The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep (IC)

[Psyker Landshark]

Hralvar had no chance to make a move against the ogres, given that everyone else that had charged against the beasts were too close to them for the old Nord to risk slinging spells at. Thanks to the risk of friendly fire, Hralvar was forced to wait out the ogres' deaths before the group began speaking with the Imperial Legionnaires once more. As some fool woman tried to throttle Zaveed, Hralvar raised a hand glowing with magicka and began to heal Gorzath's wounds before they inevitably moved out again.

"Brilliant work, Gorzath." The old man drawled as he healed the orc. "You just had to charge that ogre. Did you forget you had magic?"

With that done, Hralvar followed the motley group of heroes and other assorted misfits as they made their way towards the Legion camp.

___

As they walked towards the camp, Hralvar found himself lost in thought. He had heard what the Breton Legionnaire had said to Zaveed. Skyrim, his homeland, was reportedly being devastated by the dwemer. By all rights, it was his duty as High King Rogvir's court mage to drop what he was doing and make his way back to Skyrim to serve his liege. And under normal circumstances, he would do so without hesitation. But this was an unparalleled threat on par with the dragons. If the dwemer had butchered the Legion's finest so easily, what use would one more mage be on the battlefield? If he went along with the Legion's plan, he would at least have the opportunity to find a possible weakness in the dwemer; something that would turn the tide against the cave-dwelling bastards.

"By Talos..." The Nord groaned, rubbing his temples. What a choice. By rights, the only logical solution was to find a weakness in the dwemer first, but Hralvar couldn't find it in himself to simply abandon his king for the moment. The battlemage sighed, deciding to at least hear the Legion's plan before making a decision. If it was particularly stupid, insane, or simply likely to get them all killed, he would make for Skyrim.

[Captain Jenno]

As glad as Burkswallow was that he'd managed to catch up to the group, and retrieve his sword in the process, he didn't seem too enthused about the prospect of remaining part of the team whilst inside the Imperial Camp.
His first encounter with these Imperials hadn't been a result of a mutual hatred regarding ogres, like the majority of the group: He'd first met Quintus when attempting to retrieve his sword.
His sword.
At spear-point.
That said, he didn't fully begrudge the gentleman that- As Zaveed had said, Burkswallow was a thief that was quite hypocritically indignant about his property being taken- And Quintus had been kind enough not to impale him on the spot for his accusations of theft.
Still, he wasn't all that fond of the circumstances. And so, when the rest of the group went off further into the camp, Burkswallow diverged onto his own path.
... only to be promptly yanked out of sight, and into a space between two fences.

There were a lot of things that went through Burkswallow's mind at that point, most of them curse words and a few of them blasphemies.
But the thing that echoed through his mind loudest was probably "By the nine, I just cannot catch a break."
It wasn't hard to guess what was happening: Nocturnal was working her magic, and now Burkswallow was going to be beaten to death by an orc in a unitard.
Or torn a new one, ripped asunder by an anthropomorphic mudcrab with a vendetta.
All these things and more flashed before his eyes, a million gruesome possibilities about how the (not very) legendary Burkswallow, (not quite the) thief scourge of Skyrim, met his grizzly and untimely end.
With all this on his mind, it was all the more shocking that what he saw wasn't a pleasant surprise: Somebody he knew.

Bethalda Leatherhide had never been a very punctual woman. Nor a very good thief, for that matter. Celebrities, living legends and royalty: She'd been late to rob them all, and had still never reconsidered her career options.
Burkswallow had known Bethalda for as long as he'd been associated with the thieves guild: And that had been a most unfortunate turn of events, because neither of them liked each other very much at all.
Bethalda was the sort of woman you heard of only in tales of woe, told by unhappily married men in The Bannered Mare on a Morndas night: With a stature that could have made a giant blush.
She stood at roughly seven and a half feet tall, and wore but only the very basics of leather armour: A pair of very unrestrained shorts, and a tight leather tunic, through which any careful eye could still make out the outline of her abs.
Her hair was a messy black, greasy and long- And her face covered with mottled scars, the results of jobs that had gone wrong, and bar fights that begun with glass bottles and ended with coffins.
She was also, apparently, an Imperial: However, her incredibly muscular form, and the fact she probably had more facial hair than Burkswallow himself did (a fact he was semi-ashamed to admit), would have suggested she was literally the most Nordic Nord this side of Skyrim.
Had you said that out loud, however, she most likely would have broke your nose- Just as she had Burkswallow's in the past. Quite a few times.

