After the rescue mission at the college of Winterhold Tsleeixth had finally managed to regain some semblance of peace. For while the fact that the ages that had attacked the college were still at large troubled him he had, for once since they had to escape from Windhelm, managed to sleep peacefully, despite the storm that had been their constant companion ever since The Courtesan had reached the College; as such, when the ship began to flood the Argonian was slow to react at first to the danger.

“On your feet Argonian, the ship is flooding!” A man shouted as he shook Tsleeixth violently, the Argonian’s eyes opening quickly and in a smooth motion he was out of the hammock that had been his resting place a few seconds prior. “What happened, make sense man.” Said the spellsword, his eyes scanning the hold where everyone was sleeping “And what happened? some of the mages are missing.” He asked once he noticed the absence of some of the mages that the company had rescued.

“Apparently the hull of the ship got penetrated by something and we lost control of the ship as well.” Said the sailor as he moved to wake someone else “As for what happened to some of the mages I have no bloody idea, think I heard some of them going to the ship’s deck.” Said the man before he went to warn more people about the imminent danger of the ship's sinking. Grabbing his things Tsleeixth made his way into the deck, just in time to see the dinghy that some of the mages had stolen plummet into the depths of the ocean for a moment before rising once more in an upturned position. He let out a weary sigh at the recent events, his head shaking slightly when he heard one of the few remaining mages pleading for someone to dive into the water to try and save his foolhardy comrades.

Luckily the poor mage was soon helped into the boat by Sagax, who then turned his attentions towards getting Do’Karth on the boat as well. Tsleeixth still remembered the Khajit’s reaction while on the dinghy as they made their way towards the College, part of him wanting to help Do’Karth while another part of him, the more cold and methodological part, realized that the Khajit was already being helped by Sagax and that,a s such, his efforts would be better spent trying to get other people into the boat. Letting out a heavy sigh he shook his head and went to help to get other people into the boat “Please, listen to Sagax Do’Karth.” He thought glumly to himself as he tried to get as many people into the boat as he could.

"Prepare to abandon ship!"

Those four words were not ones that Rhasha'Dar was happy in hearing, especially when being woken up by them. These words seemed all the worse when he stumbled to his feet, and noticed the water pooling in the hold. People were scrambling to get above deck and to safety... well, at the very least it was safer than drowning down here, at any rate.

Snatching his bag up, Rhasha followed the crowd to the decks, eyes widening in fear as he saw the carnage. The storm was far worse than before, tossing the ship about as a child would a toy. It was truly a miracle they were staying upright... unlike one of the dinghies, which he could see over-turned in the water. He blanched at the thought that people had been on it, and even moreso at the fact that he could end up the very same. He was not a strong swimmer. In fact, he had trouble swimming in calm waters, let alone these monstrous waves that had seemingly spawned from Oblivion itself.

Noticing more of the crew heading towards the dinghies, Rhasha overheard Sagax's remark to Do'Karth, who seemed even more petrified at the situation than he was.

"We are not helping in the "cats-hate-water" stereotype, it would seem." He thought to himself as he shambled on over, trying to avoid falling on the slippery and shifting deck.

"Sagax! This one would prefer you get in the boat than drown, but if you insist on getting wet once again, take this." Digging into his bag beside the young imperial, Rhasha handed him a dark blue vial. A resist cold potion - it would no doubt help against the icy feeling that would set in one's bones the second they hit the water. He had only two more left... but who to give them to? Clearly, whomever wasn't getting on the boat, but a few - including himself - were dithering. Caught between survival of himself, and the want of survival for his friends.

As for Roze, she slept through the call to abandon, swaying quite happily in her hammock and dreaming about starting a dragon breeding farm - except they were the size of rabbits. Sebastian, on the other hand, had awoken immediately and ran after his fellow Mages, telling them to wait in their escape. He saw the foolish desperation in their eyes; it had been the same look when the College had first been attack. Rather than joining them, and unable to convince them otherwise, Sebastian watched on as they cut themselves loose, shaking his head lightly as they met their end. Everything they'd gone through to survive, and they die now.

Sebastian did not beg the sailors to try and rescue his fallen comrades like the young injured Breton, instead sprinting back inside to retrieve Roze - who was eventually woken up with a rough shake.

"How do you sleep through these things?! The ship's sinking, time to face the shit and get up." Her tired scowl gave way to shock at this, and the young Breton woman scrambled from her hammock, hurriedly pulling on her boots and grabbing her bag and cloak, before following Sebastian back up the stairs. Still somewhat confused in her sleepy-state, Roze frowned at seeing only one dinghy.

"I could have sworn there were two of those." She mentioned to Sebastian as the pair looked around the deck, wondering what they could do to help.

"There was - the mages took the other one."

"Where are the mages?"

"Dead." This last word was said grimly, an uncharacteristically hard set to her friend's jaw as he spoke it. Rather than deal with that at the moment - emotional support could come later, seriously - Roze instead turned to Sevine, where she stood clinging to her horse. Going over, Roze offered a comforting smile to her friend.

"Sevine, you should get in the boat. I'll look after Asper - in these currents, those strong legs of hers will give her an advantage over us." In truth, Roze wasn't wrong. If it weren't for her spells, Roze would be quite sure she'd drown in the frosty waters. Rhasha'Dar - stood nearby - overheard their conversation, and walked over in agreement.

"Rozalia is correct - you would fare better in the boat than beside your steed in the waters." He inputted with a gentle tone - it wouldn't be easy for Sevine to leave Asper, after all. At this, he handed the second resist cold potion to Roze, as she had elected to essentially jump ship.

"Keep a hold of these on the boat, would you? They'll just drag me down in the waters otherwise." Holding her knapsack (That had grown steadily lighter at each point in her travels), her quiver, and her cloak, Roze hoped that Sevine would take her advice, and go to safety. She felt a cold pang in her heart at the thought of her friend being taking by the waters.

Still stood beside the boat, Rhasha gave the last potion to one of the sailors rushing to plug the hole in the ship, telling him to give it to Leif if he saw him.

As far as Solveig was concerned, she never stood a chance. Well, just look at it, an average human head (maybe slightly dense) versus a thick chunk of wood. The battle ended as quickly as it started. Solveig never saw the mast coming, not with the slippery, tipping deck and a chaotic scene all around. Her forehead smashed into it at an instant, a deep thump brought the attention of nearby sailors immediately followed by a similar thud; first against the mast and then against deck board. She was out cold.

Thankfully, nearby crew members picked Solveig up and carried her a short distance to the boat, where Orakh then loaded her in. There was still space for one more after that, the boat was near full, so launching it with weight to spare might be better off, especially when the mages provided a solid counter example. The elderly Orc did a final check, and as he told another sailor to undo the ropes, Farid rushed across the deck to the dinghy.

“Wait!” Farid shouted, desperately waving his hands to attract attention in the storm. “Let me in!”

“No time, do it now!” Orakh told the sailor, he undid the ropes as fast as he could and put the dinghy in angle. His side of the boat finished before Farid got there, but the other sailor still fumbled on a knot. Farid took this chance to leap at the gunwale, only to be caught by Orakh in midair and thrown down against the deck.

“Why, what's wrong with you!?” Farid stared wide-eyed as the boat landed safely in the sea. His face drooped as whatever hope of escape went away.

“No more room for freeloaders like you.”

“Me? You think we're all selfish twats like you?” Farid practically seethed. He took off a backpack loaded with arcane items, shoving it at Orakh's face. “One of these artifacts could be worth a hundred of you!”

“I don't care about artifacts.” The Orc stood his ground. The sailor scurried off at the argument, leaving only him and Farid; the later did not back down. “You would trade lives for money, I wouldn't. Now get out of my way!” He shoved the Redguard, what had been an act of annoyance almost turned deadly. Farid drew his dagger, but as soon as he had done so, Dumhuvud emerged from behind and disarmed him.

“Enough, both of you.” The Cat-Kicker scolded. “Orc, get downstairs and help Beleth with the gap.” Turning to Farid, Dumhuvud looked as if he was going to punch the man. “And you, come with me. Don't make me see you picking fights again.”

As for some rare good news, Sadri's plan went about smoothly. Leif was able to take down the sail in record time, while not getting killed in the process (though he probably felt a bump when Solveig hit the mast). Then together with Orakh, who enlisted the help of Tsleeixth and Roze (because the lower decks were flooded above waist level), Sadri successfully attached the sail onto the gap. What he didn't expect was the gap had grown larger in a peculiar way; one lower corner gave out in a long, thin line. The sail could not cover this in particular, though it did stop a good portion of the leak.

Meanwhile, the dinghy rocked, bounced, but stayed upright the entire time. There were two main oars on board, with two smaller paddles as backup. R'ihanna took up one large oar and rowed with surprising strength. Trius picked up a lesser paddle, swatting the waters semi-coherently with one hand, while the other guarded his ceremonial sword. His armor was already left behind in haste, and as weakened as the Dunmer was, he would not allow himself to lose his final possession. Compared to everyone else, Keegan was having a really bad time. He could swear his intestines were leaping into his throat. There was nothing in the Altmer's stomach to vomit, and for a brief moment, he pondered why he did not inherit his race's nautical affinity.

“You know what they say; never put all your Khajiits in one boat.” R'ihanna chuckled nervously at Do'Karth and Rhasha'dar. When her attempt at humor garnered a few disgusted looks, R'ihanna stayed quiet. Only for a few seconds, she opened her mouth again as an open beach came in sight. “Look, we could land there!” She pointed to the beach. Beside the beach was a cave, and inside the cave; fire.

The beach could be seen from the spyglass of Captain Atgeir as well. His ship still slouched over port side, but had stabilized around thirty degrees. The rudder was moving again, and the Courtesan hobbled towards her lifeboat. Below deck, sailors and passengers stayed busy tossing buckets after buckets of water. Above deck, crew scrambled to get a backup sail rigged, in order to make steering as responsive as possible.

It would be a good half hour before the Courtesan caught up. Those on the lifeboat would be fending for themselves. What would they have to fend off? For starters, the fire inside the cave lit a dozen humanoid shadows. They were armed and armor shaped, as people on the boat found out when they washed onto the beach. Rowing for fifteen minutes tend to put individuals in no fighting shape. But fighting seemed like exactly what came this way. The figures inside the cave before now charged toward the boat. Every single one of them were clad in darkened bonemold, and Trius could hear them shout “kill them all”, in Dunmeris.

“No, no, this is impossible...” The last piece of the puzzle was a chitin ship parked on the same beach, it bore no symbol, but the shape was familiar enough. Trius slowly stepped over, jaw hanging in disblief at the charging men. “These are Morrowind Armigers, we need to get out of here!” He tried get the others to push the dinghy back out, back to avail; they weren't going anywhere.

At this point, the leading bonemold warrior stopped twenty feet from Trius. This masked man starred into the face, the body and for the longest minute, lingered on the ebony sword at Trius' hip. Finally, the warrior roared. “Traitor!”

A bright light.

That was all. That was the only thing Solveig remembered before she woke. She had to wipe blood from her eyes and her nose pained her something fierce. She dragged in a breath and looked around, remembering what had happened on the ship. The sky was framed by something and she slowly realized she was on a dinghy. It felt like she was moving and she stirred, still breathing hard, heart still beating like a wardrum. Her eyes looked across at the scene, the dinghy was being dragged onto the beach by the others. She saw Sevine and Karth, as well as a few others helping drag the boat to shore. She didn't know what beach this was, but she hoped it was near Dawnstar. She wanted to be home, but remembered home was rubble. She wanted to be with mother and father then. She was getting tired of this shit. When some bandits in odd armor emerged from a nearby cave, she felt naked without her spear and shield.

Another Dunmer yelled about Morrowind Armigers. She didn't know what the fuck an Armiger was, all that mattered was they were charging towards her and the others with weapons bared. She made to stand and only stumbled and tripped over the gunwale of the dinghy. She groaned in pain after she hit the rocky beach and squirmed in her own misery, eyes screwed shut. The fighting had started and she knew if any of them got to her in this state, they'd kill her with the same effort as a shrug. She looked around, crawled on her ass to the dinghy and pulled herself up to sit against it. She took a fistful of Do'Karth's robes and tugged. As much as she hated to say it, as much as it shamed her, she was scared. She was useless and very much just waiting to die in a condition like this and Vurwe and her magic could very well be in Akavir as far as she was concerned. She looked at Karth and swallowed, trying to put steel in her voice but sounding like a crack-voiced girl either way, “Stay, please.” She croaked and then swallowed, tried to regain some damned composure, “Your unarmored ass and little stick is as useful as I am in a fight against these pricks.”

