Despite having been sucker punched enough times to crook the tip of his nose downwards in the past, Sadri had nonetheless found the assassin’s fist quite debilitating, and one to remember amongst the countless ones he had received, even after the whole encounter with the assassins had blown over. He couldn’t help but think whether they had a maximum size requirement for assassins, and whether the gargantuan fellow who had punched him was qualified to be one. As far as he knew, assassins were supposed to be quiet, or at the very least, unassuming. This fellow seemed more likely to burst through a wall and then hack at you with a claymore. ‘’Assassin my ass,’’ Sadri thought, as he slowly pulled himself from his prone position to sit down. His bad eye was practically blind with all the blood pooled in it after the punch, but he felt too tired to take out Mora and let him feed.

Had he been younger, he would’ve felt ashamed for not being able to take out the hulking assassin. But, at 75 years of age, even though his body was young for mer, he had experienced enough to feel old, old enough not to get ashamed, at least. He had experienced firsthand fucking up and feeling ashamed, then having to bury the witnesses. His forehead ached still from the aggressive collision, and he could feel blood dripping from his nose, onto his lips. He licked his lips to clean them momentarily and warm his mouth with some blood.

Not having the noticed the Khajiit walking by and sitting at his side, Sadri was somewhat startled to see an offering of honey. Following Do’Karth’s words, Sadri looked at the jar of honey blankly. ‘’And appreciate it, I do. I just prefer a different kind of sugar.’’ The fellow sounded somewhat melancholic, almost as if they were sharing a common sorrow. Sadri did have much time to pay it much mind, however, since Solveig came around to lift the old fellow. The feeling of her bare arm on her shoulders sent a certain type of warmth through Sadri’s body – the elusive sort of warmth, one that couldn’t be attained through blankets. He saw a sad smile on Solveig’s face, which felt like coals in Sadri’s stomach.

‘’My thanks.’’

Sadri could not blame her for being flat. To Sadri, Solveig looked sensible, crazy, but sensible, and Sadri himself knew what he did wasn’t sensible. It did not require unnecessary celebration, or emotion. He felt like replying to her ‘’My pleasure,’’ but felt that would be too lame. Plus, he wasn’t in the mood for joking. He simply enjoyed the awkward moment with Solveig’s arm on her shoulder, then eventually decided to reply ‘’Anytime,’’ although his reply was a hollow one, much like the rest of his day.

-

The blackened bonemold vambrace held in his hand reminded Sadri of his days of raiding in the Black Marsh. Of course, back then, he hadn’t known that the Nerevarine was plotting with the Akaviri to take over, so he had worn his armor with a sense of pride, bearing his kinsmen’s remains to battle, them protecting him with the last physical remains of themselves. But now, Sadri felt betrayed – betrayed by the Nerevarine, the man for whose cause (and, admittedly, a lack of goal in life and monetary problems) he had committed some of the slightly more despicable acts in his life, and thus, the armor stripped from his men felt hostile to him. Whose bones this armor was made from, he did not know, but considering that they were either made from slaves, who would have rightfully hated him in life, or House retainers, who would’ve felt disdain against this sacrilegious Dunmer for bearing their remains despite no longer working for one of their houses – the possibility of animal bones was not considered by Sadri, who had a preference for romanticism, and a plausible assumption that such prestigious soldiers would not be given bonemold of a lesser material – it was only normal that he’d feel the spite of the remains he was currently holding.

‘’Best to get rid of it,’’ one part of his mind thought, but on the other hand, he also felt angry at the Armigers for trying to kill his companions. Sadri was aware that his anger wasn’t righteous, considering that it was only pure coincidence that had put him amongst the mercenaries and not the Armigers, but nonetheless, he could not deny his feelings, and thus, momentarily enjoyed the feeling of spite. As seconds passed, though, his spite waned, and with it Sadri’s willingness to hold onto the bonemold. Damn thing had a weird smell anyway. He dropped it alongside the rest of the group’s gatherings, and sat down by the fire in the cave, waiting for the sun to rise.

-

Marcel had taken a liking to the comfortable temperature of the cave, and thus, felt a tinge of sorrow in his heart, almost a reminder of when he was taken from his mother’s womb, as the group set off. Having felt an urge to be one of the navigators thanks to the maps in his possession, Marcel had positioned himself towards the front end of the column, where he could hopefully help the company not get lost in the unforgiving colds of northern Skyrim. Back when he was younger and traveling with his mentor, Diarmid, he would often end up leading the duo through longer routes, much to his mentor’s chagrin, but after years of experience, he had at least become capable at reading maps.

Still, in this deathly cold, even in his greatcoat and boots, his hands shivered too much for him to be able to read the maps properly. Silently, he followed the lead of the others, occasionally looking to see if they had gotten lost – which, he felt, they had. Marcel pulled down his kolpak and buried his head deeper underneath the upturned collars of his greatcoat, squinting to keep the snow from getting into his eyes. As he moved, hand clenching to the map, and snow nesting upon his coat, eyebrows and cap, he chose to feel that he was like a great tree, bearing the brunt of winter, hoping to find some warmth in the childishness of this thought. Had the weather allowed him to, he would have lit his lantern, but now Marcel was glad he hadn’t, for the unrelenting blizzard would have rendered the act useless.

Following the Khajiit’s footsteps to the best of his ability, and trying not to get thrown off balance by the flying pieces of scenery and the angry gusts (Marcel was quite sure someone in the Company had cursed the Earth Bones, for them to be so unforgiving against him and the rest of the poor souls caught in this gargantuan shroud), he huffed out a sigh of relief that turned the caking of snow on his beard into drips of water. As his feet plunged in and out of snow with each step, he remembered his mentor Diarmid’s advice to him. ‘’Never be afraid of spending coin for good clothes,’’ the old man had said, as he compared leather boots in a shoemaker’s store, ‘’But don’t be extravagant with them either. Clothes that attract attention won’t stay with you for long.’’ The man had then bought dark red leather boots, twice-treated with oil, with knee-high shafts lined on the inside with velvet. He had taken that advice to heart, and now could congratulate himself for doing so, for his clothes were doing one hell of a job keeping him safe from the cold. Nonetheless, he could feel his body temperature dropping further and further, and having to use one of his swords’ scabbards as a support meant that he was getting weaker. He threw glances at the leading Khajiit’s silhouette occasionally, trying not to lose sight of him.

‘’This one smells fungus! There’s a cave ahead!’’

Marcel found in himself renewed vigor upon the mention of fungus. He hadn’t eaten mushroom in a while. They went really good with melted cheese.

-

‘’They’re coming outta the walls! They’re coming outta the goddamn walls!’’

Sadri did not exactly remember who had uttered that, but the sight of Falmer and Chaurus had ended up reminding him of that quote, and his youthful days – then again, it was hard to find something that didn’t remind Sadri of his younger days – which had ended up filling him with energy normally not seen in the mer. Of course, the fact that they were under attack probably had something to do with it as well, but one way or another, the scarred mer, experienced in fighting in close quarters after years of stabbing at Dwemer vestiges who weren’t happy with his friends dismantling them for scrap, moved out quickly despite having recently survived the cold, into the fray.

As the Dunmer moved, quickly but cautiously towards the danger, he could not help but notice the fighters, those being Sevine, struggling with a Chaurus, and, once again, Solveig. Sadri was old and had seen enough, and thus, was not likely to repeat a mistake, but more importantly, he was a fool, a self-aware fool. And thus, once more, knowingly, and begrudgingly, Sadri lunged in quixotically next to Sevine, his backsword crushing down onto the creature’s black, glassy mandibles. A crack, this time audible, marked the strike, and Sadri, quicker than his last fight, struck again, not giving the creature any time to breathe, this time landing his sword’s edge in the beast’s mouth.

With the strike, the giant insect recoiled, and Sadri, hoping that the third time would be the charm, struck down again, finally cracking open the plate above the head of the chaurus. He spat into the creature’s wound, his bad eye bloodied further under the stress, and swung another downwards strike, chopping into the cracked plate, and coming out the side of the beast’s mouth, having cloven right through. He turned to give an affirming look to Sevine, only to turn when he was shaken by a slight thud in his arm. Looking out, saw an arrow sticking out, with its tip stinging against his shoulder. It had been unable to go through all of the armor on Sadri, and thus stood an annoyance as Sadri turned to the wretched archer who had let loose this arrow, and charged forward with a frustrated huff, his poor form matching only his effectiveness in mocking refined martial arts.

Just as Do’Karth was beginning to fear his strength would give out, the Chaurus suddenly reared back with a horrific screech as the bug flailed in evident pain. The khajiit’s savior leapt down, surprising Do’Karth as he took the offered hand to be pulled to his feet. Sagex was certainly an unconventional fellow; between scaling city walls while being fired upon and nearly blowing himself up to strike back at the Kamals, Do’Karth was unsure of where to rank mounting and avoiding getting bucked off of a Chaurus on the scale of utterly insane things the Imperial was fond of doing. “It’s going to take you some effort to impress me after that,” Do’Karth said as they retreated back to safety, where the group was forming defensive positions, shielding from arrows and blunting attacks. “Do’Karth thanks you. He wouldn’t have gotten out of that without help.”

Back amongst the ranks and relative safety, Do’Karth joined the line, noticing his comrades had already felled a number of the falmer. Mages cast magelight off of the stalactites and ceiling to both illuminate the battleground and in a misguided attempt to blind the falmer, which continued on, oblivious to the light; they were blind, after all. The chaurus, as well, adjusted fast and continued to spit their venom and try to pry away shields to get at the prey behind. Do’Karth kept behind the safety of the shields, thrusting his staff at exposed pale flesh and numerous eyes that flashed just within reach. He might not be a killer, but nothing in his code forbade him from crippling or blinding his foes, and insects were an entirely different matter.