One thing scarier than when Bethalda was angry, however, was when she was happy instead. But there she stood, her hands firmly on Burkswallow's shoulders, grinning at him with those crooked, rotted teeth of hers.
This was going to be fun, alright.
"... Bethalda."
"Burkswallow! Long time, no headbutt."
"No head-?"
Crack.
In a flash, Bethalda had smashed her cro-magnon skull into Burkswallow's, and sent him sprawling. Then, as he was watching the stars spin around his head, she grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him back to his feet.
"Hey Burkswallow! Still there?"
"Steal her? I don't want to steal her, she's awful..." he murmured dreamily, his head spinning and his eyes undilated.
She gave him a gentle shake, and then struck him across the face, bringing him back to his senses.
"Och, damn it! What the hell was that for?!"
"That's for not saying hello."
"Are you crazy?!"
"What's that, you want more? I always had a hunch you enjoyed a little bit of pain, but-"
Burkswallowed raised his hands defensively, "No more, no more! I yield, damn it."
"Good old Burkswallow! I can always rely on you to back down when a woman's involved," she let go of his collar, and he dusted himself off.

"Wait, you're a woman?"
Bethalda snarled and motioned to headbutt him again, but Burkswallow weaved around her, and planted one foot firmly into her back. Then, he toppled her over, and stood on top of her.
"Oh, how the tables have turned."
"By the nine! Get off of me! You're going to break my back!"
"You're one to talk! You could make a mammoth blush."
"If you get off of me right now, I might reconsider breaking your teeth and making you swallow them."
"I don't like those odds," Burkswallow drew his rapier, "I'd much prefer to ensure I didn't get headbutted again."
There was a long silence, and Bethalda sighed heavily, almost causing the ground to rumble with her efforts, "Fine. Get off'a me and I won't attack you."
Burkswallow grinned, and re-sheathed his sword before jumping off of her back, "I bet you say that to all the boys."
"Only the ones I don't hate. And you."
"So, me and your husband, then?"
"Who said I didn't hate my husband?"
"You're a real compassionate woman, Bethalda. Real compassionate."
"Well, we can't all have your sleazy charms, Burkswallow."
"It's called the gift of the gab, and if you had half an inkling as to how a real thief operates, you'd use it."
"Are you calling me a bad thief?"
"You rob people by holding them at knife point, Bethalda."
"... yeah, alright."

Slowly, Bethalda got to her feet, and clearly considered attacking Burkswallow for a moment, before her shoulders sagged in defeat, and she folded her arms expectantly.
"Ask away."
"Okay. What the bloody hell are you doing outside of Skyrim, for one? Spying?"
"The guild hasn't received any updates since you left Anchor. They sent me to make sure you didn't Burk it up."
Burkswallow put a hand to his chest, clearly offended, "Is 'Burking it up' a thing, now?"
"Oh yeah, definitely. If anybody is incompetent lately, we say they Burked it up."
"Incompetent? I'm a damned good thief, tree trunk arms!"
"Well, you did let somebody ransack your entire home for all of it's valuables."
"Yeah, you guys, you guys did that. My friends robbed me blind."
"Wow, that's terrible. You shoulder consider getting new friends."
"Believe me, I'm working on it. Now, what do I have to say to make you go away and leave me alone?"
"Well... what happened? Our informant in the the Imperial City hasn't gotten back to us on you."
"Ah, right. Yeah, he's probably dead."
"Oh, well that's perfectly reason- What?"
"It's a long story involving dwemer and my incredible heroism. The stories Sweeps-Much-Dust would tell you-"
"Sweeps-Much-Dust? The argonian Sweeps-Much-Dust?"
"... well, it's hardly a Nord name-" Burkswallow covered his face protectively, "Imperial! I meant Imperial name!"

"You met Sweeps-Much-Dust? What the hell happened, where is she?"
"Why the hell do you care?"
"She's a wanted argonian, Burkswallow! The guild wants her head on a platter."
"What? Why? Isn't that the Dark Brotherhood's routine?"
Bethalda looked around awkwardly, "It's because of her dad, Steals-The-Nails. He-"
"That is an awful name."
"... He made bad enemies in the guild. He used to be a pretty spectacular thief, but then he tried to steal the crown of Barenziah right out from beneath our noses. We killed him, and his family is marked- Anyone related to him has to die, they could already know where we're hiding, where the crown is."
"Really? Hell."
"Where is she? Did she escape?"
Burkswallow hesitated, and then put on his best face of remorse, "She... died. We tried escaping from a sewer and it collapsed on her. She didn't make it."
Pausing for a moment, Bethalda put her hands on her sides, "That simple huh? Well. I guess you're the man who finished off Nails' line- I'm betting the guild will have something lovely and shiny for you to take home with the rest of your stuff."
"Yeah. Anyway, since we're done with the... pleasantries, will you leave me be?"