The diminutive Breton woman’s words did not fall on deaf ears, for Sevine weighed the consequences of diving into the freezing ocean waters versus boarding the dinghy. However, Asper had other means of evacuating the impaired ship. For all she knew, Asper’s survival instincts kicked in, and he assumed that plunging into the icy waters below yielded a higher chance at survival than staying aboard the Courtesan. Dancing on his hooves, the dark bay stallion reared up onto his hind legs, ripping the halter lead free from Sevine’s hands. Had she not caught herself in the fall, she would have rolled down the deck. She cried out in dismay as she staggered to her feet, realizing that from the sound of a loud SPLASH!, Asper had leapt overboard. Reluctantly, with a heavy hearted sigh, Sevine climbed into the dinghy, just as an unconscious Solveig was loaded safely into the boat, Orakh cut the rope, plummeting them into the waters below. Trius and R’ihanna provided the man-power behind the wooden oars, the gentle dip of the oars into the wave were the only thing she could hear. Sevine remained silent during the voyage to the shoreline, her eyes glued upon Asper, that horse swam faster than the dinghy rowed at that rate, and he would reach the shores before they landed. Strangely enough, as the tiny boat packed full of those that had not perished like the mages, neared the shore, a discerning outline of cave became clearer, as did the flickering of orange lights from torches. Her eyes swept down the course of the beach, and discovered a chitlin ship moored several yards away. Already, the adrenaline began to course through her veins at the thought of a dangerous encounter approached in her mind. Who did the ship belong to? Why were they moored here? Were they seeking refuge from the stormy weather? These questions would soon be answered.

As the dinghy slid into the beach, the frothy water swirling around their knees as they clambered out of the boat to hoist it ashore, bone-chilling water filling her boots, Sevine’s concentration and concern for Asper were broken by a shout in a language unbeknownst to her. While she had left her rucksack behind on the ship, she had not forgotten her axe, as she had slept with it each night, fastened to her belt with a leather tie. The Dunmer elf, the one that had rowed one-handedly while the other hand grasped an ebony sword, revealed who the armed Dunmers were, Armigers. Whatever that meant. She possessed little knowledge of the Dunmeri culture, and even smaller knowledge in the concerns of any Mer culture. Trius, as she had discovered his name during the course of the voyage, attempted in vain to coerce the others back into the boat and row away. A group of bonemold warriors spilled out of the cave like an army of ants, weapons brandished. Moving out of the water’s grasp, her thumb untethered the tie within seconds just as an Armiger descended upon her, weapon drawn. Worried for the safety of those that had yet to disembark from the boat, Sevine back-pedaled, drawing her attacker away from them, and further inland to the beach. She had little time to catch herself this time, as the heel of her boot hit a rather large rock, unbalancing the huntress as she fell backwards onto the wet sand. The Dunmer wielded the sword high above his head, aiming to drive the blade straight through her chest. Were it not for her quick reflexes, developed through the course of the civil war, Sevine’s life would have come to an untimely end. However, she rolled away in the nick of time, and stumbled onto her feet. Without the protection of her shield to ward off potential blows, Sevine understood that each swing would require precision, precision that she had not used in a lengthy amount of time, not since the attack at the redoubt that is.

The Armiger again, descended upon Sevine, his crimson eyes burning with the intent to end her life as his sword swung at her head, aiming to decapitate her. She ducked, though she could have sworn that a few strands of crimson hair were littered on the sandy beach. Holding fast to the hilt of her axe, Sevine thrust the lip of the axe-blade up, where then edge met edge. Gritting her teeth in quiet desperation, the hold between the two weapons did not last. The two warriors stood so close to one another, she could see the sweat beading upon the Armiger’s brow. Again, quick reflexes came to her aid, as she hooked her foot around the knee of her foe. Toppling to the ground, Sevine rolled away from the reaches of the Armiger, before he had time to regain his weapon. Hoisting the axe up, high above her head, Sevine brought the blade down, aiming to return the favour of decapitation to the Dunmer. Yet, just as she had avoided the blow of death, the Dunmer too, avoided his death by lurching to the side. Scrambling to regain his lost weapon, Sevine rushed the fallen Armiger again, swinging her axe low for an upper-cut, letting loose a blood-curdling war-cry, Sevine brought the axe down in one swift motion. Blood sprayed out from the stump of his hand, as it lay limp beneath him. With the loss of his hand, the Dunmer reeled backwards, clutching the remnant of his hand, which was cut clean off, save for the bone that poked out from his wrist.

When the dingy hit the water, Do’Karth tensed to the point where he wasn’t sure if his back would snap under the pressure. The small boat rocked violently on the waves, in ways that the ship managed to largely negate, and despite the preferable chance to escape, the ordeal was harrowing, and frosty ice water splashed the occupants as their strong rowers fought against the waves to bring the boat to shore.

“You know what they say; never put all your Khajiits in one boat.” R’ihanna joked nervously, and Do’Karth wished he could have found the spirit to at least offer a humoured chuckle, but even his throat seemed to have been paralyzed as they fought to reach land. The lady khajiit almost immediately called out a potential landing spot, to which Do’Karth looked towards with eager eyes. Landfall happened shortly after, and Do’Karth regained his sense of self as he helped drag the boat onto the beach, only for the survivors to have been immediately accosted by a group of dunmer in strange naturalistic armour. He didn’t concern himself with what exactly an Armiger was, but he gathered enough from Trius’ concerned voice that they were some kind of elite warrior, or feared raider.

Do’Karth had regained his sense of self now he was on dry land, and he was confronted with a situation he was rather comfortable in dealing with. When one of the dunmer glared at Trius and declared him a traitor, Do’Karth spared a glance towards their companion to gauge his reaction. There was a story there, to be sure, but one to be told when danger had passed. A tug on the bottom of his budi caught the khajiit’s attention, and Solveig was sitting next to the boat, having gained consciousness at an awful time; wide eyed and pale, she was afraid. She pleaded for him to stay out of the fight, largely because he was useless without armour and nothing more than a staff. Do’Karth grinned at Solveig, looking far more at ease now than he had for days on sea. “Ah, Solveig. It wounds me that you think a true khajiit warrior needs armour. This is what Do’Karth was born to do, he has a duty to his friends.” He said, stepping away from Solveig and towards the Armigers, beginning to spin his quarter staff with the same warm up motions he did before every fight to limber up his limbs, the impressive display of flourishes announcing that his foe was about to engage a skilled warrior who was as much of a part of a weapon as any other part of his body.

An Armiger with a spear squared off to fight Do’Karth who uttered a quick prayer, “S’rendarr, the Runt, this one’s god of mercy, guide Do’Karth’s strikes so his foe may live; this dunmer knows not whom he fights.”

The Armiger thrust, something Do’Karth sidestepped easily with quick, light footwork, and a second thrust was knocked aside by the clockwise rotation of his staff, which he brought the end up and thrust towards the chest of his adversary in a flurry of jabs, which the Armiger skillfully stepped back and pivot to avoid. As the dunmer brought in for a hard thrust, Do’Karth leapt towards his opponent in a handless cartwheel, bringing his staff down hard with the momentum, his circular motion giving a hard impact with his weapon, which smashed against the top of the bonemold shoulder plate, prompting the Armiger to shout in sudden pain; his shoulder likely wasn’t broken thanks to the ample protection, but the blow was enough to destabilize him and bring him off balance. Do’Karth landed into a roll which he brought his staff into a short, impossibly swift swing that smashed into the dunmer’s helm, knocking it clear off the mer’s head and causing the Armiger to collapse to his knee in pain, desperately clutching his neck.

The khajiit didn’t have time to celebrate or continue to work on his foe, and he brought his staff up behind his neck to avoid the cleaving of a blade. Holding his staff in position, the khajiit made his way to his feet again swiftly, breaking the weapon lock with the sword by keeping the staff between himself and the blade while bringing his weapon into motion towards the Armiger’s head, who was forced to duck under the swing and bring his shield up to block the downwards strike that followed, giving Do’Karth a moment to take several steps back while keeping his weapon in motion, giving himself the opportunity to put power into a strike if his adversary charged. The first Armiger he’d engaged struggled to his feet, his face contorted with pain and rage.

When Sevine bellowed out a war cry that Do’Karth mistook for agony, he looked over to see her bring the axe down into her foe’s wrist- and buying time for Do’Karth’s own adversaries to press their advantage. Advancing swiftly, shield raised and weapon alongside it to thrust, the swordsman moved in on Do’Karth, trying to negate the range advantage of the staff. Meanwhile, the spearman moved to get to Do’Karth’s flank. Driving his staff into the shield to halt the advance momentarily, Do’Karth spun around to face the spearman once again, whose movements were sloppier than before, likely from his head having been considerably rung by the strike. He was hesitant to advance on the khajiit, remembering all too well what had happened the first time. Clutching his spear tightly, the Armiger thrust at Do’Karth in quick motions, trying to heard him towards the swordsman who was preparing to advance again. Do’Karth made to knock the spear aside to bring his staff down into the spearman’s neck, who pulled his weapon back to block a hit that never came; instead, Do’Karth dropped to a knee and continued his swing into a low, 180 degree arc that the swordsman never saw coming behind his shield; his staff crashed behind the man’s knee, sweeping his feet.

With the swordsman on his back, Do’Karth stared down the spearman with narrowed eyes and ears back. Letting out a feral hiss, Do’Karth charged his foe, intent to knock the weapon aside and close the distance.

Despite the threat that lay in wait for the group on the shore, Rhasha'Dar was just happy to have hit dry land. He couldn't fight against the water, but a group of Dunmer? They could bleed and die - hence, he still felt some modicum of relief.

However, things were still looking on the negative side - a strange group was attacking them, and The Courtesan was too far to lend them any aid. The Khajiit simply hoped that the ship made it to the shore safely, and that his potions had come in handy. For if the ship failed, the poor souls on board would have to abandon it... and he did not envy them for the cold waters that would await them.

As the Armigers - Rhasha had never heard of the group, but then again, his caravan had never spent time in Morrowind. Clearly they were a force to be feared, if Trius' expression was anything to judge by - descended on the boat, Rhasha'Dar glanced at the unarmed and unarmoured R'ihanna behind him, still sat in the boat - an injured Solveig lay in cover on the other side of the dinghy.

"Take this - a weapon is better than none. Just... try not to hit any of us with it." Rhasha said briefly, shoving the Dawnguard crossbow and its bolts towards R'ihanna. He had no skill with bows, but if the female Khajiit could provide some cover for those fighting - or even protect those who could not - it would not be a wasted effort. Looking at Solveig, Rhasha pulled his spear from his back. "As for you, don't die. This one will heal you after the fray, and it is hard to do so with a corpse." Said with what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile, the Khajiit tensed his arm and flung his spear at the furthest archer; the Dunmer's next arrow fell short as the spear slammed into his shoulder, knocking him the ground and pinning him there.

Leaping from the boat with a war-axe in each hand, Rhasha let loose his own roar, fangs bared and eyes narrowed as he turned to another of the Armiger's. The Dunmer wielded two shortswords, considerably lighter and quicker than Rhasha's elven axes. While he was more skilled with his spear, it likely wouldn't do much good in close quarters like this, not when the weak spots in the hard bonemold armour they were wearing was so hard to find. The two parried and slashed for a few moments, neither landing more than superficial cuts on the other until the Dunmer struck out with his foot, hooking behind Rhasha's leg and bringing him to the floor. The Khajiit's own leg lashed out, slamming into the Armiger's arm and sending one of his swords flying. The other was brought down towards his chest, but was easily deflected and thrown aside by Rhasha's axe. Booting both legs into the Dunmer's chest and bringing his foe to the ground, Rhasha got to his feet, slamming his axe with a yell into the chest of the Armiger as the latter scrambled for his dagger at his side.

The sheer brute strength of the swing blistered the armour, but did not gain enough momentum for the attack to have been fatal. No doubt the cut on the mans chest would cause a good amount of pain, but it hadn't been the sternum Rhasha had hoped to break. Pulling the axe with a grunt of exertion, it came from the armour after a few tugs - he then smacked the Dunmer with the blunted edge, knocking him unconscious as the Khajiit moved on to his next foe.

R'ihanna was a crap shot, this Keegan learned the hard way. Since stepping off into a boot full of cold water, Keegan couldn't frown any harder at the horde of men trying to kill him, for no apparent reason. The first reaction was to run inland, but one could only go far out from the only light source. He then put his staff in hand and sent out a lightning, narrowly missing an armiger's helmet and forcing the Dunmer to duck. Keegan followed up with a quick paralysis spell, which found bonemold shin guard before collapsing the armiger to his knees.

Wait, what was that screech?

Something sharp bit into Keegan's left bicep. He screamed like never before, because it was pain like never before. It hurt, it bled, it was so intense that Keegan didn't see an armored elbow to his face. He fell, looking to an armiger that might or might not have been the same person he immobilized, Keegan tried in vain to roll, only getting intensified pain against his arm. He caught a glimpse of the buried projectile; it looked like a crossbow bolt. Immediately after the view changed to a boot, but it never came down.

Elsewhere, Trius watched his opponent cast shield and spear aside to unholster a long tonfa. The bonemold warrior spun his tonfa with ease, revealing sparks of electric enchantment around it. Trius narrowed his eyes and unsheathed his only weapon, the ceremonial, but still lethal, ebony blade. The tense stare held in between dissolved with a barrage of strikes from the armiger. Trius blocked and parried, but all he could do was retreat backwards. Taking a step back and dodging a savage swing aimed for his midsection, Trius pressed his attack. His feint got passed the tonfa, which allowed him a jab at the armiger. It was intercepted, but Trius already moved on with a pair of high/low strikes. To his surprise, his efforts ended in a weapon lock. Trius' strength gave out; he flew back with sparks buzzing.