Noticing Sevine struggling in a similar predicament as he faced only moments ago, the khajiit rushed towards one of the fallen falmer, grabbing its hideous chitin sword from its body, cleaved nearly in two from the stroke of a battle axe. This was the first time in as long as Do’Karth could remember handling a sword. With a fiery resolve, the khajiit gripped the handle tightly as he closed on the charus, its hideous side eyes turning to face him. Too late to react, Do’Karth roared as he drove the blade into the largest of the pale blue orbs, piercing deep into the Chaurus’ head. It’s mandibles twitched as its brain fired off mixed signals, and it stumbled backwards as if drunk, collapsing after several moments, life leaving it. Do’Karth panted, bringing his staff back into both hands. A falmer charged him with a poisoned axe, only to be rewarded with the heavy strike of a quarter staff into its throat. With a heavy swing near the end of the staff, Do’Karth smashed the falmer in the neck, setting the creature sprawling across the floor. It was impossible to feel pity for these awful creatures; they were beyond salvation and only knew hatred and murder… and possibly worse. Tales of people taken by the falmer were the things that kept one up at night.

“Their numbers are thinning, I think we’re pushing them back!” A voice called from somewhere in the ranks. With renewed vigor, the formation pushed forward against their assailants, who were suddenly thrust into the unenviable position of being put on the defensive. Bodies were scattered across the floor with surprisingly few casualties among the company, and there was little sentiment to escaping out into the storm while luck favoured them.

Do’Karth grinned at Sevine. “Khajiit has your back. Together, then?” he asked, grasping Solveig by the shoulder encouragingly. “Do’Karth will not allow you to fall today, Solveig. Perhaps this is the day you earn your name, hm? Cast your fear upon them! Let them only wonder what shape the deadly warrior that slain them with each blow looks like, but let your name be one that makes them quake in fear of the surface!” the khajiit shouted, stepping forward to engage his next foe, whom he handily disarmed with a strike before knocking its chitin helm right from its brow with the staff. They had caught him at a disadvantage and he had nearly paid with his life; now it was time to take advantage over the falmer’s fatal miscalculation.

Tsleeixth smiled when Do’Karth told him that he was alright “Ah, that’s a relief to hear Do’Karth.” He said, patting the Suthay-Raht’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. however it was then that he noticed the Khajit’s eyes watering somewhat but was relieved when Do’Karth smiled somewhat, yet he was still wondering if it was something he had said that had made the Khajit react that way “Hmmm, maybe I should talk to him more when we are at Dawnstar.” Mused the Argonian before smiling at the Khajit once again “I’m going to check on the others now Do’Karth, see you soon.” He said as he made his way towards the rest of the mercenary company.

As it was, he was lucky enough to be near hearing distance as Kattun read the armigers orders out loud. To say that Tsleeixth was shocked would be an understatement, he was floored by the news that the Nerevarine -and by extension the whole nation of Morrowind- was allied with the Akaviri forces “So this is why they were able to approach WIndhelm without being detected, they had no resistance from Solstheim that would have given their ships away.” He thought bitterly, his hands clenching into fists at the news. However his thoughts briefly turned to the Dunmer priest as he stated his intention to go back to Morrowind in search for the truth, Tsleeixth had to admit to himself that the priest’s dedication was worth admiring -if more than a little foolish- and as such quietly hoped for the priests success in his mission. “At the very least he won’t be alone.” He thought as R’ihanna declared that she’d go with Kattun to Morrowind.

Afterwards Tsleeixth helped to pile up the dead bodies of the armigers and look through whatever belongings they had that the company could use for the trek back towards Dawnstar. By the time night came and the company was gathered together in the cave that the armigers had been occupying recently Tsleeixth couldn’t fall asleep, his mind debating over the revelations over the Nerevarine’s allegiance to the Akaviri invaders. “Perhaps during the Nerevarine’s voyage to Akaviri, maybe he saw something that convinced to make a pact with the Kamals.” He mused quietly to himself as he waited his turn on the watch. However, his thoughts were momentarily distracted as Trius -or Helkan, as he turned to be- relayed his story to those who were still awake, on how the Nerevarine had emptied Raven Rock and ordered those not able to fit into the boats cut down “Guess this confirms my earlier suspicions,” He thought somewhat bitterly. He couldn’t fathom giving such an order, to cut someone down because they couldn't fit on a ship but perhaps he was too soft an Argonian to make such cold-hearted decisions for the benefit of a cause (in this case the Dunmer-Kamal alliance that the Nerevarine had seemingly forged). He was surprised when Trius said that he too was going to return to Morrowind alongside with Kattun and R’ihanna to protect the company but also to stop running away from his past, despite his lack of contact with the Dunmer -having not exchanged one word with the Dunmer Battlemage in the past- he could feel admiration for Trius and the choice that he was making now but his thoughts were interrupted as he was called for his turn on the watch “Hopefully there are no problems on the way back to Dawnstar.” He muttered to himself as he took his place at the entrance of the cave.

Sun’s Height 16:

Of course, much to Tsleeixth’s chagrin, there were troubles on the way back to Dawnstar, as a blizzard raged on as the group that had gone to the College of WInterhold slowly but surely made it’s way back towards the coastal village. He shivered as the snow that fell from the blizzard blanketed him, pulling his cloak closer to him in an attempt to somewhat stave off the cold that threatened to overcome him. “This blizzard will be the death of me.” He muttered through chattering teeth. While he had lived in Skyrim most of his life, and as such was mostly used to the cold temperatures of the Nord’s country, Tsleeixth doubted that many would be able to withstand the piercing cold that came from the blizzard.

However, Do’Karth soon shouted that he was able to sense the smell of fungus and that, as such, there was a cave ahead. Breathing a sigh of relief, the Saxhleel spellsword followed Do’Karth towards the cave but, in another ill-fated coincidence, the cave turned out to be the home of the subterranean Falmer and the Chaurus that the former raised and domesticated for their various needs. As such the Falmer attack caught the Argonian by surprise, with Tsleeixth barely managing to deflect the subterranean creature’s attack before his steel sword was knocked away into a crevice inside the cave-floor and knocked him into the floor nearby the same crevice. As the blind creature approached to claim the Argonian’s life, Tsleeixth blasted his falmer attacker with a lightning bolt managing to stun him temporarily and allow him to claim the Falmer’s sword as his own.

Taking advantage of the Falmer’s downed state, Tsleeixth quickly executed the blind creature with a quick slash to it’s throat just as he heard Do’Karth claiming that they were seemingly beating them back “Just my luck, getting knocked on my ass and losing my sword.” Muttered the Argonian as he took the time to summon a Skeleton Guardian to bolster their forces and help to temporarily try to supplement what few casualties the company had suffered. Once he was done summoning the creature he joined Do’Karth and the rest of the company as they tried to rout the remaining subterranean dwellers.

"Y'know, at least it's warm here, Sadri. Sure, you lost your pipe, and got punched in the face, but things could always get worse."

The Dunmer was silent in his contemplation, his back leaning against the wall. All the recent adrenaline had raised his body temperature, and he was not exactly enjoying that. The snowy gusts of wind outside occasionally brought a refreshing breeze to the tired Dunmer, who was right in the middle of enjoying one of such when someone grabbed him by the collar and bashed him against the wall. Sadri, caught off-guard, fell onto the ground, and when his bad hand reached for his sword, a heavy boot suddenly smashed onto his forearm, binding it in place. He could see a gleam of a blade, seemingly that of an axe. He cursed under his breath, but it was shadowed by the figure's demanding question.

"What do you know of these people? Explain!"

Sadri looked up, and saw the imposing silhouette of the Cat-Kicker brandishing his axe against his face. At first, he was going to ask 'what the fuck, Dumhuvud', but when was he to act smart? Always the dumb move guy, Sadri blurted out the first one-liner that came to his head.

"You take that foot off, or I'm going to lose my other arm up your ass, Cat-Kicker," Sadri hissed out, anger and frustration teeming from behind his teeth. This fuck wasn't just going to shit in his cozy moment and then demand things, no.

Teeth biting and axe-hand clenched white-knuckled, Dumhuvud stared daggers into Sadri. This son of a skeever had guts for witty remarks at the face of imminent decapitation, how dare he, how stupid. The damn elf’s anger amplified Dumhuvud’s own, the result of which was stepping down upon the arm harder and pressing his axe slightly into the lower neck region. It seemed like inches away for drawing blood.

"Shut your hole." The Cat-Kicker hissed back. The cave echoed their conversation, but the wind outside, and the fatigue of the sleepers meant nobody woke up to this confrontation. Plus, Dumhuvud just didn’t seem to care.

"I'll ask again, what do you know of these Armiger piss drinkers?" Dumhuvud interrogated. "And how the crap do I know you aren’t with them?" He finished the question by lifting the axe over Sadri’s neck. It no longer bothered the Dunmer’s throat, but make no mistake, the Cat-Kicker was ready to slam it back down on a moment’s notice.

Sadri weighed his options. He figured that he could possibly throw the Cat-Kicker off balance with his free arm and then bash the fucker's straw-filled head against the rocky ground until it cracked open, then some more. However, on the other hand, if he didn't succeed, he'd get his own head cleft into two, and even if he did succeed, he would have to explain the others why their leader was lying on the ground with the contents of his dearest skull revealed for all to see.

"You could've asked, you imbecile fuck, and I could've answered!" Sadri roared with a low tone. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins get hotter, and could feel something seeping from under his bad eye. Had this fuck just caused him to burst a blood vessel? The possibility made him grit his teeth, and push at them with his tongue. All of his muscles ached for him to pull at this fuck's ankle with his good hand, bash his head into bits and then skull-fuck the remains of this shit's face, but he took in a deep breath, and calmed himself down enough for a non-physical answer.