Bethalda paused, and then shrugged, "Sure. My carriage is waiting nearby anyway."
"You stole a carriage?"
"What? No. The guild supplied me with it. Why?"
"I got a horse on it's last legs and you got a carriage?"
"Well, of course! They weren't gonna make me walk after sending me over here on that lovely little ship."
"I had to hide in a cargo crate for days, and you got a ship ride?!"
Bethalda blinked, "Wow. We really screwed you, didn't we?"
"Get outta here! Out, shoo!"
Burkswallow made a shooing gesture, and managed to get Bethalda out of their little gap between the tents. Then, he slumped against one of them with his arms crossed, and murmured bitterly to himself.
"When I get back to Skyrim I'm going to burn her house to the ground."
The tent he was leaning on let out a groan, and so Burkswallow instantly straightened up, only to have a cleverly stashed purse of septims fall from the tent's roof, and hit him in the head.
He winced, "Damn it, Nocturnal!"
Grumbling, he looked down, before beaming and picking the purse up. He weighed it in his hands, and then threw a thumbs up to the sky, "Oh hey, you're cutting me some slack! I knew you weren't all bad..."
Slowly, he opened the purse- and then tossed it to the side just as quickly, as a dying slaughterfish slipped out, and bounced around, heaving it's last breaths and snapping violently at the closest thing it saw- In this case, a tent pole.
Burkswallow grunted, and winced as he climbed out of the little gap and back into the camp, "Who would even keep one of those?"

[Dervish]

Levi clasped his hands together, rubbing them. “I don’t expect things to stay quiet for long, my orsimer friend. There will come a time in this mission that raw strength and irrepressible will are what will be required for success.” He smiled warmly at Gorzath. “Think of it this way, the stealthy among you are the stagehands that set the stage and make sure everything’s in place while you,” he pointed to the orc warrior. “Will be the star attraction that the public sees. Others such as Zaveed and Sevari will be more ideally suited to capture the airship and assassinate the officers through quiet feet and sure hands, but there’s simply no way around not drawing some attention when it comes to freeing the population. The paddocks that hold them may require more than a little strength to defeat, and you will be the face the people see when the door opens, as well as you may be required to put yourself at considerable risk if it comes to fighting. If the others do their jobs, you should face little trouble. It’s not a large detachment of dwemer, not like the likes that sacked Imperial City or are running amok the snows and sands of the North. Chorrol is an outpost, and the dwemer are arrogant. Ask yourself this; what is the usual result of men who are so enraptured by their hubris they underestimate their foes?” Levi asked. After a moment’s pause, he dragged a finger slowly across his throat to emphasize the point.


His gaze turned to Elayna, and a grin formed on his face. “I can see from what you carry on yourself that you’re an alchemist. You may just be instrumental to solving a biology riddle for us…” he raised a finger, a gesture to allow himself a moment to be excused. He turned to the shelf with the tattered, bloodied journals and lifted a couple veils. He carried these over to the young Breton woman, setting them beside her cup. “I am uncertain of the contents of those vials, but the story goes something like this: An alchemist in Bruma was caught off guard by the dwemer invasion and lacked the time or experience to respond accordingly, but was uncontent to sit idly by. The Nord woman, fiercely proud of her people’s history, scoured her tomes for something that she could use to combat the dwemer. Using mostly easy to obtain ingredients plus a few of her select stock, she concocted these poisons.”
The Breton man continued. “Playing the role of a subservient woman, this alchemist did not draw attention to herself as the dwemer began to occupy the city. While most people were rounded up and detained, the dwemer are fond of slavery and took a few meek souls for their amusement and to do their bidding. Despite the beatings, abuse, and other unpleasantness I shall not mention in polite company, this woman persevered until all her pieces were lined up. One particular day, her routine saw her going between all the buildings the dwemer commandeered for themselves, and it was her chance. Just a few drops here and there, into water, into food, potions, their armour and boots, and it was more than enough. Almost like a wildfire caught, all the dwemer who came into contact with this poison died a rather quick, painful death. While others came in contact with it, men and beast races merely became sick from exposure to the poison. All mer, dwemer or not, who came into contact with it shared a similar fate as their oppressors. Ysgramor himself would have loved to have these, I’m sure. Probably would have coated Wuuthrad with it because history likes to remind us that he hated elves more than he loved everything else.