Looked like this was the end of Trius, a faceless warrior delivering shocking execution to a "traitor". That was not that case, however, as the armiger was flung back just as he poised to deliver the coup de grace. The shooter was not R'ihanna (the Khajiit couldn't hit the broad side of a barn), but rather, someone in black and red shrouded leather. This slightly feminine figure walked into the scene with another similarly masked, mountain-sized male. Passing the oversized crossbow to her larger companion, the woman knelt down and helped Trius to his feet.

Keegan's own savior came as a dagger-wielding man. The sound was a loud but somewhat pubescent battle cry somewhere behind. A pair of daggers followed suit, where they found openings between the armiger's helmet and collar. "Dansharr, go check the boat. I got this one covered!" The voice was teenage, its accent a cross between Imperial and Nordic. Dagger blades slickly ripped out of the armiger, while the dead man crumbled, Keegan saw a Khajiit tail moving toward shore.

"Initiate Aretino, what are you doing!?" Shouted Trius' savior. She spoke with a Dunmeri accent, but it was clear that this woman, the leader of these assassins, were opponents to other dark elves. "Better not let your marks get away again!" She tipped her head at two armigers attempting to flee. The woman produced a miniature crossbow and lined up a quick head shot on one. Aretino dashed off after the other.

---

The Courtesan had landed when Aretino killed off his mark. The detachment of armigers was at half-strength, currently trying to reestablish formation and slowly backing away. La'Dansharr surprised her brother, Trius finished off an injured foe and Keegan was clutching his bloody arm, shouting for help and the sheer incompetence of R'ihanna. Though everyone on land stopped to stare at the Courtesan beaching herself meters from where they were. Immediately a Dunmer fell from the ship and landed with a broken leg.

"And there goes the enlightened priest of Azura, the dunce none other than Kattun." Dumhuvud announced to everyone else still on the ship. What happened was that Kattun saw R'ihanna in danger, took to fast-roping down the hull, lost grip and landed on his foot (breaking it).

"Fontaine, Orakh; you two stay right here." Dumhuvud barked his orders. "The rest you, make sure you know how to climb before going down. There better not be more corpses; this damn mission report is long enough already."

It's funny how that worked out. As Karth's robe escaped her fist, she let it fall to the stony beach and watched him go. She turned away, let her head fall back to rest against the dinghy and breathed slow and calm, trying to regain herself. She opened her eyes to the gray sky above and rubbed her face, feeling the familiar notch in her lip and dent in her jaw, the dried blood coming off like dirt from her forehead and her nose. She took it in her hands and readied herself, or tried to, but in the end she knew she had to do it or it wouldn't heal correctly and she'd be stuck with a bent jaw and a crooked nose. She was never vane, but that simply would not do. She took a quick breath in and she could feel the grinding of her nose as she forced it back into place. She let go a girlish whimper and in few short breaths, she growled. She cupped some water from the cold sea and splashed her face with it, slapping her cheek to wake herself up as if it was a hangover and not a mast to the face that had her out. She'd survived a Kamal's fist, she could fucking survive this.

In the fray, she caught sight of Do'Karth moving quick and familiar in the fight. She heard running footsteps and threw herself to the side just before a spearhead buried itself where her neck had been. She picked up a good size rock and hurled it at the Armiger's helmet. It struck his chitin helmet hard enough to give him pause. There wasn't fear anymore. Just anger. This man was trying to kill her. How dare he. She grasped hold of an oar and when it wouldn't budge, she planted a foot on the gunwale and with a roar, she tore it from its fitting on the dinghy, the pain of her muscles tensing shocked some resolve and some anger in her. Another spear thrust came her way, but she let it pass her, stepped forward into the Armiger's guard. She butted the handle-end into the Armiger's helmet with all her strength and the man took a few stumbling steps back. She followed and reared back with the oar with a vicious smile on her lips. She swung it and it connected hard enough with his helmet to where the shock of it almost rattled it from her hands. She threw the oar aside and picked up a large rock, bringing it up, “Die!”, down, up, “Die!”, down, up, “Die, you fucker!”

The last one cracked his helmet in around his visor and he lay motionless. She hefted the rock one last time and brought it down with a throaty roar, a lesson taught. She grasped up his chitin spear and looked for the next unlucky soul she'd make a corpse of. She felt her heart thump in her chest like the distant call of war-drums, she felt her grip tighten like roots of an old oak around the familiar feel of a spear, and she felt a yearning to instill in these foolish knife-ears the foolishness it was to come against her. She caught sight of two Armigers looking to kill Do'Karth. The nimble Khajiit put the swordsman on his back and rushed the spearman. While the other was getting to his feet, she waited for him to get on all fours with his back open for the whole world, much less her. She purposely aimed her thrust high and sliced open the back of his unprotected neck. She heard him yelp in pain behind his helmet, he began to crawl away, dripping crimson from his wound. “Wait!” He said in accented Cyrodiilic, “Wait!”

“For what?” Solveig asked, her teeth bared in a smile of almost-glee and she didn't wait for an answer. She gave another throaty roar, spittle flying, as she shoved the spearhead into the man's neck, deeper and deeper. She rested a boot on his head and took her spear back with a sickening wet sound, the mer's eyes shiny and lifeless like wine staring up at the sky. The only sound from him was choking and she took his shield for herself, eyes flitting around the field for the next lesson. Lo, it would never come. Black shapes moved quick around the field, making quick work of what was her flock to butcher. There were two fleeing, one's helmet split open by a bolt and he dropped like a felled oak. The other was alive, a coward fleeing, and one of the black shapes was running after him.

Solveig set her crooked jaw and dashed after the last armiger. She was slowly gaining on this black-and-crimson fool, she was close enough to pick out the details of his silly leathers, then ever so slightly ahead of him. He looked at her and his eyes widened, surprise, perhaps. She gave him a frown, “Mine.”

She jumped forward and caught the armiger's knees. They rolled on the floor, grunting, punching. In the end, though, Solveig's strength prevailed. She'd rested a knee on one of his arms, spear's shaft across the other and the rest of it pressing into his throat, cries for help being choked off in gurgling spittle. She watched him panic, spit in his helmeted face. Before she could see the life in him go, she was knocked aside and then folded in what felt like roots of great trees. She was helpless in the thing's grasp and while it could very well smother the life from her, it held her like iron. She spent the last bit of her strength straining against it but was dumped at the feet of the others by what she saw was the big black-and-crimson wearing shit. She squirmed onto her back, chest rising and falling. Her blood-rush had left her with nothing but pain and a swimming head.

Meanwhile…

Onboard the wounded ship, with the hole in the hull modestly patched with the sail, Bjorn, Halvar and Orvar struggled with the other greenhorn sailors to erect a makeshift sail, because, of course, Leif had so graciously cut it down, and then, there was the incident of the Nord woman, Solveig, crashing face first into the wooden mast. Surprisingly, she had survived the fall, and was carted off to the last remaining dinghy, how bad of shape she was in, remained to be seen. While the sailors worked in a hasty manner, Captain Atgeir called from the wheel that there was trouble afoot on the shoreline. Stopping in his work to scour the beaches, Leif spotted torchlight flickering in a cave, where mysterious figures in bonemould armor descended upon the survivors in the dinghy. Swearing vehemently, angered that he could not do anything to help, Leif simply kept himself distracted, it would do no good to worry over Sevine, or the others for that matter. Were he to try and jump ship, he would not make it far with his longsword, for he would certainly face an impending death in the swirling icy waters below. The sailors that had gone below deck to chuck the water overboard had retrieved the belongings of those that had left their packs behind, and brought it above deck to avoid any damage.

Miraculously, as the Courtesan limped into the beach, Leif could see that the attackers were Dunmeri in origin. More importantly, approaching from the inland, came a group of people dressed in curious, red and black leathers. His first initial thought emerged as that they were assassins, members of the Dark Brotherhood, but hadn’t they been erased? As the Courtesan docked, more or less, ropes were flung aside the wooden railing for those that remained aboard to repel down. However, one particular Dunmer, Kattun, the priest they had rescued from the shores east of the College, acted in a rather heedless manner, for instead of climbing down the rope, hand-over-hand, he forgot himself and plummeted feet first into the water. Shaking his head in dismay at Cat-Kicker’s indignant words, Leif scaled the rope into the water, and helped the Dunmer to the dinghy. Kattun muttered a whimpered thanks to him as Leif delivered him to his companion, R’ihanna. When he had finished there, Leif trudged through the shallows, his trousers soaked to the knees, sloshing his way to the sandy beach.

“Sevine!” He called, scanning those that had engaged in battle. He knew Sevine to be one of them, for she was not in the dinghy like R’ihanna. Rather, he found her descending on the Khajiit that had healed her wounded leg in the riot at Windhelm. How could he forget his name? Do’Karth.

---

After dispatching the armiger who lost his hand to her axe, Sevine whirled around looking for her next opponent, when she spotted Do’Karth. While she doubted that he could hold his ground for much longer, she was surprised to see him sweep his opponent off their feet with a quick swipe of his staff. She headed his way when she heard a familiar voice calling her. It was Leif. While she recalled that Do’Karth had a code against killing, she took it upon herself to deliver the final blow. With one clean swipe, cleaved the armiger’s head off. A bloody stump for a neck sprayed a fountain of blood onto the sand below. If she could help it, she wouldn’t leave any survivors, but it appeared that the new arrivals of people in crimson-black leathers did an excellent job of cleaning up their enemies.

“You made it!” She said, breaking out into a grin, noting that the Courtesan had actually beached itself along the shoreline. Well that was a relief to be had, at least the ship hadn’t gone down. He embraced her with a surge of excitement, perhaps in a spiteful act to instill the fact that Do’Karth would never share the bond that he did with Sevine.

A cuff of her hand to the back of his head, and Sevine found herself on her feet. “Haven’t I told you not to pick me up off my feet?” She badgered, clucking her tongue in annoyance. With his pride hurt, Leif could only turn his gaze away from her, ok, so perhaps she wasn’t as accepting of his hugs as he would have liked. Then again, she never had been before.

“Who are these people?” Leif asked in a desperate attempt to regain control of the conversation.

“Dunno, they just showed up out of nowhere. Maybe they’re enemies of these blokes?” She stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips as she surveyed the carnage. Solveig, on the other hand, had rampaged across the sands, and withdrew her embedded spearhead from an armiger’s neck. Well, at least she had feeling return to her face. Sevine and Leif stood alongside one another, waiting for the chaos to subside.

After seeing off those in the dinghy, Sagax offered up his acrobatic expertise and made himself useful mounting a secondary sail; Sagax knew little of boats, but he so intelligently deduced that the Courtesan probably wouldn't get very far with just the rudder, and the urgency of the crew gave credence to his theory. The shivering Imperial sidled along the mast carefully, very much aware of the fact that he could be thrown off into the freezing waters below at a moment's notice, and he most certainly would have if not for the extra traction granted by his gauntlets. As good at keeping his balance as he was, Sagax was far outclassed by the men that effectively called the seas their home, more easily able to steady themselves as the ship swayed to and fro. From his vantage point, Sagax could see the flickering of torches in the distance, along with armored forms approaching his comrades. Sagax hastened his repairs with every bit of strength he could muster, for fear of the others meeting the same end as the foolish group of mages that went before them.

Against all odds, the battered vessel once again bore a sail, and with the patchwork repairs done to the hull along with the guidance of her captain, the Courtesan drifted slowly and not-so-steadily towards the shoreline. When the ship was close enough to send people to shore, Sagax grabbed his gear, sent a rope across the rail and slid down carefully. He didn't want to end up like the priest, that was for sure. When he landed, he saw the bodies of what appeared to be the warriors he saw before, and standing over them were his comrades and two leather-clad strangers. A sparking sound drew his attention to the dinghy, and what he saw confused him for a moment. The Breton mage slowly revealed himself bit by bit, seemingly from nothing, as he peered over the edge of the boat. Invisibility! The man was an Illusion mage, there was no doubt about it.

"Is...is it over? Are they dead?" He swept his head back and forth, confirming each body he saw. "Oh by the grace of Julianos, that was terrifying..." He then suddenly found a hand covered by a dark leather gauntlet outstretched in front of him. "Hm...? Oh, it's you! So you managed to get the boat over here after all!"

Helping the young mage to his feet, Sagax nodded in confirmation. "Yes, we did, thought it was no easy task to be certain. Mara's sake, man, just how thin are those robes, anyway? Here, this should help against the cold much better." He handed over the thick cloak to the trembling man; water must have splashed on him, as there were flakes of ice scattered over his hair. After the formal "Thank you"s and "No problem"s, Sagax excused himself to check on the others, he steered well clear of the crimson strangers though. Right in his path, there Solveig was, knocked straight on her ass again. That poor woman just couldn't get a break. The Imperial offered his hand to the hot-blooded warrioress, though deep down he expected her to swat away his hand and stubbornly try to stand on her own. Not that he'd be particularly offended; a certain amount of respect ought to be awarded to those that fight through their pain and strive to help themselves.

