Sure. What's Maj's fake identity?

And Wylendriel's, @Spoopy Scary?

@Gcold

Maybe a Spinner named Silva. Which does mean some less fancy clothes, by Breton standards. Possibly as a plus one to one of the people joining who could feasibly have ties to Valenwood?

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

Wy needs to let loose and party and Dar'Jzo will be Schrödinger's Cat.

Academy 003: Seeds of Change [CLOSED]

Reyna Baker

_{@Ruler Inc@PureHeroine}

---

"Oh no," Kashmira declined Reyna's offer with a chuckle. "She'll set off the wrong person soon enough and get the lesson she needs."

At this, Reyna could only smirk and shifted her weight over on her rear leg. So this Kashmira girl was more of the passive type. If it was Reyna on the receiving end, then it definitely would’ve been on the wrong person, and she was just about to suggest being that wrong person so that it never happens again, but she held her tongue. It was probably smart of her to not cause any waves on her first day, and besides, there were probably bigger fish to fry than some girl who bumped into her by accident. Still, as Reyna looked around, she noticed that many of the other students around her seemed younger than she was! It would probably do some good for these super-dorks if she had them under her wings.

"I just hope she'll accept my apology in time - but I think we should leave that behind us, yes?" Kasmira continued. "How about we all sit down and eat together? Talk about life and things?"

Reyna could barely stifle a grin at her offer – fitting in here was gonna be a whole lot easier than her entire high-school experience. “Y’know what,” Reyna said, “sure! Why not?”

The girl with the cute haircut who was with Kashmira and previously helping her to her feet introduced herself by saying, “I’m Aubrey by the way, but most people call me Bree.”

“My name’s Reyna!” She replied with a beaming voice. Pivoting on her heels, she turned around and started walking towards the tables. Swiveling her head back around, she called back to them, “I’ll save you a seat so you can go and get more food, Kash!”

As she found a place to sit, she snickered to herself. Kash. That was a good one, ‘good job, Reyna.’ That was a nickname that was probably gonna stick, and now she was just waiting for the opportunity to call her Kash-Money. Boy, wouldn’t that be rich?

Academy 003: Seeds of Change [CLOSED]

I think all of us are suspect to electrocution.

Actually, I think Kai would be less susceptible. Electricity wants to meet the ground.

Academy 003: Seeds of Change [CLOSED]

Don't be so hard on yourselves, y'all. The posts are looking great!

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

Reunion

---

11th of Last Seed, Afternoon
Jehanna

The deed was done and as far as Dar’Jzo was concerned, that was that. It was foul business, but there was nothing else to ruminate on.

In truth, it wasn’t the individual jobs that marked him, it was the lifestyle in and of itself – the jobs were simply one part of the larger framework. What disturbed Dar’Jzo where his memories of the life of crime he led in his youth. He remembered the anguished faces of skooma-addled sugar-paws in Senchal, knowing full well that the poison he concocted were stealing their lives and happiness away and slowly killing them. He remembered the gang violence that he took part in, conducting hits on rivaling dealers in anticipation of the very same being done to him. In his quest for the survival and nourishment of his family, he lived an immoral life kept secret from his family. Some might even say evil, and Dar’Jzo would not argue with them, for he could sleep well at night fully aware of the consequences of his actions as long as he could rationalize it as being for the good of his family, and what it took for him to finally end the lifestyle was for the consequences to turn and take his lover away from him.

It took him a long time after that to come to terms with those consequences. Perhaps he never did, at least not entirely. It was unfair for his old life to take Lalana on an early path the Sands Behind the Stars instead of him, who deserved life far less than she did. That said, it was an earth-shaking wake-up call that gave him a chance to see the error of his ways and an opportunity to change and redeem himself in the eyes of his gods, and to be there for his grandson in the capacity that he was incapable of fulfilling for his daughter. He spent several years, slowly finding peace with himself, until it was time to sacrifice that peace for the sake of his grandson. The Mane and his spymaster, Ra’gajal, took his happily ever after from him and forced him into a life of subterfuge and murder; to tread through Sangiin’s hollow. So the individual jobs couldn’t faze him, he already knew how to disassociate himself from his actions and how to rationalize them. What disturbed him was his return to the immoral lifestyle and that retirement seemed to be a far, distant dream.

That’s why, Dar’Jzo thought, it was so important to find Saddi. Once he could ensure the safety of his grandson, all deals were off. As far as he was aware, he was Ra’gajal’s only eyes in this region. If he were to disappear, no one would know the truth, and Saddi would be safe under his careful watch. Now that Dumhuvud was no longer a danger, he could search for Saddi with ease. He was supposed to have met with Edith today to inherit one of the dead’s old bow to replace the one he had, which was destroyed in the battle, but that would have to wait for now.

Sadri, on the other hand, was supposed to have been traveling here by wagon along with other College refugees. Perish the thought that he could be wounded, but that was the thought that first entered his mind as a worried grandfather. He first checked where the injured were being held, but was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to find no Saddi – not even a khajiit. No one who wore robes looked like students or academics of any sort. It raised even more questions about where Saddi could possibly be. He took very well to the Baandari culture and was a shrewd salesperson; a snakeoil salesperson, but a salesperson nonetheless. He had a knack for illusions and sleight of hand, and the last he recalled, he was learning how to be an enchanter. He may have been at a local mystic’s shop. Perhaps he was perusing magical wares since he seemed to be so interested in smoke and mirrors – kids.

But he wasn’t there either. Dar’Jzo entered the store being ran by an older Breton woman, probably around his own age, who was keeping an eye on a younger shopper perusing through her merchandise. Her eyes trailed over to meet Dar’Jzo’s cold eyes, but it did little to diffuse her own warmth. She said, “Good evening! How can I help ya, sweetheart?”

“Have you seen a young khajiit?” Dar’Jzo responded candidly. “Gray Suthay-raht with black stripes and white splotches.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied remorsefully, “no one like that has come in lately.”

“What’s their name?” Suddenly asked the man looking around the store. He was a young Imperial fellow of Nibenese descent who seemed to be eyeballing Dar’Jzo carefully, who, in turn, set his cold gaze on him. He knew something.

“Saddi. Of clan Baandari.”

“And you…?”

“He is Dar’Jzo’s…” Dar’Jzo stopped for a second and hesitated, realizing that Dar’Jzo was not the same person. “He is Dro’kil’s grandson.”

