Just as the Khajiit expected, the battle did not end in the favour of those in Windhelm. They may have driven away the Kamal ground troops, but the barrage from the siege weapons were enough to take one's breath away in paralyzing fear. The Kamal were not interested in leaving their quarry, no matter how many times they halted their entry into the city. And judging by the state of the docks, and the casualties on their side, a third siege was likely to break through into the city itself.

And then they would find themselves at the mercy of the Gods and the Moons themselves.

"Azurah... have mercy on us." Rhasha prayed silently, head bowed and eyes closed as he tried to contact his Goddess; one hand clasped tenderly around the amulet hanging upon his neck. Not only were they in peril here, but he had heard rumours that something had happened with the Hist - if the Kamal had attacked Black Marsh, Elsweyr was not far from that coastline - already, a war waged in his home country. His eldest brother at the forefront of the North's armies, they marched upon Senchal, the southern most city, and the last stronghold of Pelletine.
Ripe pickings for any Kamal warship that happened upon them.

Rhasha'Dar did not receive any message or sign from his Lady Azurah, but he did not expect one - the Goddess rarely worked in such obvious manners. Rather, many believed the Gods helped those who helped themselves... so help he had.

Although no expert in Restoration magic, Rhasha was swift to depart from Leif and Sevine following the end of the battle; heading straight towards where many of the wounded lay. The casualties appeared to be all the worse this time around; possibly due to people having no fully healed from the first attack the day previous. He did what he could for as long as possible - brewing potions, healing what wounds he could, and bandaging or splinting those he could not. It was shocking to him how little time it took - there were either those who weren't badly hurt enough to actually gain use from his aid, those who were too far gone for him to help with, or the dead. With the latter two choices unable to gain anything from his magic, and his alchemical ingredients exhausted, Rhasha left the area where the injured lay, feeling exhausted. It was at this time he took to the city walls to pray to his Lady.

Brief plea for aid finished, Rhasha considered recording his thoughts down in his journal. should the Kamal attack again, the city would surely fall, and he would likely die... but Rhasha couldn't even bring himself to retrieve his things to write. He felt drained - not just in magic, but in stamina, and in mind. All he wanted to do was sleep for a very, very long time. However, in his silent wanderings of the city, he found that trouble still remained.

Surrounded by Sevine and Sagax, no less.

Approaching the group cautiously, he took several things into account; One, that a Vampire knelt in the center of the Dawnguard circle - crossbows trained on her, and both Sevine and Sagax, that stood beside her. Two; that someone had pissed Sevine off quite terribly - her stare reminded him quite chillingly of his sister's, when she had death on her mind. Three; Sagax had been beaten something awful. His face was a mass of black and blue, some parts swollen, other parts scraped. He also seemed to be leaning on a scabbard for support... obviously he hadn't fared too well in the battle. And if he felt as bad as he looked, Rhasha knew that if this came to blows, he wouldn't last very long.

Hoping that the Dawnguard weren't as xenophobic against living races as they were against the undead, Rhasha eased his way through the group, quite politely excusing himself as he made his way towards what was obviously the man in charge of this ring of death.

"Greetings," He began, offering up a smile towards the livid Dawnguard man standing before him. "You seem to be confused in picking your battles friend. The demons lay beyond the wall on the ships, not in here with us." Glancing at the Vampire woman still quivering on the floor, he felt a pang of sympathy. Although certainly biased when it came to certain monsters, this woman was hardly something dangerous. Well... not to her allies anyway.

"The main problem This One has found with Vampires, is that they are either evil, or mindless savages," Rhasha looked among the soldiers, making sure to make eye contact. More than a few were avoiding both his gaze, and the face of their once esteemed leader. Perhaps they thought their minds would be ensnared by her magic? Or perhaps they did not want to kill her, and avoiding her face seemed the way to make it happen. His golden eyes made their way around the circle, until they landed back on the man before him.

"But from what This One can see, this woman does not share either of those traits with the species she has unfortunately ended up as. If she were mindless, This One is certain she would have killed many or all of you already. And as for evilness? Friend, this woman could not be more opposite. Do you know the compassion it takes for a person to do what she did? Reveal her closely guarded secret to save lives - to save your lives, at the risk of her own. And This One is certain she would do it again. For you are her brethren... not the fanged beasts you so dutifully hunt." He finished, hoping his words had at least affected some of them. His voice had been low, and soft - no anger would aid this situation.

Although, thankfully for Sevine, her wrath had done enough to halt them in their tracks. If the Dawnguard did not listen to his more than wise words, Rhasha would happily take to arms alongside her. Because the last he remembered, murder was still outlawed in this city. And the killing of this woman would be murder in his eyes, Vampire or not.

---

---

The water was cold... too cold.
_{she couldn't breathe}
Where was Sagax? Where did the lights go?
_{why can't I breathe?}
the water was gone, but the battle... was Sagax dead?
_{no! I know what happens! you need to stop, run, fig-}
The Kamal
_{Gods please don't}
So much blood
It was coming back! Don't nonononono-

Jerking upright with a strangled scream, it swiftly mingled with a whimper of pain as agony tore through the body of Roze, at the sudden movement. Heart thumping, she laid back down with a wince, trying to tame the wired thoughts in her mind.

"Just a dream..." Roze whispered, eyes closing as she attempted to slow her breathing - it was hurting whatever injuries she had sustained. Waves of dull pain still throbbed from her shoulder, and her side. Other than that, she just felt generally awful. A thin sheen of sweat lay across her pale and pallid face; either brought on from her nightmare or her injuries, she didn't know - but accompanied with a dull headache, a shaking in arms and legs that she couldn't seem to stop, and alternating feelings of hot and cold, things didn't feel too good.

Gods... even my throat feels like the Alik'r desert... would've thought all that water I swallowed would have stopped thirstiness.. At that thought, Roze suddenly remembered Sagax. He hadn't died, had he?

No... he was with me. Farid was being mean to him... asshole. Craning her head around - as much as she could without causing more pain in her shoulder - Roze felt a mingled sense of relief and worry to see that she couldn't find him. Either he was well enough to walk out of this place, or his injuries had been worse than she had thought...

"Don't be silly... I'm sure he's fine." Swallowing a sudden feeling of grief, just at the mere fact that he could be dead, Roze blinked away a few tears, although a few escaped and rolled down her cheeks. The salt stung what cuts she had there.

Gods... what sort of mess had she gotten herself into now?

The gathering of Dawnguards widened as three nobodies interrupted their execution. None of them were expecting Sevine to just walk up and brashly throw their boss to the ground. The instance she did that, four crossbows instantly trained on her. None of them shot though, in fear of any bolts penetrating and hitting their leader. Then the Imperial. Sagax, who looked like he toured the Deadlands, dragged himself into the fiasco. Vampire hunters looked at him as if he was a stray urchin, rather than a proper threat. Finally, Rhasha the Khajiit budged in. His presence was a diplomatic one. If not for his convenient intervention, some itchy trigger finger would have slipped.

"The Khajiit has a point." A muffled voice came from the circle. Lowering the crossbow and taking off his helmet, the Dawnguard revealed a Dunmer man. "I know her, she was there since the beginning. She stormed Volkihar Keep with Isran."

"So was I." The Nord man, their de facto leader, countered. "Stay away from the meddling outsiders." He warned the Dunmer.

"You!" Turning to Sevine, he aimed the crossbow square on her chest. "Get yourself and your friends out of here. And for the record, I'll shoot you if dare to lay a finger on me again."

Something unexpected followed. The Dunmer stepped forward and took the Nord's crossbow away in one swift motion. The men stood face to face, neither of them backing down. Sensing a crisis at hand, another Dawnguard spoke up, then another. Soon, everyone was taking sides. Six sided with Dunmer, two more remained with the Nord. They formed two lines, sandwiching the meddlers and the vampire in between.

"If you must," The vampire perked up, jarring everyone back to their original question. "Take me back to the fort. Isran and the others will judge me."

"Very well." The Dunmer nodded. Moving to the vampire's side, he shot a glance at the Nord. "We've decided. She shall be in the guards' captivity until we are able to depart."

"Munoel, you'll regret this." The Nord warned. "Your sister must turning in her grave. Her sibling sympathetic for her killer." He threw up his hands in frustration, then taking back his weapon and paddled away with his followers. Before he disappeared from view, the Nord made sure to leave an antagonizing look to Sevine.

"By the three." The Dunmer, Munoel, sighed. He signaled for three men to escort the vampire away. "What a day we had."

Hanging his head for a moment and then brought his eyes back the meddlers, the trio he neglected in the heat of argument. "Thank you for diffusing the tension." Munoel acknowledge Rhasha, tone appreciating, if not outright relieved. "I never wanted anyone hurt outside of necessity, and thanks to you, no one was."

Shifting to Sevine, Munoel did not seem as impressed. "While I appreciate your opinion, Hramon obviously doesn't." Munoel pointed to the Nord Dawnguard sulking away. "Look, don't stick your no─" Words stiff and cold, he caught himself mid-sentence and sighed again. "I mean, we can handle our own. It was extremely risky to insert yourself like that."

As the vampire was being taken away, a Dawnguard delivered her crossbow to Munoel. Examining it briefly, he offered the weapon and a quiver of six bolts to Rhasha. "Take it, I saw you on the ramparts. You might appreciate the extra punch." He offered. "For saving Ana, uh, Anika, our former leader. Before she left a year ago, she and I were, well, close. I dared not to think what the vile daedra did to her, but you saw her just as I did; a human no matter her curse."

While busy with everything, Sagax became no more noticeable than a lamp post. Eventually a Dawnguard found him, more accurately, collided head-on with him. "Sorry friend, I'm afraid you have to go somewhere else." The Dawnguard apologized, only after taking a quick scan of Sagax's conditions. "Busy, I know. Don't bother with the healer by the main gate, she got her hands full with this feisty wood elf. Never seen anyone thrash around like that after losing an arm. Then again, I shouldn't be surprised; she had the gall to swing a warhammer at the Kamal's face."

Did she feel guilty for choking out the next-in-command of the Dawnguard’s, and for over-reacting, stepping out of line, and acting like an idiot? Sure she did, but her passions got the better of her as it always did when it concerned women facing an unjust death. Did she feel regret for causing a scene, to interject herself into a scenario that didn’t particularly concern her? Not so much. Even with the crossbows trained upon her, Sevine stood her ground, yet a Dunmer man, one of the Dawnguard’s, removed his helm, and supported the woman that knelt behind Sevine, confirming that the woman wasn’t an atypical blood-thirsty vampire, a monster blinded by the sheer need to survive.

One of the aspects that made the Dawnguard so deadly, were the fact that they had crossbows, something Sevine was unaccustomed to wielding, she had never fired one herself so to speak, but she had witnessed their firing capacity. A crossbow could shoot a loaded bolt farther than she could aim, and with a better accuracy at that. When the Nord man raised his crossbow at her, pointing the loaded bolt, originally intended for the woman behind her, dead center at her chest, and threatened her verbally, she had every intention to sound off some form of insult. However, to her rescue, the Dunmer man stepped in between her, and the Nord, snatching his crossbow away in one swift grab. A heavy tension filled the air, as the other members of the Dawnguard chose sides in the stand-off she had created. With both men facing each other in a suspenseful stare down, six members sided with the Dunmer, and two supported the Nord. It was then, during the tension of uncertainty, did the woman behind Sevine speak up, asking for her comrades to take her back to the fort for a questioning. While the matter didn’t sit well with Sevine, she wasn’t going to protest her request. When he nodded in agreement to her request, the Dunmer joined the vampire’s side, declaring that she would be held in the guard’s captivity until their departure.

‘If you get to depart at all… We all may be dead by tomorrow’s morn.’ She thought bitterly.

The Nord man appeared frustrated at the decision as he threw his hands up in protest, his rank amongst the other members of the Dawnguard present had been disregarded all thanks to Sevine’s irrational behavior. After he snatched his crossbow back from the Dunmer, whose name was Munoel, as she deduced from the situation, he shot her a hateful glance, one that raised the hair on the back of her neck, though she kept her face void of visible emotion. With a stressful sigh, Munoel signaled for the vampire woman to be escorted away, at least she would be safe for the time being from the harm of her own comrade’s bows. She remained silent, and listened to Munoel thanking Rhasha for effectively diffusing the situation better than she had, which she was grateful that he had arrived in the first place, as she surely would have ended up with a bolt in her chest. When Munoel finally addressed her, Sevine felt like a scolded child, much like how her father would scold her for not bedding down the goats, or leaving the sheep out of their pen’s all night. However, she let his words glide over her, like water down her back, as her temper had subsided in the event of the vampire woman’s life being spared. Hramon, the Nord she had choked, skulked away still shooting spiteful glances at her, as he walked away with his comrades that had supported him.

Sighing with a hint of frustration and regret, Sevine attempted to fix the situation at least with Munoel, “I do apologize… for my rash behavior. It was certainly uncalled for, and I didn’t mean to escalate the situation by any means. I lost my temper, I overheard her words and I couldn’t bear the thought of watching your group shoot her full of bolts. Vampire or not, she helped more on the field of battle than anyone else could. More than I could…” She added the last part quietly, as Munoel had turned his attention to Rhasha’Dar, her words lost to deaf ears, but it mattered not now. No words could change the situation she had caused, no amount of apologizing, or pleading for forgiveness. As Munoel handed Rhasha, Anika’s crossbow, that was the vampire woman’s name, she could only agree inwardly at his words, no matter the curse she bore, she was still a human all the same. Munoel shortly departed after that, leaving no time to thank him properly for the crossbow, Sevine turned to face her own comrade’s that had come to save her, or at least to dispel the situation. A regretful smile, if one could call it a smile at the least, managed to find its way on her lips. She opened her mouth to speak, but felt that she had done enough harm already by opening her mouth, that she cast her eyes to the ground, and sighed again.

“Thank you, thank you both. And thank you especially Rhasha, for being so level headed. I’m certain this would have turned out differently had none of you shown up. I am sorry… Should’ve had my head on better, I suppose.” Finally, she found the courage to look them both in the eyes, the pained smile now gone from her face, and in place held a remorseful grimace. Boy, did she sure feel like an idiot now. Sevine wasn’t typically one to cause such a fiasco, but lingering on those thoughts wouldn’t help any, at least the vampire would live.

[This collab is brought to you by: @MacabreFox, @MiddleEarthRoze, and myself]

Rhasha'Dar had offered up a smile to Sevine as she apologised, remnants of anger still blazing away in her green eyes.

"Do not feel the need to apologise Sevine - This one is sure that if you had not intervened so violently, our Vampiric friend would be naught more than a pincushion." He said with a low chuckle, then examining the crossbow the Dawnguard Munoel had given him. He had no skill with ranged weapons of any kind, but the power of a crossbow matched no other. Perhaps he could get some lessons in aiming from Sevine?

Shaking off the encounter with the Dawnguard like it never even happened, it was best not to dwell on those things or at least so she figured, Sevine turned her attention to Sagax, who looked like he had gone through a lot in the course of the last battle. Did he have a broken jaw? It certainly looked swollen, puffed up like a piece of blooming tundra cotton, and he had talked differently than she remembered when he arrived on scene. She looked him up-and-down, head-to-toe, and promptly placed her hands on her hips into clenched fists, the toe of her left boot began to tap against the cobblestone, her tongue making little, tsking sounds as she shook her head.

“For Mara’s sake, Sagax! What happened to you? You look like you’ve been put through a Kamalian meat grinder. You look awful. I’m sure you feel like it too from the looks of you. And where’s Roze? Is she ok? I haven’t seen her since before the battle.”

If Sagax didn't know better, he could have sworn Piper was standing right in front of him, hands to her hips with her usual scolding glance. Thankfully(?), it was just Sevine, though she still looked a tad miffed at his current condition. Looking up at the huntress' inquisitive face, he could only laugh sheepishly. Oh boy, how was he gonna explain this? Oh yeah, I lost my fucking marbles for a little bit and thought it would be a wonderful idea to charge past the giant warriors with spears the size of tree trunks and bomb their ship with a highly volatile and unstable piece of magical explosive ordanance. All in a day's work, really!

"Uhm...well, you see, hm, how do I put this..." Now he wished she were Piper, at least then he could smile cockily, since he knew what he could get away with. Sevine? He had no clue, and that was absolutely terrifying. Piper could certainly get plenty scary if pushed enough, and so he wasn't keen on testing Sevine's limits. "Well, I thought that since, you know, I'm not all that well built for direct combat, that I would take it upon myself to devise a different strategy." Looking down at his scorched upper body, he coughed nervously. "It got a little...heated. As for Roze? She's...fine, I'm certain! Sleeping like a baby, I'm sure, but completely fine!"

His words didn't satisfy her by any means. Her foot stopped tapping, tongue stopped tsking, and her hands dropped from her sides, though her hands were still clenched. "What do you mean, devise a different strategy Sagax?" Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had a gut feeling, that these two were involved in something horrible. But what? She had been busy firing bottles of liquid Oblivion over the walls into the battle down below. Her eyes widened in sudden realization, at the only plausible scenario that had drawn enough attention to her. The ship. The explosion in the bay.

Rhasha's eyes darted between his fellows - Sevine's anger rekindling, and Sagax's horribly bruised face looking rather guilty.

"Oh, Azurah. I hope Sevine doesn't end up throttling Sagax too." Rhasha thought to himself with a light sigh.

"Sagax... What did you do? You'd best tell me. And tell me straight. Don't give me any hogwash." She growled. If it was them, she wanted to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. However, a nagging feeling began to grow like a bothersome tumor at the back of her mind in regards to Roze, She's...fine, I'm certain! His words exactly. Oh dash it all! If Roze was hurt, because of some stupid plan of theirs, she was really gonna let loose.

"Weusedthosechargesfromtheredoubttoblowuptheship!!!" Alright that came out WAY faster than he wanted it to. Oh gods, he said "we". No no no no not good, not good! "Uh, uh...I mean..." Why did she have to be so scary? He'd rather have Jorwen stare him down, or Piper! ...Oh GODS, PIPER. If she heard about the siege, WHEN she heard about the siege, and the idiot Imperial named Sagax and a Breton who ran up to the Kamal suicidally to blow up their ship, only to be blown up themselves, she'd make the eruption of Red Mountain look like a small geyser. Sagax made a mental note to avoid Madura; avoid ANY possible reporter for ANY paper.

This was just getting worse and worse! For once, Sagax would like to meet a woman that wasn't liable to throttle him at a moment's notice.

All color drained from Sevine's face as he blurted out what they conspired and put into action, her mouth fell open in horror. She almost didn't hear his words properly, but she heard them alright as it took a second or two to register in her mind. So it was them! They were the ones behind the explosion of the Kamal ship in the bay. Those dunces! Her jaw closed like a snapping turtle as she gritted her teeth, the apples of her cheeks turned red, dangerously red, like blood itself colored her cheeks. If it was possible, one would see steam pouring out of her ears, and fire dancing in her eyes.

Looking between the pair somewhat awkwardly, Rhasha focused on Sevine... or rather, the fury evident in her face.
"Ah... Sevine... perhaps calm down?" He suggested hesitantly - although it clearly fell on deaf ears.

"You did WHAT?!" She shrieked. Sevine took a step towards him, her hands lifted up as if to throttle him, but then they fell away, back to her sides where they curled into white-knuckled fists. "You better take me to her, right NOW, Sagax. Or I will skin your hide like a rabbit." She growled.

Flinching back in response to Sevine's sudden advance, he threw up his hands in surrender. Holy hell she was PISSED. She certainly had a shorter fuse than Piper, and that was saying something! "O-of course, of course, I know exactly where she is, in the Gray Quarter! Come, come, I'll show you right away!" He said, trying his hardest to reassure Sevine. In case his placations failed, though, he made a conscious decision to move behind Rhasha, hoping to use whatever power the Khajiit had over her to his advantage. He really wished he could move faster, but his legs simply did not want to comply, keeping him dependent on his scabbard to keep himself upright.

Sevine looked to Rhasha, and while the anger in her voice had subsided, it was evident she was still angry. "C'mon, you're coming with us. Roze might need some help, and I can't heal worth a damn." She gestured for him to follow along, before heading after Sagax. "You better hope she's not dead when I get there." Grumbling, Sevine kept her hands balled into tightly wound fists, irritated at the fact that they both had gotten hurt. "I don't know what possessed you to think of such a stupid idea. You could've gotten yourselves killed, and by the looks of it, you almost did." She added sourly, none too pleased at the idea, although, she secretly acknowledged that no matter how stupid their plan was, it had worked. They had blown up one Kamal ship, it hadn't sunk, but they did do some serious damage to it.

Although somewhat taken aback at Sevine's order - and an order it undoubtedly was - Rhasha dared not to refuse, not with the fire raging in her belly. He felt severely concerned for Sagax's wellbeing, and for himself. He was strong, certainly. But strong enough to hold Sevine down to let Sagax limp away?

Only the Gods knew.

Besides, there was something in the Gray Quarter he wanted to see, and that was the injured... as he had overheard one of the Dawnguard talk of a feisty Bosmer who had lost their arm. Although the idea of Sylvanis losing her arm was a horrific one - considering how much the woman both loved and depended on her talent for killing things with her humongous hammer - there would be some relief there should the Bosmer mentioned be her... it would mean she had survived.

Losing a limb was better than dying, after all.

---

---

Roze was no longer in the Gray Quarter.

Having summoned the strength to sit up, Roze was able to look at her surroundings more clearly. She noticed her side and shoulder were heavily bandaged, the latter being in a sling. It still hurt like Oblivion, but at the very least she wasn't walking around like a skeever on a spit. There was a vague memory of having the wood splinter being removed, but she figured she had passed out from the pain.

Either way, it wasn't a pleasant thought to dwell on.

After a few moments of looking around, a healer had come by and given Roze some water; although doing nothing to ease her pain, it was blissful for her dry throat all the same. Apparantly they were running low on health supplies, so they were being reserved for the most injured... which Roze supposed she agreed with, but if she found one lying by itself, and nobody was looking, her natural state of stealing to survive would take over.

It had taken a further ten minutes to get to her feet - the struggle was a painful, and almost comical one, but Roze eventually was able to stand. At which point, she realized she was without her most beloved piece of equipment - her Father's bow.

"Oh... Gods. I can't decide what would be better - it being at the bottom of the sea, or being hawked at some market in Windhelm." She muttered as she limped along, using the wall to her left as support.

Thankfully, it didn't take her too long to find it. It was leaning against a wall near the dock gates, alongside countless other weapons that had been abandoned. Although almost gleeful as she picked it up (The bowstring seemed to have snapped, but hell, it needed replacing anyway), the sight of all the other weapons struck her as quite melancholic. The amount of people that had been injured, that had died... and as far as she knew, all of her friends could be in either of those categories.

Quickly making his way back to the Gray Quarter - well, as quickly as he could, anyway - Sagax didn't dare look back at Sevine. He heard her mumbling about how stupid he was, and it was very hard to disagree. It WAS a really dumb and stupid plan, and he felt like going to consult a priest about what Daedra took ahold of his mind at that point in time. On the other hand, the plan worked..kind of. The ship wasn't destroyed, but it still took a very heavy amount of damage, thanks to Roze's charge.

Roze...he said she was fine, and he believed it, but dark thoughts began to form. What if she wasn't? What if when they got back to where she lay, she had succumbed to her wounds? It would have been all his doing. Should have kept your mouth shut, Sagax, your plans are always stupid, that's why you stick to the sidelines. Would he be able to live with that kind of guilt? Hopefully, he wouldn't need to find out.

Rounding the corner into one of the Gray Quarter's alleys, he turned to Sevine, hand outstretched to where he thought he knew where Roze was. "See, Sevine?" He said, smile on his face as he turned his head to confirm for himself that the Breton was indeed still in her former spot on the stonework. "There she...isn't!?" Eyes wide and mouth agape, Sagax swept his head back and forth across the alley and trying his hardest to peer into the adjacent streets, hoping to catch any sign of Roze. Turning to Sevine, he raised his hands apologetically and spoke slightly frantically. "B-b -but...she was right there, next to that sconce, I swear! Where...!? How...!?" Where was she? Had she been carried off by a healer? Or did she walk off on her own accord? Yes, of course, Roze was much tougher than she looked, as was proven when she had carried Sagax across the water, even with a bit of wood running through her.

He began calling out, hoping the rogue would hear her name through the noise in the city. She must have been close by, no way she got very far with those kinds of wounds. He could already feel Sevine's hands around his neck, and he was of a mind to let her do the deed. Who could blame her? Certainly not the stupid wimpy Imperial who gets people killed.

What could she expect? By the time they made it to the Gray Quarter, she could only place a hand over her eyes, sighing in irritation at Sagax. 'Calm down, Sevine. You've already lost your cool once today. Maybe she wandered off?' She tried to rationalize not throttling Sagax, but she looked around to anyone present. What was Sagax thinking, leaving Roze under a street sconce, instead of taking her inside where it was warmer? She could only manage a groan as her hand dropped away, and looked Sagax dead in the eyes, most of the fire in her eyes had gone, but she was still pissed. Like a cat being thrown in water pissed. As her eyes scanned their surroundings, she spotted someone that looked like a healer, for they had a few potion bottles attached to their hip on a holster belt.

