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16 Rain's Hand, early morning, Rihad

Her eyes had barely left the horizon.

Marassa sat on the wooden docks out of her armour, her back against a shipping crate as the warm morning sun shone upon her fine fur. Telling Sevari to go home and to actually have him do it were two conflicting things in Marassa's mind, and deep down, she knew he was gone forever. It was twice now that she let him get away from her, this time there was no second chance. But what choice did she have, she wondered. She had thought that things may have changed between them after she rescued him from the Thalmor, that she might have a chance to make him see that choosing that woman for his wife was a mistake. But what choice did she have? Every time that man did something, he barely escaped with his life intact, and more often than not, he came back more and more broken. He was not going to traverse Hammerfell on foot, let alone be able to run with the lame leg. She trusted him to be skilled enough to survive most things, but she was no longer sure. Having him around was a mistake, a distraction. His conviction simply wasn't there any longer, and instead of focusing on what was important in stopping the dwemer, his mind and loyalties wavered between this land and Elsweyr, his family and those he had learned to love, this resistance or the companions he had helped two years prior. His resolve was tried, and it was found wanting, it's why he kept becoming more and more destroyed as the weeks went along. He had to go home.

So why did it hurt so much?

Marassa was done with this city, its people and the feeble insurrectionists who were fighting a losing war. She had distracted herself with its petty problems, and had no intention of dying for a lost cause. The more the insurgents pushed the dwemer, the harder they would shove back, often with devastating results. It wasn't unlike the Siege of Storms where the only way the Heroes of Tamriel and the Sons of Skyrim were going to put an end to the spell was to take the fight to the Imperial City and cut the head off the snake, so to speak. The problem was with the dwemer was the end destination was far more ambiguous; where does one start looking for the source of this particular problem? It was impossible to know if the dwemer were following the orders of one person or if it would even matter. This threat seemed to engulf the land like the ocean, formless, absolute...

Unstoppable.

It didn't mean she was going to give up on her personal mission, however; Zaveed was still out there, and it was her duty as his actually responsible sibling to get him home alive and keep him from killing himself. She couldn't quite decide why she still felt compelled to try and save him from himself; after all, she had repaid the irrational debt of her mere existence when she brought him home the first time, and even that was a ridiculous expectation she put upon herself since she was a small child. How long was she going to dictate her life by what she thought she owed other people? Trying to control Zaveed was a fool's errand and she owed the fool nothing, but still, he was family, and perhaps the only family she had left. If she lost him, just as she lost Sevari, what was left? What was life worth if you walked it utterly alone and isolated?

Enough. It's time to get to work.

Marassa had been relieved to have heard of Cub's survival, although it was perplexing that the guards had noticed him treading water out in the sea, the massive orc waterlogged and near drowned. What on Nirn had he been doing? Regardless, there was no questioning where Cub's loyalties laid, his devotion to Zaveed was absolute. Hralvar was a harder man to pin down, although the old Nord was hardly a man to be bossed around, he was a reliable ear and was of fairly sound judgement, even if his bias towards his High King and Skyrim perhaps skewed his opinions somewhat. She had not spent long the night before speaking to both of them, telling them simply to meet her at the docks in the morning. Whether or not both would show up was anyone's guess, but Marassa suspected they would. After all, the three of them, while hardly the closest of people, shared a bond from their journey two years prior.

The two arrived shortly afterwards, finding her easily amongst the containers. Her amber eyes regarded them both steadily. "We're leaving. Today." she said, looking back out to sea. "We've wasted enough time in this city for these people. We're going West, if you'll join me, to find my brother and perhaps find a way to end this madness." a pause. "It certainly is preferable than dying for a pointless purpose. I did not wander Tamriel for years alone to get killed in a war I have no stake in. What say you?"

Dying for a pointless cause. Cub's mind tried desperately to cling to the words as they passed, to find some grain of blissful distraction, of pseudo-reflection from his own voyage beneath the waves. Cub's mind tried desperately to shut out the details of his mission as it always had until Cub had had enough. "I agree. I understand. I mean, I understand you. That is to say, I understand the plan. And you now that I mention it. I didn't always. You were Zhaveed's blood and that was good enough for me. But now. I crossed all of Skyrim to find Zhaveed. Just like you. I follow your brother. I'll follow you." Well-meaning, if a bit bit ham-handed.