The Imperial boy’s eyes lit up with what seemed like a look of recognition, as if he was meeting a famous person for the first time, and suddenly Dar’Jzo was wondering what Saddi has been saying about him. The boy stammered, “For real? U-uh, yeah, okay. Okay. Um, yeah, Saddi’s in town. I’m Lulius. Or, uh, Lu if you’d rather.”

“Where is he?” Dar’Jzo continued, cutting through the bullshit.

“Right, uh… Saddi’s been… well, you know what happened to the College of Winterhold, right? Utterly destroyed. A lot of our friends died. Saddi is normally larger than life, but he didn’t take it very well. He’s been trying to talk to the Legion Reserves camp a lot lately. I don’t know what his plans are, but I’m worrid about him.”

Dar’Jzo didn’t stick around long enough to ask any further questions, walking out as soon as he had a location, leaving a stunned and nervous Imperial named Lu to his own devices as he went searching for the Imperial Reserves encampmet. What was Saddi thinking? That boy might not have known the true extent of the sacrifices Dar’Jzo made for him, but surely he did know – or at least figured – that he had to pull a lot of strings to get him off the hook for the draft. Now here he was, itching for a fight. What was he gonna do with that cub?

The encampment wasn’t hard to find. Keeping on the made road in town brought him to the front gates of the city, and situated outside were a series of tents and cabins.The colors of a slender Imperial flag rippled high in the air, and many soldiers seemed hard at work to keep logistics on the up and up and their skills sharp. As he stepped deeper into the encampment, he saw a few men and women who were circled around a campfire, and among them, a gray khajiit with black stripes and white splotches, wearing a blue short-sleeved robe over a burgundy shirt and a gray sash across his waist. Sitched into the fabric looked like handmade patterns which reflected Khajiiti culture, and they were tending the cooking pot that sat on what looked like an old, grated metal footstool above it – Saddi. Saddi was always crafty and loved to cook for others. The nature of Lu’s description contrasted with the sight Dar’Jzo saw before him. As he tended the cooking pot, he seemed to be entertaining the Legionaires, probably feeding them some kind of bullshit story or another in addition to the stew he was making. Dar’Jzo could smell it from here; it was one of Saddi’s favorite and iconic recipies, and he called it Saddi’s Senchal Stew, apparently shirking creativity in favor of alliteration and having his name attached to something. He always did have a penchant for desiring some kind of fame.

His staring caught the attention of some of the soldiers sitting around the campsite, who in turn stared back and muttered to one another suspiciously. One of them nudged looked at Saddi and nudged their head towards Dar’Jzo’s direction, and when Saddi turned his head in his direction, time seemed to stand still. Blessed be Alkosh, who granted Dar’Jzo what felt like an eternity to stare upon his grandson’s face within the breadth of a moment. Their eyes were locked upon each other, as if neither of them could believe that the other was standing before them. Dar’Jzo took a small step forward, and suddenly Saddi came sprinting from across the camp. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, his grandson crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around him. Dar’Jzo felt his heart swell and returned the gesture, squeezing him tight and not wanting to let go. It was as if he feared that if he did, then he would slip from his grasp and he’d never see him again. He was holding him, he was real, and he silently prayed to the Gods to finally let him have this one moment.

“Grandfather…” Saddi breathed into his his shoulder. His accent of his voice was not as heavily accented as Dar’Jzo’s, the result of growing up in a far more cosmopolitan Senchal than his grandfather did. “How?”

“This one heard of the news… so he charted a few boats to find you.” Dar’Jzo softly whispered back. This prompted a minor laugh of disbelief from Saddi.

“But you loathe water.”

“Yes,” Dar’Jzo admitted, “but he is loath to lose you even more.”

This time, the laughter from Saddi seemed more genuine. He said, “That was a pun. Really? A joke from you? Gods, the world really is ending, isn’t it?”

As if hearing his voice pulled Dar’Jzo back into reality, his frustration began to catch up with his joy and relief. The hand he kept rest on one of Saddi’s shoulder slid across his back and held the back of his head… before suddenly tightening his grip on his grandson’s scruff and pulled back on it.

“Gah!” Saddi suddenly yelped, putting himself at Dar’Jzo’s mercy as his body and limbs locked up and he stood on his toes, keeping himself still in Dar’Jzo’s grip as if the latter had complete and total control over him with one little movement. Though still, his eyes darted down toward him and he managed a sheepish grin. Dar’Jzo met it with a cold, stern glare.

“What are you thinking?” He asked. “This one goes through the effort of pulling many strings so that his ma’jor can live his best life. Then, when he crosses the oceans of Tamriel to find out if Saddi survived the Akavir, he finds him licking soldiers’ boots?”

“Pops, listen…”

“Pops? What is this pops?”

“Dro’ahnurr – listen… it’s more complicated than that.”

“Hm?” Dar’Jzo urged inquisitively, pulling him closer by the scruff, though the inflection in his grunting sounded more unconvinced than curious. As he did, though, he looked at Saddi in his eyes as a wave of remorse and grief washed over him. When this dawned on him, Dar’Jzo slowly released his grip from the back of Saddi’s neck, who was now beginning to relax. His shoulders were now slumped.

“What you heard was right. The Akavir attacked the College. Dro’ahnur, I… I lost so many friends there. I lost my future.” Saddi said as his voice slowly beginning to enter a growl. His hands were tightening into fists. “I can’t leave everyone behind me after something like that.”

“Yes you can.” Dar’Jzo said flatly as he began to turn back. “Come now, we’re going home.”

Saddi looked at Dar’Jzo indignantly, his mouth agape, and a fire beginning to stir in his eyes. “W-what? No! I can’t just go back!”

“Yes,” Dar’Jzo repeated, “you can.”

“We’re past this now.” Saddi asserted with anger rising in his voice. “I’m no cub anymore. You can’t make me leave. Look – I – you – how did you even find me? How’d you know where to even look?”

“This one found passage with the company of mercenaries. They do not matter now. We should leave before they understand that Dar’Jzo is not one of them.”

“Dar’Jzo?” Saddi repeated in bewilderment. “Who is that? And are you talking about Gustav’s company?”

Dar’Jzo paused for a moment and looked at Saddi carefully. He asked, “What do you know about Gustav?”

“He came by last night to talk to speak with the General, I think. Word had already traveled around about the ship carrying a mercenary crew that did battle with the Akavir, so we figured it had something to do with that. Are you saying those are the mercenaries you’ve been travelling with?”