"Excuse me, have you seen a tiny Breton woman, about yeh big?" She gestured with her hand, as to how tall Roze was, certainly smaller than Sevine by all means.

The man turned to look at her, and shrugged haphazardly, "Eh, I think so. Gave her some water, looked pretty banged up poor thing. I thought I saw her headed thataway." He hooked his thumb over the shoulder in which Roze had apparently gone.

Glancing at Sagax, and Rhasha, she gave an even louder sigh, started off in the general direction of where Roze had headed. "C'mon, better find her before she gets herself hurt. Did she have her bow, or did you leave it behind somewhere?" If she knew one thing, being left without any sort of weapon, especially one's bow, would prompt anyone to retrieve their weapon before some sticky hands claimed it for themselves.

Sagax kept his head low, like some sullen pup, even when Sevine addressed him directly. He perked up slightly when the healer told them of a certain Breton that passed by recently. So she was okay after all! That brought great relief to the scorned Imperial. Maybe the huntress would cool a little if she saw Roze for herself. Hopefully.

"I think she lost her bow sometime after we retreated back into the city. I don't know where it went, and she wasn't exactly lucid enough to notice it went anywhere. Maybe she went off looking for it?" After that, he went silent again. He didn't particularly feel social at that moment, casting only a sideways glance at Rhasha.

"Then it would only make sense if she went to go look for it, no matter how badly hurt she is." She muttered to herself, focusing her energy on finding their lost friend.

It didn't take as long as she expected to find Roze actually, as she stopped a few other people in the street to ask about her whereabouts. They all pointed in the same direction that the healer had. Before long, they ended up where the weapons of those lost, or fallen lay lined up against the wall. And sure enough, Roze was there too, looking over her bow, though its bowstring had snapped. Sevine could hardly contain her relief at the sight of her friend, and cried out immediately.

"Roze!" She thundered, and darted over to the Breton woman, unable to suppress her joy at seeing her alive, pulling her into a smothering embrace as she went, literally crushing her to her chest. Her joy turned into grief as she began to shake Roze like a ragdoll, grabbing her firmly by the shoulders, and shouting. "What were you thinking? Just look at you! You look worse than a rabbit skinned for stew. You could've killed yourselves! I don't know whose stupid idea it was to do this, but thank Mara you're alive." She continued shaking her as tears spilled down her cheeks. Honestly, she could have backhanded Roze instead, but she could only shake her around.

Upon his mind registering the familair figure of a certain psychotic Breton, an uncontrollably large smile grew across Sagax's face. It hurt like hell, but he couldn't help it; he was so happy to see Roze up and about. "Aha, Roze, there you are!" He was about to make his way over before Sevine darted by and started crushing the poor rogue. It was a peculiar mixture of sorrow, relief, and anger that radiated from the Nord as she drew Roze in to a bone-shattering bear hug. Careful about being drawn into the fray, Sagax slowly limped over to the pair. "It's really good to see you alive and well, Roze. Really, really good." Sevine's previous scowl left his mind as he was filled with joy upon the realization that he hadn't gotten the poor woman killed. He'd hate to lose a friend so early into his time in Skyrim, especially one so relateable. His relief gave way to his guard being let down momentarily, becoming inattentive to any possible advances by Sevine to rope him in with Roze...

At first, Roze felt a shattering sense of relief upon seeing both Sevine and Sagax. She'd been so worried about them - especially Sagax. Seeing him alive and upright - and distinctly less beaten up than before, although his jaw still looked pretty bad - brought peace to her heart. Her face split into a smile, that faltered as Sevine sprinted towards her. It collapsed entirely as she was pulled into a bear-hug that would make a real mamma bear feel jealous over. If her ribs hadn't already been broken, they would have cracked under the pressure of the hug. As such, it did absolutely nothing for her injuries, and Roze's vision faded somewhat in the sudden onslaught of her pain sensors.

And then, of course, things were hardly made better when Sevine began shaking her like a doll, spouting anger and grief as she scolded Roze as if she were naught but a bairn, who had wandered too far from her Mother in the wilderness.

And through the pain that that brought, Roze simply felt... surprise. Surprise that Sevine had been so worried about her - she hadn't made that kind of bond with someone since she'd left the Guild, and even then, it was never this... strong.

Tears sprang in Roze's own eyes as guilt hit her - she had no idea her actions would have such an effect on her friends. Hell, perhaps a light scolding, some jokes, maybe even praise, but tears?

"I... Sevine, I'm- I'm sorry!" Roze managed to squeak out as Sevine continued shaking her, shoulder burning in pain now.

Sagax had wandered over in the midst of her shaking, relieved to find Roze alive as well. As she spotted Sagax out of the corner of her eye, Sevine snatched Sagax's arm, stopped shaking Roze, and resumed her bear-crush of an embrace, this time, smothering the two of them against her, arms wound tightly like a coiled snake.

"Oh you fools! You stupid, stupid fools!" She let out a strangled croak of a sob, burying her face into the heat of their chests. Her body trembled with tears before she released the two of them, a lopsided smile plastered across her face, with red-rimmed eyes. Wiping her cheeks with the palms of her hands, Sevine moaned with relief.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me... I just... I was worried about the two of you. When Sagax told me what you did, I was mortified. I was on the walls slinging fire-bombs, and when I saw that explosion, I thought that, surely whoever set that off would be dead. Neither of you look decent to say the least, but at least you're alive. That's all that matters." Placing her hands on her hips, Sevine eyed her two friends from head-to-toe, and burst out laughing.

"You ought to see the looks on your faces! Mara be damned, you both look like you've been run through a meat grinder." She added lastly, her eyes lingering on Roze's pale face. "This will be a grand story to tell your future children." With a shake of her head, she finally turned her attention to Rhasha.

"What happened to your Bosmer friend? I haven't seen her around."

When Sevine made a grab for his arm, Sagax thought he was done for, fully prepared for hands to be gripped around his neck. That never came, though, but what did was almost as painful. Instead of throttling him, he was pulled in the embrace none too gently. Sevine's arm wrapped firmly around his bad shoulder, causing him to let out a small gasp of pain. "Y-yes, Sevine...urk...we're perfectly...agh, perfectly fine!" He looked over at Roze, letting her know that he knew her pain.

What shocked Sagax, though, was the amount of tears leaving the huntress' eyes. Surely, she couldn't have been that worried? They had only really met a day prior. Did he really leave that much of an impression on the Nord? Either that or she was simply an incredibly compassionate person, which, admittedly, was not standard practice for Nords.

When she finally let go of the two rogues, Sagax put his hand to his side and massaged his aching ribs. Sevine had one hell of a grip, that much was certain. He was inclined to agree with the huntress' observations; no doubt he looked like shit. He was glad there were no mirrors nearby, all he had to really see was his torso which at worst sported burn marks.

Sagax turned to Roze after Sevine drew her attention to Rhasha and gave her a hug of his own, this one being much, much gentler than Sevine's bear hug. "I'll be honest, Roze...you scared the shit out of me. Watching you lay there brought some of the worst feelings I've ever experienced to surface. Knowing I couldn't help you...well, it made me feel useless and worthless. I'm glad to see you back among the living." He finished with a friendly smile.

As the shaking stopped and another hug appeared, Roze felt weak at her knees, both in exhausation and pain. But as Sevine's grief gave way to amusement, Roze couldn't help bUt give a somewhat shaky smile in return. She hadn't even seen a mirror or reflection of herself, but she had no doubt she looked awful. There was obviously scrapes, bruises and cuts on her face, and her hair... well, the less said about that the better. Being scalped would have looked nicer than the state it was in.

As Sevine turned to look at the Khajiit - who Roze recalled as being Rhasha'Dar (Boy, had the cat been right about those bloody moons.) - She was happy to return a far gentler hug to Sagax, feeling completely moved by his words.

"I feel the same way for you, Sagax. When I woke up and you were gone, I thought... perhaps you'd died from your injuries. I didn't know how long I'd been out, or if you were okay." She replied, her tone hoarse from unshed tears. certainly, there lay alump in her throat, borne both from guilt and relief.

"And if it's any consolation, you're not worthless. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have had the balls to go near the Kamal and blast them to Oblivion." She added with a light chuckle - and instantly regretting it as even that slight movement of her diaphragm caused ripples of pain.

As for Rhasha'Dar, he was pleased at the outcome of the day. Rozalia was alive; and Sagax remained unthrottled. Even Sevine's anger had been reined in... after shaking around the poor rogue like a doll, which didn't appear to do much for her injuries, but she did not complain. The girl was stronger than she looked... and she truly did look terrible. Skin as pale as the snow heaped in the city, a sheen of sweat covering her face which was littered with small lacerations and bruising. A bandage covered her right shoulder which was slinged, and another covering her midriff - a red patch of blood still visible towards the right hand side.

However, his attention was removed from the injured girl at Sevine's question, and he shrugged, brow furrowing in concern.

"This one is not sure of her location. This one hopes she is still passed out drunk in bed at the inn... but from what the Dawnguard say, she may have been injured in the fight. This one just has to find her." He replied, playing with his amulet almost absent-mindedly. Perhaps that snippet of news was Azurah's work?

"But if the rumours are true, no amount of healing will aid her. It is quite hard to re-grow an arm, from what this one has heard."

Nodding her head in agreement, Sevine glanced at Sagax and Roze behind them, before turning her attention back to Rhasha'Dar. "Well, lets go look for her. If those Dawnguard's were talking about her, she ought to be somewhere near the gate at least."

"Are you two coming with us?" She asked, a matronly glint in her eye, as if they were her own children, or at least her sister. That thought alone made her feel guilty. Why hadn't she kept in touch with Liliana? She hadn't even bothered to write a letter, to let her know how she was, or to ask if she was with child yet, how her new husband was treating her. Making a mental note to write her when she found time, Sevine broke her gaze from her friend's to look back at Rhasha, and tipped her head in the general direction of the gate.

"Let's get a move on."

The thought of wandering around searching for someone made Roze's stomach turn... or was that just hunger?

"Actually, I think maybe I should find somewhere warm to sit before I pass out again. I could kill someone for some soup too." She replied, belly growling as if to exaggerate her words.

Hearing Roze talk about soup caused Sagax's body to make him realize just how long he'd been running on empty. No wonder he felt so damn tired. His gold was in his pack in the warehouse, though...hopefully tale of suicdical bravery would be enough to pay for something basic. "You two go on ahead. I think Roze and I are going to go grab something at Candlehearth. We're both starving; I am for certain."

‘’I’m telling you. They’re here to steal the godly powers in this continent. That’s why they’re, uh,’’ Sadri looked at Cilo, who had just finished his cup of flin – Sadri had filled his cup full just a few seconds ago. ‘’You sure you can get some flin from the Warehouses?’’ The boy was eager and friendly, but he struck Sadri as quite inexperienced. Maybe that was because Cilo was full of energy and reactive, whereas Sadri was more akin to a dead fish when it came to responding to people. He looked at Cilo with equal degrees of sympathy, pity and envy as Cilo looked at Sadri with glowing eyes and moved his mouth as he thought, nearly glowing with energy. Then again, he couldn’t blame himself for being tired – you spend the last forty-something years in a midlife crisis gone wrong, and you get kind of jaded.

Maybe that was why Sadri kept fighting. Just recently, when he was fighting the Kamal juggernauts with Cilo’s help, he wasn’t having any of these problems. He was as good as anyone else – maybe better, given how he had managed to kill one of the armored demons and survived. The adrenaline rush was the same, no matter how old you were. Was that why he was fighting? In the past, he had turned down many opportunities to have enough money to live the rest of his life comfortably. He had wasted or lost such opportunities many more times. More than often, he had been aware of the consequences, yet he had done it anyway. Thinking too deeply on it made Sadri feel troubled – so, like nearly every troubled person, he would pour himself another cup of flin and have its fiery taste burn away at his stomach and momentarily cleanse him of such thoughts.

‘’I’m sure, I mean, I did it before, and I’m pretty sure they won’t mind if we request some now, it’s only normal people would like to drink while they’re getting attacked by metal snow demons from unknown lands, am I right?’’

Sadri nodded briefly. Cilo and Sadri had managed to safely get away from the docks following the retreat of the Snow Demons – possibly moments before the onslaught of ice shards. Cilo himself had nearly been roughed up by Argonians during an argument. He had taken the opportunity to run away from the Argonians once their elder had started ranting about the Hist. Sadri, on the other hand, had avoided the Argonians completely – you never know when you come across a guy that you had leashed and dragged all the way to Morrowind and sold for about a hundred and fifty septims. It doesn’t make for a nice reunion.

‘’Yeah, sure, but still, people can be oddly consistent about that stuff. I met a guy once, in a brothel – the damn place was burning down but he barred the door and insisted that we give him his tip for hooking us up with the ladies.’’

‘’What’d you do?’’

‘’There was this guy, Joachim was his name, I think, he gave him the tip of his dagger.’’

‘’Damn, that sounds rough.’’

‘’Nah, Joachim took good care of his dagger, it had smooth edges.’’

Cilo looked at Sadri for a moment, trying to make sense of what he said, but then decided to forget it. Elves made no damn sense at all. He had met an Elf once in High Rock, back when he was still with the Legion. Apparently he had eaten his brother’s corpse back in his native province, Valenwood. With the rest of his family, too – apparently they made stew out of the damn boy. No, Elves made no damn sense at all. I mean, this guy, he didn’t have a hand, but he could use his hand, like if it were invisible.

Not a lot of things made sense for Cilo. He was one of those many people destined for mediocrity from their birth. From his birth in Bruma, to his rather uneventful love life, and his accidental hook up with the Imperial Legion, he was just regular in all the ways that count. He was man, true and true, and perhaps it was this quality of his that made it impossible for him to understand the ways of Mer. See, Mer were unique in their mediocrity – there were no saltrice farms in Bruma, but there were plenty of them in Vvardenfell. They used hollowed out creatures for transport. Even in their ordinary life, they were mythical. But men weren’t. Where they went, the legends died off. They say when Talos came to Cyrodiil with the Red Legions, he had to make the endless, wild jungle into a temperate grassland to accommodate the soldiers with him. And that was how an entire Imperial Province had lost its charm.

‘’So, what do you think of that bunch who tried to save that Vampire?’’

‘’I actually know some of those people. Nice bunch, I guess, can’t be all bad, but they strike me as kind of stupid.’’

‘’Now why would you say that, Dunmer?’’

‘’You live for as long as I do, you learn not to poke your nose in other people’s business.’’

Sadri took a sip of flin and continued as he made a sour expression for a moment, likely because of the drink.

‘’Well, I can’t say I adhere to that principle all the time. But you should try your best anyway. It keeps you alive.’’

‘’Yeah, I see what you mean.’’

‘’Sure you do.’’

That woman, Sadri had thought of her attractive – but after watching her rant on like that to the Dawnguard, blabbering about with crossbows pointed at her, she managed to lose all her charm in one fell swoop. Not that she cared, or knew, but still, Sadri preferred the company of people who weren’t overly melodramatic. She had ranted away with others after the whole thing had died down, on her way to be angry at something else. Yeah, he simply couldn’t tolerate the presence of romantic people.

Then he looked at Cilo ‘I have to make a thousand facial gestures and body expressions for a single word and hang out with people I actually don’t like but stay around because of reasons I don’t even know because I’m so young, for Talos’ sake just fuck my face in’ Livius and cursed the forces of irony.

Was he just sour from all his years wasted doing nothing, or were people just really that stupid? Sadri didn’t really know, but he preferred to go with the latter. He was proven right most of the time anyway, but nonetheless, that did not invalidate the first option. Maybe he had just grown calloused. He did not even know why he tolerated the kid’s presence – more importantly, he did not know why the kid tolerated his presence. It was like a bad blind date, the type that you can’t just cut off because friends hooked you up. Only they were hooked together by damned Snow Demons from Outer Aetherius, and Sadri had no obligation against them. He was strong enough to fight Snow Demons, but too weak to just call a kid off his back.

And it seemed things wouldn’t change in Candlehearth Hall, at least, not yet.

A collaboration featuring the combined arms of the Hank, gcold, and Dervish to free the continent of The Golden Horde

The city was pure chaos as the defeated defenders were forced to retreat behind the heavy reinforced gates of the city, doubtless no longer feeling that the ancient portals could keep them safe as they had countless times in the past. Niernen and Do'Karth, both exhausted and spent after even such a brief skirmish, supported one another as they struggled to find where their company was regrouping. The khajiit felt a kinship with the dunmer woman, not unlike he had discovered with Jorwen, and the two managed to find an unoccupied ledge leading towards the Grey Quarter that they decided was potentially the only place the pair of them could find refuge, and possibly get their bearings. The sounds of the siege still carried over the walls, and those who had kept themselves safe within the city were now starting to get a sense of the desperation that had occurred outside the gates on the docks. It was sobering to reflect on those who had died, and it was only the second day. Sieges could, historically, last for months or even years. Do'Karth doubted Windhelm's ability to resist for that long.

Cries from the argonians wishing to return home to protect their Hist or whatever it was they cherished seemed to be the talk of the town, and Do'Karth wearily shook his head, wondering where sense had gone in the world. "It would seem Windhelm is not the only place people have mind for. Did you come from Morrowind, Niernen? Do'Karth is curious where you call home. It is always good to reflect on where we come from when things seem to be rather bleak."

The Argonians were seriously unnerving Niernen. Their cries reminded her of the war she'd fought, and once again the images of burned Argonian corpses flashed through her mind. But it wasn't just that -- if Black Marsh was under attack, it could mean other parts of Tamriel were as well.

She swallowed hard and nodded in response to Do'Karth's question. "Yes. My family hails from Blacklight, the capital of Morrowind. My brother and my parents live there. It's not far from here. Gods... at least it doesn't have a harbor. What about you, Do'Karth? Any family back home?"

The khajiit shook his head slowly. "No, this one has no family, nor a home. Do'Karth has spent quite some time wandering Tamriel in search of somewhere to settle, but there is still much to see and do, and nowhere seems quite right. Do'Karth has come to Skyrim to see the mountains and glaciers that are quite famously spoken of across the provinces, and the auroras dancing in the skies. He had also hoped to spot a dragon skeleton, but that remains elusive." The khajiit said, with a faint upturn of the lips. He watched the argonians with curious fascination. "What had caused you to come to Skyrim, to become a mercenary? Do'Karth cannot imagine it was easy to leave your family behind." he asked, keeping an eye out for suspicious activity. The khajiit was all too aware of thieves taking advantage of confused and angry crowds in times like this.

Do'Karth's free-ranging spirit amused Niernen, despite everything that was going on, and she smiled. That he had come all this way just to see the sights was a foreign notion to the Dunmer woman, who had spent almost her entire life pursuing her education or fighting in war -- there had always been a very specific purpose to her actions. When he asked her why she'd become a mercenary, Niernen sighed and leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

She started talking. "When the Nerevarine returned to Morrowind, he summoned all willing Dunmer back to the province and decreed a time of great rebuilding. Part of that was retaliation against Black Marsh. The Argonians had sacked Mournhold, our old capital, after the Red Year. We... that is to say me and my brother, we're part of the Great House Redoran." She lifted her left hand to show Do'Karth her signet ring, engraved with the sigil of her House. "Our standing army, along with other auxiliary forces, invaded Black Marsh and captured many Argonians to be used as slaves. I went with them, to assist my brother as a battlemage. It's something I regret now, looking back on it, but orders are orders and slavery has been a part of Dunmer culture for a long time." Niernen paused and took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself.

"We were laying siege to the city of Thorn when two Argonian Shadowscales ambushed me. My guards were killed instantly... I managed to kill the Argonians -- I believe there was nothing left of them to bury afterwards -- but not before they stabbed me with poisoned daggers." She shuddered at the memory, and Garm whined softly. Niernen reached into the breastpocket of her leather cuirass and revealed the rosette; a small, crimson-colored ribbon with the Daedric letter Vehk stitched into the fabric. "They gave me this. A commendation for valor." Her tone was bitter and she quickly stuffed the rosette back where it came from.

"I came out here because I want to prove to myself that I'm not weak and useless," she concluded.

Do'Karth listened intently, understanding all too well the pain and suffering one's actions could inflict upon one's self, not just those they harmed in the process. Here was a woman who did her duty, and was celebrated by her people, but she seemed to carry around that ribbon that was meant to honour her bravery as a badge of shame. Her honesty and willingness to be forthcoming was surprising to Do'Karth, and he could not imagine telling another about what had really brought him so far from Pelletine. He reached out, placing a hand on Niernen's forearm.

"Do'Karth has met his share of weak and useless individuals, and you, Niernen of Blacklight, are among the most brave and resolved individuals he has ever had the privilege to meet." He nodded to the crowds in the street, the largely Nord population with the stern faces. "Not many of these people would have braved the docks against the unknown as you have, and you faced that unknown enemy without hesitation to try and save a city that you have no ties to, no reason other than an allegiance to a mercenary company. That is a voluntary thing, not something you were conscripted into. The way Do'Karth sees it, you could have left at any time before the city was encircled if you truly were a coward, but you are not. It warms this one's heart to stand alongside one such as yourself." he said, his eyes twinkling with genuine affection.

The khajiit brought his hand back and started fishing through his belt, reaching for a flask. He blinked as his fingers brushed the leather-wrapped steel and he let out a surprised laugh, prying the flask free of its mount. "This is soup, Do'Karth was saving it for moments such as this between fights. The container is still warm." he let that sink in with a grin. "When you saw fit to save this one by baking him, you must have heated the flask. It is tomato and venison, here." He offered the flask to his friend. "Do'Karth thinks it's only appropriate Niernen tastes the fruit of her labours, yes?"

His disposition remained warm as he contemplated her story for a few moments, searching for the right words. "Do not be ashamed at what you were forced to do, Niernen. You served a cause, and you were simply an instrument on that cause's will. This one understands the animosity between the dunmer people and the argonians, it is how many thousands of years now? How could one see what is right or wrong, if such a thing existed, when you are surrounded by such power and splendor? This Nerevarine, this living god, how could you deny their will? How could you see the horrors to come until are surrounded them?

"All you did was defend your brother, and fight alongside the people you grew to trust. You didn't fight for slavery; you fought for them, Niernen. In the end, you chose to leave it behind and make your own destiny." He nodded and gestured to where she had stashed her badge of shame. "Those powers that sent you to Argonia, regardless of their intentions for the argonian people, saw in you then what Do'Karth sees in you today. Someone worth admiring and following. The way this one sees it, that ribbon is what ties you to that time and place. This means either that there is something that you wish to hold onto from that time, or you feel that it is a reminder of what cruelty is. Perhaps one day you will see fit to cast it aside, and watch as your burden is carried off into the wind."

There would undoubtedly be a period of awkward silence when Do'Karth finished. Madura, who had arrived near the pair minutes ago and quietly taking notes off to the side, decided now would be as good of a time as any to jump in. Maybe distract their melancholy retrospect with recent success, something less gloomy. It worked some times in his interviews, while other times earned him strikes in vulnerable places. All in all, it would be a risk worth taking in exchange for juicy information.

Flipping over to a fresh page and dipping his quill in a belt-mounted inkhorn, he stepped up to the Khajiit and Dunmer. "Hello there. Don't mind if I ask a few questions?" He introduced himself, somewhat clumsily as he fumbled to undo his ungainly rustbucket of a helmet. "Madura Dalas, correspondent with the Tamrielic Gazette. Ashav allowed me to embed with the company." Madura extended a free hand, barely keeping the notebook tucked in his armpit.

"Dunmer sister and master Khajiit, very impressive display of maneuvers earlier." Finished shaking their hands (or not), the journalist readied the notebook once more. "Pardon me, but I've heard a little bit of your conversation earlier. Sorry, can't help being curious, part of the job." He chuckled nervously. Except, it wasn't very funny. So he straitened himself with a false cough. "Lady Niernen, were you a Redoran knight? Or perhaps affiliated with the Telvanni? And master Do'Karth, where does a nomad like yourself learn to wield a staff?"

Niernen had fallen silent after Do'Karth's heartfelt words. She appreciated what he was trying to do, but it wasn't working. Deep down, Niernen knew that she had gone to Black Marsh for no other reason than to prove her academic studies had been worth something. Narzul would have been fine without her and her contributions certainly did not make or break the war. If Niernen had chosen not to participate, her father's influence within the Great House would have made sure there would not have been any repercussions... and besides, would that have been necessary? Nobody would have expected the second child and only daughter of a Redoran House Father to go to war. No, it had been Niernen's stubborn determination to prove her worth, and nothing else. The same nonsense that meant she was now here, stuck in Windhelm with the enemy at the gates. Maybe she would tell Do'Karth this one day. "Thanks," she said quietly, and her eyes softened as she met the Khajiit's gaze and gratefully accepted the offered soup. It warmed her from within and she felt better almost immediately.