"Do I fucking dress like one of them? Act like one of them? I've killed more Kamal than you have, you cow-fucking shit! I don't even speak fucking Dunmeris!"

Sadri sighed, and took in another breath. Insulting the guy who had an axe to his face any further would probably be a bad idea.

"They're knights of the fucking Nerevarine or something, I don't know, they used to serve Vivec back when the fuck was actually there," Sadri said, with a calmer, but still obviously frustrated tone. "I only saw them like, once, for fuck's sake. Now is this all? Because you keep that foot on my arm and it's going to get messy, one way or another."

"Knights, what the fuck? And which dumb shit send spies dressed exactly in their god damned uniform?" Dumhuvud spat beside Sadri’s head. Hearing insults coming his way, Dumhuvud half listened to the explanations with his face twisted like a charging bull.

"Don’t you talk trash to me!" The Cat-Kicker scolded. Sliding his boot up without warning, Dumhuvud’s foot found the Dunmer’s elbow and grinded it into the dirt at an unnatural angle.. A crisp pop then accompanied Sadri’s forearm twisting past its normal rotation. Before his victim could recover, Dumhuvud had already clamped that same boot unto the other arm.

"This company is full of cunts, but you are the biggest cunt of them all." Dumhuvud fumed. He pressed his boot into Sadri’s elbow and spoke his words in spite. "You’re going to hand over your weapon and stay where I can see you. Do it, and I might forget about this in the morning. Don’t, and I’ll break this one right now."

As the sack of shit in human form above him pressed his foot at his elbow, Sadri gave out a low-pitched growl that culminated in a huff that could kill lesser men, just as his elbow went 'pop'. Huffing out air, and slowly breathing in more, Sadri's pupils shrunk to a point where they could shoot out of his eyes and rip through Dumhuvud's internals. He hadn't felt this angry in a long time, and the frustration of not being able to do anything just made him angrier. In the heat, he had practically forgotten about the fuck dislocating his elbow - had he not an axe to his face, Sadri would've probably gutted the fuck, right here and now.

"How the fuck do you expect me to give you my damned sword when you break my one arm and pin the other?" Sadri asked, words practically cutting out of his mouth, with a tone so grating that it could make Sadri give a Greybeard a run for his money.

"I’ll take it from you." Dumhuvud corrected. Moving his foot off Sadri’s arm, the Cat-Kicker gave the Dunmer’s side a hard punt to flip his sword-bearing side up. Leaning down with a sneer on in front of Sadri, Dumhuvud proceeded to rip the scabbard from its belt ring. Then, for no practical reasons besides rubbing it in, Dumhuvud sent Sadri rolling away with another kick.

"Now, fuck off and go stick that thumb back up your ass." Dumhuvud dismissed.

"Oh, I'll fuck off alright," Sadri hissed. He would receive his sword in the morning, and his arm could be fixed. But what was going to happen to Dumhuvud was going to be inevitable. Sadri knew that, eventually, Dumhuvud would show a moment of weakness in which he would enact his revenge. Eventually. Be it in a day, a week, months, years, Sadri was going to come back for this moment. He would give his children a visit as he lay bedridden. He would find his remains if it needed to. This fucker wasn't going to get away with it.

His good hand latched onto his elbow and his magic started working as he slowly set the dislocated bone back in place, teeth grinding against each other. Something had ticked off in his head. Perhaps some forgotten fragment of nail was still in there, grinding against his muscles, feeding his hate.

Sadri gave a huff. He hadn't felt this much in a long time - perhaps, somewhere in his mind, he felt a tinge of appreciation for Dumhuvud for making him feel this way, but Sadri wouldn't dare think of it. He reveled in his emotional surge, and elaborated on his increasingly despicable revenge fantasies until he fell asleep, mouth clenched shut.

---

Why does it snow in summer?

Keegan had seen enough in a month to know whatever divine and daedra presided over this scrap of dung they call Skyrim, had the cruelest sense of humor. Therefore, he started to find luxuries in dire times are nothing more than conveniences commonly taken for granted. Four hours of sleep never felt better, and neither was the nearly indigestible trash Dunmers called food. Even better, the brute that slept in the same bedroll left behind a scarf and short cloak, something the Altmer appreciated with the weather. All things considered, Keegan didn't feel like complaining. On the other hand, Farid was not so smug even as he took a Dunmeri dagger trophy. The wavy blade, made from common steel but finished with Morrowind decorations, could not cheer the Redguard from losing his coin purse (earned by rescuing Ander).

The journey was rough, despite whatever treatment the shoemakers did for him, Keegan's boots just didn't seem to make the cut. He stepped inside the cave with signs of trench foot, eyes blinded and stomach churning at the damp scent of rot. He didn't even hear half of what Leif said before monster sounds caused to him jump, and hit his head on the ceiling. Only then did the situation become lucid; they were fighting Falmers and their war beasts.

"Right, light." Keegan muttered back to Leif. He lit up a magelight, one of the alteration kind, in order to scare off their enemies. Well, it worked as expected. How could anyone expect light to turn away blind things? Sometimes, Nord logic led to baffling places.

"Stupid!" Keegan cursed a little to loudly, probably loud to a point where Leif heard it. He readied a fear spell, something that could send these wretched beings back, and give himself time to get the hell out of dodge. Before it finished, however, one of these creatures charged in and started fighting Orakh. Seeing the Orc getting in position, Keegan lowered his spell, after all, he didn't want to end up the victim of Orcish berserk because of faulty aim. Instead, he skirted to the creature's side and stabbed at it with his staff blade. Using only one uninjured arm, the only commendable result was Keegan's effort.

Thankfully, the rest of the group came to Keegan's aid. Dumhuvud went in and chopped up Orakh's opponent to pieces. Then Farid entered mocking Sagax's crazy maneuver, followed with Ariane and her bound weapon. The people up front were lead by Do'Karth, but by the mixture of shouting and cutting, Keegan had no idea what went on over there. Apparently the Khajiit's bunch succeeded in taking a few Falmers down, and were now falling behind the safety of the larger half.

"Giddy up, runner boy!" Farid mocked Sagax, but he promptly stopped talking as a Courtesan sailor dropped dead beside him. The killer revealed itself as a dagger wielding Falmer. It leaped at Farid, who ducked under and pushed the Armiger dagger into Falmeri underbelly. Dirty blood oozed onto Farid's sleeves. Gritting his teeth, the Redguard pulled out the dagger in reverse grip and stabbed it into the Falmer's neck; it died in seconds.

"Going for seconds?" Farid taunted Sagax, finding reassurance in his boasts after a brush with death.

Behind the safety of Orakh's shield, and whatever defensive magic Ariane weaved, Keegan pondered his next move. Perhaps Leif meant fire when he asked for light? The dead sailor had a torch, and Keegan used his telekinesis to fling it into a chaurus. It seemed to work as the beast reared back, weaker belly exposed. "Kill it!" Keegan shouted, himself casting soul trap and held out a soul gem eagerly. What better time to catch them all?

Of all people to come to her aid while the chaurus had locked its mandibles on the rim of her shield, rendering future blocks from any oncoming attacks into a potentially useless state, Sadri Beleth, the Dunmeri man with one arm (although to be fair, she could have sworn that he did have another arm, it had to some sort of magickal contraption), missing a left ear, and if she recalled faintly, often used a slug or leech of some kind on his right eye, descended on the horrid creature, slashing, jabbing, and hacking. With a tall, wiry posture, Sevine marveled at how fluid his movements were in the confines of the cave. They had exchanged little to no words so far through the duration of their time spent with the company, yet one such memory came to mind as she recalled watching from the ramparts as he waged hellfire on the front lines during the first wave of Kamal attacks. He had just about rendered the chaurus to an invalid state, when a Falmer arrow pierced him, drawing away his attention to target this newfound foe. At least the chaurus remained in a weakened fashion. She had no time to thank him, but she reminded herself in the throes of battle, that if she survived, she would find the time to thank him later, granted, if he survived as well. The chaurus relinquished its hold on her shield, recoiling backwards in evident pain. Rearing upon its back legs, the mandibles parted to lob a poisonous ball of putrid slime, when a fearsome roar came from her left. It came as a great shock to see Do'Karth wielding a chitlin sword. While her mind struggled to wrap around the idea of him actually slaying another, she pushed the thought away, she had not the time to debate his decisions. Relief washed over her as she lowered her shield cautiously.

"Do'Karth!" She cried in astonishment.

"Khajiit has your back. Together then?"

His words split her face in two as she grinned from ear-to-ear, overjoyed that she had not succumbed to the venomous bite of the chaurus. "Together! Warriors, able-bodied fighters, push on! Drive back these foul creatures! Leave none alive!" Sevine raised her axe and bashed it against the chitlin shield, it had not provided the sound she had hoped, as it made a dull thunking sound, but she hoped that her words had given some wary fighters courage to carry on. She leapt forward as the falmer, and some chaurus began to withdraw, soon engaging in another encounter with a falmer, discovering that they were far more easier to cut down than that of the chaurus with their hardened shells. A ferocious hiss and the axe wielding falmer leapt towards her. Sevine had the upper hand, being a battle-hardened warrior, for she timed the estimated landing of her foe, and met the sailing falmer with a bash of her shield, sending the hideous creature into the cave wall. That falmer met a grisly end as she cleaved the head-off in one clean swipe. As she worked her way towards the darker recesses of the damp cave, Sevine methodically cut down each opponent she came across, none remained alive in her wake.