Cub crossed the creaking floorboards to wear his armour lay. Sliding into his second skin, Cub strapped his hammer to his back and placed Arbus' dragonbone around his neck for safekeeping. Ringing the dagger through the chains of his shackle, Cub hid the Dagger safely in his glove. No need to bring it up now. Perhaps Gorzath would know more later.

Then Cub had a thought. Stuffing one glove would leave him uneven. Besides, between the four of them, they'd need food and drink. Havalar's fire might be useful but Cub doubted Summon Banquet was in the old mage's repertoire...

Hralvar folded his arms, shifting underneath his cloak.

"Fine by me if we're leaving. Should we head out now?" He asked, while privately harboring his own doubts about their mission. How exactly were they going to end this? Unlike the Siege of Storms, there was no central target to kill. Even if the Dwemer had a centralized leader, killing him would no doubt only enrage them. From what he could see, practically their entire race was chomping at the bit to take their revenge on Tamriel. But alas, all that was outside his particular purview. He was a battlemage, not a scholar. But speculation was pointless. All he could do at this point was fight and support those that he had fought alongside two years ago. War and Sovngarde were all he had left to look forward to, after all.

Slyly giggling to himself and his own genius, Cubfinally finished filling his free gauntlet with as many gold and jewels as he could. Reunited with his armour and a few hundred gold heavier, Cub looked back to where Marassa and Havalar had been standing. "Ready when you are, though shouldn't we wait for Sevari?"

After Cub inquired about Sevari, Hralvar winced at the question before speaking up.

"Sevari...well, he can't exactly fight anymore. Took a lot of injuries. He won't be coming with us." Hralvar said to Cub. Technically, nothing he said was a lie, if he'd understood what little of the conversation he'd heard between Marassa and Sevari correctly.

The old Nord turned back to Marassa.

"Well then, shall we be off, lass?" Marassa couldn't help but smile at Cub's clumsy navigation of words. He was earnest, excitable and seemingly happy to be going about his own personal journey. He paid Marassa a backwards compliment, more or less saying that because she was blood with Zaveed, she was worth following, as opposed to trusting her for her own merits. It was something, at least. At least she didn't have to wonder too deeply at what was going on inside of Cub's substantially large head.

With the two men in agreement, the trio had split up for the time being to gear up and arranged to meet up at the docks in ten minutes. After the group reassembled, Cub jumped right into the obvious question, pondering Sevari's whereabouts. It might as well had been a dagger at that point. Fortunately, Hralvar's quick response saved Marassa the awkward, difficult reply. She looked away for a moment, inhaling a deep breath. She'd have to thank the old man when they had a moment. She really wasn't sure how Cub would handle the truth.

She still wasn't sure how she was handling it, either.

Marassa tightened her armour and sword concealing cloak around her shoulders. "Let's go. I had a good enough run of the city before the excitement all happened, I am fairly certain I can get us out, but we do need to get to the stables." None of them had told the others what was going on, but it wasn't uncommon for people to come and go from the warehouse; it would be easy enough to explain to any curious faces that they were sent on an assignment by another member of the insurgency. They'd be long gone before anyone had time to verify their story. As the three unlikely companions walked, Marassa spoke. "We won't have an easy time making the journey on foot, especially if we need to get off the roadways quickly. We need to take the horses, whether that be from purchasing them or stealing, and flee into the forests on the outskirts until we can plan our next move. Until then, we need to gather supplies for the road, bed rolls, water, food, tinder boxes, maps anything that we can use on the road and away from prying eyes... this will be the easy part.

"The hard part will be following the coast and reaching another port. If we can find a smuggler in Taneth, the next city down the road, we'll be able to charter our way to the West. If Zaveed and the others have been seen, there's likely rumours about them, which are good enough to begin a search. But until then, we need to be able to move without being caught by the dwemer. Doubtless they have every major bridge guarded." she paused. "Don't let me ramble. I'm open to ideas." she said, casting the two men a look. As the trio departed the docks, Cub hid his small smile. So, Sevari was too wounded to travel. Good. Cub hadn't forgotten how Sevari had murdered his friend to acquire this illustrious bit of real estate. He wanted the damn warehouse let him keep it. Rihad's blood was on his hands and Cub would have nothing else stand between him and finding Zhaveed.