‘’Mister Beleth, I must congratulate you on your quick thinking. Your innovative way to cover the leak may have saved all our lives,’’ the Breton said with an excited tone, as he accompanied the tired Dunmer leaning on the railing on the ship while watching the coast and the dinghy. The ship was still tilted slightly to one side, courtesy of the damage and the amount of water it had received, but the crew was handling it. The Dunmer seemed nervous nonetheless, and the Breton did not understand why. Almost as if something was bothering the old mer.

‘’I appreciate your remarks, Mister Gawain, but I’m afraid I am tired, could we please talk another time?’’ Sadri replied, with a tired voice. In truth, he was not tired, nor was he nervous, but there was something about this ‘Mister Gawain’ that made him feel off. Like an itching feeling in his brain, or like a dog whistle, Sadri couldn’t stand the guy, even when quiet. Cilo was just young and talkative, and Sadri did not mind Cilo when he was quiet, but there was something about this particular Breton that just made an uncomfortable presence.

‘’Yes, yes, I understand, Mister Beleth. You’ve done much for us, and you deserve a rest… Who are those people?’’ As Marcel’s tone went from kindly to surprised, Sadri turned his head to catch the direction Marcel was voicing his question at, and then realized he was talking about the dinghy. Before he could say that it was just those on the lifeboat, he noticed another boat, a familiar design, and men in alien-looking armor. Sadri had a brainwave and realized this type of armor was not commonly used by men – rather, it was used by mer. Dunmer, to be precise. But what the hell were Dunmer doing here?

‘’Uh, you know, this looks like trouble.’’ Marcel quietly muttered, as he watched the wounded Dunmer from the ship talk to one of the armored warriors.

‘’I’m afraid it does, Mister Gawain. You any good with a blade?’’ Sadri huffed, sighing as he prepared his blade. He couldn’t feel like complaining anymore – they just couldn’t catch a break, and he wasn’t going to waste his breath about it. First, invaders from Akavir, then, an escape from a siege, then a sinking ship, now, bloody raiders. And he had thought of Smokey the Bear was trouble.

‘’I took lessons at college,’’ Marcel replied, not wishing to disclose his familiarity with the more visceral parts of his profession. Well, he did not want to remind himself more so. He preferred eating cake to gutting blood-drinking hags.

‘’Well then, hopefully you won’t need to put your skills to use,’’ Sadri said. ‘’Maybe they’ll handle this peacefully.’’

Then Sevine began fighting one of the Armigers and hacked the mer’s hand off. Sadri opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but just huffed out air. ‘’Or maybe not.’’

Following Sevine, the two Khaji’it in the boat also put themselves in action, with the one with the staff (What was his name? Bo’Dark? Go'Kart?) pulling off fancy tricks, which seemed more at home in a circus troupe rather than a mercenary company, but worked nonetheless. The other Khaji’it acted in a manner much more familiar to Sadri, simply hacking at his attackers with axes, and Sadri found himself rooting for that Khaji’it rather than the other one because of the like-mindedness Sadri felt he shared with the fellow.

As the fight raged on, the ship finally reached shore, and Sadri rushed, hoping to stop the fighting. Before he could rappel down, the other Dunmer on the ship attempted to do so, and ended up falling. In the adrenaline rush, Sadri ignored the fellow upon sliding down, and waded through the water for a few steps, and got on shore to see the Altmer, Keegan, bleeding. Sadri had sympathy for the illusionist, so he moved to mend his wound to the best of his ability with magic, but then he noticed a crazed bear in the midst of the fighting, which made him delay his movements for a moment. After a second wasted in surprise, he realized it was Solveig being herself. ‘’You go, girl,’’ the Dunmer mused to himself as he took a fleeting moment to admire the fighting woman. Why did he always go for the psychotic ones? Maybe it was the way they lived out their emotions, free and primal, something Sadri never was good at.

‘’Hold on, buddy,’’ Sadri muttered to Keegan, as he put his good hand on the wound while the enchanted stump started pulling out the bolt. The Dunmer could feel the Altmer’s skin slowly grow back under his calloused and battered fingers, and gave the mer a chuckle to take the fellow’s mind away from the pain. He huffed and looked away from the wound as his hands worked, then he noticed Solveig being moved by what looked like a gigantic gimp.

‘’Oh no.’’

Sadri ripped out the bolt in a hurry, and then rushed away from Keegan before he could tend to the rest of the magician’s wound, running towards the leather-clad brute. As he moved, he realized just how stupid what he was doing was, but Sadri knew that it was better to go with what you’re doing and suffer the consequences rather than stop and make a fool of yourself halfway through. Well, he didn’t know it was better – in fact, it was likely going to lead to a worse outcome, but nonetheless, the rest of the statement was true, and he wasn’t going to be that doubtful coward, at least, not this time around.

Just as the gargantuan sex slave wannabe threw down Solveig, Sadri made his dynamic entry, jumping at the giant gimp and smashing his forehead against the leather clad hulk’s nose as he came down, with the collision making an almost inaudible ‘crack’. He moved his head to face the recoiling gimp, and was promptly punched in the face by the said fellow before he could continue with his daring rescue. While he hadn’t lost consciousness, Sadri found the punch as a good warning to stop moving, and just lay on the ground, watching an Imperial, seemingly the young one from the company, come by and offer his hand to Solveig.

‘’Motherfucker.’’

The soft twang of lute strings being played in a snow drift whispered its way down a rough path. Riding upon the smoothed grooves of earth created by decades of wagons furrowing the earth, was yet another wagon. In this wagon, a woman, Raelyn Giordano, flicked her finger from string to string. A balding man with a frost flaked beard sat across from her, scowling.

"Oh come now." Raelyn said in a sing song tone. "You're not telling me you haven't thought of these things?"

The man grunted, "Man could get himself killed. These parts. This place."

"But by right of power would it be just for him to be killed?" Raelyn asked, rephrasing the question in yet another manner.

"A man who is stronger should be able to use his strength to his own ends."

"What of natural strength, unearned by right or passage?"

"I suppose that's up to the man to decide."

And no one heard their exchange, except for the horses and the man who lead them.

----------------------------------------------------------

Raelyn was certain she'd heard of Dawnstar in a story, once. How did it go again? From the deeps of Ocean pass, to caves of silver quick and elven glass. Something like that. She shivered, the wind blowing from the ocean not ever so cold as it was at late evening. Raelyn hurried towards the docks, hoping to catch some dock workers before they went back home to their wives.

Two were sitting at the docks atop two adjacent wooden boxes. They were looking out towards the horizon. "And then I says, that's not a fish in my pants!" the man who told the joke laughed, while the other man, a Breton, seemed rather unamused.

"What?" the other man said.

The Breton sighed, "That's the eighth time you've told that joke."

"Well, it gets funnier with age, trust me!"

"If you say so." the Breton said with a resigned sigh.

Raelyn jumped into the conversation, "Greetings!" causing the men to swivel their necks over their shoulder. "I'm Raelyn. I've just come from Winterrun and I was wondering if you two could provide me with the location of a decent inn and, if you two are feeling adventurous," she gave the two a conspiratorial wink while in a deft motion producing ten septims, "Some local gossip?"

The two men gave eachother a look then the Breton spoke first, "There was a mercenary company that passed through here and went to sea a day or so ago." The older man beside him nodded in agreement, "Yes, fools lot I say. When I was their age, all full blooded Nords cursed the sea and rightly so! That's the place for Redguard and fools."

Raelyn rubbed her chin, flicking a coin to each of the men. "Anyone lose their nerve and stay behind?"

The older man started, "Yes, Red-bear actually! Good man, fought beside him against Dominion scum and their Imperial cohorts in the war! No offense, miss."

The Breton added, " My friend truly means no offense. Jorwen is something of a hero to the old guard and yes, he did kill many Dominion "cohorts"."

Raelyn considered this and gave three coins to the older man and five to the Breton. The older man said, indignantly, "Why am I being shorted?"

Raelyn gave a wry smile, "I think the Breton's prettier."

-----------

"Lady's just arrived in town." Mire's voice came from behind him. Jorwen hated how he could just step out of his shadow and know things.

"I'd fuck her." Brittle said, hanging by Mire, as always. "You done much fucking lately, Chief?"

"I'll make you throat my sword. How's that for fucking?" Jorwen grumbled. Brittle's high laugh was the next thing he heard from the man. It wasn't a joke, the thing was right beside him. "What's important about this woman? Or are you just telling me she's pretty?"

"Woman's just got in town, Chief." Cleftjaw said, shutting the door behind him and dusting snow off himself.

"I know." Jorwen said, nodding to Mire and Brittle, "Got told already."

"She's been asking questions, asking after the company," Mire said, "Asking after you."

"Do your thing." Jorwen said, Mire and Brittle dispersed and chose corners in the tavern to sit in and look unassuming. Jorwen watched them, Brittle looked asleep and Mire took a cup from a sleeping man and rested his boots on the stones near the hearth. Cleftjaw sat a couple stools away from him, mooning into a tankard he'd ordered. He nodded to Jorwen and the old man nodded back. Now, all he was waiting for was the door to open and to act like it was a pleasant surprise a woman pretty enough for Brittle was asking after him.

Raelyn entered like someone who ought to be there. She looked around, giving a respectful nod to the tavern keeper. She beamed when she saw Jorwen. Walking over with surprising alacrity, she sat leisurely next to him, one leg thrown over the other, chin resting on steepled fingers. "I thought you'd be a bit taller."

"Men're always shorter than their reputations. You know me?" He raised a brow at the woman who'd sat next to him. Brittle wasn't lying, she was pretty, or at least pretty enough. She wasn't dressed in the usual drab and utilitarian garb of Nordic women or those who lived in Nord lands. A lute on her, so she was a traveling bard. "You from the Bards' College?"

"Maybe, to both questions." Raelyn said, smiling playfully. "I heard you killed fifty men and could transform into a Red Bear when the moon was full. I'm not sure if I believe the second part." Raelyn could see where some of those stories came from, the mans hair was redder than the evening sky light and as matted as any bear she'd ever seen.

"I been a man my whole life and nothing else, much less a bear. The killing, though," He shrugged, "It's a war." He said, cringing at the memories and taking a gulp of his ale, "So, you know who the Red-Bear is- or stories- but that's easy to do in some parts. I don't know you, lass. A name?" He asked, putting a friendly smile on.

"Raelyn, charmed as ever." she said. The man seemed tense. Had the fighting been that bad? She supposed they must have been in a few ongoing battles prior to Jorwen losing heart and staying behind. She decided on a different tact, taking on a face of concern, "Your face just then, you seemed pained. Have you been taking part in this war?"

"I've two under my belt. I went south when I was a bare-faced child only fourteen summers. Four years, I fought for most of them, came back alive. Went to the Reach, fought there, came back alive. Fought some more for Ulfric after that, came back alive." He sucked his teeth and drank his ale, "I'm sure you know about Windhelm. Came out of there alive, too. Now, my daughter's off doing the fighting, thinking she's doing me a favor. She isn't doing me any, much less herself."

He drew in a breath and sighed it all out, "You get to be this old, lass-er, Raelyn, and you start to see the same mistakes being made over and over." He cleared his throat, "You come all the way to Dawnstar for an old man's war stories?"

Raelyn smiled, "Of course not! I came here to play music. Weedling a story out of you is just a perk."

"I suppose you'll be singing of my deeds after making fanciful songs about them." Jorwen shook his head and took another drink, wiping his mouth with a sleeve, "It's best my deeds get left with the memories of greyheads telling wide-eyed, drunken tales around the fire."

"Oh I can't be the only one telling stories." Raelyn said. She decided to change topic, "So, your daughter. She went off without you? Why are you still here?"

"My wife needs me here. My daughter elected to go, she's her own woman and I can't change her mind." He shrugged, "And I can't say I don't like going to sleep next to a woman I love with no prospect of a long march. Yet, at least."

"Planning on going back then?" Raelyn said, with a tilt of her head. "I wouldn't. Then again, I've never been a warrior." she put a finger to her chin and looked off towards the ceiling, as if in thought. "Maybe it's like being a bird. You leave for the winter, but when you return it's like summer never left."

"A lot of poetics for describing the black business. You ever walked among the field when the battle was done?" He asked, "It doesn't stink of roses, the wounded aren't crooning ballads and the dead aren't in peaceful sleep."

Raelyn focused on Jorwen again, "Can't say it ever came to mind. You let your daughter take up this work?"

"I didn't let her. But I can't stop her. I won't lie, I hate the skalds and the bards for making war seem like high adventure. I know the truth of it. I know my words alone will do nothing to quell the young fire in her, just like no one's words could quell mine." He looked into his cup and remembered her face split open and dripping lifeblood. He remembered what it took to snuff the flame of his youth and gulped down the dregs in the cup, "Besides, any Nord who sees nothing of the world and shrinks from an honorable fight is a coward." He touched the bartop and his hand was on the table the Thalmor Justiciar ripped his fingernails off on, the flames of the hearth were the same ones wrapping itself around a longhouse in the Reach, screams turned out to be the whistling and howling of the wind outside, "My daughter... she'll do what she will, it's my place to make sure she's learned from what she's done."