---

All the while, as the battle against the cave inhabitants carried on, Leif found himself cursing at his own ignorance. This is exactly what happened last time at the cave near the shores of Solitude! One of the sailors had insisted on using light to ward off the chaurus and falmer, when in fact, they were blind. Why had he said that? The magelight did little to repel the repulsive creatures, even though it did provide plenty of light for those on the offensive to see who they fought against, yet it was the Altmer, Keegan was it? Yes, Keegan. He had forgotten that the Mer was a mage as well, for whatever spell he used, he flung a burning torch into the belly of the chaurus. Talos be blessed, at least the Altmer had some sense about him in a harrowing situation as this, even though his words, that Leif happened to overhear by chance, struck a painful chord. With the new opportunity at hand, he leapt forward with the hilt of the long sword clenched firmly in his fists. The steel blade cleaved through the body of the over-sized bug at a diagonal angle, spilling putrid organs and green, probably toxic, slime onto the cave floor. While wielding the torch proved impractical, simply because his weapon required two-hands, not one, Leif tossed the torch back at the company, just in time for one of the sailors of the Courtesan, who stepped over their fallen comrade, to catch the torch.

"Not light! Use fire!" Leif shouted as he kicked away the remains of the oozing chaurus corpse. Just then a blur of crimson sprang past him as Sevine drove her axe-blade in the backside of a retreating falmer.

"Hold there, shield-sister!" He called, as he scrambled to join her, the two shared a strained, yet familiar sense of relief, one annoyed to see the other, and the other grateful that the other had survived so far.

"Watch it Leif!" Sevine barked, putting her shoulder in the hollow portion of the shield, a brazen chaurus dove at them, mandibles clacking together, waiting to tear into their soft exposed flesh. As the chaurus ricocheted backwards off her shield, Leif fell into a defensive stance, longsword held at a protective angle, ready to parry any incoming attacks from the chaurus, as the creature collected its bearings to launch another attack. Just as the vulgar creature of the underdark leapt forwards, this time heading for her fellow Nord's face, her methodism paid off again, for she foresaw that for Leif to attack, he had already missed his chance; her hand darted to the steel dagger kept in its leather thong, and in one swift motion, drove the blade into a softer area right below the mandibles, striking the central nervous system and causing the chaurus to fall limp as it slid slowly to the hilt of the blade, a lucky catch this one. Shaking the bug off her dagger, an overbearing odor poured from the wound, it caused her eyes to water and raised a coughing fit as she stepped backwards, noticing that the blood of the chaurus, a sickly green colour, was the source of the smell. Wiping it on the side of her leather trousers, Sevine heard a cry from Leif.

"Ach! Damn thing!" She turned in time to see him clutching the end of an arrow shaft that had pierced the breastplate of his leather armour, he sank onto one knee and snapped a large portion of the shaft off. It appeared, for the time being, that the wound would not prove fatal, unless the arrow-head held a coating of poison. Searching the cave tunnel for his assailant, Sevine spotted the gleam of a falmer's eyes as it scurried back into the darkness, and what she believed to be the sound of arrows clinking inside a quiver.

"Give me some light up here! We need to kill off these damned archers!" She shouted, moving into a protective stance in front of Leif, her shield raised in such a manner to protect her upper extremities from another arrow attack, yet left her lower half exposed. If they didn't finish off the rest of the Falmer, especially those that knew how to wield bows, those seeking refuge in the cave from the harsh elements howling outside, would suffer the consequences of failing to exterminate these foul creatures. After all, in her eyes, their lives were more valuable than demented Mer called the vast cave systems across Skyrim, home. More importantly, she felt her skin crawl in fear, something she desperately hid from those around her, for she despised caves, feared them even.

Those that pressed forward with Do'Karth impressively cut down several of the feral Falmer, forcing those still standing to retreat further into the cave, and it seemed the cat was intent on following them and taking them out completely. At first, Sagax thought to suggest that the company take the opportunity to retreat as well, as the storm was far preferable to fighting the Falmer; he also wondered if their numbers could even hope to match up against the Falmer if they had a garrison further back. Then it occurred to Sagax that if they did not exterminate the beasts, they would simply reorganize and more than likely go on to harass nearby settlements and travelers, and he simply wouldn't have that. If there was one thing most heavily instilled in Sagax by his mother and father, it was a sense of duty. Skyrim was no longer part of the empire, and he was no legionnaire, but he would see this duty through until the Falmer ceased to be a threat. Besides, when have seemingly impossible circumstances made him consider his well-being before? He just hitched a ride a bucking Chaurus, for Mara's sake.

"Forward! Do not let these vermin creep back into their accursed crevices unscathed!" Sagax almost didn't believe those words came out of his mouth, the voice sounded quite noticeably unlike his own, at least to himself. Then again, he didn't really yell a lot, and the last time he tried to he had a bad case of broken jaw.

Nearby, he saw Leif take an arrow and fall down, and Sevine immediately covered him and yelled for assistance. Scanning the shadows beyond, he could see a darkened blob of a figure slithering along the wall; unfortunately for that Falmer, Sagax was no stranger to darkness, and quickly slipped into the shade himself. He was no super sneak like Roze, but he knew how to move quietly.

When he got close enough to see the archer clearly, they were already nocking another arrow. Sagax didn't know who the Falmer was aiming at, and he didn't bother to check, he simply slipped his shortsword out of its scabbard and...damn! The blade clanked but once, and that was enough to catch the attention of the archer. It screeched angrily and let lose its arrow after readjusting its aim. The distance between it and Sagax was not exactly great, and though Sagax was fast, the arrow was just that little bit faster. A leaping stride kept the arrow from piercing his chest, but instead it lodged itself in Sagax's left forearm. The impact sent Sagax reeling in pain. The Falmer didn't get off scott free though, as the Imperial rebounded with a vicious lunge, skewering the Falmer straight through the gullet.

Playing the hero is a fucking awful idea.

Sagax ran back behind the front line of the company, crouching by Sevine and Leif, hoping to not get another arrow stuck in him. "I, uh-agh! Fucking...I got the archer! Well, an archer. But he uh-holy fuck-got me too...hold on, easy adjustment I'm sure-"

Who knew ripping out a mangled-up arrow of questionable make out of your arm would hurt so much? Not Sagax, apparently, as he yelled sharp profanities unbecoming of the normally gentle and soft-spoken Imperial. To add insult to literal injury, the arrow bounced back after Sagax pelted it at the ground, and the end of the shaft thwacked him right on the forehead. Sagax was, understandably, not a very happy person at that particular point in time. He was perfectly content to grumble angrily and clutch his shaking arm until he could work out a way to get the bleeding to stop.

"Oh, not good. Definitely not good." Those were the best thoughts Roze could collect as she scrambled around in the dark. Her bow - where was her bow?!

She couldn't believe she'd lost it; but the second they'd found the cave, Roze had thrown both herself and all she could carry to the floor in exhaustion. For a small woman like herself, trudging through blizzards and high snow drifts wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do, even with Sebastian helping her along. But before she could even close her eyes, the commotion from further in the cave reached her ears, and suddenly everyone was springing to arms once more. Roze's precious bow had gotten away from her somehow, or at least, she failed to see it in the dark corners of the cave.

"Ah, fuck it! Sebastian, light this up for me." Springing to her feet, Roze sprinted forward, getting the attention of her friend, who was currently flinging fireballs at the offending creatures. In her hand was a small pot, filled to nearly the brim with oil.

Ever since leaving home, Roze had attempted to keep something of a flammable nature on her; without fail, she always had her tinderbox, but as often as she could, she kept some kind of oil. It always came in handy, either to use offensively, defensively, or simply to light the way when all but darkness is around you. Now, following the events of Windhelm, she'd misplaced her little pot (A good thing too, really; if she'd had it on her when she and Sagax blew the Kamal ship to Oblivion, she'd be naught but a burned crisp.). However, what with their recent skirmish with the Armigers, the Dunmer had left behind more than enough supplies, including oil for lanterns and such. Naturally, a small girl like herself wasn't going to find use in the heavy bonemold armour or hefty swords - although trying on one of the abandoned bonemold helmets for a laugh, which she received for how the over-sized thing bobbed about on her head comically. So, that was left avoided; what she did pick up however, was oil. And some more alcoholic substances, but no-one would need to hear about that just yet.

Flinging the small pot as hard as she could manage, Roze watched on as it sailed over the heads of her comrades, landing far enough towards the back of the fray to avoid any friendly fire - with Sebastian launching another fireball towards it, one or two Falmer shrieked as the oil ignited on their skin, the rest of them trying to avoid the flames which had spread on the floor. There was not much fire, as there hadn't been much oil - but hopefully it had distracted the foul beasts. As the flickering flames lit up the cave, a familiar glinting caught Roze's eyes; her bow, nestled between two rocks beneath her.

Although sorely tempted to, she did not embrace and kiss her weapon, and instead knocked an arrow; running her fingers along the shaft until the familiar sensation of the fletch hit her fingertips. This would be the first time she'd used the bow since Windhelm; Roze sorely hoped her injury hadn't affected her skill too much. Otherwise, what good would she be? Running forward and finding a sloped outcrop of rock, she steadied herself there; not too far from the injured Leif and Sagax, and the bellowing Sevine, Roze inhaled slowly as she drew back the drawstring.

As she had already anticipated, the muscles in her shoulder were not cooperating fully with her, sending stiff spasms of irritation down her arm as she tensed the joint. Left hand clenched tightly on the grip, the petite thief found her mark - one of the Falmer, the blind bastard knocking it's own arrow and aiming it in her general direction. It could hit any one of her friends, with two of them already injured. Would she allow it?

Would she hell.

Roze exhaled as she loosened her right hand's grip on the string, and the arrow whistled forward, burying itself deep in the throat of the Falmer archer - a sense of mingled relief and satisfaction fled through Roze as her enemy hit the floor with a gurgling screech, choking on it's own filthy blood, bow and arrow lain discarded at it's side. Her foe was dead... and her shoulder was holding up just fine. Darting a quick smile to Sagax and Leif below her, Roze knocked another arrow.