She looked up when another Dunmer approached. There were a lot of them in this city, Niernen had noticed, especially where they were now -- the Gray Quarter. To her surprise, the man introduced himself as a journalist embedded within the company. Niernen cast a glance at Do'Karth, one eyebrow raised, and hesitantly shook the Dunmer's hand. She opened her mouth to say something along the lines of 'is this really the time?' but changed her mind. Of course now was the time. History had to be recorded. "I can answer a few questions, sera," Niernen replied. "I'm a Redoran battlemage. I was instructed by the war-wizards of my House in the schools of Destruction, Conjuration and Alteration."

Do'Karth stared at the man, almost not believing this was a thing that could happen at a time like this. His eyes darted to the notepad, and back to the reporter's face. What on Nirn was this man's angle? The fact he had been recording their correspondence just felt violating. The khajiit didn't take an instant dislike to many people, but this renrij was something else entirely. Scores of people were fighting and dying to protect Windhelm from an unspeakable threat, and this spineless coward hid behind the walls, armed with little more than a quill and a clueless disposition, felt it necessary to make light hearted conversation with people who were trying to save the lives of men like him. Do'Karth did not even regard the offered hand.

Given the ignorance of outsiders to khajiiti culture, Do'Karth simply elected to have some fun at the man's expense.

"This one has the honour of descending from a line of Warrior Farmers practicing the long-forgotten art and earth magics of tilling and working the soil with just our staffs, which naturally work sufficiently to defend our lands from marauders and thieves. Do'Karth cannot tell you details because he took a sacred vow many moons ago, swearing never to reveal the teachings of Nirni and Lorkhaj. This one hopes you understand." Do'Karth said with an apologetic smile.

As his interviewees talked, Madura busied himself scribbling down lines. "I see, lady Niernen." He nodded to the Dunmer woman, absentmindedly concurring with what she said, while most of his attention focused on the pages. "Noble house, honored by the Nerevarine himself." Satisfied with the response for now, Madura gave his fellow dark elf a grateful look.

Re-inking his quill and reaching for fresh pages, Madura began writing down the Khajiit's words. Except, they were wryly unsound. Only did he realize halfway through that the Khajiit was messing with him. Given the circumstance, it was mostly likely not jest for the sake of jesting. "Very mysterious, master Karth." He blinked and thought over some way to get back at this cat. For now, Madura chose not to press on. His face eager to prod, or maybe even return something clever. But he restrained himself. "So be it, I would not prod further if the warrior-farmer does not wish to divulge his trade secrets."

Then, Madura flipped the book forward to earlier pages. Rubbing his eyes, he scanned the pages. The Dunmer man licked his lips, as if the cold sea air could not moisturize sufficiently. "I have a another question. Please understand it is not just directed at the both of you, but something I asked before every battle." Madura declared. The quill and notebook disappeared back to his bag. The journalist rubbed his hands together, his eyes darting to the ground then sweeping over his subjects. Maudra was hesitant to look eye-to-eye with the dual, though he forced himself to concentrate on Niernen and Do'Karth's faces. "Let's say, the worst scenario. What if the city falls, the jarl could no longer direct us for defense. What would you do? Fight on, together? Surrender? Run your own way?"

As quick as he belted out the question, Madura put his hands up as a gesture of innocence. He eyed Do'Karth's staff, and Niernen's, well, hands, skittishly. Fighting men have a habit of taking their rage out on the intermediary, and Madura wished these mercenaries are outliers. "Of course, I speak not defeatist notions; only a hypothetical scenario."

Niernen had to hide her amusement at Do'Karth's story. She very much doubted it was true, but then again, what did she know about Khajiit? Very little.

She rolled her eyes at Madura's question. "I haven't noticed much of the jarl, to be honest," she said icily, "or his supposed direction. I go with the Company, and I expect they will not abandon the city unless all hope is lost." She had absolutely nothing to base that last statement on, but she figured it wouldn't do well to badmouth her employer on her second day. She cast a sidelong glance at Do'Karth, wondering what he would say.

Do'Karth glanced at Niernen and back to Madura. "This one isn't here for the Jarl, this one stands by those who he fights alongside. Past that, Do'Karth does not think of such things. If this one's companions elect to stay, than so will Do'Karth. This one does not expect to see you in the city should it fall, but if he does, please pick up a sword and make yourself look useful. This one is certain there will be no shortage of fallen blades for you to choose from." The khajiit hopped off the ledge, turning to Niernen with an apologetic smile. "Do'Karth needs to check on Solveig, he made a promise to Jorwin. Given how things might change at a moment's notice, time is of the essence. Be well, Niernen. We shall meet again soon."

After collecting his soup flask and staff, Do'Karth nodded to his companion and began to edge his way through the crowd, enjoying what was left of his snack and the peace and quiet of escaping interrogation.

A Romp in the Sack with Lesboshaft and Dervert

Her mouth was dry as Shor’s bones, to the point moving her tongue around her mouth to moisten it a little bit felt like she was moving it through a mouthful of glass. She went to swallow and her throat clamped shut, sending fire up her throat. Her first request for water was noiseless, then a reedy whisper as she cried out again. Her whole arm was stiff to the shoulder as she moved it and it made her flinch- very painfully- when her hand was grabbed. Her eyes fluttered open a portion, dry flakes of something breaking around her eyelids. Her vision was blurry and her heart turned to ice, “I’m blind.” She whispered, though she meant to scream. “Oh Gods, I’m blind!”

She struggled to put her hand to her face and was met with a hazy blob the color of her own skin standing out amongst a hazy background of she couldn’t tell what. “Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods…” Her hand went to her face and her somewhat masculine jawline seemed crooked, bent in. Her tongue found many teeth on the right side of her mouth gone. “Oh…Oh Gods, no…”

Her hand reached out, probing and clumsily slapping around her for something or someone. She wanted her mother, she wanted her father, she just wanted to be held again like a little girl. She felt sobs welling up at the back of her throat and almost couldn’t contain herself. Soft whimpers escaped her as she thought herself alone, wondered if this was death.

A furred hand grasped the desperate hand firmly, and another reassuring one soon rested on top of the Nord woman's hand. "It is okay," Do'Karth's voice soothed, his accent giving the vowels a rolling infliction. "You are not alone. Do'Karth has been looking after you, your father has been quite concerned with your recovery. There is a bandage covering your eyes, you still have them." He assured her, reaching for his water skin, which he had filled with the stores present in the triage area. He would offer it when she had calmed down somewhat. "Would you still like some water? Do'Karth can help support you in sitting up if you feel able." He offered.

Her breath rasped in her throat as she took in the voice, the feeling of confusion still settled on her. She looked from left to right and took a rattling sigh in and then out, slowly. "My father?" She asked, trying to remember where she was, "He's in the Reach? No... W-water, please." She jerked her hand away from the furry pair that enveloped her own, feeling a little embarassed straight after and after she drank from the offered waterskin- drained it, almost- asked, "Do'Karth? You know my father, do you?"

"This one does." The khajiit confirmed, moving his freed hand to take the stopper from the water skin and guiding its neck to Solveig's waiting hand. He waited patiently as she finished the water, an impressive feat given her current state, but it meant she simply looked worse than she actually was. It was encouraging, to say the least. "Jorwen and Do'Karth have met on a pair of occasions, this one is pleased to say. An honourable man, a kind soul. It was this one's pleasure to do what he could for you, miss Solveig. We are all in Windhelm, do you remember anything?" he asked.

"I live here?" She asked, looking down at her hand, her eyes slowly focusing to a healthy sharpness. She nodded, "I live here. I joined a company." She finished, somewhat lamely. She found no matter how deeply she dug, she could remember no more. Then the sounds of the wounded. She looked around, her face that of concentration as she struggled to focus her vision in her still throbbing skull. Then she jerked back and winced in pain, struggling not to curl about herself and put knees to chest.

She took a fistful of Do'Karth's robes and used them to help pull herself up to sit against a crate. She looked Do'Karth in his eyes, or hoped she was, as she spoke. "They almost killed me. Is my father alive? My mother? Did they break through the gates?" She didn't know the fates of anyone. For all she knew, all the people inside these walls were the only survivors of a terrible defeat.

The khajiit moved beside Solveig, helping her ease into position. He knelt down beside her, looking towards the Nord woman's face. He felt that people could always tell, even if they could not see. "They did." he confirmed somberly. "Jorwen is quite alright, this one caught sight of him not twenty minutes ago. Do'Karth is afraid he knows nothing about your mother, Jorwin has never mentioned her, but this one can inquire for you as soon as he can. It is pleasing to say that so far, the gates have held, although we have lost the docks and entirely too many people. Do'Karth has done what he can for the wounded, but he must save some strength for the battles to come. This one wishes there were better news, but for now, he trusts knowledge that Solveig's father is safe and well should suffice."

Do'Karth decided to give his painfully throbbing leg some respite and moved into a cross-legged sitting position with some difficulty, grunting softly at the exertion. "This one must apologize, he must smell like burnt fur. You would not believe the morning Do'Karth has had." he chuckled softly, recalling Niernen's unrestrained use of destruction magic.

She looked the Khajiit up and down after picking and clawing at her head's bandages. She wondered what he was saving his strength for. He had no armor or weapon worth having in a shieldwall, not unless he kept it elswhere. "You fight? Just like that?" She chuckled, "It's as impressive you aren't dead as it is foolish. If you can't get my father to come here and stay with me... would you?"

The prospect of lying with no company but the echoes of pain shooting from her face each word she uttered and from every small twitch her body made was not one she favored. Not to mention having to listen to all the other moans and sobs of the wounded. This wasn't a place she was fixing to stay in for long. The air was thick with grief and loss, she felt weak and drained the longer she thought about it. She was seized by the urge to scream for silence but clamped shut her mouth in shame.

Do'Karth grinned. "Just like this." He said, waving his open palm in a circle over the entirety of his torso. "It is nothing, many khajiit fight without armour. It is hot, cumbersome, and it simply ruins the lines of one's attire. This one defies you to find a set of armour that looks flattering, it simply is not a priority for us. If you do find a khajiit wearing armour, it means they have become very serious about wanting someone or something dead. Or many somethings, as it were. Besides, this one is quick. Foes simply cannot catch Do'Karth." he said with a wink.

His expression softened as he took note of the woman's discomfort and sudden awareness of her surroundings, the pain of countless wounded. He offered her a sympathetic look. "As soon as this one is able, he will find Jorwen and have him see you, if he does not come on his own time. He has come many times while you were asleep, just to see how you were. He wishes for nothing more than to speak with his daughter, and no force in this world could keep him from your side if he heard of your rousing."

He looked around the room at the many prone figures, the stench of bad wounds and fluids making the air heavy and foul. "These people, they fought like you, and they are all in pain. Do not take their suffering with dispair, sense their warrior spirit. Many of these men and woman would give anything to be on their feet again and ready to fight, it is the Nord way. They will heal, as will you. The question is, Solveig; will you stand and fight again?"

She frowned and swallowed, looking around her at the assortment of varying wounded. "'Course I will. It's the only thing one can do, to fight all the way to the grave." She let the cries of the wounded press in on them once more before speaking again, "Just as much, I still don't want to smell the stench of their warrior spirits leaking out of them. I hope I heal faster."

She looked back to Do'Karth, not so much scorning or disbelieving the good words he had for his father. A few years ago, she would have throttled the Khajiit for insinuating her father was anything but a delusional old arse. Now though, it didn't strike her so. "If he tries to leave my side, I'll chain him to where he stands." She snorted, "The fucker's been traipsing around the breadth of Skyrim for twenty years and only stopping to show his face for a few days."

Solveig ran her fingers across her jaw, feeling the scar and the crookedness of her jaw. Her tongue probed the emptiness where a few of her teeth had been. She'd never been vane, but she struggled to imagine a picture of her new face that didn't disgust her. "What do I look like, Do'Karth?" She asked, she squinted and frowned, "And no lies."

"Perhaps he was under the impression you were rather untouchable. From what this one understands, you are quite the warrior. Do'Karth suspects seeing you wounded like this put things in perspective." He paused, his face caught in reflection. "We each have a moment or two like that in our lives that change how we see the world." he said at last.

When Solveig asked him how she looked, it was hard not to see the disconfigurement and the damage, but the woman's natural beauty was still apparent just beneath the surface. He smiled reassuringly. "Oh, you look quite mangled, but nothing that Do'Karth has not seen mage healers correct, save perhaps the teeth. Those you will probably need to have replaced, but largely just swelling and laceration, and your jaw just needs to be reset. That... will hurt. But pain is temporary, yes? This one can still see a rather fetching young woman with quite a life of fending off suitors, only unlike the maidens, you will have a few scars worthy of story. This one hopes to hear them all one day." the khajiit said with a soft smile.

Even if she'd never had to fight off men clamoring for her affection, she still felt her face get hot and she looked away much too quickly for her not to feel some embarrasment. "Good." She nodded, clearing her throat and gathering herself, "Good. I'm feeling tired. It wouldn't be too much to ask to leave the waterskin, would it?"

"Not at all. Do'Karth will come back for it later, or find another, but you will always have something to drink as long as this one can make it back. Things are a bit... hectic, as it were. Is there anything this one could do for you before he leaves you to your rest?" he asked.

"To have you and my father visit often." She said, smiling, "Don't die with your Khajiiti notions of wearing no armor and tempting fate, fool." She chuckled good-naturedly, "You and my old arse of a father."

"Ah, but if Do'Karth dies, he will do so looking rather splended, no?" the khajiit laughed, pleased to see a smile, no matter how pained, cross Solveig's face. "This one promises he will remain as swift as ever, whether it is to avoid swords as tall as he is or to return to your side. Do'Karth will be sure to relay to Jorwen that his 'old arse' better be half as quick as this one in returning here. Rest well, Solveig. Do'Karth will see you soon." He rose to his feet, kicking his staff into his waiting hand. He offered a quick bow to the Nord woman and turned, headed back towards the cold, hard reality of the world waiting just outside the doors.

Tsleeixth shook his head as he heard the old Argonian’s words 'Blackmarsh, under attack!?' He thought in stupor, not even registering it when he began to make his way towards the triage area where the wounded lay. He let out a sigh as he shook himself off his stupor and finally took in the sight of the wounded and dying and, for the first time in a long while, felt despair take hold of his heart.

'How can we beat such creatures when it takes at least three of us to be able to barely match them in combat.' Thought the Argonian spellsword bitterly as he stood up with some difficulty, stepping out of the makeshift infirmary into the cold Windhelm streets shortly after that.

He wandered through the streets of Windhelm with no clear destination in mind, his feet eventually taking him towards the Candleheart Hall inn. He opened the door to the inn with some difficulty, but after a while he was settled in one of the few tables that remained in the busy inn.

He went to where the innkeep was and asked for a bottle of mead before he quickly returned to his seat, waiting for the mead to arrive. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the Argonian waited for his bottle to arrive when he heard a voice that was faintly familiar directed at him.

“Huh, didn’t think you’d be here.” Said the man, a Nord to be precise and to whom the voice belonged “Shouldn’t you be with the wounded?” .

Tsleeixth shook his head “Couldn’t stand the sight no more, thought some fresh air would do me good” He replied noncommittally while motioning to the empty chair in front of him with his head, inviting the man to sit with him. It was shortly after the arrival of the Nord that Tsleeixth’s mead arrived, the Nord that now sat in front of the Argonian asking for one for himself as well.

A few silent, awkward, seconds passed as Tsleeixth tried to recall the man’s name when he remembered “Ah, you were...Aenar, if I am not mistaken right?” Ventured the Argonian. He had fought with two Nords, both part of the Whiter River Braves, earlier this day, but apart from exchanging names they hadn’t spoken much and that information had been relegated to the back of his mind due to what had happened later on in the day.

“Correct.” Replied Aenar, confirming Tsleeixth’s suspicions that this was one of the Nords with which he had battled against one of the Kamals. It was soon after the Nord man had confirmed his suspicion that the second bottle of mead arrived “Well, here’s for surviving another day.” Said the White River Brave as he raised his bottle in a toast, a gesture that Tsleeixth quickly returned.

They spent a few minutes in silence, both men taking the chance to relax as they drank the mead that the both of them had ordered, until the Argonian spellsword broke the silence “So, Aenar, how is your friend, Agnar, doing? He took a pretty bad beating from the Kamal.”

“Aye, Agnar is fine, has a broken arm pretty much like you but he also got his leg broken during the fight against the giants so he won’t be able to participate again, at least not for the battles to come. Whatever comes after that, who can say” Said the Brave, finishing his mead shortly after he had spoken “And you? How are you holding up? I heard some of the Argonians speaking, trying to get out of Windhelm to try and go towards Blackmarsh, think you’ll join them?”

Tsleeixth couldn’t help but grimace at the questions that the White Rive Brave had asked to him, letting out a soft sigh and rubbed his forehead with the tip of his fingers “Alright, let me start with the l
ast one. No, I don't plan to leave for Blackmarsh, but what the older Argonian said….it does concerns me slightly.” Admitted the spellsword, letting out a sigh before he continued “But, regardless of how much it worries me I do intend to remain in Windhelm with Ashav and the rest of the company.” He said, taking a breath to calm himself before he could continue.

“As for how I’m holding up...well, I guess it would be not well” Said the spellsword, letting out a bitter chuckle “This is the second time the Kamals invade us and the only thing I can do is throw spells at them.” He said bitterly, looking at his broken arm for a brief second before looking once more towards the White River Brave “If the Kamals are going to keep coming, I want to be able to fight them, and if we are to die by their hands I want to be able to die with a sword in my hands and taking down as many of the bastards as I am able.” Finished Tsleeixth, waiting for Aenar to speak again.

“Hah! Spoken like true nord would.” Said Aenar, laughing a little at the words of the Argonian, an action which Tsleeixth soon imitated despite his less-than bright thoughts on the situation and disposition in general.

They stayed for a while chatting with each other, trading one or two stories for a few hours until Aenar suddenly stood up “Well, it’s been great chatting with you Tsleeixth, and I am glad to have talked to you more in depth.” Said the Nord as he approached the Argonian and shook his hand in a friendly gesture “But, as it is, I have to leave now, I have other matters to attend to and I can’t delay them any further.” Said the White River Brave in parting before he disappeared into the crowd that was inside the inn.

Left alone once more the Argonian spellsword let out a heavy sigh. While his meeting with Aenar had served to distract him from his thoughts on the Kamals but now that his newfound acquaintance was gone, Tsleeixth’s thoughts turned to the invading ocne mroe and -unsurprisingly- to the words uttered earlier by the old Argonian.

'I wonder why it is that the Kamal’s are attacking Blackmarsh, the Empire only managed to conquer the outer fringes...and regardless of that, the land isn’t prone to colonization by other species, especially one that comes from a place so distant as Akavir.' Thought Tsleeixth to himself, motioning for one of the barmaids to deliver to him another bottle of mead 'In the end, I suppose that, for the moment, it doesn’t matters what their reasons are, what matters is defeating them, maybe then we’ll be able to paint a clearer picture of their reasons.' He mused to himself, his mead arriving shortly after that. Thanking the barmaid for the mead he took a swig from the bottle and decided to put those thoughts in the back of his mind for the time being, determined to try and forget about the thoughts that plagued him for the moment.

Solid matter rained down from the brightening sky as Farid dashed from alleys to alleys. It was early in the morning, around the same time of the day when the crescendo of the Reach assault took place. Bloody fissures faded chased ascending orange rays over the horizon. The close proximity of sunrise assured everyone a little against incoming projectiles. Though it was not enough as something dropped from the sky, landing near Farid's feet.

The object in question was a farming man, albeit without a head. Half of the neck was severed clean, and small spurts of blood still leaked out. But by the paleness of the corpse, it looked dead for the better part of a day.

"Gah..." Farid covered his mouth. Stepping over the corpse carefully, because there wasn't much room around the alley. Like any decaying biological matter, the corpse smelled horrible. Farid bunched his face to prevent himself from puking. "Hurry, the palace is right ahead." He gestured at the towering spires above several rolls of houses, hurrying whoever followed him forward.

Just then, someone peeked out of a door to side. Farid waved at them. "Stay inside, it's not safe out here." He warned. Turns out, it was a young child, probably a boy and probably around ten years old. No sound or sight of his parents in sight, the kid gasped silently at the decapitated body. "Got to get the boy back inside." Farid whispered to the person behind him. He shot a nervous glimpse at the child. "Can't have him tattle-tale to the guards.

Leif had followed after Farid, leaving Sevine to her own escapades, he was certain that she could handle herself by all means, if anyone chose to pick a fight. After first, he had worried that the Redguard was quicker than him, because as soon as he turned the corner, he had disappeared. However, being born and raised in the city of Windhelm, Leif knew that there were only a limited number of options as to where he had gone. He headed down the street, and rounded the corner to see Farid once more. He had come to a halt, as Leif approached from him behind. A gruesome discovery revealed a corpse, that had been flung over the walls by the enemy. Were the Kamal's trying to use tactics to weaken the citizens morale? If they were, it wouldn't work on him by any means. A door creaked open, and a young boy, perhaps no older than nine or ten, poked his head out of the door, he gasped at the ghastly sight that lay in the streets. He knew the boy's folks as the Iron-Claw's, and in truth he didn't know where they had gone off to. He caught Farid's whispered words, and only nodded in return, if they were going to do any sort of jail-breaking, it was best to not have anyone see them, especially with dawn less than a few hours away, as the sky grew lighter with the coming sun on the eastern horizon.

"Youngling, you'd best keep inside until it's safe." Leif said, "I know your Pa wouldn't like the idea of you poking your nose into trouble." He took a step towards the boy, putting himself between him, and the decapitated corpse. Gulping nervously, the boy withdrew into the darkness of the house, until the door locked into place, did Leif rejoin Farid's side.

"Close one there. The name's Leif. I figured you'd need some help if you're planning what you're thinking. I know all the in's-and-out's of this city like the back of my hand, and if anything, we'd best get a move on before the guards report back to the palace, if they're not there already." He nodded his head down the street, implying they get a move on instead of lingering around like alley-cats.

"Farid." He pointed to himself. "Looks like it's just us. But then again, most of Ashav's men are dead or dying." Farid noted. It seemed like Leif knew the city quite well, and by the way he handled the boy, probably the citizens as well. "You from around here, eh? Neat place, though too stoney for my taste." He said in a hushed voice while ducking under a low beam. Clearing the next corner of houses came the palace walls. A large rock crashed through a portion of the fortifications, landing in a crater in the courtyard. The palace gates were opened for officials, prominent citizens and guards. A security detachment of one dozen men patrolled the courtyard. At the current time, all but two huddled around the rock crater. Judging by impacts heard not so long ago, the guards were still examining the projectile.

"This part we have do the hard way." Stopping right behind the street, Farid let Leif observe alongside him. "You know this place; that's the only way in." Farid signed at the entrance. "Alright, two of them and two of us. I'll take the one on the left and you take the right." He laid out the plan. Farid sounded somewhat tired, he was impatient to get it over with so he didn't wait for Leif to respond. "That's only if we can't talk our way in, which is, extremely likely."

Stepping out into the lantern glow, Farid strolled towards the guards. As he came within weapon distance, one guard held up his arm. "Halt! No access unless the jarl approves." Came the warning.

"I have an important message for the jarl." Farid bluffed, trying to appear authoritative. It didn't look like the guards were buying.

"I don't think so." The second one approached. This one was awfully familiar. Wait, it was the same guard Farid insulted last morning. "You again!" The guard sneered, his right hand wrapped around his sword handle. "I am too busy for your childish games. Go away now, or I'll put you down for lollygagging."

"Ah, you got me there. Sorry, leaving now." Farid said. He did not retreat, instead, he gazed intently at the guard's neck. "Woah, is that blood coming from your head? Seriously, take off your helmet and let me check." Farid turned to his Nord companion, silently mouthing play along. "You seeing this, Leaf?"

Hesitantly, the guard undid his headgear. His hands felt around his head, feeling nothing. He paused for a moment, confused as to what just happened. Then he realized, Farid was tricking him. The guard opened his mouth to insult and a gloved hand flew for his weapon. He was too late. Farid swung his right fist into the guard's temple.

Only to have no effect.

"What in the..." The guard spat.

"Hold on, it's just a prank!" Farid exclaimed. Now enraged, the guard unsheathed his sword. Farid promptly backed up, dodging to the side as steel swooshed pass where his neck was. Suddenly, he was on the guard's flank, a knuckle duster sat over his fist. In a lightning quick strike, another punch connected with unprotected head. This time, the guard dropped, unconscious.

Having dispatched his man, Farid searched for Leif, hoping he could take care of the second guard before they attract attention.

He didn't bother responding to Farid's question about him being from Windhelm, as he quietly followed him towards the courtyard, there was no point in chit-chat really, not at a time like this, a time when he needed his mind to be clear, and focused on the task at hand. When they broke upon the scene, two guards were inspecting the rock that the Kamal siege weapons had flung over the ramparts. Before he had the chance to attempt to change Farid's mind about their course of action, and insisting that he take the lead, however, Farid had other plans in mind. As Farid approached the two guards, he made his attempt to sweet talk his way into the palace, but of course, Jarl's orders. He repressed an inward groan as he watched the scene before him unfold. When Farid told the guard that he had blood coming from his head, and insisted he take off his helm, he turned his attention back to Leif, and mouthed some words for him to play along, which he did. He was slightly irritated that he had called him Leaf, instead of Leif, but there was no times to pick fights over mispronounced names.