“What I need you to do is to see if you can determine what ingredients are present in that poison, and see if you can begin to produce ample quantities of it. It will be one of our secret weapons against the dwemer. You’re unfortunately the first alchemist who has made it to camp so far.” Levi said, returning to his seat. “Which brings us to how we’re going to defeat the dwemer without covering ourselves with a neurotoxin and throwing ourselves at the dwemer. While their armour is nearly indestructible from conventional means, you may have noticed that the dwarves tend to favour technological prowess above anything else. Dwemer simply do not field mages, and those who are mages are often shunned by their people, believing it to be a thing of the past that should be eradicated. As you may have witnessed, they have a reason for their hubris; we simply don’t have a counter for the machines of war they have brought to bear on us. However, despite how sturdy their armour is, it turns out it is very conductive to destruction spells, not unlike steel plate. This very property of the alloy they make mostly everything out of is a crucial aspect for their technological breakthroughs. It really is a wonder metal, but despite its resistance against physical force it does quite a lovely job in conducting extreme temperature changes and electrical currents. It may be a reason that the dwemer tend to frown on mages in their own society; it’s simply not fighting fair.”


He shifted on his seat, resting his elbow on the arm and his chin on his fingers. “Which brings me to my point. Obviously, not all of you are quite proficient at slinging around fireballs and ice traps. What we do have is an enchanter in the camp who has been providing enchantments to the resistance for nominal fees. Mainly, bring him soul gems and anything that can make his stay here comfortable, and he will make sure your weapons are more than adequate for fighting the dwemer. Even if the charge becomes depleted, the under armour under the plates is a much softer, flexible metal. If you can go for joints and other ‘soft spots’ you may be able to get through. And one final thing; If it’s automated, take out the soul gem if possible. It will stop their machines dead. As far as we can tell, all of their mobile equipment and machines are powered by soul gems. Getting to them, however… may be a tricky proposition.” The Breton said with the understatement of the century.


“No, I can’t…” Isabella said suddenly. “I… we can’t do it. I’m not a big brave hero like the people at this table are being made out to be and I can see why, but…” the Imperial woman said, before pausing and composing herself. “I’m not made for that kind of life. This armour I’m wearing? I had never an occasion to wear it until yesterday. When those ogres came, I didn’t stand and bravely fight them. I hid up in a tree and shot a few arrows.” She shook her head, feeling very much out of place in the comfortable market world where she had been among the upper crust of society. “Rena and I will not be going with you. We want to help, but if we go to Chorrol… we’ll be holding you back. I am so sorry.” Isabella said with difficulty. Rena made to protest.


“But Auntie! They’ve kept us safe, we’re alive because of them! I want to go with Zaveed and the others, I can help.” She pleaded, no lack of conviction in her voice. Isabella placed a firm hand over Rena’s.


“It’s not our place. We can help here, there’s no shortage of work to be done and not all of it has to be done with steel in hand.” Isabella said, looking rather glum. “I’m sorry, all of you. We owe you our lives but we’d be a liability. Rena and I are shopkeepers, merchants. Not great warriors and mages that the stories are written after. We know our place in the world, and it isn’t going to Chorrol.” She rose from her seat, and a guiding hand nudged Rena to do the same. “I do hope to see you all again, truly. I believe in what you are doing, more than anyone. I…” she turned her head, emotions surfacing. Isabella looked embarrassed. “Please, excuse me. I will see you off when you go, but I should retire for now. Come Rena, let’s leave them to it.”


“Damn.” Zaveed said quietly, under his breath. The khajiit watched the two Imperial woman leave, and he smiled sadly as Rena cast him one last forlorn glance. He massaged his temple with a pair of fingers, knowing that Isabella was right, but not liking it. People who left his company tended to stay gone. There were many from two years ago he had no idea of their fates, Semedar, Cub and Shavi came to mind in particular. Zaveed looked around the table. “So, our friend brings up some relatively decent assurances. Shall we depart in the morning, then? I’m sure the dwemer aren’t keen to sit around and wait, and I’m hardly a man to disappoint. We’ll formulate a plan in the morning, something more solid than the guess work we have now. For the time being, get fed, rested, and see to the services Levi mentioned.” The khajiit rose, adjusting the axes from his hips. “Is there anything else before we get to it?”