"Don't you boys worry - us women will protect you." She said with a low chuckle, directing a cheeky wink at Sevine before pulling back her bowstring again.

---

---

While Rhasha'Dar disliked snowstorms and blizzards, he disliked Falmer even more - even though this was the very first time he had even seen the beasts.

Naturally, when travelling through Skyrim, one cannot avoid tales involving the Falmer and their Chaurus. Although the native Nords also told stories of Werebears, Fairies and other ridiculous - and mythical - beasts, the Falmer were all too real and dangerous. More than once his caravan had happened across poor refugees in the roads; innocent farmers, fleeing from the homes after a midnight raid by the creatures, lucky to have their lives; Hunters, peppered with arrows and poison for they stalked their prey too close to a Falmer cave; even children were not safe among the beasts, as it was no secret that bairns went missing among the mountains and hills after straying too far from their parent's encampments.

Yes, they were truly cruel, and their appearance were all the more monstrous than the stories told. Rhasha almost wished he'd left the cave rather than set his eyes upon them.

When the call for aid had gone up, he had been sat at the mouth of the cave, away from the others. The past few days, he'd attempted to avoid contact with everyone, although he himself was unsure why. Was he ashamed of his Sister? Or just ashamed to be related to her? He did not feel this way - consciously, at the very least - but he was most uncomfortable in the knowledge that everyone in the group, including those he considered as friends, knew about La'Dansharr. What it was, after a few days of silent contemplation in the snow helped him realise, was that he thought he had lost trust. While the Cat-Kicker hadn't confronted him about it as Rhasha had fully believed he would (Although, perhaps the man was just occupied with poor Sadri; as far as Rhasha knew, Dumhuvud could have been ready to skin him alive before the Falmer showed up.), the looks of animosity from him and others in the group did not go unnoticed. It was hard, for a Khajiit in Skyrim, to gain any notion of respect. After perhaps a fortnight or so with the mercenary outfit, healing their wounds, giving them potions, fighting alongside them, he believed they could trust him. And now? Perhaps not.

There was also the issue of the the information from the Armigers, the letters the Dark Brotherhood had given him. Rhasha had no idea what to do with it - surely, giving it to Ashav when they got back to Dawnstar was the best option? Or did this "Listener" want him to do something else with it?

Either way, both issues in his mind were forgotten as the battle went underway - war-axes in hand, Rhasha'Dar had joined the others in the fray, hacking at whatever pale, foul skin, or hard scales he could. Regardless of how the group felt about him, or how far they trusted him now, the Khajiit refused to abandon them at the hands of these monsters.

Finding his place beside Keegan, Rhasha launched himself at the Chaurus as the flung torchflames made it rear up in pain. The blade of his axe glided through the soft underbelly of the over-sized insect, unfamiliar and repulsive organs and blood slipping from the wound as it fell onto it's side, writhing in agony before Rhasha landed his killing blow; axe landing with a disgusting "splurch" noise in what he assumed was it's heart.

As the writhing came to a stop, Rhasha's nose crinkled in disgust as the foul odour of the blood spattered across his fur made it's way to his smell receptors.

"This one hopes you got your soul - although he is somewhat curious in what you plan to do with it." Rhasha mentioned to Keegan, motioning towards the soul gem with his one of his axes... which definitely needed cleaning. "By Azurah, I've smelt potions less potent than that stench." He thought to himself, stepping away from the stinking carcass of the Chaurus, and ready his axes for his next foe.

Tsleeixth felt himself giving out a war-cry of his own at Sevine’s words, her words instilling within him the need to fight the Falmer, to drive them back like she had said. It was strange in a way, he had never been one prone to violence -in fact the last time he had felt like this had been back during the Siege of Windhelm, where his broken arm had prevented him from actively participating in the defense of the Nord city- and yet he felt the need to fight the demented mer, a bloodlust driving him forth to fight the husks to which the once proud Snow Elves saw themselves reduced to nowadays.

Perhaps it was the stress that had been slowly, but steadily, growing up inside of him since the Siege of Windhelm had begun or perhaps it had been the revelation of the fact that the Nerevarine was allied to the Akaviri invaders that had set him in such a mood and he was just simply venting his fury and stress on the subterranean mer. Regardless he could not let his feelings impair his fighting skills or his focus on the battle; taking a deep breath -in spite of the pungent stench of falmer and chaurus blood- to calm himself, Tsleeixth managed to quiet down the instincts that were pushing him towards fighting the Falmer and advance in complete silence towards them in contrast to his battle-cry of a few moments ago “Idiot, don’t go charging in like a stupid berserker, take your time, consider your options.” He mentally chided himself, taking the time to study the cave in which they were in.

For a brief second he considered summoning an Atronach, but fear that the creature’s size would, somehow, cause a cave-in stayed his hand and Leif’s call for them to use fire against the falmer only pulled him further away from any thoughts of summoning an atronach as he forced himself to calm down yet again. Leif’s cry of pain surprised the Argonian but it allowed him to notice the arrow that was flying towards him and to, barely, avoid it. Turning toward to face the creature he sent his Skeleton Guardian to deal with the archer that had been targeting him just as Sagax got rid of the one that had shot Leif albeit not without getting injured as he soon realized.

Making his way towards where Sagax and Leif laid he looked as Roze spoke, saying that the women would protect them. He chuckled a little at the Bretons words but soon refocused on the battle once again, focusing on the remaining Falmer archers he summoned another Skeleton Guardian amidst them -the first one crumbling to dust as soon as the second one appeared- causing the creatures to shriek and turn at least some of them towards the creature that he had summoned. “Roze, do you think you can distract some of the remaining archers? I’ll try to go where they are and take some of them out.” He spoke to the Breton archer, turning to look at the archers that were still firing at them.

Once he had gotten a reply from Roze, Tsleeixth made his way towards the Falmer, trying to make as little sound as possible so as to not draw their attention towards him, however just as he was about to reach them he stepped on some bones that lay strewn around in the cave floor and, one of the Falmer noticing him due to the sound of bones breaking under his foot. Screeching in it’s native tongue, the subterranean creature called three of it’s kinsmen to it’s side and began circling Tsleeixth like a group of vultures around their next meal.

Occasionally they would attack Tsleeixth, who did his best to parry their combined attacks and retaliate as best he could with both magic and his blade -even managing to bring down one of the Falmer- but slowly he began to grow tired and small wounds began to build up as the Falmer continued attacking relentlessly. It was clear that, while he was managing to hold out for the moment, he’d need help to fall back towards the bulk of the company. “Idiot, shouldn’t have gone charging in.” He cursed himself inwardly as he parried yet another attack, panting tiredly as exhaustion began catching up to him.

Before she had the chance to warn Sagax, much less scold him on the ignorant idea of rushing past the safety of the front line to pursue the archer that had struck down Leif, the scrawny Imperial came crawling back, more or less, with his own falmer arrow lodged in the muscles of his forearm. At least he took care of the archer, but for his sake, like Leif, she prayed that the arrowhead didn't have a coating of poison to make matters worse. However, as a string of profanities exited from an injured Sagax, surprise overcame her, forcing her to cast a quizzical glance in his general direction. Such profane words to be heard slipping out of his past certainly caused a raise brow, for he himself, was a soft-spoken fellow, one that she never quite expected to swear so much. Then again, he just finished wrenching out the arrowhead from his arm, so she couldn't quite judge him. Keeping an amused smile hidden from Sagax behind the rim of the shield, she spotted a familiar figure, make that two, responding to her call for arms. Roze vanquished another Falmer archer as it emitted a strangle gargle, one that sounded all too familiar like that of an arrow finding their foe's trachea.

"Don't worry boys - us women will protect you." Roze's witty remarks, and her playful wink brought a grin finally, to Sevine's lips.

" 'Course we will, after all, some of you are thick in the skull, and need a woman's touch around here." Sevine returned with her own sly smile.

Then, in such circumstances as this, Tsleeixth the Argonian, made his way to the front line with them, he inquired after Roze, to keep the archer's distracted so that he could take them out. He soon slithered, wait, no. Slunk. Slunk off into the black shadows of the cave, Roze kept what archer's she could distracted, giving their lizard friend time to work his destruction. However, even as Sevine could hear, he must have stepped on something, bones or broken pottery, it was hard to tell in the inky abyss, this in return elicited the attention of the distracted Falmer to turn on Tsleeixth, their ears easily discovering his location. Swearing under her breath, Sevine turned to Roze and barked an order.

"Cover me!" Then she sprang off again, axe and shield readied as she disappeared into the edges of the darkness.

Leaving behind the last traces of the torch and magelight, Sevine entered a world in which she found the handle of both her shield and axe slick with sweat. With slow cautious steps, she closed one eye, keeping the other open, and when a few moments passed, opened the other; a trick Ralki the Bear taught their company when entering dark areas. Granted, it didn't give her night vision like her fellow Khajiits, it certainly didn't leave her blind as she entered the shadows. Soon, she could discern the outlines of the three Falmer and Tsleeixth engaged in battle. As leather boots crept towards his attackers, hesitant for alerting them to her presence, Sevine sheathed her axe and reached for her dagger, knowing that she could strike Tsleeixth on accident in the blinding pitch-black corners. She even went so far as to set her shield down with the same care on the ground, entering close-quarter combat again, the use of her shield would only hinder her movements. The ebony shadows unnerved her, leaving her feeling as blind as a newborn kitten, she could barely tolerate the surrounding darkness, yet a gust of wind near her face brought her back to reality. She had narrowly missed bumping into a Falmer intent on finishing off their lizard companion. Her free hand darted forward, searching the empty air until she found what she sought,and grasped firm, the shoulder of the Falmer, who then squealed, and alerted the others to her presence. Though short-lived, the squeal ended as she drove the dagger into its skull, resounding with a thickening pop as she drew the blade out again.