Raelyn carefully considered Jorwens words. She wasn't quite sure if the man knew what Ashav was up to and she couldn't just ask. Jorwen seemed a man of moral character, but for all she knew Solveig was under threat of death if Jorwen revealed any bit of important information. Then again, knowing what he was fighting for in his own culture could be less important than the appearance of honor. In any case, nothing would be accomplished interrogating the grief stricken man further.

"Well! That's all certainly depressing." Raelyn said. "I can't really get details about the war out of you, can I? Perhaps that's for the best." What Raelyn didn't say was that she had a very lenient view on historical accuracy in song. She smiled dolefully, "I need to earn my stay at the Windpeak, if you don't mind." Raelyn removed her lute from its case and began strumming absentmindedly.

He slid a few coins her way, "Go on. I wouldn't mind a song." He turned around to rest his back on the bar and smiled, "Do you know the Lay of Roland? It's one I heard in Colovia, during my service with the Legion."

Raelyn strung a few measuring notes, "Of course. It's common practice to have Bards play that song in their sleep as a sign of skill." she said dryly, beginning to quicken the tempo of the song before slowing down to a soft pianissimo. She sung sweetly, sometimes switching to a commanding tone at the parts of the song wherein The Lord of Chorrol spoke.

The day went on, slower than treacle in winter.

Before Rhasha had time to collect his thoughts and go to the aid of Keegan (The Khajiit had winced sheepishly upon seeing the bolt in the Altmer's arm... a poor choice by himself. Should have left the damned crossbow in the boat.), he was surprisingly reunited with his eldest sister. And quite a surprise it was, considering it had been a good few years since the pair had seen one another. Regardless, La'Dansharr had thrown herself upon her younger brother with a hug and a smile.

"I thought I told my baby brother to keep himself out of trouble?" She had purred in greeting, pinching his cheek as she had when they were cubs. Slapping her hand away gently, Rhasha couldn't bring himself to scowl at her, even despite the somewhat gory appearance she had made. As was natural for an assassin, he mostly saw her when she'd killed some poor soul nearby. It wasn't like she could just drop in for tea, after all. Especially with him travelling with the twins for the past few years - Rhasha was the only one in the family who was aware of La'Dansharr's vocation, and the pair of them were quite happy for it to remain as so.

"As you know Dansharr, trouble seems to follow this one. And his family, it would seem." He replied with a chuckle, looking pointedly at the dead Armigers surrounding them. Laughing at this, La'Dansharr walked back to the other assassins, flicking the youngest one - Aretino - in the face lightly.

"No trouble for us, dear brother. Just our job. If our little cub can remember to actually do his job, that is." Said in a somewhat scathing tone, Dansharr's eyes darted towards her leader. "No trouble on your little trip out, I trust?"

At this, Rhasha'Dar's attention was brought towards the injured, and he rushed first of all to Keegan, uttering a humble apology for his short-sighted move with the crossbow, and finishing the healing which Sadri had started.

---

"Huh." This was Roze's first reaction to seeing the carnage on the beach, wringing out the sea-water from her hair as she watched on. "Glad I decided to stay on the ship now. I think if this shoulder took another injury it'd fall off."

As it happened, nobody had to abandon ship. She did get wet, but that was just to help patch up the hole in the ship with Tsleeixth. With Rhasha's handy potion and a quick water-breathing spell, she'd had no issues with that particular job - she'd felt worse for Sadri who'd been hanging out on the outside of the ship dealing with the leak. Further sympathies were directed to Kattun, who had a less than graceful fall onto land in his rush to get to his Khajiiti companion.

"Ooh, ouch. Heard that crack from here. I guess you've got your first patient on the day, Seb." Digging Sebastian lightly in the ribs, he darted a dry look in her direction.

"Let's just hope I get the chance to - most people don't walk away alive from the Dark Brotherhood."

"Wait, what? The Dark Brotherh- oh, right. Those guys." Frowning slightly as she regarded the four, black-and-red-leather clad assassins on the beach, Roze and Sebastian made their way off the boat with the others. "You haven't pissed off anyone rich or important recently, have you?"

"Probably. But not enough to warrant an assassination. I'm hardly that important."

"Aw, don't feel bad. I'd have you assassinated." She replied in a sweet voice, gaining yet another withering look in return from her Nord friend.

"Gosh, I feel so blessed." Pausing at the dinghy where the injured Kattun lay, Sebastian went about to healing the broken leg while Roze collected her things. The potion was beginning to wear off now, and with cold water and freezing air still clinging to her, Roze's teeth were beginning to chatter. Throwing her heavy cloak on and retrieving her bag and quiver (Keeping the latter and her bow firmly in hand; there were still Armigers limping about, after all), Roze spotted Solveig and Sagax nearby, jogging over.

"Damn girl, from what I saw on the ship, you could have wiped out these bonemold arseholes and the assassins single-handedly." She said with a light laugh, which dwindled somewhat as her gaze found the assassins once more. "Speaking of... any idea why they're here? Maybe a Khajiit got tired of the Cat-Kicker at last?" Said with a shrug of the shoulders, Roze looked back to Solveig and Sagax. "We can always hope, right?"

Tsleeixth shivered as the cold wind buffeted him, his clothes sticking to him after his little trip to the lower deck had left them completely damp. When Orakh had asked both him and Roze to accompany him to the lower decks the Argonian had acceded to the old orsimer’s request immediately, reasoning that -as an Argonian- it made sense that he’d be the one to go to the flooding part of the ship and, after having lived for a few years in the Colleague, he was more used to the cold waters of the Sea of Ghosts than the other members of the crew - or so he had thought but, in fact, it was only after a few minutes from their departure from the now, mostly, sealed lower deck that he had begun shivering slightly due to the cold climate.

Shaking his head slightly to focus his mind, Tsleeixth turned his gaze towards the distant shore to which The Courtesan slowly made its way towards. and the battle that raged on its sands. From what one of the sailors had told him the group that had gotten out of the ship on the dinghy had been attacked by a group of warriors in Bonemold armor without apparent reason, or at least no apparent reason that any of the sailors could deduce from The Courtesan. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Tsleeixth resigned himself to waiting for the hsip to be near the shore before he, or any of those remaining on the ship for that matter, could offer any help to the group that was on the beach fighting.

However, before The Courtesan could arrive to provide assistance to the beleaguered beach group, help came in a most unexpected form: four assassins clad in the typical black-and-red leather armor of the Dark Brotherhood. “By the Hist, what is the Brotherhood doing here?” Thought Tsleeixth, his mouth hanging slightly agape at the sight of the four assassins. “A contract? Could someone live here that has performed the Black Sacrament?” He thought for a split second before his thoughts were yanked back to reality by the sound of bones breaking promptly followed by Dumhuvud shouting at them to make sure they knew how to climb down before attempting to go down to the beach.

Imitating what he saw other, presumably more versed in climbing techniques than him, sailors and members of the company were doing, Tsleeixth sent a rope across the rail and then slid down carefully, going perhaps a bit slower than necessary, until he reached the ground. Surveying the area, he noticed that Do’Karth and Sevine were seemingly alone amidst the group, not noticing that Leif was going there as well. “Do’Karth, Sevine! Good to see you two aren’t injured.” Said the Argonian, the corner of his lips turning upwards in the equivalent of a smile as he relaxed slightly. “Do you know if any of the warriors are left alive? It could be useful to interrogate at least one of them,” Said Tsleeixth shortly after, his hand firmly grasping the hilt of his sword, ready to spring into action “Or is it that they were all killed?” He asked after a while, his eyes surveying the scene looking for any Armigers that might have survived or that were trying to escape.

"You imbecile! Incompetent fool! Dumb fu-"

Immediately after Aretino saved Keegan, the Altmer found the strength (from his anger), to leap on his feet and lash out at R'ihanna. He went on a tirade of insults while clenching tightly onto the bolt entry with a ripped sleeve. The dark-furred Khajiit bard was speechless, Rhasha's crossbow had been dropped on the beach and tear swelled in her eyes. Problem was, there was little R'ihanna could do in terms of medical care. So Keegan's little spat went on until the crash of ship hulls, the spilling of ropes and the shattering of Kattun's leg.

"Goodness grace, Kattun!" Seeing the priest fall, R'ihanna brushed aside Keegan and gone to his aid.

Meanwhile, Sadri had rappelled down and started on Keegan's injury. On a scale of one to ten, Sadri's first aid rated around six or seven. However, Keegan immediately dropped this number into the negatives as Sadri ripped the bolt out in one rough yank. Having something that sharp, being lodged inside flesh for a good five minutes, pulled out so quick almost made Keegan faint in pain. "Ahhh!" He cried. "Thanks a lot, buddy!" Grasping an reopened wound, Keegan dropped to his knees. Of course, Sadri's attention deficiency made sure he ate fist from the leather-bound bulk clown; a fitting reward for carelessly leaving his patient.

Thankfully, Rhasha had the patience to actually finish what Sadri started. Though Rhasha had a little bit too much patience to put sibling reunion ahead of preventing a bleed-out. Whatever, Keegan mumbled in his head. Rhasha seemed to have sealed the wound. The Altmer then took out a bottle of health potion from his robe pocket; do these things have expiration dates? It did smell wrong. Whatever, Keegan chugged the damn thing in one gulp, which ended up ejecting half in choking coughs. There was a trail of red from inland back to the boat, it could very well be Keegan's own blood. He bled so such, the realization dawned, and suddenly, the distant fighting seemed to blur.

"Wake me later." He slurred, then lost consciousness against the dinghy's gunwale.

---

"I'm not a cub!" Aretino pouted.

One beach away, five armigers are all that remained. Aretino had beat Solveig to the fleeing target earlier, who ended the armiger by slitting his neck. Four formed a defensive line with shields, and behind them, a lone archer. Opposing them was the lead assassin and her gigantic companion, who was apparently called Chews-on-Barks. The armigers were falling back toward the cave they came from.

"Nothing Chewsie couldn't handle." The assassin leader known as the "listener" responded to Dansharr. Then, she raised her voice for her enemies to hear. "Give up, run away, this is your last chance!"

"To the death, S'wit!" Was the answer.

"We can arrange that."

Gathering her assassins around, the Dunmer woman pointed to the shield wall. "Time to clean up." She declared. "Dansharr, watch our back." With a wicked dagger in hand, she traced the bluffs surrounding the cave. "Aretino, up high, you know what this is." She tossed a sack with jelly-like content inside. "Chewsie, get their attention. I'll shield you."

The plan sprung into motion with Aretino disappearing into the dark like a shadow. With the initiate running across the bluffs, Chews-on-Barks let out a monstrous battle cry and launched himself at the armigers' shield wall. From behind, the listener enveloped the large man in a shimmering magic ward. Several arrows pounded Chewsie, but none of them penetrated the ward. He barreled shoulder first into two shields, knocking opponents back slightly but did not break formation. One bonemold elf stabbed at Chews-on-Barks with a spear, but a giant leather-gloved hand caught it and threw it aside. Another swung a sword, seeing the edge skid off magic shielding, resorted to clubbing with the broad side. Chews-on-Barks eventually recoiled back, however, Aretino already moved into position and hurled a sack full of tar into the armigers.

During this time, the assassins' leader had reloaded her crossbow. Seeing armigers attempting to clear themselves of tar was the signal for her to launch a bolt into the air. The bolt flew in an arc, landed in a thick tar puddle and immediately lit the area on fire. The tar was flammable, even though Dunmers are resistant to fire, and their armor was flame-resistant, the sudden shock was enough to force the armigers' formation wide open. Aretino seized his opportunity by leaping down and landing on a confused mark, there were terrified screams as Aretino carved the elf up. Chews-on-Barks overpowered one, ripped his arm off and threw rest of the body into another. With the torn arm in hand, the behemoth alternated between beating his first victim and the second. The archer was entirely covered in flames, as he rolled desperately in seawater, someone suddenly appeared behind him and held his head under. The unfortunate archer thrashed and kicked, until a minute later, stopped moving. The last armiger managed to get his bearings together in time to attack Aretino from behind. However, he was suspended midair without warning and flew back into a dagger.

"Void take you." The listener whispered, releasing her telekinetic grip and pull her dagger out where the heart was. Turning to Aretino, she shook her head. "Sloppy, initiate, he could've taken your head off."

"Sorry, mo-" Aretino started. Whipping around, he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his boss whipping off blood on boldmold. "Ma'am, I mean. It won't happen again."

"We'll see about that." Not bothering with a single look, the woman started to undo the armiger's equipment. There were faint but visible red stripes on the pauldrons. Peeling that off, the next piece was the hauberk. On the flipside of the hauberk stitched a net, which held a bundle of paper within. Unfolding the paper revealed Daedric letters, presumably written Dunmeris.

"What is that?" Aretino came up and asked. He was quickly bumped into by Chews-on-Bark. "Watch it!" The initiate spat, though what he got was nothing more than a grunt.

"Yes, what is it? We deserve to know too." Dumhuvud and an entourage of mercenaries followed the assassins. "And who are you louts?"

"Back off!" Aretino warned. He and Chews-on-Barks had positioned themselves in front the Cat-Kicker. "Should I kill him?" He asked his mentor.