He moved closer to Farid, though he kept to the side of the other guard, keeping out of his line of sight. He swore inwardly, not wishing to draw attention to himself, and quickly dispatched the other guard, as he sprang on him with a firm choke-hold by using the crook of his elbow, he applied equal pressure onto a certain nerve that caused the guard to nod off immediately, becoming dead weight in his arms. Without hesitation, Leif dragged the body of the now unconscious guard over to the rock, and propped him up, fixing his limbs in a certain way so as to make him look like he was asleep on the job, and by all means he was.

"You should've let me talk to them. They know who I am, could've weaseled our way" He mumbled beneath his breath, "Born and raised here after all."

"We better get a move on quick, you ought to drag him off into the alley here, this bloke here didn't even see me, so when he wakes, he won't remember what happened, or who did this." Leif suggested.

"I don't remember you being a guard." Farid caught Leif mumbling when he found the Nord. "I've seen them earlier, nobody gets in without clearance." He contrasted the idea Leif threw up. Even though Farid didn't believe in Leif's persuasiveness, he was on the same page when it comes to hiding the bodies. A solid brass knuckle against the head tend to leave its victim asleep for the immediate future, but Farid didn't kill the guard, as doing so would no doubt cause complications when someone found out. That someone could very well be Leif. For now, Farid followed his buddy's lead; depositing the chainmail-clad men in a clammy crook among shadowy passages.

"No, not a guard by any means, but when you go off to war to fight the Imperials, and you come back alive, folk here will congratulate you. I grew up with some of these men." He said with a sigh, not irritated, though more annoyed at the Redguard and his words. He understood what Sevine meant now, why most in the company didn't get along with Farid, but he was a good man nonetheless, and if anything, he certainly had a sense of humor.

"This is why." Farid explained minutes later. He returned from alley with a palm-sized badge. It was a stylized bear head carved with some form of copperymetal, possibly corundum, if inspected by a smith. "Anyone not with the court or the guards have to wave this through. Thanks to the lieutenant back there, we're now city officials." Farid grinned, dust his hands in celebration of his "handiwork". "Thanks for playing along, I thought you were going to bail for a second." Farid added, there was no sincere gratitude in his voice. "For their sake, it's better they only saw the handsome one." The Redguard patted himself on the shoulder, both figuratively and literally.

"Ah, well of course." Leif eyed the badge, it was familiar of course, as he had seen them before, but he didn't think more of it, or as to why Farid provoked the guards like that in the first place. He chuckled at Farid's words of being the handsome one, he'd let the man have the moment, not willing to brag about his countless expenditures with the women he coaxed into bed with him. Thank goodness the alchemist's made potions such as Cure Disease. "No, I wouldn't do such a thing. After all, when I heard you clamoring about us making the coin we signed up for, I couldn't turn down the offer. If we make it through this siege, it'll certainly come in handy."

Crossing the courtyard was uneventful. The guards there entrusted all of their rear security to two men. Perhaps the highest ranking member, the lieutenant assured everyone he had the situation under control. None bothered more than a glance at the visitors. Five guards still examined the rock, which was apparently exotic looking, maybe even imported from Akavir. To one guardsman, rocks were the least of his concern. This one hogged the attention of two more with a nervous breakdown. From the way his chain-mail gleamed under the lanterns, this guardsman was obviously a rookie. Not the best start for his career, nor the careers of the jarl's advisers. An old woman wearing high class garments jogged out when Farid neared the palace gates. She carried a heavyset pack stuffed with solid objects, and a wide bucket full of provisions and letters barely supported by her frail arms. Behind her was an even elderly man dressed in equally elaborate outfits, except this one hunched over with a towering rucksack over his shoulders. Sticking along the side, Farid gave outbound citizens ample rooms to leave, and not recognize him as someone that didn't belong. But then he had to sprint after the palace castles started to close. Farid barely got to acknowledge the gate before he got shut out.

"No more visitors till sunrise, the jarl and his court needs rest." The gatekeeper denied them.

"But we have to conduct our investigation." Farid declared. He took out the lieutenant's badge from his pocket, presenting it for the gatekeeper. "A prisoner sold the city out to snow demons." Farid pointed outwards to the city, emphasizing on the projectiles flying in and the Kamals launching them. "For the sake of the city, please. We won't disturb the jarl." Farid begged.

"I..." The gatekeeper hesitated. The poor man doesn't seemed like to have slept in a day. His eyes black-laden, his posture sagged from exhumation, absolutely zero energy in his words. Even Farid feel sorry if he were to knock the gatekeeper out, this was the last person deserving of such fate. So Farid turned to Leif again. Since the Nord asked to take charge earlier, now would a great time for him to shine.

Leif sprung into action when Farid looked to him for guidance, the gatekeeper, indeed, appeared horrendously exhausted, and he could tell by the way the man spoke, that if he could coax him enough, he would allow them through. "I beg of you. You must let us through, these Kamal will destroy the city before the day has ended if you do not let us in. We must speak to this vagabond, and extract all of the information we can, the lives of our citizens depend on it, and we cannot fail them, or else the city will fall."

"Hear, heed my partner." Farid concurred with whatever Leif said. Two people coaxing him convinced the gatekeeper enough. The gates stayed ajar, allowing the dual entrance.

Eerie silence dominated the palace halls. The great dining room were empty save for the bare-bone sentries. Farid never been in this particular building before, so he took the first steps in quiet awe, marveling the structure's craftsmanship. The elongated dinning table stood devoid of refreshments or nourishment. Chairs splayed about disarranged, a few even laid sideways on the floor. On the ceilings, the iron chandelier hang cold. The only sources of illumination came from sconces lining the walls, each with a sentry around it. Farid whispered something about creepy, than something about the shame of having no food on the table. As he and Leif walked halfway inside, they could spot a weak light beam extending out of a doorway perpendicular in their front. It was the only room still open and lit, probably containing the only people beside motionless guards.

Their entrance to the Palace of Kings brought Leif back to fonder years, when he took his oath of service to the Stormcloak's, and to Ulfric himself. He had little time to reflect on the matter when the sound of footsteps drew him away from the deep realm of his thoughts.

"My lords," Footstep suddenly approached from the side, almost startling Farid into jumping. "I am afraid the kitchen is long closed. Jarl Lodevemar ordered our remaining meals to be given to the defenders." A tall figure in ceremonial armor and an expressionless full-face helmet alerted them. Words came out muffled by the mask, but it reverberated around hall once spoken. Unalarmed was the sentry, for he, or she, put too much faith into earlier defenses like the courtyard detachment.

Farid found himself unable to respond. He tried to think up bogus claims but the vast majority stuck in his fatigued mind, and whatever slipped down choked in his throat. How the palace felt sent shivers down Farid's arms, to have a blank-masked guard resembling the Kamals' facial features frightened the Redguard for a moment. Instead gawking wordless, he stepped aside and let Leif handle it. After all, the Nord seemed to get more mileage than him on the talking front.

"Unfortunately we're not here for food," Leif piped up, as he took the spot Farid had once occupied. "We're conducting an investigation into a prisoner held in the dungeons. We've recently discovered, that the reason why the Kamal's have set up siege weapons, is because he gave them valuable information in regards to the our city. As you know, that's why this happened." He hooked his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the door behind them, where the massive rock the Kamal had flung over the walls lay outside. "We have reason to believe that the Kamal know more information about our city, than we had planned on them knowing, and for that, the city lies at great peril. We're at greater risk of the city falling to the Kamal, now more than ever." While his demeanor remained steadfast, and unwavering in front of the guard, inside, he prayed silently to Talos that the guard would accept his words, and let them by without hassle. Most of the men and women that had served under Ulfric, had been replaced by Jarl Lodevemar. He preferred people he trusted, and not those that would threaten, or impede upon his rule. Leif didn't mind the Jarl so much, but it was his younger son, that he despised. He could do as he pleased, and without risk of punishment.

In the far distance, dialogues between individuals leaked out. "My jarl...should sleep." "No...my fault.." "No point...regret..." "Should not leave the catapults...should not support...Reach campaign."

Leif's ears caught the faint words of a conversation being held, but what they were saying, he could make out very little. The words that concerned him the most, while he waited for the guard's response, were of the catapults, and something about the Reach campaign. His mind wandered back to Sevine, didn't she say that she had just come from the Reach, on a mission to remove Forsworn from a redoubt?

If the sentry objected, the resulting expressions could not be deciphered behind the mask. Glancing back at the lit room and back to the "investigators", the sentry relented. "Very well." The armored figure said quietly, not wishing to disturb a late night meeting. "I presume you will access the high security wing? I could fetch the keys for petty criminal cells." The sentry asked.

"Oh, yes, of course." Farid got his act together. Standing straighter and more confident, he matched the sentry's steps. "No sense grilling a common thief, because uh, only the most treasonous backstabber could, you know, exchange our fair city for demon coins." The Redguard maintained an air of false bravado. However, the sentry was anything but eager to stroke Farid's ego. Perhaps they still suspected a Redguard investigating inside a Nordic stronghold, or the fact someone in irregular leathers got issued the guard badge. Unlike the vocal Stormcloak guards that would have been patrolling the very same area three years ago, Lodevemar's personal security projected cold indifference. It reminiscence to the Cyrodiilic Emperor's Penitus Oculatus when Farid visited Imperial City.

“For your information, we executed many serious offenders last week.” That was the only time the sentry spoke. “After fair trials, obviously. But I assume men of your station already know.”

On the walls far across the lit room, a reinforced set of doors opened to reveal a dark staircase. The sentry grabbed a torch from a nearby sconce, lighting dormant torches as he led the way down. Two more doors rested in the bottom. One of them was wood secured by iron beams, and the other one, well, it was a one-piece steel. The wooden door appeared older, more naturally built into the basement. The steel door shone of fresh finish, and its frame looked like recent installation. Without surprise, the sentry unlocked the steel door.

“By regulations,” The sentry announced, but they were cut off. Deep rumbles shook the foundations of the palace. The basement ceiling vibrated, falling flakes of lose paint. Noises of crashes and collapses accompanied by the rumbling. However, the ground floor above dented much of the impact. Once the Palace calmed again, the guard resumed. “The door have to be locked, knock when you are ready to leave.”

“Did the we just get hit?” Farid asked, the sentry answered with silence. Peeking inside the dungeon nervously, Farid changed topic. “So, we need the cells keys. Can't interrogate productively unless it's face-to-face, right?” The Redguard left off where Leif can finish.

"And this is exactly why we came down here," Leif grumbled quietly under his breath. "No worries here, I'll be sure we don't rough the fellow up too bad, if need be. We'll keep him proper-like for his trial, when that comes about." When the shaking of the floor above subsided, he let out a slow breath of relief, thankful that whatever had struck the palace, or the surrounding area, hadn't come crashing down on top of them. So far, he hid his surprise at the fact that the guard hadn't questioned

Their argument once again came through. To be honest, Farid couldn't be more shocked. Beside the meathead lieutenant and his goon, his facade went smoother than expected. It felt too smooth. Maybe someone up top knew, and he was being set up. Or, as Farid would prefer right now, Windhelm's government was too occupied to deal with dubious dungeon crawlers. Whatever the case, the guard passed over a pair of torches accompanied by a key-ring, then he slammed the steel door shut.

Darkness as far as the eye could see, everything was obscure inside the jail block. Farid and Leif's torches were the only light sources. The area was also soundless, once the door closed tight, the only sound were rhythmic water drops, occasional bar creaks and distant rat screeches. “I hate to say this,” Farid admitted. His face under the torch showed fear. “But this is kind of scary. I wish we had one of them Khajiits; I can't see crap in the dark.”

"Aye, you and me both." Admitted the Nord, blinking rapidly to adjust to the atmosphere around them, as he stepped cautiously away from the door. "My friend, she's with the company as well, Sevine? Don't know if you know her right, but she's taken an odd liking to one of the Khajiit's we've got on board with us." His remark was muttered under his breath than for something to be talked about readily with Farid.

“You know, I was fighting in the Reach last week.” Having taken steps away from the door, Farid decided they were out of the sentry's earshot. Nevertheless, he kept his voice a low whisper. “Not a pretty picture at all.” He mumbled as examined the first cell. Behind the solid bars were a bucket and a bedroll, no sign of the living. “Though there was this one looker, a sneaky girl, Roze. She's probably more at home in these places than we are.” Farid thought out loud. “I had to carry her out after an arrow to her shoulder. A pity, really, she doesn't seem too into me.” Farid trailed off, he wanted to cheer himself and his fellow up, but it was not having desired effects.

"Roze?" Leif asked incredulously, had there been enough light in the blackness of the dungeons, Leif's knuckles gripped the wooden shaft of the torch until they were white. "I know her, Sevine's made quite a few friends with the company it seems. She's friendly with Roze, that tiny Imperial man, Sagax, I think that's his name... and Jorwen. I hope she's all right." In truth, Leif had wondered about Roze, where had she gone in the midst of the battle? For Talos' sake, he hoped she hadn't listened to his idea about taking the charges and planting them on the ships. After all, someone was lucky enough to blow a hole in one of the ships, though he still had no idea who had done it just yet.

They had inspected about five cells, the first three were completely empty. The fourth one was one, it had waste stains, blood stains, tattered clothes and what was apparently a human foot. The fifth was far more loaded. Sets of chains stuck to the rear, inone set, a half-rotten corpse still locked down solid. Then the six, just as the pair imagined a lifeless place, something stirred in the next cell. A shape leaped up in reaction to torch light, it clambered forward until its head bumped against the bars.

“Got a live one.” Farid called out to Leif. He brought the torch closer to bars, which prompted the figure to groan dryly through the mouth. Farid was looking at a boney human, a man so malnourished that his ribs almost poked out of his midsections. Raggedy strands hung off his head and face, like the broken fabrics below, they were all dust-filled.

“Can you talk, are you-” Farid stopped when he realized the prisoner choked like an unoiled wheel. Nothing legible came out because the prisoner was immensely dehydrated.

After checking the first three cells, the fourth, and fifth unsettled Leif. His pride for Windhelm, and the love of his country, did not permit humans to be treated so poorly, criminals or not. The least the jail-keep could do was give them some bread and water. Then again, being left in the dungeons was an area where people often died, for the very same reason of lack of water, and food. The sole foot made him wonder if the poor bloke had been eaten alive by those pesky skeevers? What remained behind looked fresh, or at least fresh enough for the stains to still be visible in the wavering light of the torch fire. As they came upon the fifth cell, bile rose quickly in his throat, as what little of a meal he had the night before threatened to spew forth. Smell of rotten meat never settled well with Leif, even if it was a bear, deer, or human in this case. The sixth cell proved lifeless, but as they approached it, the seventh cell, life seemed to be within, for Leif could hear rustling, as a face pressed itself against the cold iron bars. He followed Farid without a sound, and as they stood in front of the next cell, Leif glanced at the Redguard with a worried look. They came down here for a more-than-half dead man?

"Is this him?" Leif asked. His free hand journeyed to the pack at his side, where he carried a various assortment of items on his hip. He untied a waterskin and held it hesitantly towards the starving man. The sight of the prisoner in his filth, dust-covered clothes, with his bones prodding out like a decaying cadaver, proved unnerving even more so than the contents of the other cells. While he weighed the water-skin in his hand, he judged it to be three-quarters full. With a sigh, he extended his reach further out to the man, to where he could grasp the water-skin freely. He recalled readily, that he had some dried venison, and even two health potions in his potion holder, although he wasn't sure if the man before him could use them, let alone, if this was even the man they were looking for. In any case, if this proved not to be the thief, he hoped that the next man, if the man they were looking for, was even alive. Hopefully not the being with the foot...

Reaching for the waterskin like divine nectar, the famished prisoner grasped in a swift stroke, immediately taking in away from Leif. He drank greedily, pouring down half of its content in the matter of seconds. Had Farid not warned him to drink slow, the man would have been gagging on water. Farid watched curiously as the prisoner's face lit up. Eyes on the deprived man opened wider, he carefully scanned his proximity with visions long accustomed to the dark. The way he sized up Farid and Leif was like a hungry skeever baiting a child lost in the sewers. Eventually, the prisoner's gaze fell on the key ring. His mouth hung halfway, not sure what to say, or even not knowing how to say anything at all.

"Better?" Farid whispered, trying now to startle the inmate. "Do you know a short Nord man? Bald, blond beard, bandoleers, about this tall." The Redguard place his hand in front of Leif's chest, which was Farid's shoulders.

"Huh? Wha.." The prisoner creaked. His voice was more raspy than Ashav's, like long finger nails scratching against the surface of a blackboard. "How do you? Why?"

"Look, I'm Farid, Mercenary." Farid pointed to himself. "This tall man is Loaf, if I got that right. Working the same trade." He pointed to Leif. "Someone on the street said Entry, or is it Andre? Anyways. Someone who is probably you should have been released two weeks ago."

Again with the name, Leaf, Loaf, Farid would never get it right it seemed. "It's Leif." He said, with a nod to the rail-thin man before him, not like it mattered.

"Two, two weeks?" The prisoner wandered, eyes blank. "What time is it anyways? Frost Fall? Sun's Dusk? Am I," Midway through, crashing noises came from above. Dust shook free from the ceiling onto everyone, causing the inmate to cough violently. Farid extended his own waterskin. It was mostly empty, but he hoped it could calm the inmate for at least a little bit. It did, the hacking ceased. "204?" The prisoner asked.

When the shaking began again, Leif could hear things breaking above in the next floor, he certainly didn't like the sound of things as dust scattered over them, sending it raining down on them in yellowish-brown clouds. Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, he shut his eyes tight, Divine's know what stuff sat stewing in the dungeons down here, or what the ancient dust held.

"Next year, 205 right now." Farid corrected him. He wanted the waterskin back, but the prisoner hoarded both his and Leif's with jealousy. "Andre, whatever your name is, we've got the key right here. You want out or not?"

"Out? You are not with the guards?" The prisoner gasped. He scrambled to the edge of his cell, hands gripping the bars white-knuckled. "Oh, thank Shor, thank Kyne, thank the..." Stammering past himself rapidly, the prisoner was practically bubbling. "My, my name is Ander. They locked me down here for more than a year now. I thought I was going to starve. Bless you, bless your families."

Farid traded glances with Leif while Ander babbled on and on. Seems like they found it, the "innocent" undeserving of the punishment. Now they would only need to bust him out, find his buddy and collect the fat stash of coins they were promised. Actually, Farid wasn't so sure about any of that. They still have to get past the sentry, get past palace security and likely do all of the above in the morning sun. One thing at a time, before they rush forward, they might as well learn a bit more about this individual. "Why are you here, what did you do in the first place?" Farid questioned as he searched the right key on the ring. He breathed nervously; what if the sentry played them, what if all the keys are fakes?

"I, I wanted to join, the, the Thieves Guild." The prisoner answered. He sounded genuine, for a thief anyways. "Leader of the Windhelm chapter ordered me to prove myself, so I did; sneaked into Lodevemar's office." He continued. It was interesting to note that the inmate never stood up, maybe because the cell roof was barely Leif's height (Ander measured up roughly the same), or his stick-thin legs couldn't support his own weight. "Cracked open the biggest safe and ran with everything I could take. Turned out, I wasn't sneaky enough. They found out before I ran past the bridge, and they stuffed me in this rat hole ever since."

"Apparently I stole real important shit." Ander added. Across from the bars, Farid managed to secured the key. Heavy metal bars unlocked with low-pitched clanks, just in time for the third round of rumbling on top. "Something about a prohibition and a shouting school? I don't know, these shit-eating guards roughed me up good."

As the man revealed himself to be Ander, Leif was less surprised that he was actually apart of the Thieve's Guild, let alone that there was someone running the ring here in Windhelm. Regardless of the fact, Leif knew that whatever reason Farid wanted this man out, they would get him out. He listened quietly to Anders tale of how he had been caught, and in his opinion, running over the Windhelm bridge with a sackful of goodies, didn't seem like a good idea by any means, if he were him, he would've gone through the docks. Yet, there was one thing that piqued his interest, Ander had mentioned that he had stolen important documents with information relating to a shouting school, and something about a prohibition, what in Nine Divine's was he talking about? Hopefully not a prohibition on alcohol, that would certainly sour his attitude.

"Come on, let's get you out of here." Farid said, swinging open the metal bars. Ander lurched forward eagerly, but not succeeding in get anywhere beside Farid's feet. "Someone's seen better days." The Redguard mumbled, then requesting help from Leif. "He needs a sip of your potion, so he can pull some of his own weight." Anders still attempted to get off his ass, which was failure every time. Even if Ander could walk on his own, how would they explain his presence outside? One thing at a time, Farid reminded himself; get the goods squared away then worry about transit. He placed the torch on a nearby holder, as to not burn the prison rags while handling the dirty man. However, just as Farid tested the torch holder, he was almost thrown off-balance by a violent tremor. Massive impacts fell on the floors above, and the entire subterranean section quaked with force. Chunks of dirt, rock and other structural matters dropped around Farid. Covering his head with his arms, Farid bolted from the doors, wishing he could get out before the entire palace collapsed on him. However, the ceiling near the door caved in as soon as Farid took a step forward. Dust blew everywhere. When it and the quakes finally finished a minute later, Farid found the doorway and the first pair of cells completely blocked off by collapsed boulders.

He had just handed over one of his health potions to Ander, who drank it readily when Leif swore violently under his breath as the dust in front of his eyes settled, he could see, barely, in the pitch black darkness save for his flickering torchlight, that some of the foundation had given way, and blocked their exit to the upper levels. Now, there was no way to escape. He withheld an audible groan, seeing no reason to aggravate the situation any further.

"What? What is happening?" Ander cried out desperately and curling into fetal position.

"Long story." Farid sighed. "Akavir, snow demons, catapults and I think we're trapped in." He tested a smaller boulder piece, no budge. Judging by the size of the cave-in, and their current lack of tools, if would take hours, if not days, to dig themselves out. "Great, I came this far just to die in a blown-in jail." Farid vented his frustration by punting a stray rock.

"The tunnels, the tunnels!" Ander shouted between dirt-induced coughs . "That madwoman, she nearly reached the hiss." The feeble man tugged on Leif's sleeves, dragging him to cells further in. "There!" He jabbed at the furthest cell. "You two are strong, you can dig through!" Leif could not muster a word of protest as he came to stand before the cell Ander had dragged him too, from the looks of it, someone certainly had been hard at work carving through the rocky walls.

Because they're too fucked up to do anything else, it's time for a fireside chitchat with Roze@Middleearthroze and Sagax

As Sevine and Rhasha'Dar departed with a wave, Roze let out a sigh of relief, leaning slightly on her bow as she stood.

"Gods Sagax... as if the Kamal hadn't already beaten me up, Sevine has to go and throw me around like some naughty bairn." She complained, wincing as she shifted her injured shoulder. There was a slight moment of panic, a fear that she'd never be able to string or pull her bow again - but her shoulder had been relocated, and even healed somewhat. If she looked after it, it should return back to normal...

Or at least, that's what she hoped.

"C'mon, let's get to the Inn before all of the alcohol runs out." She added with a wearisome sigh, but still managing a tired smile at Sagax. The poor thing looked as bad as she felt, with his face all puffy and bruised.

"What exactly happened to you Sagax? Injury-wise, I mean. I don't much remember what happened on the docks..." She asked as they walked (Or rather, limped quite slowly) towards the inn, her speech pausing slightly as her brow furrowed in thought. "I remember Farid was being a dick to you. Not very smart words, coming from a man that was unscathed as he was." She said in a somewhat bitter tone. Only now in hindsight did she recall Farid, and his appearance wasn't exactly a sweet one. With flirting and insults, the man had no injuries to account for... and in a fight against monsters like the Kamal, didn't mean he had dumb luck. It meant he had stayed well out of the way of any attacks.

"Ha! You're telling me! When I told Sevine about our plan, I swear she was going to toss me back over that wall if she hadn't found you when she did. She really knows how to get what she wants, that woman, and she probably would have just beaten it out of me if I didn't tell her about what we did." Sagax tried to stand on his own without his scabbard as support, and he got along fine...for a few seconds. His legs were just too weak. Really, he was too weak, just in general. He felt mentally and physically drained.

Massaging his bruised up jaw, Sagax tried to recall just what lead him to be in his sorry state. Something about the charge...right, his charge. It exploded prematurely, sending the mad bombers into the river. He remembered not seeing Roze at all, though he didn't really have time to look before the Kamal blasted the water near him with one of their ice missiles. Oh, the ice missile, that's what knocked him into the dock, of course. Everything between then and when Roze dragged him away from the battle was black. "As for just what made me look like I lost a fight with an orc, I think I got launched into one of the piers. Those spikes can really stir up a wave." He intentionally ignored Roze's words about Farid. Sagax was still sour about that idiot's attitude and general demeanor but he didn't have the energy to spare to rant.