Cub sighed at the thought. Despite his violent streak, Zhaveed has always trusted Sevari. There was no time to waste, but he couldn't just leave him there to burn with the rest of Rihad. What was the point of being strong if he left the weak to die? No, this wasn't right. He wouldn't just lea-As Marassa turned her gaze to he and Havalar, Cub realized he'd not heard a word she'd said. This was nothing new but cub cursed himself once more for getting lost in his own head.

"Damn it! I'm sorry, could you repeat the plan? I was thinking of Sevari. I could carry him you know. Since he can't travel I mean. I just...I don't think Zhaveed would want me leaving him like thi-..."

"It does not matter what Zaveed wants in this instance!" Marassa snapped, pausing to inhale deeply and take a breath. She immediately regretted her outburst. "Things... can't be helped, Cub, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise. Sevari must walk another path, one away from us. He is needed elsewhere for something that's just as important as the undertaking we have embarked upon." she said, not believing the words she was saying. She was no stranger to keeping aloof and to herself, but she also never had someone with Cub's child-like inquisitiveness to contend with. It was trying, to say the least.

As was par for the course, Cub was perplexed. Marassa had always been high strung to be sure, but never without good reason. Or, good enough reason he reckoned. At least he was pretty sure there was reason. The more Cub thought about it, the more he kicked himself for his lackadaisical attention span. What did he really know about Marassa? She was Zhaveed's sister, that was first and foremost. She used a two-hander like him; there was common ground. She...she...hm. Maybe there was reason for her frustration. Did Cub really only consort with Marassa for her brother's sake?

"By Oblivion, would both of you relax?" Hralvar scowled as they headed towards the stables. "Cub, Sevari's safe now. He's headed home to his family to recover. Don't worry, he'll be fine." He turned to Marassa. "Let's just focus on the bloody goal: getting those horses. We can worry about what else to do once we actually make it out of here. One thing at a time, lass." The old Nord grumbled as he followed along. If he didn't step in, either Cub would prod too much and set Marassa off, or Marassa would scare the poor bastard out of coming with them. Or most likely both. "Now, how are we acquiring mounts anyways?"

"Right." She said, gritting her teeth at no one in particular. She normally wasn't so volatile, but the previous night's event was far more jarring and scarring than she cared to admit. She'd faced down death on numerous occasions and never flinched, but having the man she loved leave her once again, likely for the last time, was hard to take. You couldn't get hurt if you didn't let people close, which was her mistake. She wouldn't be making it again any time soon. She looked to Hralvar. "Simple. We take them before the stable hand knows what's going on. The dwemer and collaborators are dealing with an armed insurgency at the moment, so they're not likely to respond swiftly or with force to something as simple as horse theft. Of course, if we're caught, we're dead. Nothing out of the ordinary. We do need to chart our escape, however. I suspect it would be as simple as leaving through the front gates, given that I'm certain the dwemer have a check point in place. Unless the captain I met is still sympathetic to my status as Hero of Tamriel, I do not think we are like to find much leeway with the dwemer."

Pulled from his thoughts by Hravalar, the old wizard shed a bit more light on the situation. So, Sevari had left them to rot in the sun. That would explain why Marassa was so on edge. They were rivals. Without one against which to test your strength, one grows weak. Cub had forgotten that himself. So be it then. Marassa would need a challenge. A whet stone to grind away the impurities. The stench of bravado cutting the Khajiit's words short, Cub chimed in.

"If we're leaving, I suggest we do it now. Hravalar's fire, your fur, my strength; the cold will offer little more threat now than it would should we waste time gathering supplies." Cub's stomach grumbled in protest though his facade never waned. "I've enough baubles from the warehouse to buy us passage out of the city. Nothing blinds an eye like the glint of gold." Secretly feeling the gold in his glove, Cub hoped he had enough to prevent them being reported to the authorities outright. "We ride to the next port, camp for the night if we don't make it, and hire a boat to the West. Simple. Unless you think you have a better idea?"