"Tsleeixth! Get back to the front lines!" She growled, her voice echoing in a menacing fashion off the rocky walls. One of the mages had made their way to the front, and sent off a ball of magelight, where it soon illuminated the area around them in a blue-green hue. They now had light to finish off the Falmer, and Sevine found herself engaged in the throes of battle again with the second Snow Mer, leaving Tsleeixth to deal with his own, at least he was no longer outnumbered. Without the use of her shield, Sevine was left exposed to any oncoming blows, and couldn certainly kill her. Lurching at her, falmer and huntress toppled to the ground where they grappled to gain control over the other. Sharp fangs gnashed in anger as the mer held her down with shocking strength, she had dropped her dagger in the fray, and was now left in an even more vulnerable state. Grunting with each struggle, she managed in one surge of strength, to overthrow the Falmer with a firm boot to the chest. With a pained screech, the Falmer hit the wall, and lay motionless for several seconds, giving her enough time to stumble to her feet.

However, it was not for long, before the mer sprang at her again, knocking her back to the ground in a desperate state to finish her off. They rolled across the cave floor, each with their hands coiled about the other's throat, trying in a vain attempt to smother the life force out. The lack of oxygen to her brain made the huntress weary and sluggish, a fog descended upon her, and she realized that she would soon lose consciousness. Fighting to stay awake, to stay alive, and not to succumb to the Falmer seated atop her, she reluctantly let one hand go, off her chokehold, and mustered what strength she had left, though quickly dissipating, and socked the Falmer as hard as she could in the temple. Disoriented, and in a split second, the Falmer loosened its grip around her own throat, letting precious oxygen to travel up to her brain. The last hand curled, tightly still, around her opponent's throat, with her free hand she grasped for anything that might serve as a weapon. It was then, that she found a decent-sized rock, and snatched it up before the opportunity disappeared. The Falmer had seemingly recovered from the punch to the temple, and resumed its snarling disposition, along with a renewed vigor to choke the very life out of her. Turning her torso, rock in hand, Sevine and the cave mer rolled again, this time she ended up on top. With the chance to kill the Falmer, Sevine did not waste a second, and began clubbing the Falmer with the rock, and even when the Falmer had succumbed to its head wounds, she continued to beat the creature until she was certain that it would not move ever again.

Rising to her feet, Sevine looked for Tsleeixth, and found him finishing off his own Falmer. Sweat and blood stung her eyes as she hastily wiped them away. As the magelight lingered, she could not find any other foes in the recesses of the shadows that lay beyond. Yet, that of course, did not mean that there weren't more of them, lurking in those shadowy depths, waiting for the opportune time to spring another attack. Allowing Tsleeixth to deliver the killing blows to his own opponent, Sevine retreated with heavy footsteps to the safety of the front line after recovering her shield and displaced dagger. A shaking hand touched her throat gingerly, and she winced in pain, she knew the area where the Falmer's clawed hands had choked her would leave a bruise.

How would one explain Soultrap Go? A dreamsleeve game where virtual competitions take place on Mundus, which players show off to strangers their rarest catch? No, that sounded absolutely ridiculous. Keegan was a man of rather peculiar interests, but to take on the challenge listed on some obscure poster was even difficult for him to comprehend. Still, a man needs hobbies, right? In grim times like these, the Altmer would gladly squeeze in every ounce of fun possible.

"Catching it was just a test." Keegan started. "My real cause is to train..." Auriel damn it all, that stupid song always popped into his head at the worst times.

At least it's over, right? Keegan found himself in the middle of dead cratures, while the more eager members chased off the archers. He took a deep breath, but what flooded into his nose was odor toxic enough to make his head explode. The embarrassed Altmer coughed and turned for the cave mouth, but his hopes and dreams of fresh air were crushed by Dumhuvud.

"Where are you going?" The Cat-Kicker raised an eyebrow. "Get back to the fight!"

"I need to, uh, do my thing?" Keegan squeezed his knees together. He suddenly realized that he wasn't lying, it's been hours since he last relieved himself, and many handfuls of melted snow from there. "It's clear inside but I didn't find any washrooms, because, you know, Falmers aren't big on sanitation." Keegan protested. "Can I please go now?"

Dumhuvud stayed quiet, but he moved out of Keegan's way. In the presence of a much reduced snow storm outside, Keegan found a private corner right beside Sevine's horse. Maybe because Asper watching gave him pressure, or because he was still nervous, or it could even be the temperature being too cold for his comfort, Keegan failed to squeeze out a single drop.

Suffice to say, he was pissed.

---

Orakh was having a grand old time.

Considering an Orc's favorite pastime is killing things, Orakh was joyed to kill relatively regular monsters for a change. His weathered shield shrug off more than a few arrows intended for himself and others, his Orcish axe ripping apart dirty bugs and degenerate elves like lumberjack cutting down trees. The old man had not felt this excited in weeks, and for a brief moment, his berserker rage overtook him. Ariane was shouting for him to wait, something about a light and magic hocus pocus. Orakh didn't care though, he needed no light, no magic; he had his predator sense locked onto the foul scents and orichalcum ready to dish out pain. In all sounded so poetic in his head.

That was, until he found himself tripping on Sevine's dropped shield and lost his footing.

"Where am I?" Orakh confused. A rock to the face makes a wicked wake up call. Orakh woke up from his berserk alright, he remebered charging in but not the seconds after. His weapon and shield got dropped somewhere, he didn't know, he couldn't see. Then he could see, because Ariane tossed a magic glow his way. He saw one thing and he didn't bother to think again; Tsleeixth was fighting a Falmer.

With only his bare hands, Orakh rushed the Falmer and tackled it to the ground. The Orc landed his knee on the monster's chest and punched that ugly face left and right. When it refused to die, Orakh smashed his head into Falmer's, and when it still refused to die...

"Aaa!" Orakh was cut though a gap on the waist of his cuirass. "Fuck you!" Stumbling back, Orakh seethed. The Falmer had a knife in hand, and it wanted to get up. Not on Orakh's watch. He dashed forward to kick the knife away, then dropping to his knees, the Orc took the Falmer's head and mashed it into a spiky rock formation. Cracks followed by patchy grind as the skull broke to allow a rock spike through its eye socket. Blood soaked his gloves, Orakh frowned to see his enemy had died.

"Ain't this a bitch." Orakh groaned to Tsleeixth. He was about to say how he saved the lizard's life, but his vision blurred and his head swam. The second half of his berserk was gone, with clear thoughts more or less prevailing, he realized Tsleeixth could probably take care of himself. Oh well.

"Let's skedaddle."

---

"Got what you deserved." Farid snorted. Dragging Sagax back, Farid set the Imperial down and loomed over him with a smug grin. Shoving Sagax's hands from his wound, Farid sneered at the mangled piled of red around the arrow hole. "Horrible choice of color, really." Reaching into bag, he produced a medium sized handkerchief for bandage. "Here's a second canvas, go ahead and ruin it, I don't have high hopes for you."

Ever since recruiting Dax the Argonian, Ashav had been prowling the streets for more information and potential recruits. On the 17th, the Thane’s ship was the only one making port. Two days before, the volunteer ship returned unexpectedly, its complement fearful of the weather. The EEC ship went for Morrowind. As for the Courtesan and the mercenaries, the Thane said it had been lost and presumably sunk. Ashav’s throat went dry, all this hard work from the Reach to Windhelm, battling against Reachmen and eastern snow demons just to be drowned. He tried to remain hopeful for a few days, at the very least, he should wait it out a bit before telling Jorwen that his daughter was gone. Still, it wouldn't hurt to start looking for new personnel.

The soft crunch of leaves was the only sound Elmera had heard for the last couple of hours. No matter how many of these cities she visited, she never felt safe from the eyes of other people. They were on her back, trying to peer under her cloak, or certainly ask her about her origins. Sure, it was cold, but still she wasn’t deep in the mountains and the snow for once made her feel at peace, if only because it didn’t feel as frozen as the nearby mountain range. Of course, she’d been to Dawnstar before, if only once. This time it was the recommendation of a travelling bard who said that there was a group of mercenaries who were currently in the Pale. The thought of joining a company had never occurred to her, but the more she thought about the smarter it was for a move. It meant protection and a certain degree of anonymity. Acting in a group meant that she would not be taking a large amount of responsibility for anything, so her name would not circulate so long as she didn’t speak it. Furthermore, the dunmer realized, mercenaries were hardly the chummiest of folks - if she said she didn’t want to talk about something, that would be that.

She figured Dawnstar was the best place to start. If there was news in The Pale, no doubt a port city, even if rather small, would be the best place to ask around. She pulled her cloak tighter around her body as she approached the gates. The dunmer glanced down to her shaking hand and cursed under her breath, stepping off the road as she looked around. A twig snapped and she jumped, “Who’s there?!” She asked in a hissing whisper. It was only then that she realized she had stepped on it. Stupid, her mind chided as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pouch. The powder fell lightly onto her grey-skinned hand, just below her index finger’s knuckle. She had to keep her hand from dumping the substance into the snow as she leaned in and focus inhaled through her nose - harshly.

After shaking her head and pinching one nostril shut to clear the other, she put the pouch away. A few deep breaths and she felt remotely normal again. After all, it wasn’t a full trip, it was just something to maintain her social appearance so that she could give a normal first impression to whoever she met.

The dunmer woman passed the gates, pulling her hood back as her eyes raked the town before her. She didn’t need to look at the guards to know they were less than approving of her just waltzing in. On the other hand, there was nothing they could do to stop her short of harassment, so the woman just continued past them with a dignified, even step. First thing was first: to the docks, that’s where all information circulated, right? Argonians weren’t known for loose lips when it came to their own affairs, but the affairs of others were a whole different story. Maybe it would take a drink or a few coins, but they always came around if you showed them you meant business.