"How about you, Roze? How are you feeling? To be honest you don't look all too bad." He couldn't help but laugh a little at Roze's whacked-out hair. "Though you could probably do with a brush." Forcing his legs to get a move-on, Sagax followed Roze as she limped off towards Candlehearth. He wasn't much faster, though, and could only manage to keep near enough for them to speak.

Roze laughed at Sagax's comment about her hair, although immediately regretting it as the movement casued a ripple of pain from her side.

"Ah, if I can't tame it, I'll just cut it off." She joked, keeping the laughter just in her voice, this time. "As for my injuries - well, I have yet to catch my reflection, but if I looked as bad as I feel, I'd be quoting the Cat-Kicker to match my appearance." From what Roze could tell, her injuries lay in the shoulder, and her side. She felt feverish, but one could argue that to be down to shock, hunger, or simply pain rather than any kind of sickness.

"Well, when we blew that bastard ship up, a splinter of it decided to find home in my side. I can vaguely remember it being yanked out - not a pleasant thought. And my shoulder got wrenched pretty badly when they dragged us out of the water - dislocated it too, I think." She said, a tone of worry quite obviously hidden in her tone; again, about the future use of said shoulder.

Along this train of thought, her memory swiftly launched itself to what had happened after she and Sagax had been rescued - and she had to pause in her step to deal with the memory once again. If she hadn't already been as pale, the mere memory was enough to turn her white as the snow around them.

"Sorry, Sagax.. I - I'm just not used to..." Roze's words faltered as she recalled the man's head falling right before her. Her stomach turned once again, and she felt glad right now that it was empty. The Inn was right there in front of them, but she felt she couldn't walk any further. That man had died because he'd stopped to help her...

Sagax looked at Roze quizzically as she stopped in her tracks. Did he miss something while he was out? Considering the Breton's sudden change in expression and tone, he was almost thankful that he did. He didn't really know how to reassure her, or if he should pry in the first place. He decided not to; he instead simply put his hand on her (good...better?) shoulder and smiled invitingly. "You definitely need a drink, Roze. Whatever it is that's on your mind, it'd probably be best not to dwell on it. Come on, let's hurry on inside before we freeze, yeah?"

Sagax's words were short, but they worked. She definitely needed a drink... and either way, Roze didn't think she wanted to talk about what had happened just yet. Maybe when she'd recovered more.

"Yeah, you're right." Returning his smile, Roze walked the remainder of the way with him. After all, one can't drink soup and get absolutely rat-arsed when one is frozen to the spot.

The Inn was as warm as it had been last night - but it was far less inviting in terms of atmosphere. The few that were inside were quiet and melancholic. Which showed just how much the short siege was affecting Windhelm and it's denizens - things must be bad if the Nords couldn't even get to their local to get blind drunk.

The pair picked a seat close to the fire, and Roze heaved a sigh of relief as the warmth washed over her. As they sat, she pulled out a coinpurse - not a particularly heavy one, but it was full enough to pay for dinner and drinks.

"Consider tonight on me - the arsehole I took it from isn't going to be using this gold." She said with a grin; in her search for her bow, she had noticed a skinny Argonian going through the pockets of the wounded. As such, she took his money. Even injured, she still had her skills.

"Even with internal bleeding and a screwed up shoulder, you still find the time to be sly..." Sagax smiled and shook his head in mock-disbelief. "Ah well, good thing you...found that. All of my coin's in my bag back at the warehouse. No way I'm going down there...and not because of the Kamal, but because Sevine would probably tackle me to the ground!" He laughed at the absurdity of it; the huntress, face full of exasperation as she went off on another tirade. Of course, not that he would actually laugh like that to Sevine's face. He enjoyed having full use of his arms.

As Sagax found his way to one of the chairs by the fire, he suddenly began feeling oddly...faint. His head began to ring and sear once again, and his legs became absolutely useless. He fell as if half-tripping, half-collapsing into the chair, just barely able to grab ahold of the backrest in time to keep himself from faceplanting against the seat, sending the legs of the chair skidding a few inches.

Sagax tried to stand back up, or at least get high enough to find his way into the chair several times before finally throwing himself into his seat when his head stopped trying to tear itself apart long enough for him to get back his senses. Gripping his head for a few moments more, the Imperial's vision slowly began to clear up. Looking around, more than a few eyes were on him. "Great place for an episode...absolutely perfect..." He thought as he fixed himself, adjusting his body to sit upright in his chair.

Composing himself with a few deep breaths, Sagax looked at Roze wearily, but still with his same cocky smile. "Ah...don't mind me, I just uh, lost my balance." He said as he left his sword to rest on his lap.

Pursing her lips slightly in disbelief at Sagax's excuse, Roze raised one eyebrow.
"Uhuh. And I'm Jarl of The Rift. Just how badly hurt are you, Sagax?" She asked, although considering how hungry she was herself, it could just be lack of food bringing fatigue on the poor man. Either way, it wasn't wise to leave him like this - waving one of the serving girls over, Roze ordered two bowls of rabbit stew, some bread, cheese, onion, and baked potatoes to go with it.

Her newly aquired coinpurse would easily account for all the food, and the several bottles of mead she ordered alongside it. Both Sagax and Roze would be feeling full, warm and happy in no time.

If Sagax didn't pass out or something halfway through his meal, that is.

"Hm, maybe I took a bit more damage than I thought." He admitted. Roze clearly wasn't buying his excuse; though he didn't really expect her to, if he had to be honest. "I might have a...concussion, I think? Some of my father's old legion buddies would tell tales of their battles, and of course the wounds that came along with them. One of them, Aengar I think his name was, spoke of how enemy halberds from the ledges above them in the fort they were raiding kept smacking his helmet hard. The symptoms he experienced later seem similar to what I'm going through now." Shrugging, Sagax picked up a bit of cheese and took a bite straight from the small wedge he chose. "I don't know for sure, though, I'm no healer. The worst injury I've ever had was a nasty gash from falling on a gnarled fence."

Taking note of Roze's inquisitive look, the Imperial swallowed and spoke again after a moment or so of silence. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll go and talk to a healer about it soon, I promise."

Roze's face settled back into a smile as Sagax seemingly gave into her stare.
"Good - it does make me feel better. It's not just Sevine who can go all Momma Bear, you know." She said, a joking tone wrapped around the warning. Pulling off some of the bread and dipping it into the stew, Roze ate it quietly for a moment, before considering Sagax's other comment.

"How did you fall on a fence?" She asked curiously, swallowing her mouthful.

Sagax sighed as he began to remember. The whole event put Sagax's idiocy center-stage. That building was so old, and he knew it hadn't seen any work in a long time. "Well, I like to do a bit of scaling. Always have, ever since I was a child; mother was none too happy about it...but anyway, I was crawling along the ledges of one of the older buildings in the Market District. Long story short, I hit a bit of brick that just a little too old, and down I went. I didn't land on top of the fence, of course, but I grazed a bent spike. The cut went from my ankle to about my knee...none too fun, as you can imagine." He finished with a laugh, before taking a few spoonfuls of his stew. It was so nice to be warm again. Although he'd be even warmer once he finally got a new shirt...hopefully soon.

Roze chuckled at Sagax's story - it was all too similar to her childhood. However, she'd been lucky - or smart - enough to avoid jagged fences.

"Yeah, I was never an expert in my climbing. I can scale a house easily enough, but I prefer to just pick the ground floor lock and take the stairs." She responded with a laugh. "I still got my fair share of cuts and bruises though. Prior to myself joining this merry old Mercenary group, my worst injury probably came from... huh. An arrow. In the same damn shoulder." Shaking her head with a sigh, she glanced at the sling holding her right arm. Even the slightest movement of the joint sent shivers of pain across her. Still, it was a wonder it was still working - and attached - after what she'd been through.

"However, that's a story for another day." She said with a sigh, smile souring ever so slightly at the memory... specifically, of the person she'd carried out the task for.

"Were you very young when you nearly impaled yourself? I can imagine a wee toddler version of yourself limping on home to your Mother, leg spewing blood, but at least you filled out your climbing quota for the day." Roze teased, taking another spoonful of her stew.

"Young I was indeed. Only about seven years old when that happened...I was a very adventurous young lad. To think, all I wanted to do was put on a bit of a show for my little sister. At the time, she loved watching me swing back and forth along walls and such. I'm pretty sure seeing me gore myself changed her perspective. You know, just a feeling." Putting down his now half-finished bowl of stew, Sagax wiped leftover broth from his lips with his clothed arm, letting the remnants of his shirt soak it up. "Yep, young and dumb...that's something everyone can relate to, Man or Mer. I never would have imagined myself in this situation back then. Battle and war was an entirely foreign concept; I hadn't even begun my instruction in the sword at that point. But here I am. Circumstance can be a funny thing, huh?" Ending his wistful recollections, Sagax took a chunk of bread and nibbled at it absentmindedly.

"Yeah... funny's not exactly the word I'd use for our situation, but still... I see what you mean." She replied, stirring the gravy in her bowl lazily. "I always figured it would be easy, y'know. War. I've killed plenty of people - bandits, rogues, marauders... but I never imagined it would feel any different in a real battle." There was a melancholy tone to Roze's words - she missed the way life had been like when she was just a Thief. It was... not so much simpler, but certainly easier. She had also been far more innocent, prior to seeing the Kamal. Hell, even the attack in The Reach opened her eyes to things she hadn't even considered before.

But now she was a soldier - if she could even call herself that. Were two or three battles enough to get that title? Were Mercenaries even considered soldiers? They did the exact same thing; getting ordered to kill the enemy, and the enemy was whomever your job-giver told you. At the end of the day, it all came down to money.

"I have to say, Sagax. I much prefer stealing to killing when it comes to a coinpurse." Roze sighed. "Not that I can do much about it now."

Sagax was as silent as a winter's twilight as Roze spoke. They were more alike than he thought. He had gone right up to Ashav back in Markarth, naive to what war really was like. He had only the glory-laced retellings of former soldiers and drunken bards. His father never spoke of the battles he participated in, he only reminisced about his comrades, the good times he had. It got him thinking. Could he really continue as a servant of Mara, the way he was now? The way he will be in the future?

Unsheathing his sword part-way, he saw that the glowing gleam of a forge-fresh blade was gone, replaced with a dull steel reflection of himself, tainted with the blood of the Reachman he had slain. Could such a blade be righteous? Was this what had to be done to protect the meek and innocent? Sagax would have rather not thought about it, and so he slid the blade back into its resting position.

Clearing his throat, Sagax turned to Roze. "Sometimes the Gods put us in positions that make us uncomfortable. Perhaps to make us stronger, or to open our eyes about certain aspects of the world. Either way, it's the hand we're given, and we have to play by the rules set out before us." After being silent for a moment, letting what he said sink in, he suddenly burst into a sly smile. "Or...we can say to hell with what the Gods want; we forge our own path!" With that, he picked up one of the several bottles of brew and raised it into the air. "To us, for our own future..." After thinking of his next toast, he began to laugh heartily. "And to Sevine, for inevitably pulling our asses out of the fire!"

"Huh. I never pegged him for a religious guy." Roze mused silently as she listened to Sagax, cracking a smile as he toasted to the screwing of fate, and Sevine.

"I'll drink to that! Fuck Fate - we walk our own paths; how else would we keep Sevine entertained?" She laughed, hitting Sagax's bottle with her own before taking a long, deep drink of it. The coolness of the liquid was a nice contrast to the warm soup and the fire nearby, and it quenched a thirst even water couldn't manage.

Still, she was curious about Sagax's first line of thought... following the Gods' rules? The Gods had done absolutely fuck all to affect her life... if anything, the Daedric Princes did more for her. Although she wore an Amulet of Mara, it was for sentimental value - it had nothing to do with the Goddess herself. Because when had the Nine ever aided her in her troubles? She hardly believed it was Divine Intervention that saved her life earlier - it had been that poor Nord.

It took Sagax a few moments after setting his bottle down to realise he had only half left. He didn't remember drinking quite that much, but memory is faulty after all. Nevertheless, he could feel some of his strength returning...well, maybe, could have been that the mead was affecting him more than he predicted. Still, he felt better, at least. "Ha, whether she thinks so or not, Sevine needs us and our antics! We help keep her on her toes! Really, we ought to do that kind of stuff more often. Well, maybe with less explosives involved, yeah?" The siege had left Sagax's mind, and the groans of the infirmary were but a distant memory. This must be why Caius emphasized connections with comrades. They keep you sane, and having someone to simply bounce off of during downtime makes coping much, much easier. They weren't exactly soldiers, but the two rogues still had a good connection with each other, at least from Sagax's perspective. If only there were more people like her in the world, and people like Sevine and, yes, even Leif. Tamriel could do with some more honest, good-hearted humor. People like that made life worth living, as far as the little Imperial was concerned.

"More fun-time with Sagax? Well... if one left out the destruction and pain, you could argue it had been almost entertaining." Thinking it over, Roze's lips parted into her familiar, almost wicked grin.

"Less explosives indeed. I have to say, you'd definitely make a good partner in crime." She said in a jokingly conspiratorial tone; although she wasn't wrong. She didn't know much about Sagax, but she could tell he'd lived rough in the past... and she could always pick out a fellow Thief. "Or, if you want to do something boringly legal, I'm sure we'd make good companions for one another." She added in afterthought, pulling a face in jest.

Through her grin, Sagax saw what looked like an expression of understanding. Was she so easily able to see through his facade? Sure, from his looks one may draw the conclusion that he had not experienced the greatest of living conditions, but Roze seemed to see right through him. When Sagax thought about it, it made some sense. She most likely lived the same way he did for a long time. Perhaps she could just make out the telltale signs of someone who had gone through the same type of rough living, and that comment about being partners...did thieves have some sort of sixth sense or something?

"Well, I'm not exactly a man with a bounty on my head and stores of gold stashed away in an obscure cave, but...I have a bit of experience, I suppose. I've tried to put that behind me, though. Companionship sounds good, though. Besides, our profession is all about the people we know, right?" Sagax smirked as he drank another gulp from his mead.

"Well, Mercenaries and Thieves go quite well together, from what I can see. It's how my parents met, after all." Roze replied with an almost nostalgic smile. Her Dad, a Nordic Mercenary; her Mother, a Breton Thief. After enduring hardships together, they found companionship, and eventually love.

"You ever think about what life would be like if had... normal Professions? Like, working in a shop, or being a Guard in some city or something." She mused out loud, considering it. It sounded deadly dull to her - having to arrive every day at a certain time just to stand behind a counter or walk along some walls... Ick. The closest thing she'd come to anything like that was considering the Bard's College... but she wasn't all that friendly with the denizens of Solitude for that weird dream to be fulfilled.

"Funny thing, actually. I had a very normal job before I journeyed to Skyrim. I was a local courier back in the Imperial City. I ran packages and put up flyers for the merchants, and sometimes I'd even deliver reports for the City Watch. The pay wasn't amazing, but it wasn't particularly difficult, either...well, not for me, anyway. Unfortunately, circumstance forced my hand, and now here I am, with Ashav, you, and the others." Roze's question made Sagax curious as to what he would be doing at that moment if Caius had simply been released. He'd still be running shipments. That didn't seem so bad to him at first, but then he thought about his time in the northern province. He would have never met Jorwen, Roze, or Do'Karth, and that actually made him rather...sad. He never had many friends...was this whole thing a pilgrimage designed by some sympathetic deity to broaden his perspective? Alright that actually sounded really silly when the Imperial ran that idea through his head a second time, he was one man, why would any god waste their time with something so frivolous? Bah, Divines, who knows what they're up to. Either way, through divine intervention or just dumb luck and circumstance, Sagax was really grateful to have met all of these people, and he'd hate to think of an alternate life where his current comrades were completely unknown to him.

Pulling a face as he described his job, Roze downed the remainder of her first bottle of mead before answering.

"Well, that sounds like it was an exhausting job." She replied. "When I was a kid, I was just running errands for my parents. And their... workmates." Hesitating ever so slightly at this... Hell, it was no secret she was a Thief, but a part of the actual Guild? Hm... considering her relationship with them at this moment, it was probably best to keep her mouth shut on who exactly she grew up with.

"I got into thieving through getting my pocket money - it was how my Mother taught me to be independant. Pick a mark, and rob 'em. Of course, under a certain age I was angelic enough to get away with it if I was caught red-handed." Ending with a chuckle, she recalled one time one of the Merchants had caught her with her hand deep in his pocket. She just cuted her way out of it, saying a bully stole her sweetroll, and he'd give it back if she stole money.

The guy ended up giving her money for about five Sweetrolls. Hah. Sucker.

"Pfft, yes, I'm sure you were just the perfect little angel, huh? Could do absolutely no wrong, poor little Roze!" He said as he pulled a "woe is me" expression. Huh, angels...that reminded Sagax of something, but what? Looking at Roze, he could just barely latch onto a lingering memory. It had something to do with her, he was certain.

Ah. The blackness in his mind concerning what happened back at the docks was a bit clearer...in his delusion, he had mistaken Roze for an angel as she carried him away towards the gate. He thought that it would probably be best to keep that to himself, though he was betrayed by his face going a bit red. He'd never be able to live something like that down, especially not with Roze perpetuating it.

"I never really got into pickpocketing. I picked my way into the shops through their sewer entrances and grabbed what I needed. I like to think I did a pretty good job, considering it took a few years for me to get caught, and even then that was by someone staking out downstairs specifically waiting for me." Eating a bit more of his stew, he made a mental note to write Varulae a letter to thank her for the health potions she gave him. They really came in handy.

"Hah! Sloppy, my friend. Very sloppy. When I was a kid, I could climb into a house through the smallest window, unlock the door from the inside, and just walk out with all the loot." Roze teased with a laugh - to be fair, that was when she began training for the Guild. She'd crawl in through open windows to just unlock the door with the key on the inside - but Roze had more wiles about her for such a simple task. She'd do a quick sweep of any spare coins, jewellary, or anything of value that she could slip into her pockets with ease and speed, before going to unlock the door... with lockpicks, that was.

Keys became too easy after a while.

Although wondering what had made Sagax blush so suddenly, Roze decided to not mention it. He obviously wasn't going to let it slip anytime soon, with the way he'd averted her gaze for a few moments.

"So, what did this person do? Tan your hide? Threaten to cut off your hands? Or just report you to the Guards?" She asked, rattling off a list of threats that she'd heard plenty of as a kid.

"Actually...she took me in, along with my mother and sister. We were in a bad way at that point in our lives; that's why I took to thievery." Putting down his now-finished bowl of stew, Sagax leaned back in his chair and habitually went to play with the string that attached his hood to his collar, only remembering it had been burnt off after akwardly trying to grab it at it several times. "She's an alchemist, and long-time family friend. She waited downstairs for me several nights just to catch me and invite me into her home. If you ever need a good example of a kindly Altmer, just look up Varulae in the Imperial City. I've met very few people who are as selfless as she is." He swore he could almost hear the bubbling of an alembic in the distance as he talked about Varulae. She always took really good care of it; Sagax didn't remember ever seeing it dirty. Clearly, she took her craft very seriously.

"Varulae's the one I have to thank for the healing potions I was carrying around with me. She also gave me a very special brew; she said it was a potion of invisibility...can you believe that? That stuff isn't exactly easy to make, and she just handed it to me as I was walking out the door to join a caravan heading to Skyrim!" Well, she more shoved it into his hand and demanded Sagax take it with him. "No child of Equa will be going anywhere unprepared on my watch, so take it, you stubborn boy!" Her words didn't really carry a tone of anger or irritation, just really aggressive compassion. "Varulae is leagues different from Vurwe, I can promise you that much." He said with a grin. Varulae would absolutely despise Vurwe...a meeting of the two would certainly not end well.

The ending to Sagax's story was an unexpected one, to say the least. Kindness like that was rare in a place like Riften - it was a a town where one quickly learnt to grow independant.

"Well, I'd hate to think that Vurwe is a good example of an Altmer. Although I do have my doubts about some of them..." Roze replied, frowning ever so slightly. She was, of course, talking about the Thalmor. She wasn't a particularly religious person herself, but had been most disgusted to find that worship of Talos had been outlawed, just because he began life as a Man and not a Mer. Naturally, she and her family kept any Talos Amulet's or shrines on the downlow - being a Thief made it easy to do that. It was made all the more easier when Stormcloaks regained control of the city, getting rid of the Imperial friendly Jarl. Not that Roze was fond of her replacement, that was...

"Anyway, that was mighty generous of her. Can't say I've met many people like that in my life." She said, stifling a yawn through her words. The food was near to be polished off, and that single bottle of mead had been enough to numb her senses somewhat. Today had taken more out of her than she realised... including her stomach for drink.

"There's enough coin left over for a couple of beds, if you want to stay the night. May do our injuries some good, avoiding the cold warehouse floor." Roze offered, fighting the urge to stretch as she knew it would do nothing more than pull at her wounds.

An actual bed sounded incredibly tempting. A temptation Sagax almost immediately gave in to. "That sounds like a very good idea, actually...it's been a long day already, and it's hardly over. I'll have to take you up on your offer, Roze. Besides, if anyone's deserving of quality rest, I'd say it's us." Unlike Roze, Sagax was able to stretch out slightly; he was still careful about his own shoulder which was fairly sore. The pangs of hunger and weariness faded, giving way instead to a cloak of sleepyness. "Not much else we could do, anyway. We weren't exactly combat-adept in the first place...look at us now, you look like you can barely lift up your bow and I know for certain I wouldn't get very far with my sword."

Standing up slowly, Sagax found himself finally able to stay on his feet on his own. Good, he felt like an old man using his scabbard for support. "Well, may as well get out of everyone's way. No doubt there'll be more people coming soon to drown their fear."

The morning of Sun's Height 5 couldn't be any gloomier. Enduring through a sleepless night brought on by Kamal bombardment, the people of Windhelm should at least see sunlight to brighten their morning. Alas, none came. The White River spew out dense fog, blanketing the city in mist as snow demons continued pounding. Above everything, layers upon layers of cloud hung ominously low. These were dark storm clouds, though not all have arrived above Windhelm, they were definitely on that trajectory.

Walking outside would make one shiver, from the damp water vapors seeping through clothing. As such, leaving the wounded out in open air certainly does not constitute for wise. Neither was leaving out the deceased. There were hundreds of corpses still waiting to be taken care of. In no way, shape or form could the Hall of the Dead accommodate so many, so quickly. A few dead bodies have been burned in small pyres, but with the city streets crowded, smoke and flames spreading is the greater concern. For the time being, most of the dead were stacked near the gates, hidden under dirty tarps and watched over by guards.

Normally, morning meant fresh supplies brought in through the front gates, and then traded in the marketplace. No such relieve came today. Even though most households owned sufficient reserves to last days, if not weeks, the panicking idea of isolation from the outside world was unsettling. Business came to a grinding halt, nobody in their right mind would dare setting up shop while projectiles landed left and right. A select few shops remained open against the odds, all under the security of sturdy roofs. The Candlehearth Hall was one of such. Patrons drank harder than ever, so hard that the owners established a limit to how much each person could drink. Beside them, a portion of the main floor, along with most of the basement were cordoned off to facilitate medical demands.

Now, just because the average citizen practiced duck and cover, it doesn't mean the next person hid as well. Routine parties frequented the ramparts, braving all sorts of projectiles sent their way. Most of these parties positioned themselves over the front gate (or western sections), overlooking the bridge while staying away from Kamal ships. Ice missiles still bombarded the walls, albeit at a slower rate now then before. Looking through a spy glass would allow the observer to see Kamals offloading materials from their vessels. Like Tamrielic armies, the snow demons brought in crates and barrels as well. However, some swore they glimpsed strange matters as a few ships came and went. There was supposedly a polar bear-like creature, except that it had eight legs, whiskers and a suction cup type mouth. Others spotted vehicles similar to chariots, which instead of using horses and wheels, were carried on the backs of ice wraiths. Lastly, Tamrielic figures could be observed marching under Kamal orders. These were likely prisoners, uncertain whether they would executed or something worse. However, rumors quickly spread about collaborators working in conjunction with the enemy. Such thoughts borderline the unthinkable; did the snow demons truly have inside help?

Worrisome as the Kamals are, many in the city had more pressing matters. For one, finding sheltering in order to get some shut-eye might be a shrewd choice for many. Since the Kamals first struck in the morning, capable bodies stayed alert for an entire day. As objects would occasionally tumble from high-up, good sleeping quarters became more valuable as ever. The Palace of the Kings restricted access to guards and officials, even so, rocks piercing through its roof proved it was not completely safe. Relmyna and Anika were escorted away to barracks adjacent to the Palace, where they could be visited behind bars should one speak to the guards there. With their former leader relieved from command, the Dawnguards made themselves scarce, probably shut behind their rooms in Candlehearth. Adelaisa Vendicci rounded up rest of her employees in the old Aretino residence (purchased by EEC last year); they have many casualties to contend with. White River Braves played the good samaritans, aiding those in dire need. At last, the Argonians were the most restless.