Dar’Jzo said nothing in response, fearing that anything he said would only fuel his whims.

“Is it true?” Saddi pressed.

Dar’Jzo reluctantly replied, “…This one has not seen or fought with any Akavir.”

“No, that was the Golden Sload, wasn’t it?” Saddi said. “I heard the stories. You would’ve been there, wouldn’t you? Dro’ahnurr, why have I never known you could fight?”

“There is a lot you do not know about your dro’ahnurr, ma’jor. Perhaps it is for the best.” Dar’Jzo said cryptically. “But this is no place or time to discuss such things. There is no honor in being a mercenary. We must leave.”

Saddi shook his head, steeling his resolve. “I’m not going.” He said frankly. “Introduce me to the company. I’m going to join them.”

“You will certainly not.”

“And why not?”

“Why should you?”

“So I can be at peace!” Saddi raised his voice. “So that when the Akavir get what’s coming to them, I can rest easy knowing that I played my part!”

“Revenge?” Dar’Jzo hissed, leaning forward into Saddi’s face, his voice getting deeper and deeper until it became a snarl. “Does Saddi think he can stomach that sort of burden? Does he think that a few dead monsters can fill that cold little hole his friends left him with, or that he can carry that hot piece of ember without getting burned?”

Then his snarling turned to roars, “Because Dro’kil thought the same! Dro’kil thought the same when Saddi’s dra’fado, Lalana, lay dead in his arms! That pain will NEVER go away! You will not honor your friends by throwing your life away!”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them – too silent. Dar’Jzo looked around and realized that he was still in the encampment, and all of the Legion soldiers were staring the tumultuous reunion between a grandfather and his grandson. He found himself taking heavy breaths after his outburst, and his eyes darted back down at Saddi, who just looked somberly back at him with his ears flattened. Dar’Jzo made a deep and heavy sigh of defeat.

“Dro’kil was not there for Dra’datta when it mattered the most.” He resigned, as if he was admitting defeat. “He would not deserve to find warm sands if he was also not there for you.”

Dro’ahnurr…” Saddi rasped pitifully. “They destroyed my second home. They killed my friends…”

Dar’Jzo dipped his head in understanding and said, “Then truthfully? There is no way this one can convince you to walk away?”

Saddi shook his head no. Dar’Jzo sighed as he began to feel the weight being placed on his chest and shoulders once more. He looked around at the Legion soldiers around them and shook his head, before placing his hand on top of Saddi’s and said, “If Baandari is good at something, then they never do it for free. Speak to Edith. The company recently lost its leadership, so chain of command captains the quartermaster. The company will need someone to pick up her former duties. They need a new quartermaster.”

Saddi suddenly wrapped his arms around Dar’Jzo and rested his head on his grandfather’s shoulder and muttered a thanks under his breath.

“I love you.” He also said.

Dar’Jzo held him too, once again finding gratitude and relief that Saddi was safe. Still, there was an inkling of doubt in the back of his head. An air of uncertainty. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing here or not.

“Dro’kil loves you, too.” He uttered back gently, but in his mind, he was saying something very different.

‘Mother Cat, what have I done?’

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

No Words Left

---

10th of Last Seed - Early Afternoon
Kyne's Tear - Jehanna Docks

Only a few days of recovery were spared unto her, and already was she put back to work. Wylendriel had suffered all forms of exhaustion; she challenged the limits of her stamina until she was staggering and could barely maintain her balance, she was nearly immolated to death and was stitched back together, and her reserve of magicka was exhausted by the very spell that had saved her life, with the rest being squeezed out to do whatever she could to keep herself on her feet. What did she have to show for it? A mostly live crew, perhaps, but plagued by nightmares of the woman she could not save from the fire, whose screams haunted her every waking moment. The woman who was crushed beneath the falling debris of the Golden Sload. Adaeze, the lost Bosmer soul she had met in Solitude, who would return to the Green with too little of her body remaining to sanctify. Then, when she awoke, she heard the dreadful news of Ashav’s suicide.

Four people were dead on her watch. Four people she couldn’t save. The shock being too much, and the thought too overbearing, she clammed up. When the news was shared, all she could manage was a soft, “Oh…”

How did everything go so wrong? What were the Divines trying to tell her by sending her on this journey? Was this a lesson for her to learn or were they never really following her? Had she only been making excuses for herself, to delude herself into believing that there was still hope for her? Was being constantly surrounded by death her punishment? Perhaps it was. Perhaps she deserves this. Or was her only chance at redemption foiled by her own repetitive failures? She felt damned either way. She still felt Molag Bal's presence with her even after all this time. All she could do at this point was to go through the motions.

She lost the robes that meant so much to her and had to resort to wearing a simple sailor’s outfit, an off-white linen shirt and some brown pants – it’s bagginess required of her to use a length of string or twine to secure it properly. She deprived herself of proper footwear. She later offered her services to the Temple of Arkay. Though officially a Priestess of Kynareth, she knew the appropriate funeral rites and consecration rituals, so she aided in their service. She prayed with them as the priest led the sermon, and she prayed over their coffins a few hours longer even after the service was officially over. One would’ve looked at her and thought she was wishing them safe passage; in truth, all she could do was apologize to them over and over in silence.

After an exhaustive morning, she staggered back to Kyne’s Tear. The sight of its damage brought back a certain anxiety that filled her mind and body, but the comfort of a cabin she had grown accustomed to has more allure to it than a strange place she has never slept before. Perhaps that was selfish of her to think that she deserved any form of comfort, but before she could re-enter the cabin, she was stopped by Sagax. He was the Imperial boy, the brother of Piper, who she fought with against the werewolf. He offered her an enchanted ring that was supposed to help her identify the wounded members of the company.

Perhaps it was a well-meaning gesture when he offered it to her, so she accepted it with a forced smile and put it on her finger while in front of him, but deep down it hurt. The gift left painful stings in her chest after a morning of being emotionally numb. She took it as a message of not being good enough. When they bid their farewells to each other, she finally entered her cabin. The inside was a mess after everything had been shaken from its proper place during the attack and had to be pushed aside to make room for the injured crew-members. Flashbacks of seeing the likes of an unconscious Niernen and Do’Karth lined up in her cabin replaced the empty blankets in front of her eyes for a split second before she was pulled back into the present. She shouldn’t be here right now. She should be tending to the wounded in town.