The Argonians were talking alright. Considering they were being expelled wholesale from Dawnstar, the talks were obviously not cheery ones. It was late morning, just hours earlier, Jarl Skald ordered his guards to evict every single Argonian within town boundary. These lizard folks were being marched to a growing tent cluster just west of the city. Some went defeated, while others were dragged away screaming and kicking. Out of the few dozen Argonians, many still passionately wished to heed the hist call, to join their brethren in Black Marsh against the Akaviri invasion.

“Keep moving, this is none of your business.” A faceless town guard told the Dunmer woman. He and his colleague were dragging away a knocked out Argonian. As they moved away, another lizard took their place.

“Filthy ash skin, here to put us down like the Nords.” This Argonian literally spat at Elmera. Before long, he was locked in a fierce brawl with a guard. Both of them tumbled to the ground, limbs grappling each other in a way that started to choked the air out of both parties.

“Hey, break it up, break it up!” A Redguard emerged to pull the fighting parties apart. He attempted several useless pries before turning to the Dunmer for help. “You there,” the Redguard barked, “lend a hand, will you?”

Elmera’s fist clenched as she heard a slur thrown her way. She sneered and pulled her hood back, glaring daggers at the reptile. Dared she mention that it was his kind that invaded her home? No, she didn’t have to as a guard intervened and began to grapple with him. The Dunmer took a ready stance back to let them brawl before a Redguard came over in an attempt to break up the fight. She furrowed her brow, at this rate both of them would pass out. Or worse yet, the Argonian would be able to slither away.

She reached down and grabbed the scaled man, prying her arm beneath his shoulder a she started to separate them. “By the Nine…” She muttered in frustration, “Pull!” Finally, the two broke free of one another’s chokeholds, though they still clung for the fight, trying to keep going. “Would you two calm down?!” The woman shouted, pivoting on her foot and pressing it into the Argonian’s back in an effort to pin him down.

It was too cold of a day to be dealing with this shit. Jorwen approached the brawl at the head of some of the company that stayed behind. He’d heard a newcomer in the town was fixing to fight all the Argonians here, a knife-ear, and his first thought was that Vurwe had turned up. Despite their differences- vast differences- Jorwen was a little excited at that. It was a shame this had to happen on the eve of the Whaler’s Festival. Some of the stalls were being erected and travelers and adventurers were trickling into the town to partake of the festivities.

It was a shame the Jarl thought the Argonians were too much of an eyesore for the town during the festival, and didn’t want the Lizardfolk ruining his town’s meager reputation. To somewhat of his disappointment, Jorwen found that the mer was not Vurwe. She wasn’t even an altmer. Still, though, she had her foot on the small of one Argonians back while a guard watched on. Jorwen sniffed and spat to the side, “This what you call good first impressions, girl?”

“Jorwen.” Ashav acknowledged the Nord. It was indeed a shame for Skald to go such extremes, but Ashav had no choice other than helping. “You heard what Thoring said about us? He wanted the company barred from the city.” That was an hour ago, when Ashav was summoned to the longhouse. “Skald said we could stay if we help his guards.”

Switching his gaze to Elmera, Ashav scratched his head. “She with you?” He asked Jorwen.

“Stay and help funnel good-meaning folk outside the walls?” His lip rose in contempt, “I’m not doing that kind of work, Ashav. The rest of these whelps can help you, I’m not.” He looked Elmera up and down, taking her measure, “She is now. The tavern. Let’s get you away from this shit.”

“Damn it, Red-Bear!” Ashav barked. Ever since his recruitment, Jorwen’s been following his own command over Ashav’s. Independent, yes, but also skirting the line for insubordination. “You don’t understand,” Ashav took a breath to calm himself, “Thoring asked for guards outside of his place, and they won’t let us in unless we have the jarl’s favor.”

Ashav pointed to the Argonian, who was now being restrained by the guard. “We don’t push them back to their slum, then we might as live in their slum.”

“I’ve done far darker work in my life for worse reasons than this, Ashav. I’m not going down that road again.” Jorwen narrowed his eyes, “I’ll take the lashings, Talos knows I’ve had worse done to me. I’ll stand by and watch if it makes you feel better.”

“You, out of anyone, should know the necessities.” Ashav shook his head. “We honor contracts and we get paid, that’s how it always worked. I might not be the one issuing orders, but I know it’s for their own good too.” He referred to the Argonians. Speaking of that, another pair guard was calling for help against a particular feisty lizard. “There’s been fights and thefts ever since they started coming. People don’t trust each other, and there will be blood sooner or later.”

“If that’s your choice, then suit yourself.” Ashav dismissed Jorwen.

“Listen,” Ashav said to Elmera, “I can offer you work, if that’s what you are after. Join me and you take his pay; fifteen gold, enough to cover several days of room and board.” If not Jorwen, then this elf woman would do for now. She looked capable in Ashav’s eyes and aged enough to have some sort of experience. The question was, was it the right type of experience.

“You test the limits of my honor, Ashav.” Jorwen’s fingers curled into fists, “Where is this Argonian?”

“Honor in this business is your results.” Ashav refused to let Jorwen get the better of him. “Which Argonian do you speak of? That is the troublemaker.” He gestured towards the arm-flapping lizard. “Or the bounty hunter I recruited? He earned a well deserved day of rest, because he follows order with professionalism.” Ashav emphasized the last word.

“He’s a fucking scaled lap-dog is what you mean. I joined the Company to fight, not push around Lizardfolk, Ashav. Give me an enemy worth fighting.”

Elmera released the lizard under her foot to give the guard a handle on him and looked to the man who had approached. Based on his skin and burly appearance, she figured he was one of this land’s self-righteous Nords. She sucked on the inside of her cheek as he quickly began ignoring her presence to speak with the Redguard who had requested her assistance. The woman waited with a slightly impatient, exasperated expression before finally clearing her throat. He had at least a foot of height on her and more hair than even she ever remembered growing herself, but that didn’t stop her.

“I consider it a great first impression, considering this town’s guards seem to have less training than your average bandit. Furthermore, I figured helping… Ashav, here,” She said, making sure to remember his name, “To break up the brawl was more priority before we had two unconscious people on the ground. Thirdly,” She started, holding up three slender fingers as she stood mere inches from him, her chin barely making it to the top of his chest, if that. “I’d keep my mouth shut and help or go get a drink if you’re just going to stand there and blather on about your past, because you’re interfering with official orders from the Jarl.” She was bluffing, she had no idea what kind of situation she’d walked in on, but from what she could tell, this much was true, Ashav had mentioned it himself, so long as she had understood well.

“So, Jorgen… was it? Jorwen?” She asked, furrowing her brow, “I’d walk away… Or hit me, at least, for insulting your precious Nordic honor.” The words were venom on her lips - how dare he question her ‘impression’ as though she was here to harass Argonians in the first place. The Argonian had spat at her first and then proceeded to cause an issue, not the other way around. Furthermore, this beast of a man had stepped forward to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. “And please… Oh, be my guest to make a spectacle of yourself in the middle of Dawnstar with everything that’s going on right now. Really, I’d love to see it.” The dunmer narrowed her eyes, her fist tensing and relaxing as she waited for his reaction.

Jorwen chuckled while the mercenaries behind him waited with wide eyes and watched the exchange between Jorwen and Ashav. Now the girl seemed eager to please authority if it meant gold, she'd fallen far from his favor. He'd met many like her, none he liked, “It looks as if you've a fine underling here.” He spoke to Ashav first, disregarding the Mer, “What would my reputation gain by striking you, little lass? Far be it from me to interfere with you bending over to be fucked by Jarl Skald because it's his official orders.”

He turned away from her and walked away, slowly, “You'll make a fine addition to the Company. I just might get a drink.”

The Dunmer woman’s lip curled back in contempt and she looked to the Redguard before crossing her arms. “So, you said it’s his pay? I would gladly accept it then, and take the work. In fact, it’s the exact work I came here to find.”

“Enough, man, off you go.” Ashav shooed Jorwen.

“Come, let’s sort this sort out and get paid.” Ashav led Elmera towards the Argonian that ran around like a headless chicken. “You already know my name, and how I lead a mercenary company.” Ashav introduced. “What about you? I assume you came from Morrowind?” With a cautious glance around the scene, he continued. “Our company, including Jorwen over there, barely escaped Windhelm. Do you know what happened to that city?”

Elmera couldn’t help be feel a minute sense of satisfaction as Jorwen was dismissed and nodded to Ashav. She pulled her hood back up to keep the cool air from nipping her ears, “Aye, at least… Bits. I wasn’t near the city during the attacks, but I heard it was a real shitstorm, to put it lightly. What I did hear was mention of a company that had been involved in quite a few major happenings as of late, but I didn’t catch any names. Truth be told, if you’re that very company, I came here seeking you; seems as though you found me first. Elmera,” She stated with a dignified, though only slight bow.

The woman offered her hand, to be shaken. Dodging questions was sketchy, but she felt uneasy about outright answering them as well, “Yes, I was born in Morrowind… Though I’ve been here so long that I haven’t considered in home since I was but a child.” This much was truth, Morrowind hadn’t been her home in quite some time, nor had she realized how naïve she was for thinking that she could truly make a difference there.

The handshake felt genuine to Ashav, though the explanation felt anything but. He scratched his bandana covered head and narrowed his eyes. There was more pressing matter of catching this hooligan Argonian at the moment, but later, it would certainly a longer chat before Ashav fully signs on Elmera.

“The situation is bad east of here.” Ashav responded to the handshake, voice grim and raspy. “We’re there ten days ago and was under siege from Kamals; the snow demons of Akavir. I don’t know where you were then, but count yourself lucky to be away from Eastmarch.”