After their elder's rousing speech, many lizard-folks charged themselves up in vigor. Throughout the night, an Argonian mob would grow in number as it marched through the Gray Quarter. Some Nords, and even Dunmers, shouted obscenities and threw objects at the them, but that would only stir up the mob's anger. When morning finally came, this mass of lizards drew ever closer to the Stone Quarter, where guards kept well-off Nord holdings separate from carnage of war. However, confrontation broke out as soon as the crowd met guards. Nearly a hundred Argonians demanded they be let out somehow. To which the guard responded with the obvious: it is unsafe to venture outside. Then a few eager Argonians shove their way through, knocking down guards and Nordic citizens while causing brawls to break out. A Dunmer further escalated the debacle when he lobbed a bottle full of alchemical mixtures into the crowds, prompting weapons to be drawn and morphing fisticuffs into a full-on battle.

Not far from the scene was Ashav and his lieutenants. The company leader just assigned Edith to check up on Relmyna, and Dumhuvud to the rest of the company, as one guardsman came requesting assistance. Apparently, Argonians are ready to prove their undying loyalty to the Hist by shedding Nord and Dunmer blood. The mercenaries would be needed to keep the mob down, deescalate hostilities and catch the Dunmer agitator who hurled the potion.

It was an end to a rather fetching evening, one with a gentle breeze that seemed all too eager to remove the lingering humidity that had enveloped the city for quite a few days. The food, the drink, and the company were weekly comforts that made it all too easy to forget why he was here. Looking up at the sky, the stars were beginning to pierce through the shroud of twilight as the sun retired beyond the horizon, making it a perfect evening were one inclined to pursue romantic interests or even rest upon a patio and indulge in vices. It was a perfect evening, all considered, one he wished he could enjoy to the fullest.

The hovel’s door opened easily, there was no locking mechanism, and the inside remained open to any who might have desired access. More than once he’d found strangers sleeping on his floor or bedding, as was their right, but not once had he had any of his meager belongings disturbed. It cost little to afford his accommodations, and while they were rather humble, they were all that were required.

A metal tray filled with fire salts rested by the door frame with a wick still in place. Igniting the wick, he carried the wick to an oil lantern that rested on the semi-cluttered table in the single room hovel. Touching the wick in hand to the one in the lantern, a soft orange light soon saturated the room and he set the lantern down, causing an unfamiliar glimmer to catch his eye. A silver dagger lay across the hardwood surface of the table with a length of red ribbon tied with care about the grip. His face drew taunt and his pulse quickened.

It was time.

Do’Karth’s eyes sprang open and the now familiar ceiling of the warehouse that sheltered the company hung overhead, as did the sounds and smells of wounded and capable alike. The khajiit drew several long breaths, letting his chest raise and lower slowly as he reached to his eyes to wipe the remnants of sleep away. Looking to his right, Solveig rested soundly, a fresh water skin and a bundled cloth containing snowberries by her side for when she awoke. The khajiit had promised to look after her and return when he could, and he intended to keep that promise. Knowing sleep would not find him again for some time, he took the thick wool blanket he was using and draped it over the woman before gathering his things and setting out into the cool morning.

Finding a relatively comfortable position near the stairwell leading up to the marketplace, Do’Karth rested himself against the wall and found himself having a commanding view of Candlehearth Hall and the towering peaks of The Palace of Kings. Having secured himself some thick parchment and a flat sheet of straight wood for a pair of Septims and some assistance in carrying firewood, the khajiit decided there may not be many chances to mark his stay in Windhelm and so with a piece of charcoal he had sharpened to a point with a blade and used a small leather strip to make a grip, he began the cathartic process of sketching his surroundings.

Some time passed, and an accurate and detailed beginning of the steps leading up to Candlehearth Hall and the general façade of the structure took shape and a dream-like quality, thanks to the smoky and uneven quality of the charcoal. Taking a moment to admire his progress, a sudden commotion broke the relative tranquility of the morning and people were rushing from, and to, the Gray Quarter and rather frantically. “What on Nirn…” Do’Karth muttered, recalling the argonians from yesterday hollering nonsense about their precious Hist. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so ridiculous with the way people were reacting. He sighed, raising to his feet. At this rate the Kamal were going to breach the gates and find most of the populace dead upon each other’s blades after turning on one another.

The khajiit rushed to the Gray Quarter, forcing his way through the crowd with staff in hand. The sounds of a large skirmish were beginning to fill the air, prompting the khajiit to have the bystanders make way. He soon found himself amongst several of the guards and mercenaries as they moved towards the unruly and armed mob. Without thinking for his own safety, Do’Karth made his way to the edge of the brawl and immediately tripped one of the argonians with his staff and shoving the dunmer he was fighting with away from the fallen combatant. “Enough!” the khajiit bellowed. “Have you lost your minds? No one will be going anywhere if you kill one another!”

By now, the stench of wounds was as normal as the smell of the hearthfire come morn back in Whiterun. The groans and cries of those wounded had become as normal as the chirping of birds or the din of a cozy tavern. Even so, it brought out the last of Jorwen's sympathy for others' pains to see the faces of those whose friends had not lived to heal from their wounds. Choked whispers and misty eyes were the order of the day, but he guessed those were the times. Seemed to be the times for his whole life, being honest. But the only thing keeping him going was the sight before him. He'd been relieved from his shift on the ramparts and rushed to the warehouse straight after Do'Karth told him of his daughter's awakening. She still slept and he wasn't going to wake her, but he looked down on her soft face and new scars. Her soft snore that she'd kept all through her life. To think, his little thane had grown so much. There was a part of him, a part that was woefully small in his youth but had grown steadily with him through the years, that he'd had enough sense to stay home. But he couldn't feed a family on the septims he earned in a failing tailor shop. He had to make up for it somehow. He would, just had to climb one last hill. A big fuck-off hill that it was- made of snow demons- but he'd climbed enough hills in his life, what was one more?

He was taken from his thoughts when his daughter began to stir. She let go a deep sigh and screwed her face up as she stretched, growling with the effort of it. He waited patiently for to open her eyes and see him. She propped herself up on her elbow, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She blinked at him and for a moment, he saw something of surprise in her eyes and took a happy note that the swelling in her face had gone down a healthy bit. The surprise soon turned to that same old dagger-eyed gaze, like the wolf sizing up the old alpha. He knew it because he wore it for near thirty years. "He told you then?" It wasn't quite the eye-wetting reunion but Jorwen had long ago learned to set his expectations of life as low as he could.

"He did." Jorwen said. The sat there, looking at each other for a bit. Jorwen opened his mouth to speak-

"I'm glad." Jorwen was stopped cold and he looked at his daughter, though she didn't meet his eyes for a moment. She turned her blue eyes on his and he didn't see the wolf there, didn't see a hint of fire. For once, he saw those same eyes of the little girl waiting near the door each time he returned for a few days to spend his gild from Aelfgar. He had trouble seeing through the film of wetness and heard his daughter grunting and swearing as she got to her feet. As grand a gesture it was and how much of a testament to how stubborn of a woman she was, she couldn't keep it up for long before her knees buckled from under her. Jorwen, quick as a snake, caught her before she fell.

"You're a damn stubborn girl." He chuckled.

"The Gods want nothing to do with me tramping around in their realms." She smiled sheepishly, red in the face from her failed display of bravado.

"I want you by my side for as long as I can. Just help me help you, eh?" He said, letting her settle with her legs out straight in front of her and resting her head on his leg. "You look good, by the way. Like a warrior worth something now."

"I would've thought I looked like a stable girl got kicked in the face by a horse." She laughed.

"Maybe a bit of that too." He brushed a lock of hair from his view of the scar and the dent in her face, "Damn big horse, though."

"I'm glad you're alive." She said, "However surprised I am that you are and angry to the point of killing you myself if you're so eager for it. Charging off to battle like you do. Damn fool of a man."

"Your mother came to terms with it. Took some time, but she did." He shrugged, "Besides, man's got to stick to what he's good at. Shame as it is, I didn't do much tailoring in my life, truth be told. Sewed a few things, though it was wounds most of the time."

"I'm not my mother."

"Oh, don't I know that." He sighed. He caught sight of Mire in the crowd, then Brittle and Temper soon after. Mire nodded slow as mud and Jorwen frowned, knowing he'd have to get back to the black business. "I've things to get to. I'm sorry, I'll get back soon as I can."

"Sooner you get to those things, sooner you can get back here. Go." She shooed him away and gave him a good-natured parting shove in the back as he left. He went outside and Mire and his lot- his crew, no matter how black a crew it was now, regardless- caught up to him.

"Lots of whispers about town, you know." Mire said, cleaning the nail of his thumb with the tip of his knife, "Care to hear 'em?"

"Can't be the snow-demons got bored and left is one of those whispers, no?" Jorwen said, wincing with his smile. Can't hurt to try at a bit of smiles to start the day off.

Mire's face was untouched apathy at the affairs, as always, "Sadly, no, Chief. Some say they got slaves now, others say they got mercenaries of their own. Can't see why they'd bring hired help though. Some lizards getting uppity and that means they're making everyone else get uppity. Not a boring morning, all things considered."

"Not all's doom and gloom, Chief." Brittle said, a coinpurse in each hand that he was willing to bet the rest of his years were on other peoples' belts naught but a half-hour ago. "Out of war come spoils."

"Why don't you try making an honest gild?" Jorwen spat at them.

"Right, should've killed them first, eh, Red-Bear? The mob's still yelling. Listen close and you can hear it. Fun lot." Mire said, no sign of humor on him. Not that there ever was. Worst part about it is he couldn't say anything. Looking at it from a different angle, he guessed Mire had a point. "Should we get to it, then?"

"Take me to it." He sighed, rubbing at his face. He soon came to a sight of pushing, shoving, punching and glints of steel that meant things had gotten very, very serious. In the midst of it all, a few newbloods of the company tried helping the guards pacify the crowd. He caught sight of Do'Karth standing over a fallen Argonian, yelling in vane at the chaos around him. No doubt everyone else was doing enough yelling of their own to drown it his lonely voice calling for peace. Enough people set to righting wrongs with violence, you'll find the first casualty is their good intentions. As fine an example of a man urging for peace in all things as Do'Karth was right then, he was always told to get as much as he could by trying at talking first. But he always knew the words of an armed man were always heard a bit clearer. At that, he drew his sword and so did the rest of his crew. They shoved through the crowd, and he was pretty sure Temper had broken someone's neck along the way. "What's to do?" He said, standing next to Do'Karth. He did realize that the three men standing behind him grim-faced and hard-eyed didn't look all too peaceful. "We'll, um, try to help."

‘’Dunmer, wake up! Dunmer! Sadri!’’

Cilo was scared. The flin had taken its toll on Sadri, who had long passed out on the duo’s drinking table, and he himself was still somewhat tipsy, for he had recently awoken from his slumber which had accompanied Sadri and the various cups and glasses on the drinking table. Having woken up to hear distant shouting and rabble, he had chosen to buy some food from the innkeeper – only to witness a large group of Argonians outside, shouting, fighting, throwing rubbish around. Not being the sharpest knife in the drawer, and being easily impressionable, Cilo had somehow reasoned that the Argonians were here to get him.

‘’Dunmer! For Arkay’s sake, wake up!’’

And where was our Dunmer, Sadri? Of course, physically, he half sitting on a wooden chair and half slumped on the drinking table he had chosen to accompany hours ago. But his mind was in a trip through memory lane, warped and twisted underneath the restlessness caused by being in the middle of a siege and the influence of flin. Perhaps more than five times, in his dream maze, he had stumbled upon the very bandit who had cut his arm and ear off with a single strike, trying to finish the job. He had managed to escape the bandit when his lost arm, withered through the years spent next to a tree in Leyawiin, and for some reason gigantic, had attacked the brutish swordsman in revenge for its separation from its rightful owner. Somehow, not long after his escape, he had accidentally slipped into a puddle, which had led to a brothel full of his past, present, and future loves. Well, it was hard to call it loves – for Sadri never believed he had truly fallen in love, and in truth, he really hadn’t – but still, the women he had been attracted to throughout his years, the women he was attracted to now, and the woman, the Woman, the one that most men and some women sought, the bearer of Life, Fertility, Security and Motherhood, were all greeting him, taunting him, all in all playing with him in his odd journey throughout the endless brothel. However, just as he had found the one he had been looking for since his puberty; his dream world had started to shake and crumble. Someone was calling for him.

Sadri came to, with Cilo repeatedly tugging his shoulder. The young lad was practically shouting for him to wake up. He was confused. He was hung over. ‘’The fuck do you want?’’ He blurted out with a dry mouth, his good hand looking for a bottle of something liquid. He was thirsty as all hell.

‘’Oblivion’s sake, Dunmer, they’re here! The Argonians! They’re here to get me!’’

With that, Sadri’s world suddenly slid into focus, and he smashed an empty bottle of booze against the table he had been sleeping on. ‘’Get me some water, will you?’’ He implored Cilo as his hazy eyes looked around, trying to find the Argonians Cilo was so afraid of.

Tsleeixth shifted on the bed that was in the room that he had rented in Candlehearth Hall. He was having the most particular of dreams, finding himself in -what he thought to be- the Argonian homeland of Blackmarsh, despite the fact that he hadn't been in the region since he was six years old. In this dream world, the Argonian found himself wandering the marshes that gave the nation in it's name when suddenly, he started hearing footsteps. Before he could react, Kamal troopers started to appear in the bog, yet as soon as they appeared the world itself started to crumble around him.

Tsleeixth woke startled, as the sound of conmotion started to reach his ear. "Guess the words of the old Argonian got to me more than what I thought." He mumbled to himself, rubbing his forehead as he felt a headache starting to appear. "Guess I better go downstairs, might find someone that might explain to me what the ruckus is all about," he mumbled to himself as he got out of the bed, getting dressed as quickly as he could with only one arm. Once that was out of the way, he made a beeline towards the innkeep, going to ask for some water and food when he ran into a startled Imperial who, before Tsleeixth could utter a word, ran away further into the inn with something in his hands. Perplexed, Tsleeixth decided to follow the young Imperial to try and ask him what was that had startled him so.

Following the young Imperial further into the inn, he found the young man speaking to a heavily-scarred Dunmer. ''Huh, seems familiar, but I can't quite place were I have seen him,'' thought Tsleeixth as he saw the Dunmer man. Shrugging, he approached the young Imperial man and tapped him on the shoulder with his good arm. "Excuse me, but...why were you so startled when you saw me?" He asked, still perplexed by the Imperial's actions, his eyes shifting from the young man to the seemingly-familiar Dunmer.

As Cilo hid behind him, Sadri understood what Cilo was so afraid of – a somewhat scarred, shady looking Argonian (then again, considering Sadri’s past, it was likely he considered every Argonian shady), with one arm injured. It seemed oddly misunderstood and confused – but Sadri was too hung over to understand this, and Cilo was panicking, and rightfully so. The Argonian mob outside seemed pretty angry. And Sadri knew what angry Argonians could lead to.

‘’Back off! I said back off!’’ Sadri shouted as he waved the broken bottle in his hand against the Argonian’s face. Last time he had let one get close, he had been shanked in the gut, and he certainly didn’t want that again. His kidneys were important. Cilo himself pulled out his sword and started brandishing it from behind Sadri, trying to scare off the Argonian. ‘’Go away! Go away!’’

Meanwhile, the argument outside had become quite heated. The Argonians, hungry and pissed off, had finally reached their boiling point, and started throwing things at the guards trying to keep them out of the Candlehearth Hall. First it was a bunch of rocks that took Sadri’s attention, and then suddenly, a much larger object came crashing through the inn’s window – a beaten up guard. It seemed that the Argonians themselves also wanted to get inside, as after the guard, the scaly, mistreated creatures began climbing inside.

‘’Shit!’’ Sadri muttered to himself as he threw the broken bottle at the Argonian in front of him, and grabbed the chair he had been sleeping on a few moments earlier, sending it flying through the window adjacent to him and Cilo. As the cracks of glass and frame burst away from where they had been, Sadri motioned for Cilo to jump outside, and then followed his own advice as the Argonians began entering the inn. No way he was going to let the lizards settle the score.

Sagax found himself back on the docks. It was strangely clear of all debris, but the Kamal ships still lingered at the end of the piers. He and the other defenders steeled themselves for the coming onslaught; shields were raised, formations held strong, and tense hands gripped the handles of swords. Ramps smacked against the stonework with a deafening clang that seemed to echo for miles, shaking trees and scattering the local wildlife. All was silent for but a few moments, then the Imperial heard the unmistakable crashing of Kamal boots, heading steadily closer. The fog that lazily danced on the river floated towards the docks, and enveloped the towering warriors; they truly looked like demons; heralds of destruction.

War cries shattered the heavens, the rallying howls of the defenders fighting against the beastly roars of the Snow Demons. The demons charged, and Sagax could bear to watch the advance no longer, and he closed his eyes, though hands still on his blade, waiting for the inevitable. Suddenly, he was struck by silence. Not even the winds of the northern coast dared to tread this battlefield. When Sagax looked back up, his eyes were met with a barren set of piers. Whirling his head in each direction, he struggled desperately to find both his comrades and signs of the Kamal. Where had they all gone? Jorwen, Do'Karth, Sadri, Roze, even Dumhuvud were all absent.

His eyes were brought back towards the outstretched piers when he heard the shuffling of heavy boots. It was then Sagax once again locked eyes with the Kamal mage. Did he lock eyes? He couldn't even be sure of that, the giant was so monstrous and alien. Sagax tried to raise his blade, but he found himself disarmed; his sword had simply disappeared! He had no time to find it, as the mage weaved their arms in the same intricate pattern as he had seen before. With one final strike with its arm, the Kamal launched a massive mound of glowing arcane ice. It did not break off, and it did not slow, it sailed steadily toward him. Sagax was paralyzed, locked in place by an unseen force, and could only look onward, stupefied, at the missile.

Just before the spell hit him, Sagax was awoken by the loud shattering of glass. He swung himself upright, even before he opened his eyes. He was back at Candlehearth, in the room Roze had gotten for him with the money she stole from some layabout. As his senses came back to him, Sagax heard more ruckus coming from outside. Grabbing his sword, he headed out into the main hall of the inn. He was met with the sight of Argonians, climbing through a shattered window and beating on an unconscious guard. He thought he caught a glimpse of Tsleeixth out of the corner of his eye, but he wasn't sticking around to confirm. "What the fuck is going on in this city!?" he thought to himself. This was no time to riot, Gods damned fools! Sagax reached over to the door opposite his room, and banged heavily on it.

"Roze, we've got a problem! You need to get up, and get out of the inn now!" Smacking the door a few more times for good measure, he hoped the rogue would heed his advice. The door was locked and he had no time to go about breaking it down to make sure she got her ass moving; more and more rioters were filling the front room. No way he'd be getting out the front door...wait, wasn't there a window in that hallway? Looking behind him, at the very end of the corridor, was indeed a window. Just big enough for him to fit through as well, what luck; and if he could fit through, Roze definitely could. She's a smart girl, she'd put the pieces together quickly when she came out of her room, Sagax was certain.

Grabbing a bit of pottery, Sagax smashed open the glass of the window frame, using his scabbard to jab out any large remnants before sliding through. The chaos only became more apparent as his feet touched the ground; the Imperial could hear yelling, the breaking of glass, and even the clashing of steel. Peeking his head out from behind the back wall of the inn, Sagax stared, mouth agape, at the growing crowd near the front gate of Windhelm. He could hear screams about "the Hist", and needing to go back to Blackmarsh. What was happening at Blackmarsh? Actually, more importantly, Sagax decided of his growing list of question, why the hell were people trying to leave during a siege??? They would all die the moment they stepped out the gate! Didn't they know that they Kamal were waiting across the bridge!?

The guards were trying to keep the rioters back, and Sagax could make out Jorwen amongst the crowd, with some strange, and rather ugly, men following him. He was talking to Do'Karth, who had been yelling for peace and calm. The chaos around him, sadly, did not cease.

Why a riot, of all things? During a SIEGE, of all times? Sagax felt like smacking his head against the bricks he was hiding behind until everything just went away. But nothing could just be so simple. He would need to find some way to help calm the roaring crowd. But what? The Imperial stayed behind his cover while trying to think of something, anything that could be done to cease the ever-increasing hostilities. Too bad for Sagax, this problem couldn't be solved by running blindly into danger with explosives in hand.

She swallowed, sweat beading on her brow as she gritted her teeth hard enough to crack them. Her eyes were screwed shut and the most she could breathe were tiny sniffles in and whimpering breaths out. She couldn't move, pinned to the wall. His hot breath felt like death on her cheek and no matter how hard she struggled, all she managed to make him do was swear under his breath. The other man's groping hands snaked up towards her jaw and the mere feeling of his skin on hers made her feel sick. She recoiled and felt her lip quiver and she was ashamed for it. Such weakness, such helplessness, it was all she could do to keep from sobbing.

“It'll all be over quick, you stubborn bitch.” One of them growled.

She felt his hand jerk back and then forward as something inside her face scraped together and popped back into place like a shoulder back in its socket. She reeled back and brought her forehead down to crunch the man's nose back into his dirty pig-face but found his mouth instead. Either way, he let her go, stumbling back and swearing. What he said was lost in the dribbling mess of red she'd made of his face. She surged forward, ready to dig her thumbs into his eyes but her arm was grabbed and the hand yanked her back with such force that she fell onto her arse. She felt it in her throbbing jaw and saw a black shape stepping towards her. Her foot lashed out and found his knee, cracking it backwards as he fell to the side, screaming.

“Gods damnit! You want a thing done, you'd better be ready to do it your damned self!” Their leader spat furiously.

“Why don't you! Save me the trouble of coming to you, you bloated pig.” She said, her wolf's grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she wiped a stream of blood from her cut forehead, most likely cut on one of that bastard's rotten teeth when she headbutted him. A menacing low growl of a laugh escaped her as she put her back to the wall, using it to help her up and make sure they couldn't get behind her. The process was less graceful than she hoped, but she had low expectations for herself, given her condition. The only things she felt were fear, anger and pain. She had to wonder where her father was, that old fat arse off trundling along somewhere. Not even that foolish fucking rug, Do'Karth was here. She spat, she didn't need them for this. "Get the hells on with it!"

“Oh, I'm sick of you. You'll find I'm made of different stuff than these.” He waved his hand at his lackeys.

“We're all made of the same meat.” She reached behind her and yanked out a knife from its sheath. “But if you're so set on showing me your insides, come and have a go, little lad.”

“I'm tired of you calling me that too, you stringy whore.” He said.

They circled each other like two wolves. The hooded man was frowning hard, squinting at her with one eye swollen shut. She'd given him that some time ago. She made to spring off her back leg for a thrust, but her knee gave out on her and she ended up squealing as her forward foot slipped. He took his moment and came forward, knocking her back against the wall. He'd pinned her arm against the wall but she managed to bring her thigh smashing into his fruits. He gave a breathless grunt and all the strength left him. She cocked her arm back and put all her strength into a blow to his gut. He doubled over and fell on his side, spitting bile. She stood over the trio, breathing hard, her knife still gripped in her white-knuckled hand.

“Mah theeth.” One slurred, but it took her a second to piece together that he was whimpering about his teeth, on account of his missing front ones and all the blood from a bit tongue, most likely.

She gave her grin again, knowing all too well how much that must hurt. But hers was worse. “Pick through your blood for them.”

She gave a bitter laugh and replaced her knife in its sheath. She turned around to see Cleftjaw standing behind her with his mouth agape. The look on his face made her want to punch it. “What, halfhead?”

“I hire three fucking people to watch after you while your father and his cat friend are gone and you near kill the bastards?” He said, “What did they do?”

“Touched me, gawked at me while I slept.” She growled. “You hire three leering pigs to slobber at me while I'm weak. I'll tell my father how trustworthy you are over your fucking grave, you bent-face prick!”

“We were checking her pulse and her temperature! Orvi set her jaw in place but we had to chase the bitch!” The man whose fruits she acquainted his stomach earlier cried.

“They're healers, Solveig, you dagger-eyed bitch. They're supposed to touch you.” He looked over her shoulder at the three men on the ground, “I trust you never touched her.”

“Rabid street curs don't strike my fucking fancy, you understand.” The head of the trio spat while he gave her a killing look.

She turned around and the edge of her knife glinted as it came from her sheath. Cleftjaw put a hand on her shoulder but she jerked away from it. “Let's just go. Save you from becoming a murderer.”

“I didn't know they branded you a murderer for slaughtering pigs.” She spat, wide-eyed and near shaking with anger.

“Come now, come on.” Cleftjaw coaxed as he gently led her away. She slid her knife back in its sheath on her own as she worked to calm herself. It took all of her strength not to turn right back around the second Cleftjaw's hands left her shoulders. Now that the battle lust was wearing down, she felt light. Black started creeping around the corners of her vision and she whimpered, her legs beginning to buckle. She stumbled left into Cleftjaw and he caught her. They resumed their walking with Solveig throwing an arm around Cleftjaw's shoulders while he supported her. “Can't say I've been this close to a woman in a while.” He chuckled nervously.

“You've a girl waiting for you anywhere?” She asked him while he pushed open the door and they stepped out into the streets.