Still, she only looked over to see a mirror hanging crookedly from the wall. For a few moments she investigated its reflection as she gingerly touched the brittle and charred ends of her hair, and to her surprise, a bitter and hopeless expression. She barely recognized herself anymore. She recognized herself less and less as her journey went on, and… less and less the longer she stared into the mirror. A weird, blurry mist seemed to come from her, almost pink in hue, until a hot sensation from her finger drew her attention away from the mirror.

Looking down at her hand, she saw the ring.

There are times when you are stuck with such a haunting realization that it nearly knocks one off their feet, and when such a realization dawned on her, it was like the straw that broke the camel’s back – it felt insulting. Without thinking, her arms lashed out to grab the mirror. With the shrillest of shrieks, like a rage-induced battle cry that grated her throat sore, she threw it down as hard as she could against the floor.

"FUCK!"

She felt a stinging pain and a pop in her shoulder as the glass of the mirror shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces. She ignored it.

She screamed again, sweeping everything that remained off the top of the dresser and sent it flying across the room until it clattered against the wall. She grabbed the dresser and toppled it over, screaming and shouting even more as she rampaged through the cabin. Whatever was on the walls, she tore down. Whatever was still standing, she ripped apart, knocked over, or sent flying. Anything that was on floor and in her way, she kicked and destroyed, stomping on floorboards and cutting her feet on the broken glass. She turned to the walls of the cabin and punched it – crack! The wood itself was unscathed.

But she didn’t stop, she continued to punch the cabin wall with the same hand. Crack! Crack! CRACK! When the pain eventually became too much, she resorted to kicking. When her foot became too bruised, she smashed her forehead into the wall over and over again, yelling and grunting in pain and frustration. Over the period of a minute, her self-harm slowed down until her head against the wall were but soft, gentle thuds, and her grunts and yelling devolved into whimpering, and eventually, crying, as tears finally began to roll down her cheeks and join with the blood that came streaking from her forehead.

It became too much for her, and her head slowly slid down the cabin wall as she dropped to her knees. The priestess fell on her side, holding her knees close to her chest and cradling her broken hand. She was no longer able to hold back her grief as the quiet tears of her crying became full-throated sobbing. Her moans of despair echoed through The Tear -- but everyone else would have taken refuge at the inn by now. She would be able to despair in peace, completely and utterly alone.

Academy 003: Seeds of Change [CLOSED]

Reyna Baker

---

One of the buses finally rolled to a stop after a very long trip in front of the academy driveway, and the exhaust left the bus like a long-winded sigh of relief. When the driver reached over and opened the doors, one of the passengers unclicked her seatbelt, grabbed her bags, and bulldozed her way down the center aisle before anybody had gotten up yet – yet they were preparing to do so; their feet, knees, or elbows in the way, and as the person came storming through, they were either pushed out of the way or trampled over as they came storming through.

“Woah!”

“Hey, watch it!”

“Dude, what the fuck!” One young boy yelled, which was cut off by a sharp “Hey! Language!”

“Sorry Mrs. Henderson…”

The offender ran out of the bus, even skipping a step as she leaped out and met the South Carolina heat. She was pleased to find that she had dressed appropriately enough for the weather; her knee-length white skater dress flowed weightlessly in what little breeze there was, causing the hundreds of tiny little Snoopy dogs printed on it to soar through the air. Over it was her black leather jacket, even under while under the South Carolina sun. Camouflage cargo shorts protected her dignity, and the wide-brimmed, floppy straw hat protected her pale, freckled skin from burning from the harsh rays. The young woman, once outside got her affairs in order; the green army backpack was big and bulky, back from her grandfather’s boot camp day, and the rolling suitcase at her side was about ready to burst at the seams, and its handle was wrapped with old airline tickets and both bags were covered in pins. Between just these two bags was everything she was supposed to need for her stay for each academy semesters.

She swallowed down a large lump in her throat as she tried to take in the splendor and immensity of the campus. It was fenced off; the main building was huge and ornately structured and the flora decorating its gardens were like beautiful masterpieces of nature. The size of the campus was also mind boggling, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much money had gone into the facility or how much money it would’ve required to get into this school without assistance or an invitation. As if to shrug off the weight of such thoughts, her eyes were drawn to one of memorabilia tickets on her bag.

“FROM: PWM; PORTLAND, ME.
TO: MSY; NEW ORLEANS, LA.
REYNA E. BAKER.”

It prompted a fond smile from her, as if the sight was a nod of encouragement, and she marched her way toward the Academy 003 entrance.

Reyna didn’t feel like she belonged here. It was too fancy and too sophisticated. She was used to living in the city where nothing was clean, and everything costed at least twice its actual value, which made everyone scramble for decent-paying jobs that could pay enough to enable them to competitively fight over the scraps they were given. Here? It almost felt like a sense of betrayal to her friends back home to be here, and that it almost wasn’t honest of her to be here – but she was here, so she had to make the most of it. She was given a rare opportunity to claw her way out of a shitty situation, so she had to take advantage of what she was being given. That’s what her mom and dad would want to hear from her, right? So, she faced it, the school, with a brave smile. An eager smile. She pushed down the feelings of impotence to make way for her curiosity and wanderlust. It was time to make history.

The inside was marvelous. Faculty in the entrance hall took her bags and stored them for her, leaving her free and unencumbered to roam the building – until she was shepherded into a central area, unfortunately; no exploring just yet. She was mostly unfocused during the speech, preoccupied with looking around at the décor and some of the strange, new people entering. However, they had her attention when, suddenly, an enormous woman stood front and center on stage and began talking about power assessments, and of course it was the seven-foot-tall black lady who would be everyone’s gym teacher. Apparently not even FAMA was immune to typecasting. More jarringly, Ms. Gallus’ assistant was this girl who looked like a grasshopper. Disarmingly polite and pleasant, but part of Reyna wondered if her… power, if one could call it that, also included eating people’s heads. It was probably better not to think about it.

The food that was soon presented to them, on the other hand, was all she could think about upon being released into the cafeteria. It didn’t really matter what it was they were cooking, as Reyna was an easily satisfied individual who learned to live on the cheapest kinds of foods, so she just found a food try and piled on as much as she could until the caterers told her it was time to stop. It was a mountainous smorgasbord of food, carefully placed on different parts of the tray and stacked in such a way where none of the flavor profiles would conflict with each other too drastically. She was about to find a table for her to sit at and try her best to consume as much of the grotesque pile of food as she could when she saw the collision between two girls, acting as one of the many bystanders watch one swear the other out, and an unrelated third party helping the clumsy girl back up to her feet.