Cub detested treating his friends so but it needed to be done. Cub wasn't strong enough to protect his friends yet so until then she'd need to defend herself. There was no use lamenting Sevari's absence but he understood she needed a friend. Who knows, maybe Cub would learn all those things he neglected for so long! Maybe he'd finally know Marassa the Khajiit instead of Marassa, Zhaveed's Sister.

Then again, maybe he'd just ask Zhaveed all that stuff later.

"If you think you have enough to pay off the stable hand, then that would be optimal. It still leaves us with the issue of getting out of the city, however." she paused. "Did you steal these baubles from the resistance, Cub?"

Cub tried to hide the flush on his green jowls at the accusation. It was true of course, but an accusation none the less! "I...took what was owed. They were more than eager to accept aid; it'd be a shame to leave them with a debt unpaid." At least he desperately hoped that was the case. Again, his penchant for half listening and wholly ignoring made it difficult to know who were helping whom. They did help help them rescue Hravalar but Sevari had let the Redguards use the warehouse as a hideout on more than one occasion. More things to ask Zhaveed, he settled.

Shifting his tone to one more aloof than guilty, Cub moved his words to prod his friend once more. "Common practice at the stronghold. You'd be surprised how many Khajiit 'miscount' their gold. Or maybe you wouldn't." Marching quickly on, Cub didn't want to be anywhere within striking distance lest his jab be met likewise.

Marassa offered Cub a rare, terse smile. "Good. I'm tired of being a tool for people I do not particularly care for. Whatever gets us closer to figuring out this dwemer issue instead of waiting for them to come kill us I am in favour of." she replied. After a few moments pause, Cub was presumably playfully barbing her, causing the khajiit to sigh. He really was like a persistent child. Maybe there was some roasting animal she could bribe him with, since it was probably the closest thing to candy Cub craved. "If a khajiit did not account for every Septim in their pocket during an exchange of goods, it's because they played the fool in favour of preserving their lives, or in some cases, to divert attention away from another member of their band who was as like to be pocketing something valuable elsewhere. We do not particularly loved merchant minded khajiit in Elsweyr as they believe in personal possessions and pot monetary gain above community. The caravans are rather poor representatives to my people, and the way they are treated by other cultures is what drives them to become thieves and killers. You wouldn't believe how foreigners look when they come into Elsweyr and see how things really are. Even despite the Thalmor occupation, our culture thrives."

She glanced over at Cub. "So you can secure us horses. Good. We all have identification that should get us through the gates, so that's part of it. The last we need is maps. I will purchase those, I happened upon a cartographer's store on my first night in Rihad when I was walking to clear my mind. Of course, I took a chair to the back and was swarmed by an angry mob for my troubles, given people here still aren't over the Thalmor invading Hammerfell. Apparently, a strange khajiit in Nord armour is the prime candidate for being a Thalmor spy. Such is the shit I must deal with." she said with a shrug.

"Yes. Well. They also smell bad."

Cub's plan wasn't exactly going as he'd hoped. Picking a fight with Marassa seemed to be harder than he'd thought given how often she returned to warehouse, one hand full of blood and the other healing magics. The more Cub thought about it, the more he noticed quite a few people must have been at her throat already. Maybe his wasn't the way to save her? No, it was his job to save everyone. Even the people he stole from... Hm. Cub walked a while in perplexed silence his brows furled in thought.

Okay. Being strong meant saving people. If he wanted to be strong, he'd have to save people. But you have to be strong TO save people. Or stronger than the people you're saving... So by taking the baubles the Warehouse was weaker. But that means Cub is stronger. So now he save them because he's stronger than them! As his brow eased back to normal and his tusks gleamed once more in his prideful grin, Cub quietly congratulated himself for thinking so far ahead. He'd have to remember to tell Zhaveed later; not only was he saving people, he was robbing them too.