“No.” He said, “Father... he's gone. Mother's... gone. My brother was a shit.”

“No family?” She raised a brow at that, “Odd thing. But no girl?”

“None.” He shook his head. She looked at him sidelong, trying not to make it obvious. She guessed he was pleasing enough. A real nord, with real scars. “You've a man?”

“No.” She thought back to her mentor. Well, being honest, mentor was a rough word for it, given what he was paid with. But he was a good man. Or just better than most she knew, anyway. “I don't.”

Cleftjaw cleared his throat and a cheeky smile flashed across his face, the kind she wanted to smack off his lips. “You know, I was the one who carried you away from danger.”

“How long's it been for you, little lad? You're what, has to be more than twenty summers behind you, don't tell me I'm the first you've gone after.” She said, no sign of humor.

“I've had a few. And it has been a while.” He muttered.

“No doubt if you're trying your luck with me.” She said, more than a bit bitter.

“You don't look bad. Your face has healed well.” He said. “Has to have been a while for you. You seem the type to punch men rather than make love to them.”

She turned away from him, feeling the heat on her face already. Truth be told, it was a while since she was this close to a man. Well, given what happened a few moments ago, it'd been a while since she was this close to a man and enjoyed it. Or at least didn't hate it. “You want to fuck me?”

He coughed and stuttered, “W-well, I mean, I know your father. It wouldn't be a good thing for me to do that without his permission, he'd want us to marry, or at least have plans to, otherwise he'd-”

“Do what?” She asked. “He's my father but I'm a woman, not a girl anymore.” She frowned, looking down at the cobblestone streets. They'd stopped walking.

“But if he finds out-”

“I think I found out you're a milk-drinking coward.” She said, a smug grin across her face.

He pushed her up against the wall next to an alleyway. “Still think I'm a coward?”

“Yes.” She smiled. The sound of glass breaking was such a fitting thing to punctuate how well it shattered the moment. “What in Oblivion was that?”

“Who fucking cares?” Cleftjaw said, but she pushed him away and tugged out her knife. He held his hands up, “Gods, fine!”

“Quiet, fool! Listen.” And the sound of a group whooping and hollering was heard. They followed after the sound, slinking through the alleyway, and came upon a group of young Dunmer breaking down a door.

“We'll take what we're owed!” One of them said, and he turned to the old man on the ground, spit dribbling from his lips. “Still a worthless knife-ear, old n'wah?”

“Vaeren! We've got watchers.” At that, the group turned at once. Six against two. Shit odds. Then she heard the slapping footsteps of someone running. Rounding the corner, she saw another Dunmer, but this one held a certain familiarity about him. She couldn't remember where they'd met, but he knew his face, or his lack of an arm, more like. A young Imperial was running just at his heels with a look of blind fear and on his heels was a horde of those dock lizards. At that, Cleftjaw took off nearly sprinting with her in tow after the old Dunmer with the one arm.

Finding the Wounded Sylvanis - Brought to you in part by: The Foxy Lady, and The Roze in the Nightside of Eden.

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The Khajiit, and the Nord woman walked along in silence, while she had no words to share with Rhasha'Dar, her own thoughts left her enthralled. It was true, she felt a deep, searing amount of regret for throttling Roze, as well as yelling at Sagax, and not to mention her melodramatic display of emotions for defending the vampire woman, Anika. Despite how hard she tried to rationalize her actions, she could think only of how much of a fool she made herself out to be in front of everyone, the Dawnguard, Sagax, and Rhasha'Dar.

The evening of the 4th of Sun's Height had come and gone while the early hours of the 5th were approaching, and she reckoned it to be a quarter past five, while the skies above remained in a haunting spectacle of crimson, yet the two moons of Masser, and Secunda's dimmed between approaching ominous storm clouds, and from the looks of it, followed by the evident change in the atmosphere; Sevine reckoned that the weather would reach them by this afternoon, or in the evening. Even the air hinted at the change of weather to come, and she imagined she could smell the rain yet to fall. The pain of her scalp had led her to take the liberty of undoing her intricate work of braids she had pinned up the day before, granted, that the woven, crimson strands of hair had loosened during the battle. A cool breeze lifted her tresses back from her face, and she relished in the relief that the wind provided as blood-red locks and curls were loosened under the dim, grey morning light. As they strolled along the streets of Windhelm, going from one throng of wounded bodies to the next, searching for Rhasha's bosmer friend, Sylvanis, Sevine was beginning to wonder if she had perished in the frays of the fighting. Even so, the notion to appeal to her furry friend that that was the case, Sevine kept her mouth shut; one never knew the outcome of the battle, and in all the years that Leif had come looking for her, and she him after the throes of warfare, neither had given up hope on one another.

A peculiar thought crossed the threshold of her mind, and she wondered, just where in Oblivion had he run off to with Farid? She hadn't seen him for the better part of the past few hours, a knot in the pit of her stomach began to form as she prayed quietly that he hadn't dug himself a hole into an abyss of trouble. The siege continued on through the hours, she could hear the implosions as the missiles struck their directed targets. There were the wary cries of the wounded, and the wails of the mourning men, and women that had lost their loved ones, some were even children.

Turning her attention to Rhasha, she was on the verge of opening her mouth when she stopped to study him closely. Now that she saw him under the grey of encroaching dawn, Sevine noticed for the first time, how tall he was. He had broad, powerful shoulders, and rather heavy-set, though she assumed it to be due to the amount of fur he carried, and even a factor of his muscles. She took note of his fur, a mix of golden hues as he ambled along beside her, and as she peered closer at him, she noted that his nose, throat, and torso were a lighter shade, like that of goat's milk mixed with honey. As her concentrated gaze traversed his body, an acustomed sensation took hold of her as she recalled her days spent hunting in the misty woods of Falkreath. She focused then on his head, and realized that she hadn't regarded his hair, or did he refer to it as a mane? Either or, she noted that his hair was a darker shade of brown than that of his coat, and he kept it in plaits, some were of different colors as well. Tiny gold clasps held the plaits in position to prevent them from unravelling, though these were latched onto the different colored strands of his mane, while the other braids held leather strips. Her eyes wandered up to his eyes, or at least, what she could see of them. Rhasha's eyes were the color of golden, with flecks of hazel. Again, her eyes travelled elsewhere, to his ears this time, where she realized he had pierced ears with gold hoops, and his ears were rounded, instead of pointed like that of a housecat. Slowing her walk, Sevine peered at his back side, where she caught a better look at his tail. It was as thick as her arm, if not a smidge thicker. Here, there were stripes, the same color as his mane, and as her eyes roamed across his body, she saw a series of scars across his torso as she leapt back to his side, keeping an even, steady pace with him.

"Rhasha, can you tell me something? Why are there different colored strands of hair in your mane?" She asked.

Upon leaving the battered pair that was Rozalia and Sagax, Rhasha found himself dwelling in a comfortable silence with Sevine as they walked. Well - at the very least, the pair were silent themselves. But one would have to be deaf to block out the sounds of the wartorn city around them - screams and groans of the wounded and scared still punctuated the freezing air, each cry for aid made all the more ominous as debris still hit the city and it's walls.

The Kamal may have left for now, but they were not done with the place.

A cold hand gripped Rhasha'Dar's heart, a chill not even his Goddess nor Sevine's company could chase away. He felt a deep fear; a foul taste that had not filled his mouth since the attack by the Werewolf... watching it tear chunks of flesh from his kin, rending fur and skin and ripping his own body apart as if it were naught but parchment beneath it's wicked claws. And he was back there, except there was no way out. They could not survive another attack by the Kamal. The very city he was made so unwelcome in would become his death bed, surely?

The sound of Sevine's footsteps beside him seemingly brought him back to his senses. What would she say, if she knew what he was thinking? What would she then think of him?
Already, Rhasha could feel her eyes on him; he did not look, but he could feel her gaze. It did not feel unfriendly, but it was a curious sensation all the same. Perhaps Sevine had not seen many Khajiit? No... she'd mentioned she'd met plenty, she'd just never touched their fur before. So what had encaptured her gaze so?

Rhasha finally met her gaze as she made her query; and what a gaze it was. Khajiit did not have eyes like the humans, and therein lay a mysterious beauty. Once again, he was reminded of the Nord's Goddess Kyne; that deep pine green had the breath of the trees within them, and the heart of a forest. It matched Sevine well - it matched her wild anger and her motherly love, all the more accentuated by her vivid red hair flowing loosely behind her.

Upon realising he'd just been staring at her for a few breaths rather than answering her question, Rhasha cleared his throat, bloodrushing to his cheeks in slight embarassment. Thank the Gods she wouldn't notice.

"Ah, they belong to my family. Some time ago, my older sister was forced to flee Elsweyr; before she left, the eight of us parted with portions of our manes; each different coloured strand belongs to a member of my family." He finally answered, a nostalgic smile growing upon his face. "My parents and youngest sister remain at home in Riverhold. Our oldest brother aids in the war against the South; my sister is... Somewhere in Skyrim. And my younger twin siblings remain with our caravan - I thank the Gods they were smart enough to leave before the Kamal arrived." His smile gave way to something more sombre as he looked to the skies. "Perhaps if myself and the denizens of this city had paid more heed to the Moons, the death toll would be far less."

She listened respectfully as he explained the construction of his mane, and to her surprise, she learned that the different colors came from his family. Her heart sank, not out of sorrow for him, but the realization that he possessed something dear from his family; part of her mind wondered why she had always forsaken her family during times of war, and battle. During the civil war, Sevine had written little to her family. She had hardly any time to write to them, as she was constantly busy with patrols, gathering much needed sleep, sharing her sorrows with Leif over bottles of mead, or out hunting for food when supplies ran short. Again, her mind wandered to Liliana, she wondered how her new husband was treating her, and promised herself mentally that she would write a letter to her little sister if they made it out of the city alive. She caught his words at the end, about the ominous moons, and their mysterious colors.

"Yes... The moons. They were rather odd two night's ago. To think that this is what they foretold, is troublesome indeed." Just as she was about to ask him more on his beliefs of his people with the moons, she spotted a familiar face. There, along a wall with a select group of the wounded, Sevine grasped his forearm, secretly revelling in the fact at how soft his fur was still beneath her hand, and pointed to a Bosmer woman, that looked eerily like Sylvanis. Albeit, she was missing an arm.

"Is that her?!" She exclaimed, rather excited that their searching had paid off, or at least in hopes that it had come to an end, and she wasn't dead after all.

Rhasha had been ready to tell Sevine more about Masser and Secunda, when she paused and grabbed his arm. Human skin was a curious thing to feel, especially for a Khajiit. Sevine's was pale and smooth, and certainly one of the smoothest that Rhasha'Dar had seen in Skyrim - the cold weather was rarely kind to one's skin, but Sevine wore any weathering well enough to hide it.

Rhasha' gaze was torn from Sevine's face as she pointed towards a rather familiar looking Bosmer. His jaw dropped in amazement - to see her sat up, scowling at nothing in particular, and being truly... alive.

"Sylvanis!" He blurted, and she looked at him, surprise widening the Bosmer's own eyes. Rhasha jogged over to her, laughing with simple relief that he had found his friend - he surprised her even more with a hug, all while careful to avoid her stump. That thing must be smarting.

"Alright, you great furball, get off! I've lost an arm, not my head." Sylvanis grumbled as the hug went on far too long for her liking, and Rhasha grinned at her as he relinquished his hold.

"This one apologizes - but there was a great feeling of relief in my heart seeing you alive, my friend." He said, backing off slightly. There, beside Sylvanis, was her warhammer, and her enchanted gauntlets... both of them. "Sylva - how did you get the other glove back?" He asked after a moment. Sylvanis laughed; although some bitterness there, she was obviously still amused.

"The bastard Kamal may have took my arm off, but they weren't taking those babies away from me. Had to pull it out of the sea with my arm still in it - I brought it back with me, but they couldn't reattach it." She sighed, glaring down at her stump which was swaddled in blood-stained bandages.

Sevine smiled to herself at the sight of Rhasha'Dar rejoicing over finding Sylvanis alive, albeit, with one arm less, but she was alive all right. Reaching to touch him on the back, Sevine mumbled into his ear.

"I'll leave you two be. Mara bless you." With that she nodded to Sylvanis, pleased that the Bosmer was still alive, and hadn't ended up dead on account of the Kamal's. She did feel pity as she lost her arm, but a thought flickered into her mind. Wasn't there a Dunmer man with their company, Sodder? No, Sadri. He lost his arm too, though it was missing before the attacks, perhaps he would have a word of advice to help her with the healing process of a missing limb? Either way, Sevine took her leave; turning on the heel of her boot, she headed back into the depths of Windhelm, searching for Leif. The hour was just past six, if she remembered right, she still had no idea where he had gone, and beginning to grow concerned at his unexpected absence. What had Farid, and him gotten themselves into?

"Thank you for your help, Sevine." Rhasha said in an almost tender tone as he gently grasped her arm in gratitude. Waving her off as she left, he perched himself by Sylvanis, the two beginning to talk about the events that had unfolded - with Sylva naturally lying boasting of her defeating three Kamal, even finishing one off while being armless - and what the plans for the future would be.

STREETS OF RAGE! Starring Johnny Shaft and Derv McDuken

One of the pleasurable things about fighting in a company was help was never far behind. Do'Karth had found himself in situations in the past, surrounded by rather hostile and quite unreasonable sorts that responded much better to violence than words, and this was looking to be one of those days. As skilled as the khajiit was at arms, even he didn't like his odds with this many people screaming for blood. Jorwen, reassuringly, seemed more weary than threatened. Perhaps that was just his way; Sovengarde probably wasn't guaranteed were one to get trampled in mob violence, so it was nothing for a Nord to get excited over.

The dunmer Do'Karth had shoved away by the end of his staff bristled at the indignation, pulling a long, thin blade from his waist belt. "You shouldn't even be allowed in this city, cat. Mind yer own business!"

"Another step, friend, and this one will have to apologize for what comes next." The khajiit replied, staring daggers at the indignant dunmer, who accepted the challenge. A whirl of the staff brought the end of it hard into the dunmer's nose, breaking it with an audiable crunch as he fell backwards into the seething mass. "Sorry!" He called after him, rather insincerely.

The argonian he had leg-swept to the cobblestones attempted to grab at his ankle, which Do'Karth responded to by driving his staff hard into the argonian's wrist, who shrieked in pain. "Mind your hands, friend. Perhaps you should leave to get that looked at? This one would not wish to see your injuries get worse." he said. The argonian stared at Do'Karth menacingly, but seeing the mercenaries at the khajiit's side, seemed to think better of it and the fight shrunk out of him. The lizard slunk on all fours, although minus one presumably cracked wrist, away from the melee. Do'Karth looked towards Jorwen. "This is a preferable change of pace from towering giants, no? How does one break up a mob in Skyrim, in your experience?" the khajiit asked.

"In my experience?" Jorwen looked to the men behind him and then to his drawn sword, "You wouldn't want my experience. I was hoping you'd thought of something."

The crowd was a mass of slurs, punches, kicks, scratching and any other manner of violence. Legs of tables, meat-knives, chains, hammers, any weapon one could think of was being wielded in this mess of furious lizards and mer. Jorwen wasn't quite fond of it. "Reckon a riot's like a battle. Find the leaders and the army unravels." His eyes scanned around and it was no surprise to him that he didn't find any individual that looked like he had thought up any plan past beating the next person they saw. Any leaders in this mess were well-hidden. "How in Oblivion did this even start?"

Do'Karth let out a cynical laugh. "So we start bashing our way towards the loud ones, this one can do that." the khajiit said, thrusting his staff towards an argonian who made to dash a dunmer's skull in with a roofing hammer. "In Do'Karth's experience, he's never been a part of a war, much less a riot. Normally, he would be content to let these idiots sort themselves out, but they would be much more useful holding the gates from the real enemy than turning on each other. As for how it started, who knows? Perhaps "return to the Hist" is simply street slang for Lifts-Her-Tail's bedroll and her mate caught wind of it."

The khajiit pressed forward, much less gently, allowing the pent up aggression he had building inside of him with the rage from such blatant stupidity endangering everyone's lives to come out full force in his thrusts, swings, and other strikes that he did not feel bad for in the slightest. He savoured the moments when someone actually charged him, or otherwise challenged him; the street rabble weren't going to have any hope in this world or any plain of Oblivion of reaching him before he dashed their aspirations. Any who weren't paying attention were caught with a sharp, painful strike, while the others were wise enough to give the khajiit room. The other mercenaries and guards likewise moved as a unit to press forward through the chaotic mass, bringing down anyone who still had fight in them. Still, going was slow and dangerous; at least two guards and one of the mercenaries were dragged down in the fighting, their fates uncertain.

Jorwen followed Karth slowly, wary of his vicious jabs. The look on his face was not that of the peaceful and easygoing Khajiit he though Karth was. Of course, every man has a monster in him. Jorwen knew that to be very true. One Dunmer was pushed straight into Mire. The big man wrapped the smaller mer in his arms as Temper threw gut-wrenching blow after blow into the man's stomach. The poor mer was let go and was gasping for air as his eyes rolled back in his head. Jorwen raised a lip in disgust and shook his head. It was hard to feel bad for the mer. One Argonian hissed in his face and out of instinct, Jorwen smashed the pommel of his big sword into the lizard's snout. Another pressed in and Jorwen grabbed the Argonian with a meaty paw and threw him back into the crowd he came from.

As much as Jorwen hated to admit, violence was the most clear solution to this. He wished it were different, but it had already begun and spun far too out of control for him to change any. "I never took you for the type to go whacking heads at a moment's notice." Jorwen said. Truth be told, he almost couldn't look at Karth the same. Something in his eyes as they were going along and he was swinging his staff.

The khajiit was far too gone to mind his manners or disposition, his body almost moving on its own with a force and maliciousness he had long though buried within himself. Years of suppressing anger, from personal failures and endured racism alike, came bubbling at a head. These people deserved pain, and Do'Karth felt himself enjoying it, the empowering feeling of being a warrior, a scythe through a field of wheat. He had always enjoyed a good fight, that had never changed, but an aspect of himself that he thought long dead was apparently more resilient than he had thought. "Never without a reason, Jorwen. Fighting is in this one's blood; do not mistake Do'Karth's refusal to kill as a hesitation to do what Do'Karth must." the khajiit replied, shouting a feral battle cry as a pair of argonians went to grab the staff from his hands.

The khajiit spun the staff in a quick arc, striking the reaching claws before savagely bringing the end of the staff in a back blow in the first argonian's face, the staff's momentum carrying past the staggered beastman and the far end coming down at a high arc into the other's collarbone. It didn't take a physician to know his shoulder was dislocated. The khajiit rammed the end of the staff into the argonian's shrieking throat, the sound infuriating him. Teeth barred, Do'Karth hissed as the argonian collapsed. "Stay down, or this one will make sure you never walk again!" He roared.

"O'course, friend." Jorwen watched with a frown as the Khajiit went to work on a couple other argonians. A man should stick to what he's good at, Jorwen always had it. And that limp Karth had probably had a story behind it. Even Do'Karth's words were tinged with something. Jorwen had heard it in the words of every warrior he'd ever spoken to.

From behind, a band of warriors who may have been Braves charged into the melee on horseback, quickly giving pause to the mobs and breaking them up into far more manageable chunks. Those that didn't run off deeper in the city, anyway. It seemed the riots and looting went elsewhere, leaving those that were cut off from it stranded and alone. No longer protected by the mob, the thinned crowd dropped their weapons and surrendered. It was mostly Dunmer, with the argonians moving eerily together like swarms of bees through the city.

The Braves seemed to be charging after those who had fled, leaving the remaining mercenaries and guards to gather the rabble. Do'Karth did his part by collecting stragglers by coralling them with shoves, and making a show of removing weapons from reach with the end of his weapon. Few people wished to challenge the angry khajiit who, from the word of mouth of a few of his victims, was all to eager to break people's bodies. It wasn't long until the guard had formed a perimeter around the rioters and calling for someone to fetch some lengths of rope and chains. Do'Karth made way over to Jorwen, his features dark as he stared at the faces, dunmer and argonians alike. "Fools should have just let the argonian cowards go, let them be torn to shreds from the Kamal they refuse to fight. It would have spared a lot of innocent people today."

As Jorwen looked at the quivering leftovers, he felt nothing but anger. But there was a saying about the man who is angered by the foolishness of others. What was it? Either way, these were not warriors. They held no honor, no bravery but for the shouting of the mob. Like the bleating of angry sheep until they are sheared and left hairless and cold and shriveled. Jorwen spat. "Disgusting lot." Mire stepped up next to him and Karth.

"Just ignorant fools swept along by their anger." Jorwen was a bit taken aback by how those words struck him personally, knowing himself as well as he did. He only spat again and shook his head, "Hard to blame them. You spend your life in the shit while others walk on and spit at you, you'd want to break their heads open."

"Eh?" Mire said, "I was saying they were dock lizards n' all. But, I guess you've a point."

Jorwen frowned at the man, looking sidelong at him. He turned back to Karth who, despite the recent show, held a warmth to his company that none other seemed to have. Especially not Mire and his lot. "It's a sad fact but people tend to think their problems are the only ones in the wide world. They're like to blind themselves rather than face the truth." And as he looked at Karth, he found those words had something to them. He'd forced his own expectations and opinions into his view of Karth and it only did him harm. He wondered where the Khajiit had come from, what had formed him into the man he was. "You can't say it isn't true for yourself, even just a small bit." He let go a sigh, "I can't."

The craving for sugar to steady the nerves was becoming unbearable. Do'Karth chose to grip his staff in front of him, end resting on the cobblestone below, to allow his hands to resist the temptation to wander. "When the truth has been at the city's gates with countless dead the past two days? Their lack of fortitude is inexcusable. This one heard the argonians whining about something called 'The Hist' as their reason for wanting to, somehow, cross half a continent to return home." He said, staring daggers at a dunmer who dared look up at him. The khajiit's eyes didn't waver. He wasn't entirely sure how, or if he should, address Jorwen's last point.

"Do'Karth knows what he has done, remembering it is what helps guide his actions. If you allow yourself to forget what you are, or who you were, then you are doomed to repeat your follies until perhaps you cause enough pain to remember the lesson you should have never forgotten. Allow this one to ask you something; do you really think the things you've come to regret would have changed who you ended up becoming, Jorwen? Would you have stood here talking to this one had you not faced those trials? Or Solveig. Would you have suddenly realized that she's the family you do not wish to lose?"

"Maybe I'd be mending skirts in Whiterun rather than bloody wounds in the Reach. And here. And a hundred other bloody fucking places besides." His voice had become an angry growl but he took a deep breath to steady himself. "I used to be a man you wouldn't ever want to be around. If I hadn't made some of the choices I have, maybe I'd have less dead friends and a better relationship with my daughter. Having her skull crushed in isn't the way I ever wanted to rekindle our relationship."

He shook his head and sheathed his sword, made fists of his shaking hands and squeezed them tight to try to fight against the tremors. Maybe Aelfgar was right, that there was nothing else for men like them, but to fight and make enemies until you died. There was always the chance of dying for any reason once you picked up the blade, even for no reason at all. "But the past is for the dead, eh? They can forgive, they can be forgiven. We've just got to go on." Jorwen frowned down at the cold stones of the street, "These days being what they are, I keep wondering if I should put down my sword and take my family away from all this. Pick a direction and just walk. That how you did it, left it all behind you?"

"This one doesn't believe the dead can forgive so readily." Do'Karth replied somberly. He slowly inhaled, exhaling through his nose to try and calm his beating heart. Jorwen was encroaching on territory Do'Karth had been ever so careful to avoid speaking about in truths, but now, seeing the man as a troubled friend and both well aware of their impending mortality, it almost seemed wrong to keep silent forever. Perhaps something would suffice, but the khajiit certainly wasn't ready to come to terms with it all. The dream he had the night before, just before awakening, was an omen. The past couldn't stay buried forever.

"Not as such, This one had everything taken from him, stemming from one mistake that Do'Karth has vowed never to repeat in his lifetime. This one has come within a few short breaths and beats of his heart of leaving this world for the next, and that is what it took to make Do’Karth realize that there was more to life than he had initially been conditioned to see. This one cannot go home, because he has no home. Not anymore. Anyone this one knows believes him to be dead, and Do’Karth wishes to keep it that way.” The khajiit said, looking towards Jorwen with a frown. “Believe Do’Karth when he tells you that you alone have more than he does. You have family that is worth fighting to keep; this one never did.”

Jorwen only nodded, frowning. For all the Khajiit's dark sincerity, he still wasn't entirely convinced. What man's the bigger fool? The one with no family to forsake by wandering, or the one who forsakes the one he has for fleeting glory and a Name. Maybe it wasn't too late. Just one more hill to climb and then it'd be over. Just one more. "Reckon there's truth there." He said, hard-faced. "You've got some weight behind you, Khajiit." Jorwen nodded, "Some weight."