“What a bitch, huh?” Reyna commented flatly to the Indian girl. She overheard her calling herself Kashmira after accepting help from the other stranger. Truthfully, Reyna didn’t have any strong feelings about what happened, it was just an opportunity for her to get involved with others. Part of her even had an inkling of respect for the “bitch” that stormed off, since Reyna could appreciate sticking up for one’s self and setting a standard. On the other hand, Clumsy Girl was just being clumsy. Shit like that happens all the time.

“We can take her out back, if you’d like; teach her a lesson.” She joked. It was like she tried to deliver it with a deadpan expression, though she failed in her attempts to hold back the amuse smirk stretching from one corner of her mouth.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Separate Agendas

_{with @Father Hank & @Leidenschaft}

10th of Midyear - 4E208
Gilane, Hammerfell - The Haunted Tide Inn

No lute. He couldn’t even remember how many times he’d lost it now, but just like the woman who gifted it to him, they’d always find their way to each other again. At least, he hoped. He hoped luck would guide him back to Daro’Vasora, back to his lute. Even without it, he sat in his chair in the room Sevari had rented him, lazily slouching in it while staring at the parchment he was writing probably the most meaningful thing he’d be writing in his life, forsaking the outside world in lieu of this task. In lieu of this perfect song. But this was not it, he growled as he snatched up the parchment and added it to the growing pile next to it of drafts for the song he promised to write.

It had to be perfect. He leaned forward and rubbed his eyes, his hand was cramping now after writing for so long. He needed a break, a drink. He got up from his chair and stretched, hearing his back crackle with it in a series of rolling pops. He grunted, rubbing the small of his back and sighed. It hadn’t been the same since the attack. It almost seemed like it was days ago, yet only hours. He didn’t even know how long he’d been sitting here for. He crossed the room and laid his hand on the doorknob, his fingers brushing it gently.

Suddenly, the room was blurry through his tears and he squatted before the door and heaved in a huge sob, letting it out in a clenched-jaw growl in the crook of his elbow. He couldn’t let anybody hear. But flashes of Thunderhead’s ruined face, his jaw missing and yawning maw left spewing blood, the Dunmer falling, Two-Shafts Head coming apart and the sickening sound his face made when it broke open.

The feeling of that Redguard’s hands on his throat. Remembering the feeling of his shackles leaving his wrists bloody and raw as he pounded them into his first attacker’s face until it looked like shreds of crimson paper. The way the black had started to creep into his vision as he was being choked to death, the world going blurry. He had almost died without any hint of ceremony or poeticis in that wagon.

It all left him curled about himself on the floor of his room, quivering with muffled sobs. After a few minutes, he crept to all fours, breathing hard. Soon enough, he found his feet, walking over to the wash basin and throwing the tepid water over his face until he looked good enough to himself to show his face to the patrons downstairs. He sighed, the thought of dying and leaving Daro’Vasora behind, alone. He tried at his easy smile to himself in the mirror, but it only trembled until his face screwed up in a sob again. He composed himself as best he could, brushing his shirt down, though it was still the same bloody tunic.

To the hells with it, he took it off and expected things to get better, but he only saw the purple bruise stretched across his ribs, the same purple around his neck. He looked to the floor, closing his eyes and rubbing his face. He needed out of this room. He headed for the door again, sighing and then opened it, making the trek downstairs. He moved past the patrons with his eyes on the floor, ordered an ale and turned around. He finally allowed himself to scan the room and took a sip of his drink but his throat closed around it, making him choke back a cough and keep himself from spluttering. He wiped his mouth with a forearm and looked at the man his gaze snagged on. He did not look well. Finally, he spoke, voice still hoarse from being choked, “G-Gregor?”

Looking up from his meal, Gregor’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock when he saw none other than Latro sitting nearby. “Latro,” the Imperial breathed and he immediately abandoned his barstool and his food to sit with the battered and bruised Breton. Concern, confusion and relief were etched on his face in equal measure and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, lost for words. “But you were captured, how are you here? Gods, man, what happened to you? Where is Daro’Vasora?” Gregor stammered, falling over himself with the urgency of his questions. All of his own woes were forgotten for a moment in the face of such a surprise -- but a welcome one, to be sure. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he hissed and leaned in closer. “There is a man here that calls himself the brother of the Khajiit that tortured Raelynn. It isn’t safe.”

Latro sat nursing his drink, not knowing exactly what to say or how to frame it. He took his moment, swigged at his drink and then sighed, better to just come out with it now, “I know.” He began, “He’s… I’m… I’m with him. It’s a very long and shitty story full of twists and violence, my friend. He’s not what he seems.”

Gregor looked like he had been slapped in the face. He saw nothing but honesty in Latro’s eyes, however, and after a few seconds of terse silence he decided to give the Reachman the benefit of the doubt. “Let’s say that I accept that, for the moment,” Gregor said in a low voice. “Give me the rundown of what happened since you were captured.”

Latro sighed, rubbing his eyes after putting his tankard to rest on the table. “Sevari’s brother- eh, that’s his name, Sevari- Sevari’s brother, Zaveed, was parading Sora through the town to deliver her to Rourken. I caught the show at the bazaar, followed for a bit and Zaveed spotted me.” He shook his head, a look of utter contempt at the memory, “I surrendered myself. There was no way I could get to her without causing too much of a panic, or before he…”

He remembered the look on Sora’s face as Zaveed cocked his pistol against her head. Fear, for her. And him. “We were taken in, Sevari took us into his custody. A few days later, I was chosen for a prisoner transfer. Our caravan was attacked by some form of weapon I’ve never seen before, but it tossed the metal-clad carriage I was in like a toy after the explosion.”

He stopped there, voice trailing off as his eyes grew distant remembering the smells, the feelings, the sights. His lip began to twitch before he started again, muttering out a few stuttering sounds that weren’t even words, “I, um. They were everywhere… it was…”

He put a hand on his chest and a shuddering sigh escaped him, looking around the tavern with wild eyes, “They’re still fucking out there, Gregor. They killed everyone, everyone. Just… it wasn’t… his face was just…”

He let his face fall into his hands, “Thunderhead, he was talking and moving one second and then… I couldn’t… he was just laying there and… I was almost dead.”