[OlNoSoul]

And now Sevari knew that it would be his place to finally play to his true strength. Open battle was something new to him for the past two years, he was too used to slinking around, killing guards and then stealing or killing what or who he needed. Finally, he would have a chance of getting back to his old ways and despite his protests of being here, he knew he had a family he had to protect, after all, the Dwemer would not stay behind their borders for long. He would welcome this challenge to see if the Dwemer hubris was earned or just assumed. He bowed his head to Levi after he mentioned Sevari and Zaveed's role in Chorrol. When the Lycanthropic Legate retrieved a set of vials of some liquid, Sevari quirked an eyebrow, listening to the Breton's tale. A poison would do some good in this fight against a foe so heavily armored. Sevari turned to Isabella as she voiced her resignation from the group. He held nothing against her, understanding her predicament and nodding his goodbye at her retreating back as she exited the cave, though she admired Rena's courage in such a trying time where even her elder was faltering, perhaps it was just a wanting of being near the Heroes but it was refreshing, all the same. He wished them luck, they would all need it.

As for the weapon enchantments, Sevari would visit the enchanter as soon as he could. They would need to procure soul gems first, which Chorrol should have in abundance from the Dwemer garrison there. Sevari simply nodded at his friend's instructions of getting much needed food and rest. He decided to do just that, wasting no time in finding himself out of the cave and into the camp to walk among the tents. He stopped by a fire where food was being prepared like many of the other fires were being used. He took a bowl from a pile of dishes so the people tending the stew could spoon some out for him. He held out his dish with a warm smile, "May I join you in eating, friends?"

Much to his disappointment, surprise and chest pain that only emotion could cause, many of them turned away, some even glaring at him and he was sure he heard the word fraud being whispered from one among them. He opened his mouth to say something but shattering whatever hope the people had in you was something a simple apology could never fix. He simply frowned, looking away and placing his bowl back in the pile to see himself away from the group, wandering somewhat aimlessly until he heard the small footsteps of a child behind him, closing in fast. Expecting a stick to the head or a rock thrown in his face, maybe even a mocking face, he saw a girl with blonde hair and somewhat vacant eyes that were slowly turning cold and steely, ones Sevari once had. He stopped and she followed, holding a bowl of stew in her two small hands. A few more seconds of looking at her and he finally remembered, the girl standing before him was the daughter of the woman he had saved back in the Imperial City. Perhaps, saved was giving himself too much credit, told them to run was more accurate, but she was alive. He looked once more into those stone-cold eyes of hers and he felt like a small piece of himself that he had left behind in that cave all those years ago had stumbled out and finally found him. He knew what those eyes had seen that had made them fade from full of life to cold and icy. He asked anyway, "Where is your mother, little girl?"

The child simply looked away for a few painfully long moments and his suspicions were affirmed. He, too, looked away before looking back at her. She was doing the same, he started to walk and she followed close behind, quickening her steps so she was shoulder to hip with Sevari as she looked at the ground she trodded over with her shoes. He sat down at the edge of the camp and gazed off at the vast tract of forest between them and Chorrol, soon he would be heading there to do whatever needed to be done, to reclaim his status as a hero of the people. The little girl hadn't talked at all since she started following him, nor did she eat the stew she held on to. Sevari looked to her, watching her stare at the broth and vegetables. At least he saved one of them. He sighed and looked back at the forest.

"They think that you're cowards," Sevari looked at her again, she was staring out at the same forest he was, "but they don't know how you saved me. They've forgotten what you did two years back, when I was littler. They forgot that you can die as easily as them."

The little girl shifted her eyes to Sevari after finishing her monotone speech and Sevari looked to her, his eyebrows raised, obviously surprised by words like what he had heard being spoken by a mere child.

"This is true." Sevari said, it really was all he could say.

"If those men the golden armor have my father in Chorrol, will you bring him here?" She asked, the slightest bit of emotion finding its way into her voice.

Sevari knew that only citizens of Chorrol would be held in the city and that her father was most likely dead but he couldn't bring himself to tell her that, "I will."

"Thank you, hero." The girl said.

She offered her bowl of stew to Sevari, inching closer with it when the Khajiit seemed to hesitate, "Go ahead, I've already eaten." Sevari lied.

The girl wasted no time in plunging her spoon into the broth and bringing it to her mouth. After a few mouthfuls she turned to Sevari, smiling faintly, "Liar." she said.

Sevari laughed a bit and shook his head, smiling after the laugh had left and he daydreamed with his gaze on the forest, his newest friend and probably largest admirer sitting next to him.