"More than you know. Perhaps it will be a tale for another time, but Do'Karth believes the guards have this in hand. It may be wise to patrol for some of those rioters who scattered; this one doubts they are done causing us problems. Shall we?" The khajiit inquired, extending an arm down the street as an invitation. The two men walked off in silence, leaving the carnage behind them, as well as some heavy air. It was just one more fight in a series of many of a war that no one had anticipated, and even fewer expected to survive. As far as Do'Karth was concerned, anything of importance to him lived and died with the city. There were worse places to draw a line in the sand.

A snippet of life in Windhelm, by Peik and the Schaft...

For a habitual moon sugar smoker, slight alcoholic and a seventy-five year old riddled with scars from various shitty encounters, Sadri ran quite fast. Not even Cilo, who had served in the Imperial Legion, and was at the prime of his youth, could keep up. The skooma pipe jingled ever so slightly with every step of Sadri’s mad dash, making a sound that annoyed Cilo as if it were mocking him for being unable to catch up with this hungover knife-ear. Sadri hadn’t even noticed that the Dunmer looters and the Nord girl he had talked to a day or two back. He had just kept running. But eventually, his lungs gave, and the Dunmer leaned against a wall, catching his breath. Twenty years back he could’ve kept going without a sweat. But, well, no matter how slowly, age was catching up. More likely, though, it was his bad habits.

Sadri saw Cilo with his hands rested against his thighs, huffing, a few meters in front of him. ‘’Oblivion be damned, Dunmer, you run quite fast,’’ he blurted out in between more audible breathing. Sadri didn’t respond. There were some folks running after them. ‘’Look alive,’’ he warned Cilo as his absent hand rested on his sword’s hilt. But after a few moments, he recognized the runners, one of them at least. It was Jorwen’s daughter, the one he had talked to before the siege. Sadri had experienced some bad interruptions to his slow-paced courting in the past, but never before had he been interrupted by a siege planned on another continent. It was almost a compliment.

The Nords looked like they were in pretty bad condition – Solveig, even more so. She looked like she had fallen upon her face or something. Well, during a siege, sad shit could happen. At least she was alive and wasn’t missing any limbs.

‘’Fancy meeting you like this,’’ Sadri said as the Nord duo came to a halt near Cilo. ‘’Lizards on your tail?’’

"A few knife-wielding Dunmer too." Solveig said. Her head was pounding mercilessly and she put her face in her hands, bowing her head as she sat against the wall. She let herself slide down to the ground and groaned. "You mer have a surprising ability to hate everything that isn't grey and pointy-eared." She gave an airy chuckle, "It'd be damned admirable if it wasn't aimed at me."

"Who is he?" Cleftjaw asked, somewhat suspicious and- if Solveig's senses could be trusted- a bit of jealousy.

"Manners, manners," Solveig rubbed at her temples, trying to calm her pounding headache and the aches in her joints, "Cleftjaw, this is... is... what is your name?" and she tapped at the side of her head, trying to at least bring some humor into the fact that she'd forgotten the mer's name, "Took a bit of a knock."

‘’You wouldn’t imagine the shit I’ve seen Dunmer stab each other over,’’ Sadri said as he watched Solveig fall to a slump. Her caretaker seemed somewhat displeased with Cilo and Sadri. Sadri himself wasn’t really sure why the guy looked so upset. Then again, as said, shit happens during a siege. He couldn’t blame the guy for his long face.

‘’Forgotten so easily, eh?’’ Sadri mused as Solveig struggled to remember his name. Then again, she did look like she had been on the wrong end of a mule’s kick, so he didn’t blame her. ‘’It’s Sadri.’’ Cilo suddenly jumped in after Sadri introduced himself, presenting his own introduction. There was a pause, and Sadri decided to save Cilo the embarrassment of being ignored. ‘’And yeah, he’s Cilo. Swell guy,’’ Sadri lied as his eyes darted between Solveig and Cleftjaw. Fucker had been drinking his flin and waking him up, and Sadri was still covering his ass.

"Cilo, eh? A pleasure, truly." She nodded ever so slightly. The lad looked too clean, but she knew looks were not the make of a man. She turned back to Sadri, "Sadri, then. Ah, we talked some time ago. Odd how every time we meet we're either running to or from something looking to kill us."

"You look like a well enough lot." Cleftjaw said, his eyes going from Cilo to Sadri and back, "Reckon we may as well get comfortable." Cleftjaw's eyes lingered on Sadri as he sat next to Solveig. They seemed to be looking for something, and it might be they found it as Cleftjaw snapped his fingers, "Sadri, you're with the company. Been with us since the Reach. Didn't see you at all on the walls of the Redoubt, though. Can't blame an old man for taking things slow." He smiled and Solveig rolled her eyes. The familiar urge to knock his teeth down his throat was coming on again.

"The lad was kicked in the head by a cow when he was young, it's how he got his Name. Forgive his flapping lips." Solveig said.

"That is not how I got my fucking Name." Cleftjaw muttered.

Sadri for a moment appreciated the pleasant environment caused by Solveig’s response and Cleftjaw’s seemingly warmer comment. Then the fuck had to go ahead and piss Sadri off with his comment on his age. Sadri knew he was old – but to say he was out of the game, that, that was fucking wrong.

‘’Was too busy saving your superior’s ass from a bear back at the Reach,’’ Sadri replied nonchalantly. Then Solveig had to go ahead and give him an opening, and Sadri just couldn’t resist when Cleftjaw refused that it was from a cow that he had earned his name. ‘’Well, how’d you get it, then, tried to throat a cock a tad too thick for your mouth?’’ Sadri asked, with a grinding voice. Fucker wanted war, he had it coming.

"Any which way, I'm glad to see you haven't died, Sadri. Might be we can catch up over some mead. Or Colovian whiskey. Or anything, really." Solveig said before peering out of the alleyway they were taking refuge in. She could feel Cleftjaw's anger radiating off of him stronger than the mob that was hunting them down for their blood. He should lighten up, it wasn't marriage Solveig was offering earlier. "After this mad business is settled, o'course."

"There's about to be some mad business right here with this mouthy Knife-Ear." Cleftjaw tucked a hand away behind the confines of his cloak. No telling what matter of sharp metal he was grasping for.

Solveig rose half a head taller than Cleftjaw and almost put her nose to the tip of his, she got so close, "Cause any more trouble than the shit we're neck-deep in and there'll be no mad business for you come time I'm feeling some way." And just like any other man to ever walk the many lands of Nirn, the mention of time spent with a woman after any length of time over a day had his anger wilt. Solveig returned to her spot on the ground as she rolled her eyes, the look of disgust on her face was enough to kill, she was sure. "Men."

She ran her tongue along her teeth and sighed, searching for a subject that wouldn't have the two bickering at each other over age and where cocks went and where they wanted their cocks to be and the accusations and insinuations of cocks in orifices. Was everything just cocks and violence with men? "How did you two meet? And what did you do to make so many Argonians want to kill you?"

Sadri had hoped that the situation wouldn’t have been defused by Solveig so he could’ve stuck whatever Cleftjaw would’ve pulled out right back up his ass, but the girl wasn’t the type that would go all ‘Oh please, stop!’ and secretly root for one of them to win the incoming fight. Sadri respected that, and despite his desire to kick this dumb Nord in the throat, backed off. As she rose up, Sadri couldn’t help but admire her broken face – wounded, yet still strong, Sadri couldn’t help but find that attractive. He always had a thing for butch women. Shame most of them turned out to be lesbians.

He paused for a moment after the female took over the bickering two and, with that, proved to Sadri once again that the master-slave dialectic was very much true. Thankfully the girl herself seemed not to enjoy the cold environment caused by this sudden lack of hate speech, and changed subjects, asking Sadri how he had met with Cilo and why there was a horde of Argonians chasing them.

‘’We met, uh, yesterday,’’ Sadri replied with a tint of confusion in his voice – he didn’t know how long he had fallen asleep for – and then continued. ‘’We met on the docks, actually. Cilo’s with the East Empire Company. Helped me out on the assault,’’ and with that, Cilo took the ball. ‘’Yeah, we took down two of those giants together. Well, one of them just fell down in pain after a face full of salts, but I figure that’s better than nothing. We’re still alive and well.’’

The boy’s optimistic, lively and naïve tone was a stark contrast to Sadri, who sounded constantly tired. But the tone had given Sadri the motivation to speak more, too, and put the cold parts behind the group. ‘’As for the Argonians, no idea. They roughed up Cilo after the assault ended, and,’’ Sadri turned to Cilo. ‘’They came for you, you say?’’ Cilo replied immediately. ‘’Yeah, one of them just started asking me questions in Candlehearth, and then the whole thing started outside with the rabble. They say the Argonians are a hive mind, you know. Maybe that one seeing me reminded them again.’’

‘’Maybe it’s something else,’’ Sadri replied. ‘’What were up with those Dunmer?’’ He asked Solveig, ignoring Cleftjaw. Best to forget he was even there.

"Angry for being treated like shit, most like." She sighed, "Can't blame them. Anyone tries to keep me in the shit is asking for me to rub their face in it hard enough to rub it right the fuck off. I'm only surprised it didn't happen sooner. No offence." She shrugged with folded arms, "Kill your enemy, is all I'm saying. Better to die angry than live poor and in the gutter."

‘’Well, if dying angry is better off than living poor and in the gutter, I suspect we’re all better off dead right now,’’ Sadri said as he looked at the skies for a moment. ‘’But way things seem, we’re going that way anyway.’’ After all, they were in the middle of a siege with Snow Demons and their steam ships trying to hammer down the walls of Windhelm with ice, and the racial tensions had erupted into a full-scale riot. While Sadri believed he could stay alive the next couple of hours, the situation looked grim in the long term.

‘’Well, since the Hall’s overrun, any of you know somewhere else to drink?’’ Sadri asked, looking at Solveig, and even Cleftjaw, despite the previous mutual hostility. Seemed that was the only thing left to do at this point.

"I don't suppose they'd like to see the likes of me in the Gnisis cornerclub." Solveig admitted after a thought. She shrugged, if it kept her from being able to get piss drunk, maybe racism was wrong. Then again, that rabid pack of dock lizards was keeping her from getting drunk. Furthermore, they had worse problems on their doorstep than who lived where and whatever the fuck the Argonians were angry about. "Anybody have a flask?" She looked around, cocking one brow.

Again, Cleftjaw's hand snaked behind his cloak and he brought out a flask, uncorking it and holding it out to the three people around him. He met Sadri's eye and his face was locked in a frown of half-trust, "Peace? Nothing better'n a drink to mend." Solveig raised her brows at Sadri, wondering if the man had the strength to forgive. Or at least forsake hostility for a moment for a drink.

‘’I suppose you’re right,’’ Sadri muttered to himself as Solveig mentioned the fact that Sadri’s current friends wouldn’t be very well accepted in a Dunmer bar. Then again, Dunmer barely tolerated each other’s presence. That’s probably why the Morag Tong had legal stability. Even their own government didn’t want the Dunmer around.

Then suddenly, Cleftjaw procured a flask from underneath his cloak. He even offered it to Sadri, who was somewhat taken aback by this sudden display of kindness. Still, a drink was a drink, and Sadri wasn’t the sort of guy who’d refuse a drink.

‘’Sure,’’ Sadri said as he uncorked his own skin of flin. He held it out to Cleftjaw with his absent hand as he grabbed the Nord's flask with his good hand. ‘’It’s flin, good stuff,’’ he said before taking a sip of Cleftjaw’s flask and offering it to Cilo, and then Solveig after Cilo’s silent refusal. Thankfully, Cilo was now aware that he couldn’t handle his drink well. Sadri could respect that.

Cleftjaw stared gape-mouthed at the Dunmer's missing hand somehow...grasping? Grasping the skin of whatever it was, flin. Solveig had to admit she was more than a bit surprised at the sight as well. "Wha..." Solveig pointed, "What is that? Is it illusion magic?" Solveig leaned forward to get a view of Sadri's arm, not believing it could hold things without a physical hand. She'd never seen magic, except for a magician that visited Whiterun long ago. He fell off the wall during one of his performances and died. "How do you do that?"

‘’It’s not illusion magic, it’s enchantment,’’ Sadri explained as he viewed Cleftjaw and Solveig’s expressions with mild amusement. ‘’Well, if you insist on calling it magic, then it’d actually be part of the school of Mysticism.’’ He raised the skin a bit further, almost playing with it, and then started rotating it around its own axis to show the capabilities of the arm. ‘’Some Synod back at the Imperial City did it for me, actually, but since then I’ve learned the craft. It was too expensive, you see, and I have no wish of paying that sum again.’’ After finishing the small show, he offered the skin back at Cleftjaw again. ‘’But eh, forget about that. You want to drink, or not?’’

"What is it?" Cleftjaw said, eyeing the black opening of the skin.

"Long as it doesn't kill me, who cares?" Solveig said, snatching the skin out of Cleftjaw's hand with a smile one part excitement and one part relief at all the alcohol on hand. She took a swig. She couldn't say it was bad. It had subtle hints that reminded her of Colovian whiskey, but somehow more foreign. But, she could say it tasted like something that would get her drunk and at least able to forget some of the pain in her body. "So, you're well-traveled, eh?" She sucked at her teeth and shook her head at the burn of the dunmer drink. "What's the Imperial City like? Is it all blinding white towers and villas lined up as far as the eye can see?"

Before Sadri could begin, Cilo jumped in at the opportunity to talk about the Imperial City. Despite having spent most of his life in Bruma in an Imperialized Nord family, Cilo felt as Imperial as a Septim, and thus saw himself as having the right to talk about the Jewel of the Empire. ‘’Why, the City’s lost a lot of its splendor, but nonetheless it’s still a shining light, an example to all other cities out there. Certainly a marvel of architecture.’’ Sadri wanted to refuse, but truth be told, Cilo was right – the city was damn well made, and despite the horrors it had gone through during the Great War, it was still holding up. ‘’Well, somewhat,’’ Sadri decided to take the ball from Cilo, ‘’it’s quite nice, but the Great War has left its mark upon the city, its people. I would’ve liked to see it before it was sacked and profaned.’’

Sadri took another sip of Cleftjaw’s flask, and then handed it back to him. ‘’I really liked Anvil. Anvil was quite nice, the Abecean Sea. At least it was forty-something years ago. I’ve no idea what it’s like now.’’

Sadri sighed. It had been more than forty years since his time in Anvil. That Orsimer woman he had enjoyed a stint with, Rabul, was probably dead by now. A strong sense of melancholia overwhelmed him – for a moment, time felt like pouring down like water from his brows. He took the skin of flin from Solveig’s hands and took a long gulp out of it.

‘’Time flows quickly,’’ he muttered, to no one in particular – maybe it was just a reminder to himself.

Solveig snorted, "If you say so." She sighed, "You sound like my fucking father. Maybe every old arse sounds like the other." Truth be told, there was something in Sadri's eyes that pierced the thin veneer of sarcasm and cynicism that the mer seemed to cloak himself with. It made her feel something for him. "Have you always been in the business? The thing with all the swords, you know? My mother used to tell me all about my father every time he ran off to go fight and sell his sword. Said it was for Skyrim when Ulfric's war reared its ugly head. Funny thing, being for Skyrim... Skyrim's the only place left scarred and half-dead for it."

At that, Solveig got to thinking about her father and all the stories drunk old men used to tell around the fire about him during the Great War where he killed elves and Khajiit. Then they told stories about him from the Reach, where he killed Reachmen. Then the Civil War, when he killed legionnaires. Her father had done a lot of killing and fighting in his time. She had to wonder why, then her mind flashed to the duels she fought against some of Markarth Side's hardest names. The cheer of the crowd, the fear, the excitement, the feeling of victory snatched a hair's breadth from defeat. Then the feeling of facing a monster that truly wanted her dead. She grimaced and Cleftjaw's offered flask, gulping down a mouthful and wiping her lips on the back of her hand. "It pays well, I hear."

‘’I don’t expect you to understand,’’ Sadri said after Solveig finished her youthful, energetic outburst of half-assed anger and drunk rambling. ‘’Not yet.’’ He took a sip of his flin and offered it to Cilo again, having forgotten that he had refused previously. Oddly enough, the kid accepted this time, perhaps moved by Sadri’s melancholy.

‘’As for the business, that depends, to be honest. Nearly all of my professions had sword wielding as part of them, though I haven’t spent much of a time as mercenary. Maybe a few years in Valenwood, that’d count. I used to work for the Morrowind Government, I’m not sure if that counts. And now here I am. But really, I’ve had to resort to the sword in nearly all my professions.’’ He licked his lips. ‘’Maybe except being a librarian.’’

"Is it odd that in all those things, I'm most surprised that you were ever a librarian?" Solveig asked. You don't see many men that looked like him in the book business. She wondered what had come first, the mercenary work or being a librarian. "Do you ever miss being a librarian? Reading of other peoples' adventures made you want to make your own?"

Before Sadri could answer, Cleftjaw peered out from the alley and returned, "Looks like the lizards are gone."

Solveig looked back at Sadri, "Perhaps we'll talk more, Librarian."

The wind whipped through the alley with its keening, bringing the smell of rain with it and making her clothes billow. She could hear the flapping of Cleftjaw's cloak and felt the first cold sprinkles of rain. Years of being in the business of selling his sword with naught to show for it but scars as he was hiding from a mob in an alleyway painted Sadri in a much different light than what she first saw in Candlehearth. Her mind wandered to her father and the memory of their argument a few nights before came back fresh. The wind must have dried out her eyes, they were starting to water.

And with that, they parted ways.

Few noticed and fewer cared about the battered Imperial skulking around the streets of the Windhelm. People apparently had more important things to see to than a beat-up rogue that looked like they would fall over if one so much as breathed on them; things such as looking for missing loved ones, finding medicine, and other such similar, trivial matters. Besides, the guards could deal with one little thief, couldn't they? Good thing for Sagax, he was not interested in plying his former trade. He wasn't sneaking about looking for neglected trinkets and dangling purses; no, he was listening. He wanted information, and the Imperial decided there would be no better source than the gossiping civilians of Windhelm's districts. Pressed against corners, crouching in dark alleys, or sometimes even standing right next to a group of people as they spoke in hushed, conspiratorial tones, Sagax took in everything he heard. He heard many, many different rumors, but a few were consistent. For one, it had apparently been a Dunmer that incited the violence back at the main gate; threw a bottle of some kind of alchemical mixture into the middle of the mob. The Dunmer in question did not yet have a name attached to them, but people nevertheless had their suspicions. Bartender of the New Gnisis Cornerclub, a general goods merchant, even a farmer was named. Whoever it was, they weren't the one Sagax was looking for. The Dunmer simply brought the mob to violence, someone else was responsible for rallying the Argonians in the first place. But who? More likely than not, it was another Argonian, but Sagax had no way of knowing for certain.

The man's search was interrupted by the sight of a large grouping of people crowding a street. A bunch of Dunmer were circling an elderly man sprawled out on the ground, but they had all turned their attention away from him. At the other end of the street was who appeared to be Solveig and a faintly familiar man. One of the Dunmer yelled something about "watchers" to their friend, and most of them bolted after the two Nords, both of whom had already began running off towards the snaking alleyways behind them. Two of the Dunmer stayed behind to further beat on the man on the ground.

"Just wait until Vaeren and the others get back, you old n'wah! We're gonna make you pay back all those years of slights against our people here!" One said as he planted his foot firmly into the man's chest.

"Hrmph...ha! I fought in the Great War, killed scores of Thalmor infantry! Stared down a decorated battlemage before I cut her frilly hands off! You think I'm scared of some knife-ear'd punks like you!?" Apparently, the Dunmer found the boasting absolutely hilarious, as they just laughed while kicking the old soldier around like a doll. Their behavior disgusted Sagax. What in the world had that man done to them to warrant such abuse? Mere mean words did not justify physical violence, surely. He thought about simply running up and burying his blade in one of the Dunmers' shoulders. That would be far easier. Ultimately he decided to give the two Mer the benefit of the doubt, and simply made his presence known by drawing his sword noisily.

"Disperse! There is nothing for you here, Dunmer!" His words brought him incredulous looks from the two elves, as if they were asking themselves "Is this runt talking to US?"

"Disperse? Disperse he says, Balen!" Looking from his friend to Sagax, the Dunmer shook his head in disbelief. Just who did this Imperial whoreson think he was? "How about this, Imperial, we'll 'disperse' after we're done getting some payback against this racist s'wit!" he said, kicking the old man in the side.

"That's...not going to work, friend. Leave. Now." Sagax tried his best to glare menacingly at the elf; he was attempting to imitate the look Solveig gave him back at the inn when they first met. It seemed to have worked, as the one called Balen became very apprehensive.

"Uh...you know, Nilos, this really doesn't seem worth it. I mean, we can always just find this guy later and-"

"Later Balen? There might not be a LATER, you netch-brained coward! It's just ONE Imperial! A pretty pathetic one at that!" Nilos looked Sagax up and down, clearly unimpressed with him. Fed up with his friend's ensuing silence, Nilos groaned with frustration. "FINE! I'll deal with the whoreson then!" He said, drawing a gnarled dagger from his belt. "You and me, Imperial!"

Sagax had no time to make a diplomatic appeal, as Nilos ran forward and lunged straight for his chest. Hopping to the left, away from the Mer's weapon hand, Sagax positioned himself for a reactionary strike with his pommel to the side of Nilos' head, but the Mer was the slippery sort; he simply dodged backwards out of the way, turning to face the Imperial again. Sagax backed up and hopped around, keeping out of range of Nilos' slashes and stabs. This continued for quite a while, the elf becoming more and more frustrated as the fight went on; his jabs became more vicious and sporadic, but also less accurate. He had gotten to the point where he was not worried about finesse, he just wanted the rogue dead. However, that didn't mean the man didn't have any tricks up his sleeve. He waited for Sagax to hop out of the way of another stab, and then slammed into the Imperial's exposed chest with his elbow as soon as he landed. The strike caused Sagax to reel back; his chest felt like it was being burned up all over again, and his head burst with agony as his vision began to blur and spin. Nilos took advantage of the opening, using it to grab Sagax's arm and throw him to the ground.

The grin Nilos wore would make even the most upbeat bard want to knock his lights out. Speaking between exhausted breaths, it became clear that the elf had never heard the phrase about brevity and wit when he began taunting his opponent. "Aha! I gotta...gotta hand it to you, imp...you're quick on your feet. Ah, but not quick enough!" He had raised his dagger, and was ready to plunge it straight into Sagax's chest, when Balen yelled for Nilos to "watch out!". This distracted Nilos long enough to keep him from bringing Sagax to an early demise, and for him to see the shield that had planted itself against his face.

The elf fell to his side, bleeding heavily from his nose with his eyes focusing on nothing in particular before closing. Sagax felt someone grab his arm and pull him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed. With his sight returning to normal, the man looked up to meet his savior: a city guard, though this one seemed very familiar...

"Hmph. Well well, sneak-thief. I expected you to be crawling about here, but not defending old men from rabid dark elves. I suppose the 'thief' part is a bit misplaced then." Turning away from Sagax, the guard kicked Nilos onto his back, confirming his unconsciousness. Balen must have jumped nearly three feet when the brown-garbed man shouted at him to stay put.

"Bah, fuckin' knife-ear'd pricks! Serves you right!" The old man had been able to get himself up, though he was clutching his sides, suggesting at least a bit of bruising."Ever since that god damn lizard started shouting about a 'Hist' or whatever, this city's gone to hell! Well, more than it had before, anyway...I need a fucking nap..." Sagax perked up when the man mentioned an Argonian. Perhaps this Argonian was the origin of the riots?

"Wait, sir, excuse me," he said, stopping the man before he thundered back into his home. "you mentioned an Argonian. They might be whom I'm looking for, do you have any idea where they are? Maybe a name?"

"What? Nah, ain't got a name for you. Apparently he's some kind of elder though, not that you'd be able to tell by just looking at the scaly bastard. Dunno where he is now, either. If you wanna find him, then more power to ya, lad, but I'm taking a damn nap." With all potentially useful information passed on, the rather grumpy old soldier went back inside, nursing his sore ribs. The sound of footsteps coming from the side street revealed two more guards, and with one nod from the senior guardsman, the two newcomers rounded up Nilos and Balen and readied them to be carted them off towards the city dungeon while Sagax warned of the other Dunmer that might come back. The senior ordered for another detachment before turning to the Imperial. "Hm...we're being stretched thin here, but the more of this rabble we can get off the streets, the better. We need as many bodies as possible to address the invaders, but we won't be able to do that if our defense force is occupied with a bunch of two-bit thieves and these rioters."

"I agree, that's why I'm trying to find this Argonian elder; perhaps he can calm his kin, and bring whatever peace possible back to the city." The watchman nodded in agreement, as Sagax had hoped. The more help he had, the better, and it would be very beneficial to have a combat-capable ally in case their search brought about more violence.

"Well, Sneak, we're not going to be finding anyone just standing here. Let's get moving. Best bet is near the gates to the docks; that's where most of the lizards wander about when not working the piers." With no more trouble to tend to, the two men began making their way through the city in search of the elder, eyes sharp for any sign of them, and of any potential undesirables lurking in the dark alleys of Windhelm.