With a quickness and without warning, he grabbed up his tankard and drank deeply, quaffing up the amber ale in huge gulps. He didn’t like this. They kept coming, the memories, as numerous and savage as the attackers that had made them. Thunderhead’s bloody crater of a face. Two-Shafts’ broken head. The hands around his neck and the face locked in a mad smile above him as he struggled. “I’m alive.” He said, almost like he was trying to convince himself and his breathing slowly became less erratic, “I’m alive.”

“You are,” Gregor said and reached over to place a reassuring hand on Latro’s arm. He winced slightly when he saw how his fingers trembled and he pulled back quickly, locking his hands together instead so that the Breton couldn’t see. He thought about Latro’s story. It was a confusing, jumbled mess of a tale and Gregor still felt unclear on some of the most saillant details -- like what Sevari had done to gain Latro’s trust, other than presumably selecting him for the exchange -- but he felt like now was not the time to press Latro for answers. He had clearly been through a lot. Gregor sighed. It seemed that the house of cards was crumbling down for everyone he knew.

“Everything will be fine. Zaveed has also… been taken care of,” Gregor said and cleared his throat. “I fought him yesterday. There was an attack on the Dominion envoy in Gilane and it drew him out of hiding. He’s… alive, through circumstances beyond my control,” he added tersely, “but he won’t be after us, for the time being at least. I have to ask, Latro, how do you know that you can trust Sevari?”

“Days ago, Jaraleet and I were contacted by him to meet somewhere. I did things for him, a favor. Gregor, this whole thing, the Poncy Man, the Thalmor…” Latro shook his head, “Poncy Man’s rebellion was going to happen regardless of the Dwemer. Sevari was- is Penitus Oculatus.” He said, all hush. “And he came back for me, after the attack today. He saved me.”

That was a lot to take in. Jaraleet hadn’t mentioned anything about this to Gregor when he and Megana had come to the inn for aid two days ago. Then again, if this was a political game being played in the shadows, Gregor understood the need for discretion. In fact, he was relieved that Jaraleet had not told him this secret. It meant that the Argonian was more likely to keep his secret from others as well. “Penitus Oculatus,” Gregor mused. The closest he had ever come to meeting an agent of the Emperor had been when the organization had dismantled the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim years ago, around the time of the Stormcloak Rebellion and the Dragon Crisis. Gregor had been in the province back then and read about the news in the local papers.

It raised even more questions. “So… he’s a spy?” Gregor asked in hushed tones. “I assume that he’s working for the Dwemer as a double agent of some kind? Or did he have no choice? Does that go for Zaveed as well? Because he certainly took to his task with great… enthusiasm,” Gregor grimaced.

He waved dismissively, as if to erase his own questions from the air. “Nevermind. He came back to save your life. That’s good enough for me. Ironic, considering… well, nevermind,” Gregor said, his voice weary with subdued anger. He took a deep breath and focused. “So you two escaped the ambush. Just the pair of you? And what next?”

Latro shook his head, “I don’t know. We lay low here. After a couple days, I go back to the Three Crowns, he goes his way until he contacts me again, I guess.” He said, he swigged from his tankard, “Are you and Raelynn coming? How is she?”

“I don’t know,” Gregor spat a little too fast. There was no avoiding the topic now. “We’re not talking. She was the one that saved Zaveed from the brink of death. I left him with mortal injuries and she’s the reason he’s still alive. And no, I have no idea why she thought that was a good idea,” he added and rubbed his face. “I just told her to leave. That was yesterday. Feels like longer.” He lowered his hands to the table again and suddenly stared at Latro intently. “What do you make of that?”

“Gods, what’s happening to us?” He muttered, he looked up at Gregor and cocked an eyebrow at his stare. It seemed less like a question and more like a test, almost. Latro chewed his lip, “I guess I did say those days ago that she had a good heart. But why? I saw what that bastard did to her, what he did to Sora. I was ready to kill Zaveed myself, Gregor.”

Before Latro could continue, Gregor unbuttoned his shirt and showed him the scars on his chest. “Here’s what he did to me,” Gregor hissed. “He’s a phenomenal fighter, I’ll give him that. He nearly tore me apart.” He stopped and slowly held out his hands for Latro to see -- how his fingers shook. “Zaveed had help. Some woman. She threw a poisoned dagger at me right as I was about to finish him off for good. Because Raelynn wasn’t here when I returned, the poison--” He swallowed hard and grimaced. “Well, you can see what it did.”

“It must have been potent.” He said, looking at his comrade. What he knew of poisons, it took a miracle to heal from one that was supposed to kill a man. Gregor had to be a man of iron, Latro mused. “I don’t know of any woman like that. Have you asked Sevari if she’s one of the Dwemer’s?”

Gregor nodded. “I wasn’t entirely sure that he was with the Dwemer too, but I did ask him if he worked with a woman like that. Snakeskin cloak, spear, poisons. He said no. We had an… interesting conversation, in general,” the Imperial said and ran his hand through his beard. “I think he got very close to attacking me once he figured out that it was me that nearly put Zaveed in the dirt. He might be your ally, Latro, but he is still loyal to that piece of shit he calls his brother.”

“I know. He seems like the better man of the two though, for whatever that’s worth.” Latro said, a rueful smile crossed his face, “His family must be more complicated than mine. He promised Sora and I that he’d make sure Zaveed didn’t come close to any of us again, in exchange for intelligence, of course.”

“Sevari has a woman with him. She’s here too. A fiery woman if I’ve ever met one, less hospitable than Sora.” He chuckled to be mentioning Sora again, the thought of her brought him some measure of happiness, but it also hurt knowing she was still trapped in the Palace, “I forced Sevari’s hand to make sure he protects Sora when I surrendered. I’m important to his work, I can get places he can’t, talk to people that he can’t, but I can’t test how far he’ll go to protect his assets. I need to find a way to get her back, Gregor. Maybe Sevari can help us get out of this damned city. Help us get Sora back. There’s nothing for us here anymore.”

Wooden floorboards creaked from the staircase above, behind the pair’s backs. Each dull, consecutive thud, a tell-tale sign of approaching footsteps, until the appearance of a woman in layered robing of different colors descended into view, as if even mentioning her had summoned her presence. Her auburn hair was as neatly groomed as the first time Latro had seen her, but her presentation was as immaculate as ever. Aries looked over towards the pair with sharp and discriminative appraisal. She had overheard a few words being shared -- nothing in particular aside from a few choice words, but a few name drops and her own mentioning, and suddenly her interest was piqued.