"No," the Dunmer woman waved them down, "we're not your enemies. These men, the Nerevarine's goons, are though." She motioned to the corpses behind her. There were now two more (one missing an arm), after Chews-on-Barks started to pile them up. "How quaint of you to be shipwrecked in this place, at this time." She scanned the battered Courtesan in the background. "You must be pirates, or mercenaries, or otherwise cursed by Mephala."

"Mercenary." Dumhuvud stated. "And you are assassins, heh? Why are you here?" Turning back to his own group, Dumhuvud narrowed his eyebrows at Rhasha. "Was one of the cats too scared to face me?"

"The Dark Brotherhood." Someone behind muttered.

"That we are." The Dunmer woman tilted her head at the voice, though she addressed Dumhuvud directly. "So Dansharr knows one of your men. No, you are a worthless fly compared to our last target." Shuffling papers looted from the armiger, she caught sight of R'ihanna and a limping Kattun to the back. "You," calling to Kattun, "does Lieutenant Raili ring a bell?"

"No, why?" Kattun looked confused, the fall really did a number on him. Even after Sebastian did the best he could, Kattun remained very much immobile.

"See for yourself." The assassin tossed across the first sheet of paper.

"This is signed by the Nerevarine's war ministry." Kattun exclaimed. The more he read, the more his face rose in shock. "These scouts were ordered to find a landing site, but for landing what?" He re-read the piece again, and mumbled the original Dunmeris sentences to himself. "To aid our allies; who are those allies?"

"Akavir." The listener tapped on the second paper. "The translation is, more or less: 'secure beachhead for the division, link up with Kamal allies, terminate all witnesses along the way'. I know the Nerevarine's despicable, but to collaborate with those that sacked Windhelm, that is a new low for him."

"Horse shit." Dumhuvud held up his hand, his axe with it. "Are we at war with Morrowind now? How do you even know?"

"Windhelm? We have ears there." Explained the listener. "The Nerevarine? My family was part of the skeptics in the New Temple. When the so-called reincarnate returned to claim his throne, he contracted the Morag Tong to put down those disloyal to him; my relatives were among them." Leaning down to pick up a bonemold shoulder piece, she continued. "The Armigers were suppose to be a unified defense force, but like Thur and his Stormcloaks, they are the tyrant's henchmen first and foremost. Lieutenant Raili here," she pointed to the man she killed, "leads a pathfinder detachment. He is probably an Ashlander, as the Nerevarine conscripted entire tribes into service."

"Not all of them." Trius entered the conversation. He was tired from the fight, but a seething anger kept him alert. In his hands was a seemingly average bonemold helmet. "At least one is ex-ordinator. I know that man, he used to serve with me."

"That's why he called you traitor." Kattun noted.

"Because I am." Trius admitted. He reached for his ebony blade, with a clip, took the sheathed weapon in hand. He starred at it longingly, head hanging in shame as the memory of it flooded back. "I refused to obey order, to kill innocents when my superior asked me to. But betraying our nation to demons of the east; I don't know what is worse, to refuse order or follow it blindly."

"Are you going to fight back?" Trius asked the assassins.

"As much as I wanted to, it's not our fight." The Dunmer woman answered. "In fact, we have already lingered more than we should. Know this, should the Nerevarine attempt similar actions in the future, they would meet the same end as now." Giving the mercenaries a final look, she recalled her subordinates. "Kill the stragglers, there is no point interrogating; every armiger is drilled with resistant techniques."

"Say goodbye to your brother, go." The listener told Dansharr. "It's rare for our kind to have family, birth family; I sure miss mine." Just as she was about to walk away, the woman pressed the rest of Raili's orders on Dansharr's paw. "Give this to your brother, he'll have more use of it than us. After the last job, I feel like we will need as many allies as possible."

---

The Dark Brotherhood left sight in no more than half an hour. In that time, sailors aboard the Courtesan had determined their vessel no longer sailed. With that said, there was hope in repairing, or at the worst, salvaging Atgeir's ship later. In the meantime, they'll have to get help from Dawnstar.

The beach was awash in red, blood from fallen armigers and injured ship passengers. A dozen Dunmers were stacked in a gruesome pile, many of them stripped of weapon and armor. Soon, one overturned dinghy and nine bloated corpses ran up at various times and places. The foolhardy mages were all confirmed drowned.

Watching from the ship itself, Ariane found her amulet not in her bag when she went to the beach. At the same time, Orakh said S'riracha had vanished, seemingly into thin air. Both of them supposed everything lost went overboard, but Dumhuvud insisted that S'riracha stole the amulet and ran away.

The time was still night and the morning was well away. Most members of the company, which included a freshly woken Keegan, relocated to the cave and caught up on valuable sleep beside the armigers' fire. A few, that included Dumhuvud, Trius, Orakh, Kattun and R'ihanna, could not find sleep. Dumhuvud first took Kattun by the throat and demanded to know whether he was connected to the armigers, when the Dunmer said no, Dumhuvud choked harder, only the plead of R'ihanna combined with the fist of Trius was enough to see him off. Stalking away, Dumhuvud found Sadri out of sight, grabbed the collar of his clothing and slammed him into a nearby rock. "What do you know of these people!?" He would shout. "Explain!"

The remainded had their own thoughts to talk over. Kattun could not believe what he saw and heard, even after he read Raili's orders several times. "So I heard some of the things you said about the Kamal, and if they were true, then perhaps submitting to them is for the better." Kattun said. "Still, I must return to home and find truth behind everything."

"I shall go with you." R'ihanna said. Despite Kattun warning her the danger of Khajiits being enslaved in his homeland, R'ihanna insisted that she stay with the only person to care for her.

"As will I." Trius told the pair. "No more running for me, because they will follow me to the end of Nirn and back. Don't worry, I'll protect you two on the way."

"Trius, what will follow you? Tell me, I won't tell another living soul. You can trust this old dog." Orakh laid a caring hand on the warrior shoulder, causing it to sag. Kattun and R'ihanna offered them privacy, but Trius asked the pair to stay.

"My real name is Helkan R'is, and the things I have done..." Trius went on to explain his service in the Nerevarine's name. "I was an extractor, tortured people for information. Argonians raiders, Imperial and Thalmor spies, dissendents in the Great Houses and sometimes, innocent people at the wrong place and time." Pulling out his ebony blade, he traced the latest notches added from clashing against the shock tonfa. "They rewarded me this, said I accomplished things no one else could. But I also had doubts no one understood, well, actually, some superiors knew my doubts, and they kept an eye on me."

Putting his blade back, Trius looked out to the ocean. "Solstheim, last month. They sent my unit to evacuate Raven Rock from a plague, but rumors are the king wanted to clear out the island for someone, or something. Then the commander ordered us to cut down everyone we couldn't fit onto boats; I just couldn't do it."

His red eyes swelled with tears, Trius forced it away with his hands. "That was the last straw for the generals, because as soon as I fled home, they sent an assassin after me, probably Morag Tong as the Dark Brotherhood said." Looking up, he threw a pebble into the sea, watching as the waves swallowed the tiny stone in darkness. "That was not the end. In fact, another was with me at Windhelm; the supposed thief that stole my sword."

"I remember." Orakh nodded, replaying how he met this elf in the first place.

"I am endangering the company, because they'll kill anyone perceived to be associated with me." The Dunmer warrior sighed. "I have two brothers in Blacklight, though I know they could handle themselves, what that woman said made me uneasy. I knew first hand the 'necessary' cruelty our military dispenses, and I can't imagine anyone of my own blood suffering for something they never did."

"You are one man," Orakh paused to take account of Kattun and R'ihanna, "or three, against a country."

"There are groups opposing the current regime, cells I have personally destroyed." Trius, or Helkan, didn't seem deterred. "They have common enemies as I." The distant horizon to the east started to light up, at the same time, the storms at sea calmed significantly. "We'll take that ship," he meant the armigers' chitin boat, "for Blacklight. We have to leave now, before the storm returns." Standing up, the Dark Elf surveyed the landscape.

"You know about sailing, yes?" Trius (Helkan) said to R'ihanna. The Khajiit nodded.

"Then this is farewell, my friend" Clasping Orakh's arm, Dunmer and Orc shared a warrior's embrace. In a surprising move, the former gifted his sword to the latter. Orakh stood in stock as the ebony weapon was placed in his palms. "Take it, the man this blade symbolized is no more. May Azura, and Malacath, bless our paths ahead."

---

The next morning was Sun's Height 16. It would be two long walking days before Dawnstar.

Do’Karth watched the Dark Brotherhood members depart, having made a surprise appearance that was shockingly to the group’s benefit. Of all the stories the khajiit had heard of the group, he’d never expected to meet one, as they’d always seemed to be somewhat like a folktale rather than a tangible group of murderers, let along in a fashion that wasn’t them trying to claim the life of himself or someone else he knew. Tsleeixth called out, drawing Do’Karth’s attention. The argonian had gone out of his way to be a supportive and kind soul, and Do’Karth felt somewhat ashamed of his existing prejudices against argonians in general. Do’Karth never claimed to be an ideal or flawless person, of those he had substantial amounts, but he had always thought himself to be rather egalitarian and accepting of all. However, he’d never thought of entertaining the notion of befriending Tsleeixth, regardless of the argonian’s kindness.

A pang of regret and shame burrowed in Do’Karth’s chest; even after the utter chaos that had been the past two days, every single time Tsleeixth had spoken up in support of Do’Karth, trying to comfort him when they had to cross to the college in choppy waters that gripped the khajiit with fear, affording him a position on the dingy to escape the sinking ship knowing full well only a handful of the company might escape, and even now rushing over to see if he was okay. It was almost a bit too much, and it touched Do’Karth. The khajiit tried to conceal his eyes watering from the argonian, the stress finally getting to him. Now the thread of battle was over, the warrior aspect of Do’Karth disappeared into the ether, the aspect he’d tried to deny for years now as he became a wanderer, and the reserved and introspective person who had never expected to have found such acceptance when he signed up with the mercenary group for a bit of coin… he’d been so ready to leave them after the convenience ran its course, and instead, he kept risking himself time and time again and he sought their acceptance and approval, and no one embodied that sentiment more than Sevine and now Tsleeixth.

“This one is fine. After the Kamals, Do’Karth was glad to face against something comparatively much more his speed.” The khajiit said with a smile. He shook his head from side to side. “This one has not seen if any of the enemy have survived the skirmish. Even the ones this one had dueled were put down by others. Perhaps they left notes or orders? It doesn’t matter to this one; Do’Karth is just pleased to be on solid land again.”

Looking towards Sevine and seeing Leif rushed to her side, he felt a pang of… what? Envy, jealousy? He wasn’t sure which, and chided himself for being irrational for being judgemental of the Nord’s foolish advances on Sevine, as if he didn’t understand her at all for all the years he was at her side. Did she see in him what he saw in her? It wasn’t a comforting thought, and Do’Karth knew better than to give himself hope that baring his soul to her, the only living soul that knew his true nature and the khajiit that Do’Karth had buried in the sands of Torval so many years ago, had meant anything more than comfort between friends. He didn’t even find humans attractive, but something about her…
Forget it, Do’Karth. You are being a damn fool. Focus on helping others make it back to Dawnstar alive, you foolish cat. he chided himself angrily, forcing himself to look away and he took notice of Sadri sitting up on the ground, and looking rather battered himself. Strolling over to the dunmer with the missing ear and curious bonemold prosthetic replacement for his lost arm with a slight limp, Do’Karth set himself down beside him, letting the pressure off of his bad leg. Now the adrenaline had ebbed away, the khajiit was all too aware of how his old wound screamed at him to take it easy, and he sighed in relief when he stretched out his leg, working out the kinks in his muscles with strong hands.

Following Sadri’s gaze towards Solveig, Do’Karth silently understood exactly what the dunmer must have been thinking, as both men had eyes for rather unobtainable individuals. Fumbling about his pouches, Do’Karth pulled out a jar of honey and a whittled down stick he’d kept on him and offered it to the dunmer. “Comfort food. Do’Karth thought you might appreciate it.” He said, sitting in silence as the frosty coastline gave him the illusion he’d never feel warmth again.

The night was cold and the weather unrelenting, subjecting the members of the company to frigid temperatures and damp air due to the proximity to the coast, which the waves continued to crash upon with ferocious force, ejecting white spray across the beachhead. The survivors had laboured well into the night, scavenging whatever equipment could be carried from the Courtesan and the dunmer ship, and setting up camp in the cave where the Armigers had taken refuge of their own. Do’Karth was relieved to see his rucksack and coat were intact, and the warmth it provided was unparalleled. He had helped strip the dunmer bodies of their equipment and helped bury them under loose rocks found along the beach while others made the treacherous climb upon the ship to retrieve the supplies. It was tiring, thankless work, but Do’Karth felt better that he was away from the sea and able to give the dead their proper dues, saying a few prayers to Mara to give the warriors a respectful send off to whatever followed. They were enemies, but they were still soldiers who were doing their duty. Fallen warriors deserved respect for their convictions, if nothing else.