======================

Quintus sat on a chest in the Tribune's tent while Arturus stood with his arms crossed. The Altmer, Arrinel, leaned forward with his hands resting on the table, looking both men in the eyes. Finally, he spoke, "We're shifting assignments, the Heroes aren't to be tailed anymore. We need to make ourselves useful, somehow, and being the posse for a group of heroes isn't how. Chances are, Cheydinhal's already taken, we don't need scouts to tell us that. Tribune Hjaltr seems to agree and, with the permission of Legate Levi, I requested that we gather a force of four tent units and march their asses behind enemy territory to take back Cheydinhal and establish a connection between the Empire and the Great Houses," He looked at the flaps of the tent, beyond which stood the Tribune, "He told me that I was just another Altmer milk-drinker and corrected me. He wants to take two tent units of Legion Foresters and Legionnaires, respectively, put you and Arturus in command of it and lead them into Hammerfell to find out just how the hell the Dwemer are coming back."

Quintus looked at Arturus and the two held their gaze for a few seconds before Quintus shrugged, Arturus turned back to Arrinel, "Okay. When do we leave?"

"By tomorrow. I'm coming with you, we're also going to be taking one of them." Arrinel said, nodding to outside of the tent flaps, indicating he was talking about the Heroes.

"Oh, I know a guy. I'm sure he'd love to come along." Quintus spoke.

"Why do we have to take one of them with us? We should be able to handle it ourselves. I've fought vampires in a two month long conflict while feeding you information on the Dawnguard. I think I can lead a few legionnaires." Arturus protested.

"It's the Head Inspector's orders, came straight from him." Arrinel spoke, giving a small shrug.

"We'll do it. It'll be at least a month's worth of paperwork but, hey, fighting the Dwemer, it's something to do, I guess." Quintus said, in the process of changing into his usual simple garb, being a white shirt, cloth leggings and leather boots.

"It'd also help to smile every once in a while, Arturus. I think order and justice could afford a bit of a lighter heart than you put on." Arrinel joked, something told him that Arturus didn't think it was exactly all that humorous, perhaps it was scowl that seemed a bit deeper or the creaking leather of his gloves, maybe even the way he called Arrinel an unflattering name and saw himself out.

"An insufferable man, he is. Damn good inspector but not much in the way of conversation," Arrinel chuckled, "How do you manage to work with him?"

"You get used to it once you realize that's really the only thing you can do." Quintus said, buckling his sword belt, an Imperial sword dangling in its sheath from the strip of leather.

"About the hero. Why do you need one of them? We already have one of them on the Emperor's payroll, what's another hero?" Quintus asked, turning to Arrinel.

"We want another one on our payroll. The Head Inspector is really going for the gusto with his recruitment. I can't blame him, we've already lost half of our personnel in the field due to the uninvited guests at the festival and abroad. Until we get a courier or a pigeon from all of them, they're assumed dead." Arrinel said, sighing and sitting in the chair near the table.

"Seems harsh, doesn't it? Jumping to conclusions, is that what intelligence is about now?" Quintus said, sitting back on the chest.

"Its what we have to do. It happened to the Blades and it can happen to us. Besides, the Dwemer seem not to like taking prisoners if they don't have to. The Thalmor had the Night of Green Fire, I was there, but at the festival yesterday, that was something else. Anyways, you're both going with the Heroes to Chorrol, select whoever you want to bring in but I'm sure you've already made your choice, at this point. Just make sure to keep your eye on him until after Chorrol, we're bringing him with us to Hammerfell, whether his friends follow or not. We'll take him away whether he likes it or not, too." Arrinel said, yawning.

Tribune Hjaltr stepped back in, looking at the man the mer in his tent, "Milk-drinker," he nodded to the Altmer, "Inspector." He said to Quintus.

"I think you're a valued member of the resistance effort, too, Thalgrim." Arrinel spoke with a drip of sarcasm.

"Mhm." Hjaltr muttered as he studied the map of Tamriel on the table.

[Cairomaru]

The two brothers sat isolated from those in the encampment in silence for a few minutes. Finally one of the two broke the silence. "Are you going to tell me where the rest of our family is or not? It's been so long since I've seen or heard anything..." Qara'Sion stated as he turned his head to his brother. "I'm trying to figure out where to begin... guess, we'll start from what happened after you left." Mufasa responded back to him, keeping his head forward and his eyes looking straight ahead away from Qara'Sion.

"Well, you have a baby sister." From hearing those words, the younger khajiit's jaw dropped slightly. "Another one!? Gods, father must be the most fertile man alive..." Mufasa chuckled a bit from the statement, but didn't continue to speak. "Well, what's her name? where is she? With the others?" "No, In an... "orphanage". Her name is Karrma." Qara'Sion looked confused, from the slight pause and air quotes. "It was difficult, trying to find one that would take her, and take care of her well." "Where's the orphanage?""Skyrim." "Where in skyrim?" His brother groaned, it sounded more like a growl though. "Don't worry about where, if you found me, then you would come to learn that searching for her is easier."