“Latro,” she began, the steady calmness of her words was lifted slightly with a tinge of curiosity, contrasting with the stern expression of her face as her hand glided down the railing, “is this a friend of yours?”

Her foot finally met the ground floor, but she stopped there, opting to simply lean against the bannister and inspect the pair from a distance. A keen eye would’ve noticed that her sights were actually locked onto Gregor, but that being said, she continued to speak to Latro. She said, “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised. Would you introduce me?”

Gregor had been about to respond to Latro’s words about leaving the city behind after retrieving his paramour when Aries appeared, and the sound of her voice left him unable not to turn his head to look at her. A beautiful woman with eyes and posture that radiated authority looked down upon them from the steps of the stairs that led to the second floor. He saw in her gaze that she was a woman of strength and Gregor thought back to what Latro had said about her; fiery. He could see that, even if she was being perfectly polite. Ignoring the twinge of annoyance he felt at being interrupted by, Gregor waited for Latro to introduce them and leaned back in chair. He used the time to size Aries up much in the same way he saw she was doing to him. Her robes could not entirely disguise her figure -- too voluptuous for a human warrior, and his eyes lingered on her hands for a few seconds. Soft, unblemished. Nobility of some kind, he figured, and he wondered what she was doing here.

“Janelle,” Latro nodded before he gestured to his comrade, “Gregor. He’s been my companion for some time now, we’ve been traveling together until… When did you and Raelynn leave the Hotel?”

He asked the question as if it was part realization that they hadn’t been there in some time. Then again, neither had Latro or Sora. “Please,” he gestured to a seat at their table for Aries- or Janelle, “Sit.”

“We haven’t been back since the 6th,” Gregor said with a nod before turning back to look at Aries. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Janelle.”

“Lariat. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Gregor...?” She greeted with a slight bow of her head. She let her words linger in the air for a moment to allow Gregor the opportunity to fill in the blank.

“Sibassius,” Gregor replied. “From Bravil.” He had mistaken the woman for an Imperial at first glance but with a name like that she had to be Breton. “You've heard of me, then?”

“Sibassius, from Bravil…” Aries echoed with a hint of familiarity, before catching herself in what seemed like a moment of being lost in thought, before ultimately shrugging it off as if it was nothing. In truth, she knew exactly where she heard that name before, but that wasn’t anything Gregor needed to know. She just greeted him with a cordial smile before riding up to the bar and gesturing towards one of the moderately priced wines on the shelf, saying, “Oh, just a bit here and there. Well, I suppose that’s too modest; you have a reputation which precedes you, Gregor. I understand it that you’ve quite a few war stories to tell in the fight against the deep elves. Would you mind sharing?”

Yes, I would, Gregor thought, but he kept that to himself. He cast another glance at Latro and decided that there was nothing else for it. “There were a few skirmishes in Cyrodiil before we came here but that feels like a lifetime ago. In Gilane, the only significant battle against the Dwemer themselves that I was a part of happened during something that started out as a covert operation.” He smiled wryly. He did not feel comfortable sharing the details of what had happened and he was still hoping that Aries would leave Latro and him to their chat. “But I’ve spent more time fighting their auxiliaries, truth be told,” he said and absent-mindedly rubbed the scar on his collarbone. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s it to you? What’s your role in all of this?” Gregor gestured towards Latro and vaguely upstairs, to where he assumed Sevari was.

“Oh, I’m just a merchant; an interested benefactor.” She replied humbly, bowing her head slightly. She continued, “But is that all there is to it? I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed. I have it on good authority that, like the meeting with Governor Rourken, some of your operations didn’t go… well, entirely according to plan, but I was hoping to hear a first-person account on Nblec’s death. Oh -- but what about you? You look quite worse for wear. What happened, if I may ask?”

“That’s what I was just telling Latro. You seem well-informed and you’re traveling with Sevari, so I’m going to assume you know who Zaveed is,” Gregor said and let the words hang in the air for a second or two before continuing. “I tracked him down yesterday and we fought--”

“Is he dead?” Aries interrupted, apparently eager to hear some good news.

Gregor exhaled slowly, averting his gaze while his fingers tapped away at the table. He looked back at Aries and the smoldering anger he felt was reflected in his eyes, like embers after a campfire waiting to roar back to life. “He almost was. I had mortally wounded him and was about to strike the finishing blow when someone intervened on his behalf. A stranger. I have not been able to ascertain who she is or who she works for. She poisoned me, hence the… scars,” Gregor explained and spoke the last word with audible distaste. “As for Zaveed, I learned later that he escaped and was nursed back to health.” He did not feel like mentioning Raelynn’s name.

“I see…” She said softly, he melancholy matching Gregor’s own. Her voice oozed with disappointment, and in her mind, it was a clash of trying to decide if she should peg Gregor as a repeat offender in the art of failure, or if he was determined to sabotage everything the insurgency stood for. Still, she maintained her composure. It was possible that there was still something to be gained out of this. As she began pacing, apparently deep in thought as she swiveled the wine in her cup in circles, she mused aloud over Gregor’s story. “It is hard to definitively say what nature of consequences your failure would bring unto us. On one hand, killing him would have done us all the favor of ridding Gilane of the Dwemer’s favorite toy. From my understanding, Zaveed is like a draconian surgical tool in that he has no delicacy in his procedures. If his masters wanted a precise operation, like a lobotomy, he would use a serrated knife.”

Then her pacing stopped, and she looked over her shoulder towards the pair. “On the other hand,” she continued, “killing him may have also compromised our mutual friend. It’s a delicate situation -- one that I would appreciate not being shaken. It’s not ideal, and you could say that I would prefer a scalpel that didn’t dull at the touch of flesh… but I’m grateful for everything I’m afforded.”

Annoyance flashed in Gregor’s eyes and he cocked his head at Aries. The way she said it was not unkind, but Gregor still almost winced at the word ‘failure’. It carried an implication more severe than he felt he deserved. Yes, he had set out to kill Zaveed and the Khajiit was still alive. That was not a success. But he had fought Zaveed in single combat and won. It was not because Gregor’s prowess had been insufficient that he had survived the brush with death and eternal damnation. It was because of the Redguard stranger, and… because of Raelynn. Hell, the whole encounter had been because of Raelynn in the first place, and here this woman sat judging him on the effect it would have on the insurgency and the fragile situation in Gilane.