When rations were cooked and dinner handed out, Do’Karth sat with his friends and made idle chit-chat as the storm raged outside of the cave where the fire was kept alive and fed by a generous reserve that the Armigers had collected; they clearly had intended to stay here for some time. When the company bedded down for the night, Do’Karth volunteered for first watch, sitting by the mouth of the cave and passing the hour by sketching the ghostly hulls of the beached ships. It was certainly one of those occasions he would look back at in future years in wonder, and as he stared out into the blustering snow and collecting ice, he could not shake the feeling that there was something inherently wrong about the storm. By the time he was relieved from watch, Do’Karth found his bedroll between Sagex and Keegan and almost immediately drifted off to sleep, the tension of the day finally taking its toll and giving Do’Karth a much needed reprieve.

~ ~ ~

16 Dawn’s Folly, two hours after dawn…

After a larger than normal breakfast, thanks largely to the Armiger supplies and the lack of desire to carry an excessive amount of weight through the snows, the company gathered their gear and set out in a long column. Do’Karth joined others who were skilled in pathfinding in the front, having thoroughly reviewed a map and plotted a course back to the safety and relative comfort of Dawnstar, the khajiit in particular valued for his heightened senses that didn’t rely on sight to navigate and would alert the company to approaching dangers. The wounded were kept in the middle of the column, having an easier trek as the snows ahead would have been well trampled down by the strong rotation of point men, which would have to dredge themselves through sometimes waist-deep snows that had accumulated rather suddenly in the past weeks in the unseasonal storms. Following the wounded were the baggage train of people primarily burdened with carrying the majority of the supplies, and taking up the rear were the commanders and other strong fighters, who would ensure the no one was left behind, keeping an eye out for threats to the flanks and rear, and giving orders as needed.

The column set out when there was enough light to see, as navigating the wilderness in the dark in deep snow is perilous and the slightest incident could cost lives in the blink of an eye, be it from concealed drop offs, collapsing overhangs of collected snow, rockslides, or even just getting lost in the poor visibility. The going was slow, and the 8 point men and women walked in pairs to create a wide enough trail and to lend each other support and strength over the terrain when needed.

As the hours passed, the blizzard did not relent, and movement was exceedingly halted to recheck the map and reorient the group, as well as stopping every two hours for twenty minute breaks, any more of which threatened to cover anyone who was stuck lying prone. The cold was biting, the snow soaked through any clothes that weren’t oil treated, and overall the mood was rather one of misery.

If any thought it could not get worse, the wind suddenly started picking up, and debris was thrown at alarming velocity, and even smaller branches that broke off of dying trees hit with the force of rocks. Many lost their footing as sudden, powerful gusts knocked people off of their feet. Do’Karth, whose feet were rather freezing even through his thick foot wraps and well-padded feet, buried his staff into the snow and leaned against the wind to steady himself. “We need to find shelter!” a voice from the rear of the column bellowed, although with the wind and the strain in the voice it was hard to tell exactly who it was. Ahead, in the white void of heavy snowfall was the barely visible face of a cliff. “Press forward!” Do’Karth urged his partner, and the two of them lead the way, struggling through the blizzard as they moved towards the rock and perhaps salvation. The temperature felt like it was plummeting the worse the storm picked up, and staying still was asking for some of the column to be buried alive, an unacceptable fate after what they’d endured.

The wind shifted, and with it, a strange scent caught on the wind. It took Do’Karth a moment to realize what it was.

“This one smells fungus! There’s a cave ahead!” he called back, urging the group to press on just a little harder. After what felt like hours although it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, Do’Karth’s hand touched rock and he and the others followed it until they stumbled across a large opening. The cave would be their salvation, Do’Karth hoped as he plunged inside, his eyes adjusting instantly to the dark conditions. After only a few meters, the wind no longer bit at him, and it almost felt like warmth returned in force. Walking ahead to give room for those who followed, Do’Karth heard a curious sound; running water.

The khajiit walked further into the cave, finding what looked like a worn down foot path down to what looked like a small stream of water running along the bed of the cave floor. Curious, he made his way down to the stream and dipped his fingers into it, feeling the cool fluid running between his fingers, but far warmer than if it had originated from outside. Looking around, he looked at the fungus that had given off the musky scent that led him to the cave, trying desperately to recall if it were poisonous or not. Moving closer, his foot stepped on something that crunched underfoot, startling him somewhat. Do’Karth knelt down, gritting his teeth as his leg screamed in pain, and picked up what it was he had stepped on.

It was some kind of shed skin from some sort of shelled or insect creature from a molt, the translucent dark substance crumbling to the touch. What on Nirn could be down there with them? A sinking feeling filled Do’Karth’s gut as he decided to double back to the others. His ears soon picked up the sound of splashing water further down the stream, something large and heavy. Gritting his teeth, Do’Karth hurried up the path as fast as he could when he heard the distinct clicking of mandibles from not only below, but above. Suddenly, a splash of a foul-smelling liquid erupted across the stone just behind him, and looking up was a massive, hideous black insect with four long, thick legs and a pair of menacing pincers in front of a horrific maw. The creature scurried down the rocks with alarming coordination, and a group of the insects emerged from the mouth of the stream. Do’Karth didn’t know that they’d stumbled across a chaurus nest.

And with the chaurus, the falmer were never far behind. Soon hideous, deformed voices and lumbering footfalls filled the air as the falmer, the masters of the dark underbelly of Skyrim with senses of smell and hearing unmatched by most everything else in Skyrim, began their investigation of what intruders had stumbled into the mouth of their dwelling; the musky smell Do’Karth had picked up wasn’t just the fungus, but the decaying matter of the chaurus and falmer victims who had been drawn to the cave for years before. Arrows began to rain down behind Do’Karth’s footfalls, and he yelled after the company that the caves weren’t safe as a thunderous weight crashed into him from behind, forcing him to the ground. Turning on his back quickly, Do’Karth barely managed to grab the powerful pincers that twitched menacingly around his neck, gritting his teeth with effort to keep from finding himself decapitated and a circular jaw of sharp fangs tried to press closer to his muzzle.

This was not how he wanted to die, the khajiit decided. He didn’t survive the Siege of Windhelm and a godsdamned shipwreck just to be eaten by a horrible bug.

She stared up at the sky with a sick feeling in her stomach. It wasn't from being hit on the head, she knew that, it was the same feeling she'd had after she even spared a thought to smiling when she climbed up that rope in Windhelm at the cost of some nameless woman. These weren't faceless Kamal or a duel in the circle, these were mer like Keegan or Sadri. She remembered taking the pleading man's life and feeling the same way she had when the crowd cheered her name while she stood over Olvir Tanglehair. A sick kind of pride, a red joy in an opponent crushed to the dirt under her heel. She wondered if this was how heroes felt after their great and bloody deeds. When Sagax came to stand over her and offered his hand, she frowned and looked away from his kind face. Finally, she took his hand and muttered her thanks.

Just then, some form leapt into the air over her with blinding speed and a very short scuffle was all she heard before Sadri lay beside her. Do'Karth went over to him and offered him food, but she noticed the way he looked at her. It was a gaze she'd only seen in her mentor's eyes when they were together after her lessons. She felt she didn't deserve a gaze like that knowing what she'd done. But would she call her mother a fool for looking at her father the same way knowing the line of work he was in? She sighed, a sad half-smile was all she could muster as she helped the old mer up. She left her hand on his shoulder and found herself at a loss for words. What was there to say after the fight was done? “My thanks.” She said lamely, but that was all the sincerity she could spare at the time.

When they holed themselves up in the cave, she sat mostly alone, huddled against a rock, fingering the chitin spear's head and admiring its sharpness. She hadn't encountered a weapon like this at all, and she wondered how the Dunmer could fashion whole suits of armor and sets of weapons out of whatever material it was. Sleep did not come easily to her that night, but it had always been something just out of reach until the last moment these last few days. It was nothing a bottle of whiskey couldn't coax to her.

* * *

Her face was stinging to the touch and she could barely keep her eyes open against the winds and snow. She cursed whatever Daedra would summon up a blizzard like this, but her complaints and anguish were kept mostly to herself. She stayed close to Sadri and Do'Karth as they waded through the snow with as much grace as a newborn horse. Every step closer to the cave they'd found felt like a step closer to heavenly salvation. There was only so much her bear fur cloak could do against Northern Skyrim's hateful winds and she uttered a silent thanks to any God listening when they set foot in the cave. Do'Karth elected to go further, for whatever reason. She'd never been one for ruins or caves. Most of her adventuring she liked to keep in places where she could see the sky above her. Musty and cramped dungeons filled with Shor knows what wouldn't find her gracing their halls.

When Do'Karth's screams and the sound of his struggling, as well as the blood-chilling sound of many things moving in the darkness seized her heart, she knew exactly why she never wanted to be in these places at all. She swung her shield over her shoulder from its strap on her back and unsheathed her longseax, waiting for whatever monstrosities would come creeping from the dark.

And they came.

Pale forms, gnarled and twisted came out of the shadows like spirits in the fog. Gibbering in their harsh tongue, their eyeless forms almost froze Solveig where she stood. She swallowed, tried to muster up any courage she could. She had never come against any creatures like these, and she knew the falmer of legend were all too real. They'd clawed their way out of the old wives tales. One reared back with a cruel looking club and all she could do was watch. It screeched in its horrifyingly shrill voice and she cowered behind her shield, eyes screwed shut, as if that would prove to her this was all her imagination.

The club skidded off her shield and she yelped, retreating backwards, ready to trade this pants-soiling fear for the misery of the snow outside but she tripped over her own feet. Her breath caught in her throat as the club came down on her shield again, the falmer screaming for her blood. Fear made her lash out with the rim of her shield and she caught the gangly thing in its shoulder, sending it stumbling and screeching. She swung wide with her seax and caught it right in the mouth, the blade sheering through its cheek and knocking some teeth away plinking against the moist ground of the cave. It lay on the ground, squirming before she snapped its neck with another blow from her shield's rim. She stood there, breathing heavy and still very much scared. But she knew whatever happened, she had a good blade and a sturdy shield. She swallowed, what more could a shieldmaiden ask for in a scrape?

Besides to come out the other side.

To his surprise, Solveig accepted Sagax's hand, and even said thanks. Shouldn't be so quick to judge, Sagax, people can surprise you in a lot of ways. Like Sadri. Though that wasn't quite the same surprise, as his was more of the startling kind. Sagax barely saw the Mer out of the corner of his eye as he was helping Solveig up, just in time to watch him exchange blows with one of the crimsonheads. Unfortunately for Sadri, the one he picked a fight with was considerably strong, and sent the Dark Elf straight to the ground with a single blow. Hm, what was he looking at? Solveig? He wore a strange expression, almost like embarrassment, but not quite. Oh well, no concern of Sagax's. He left Solveig to see to the crazy Mer, and made his way to the Armigers' cave, careful not to trip over any bodies. Could people just...not kill each other? For once? Maybe? Would lighten the mood a little.

In the cave was a veritable stash of supplies. Just how long were these warriors planning to stay here for? There were plenty of rations, some bedrolls, and other basic supplies. Leaning against the wall of the cave was a small shield made of some kind of chitin. Lifting it up revealed that it was much lighter than it looked; Sagax could toss it around with relative ease. He had an inclination to claim it for himself, but he set it back down after some thinking. The shield was likely left behind in a hurry by one of the dead Armigers outside, and though they were enemies, Sagax would not avail the dead of their personal affects. It just felt...wrong. The dead should be left in their peaceful slumber, as dictated by Arkay.

After everyone had huddled into the shelter and ate their portion of the rations, it was time to get some well earned sleep. Sagax found himself next to Keegan, with the Illusion mage snoring by the fire opposite them, bad leg outstretched and resting on the other. He had given Sagax back his cloak; he deduced he'd be fine with just the fire. The Imperial wasn't about to argue, he was absolutely freezing even with the fur lining of his leathers. Sleep came slowly at first, but some force pulled Sagax along, quickening his descent into the world of dreams.

There he was again. The docks of Windhelm, with that unholy abomination standing at the end of the pier. Something felt different this time, though. There was another presence, not foreboding but not welcoming. It seemed to be everywhere, though the Kamal mage seemed oblivious to it. It weaved its hands in that same motion, the aura it summoned swirling in front of it, more violent with each movement of its arms. Finally, the mage drew their arms back to let loose their bolt. Sagax was no longer watching the mage, though, for another entity had appeared behind the beast. They were just barely visible, all but their left arm and leg covered by the Kamal. It reached its golden-armored hand towards the blade at its hip, and drew out a gleaming silver blade, of a make completely unfamiliar to Sagax. With one motion, the entity cut right through the mountain in front of them, and the Kamal disintegrated into some kind of horrible gray ash.

For another time...

The voice came not from the swordsman, but from Sagax's own head. It was like a whisper and a shout at the same time, in a hundred different voices. As the figure stepped forward, the land around them began to shift and change, like an ungodly corruption, turning all it touched into ash and faded, cracked stone. The rivers of Windhelm dried, the banks filled with ash and sand. The mists parted to reveal an endless, hilly landscape. In the center, an impossibly tall titan of a mountain, spewing forth black smoke and seeping with lava. The sky was enclosed by dark, thunderous clouds, blocking out all sunlight. By the time Sagax was shaken from his awe, the swordsman was standing face to face with him. His features were almost nonexistant. Barely-visible, ghostly-pale flesh overlayed a jawless skull. The rest of his body was covered by a strange golden armor, with one feature immediately recognizable to Sagax: The signet of the Imperial Dragon, stamped straight across the middle of the chestplate. His shield, a large steel tower shield, was of a make that had been long discontinued by the Imperial Legion. Who was this man? The spirit of some lingering-

Who I am is not important, though yes, I was of the Imperial Legion, of Uriel Septim the seventh.