Mufasa took a deep breath. "About a few years after she was born, Shenzi ran away from us while we slept. Couldn't stand our way of living anymore. Among other things, she didn't like that was happening." Qara'Sion opened his mouth to speak when Mufasa's sentence ended, but he spoke first before he could get a word out. "I don't know where she is. I haven't been able to find her and I had other things to take care of, so I couldn't go look for her." The younger khajiit's mouth was still open, but closed afterwards when his unspoken question was answered.

Another long silence took place between the two. Qara'Sion knew by now whatever he was going to say wasn't something he would want to hear. "Rihana is dead. She was murdered by a group of bandits." His brother finally told him, albeit in a rushed manner. If his heart didn't break already from hearing that Shenzi was classified as missing, it did now. Qara'Sion's eyes dropped low as did his head; his sister had passed. "How? How in the world could she have been murdered by bandits of all things?" He asked as he picked his head up again to look at Mufasa. His brother didn't speak, but he noticed his hand grip tightly on a chain on his side. "They were just stronger than your average bandits." "...He's hiding something again.."

Shaking his head slowly and mournfully, Mufasa exhaled another breath before moving on to the next one. "After Rihana died, Lissandra decided to leave the family of her own choice too like Shenzi, only this time the rest of us knew about it." Qara'Sion sighed feeling relieved that he didn't hear his eldest sister was dead, at least he hoped to the Gods she wasn't. "Lissandra is alive?" Mufasa didn't do or say anything for a few seconds, until he decided to nod. "I'm happy to hear it... I also miss saying her name. Such a strange one for a khajiit, but it was cool to say. Wonder how Mother thought up of that one." He said with a smile. Mufasa grinned slightly. "She probably took it from somewhere, she couldn't think of something like that herself." "Hey, Mother's pretty smart, she probably did come up with it on her own." The younger khajiit partially defended their mother, but his statement removed the grin from Mufasa's face. "So, where is she then?" "I'll get back to you on that one... it ties into why I'm here in this encampment."

Mufasa looked as if this conversation alone was draining him of any energy he had. "Then, after Lissandra left and it was just Mother, Father, Timoni, Karrma, and myself, life became harder, crueler. Mother and Father were greedy tyrants, Timoni and I couldn't bother ourselves to have any ties with them. You, Sion, were outcasted and probably dead. Rihana, was dead. Shenzi and Lissandra ran away. Out of their children as far as we and they knew, only I, Timoni, and Karrma were alive. And we were barely alive. So, me and Timoni took Karrma, and left the tyrants alone to themselves. That was two years ago." Qara'Sion was shocked, hearing the way Mufasa was speaking of their parents. Yeah, they did outcast him, but it was to better himself to not depend on them and to become strong enough to return to them. Right?

"A night when we were trying to find shelter to create, we ended up coming in contact with a small, but still threatening group of Praetorians. I accidentally set them off, and they chose to attack us. Timoni can fight, but not on par with them, so I had to protect her and Karrma." Mufasa added to his sentence, clutching the chain on his side. Qara'Sion heard the noise it created and looked down. He had the same unconventional, grotesque weapon he carried from even when Qara'Sion was a newborn. It was a long chain with a bladed hook at the end. The blade itself wasn't visible as it was in it's sheathe, but he knew what the weapon was. It must have taken years for Mufasa to learn how to use it. "Yeah, still kept the blade mother stole. Doesn't make as much noise as you'd think for sneaking around, and when it does make noise, it's fun to watch the paranoid expressions on people's faces. Don't worry, I carry a Scimitar when it's just too ineffective to really use." His brother joked, noticing Qara'Sion had focused on the chain. He definitely wanted to stop talking, to change the subject; Qara'Sion knew that, but after these years, he wanted to know what happened to his family.

"Anyway... we fought, it was Timoni and Me against three praetorians. We won. But... had I just stayed on my guard a bit longer, Timoni wouldn't have been killed." Qara'Sion's face turned to one of sorrow now. Another of his sister's was dead, another one he would never see again. "There was a fourth one, I don't know how in Oblivion I didn't notice him, and he bloody killed her. Best believe, I gave him an end an executioner would think was too much. I buried her, and found Karrma a place for her to live. I couldn't take care of her. Not by myself." Mufasa sighed heavily. The silence came again, and Qara'Sion had to hold back tears. He had waited, lived for so long to return to them, and it seemed like there wasn't anything to go back to for him anymore.