“I’ve only just met you and I wasn’t previously aware of your existence, or your influence, or accomplishments -- if there are any. I am not affording you anything,” Gregor said sharply. “What happened between Zaveed and I was personal and not related to your objectives here. To presume otherwise is arrogant.”

“To presume I need anything from you is likewise arrogant. I wasn’t talking about you.” Aries replied matter-of-factly, challenging his accusation with her own. Gregor was getting defensive and seeing himself in her words; he wasn’t telling the whole truth. Feelings of impotence were a powerful thing, and she wondered if that was a recurring theme of his life, since he felt so challenged by her suggestions? How often was he left feeling helpless and what kind of stakes did he bring to the table? She allowed a brief pause, relaxing her shoulders and granting a moment for everyone to breathe and de-escalate. She gave the Imperial a knowing look and it was like the faint smile on her face told him that she was being entertained, like he was a mouse or ball of yarn being played with by a much larger cat.

“But that’s not what’s important,” she continued, “I’m more interested in the trend of your personal whims and the potential they seem to have with interfering with the well-being of everyone around you. They can hurt people. If the sour meetings with Zaveed and Governor Rourken were both the products of personal whims, then now I’m especially interested in the Nblec situation and why that had gone so awry.”

Aries made careful to keep Latro in her field of vision as well, gauging his reaction as well as Gregor’s. She wanted to give him something to think about; after all, the Reachman was supposedly there too, wasn’t he?

“It was a bad situation all around… Janelle.” Latro said, eyes hardening to remember it. To remember how it had all gone so wrong, so quickly. His hands covered in Calen’s blood, the fight, the retreat and desperately trying to move as quickly away while keeping Calen from dying. “It was dirty work. We did everything we could, we followed the plan, things went to shit.”

“You’re right.” Aries agreed, softening her tone. “I mean nothing by it, it’s just a source of frustration for many of us -- for you two, more than anyone, I imagine. It’s simply that I can’t help but wonder the details of how he could have possibly died when neither side, I assume, wanted him dead. I wasn’t there. I suppose I’m only trying to understand better through you. Perhaps we can talk about it another time, when the feelings are a little less… raw.”

Gregor sighed. “That would be best.” He had made a fool of himself by misinterpreting Aries’ words and by letting his temper get the better of him. Still, he felt like he couldn’t really be faulted for that. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he had almost died. “I apologize for my outburst, Janelle. I am… not well,” he explained, his voice soft, and he gave Latro a wistful smile. He felt like the Reachman would understand. He turned his gaze back to Aries -- he did not like the fact that she took an interest in him and his ‘personal whims’, as she called it. Engaging in such a conversation was unwise in his current state and, quite frankly, he felt like he’d done enough talking for one day. “I must get my rest. I have a lot to process. Please excuse me and have a good evening.”

Getting back to his feet made him wince. Gregor gave Latro’s shoulder a soft squeeze and Aries a shallow bow before making his way back upstairs, taking a quick detour to grab his meal before he shuffled up the steps, his knuckles white with the strength of his grip on the handrail.

“Farewell then.” Aries said, watching Gregor as ascended up the stairs. Even after he was out of view, she watched the stairwell like hawk for a few moments before looking back at Latro, her expression gentler than it was a moment ago.

“What about you, then?” She asked.

Latro shrugged, taking a swig of his ale. He didn’t answer for a moment, but finally, “I’m not sure.” He said, “I was going to wait here until I return to the Three Crowns. Would you accompany me?”

“Of course. It would my pleasure.” She replied, her eyes still occasionally darting towards the stairwell as if she was straining to see through the walls. She didn’t trust Gregor and Sevari was beginning to worry her, but she also didn’t know Latro. She returned her discerning gaze to Latro and, ever conscious of the men upstairs, chose to ask, “So, what is your story?”

“A simple one.” Latro offered his easy smile. It was a tale he told many times, a lie known to countless people he’d met over the years, a lie Aries would know now. “I was part of the expedition that most of us met on. When the Dwemer came, we were in White-Gold City.”

He frowned, “I was there,” he said, “When they filled the streets with dead.”

“You know then why they must absolutely be stopped.” Aries replied with a nod of understanding. When Latro collected his belongings, Aries withdrew some coins from a purse hidden in her robes, paying the tab for both of them and set the pace for their walk out of the room. “You also know that Dwemer occupation on Gilane isn’t as peaceful and bloodless as they want everyone to believe.” She continued. “No matter how they frame it, it’s still a hostile takeover. An act of war.”

“I saw that when my girlfriend was paraded through the streets and brutalized. When Gregor’s woman was brutalized.” He said, he downed the rest of the tankard in two goes, wiping his lips on his forearm. He saw Aries pay the tab but didn’t let his surprise show, “Even so, it’s not a war I’m going to fight single-handedly. I know the victories I can attain, and if I get Sora back, then… maybe that’s the end of my war.”

“Surely you know better than that.” Aries asserted nonchalantly. “They’re not going to forget or forgive, you must realize. They’re holding Daro’Vasora for a reason. Whether it’s as a lure or a tool, I can’t be sure, but she’s apparently valuable enough to them that they’ll want recompense if you manage to recover her. I promised I would help you, and believe that I will… but I’m also realistic.”

Latro nodded, turning to go for the stairs and to some rest. “Yea, well,” he said, pausing as he lay his hand on the rail, “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

“Speaking of… please spare me a few more seconds of your time.” She said, closing the distance between the two. She leaned in, her lips just a few inches away from his ear. Her tones were hushed and, while not frantic, were concerning. She continued, “Keep a few matches on hand. I know you don’t know who I am. I know you have no reason to trust me, but you can trust this: the circumstances are never as simple as they seem. I suspect there’s more to a Reachman’s story when he’s in the Imperial City, but I’m not so concerned about that.”

She briefly looked him in the eyes, and glanced towards the ceiling. She knew she was making a pretty big gamble on cluing him in on the fact that she didn’t have control over Sevari, whether only lately or the whole time, but also knew that if Latro was sharp, he might’ve picked up on it after the agent’s tantrum in the tunnel.

“You might think you can trust Sevari, but he’s presently not stable. Not as long as Zaveed and the other one are out there. Just be cautious about placing all of your faith on him alone. His loyalties might just waver when you need him.”

“Of course not.” He said, taking a few steps up the stairs, “It seems these days, I’ve been stocking up on matches. Farewell, Aries, we’ll speak soon.”

And he was up the stairs, to another restless sleep.