Uriel Septim the seventh!? The final emperor of the former era? That was two hundred years ago! Wait, why are you freaking out so much, Sagax? This is just a-

That is a half-truth. I exist within your dreams, but I assure you, I am very much real.

This-

...is entirely possible. The ghosts of the dead wander this land regularly. It is the reason for the existence of... The spirit held his silver sword in front of him; it still gleamed as if it were never used. ...tools such as this.

Yeah, you've lost it, Sagax. When you come to, you're going to be prancing around singing old children's rhymes...

If you insist on stubbornness, then so be it. I shall simply impart this: Do not be fooled by fear, Sagax. You will tell yourself something cannot be done, when all you must do is see it done. You performed admirably during the siege, but yet you still hold some small, yet hampering fear; you shall face further trials. Now go, show your friends, and more importantly, your enemies, that you are no coward.

Sagax awoke immediately, trembling in a cold sweat. He found himself joined by, Do'karth who had found his sleeping spot next to Keegan. The sand and ash of his dreams were replaced by dirt and snow, and the sounds of the mountain spewing its filth replaced by polar winds.

"Hey, kid, you're up." A voice beckoned to him. Right, he was the last watch. Wiping his forehead and getting up from his bedroll, Sagax made his way to the mouth of the cave, carefully stepping over other sleepers. Leaning against the lip of the cave's entrance, Sagax stared out towards the sea, thinking about that crazy fucking dream he had. What would he tell everyone? Hell, should he even talk about it? What would he even say? That he was being advised, in his dreams no less, by some centuries-old warrior of another era? He'd be carted off straight to the loony bin. No, he'd keep it to himself. It was just a dream, anyway, nothing to worry about.

---

The trek across the tundra was grueling, there was no other way to put it. Snow hammered the company and threatened to bury alive anyone who lost their footing, the pure cold was incredibly oppressive, and the way ahead was no more clear than it was a few hours ago. Sagax swapped his cloak between himself and the Breton mage at regular intervals, hoping to keep at least some balance of warmth. The trail cleared by those in the front was of limited usefulness, but was welcome nonetheless. Things had to get worse, of course, and so the storm picked up to truly lethal levels, the sudden gusts of wind even sending some people to the ground. Do'karth yelled to push ahead, and that he found a cave to take shelter in. Oh boy, more caves. Can't wait to see what wonders this place holds-oh son of a fucking bitch.

The screeches of Falmer echoed all around then, and a big bug...thing found its way to Do'karth, threatening to cleave his head clean off his shoulders with its pincers. More were on the way, and Falmer were already descending on the group. Solveig managed to kill one at least. He turned to the Breton mage and shrugged at him, silently asking if he could do anything. The mage thought for a moment, and began charging two spells, one in each hand. One orb was of a strange green color, while the other glowed red. He quickly launched the red orb at the further-most Falmer of the group. The pale creature charged at their nearest comrades and began flailing wildly. One died quickly from the surprise-attack, and the other two were heavily wounded before they put down their crazed brethren. The cyan orb was gifted to Sevine, who would suddenly find herself temporarily feeling more hardy and courageous.

Sagax stared at the insect assaulting Do'karth, wondering if he could jump in and get it off him. Could his sword even pierce that armor? Was he quick enough to evade its strikes? It could just kill him then and there, not to mention...oh what the hell.

Releasing his sword from its scabbard, Sagax charged forward and jumped onto the back of the giant bug; the ridges of its chitin made for favorable footholds. Gripping the handle with one hand and the middle of the blade with the other, Sagax carefully aimed the tip of his blade. When he found a good spot to stab, that being a gap in the beast's chitin plates, the Imperial violently jammed his blade in the horrid thing, which sent it screeching and reeling. It tried to shake Sagax off, but that only caused him to make the blade bite deeper and deeper, sending the creature into a frenzy.

Prying back and forth, the chaurus' chitin began cracking and popping, and its screeching only got louder. When he was sure that it was sufficiently injured, and when he couldn't take that infernal sound assaulting his ears any longer, Sagax tore his blade out and hopped off the beast's back. Pulling Do'karth back up, he ran back with the Beastman to the relative safety of the company. He watched as the chaurus deliriously hobbled back to its nest, screeching all the way. Sagax's heart was absolutely pounding. What the fuck did he just do? Why? Because a dream-ghost told him to? What the actual hell, Sagax?

By the campfire in the cave, Sevine quietly ate her portion of food ladled out to her, a chicken leg (rather heavily salted as it came from the Courtesan's cache of barrels), with a loaf of bread. She gave a helping hand after the cave was declared safe, to helping unload the ship of its supplies. Leif had tried to dissuade her, with an invalid argument of she needed to take better care of herself. When the cave had been settled into, Leif promptly laid his bedroll next to her, keen on keeping a spot next to her. For him, it seemed to work, for the Khajiit that Sevine had become seemingly close to chose a spot beside Sagax and Keegan. However, Sevine felt that Leif's overbearing presence had turned away her companion, and there, a deep seed of anger began to form. As the wind howled with blustering snow drifts, her eyes flickered to Do'Karth occasionally as he took up first watch. While she wished to join him, Leif's insufferable attitude kept her anchored beside him. Begrudgingly, she ran her tongue over her lips, savoring the taste of the chicken, and chucked the bone into the pit of the fire.

"So are you going to tell me what you see in that cat?" Leif asked, his words alone ruffled her feathers, if she had any that is.

"What's it to you?" She returned, a biting remark that left him with raised brows.

"Nothing of importance. You seem rather fond of him. You find every chance you get to speak to him, it's not that hard to notice, ever since Windhelm, I mean. Do you have an inkling for him?" While a smirk played across his lips, his eyes held a more menacing approach. He made no effort to keep his voice low either, further provoking Sevine.

"He's a good person, Leif. And he certainly doesn't pry into other people's business when they're not wanted. Go the fuck to sleep." She grunted as she pulled off her wet boots and stuck them by the fire in order to dry. With that, Sevine climbed inside her bedroll, unfurling the woolen blanket, and pulled it up to her chin to keep the bitter chill of the blizzard out. She rolled onto her side so that she wouldn't have to look at Leif. Even though she shut her eyes, sleep did not come for many hours, and when she opened her eyes to see how much time had passed, she saw Sagax being awoken for the last watch. Oblivion be damned, she wouldn't get any sleep. That was certain Not this night.

---

When morning came, a watery-grey light that filled the cave, breakfast was dished out in plentiful portions. Sevine left the cave to take care of her heavy bladder, when she noticed curious hoofprints in the snow. Had Asper come back? That foolish horse. As she pulled up her trousers and secured them with a quick fasten of the metal buckle, she stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a sharp whistle. Nothing. Not even a nicker. Shivering from the gusty winds, Sevine made her way back to the cave, whistling all of the while. Leif had remained oddly quietly that morning, perhaps his pride wounded by her blunt remark. She cared not, she ignored him, though she noted the occasional glances thrown her way. Finding a seat next to Roze, Sevine smiled softly at her friend, though remained quiet throughout breakfast. Just as she began to think that this day couldn't start off more droll, someone near the cave shouted a curious comment.

"Oi! Huntress! Is this your horse?" The voice belonged to Orvar, Leif's longtime sailing companion. The use of her name made her grimace, one that quickly disappeared as she rose to her feet and darted to the entrance. Sure enough, a dark figure ebbed closer to the cave, there Asper was, making his way through the whipping winds. She gave another sharp whistle, and he lifted his head in response, acknowledging his owner. If he had nickered, or neighed, it was carried away in the wind. When he finally made his way over to her, she fell upon him in a loving way, searching his body for cuts, scrapes, or even briars. He appeared to have survived the plunge into the icy water unscathed. Then again, he was a horse of Skyrim. What more could she ask for with such a fine stock of animal? After the others finished up with their meals, they sorted out the supplies amongst the survivors, she elicited the help of Asper, and more of the heavier supplies were packaged evenly onto his back. She even claimed a chitlin shield that she found leaning haphazardly against the cave wall, guess no one wanted it. With her axe on her hip, and her longbow and quiver set over her new shield, she set out at the back of the column.

Were it not for the grueling trek through near blinding conditions, she was certain that the landscape around them would provide a stunning display of Skyrim's famed wilderness. Yet, it was obscured in near white-out conditions. With the weaker folk leading the caravan, the stronger folk took up the rear, and she found herself next to Dumhuvud of all people, leading Asper by the lead on his halter. The snow continued to fall, thick as a sheep being shorn in the springtime, and damn near impossible to walk through. For how long they struggled through the increasing knee-deep snow, Sevine could not tell, she couldn't even find the sun through the wall of white. Her boots were wet again, and she cursed herself for not oiling them. At least her leather armor that she now sported kept some of the cold out, although the exposed parts of her tunic, and now even her trousers were wet from the snow. If she could see, Sevine could determine how numb her fingers were, or rather, how red they were from the cold. Why in all of Nirn, there would be a blizzard like this during Sun's Height simply baffled her. Dumhuvud shared the same view as her, grumbling the entire way, cursing the Divine, finally, he called out in irritation, "We need to get the fuck out of this storm, before we all end up dead!" Whether or not anyone in the front had heard him remained to be seen, until Do'Karth returned with a yell, he could smell fungus? Damn, his nose was sharp. Sevine wondered if his ears were just as keen.

Meanwhile, Leif had distanced himself from Sevine, feeling that it was best to give his longtime comrade the space she needed, and hopefully, the biting cold would do just that. Together, the survivors trekked through the snow towards this cave, where the Khajiit led them. Even Captain Atgeir had disembarked from the Courtesan for the first time in a long while. The sailors fared better than most of the mercenaries it would seem, what with the battering gales, and blinding snow, though carrying supplies made it for rough going over the terrain. When they finally reached the entrance of the cave, those brave enough to venture inside, or at least keen on escaping the harsh weather, trudged forward. Sevine was one of those people. She left Asper standing outside, and even dropped her pack near the entrance. Something didn't feel right. She followed behind Do'Karth, Solveig, Sagax and Leif, along with those that were curious to see if anything inhabited the cave. While Do'Karth treaded deeper into the cave, Sevine picked up on a curiously foul odor... one that reminded her of rotting flesh and mold. When her boot struck something, she glanced down to see a human skullcap. Where the rest of the skeletal remains were, she could not say, though she quietly prayed to Mara she would not find them.

Drawing out his longsword at the sound of Do'Karth's shouts, he swore under his breath. Falmer, and chaurus, he should have known better. Sagax had run after Do'Karth when the sounds of a struggle were heard uphead. "Can we get a light in here? Hey you, Keegan, eh? Throw us a light or something. These damned creatures don't like the light." He turned to search for the yellow Mer, though with the increasing darkness, couldn't pinpoint his location. After the Courtesan had docked unknowingly at a cave like this near Morthal to escape foul weather, the sailors decided it best to scout out the lagoon, in which there was a cave. Lo and behold, there were filthy falmer that inhabited the cave. The sailors escaped with just the skin on their backs, lucky to count their blessings that night.

On the other hand, Sevine brushed past Leif with her axe and shield brandished, while he searched for Keegan, he did not see the descending falmer that approached him. They were nasty creatures, eyes black as night, and boy, did they smell something awful. With all of this shrieking and noise that echoed off the walls of the cave, they were sure to draw the attention of the entire hive that resided in this cave. Just then, Sagax and Do'Karth had returned to the fringes of the group.

"Don't give them a chance to strike! Hyaghhh!" Sevine bellowed as, charging right into the two falmer. Boiling in her blood, she felt the bloodlust of battle return to her. With a bash of her shield, Sevine disoriented one falmer, and the other one, she narrowly missed a slice of its blade. Counterattacking, she planted one foot in the pit of its stomach, stomping the foul beast to the ground. By then, the other falmer had staggered to its feet, she could hear its hiss as it scurried backwards, plucking out an arrow from its quiver, and notching its bowstring. A soft twang, and a raise of her new shield deflected the blow. She had to admit, while she would have not thought more than once to take the chitlin shield, it proved a better pick than her heavy steel shield. Laughing in a maniacal manner, shield still raised, Sevine advanced onto the falmer that remained on the ground, hopelessly trying to crawl away. She had crushed a rib, that was certain.

"I don't know where you think you're going, you nasty fuck." Her words echoed around her as she brought the axe blade down atop the falmer's skull, splitting it in two. Another twang of the bowstring, and two arrows were now embedded in her shield. A high pitched screech caught her attention, it had to be a chaurus, retreating to the safety of the group, Sevine spotted an odd scene unfold. Solveig, cowering behind her shield. Did the woman fear fighting? She fell in line beside her as a hideous chaurus, massive pinchers snapping back and forth, dropped from the ceiling. It leapt at her, forcing her to shove the edge of her shield in between its deadly pinchers. Mara bless her, this may not end well after all...