The night before was drowned in an aeriform mess of passion and wine. Sarel wasn’t even entirely sure if he’d preformed, and for that he was rather solemn as he rose the next morning, the flush of the grass drawing him into the world. He laid on a rough-hewn bedroll settled under a slanted leather tent. The cool sea-breeze rushed in on a parcel of air over the small cliff where Sarel had made his camp. The air rustled the nearby trees and blew black and white ash from a fire-pit near Sarel’s tent. The Elf tumbled from the tent, head fuzzed with a nightlong of wine, and armored himself. The sun was not yet risen but was beginning to cast a bright purple and slices of orange into the dark blue sky. Sarel collected this things, packed his tent, and set off down to the water, where he was to meet the crew. 

Everyone seemed to have made it, as Sarel counted the same number of people there had been before. And, there was the primary crew, the one’s who’d risked their lives to rescue Sarel from a prison. The Dark Elf remained to the side as Sharee began to speak. He felt a welling of warmness from his stomach but pushed it down, he allowed himself peace for now. He thought about the upcoming event, he thought of his training. 

Sarel was a child when his training began, about twelve; he was lanky and tall for his age, but not particularly strong. That changed quickly enough—just as Beilin had said, “Your arms are like straw, boy. But that will change, ha, that will change quickly enough!”
The two would spar under a vast gazebo somewhere in the wilds of Solstheim, Sarel couldn’t remember now. However, if he were taken there, if he were there now, he could find it easily enough. The ancient stone pillars were etched into his memory as clearly as the stances he learned under their endearing support. [i]*Crash, crash crash*[/i] went their blades in the cool dry air. [i]krumph, krumph, krumph[/i] went their chitin armor as they paced themselves around each other. Years passed by quickly as they trained in the wilds in the gazebo, soon Sarel was practically a man, and he found himself a warrior. But he was not bloodied, and he was not battle-scared, but he knew the workings of a fight like, almost, no other of his age. 

Sharee mentioned that those who wore heavy armor would go to the docks to provide reinforcement and defense. Sarel was used to controlling enemies on the battlefield, he was a blitzer, which fit the dock position quite well. Besides, his chitin armor was a little too heavy to be worth swimming in—now that Sarel thought about it, he’d need to get a good pair of plain leather armor. So, with that in mind, and seeing that Sharee had started speaking to one of the Bretons at her command, a pirate in his own right—Sarel could tell—, The Dark Elf walked down the road, with his right hand dancing over the hilt of his katana. 

In no time Sarel was on a small bluff overlooking the docks. He peered to his right just in time to see Sharee and the rest of the crew submerge. Sarel was quick then, he jumped from the bluff to the ground below him and dashed to the docks, he held his armor in all the right places to keep it from making any noise. Just as Sarel reached one of the many entrances to the dock area he saw Sharee climb over the ships bannister and take down a guard. Several of the other crew members on the docks came to life and drew their weapons, keeping the loading dock safe from any guards who thought to interfere. Sarel came to a jog as he unsheathed his sword, in front of him was a small junction where several guards had communed for a moment, perhaps it was a shift change. Sarel saw this as a perfect opportunity to strike. 

Sarel still felt the deep regret for needing to kill Imperial soldiers in order to complete this task. He wished he could pay Sharee back some other way, he wished they could steal a ship from some other damned pirate. But this was the way Sharee needed it to be, and if that was the case, so be it. 

Sarel was quick, he knew he had to be since he was about to bust up a close-knit four man party. His katana sliced through the first guards neck like butter, skin and bone and sinew eviscerated by the ebony tempered steel. The sword was as razor sharp as when Sarel sharpened it last, ten years ago. The guards head, and helmet, flew into the air, and ultimately [i]plopped [/i] into the water. He crumpled to his knees and collapsed at the feet of his peer. The guard to the right of Sarel went to grab his sword, his hand was freed from his arm in a bloody instant, the next moment Sarel drew his wakazashi from behind his back and stuck it into the guard at his left; [i]“hold that for me, won’t you?”[/i] Sarel thought but did not say. The one across from Sarel was quick enough to have his sword out, and ready to strike. It came down on Sarel with unexpected strength, to which the Dark Elf responded with his own strength. The swords collided between the men, the guard to Sarel’s left collapsed to the floor in agony with the wakizashi plunged into his rips. The gentleman on the right screamed in terror as his stump bled profusely, he tried to grab his sword with his left hand, he was having trouble. Sarel and the guard who was still intact traded a few sword blows, and then Sarel jumped back and spun in midair, his katana extended to his side. The intact guard was so no more. His guts hung from his side as a precise slice was able to pin point the most lethal course of action. Sarel stood from his crouched position, which he landed in after his spin, and stabbed the guard in his throat. There was only one capable guard left, and he fumbled with his bloody sword in his left hand. Sarel saw no use in killing this man. He kicked the guard in the chest and sent him into the water, to float next to his friends decapitated head. Sarel then turned his attention on the man writhing in pain on the floor. He removed his wakazashi and hit the man in the head with the handle of it, knocking him unconscious, and likely killing him if he didn't receive attention soon. The Dark Elf sheathed his weapons as he walked down the dock, toward the loading ramp, which was currently being defended by four crewmen, and being attacked by three guardsmen. The fight on the ship had turned messy, and people were falling left and right, Sarel couldn’t tell who was winning. He could see, however, that the loading ramp was indeed being defended, no matter how sloppily. The crew members were little more than bandit rabble-rousers, they were brutish and vile. They screamed as they fought, they had bloodshot eyes and their hearts were beating faster than they were. 

Sarel drew his katana once more as he approached the loading ramp, only two guards remained facing off against the remaining two crew members. Sarel cut one man’s leg, allowing him to be felled by a mace blow, and the other man was stabbed from behind, just under his armor. The two crewmen smiled at the Dark Elf and nodded their appreciation. Then their faces turned to stone, they were pallid and nervous and they looked a little like fools. Sarel turned to see an onslaught of soldiers pouring from the barracks located on the docks and running down the lane. Sarel sheathed his sword and faced the oncoming mass, he spread his hands out like waves and fire flowed from them like a fountain. The fire curled from his fingers and into his hands, Sarel smelled like the sweet-bitter aroma of magika, he was exuding the stuff. Soon giant balls of fire were settled in Sarel’s palms, he moaned loudly as he tried to remain composure with the vast amount of power welled in his hands. Tears dropped from the Dunmer’s crimson eyes as the strain bore on him. He eventually felt like the orbs of power were big enough, and unleashed them forth, just as a few guards passed by a stall jetting from the shore. One of the orbs exploded on the dock lane and blew it to bits. It’s wooden shrapnel flying into all directions. The other landed in the side of the stall, blowing a chunk out of the wall and setting it ablaze. Sarel drew his blade in preparation of the few guards who made it through, the dimwits next to him did the same. Before the fray began again Sarel looked over to the boat, Sharee was atop it, in her violent majesty. The Dunmer merely smiled and winked, hoping the Shadowscale would be able to see it. This was a signal of his confidence, because, as far as Sarel could tell, they would be able to pull it off.