‘’[i]Well, at least it could be worse.[/i]’’ 

Sadri leaned on the ship’s railing with the wind blowing against his face as the old and weary vessel fought the waves on its journey eastward. His clothing, meant for a much warmer climate than the one experienced by Sadri here, was proving its worthlessness with every further inch as the ship sailed into a hailstorm. He could feel that the hairs on his extremities were frozen, and his ear had long since gone numb. For all he knew, it could’ve fallen off a few minutes earlier. The old Dunmer scratched his beard. Since the loss of his pipe, he had been tormented by a much grimmer mood, one that dulled Sadri’s already pruned and withered emotions further. Sadri had learned to appreciate simple things in life, but this meant that the loss of such things would also disrupt his mood accordingly. 

The Dunmer wiped his face to clear it of the caking of fresh frost, and rubbed his eyes – the weather wasn’t doing wonders for them, one could ascertain. Then again, Sadri wasn’t really built for colder temperatures, and neither was his outfit. It was only normal that the weather would wear him down, no matter how much he’d pretend that it wouldn’t. But, he was Sadri Beleth, he had wielded a sword for longer than men led lives, he had survived what would fell lesser and greater men, and all that had to mean something. This was just a breeze, a particularly cold one, but nonetheless, just a breeze. He was thinking too much about it.

He could (barely) see some people arguing on quarter deck, and while unable to ascertain which from which, he could guess that one of them was the captain, Atgeir, and another to be Dumhuvud, considering only he amongst the ship’s inhabitants had the temerity to argue with the man. He hated the one-eyed Nord’s guts, but Sadri also had a twisted sense of respect against the man, perhaps out of the fact that he wasn’t afraid to voice his opinion. Of course, Sadri knew better than that, but, as we all know, it’s a fundamental part of men and mer to crave what is not good for them. Sadri knowing better did not mean that he didn’t want to partake in it. But he had managed to keep his senses above his emotions so far in his life, and at his age, he couldn’t think of much that could make him act rash.

Eventually, Sadri bothered to turn in the other direction and see the cause of their detour – a flame standing strong despite the chilling winds, and some deck hands preparing boards for the crew to ramp down on land. The Dunmer watched the old Orc, Orakh, slowly and carefully walk upon them, and the one-eyed Nord follow suit. He didn’t want to partake in whatever was going on, but as always, he would find himself wrapped up in it again, against his wishes.

And Sadri realized he would have to act again as the Orc was ambushed by a floating serpent of sorts and barely saved by Dumhuvud. Following the cry for a torch, Sadri realized that their foes were ice wraiths, and at that moment, got bashed in the face by a torch, nearly losing his balance and getting his hair lit up. ‘’Fucking Nords, I swear,’’ Sadri mumbled to himself as he fumbled to hold the torch, almost burning his hand in the attempt, and hobbled down the rampart in the meanwhile. Halfway through, he slipped, and fell on his right side, barely keeping himself on the ramp as he slid down to land. 

‘’[i]Fucking shit. Fuck this. Fuck.[/i]’’  

Sadri barely managed to get himself up on his feet as he saw the rest of the party try to form a circle against the elementals. In a surprising display of competence, he managed to pull his sword out of its scabbard as he moved further, and even managed to ward off a lunge from an elemental that probably thought of Sadri as easy prey. Sadri hoped that he had managed to prove otherwise by brandishing his torch against the thing’s face (was that a face, even?) to make it change course. Sadri finally managed to get into position, and at that moment, swung his sword outwards against an incoming wraith, making the blade meet its open mouth. The creature’s momentum turned out to be its undoing as it slid from above Sadri’s blade and fell in an unknown direction, dropping its jaws in front of Sadri’s feet. He’d normally quip about the situation or just ask whose idea it was, but frankly, he had gotten used to bad decisions being made, and felt too cold, tired and old to be a smartass about the situation.