[Fallout]

Elayna listened intently, becoming a little surprised that Levi had called on her for a job. From the shelves, he pulled a pair of vials, filled with a foul liquid. He went on to explain that is was only lethal to mer, and made from easily obtainable ingredients. Sadly, she didn't believe that Levi knew what he was asking of her. She didn't expect him to understand, but the very thought of making something like this threw her family's values into the dirt. If the whole of Tamriel wasn't at stake, she'd have left a long time ago. After he had finished explaining, Elayna simply nodded and said, "Yes, sir. I'll see what I can do after dinner. I can't make any promise it will be done by tomorrow, however. I am, by far, no master. My teacher said I had a knack for botany, so we'll see how far that gets us." Elayna explained, and it was true. Her potions always came out better when natural plant material was involved. But this...what plant could cause this effect?

Elayna decided that then was the time to take her leave. "I'll get back with you later on. If you have any books on alchemy, any reagents, I'd be extremely grateful." Elayna had an inkling that they wouldn't have much, but she decided to ask anyways. "C'mon, Toad, chow time." At this, the red-and-white fox jumped down from her lap and yipped, commanding his master to follow. "Alright, alright, I'm coming bub." Elayna smiled and followed her true companion out of the room. While she would be loyal to her comrades, Toad was her family, her pride and joy. It may sound strange, but she'd protect him with her life. The little fox had gotten her out of a few situations, and really earned his keep with his skill at hunting mushrooms and fragrant flowers. There was no way Toad would be coming to Chorrol, and it would tear both of them up.

Outside, Elayna smelled the aroma of stew, and her stomach growled loudly. She briskly walked to the server, getting herself a bowl as well as a little cup for Toad. This took some heckling, but Elayna was able to persuade the cook. Her short time as a shopkeep had, for once, helped out a bit. The problem came when she tried to find a seat. A couple of stares shot her way, along with mutterings wondering why she was travelling with cowards. Some even remarked as to why she got to keep her "rat". Elayna could feel the blood heating her cheeks, and she was about to ice everyone there, when she made herself calm down. These people were talking out of fear and anger, best not to pay them any mind.

Elayna headed for a quiet corner of camp, so she could get to work. This was bound to be difficult, and she needed all the time she could get. Opening the sack of alchemic tools, she set up her alembic, retort, and calcinator. All would be needed to refine a poison of such power. As she poured one vial of the substance into the retort, she noticed it was slightly oily. Elayna took a mental note of this, hoping it to be a clue. This task would not be an easy one, at all. To pick apart the ingredients that made a fine potion was incredibly difficult. Another clue seemed to work it's way into her mind, as a slight floral aroma rode on the steam from the retort. A flower may have been used...but which? Nightshade? Deathbell? Yes, they were potent reagents, but their deadliness did not pick and choose. What was making the poison lethal to elves, and elves alone?

Frustration crept into Elayna's normally resolute soul, however this was a common ailment. Her hot head could get her in trouble, but this was different. Maybe if Dominus were alive, he could figure this out with no issue. It was true that he hated poison; "Never use the gifts of the Divines to kill" he'd always say. But his expertise was vast. Elayna paled in comparison, and when she was needed most, all she could do was run in circles, unsure of where to start. Not wanting to waste the poison or ruin it, she poured it back into the vial, marking it as "Experiment". The young woman buried her face in her hands, leaning against a rock at the edge of camp. She gazed at the setting sun, wondering if Dominus was ashamed of her committing what they both considered taboo, watching her from Aetherius. "I'm sorry, master. I'm sorry mother, father, Papa and Nana...forgive me." Elayna muttered, hoping no one could see her. Her tomboy-persona would be endangered, if so. Toad rubbed up against her, and she cheered up, just a little. This was for everyone who lost their lives to the Dwemer. If the poison could cripple them, Elayna would just have to hope her loved ones would understand.

The alchemist began cleaning her apparatuses, making sure to avoid contact with the toxin. No need to feel even worse. Packing the tools away, Elayna realized that maybe the journals would contain some information. Would the Nord woman have kept a journal, risked having the Dwemer find her coup de grace? It seemed a little unlikely. Most alchemists remembered their best works, like Elayna with her perfumes. They were some of the best in the Imperial City, and they took practice, but were still simple. Maybe the alchemist wrote down a clue, just in case? She figured that someone would bring her materials, and since she was exhausted from her healing earlier, Elayna sat down around a fire (with some folks who allowed her) and watched the Cyrodiilic sun set, ending another tragic day.