Still jovial at wrestling with his thoughts and being the one who came out on top, Cub chuckled and pointed to the small hole in his dwemer centurion chestplate. "I can imagine! How well do think a wolf in Dwemer's clothing went over?" Cub nodded to the Khajiit. "Alright, I'll find us horses then and you a map. Try not to get lost on the way!" Giggling to himself, the would-be jester eyed the other's expectantly.

Name: Hyena Jack

Gender: Male

Age: 33

Faction: Three Snakes

Deity: Ghede Nibo

Skills:
Major Skill Set: All aboard! - Swords and Flintlocks, Close Quarters Combat, Acrobatics, Low-Light Adaptation, basically anything you'd expect of a practiced member of a pirate boarding party.
Minor Skill: Tag! You're it! - Between Jack's decades of playing keep-away with swords and his position as a

Striker [+]

Jack fights and moves quickly like the animals (and men) he hunts.
Minor Skill: I've got friends in low places. - Between Charbon's years on the job and the Three Snake's influence in Louisiana, Jack has contacts in every port.

Background: Born on a Haitian sugar plantation in 1778, Hyena Jack, as he'd come to be called, was born to a mulatto freedman and a field slave. without the boon of his father's white parentage, Jack was treated as any other slave, growing and working alongside his mother and others while his father served in the Big House. For thirteen years, the young boy's days were spent stripping and chopping sugarcane and his nights learning of his people and the Lao.

In 1791 the Haitian Revolution began. Tensions had been high for sometime as slaves outnumbered their owners 10:1 in most places for several years leading up to the rebellion. As a House Slave, Jack's father was ordered to aid in the defense against the rebellion. Familial bonds were a strong facet of slave community and, as such, rather than defend his masters and put down the family who had raised his son, Jack's father used the time before his betrayal was discovered to smuggle his son off the plantation. With only vague instructions or indeed knowledge of why he needed to flee the island, Jack stowed away on a ship still in port.

Used to little food and impoverished conditions, Jack managed to hide away three weeks off rats he had caught and rainwater that trickled from the main deck before he was found by the ship's quartermaster attempting to steal from the food stores. Whilst being dragged topside, Jack bit and clawed his handlers until he finally broke free. Using his small form and years worth of muscle, Jack climbed, dipped, dodged and scurried the length of the ship and back again evading recapture until the captain had had enough.

Captain Jean-Jacques "Charcoal Jack" Charbon and his ship the Dog Headed Whore were known for crass humor and seeing potential. Most times this equated to noticing a particularly under protected caravan but this time such keen eye proved arguably more useful. Amused but, more importantly, impressed by the youth's antics, the captain took on Jack as his cabin boy. With no name of his own, Jack was christened in his near benefactor's honour. To commemorate the fact humour was the only reason he'd live another day (more likely though a jab at the boy being "darker than Charcoal") Hyena Jack was born.

With nothing to go back to, Jack threw himself into his new position though he lacked his father's dandy love for waiting on his betters. Jack's break wouldn't come for another two years at sea. Pirates by trade, Charbon and his men had made more than a few enemies in their time and, as such, often found themselves under attack.

Often either these battles went in Charbon's favour or his crew would simply flee around the larger navy vessels which hunted them. One such occasion though escape was not an option. Pinned near a reef of the coast of Barbados with no chance to win an open firefight, Charbon had his men load the cannons with great large hooks.

As Charbon and his men traversed the ropes unto the enemy ship, Jack saw the Naval soldiers cutting the ropes from the hooks. Thinking quickly, Jack climbed Charbon's ship's remaining mast and swung across to the other ship. While no way experienced in combat, years of hacking sugarcane meant he knew his way around a knife. Bounding and leaping through the chaos on deck, Jack drove a dagger into the soldier's neck before helping the remaining half of the crew up from the ropes. With the full strength of Charbon's crew and Jack's skirmish of darting attacks, the Dog Headed Whore lived to sail another day.

Proving a useful member of the crew, Jack was appointed to the position of Striker, hunter of man and beast alike both on land and sea. For almost two decades now Jack has sailed with Charbon and his crew hunting, fishing, boarding, sneaking and genuinely living up to the family name. Now a man in his early thirties, Jack is as Charbon has always been: a lover of women, a taker of lives and a sucker for a good joke.

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