“But first, we need to tie this one up.” Ashav took in the troublemaker running in circles, waving around what appeared to be a fishing pole. Only one guard kept a perimeter, seeing the other had to be evacuated following a hook to his eye. “You get on the opposite side and funnel him to me.” Ashav proposed, readying a set of ropes. “Try not to kill anyone.”

“That’s certainly more than I had heard indeed,” She replied, furrowing her brow, “But no, I certainly was not there. I was traveling from Solitude around that time, as a matter of fact, along the Northern roads, haven’t heard much but bits and pieces the past several days.” The woman heard the order and nodded, “On it.”

She moved as he had instructed, moving to the opposite side in order to direct the erratic Argonian toward Ashav. “Not kill anyone? I am the absolute posterchild for murder restraint, thank you very much,” She stated, helping to restrain the reptile for the Redguard.

Elmera’s presence turned the Argonian towards Ashav, who was unable to get any closer before the fishing rod and sharp hook swung in a dangerous arc. The Redguard went close to roping the Argonian, only to be forced back by the hook tearing a gash on his shirt. If only he had his armor here.

“I bet you are, poster girl.” Ashav snorted dryly. What’s with the recent candidates and witty remarks? Ashav shook his head and briefly wondered if crises made smartasses out of normal people. “It’ll be even better if you could get rid of his stick.”

“Don’t bother talking, this fool’s too high on his sap thing.” The guard from earlier suggested to Ashav. “Hermann did and the crazy lizard hooked his eye out.” Pulling Ashav back from a strike, he shouted to Elmera on the other side. “You know magic? Maybe you could zap that pole out; the other one was also scared of lightning.”

Elmera watched the exchange, ducking the hook as the crazed Argonian ran about like a chicken missing its head. “Oh, I thought we were practicing restraint on all fronts,” She said as the guard asked if she had magic. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact,” She replied, opening her fist and focusing for a moment. Her hand lit up with blue sparks which coursed over the extended limb as she stepped back and held it forward. The magical electricity formed in her palm as a small, conjured mass of the power focused itself. The Argonian was a fast target and she didn’t want to hit anything behind him if she missed Finally, when she released her Lightning Bolt, the reptile stepped right in the way of it, his hand receiving the full force of the shock at first, though he would certainly feel it all over. Luckily for him, this was Elmera’s weakest spell that didn’t launch a continuous stream of power into him.

Shocked and dazed, the Argonian dropped his fishing tool turned weapon. Ashav seized the moment and immediately dashed forward, taking the Argonian down by his waist. One hand pinning his opponent’s chest, the other hand worked the scaled body over so that both hands could be roped. While Ashav wrangled, the guard stood watch from a few steps away, directing other guards as they cleaned up the remaining commotion.

“Keep him flipped over, if you don’t mind.” Ashav told Elmera. Once he finally secured both hands, Ashav got another rope for the legs. Because this one was thrashing for all his worth, letting him walk on his own was just too much a risk.

“Good, let’s carry him to…” Ashav looked the guard for answer, as he lifted one end of the troublemaker and waited for Elemera on the other.

Elmera naturally fell into place, taking hold of the Argonian with a solid, professional grip. She kept her eyes peeled, but for the most part had no worry for danger here - these rabble rousers, while clearly quite confused and rowdy, were little more than a nuisance.

“Jail.” Came the guard’s frown.

Seemed like this individual wasn’t the only person going to lock-up; a half dozen fellow agitators were jailed with him. They were all Argonian, and each one with more hatred (especially for Elemera) than the last. “Don’t mind them,” Ashav advised, “lot of them fled from Windhelm, and been thrown around like dirt ever since.”

“Couldn’t care less,” She noted, feeling a sneer now and then. She returned each glare with one of equal hatred, “I’ve my own things to worry about. If they hate me for trying to prevent them from murdering peaceful citizens, then so be it.”

Continuing on, Ashav went up the guardhouse steps. “If I remembered correctly, Black Marsh was also invaded by Akavir.” The Redguard recounted the reports. “They say the Hist could affect the the minds of devout Argonians, sending them message to defend their homeland. There’s a few Argonians in the company, but they probably are not too connected to show symptoms.”

“Anyways.” Ashav returned after tossing their mark inside a cell and exchanging debriefing for coins. “Thought you’d know magic, and you don’t seem to be a stranger handling rough folks either.” Pausing temporarily upon exiting the guardhouse, Ashav picked out half of the gold for the Dunmer. “Truth be told, my men supposed to return from their mission today, but I worry that they’re lost. I’m going to need extra hands no matter what, and I think you could use a well-paid job.”

“Yes, it’s rarely found one of my kind in Skyrim who doesn’t have something to offer, I’ve noticed. On the other hand, getting us to agree to follow anybody but our own whim is rare. I’ve handled a fair number of dangerous folks - you have to in Skyrim when you’ve charcoal skin, the Nordic folk don’t take kindly to Mer, especially their neighbours to the East.” She shrugged, “That’s life here, though.” She accepted her pay and nodded, “I came looking for the job, I’ll accept it and you shan’t be disappointed, Ashav. On that promise, I can certainly deliver.”

The sudden and brutal skirmish with the Chaurus and Falmer took their toll on the company, although it was a miracle that more were not slain by the subterrainian threat. Thanks to the brave actions of a few of the fighters, the surviving Falmer from the first wave were driven back deeper into the cave, leaving the entry chamber uncontested. Unfortunately for some who were pierced by arrows or cut by the blades, the poison in the weapons had begun to work their way through their bloodstream, rendering them weak and sick, but otherwise managable. Those who knew medicine and healing set to work, forced to make a triage in the cave despite some calls to brave the storm as there was no way for the sick and wounded to move, especially not in those conditions. And so, for those who were able, sentries were posted, and fires were lit; they prepared to wait out the storm.

There weren't many words to be shared, as all were acutely aware of the threat below, and scuttling in the dark was met with arrows or spells; if these made purchase, none were sure, as no one dared venture forward to confirm the kill, and no further attack followed. Perhaps the Falmer had decided the group was too dangerous to confront further, as even the most savage of beasts had some manner of self-preservation in their blood. Much like wolves cared little for fire, Falmer seemed to find a large group of armed and talented fighters far too much effort, where the cost was too great for the reward. It was best to prey on unwitting travellers in smaller, less hostile groups.

While some urged the need to chase the creatures down into their lairs and root them out, most drowned these instincts out as there was no way to know how big the cavern was, or how many enemy waited below. It could almost certainly be a trap, and the last thing anyone wanted to do was discover they were sitting on top of a hidden dwemer under city, filled with Falmer and forgotten abominations. After the losses and utter failure to save the mages from the College, no one was eager to play hero.

And so, they waited.

Hours passed, and the sun broke through, along with such balmy temperatures that the coats and armour almost seemed to be too hot, even though not long before the cold had threatened to kill those who dared stop. The snow was still deep, uncomfortably so, but the group had their chance to escape, and so after the wounded were tended to and stabilized, the company mobilized again, relieved to be free of the thrice-damned cave and the horrors within.

And so resumed the march back to Dawnstar with a new sense of Vigor, the warm air and sun lifting spirits in considerable fashion. Even when the company bedded down for the night around an assortment of small fires, danger seemed a world away, and when some voices broke into song, no one bothered to tell them they were putting the company in danger. For once, there was a sense of calm and relaxation that had seemed to be forgotten long ago.

When the morning came, the company knew they'd be in Dawnstar before long. As the snowy mountain paths gave way to grassy hills, the rest of the march would not be taxing.

~ ~ ~

There was a weight lifted from Solveig's shoulders as she looked upon Dawnstar. The miserable cluster of buildings huddled up for warmth behind a palisade seemed like the greatest thing to her after all she'd been through. Perhaps this was how Pa felt when he looked on Whiterun after his numerous outings. They shuffled to the gate in a mass and the guards manning the gates rushed to form a line in front of them. "Halt! State your business!"

"We're Ashav's company." Solveig said, her tone that of a woman who wasn't going to be denied a hearth and a good drink.

Only after a few moments of tension, the guards put up their weapons, "You can pass. I heard the Courtesan was lost."

"The ship is, little man, but we are not." Cat-Kicker snarled as he passed with the others. Solveig followed before standing before the guard who'd stopped her.

"The sea will not take me." Solveig said, and gave a dark chuckle before continuing inside.

What greeted her was a sight unlike the Dawnstar that she'd left behind. Streamers dangled between houses, vendor's stalls lined the streets and children ran to and fro playing while the older folk looked on and talked. The town was bustling, new faces and old faces blending in the crowds. This was the Whaler's Festival, celebrating Dawnstar's pastime of hunting horkers and the giant whales that swam in the Ghost Sea. Various dishes, from chicken, pork and beef were served. For the more adventurous or those who were willing to get into the spirit of the festival, there was horker loaf and whale stew.

What caught Solveig's eye though was something even more beckoning to her heart. Down by the docks, warriors' competitions were being held. Two giants of men were wrestling each other in the circle, in another circle just like it, a mock duel. Archers sat trimming flights for their arrows in preparation for the archery contests and javelins sat on a row of weapon stands for the spear throwing competitions. All around her was color and life she was not used to. She ducked into an alley and found her way to the tavern.

Do'Karth stepped up next to her, staff resting across his shoulders, wrists atop the shaft like he were in a stockade. His eyes were wide as saucers, his nose twitching as he took in the marvelous scents. "Tell Do'Karth, did we die? This looks a lot like that Sovengarde place you Nords are so fond of talking about." he teased, still only half believing what he was witnessing. A band was set up on the docks, singing a folk song he didn't recognize, lanterns with coloured glass gave off colours across the buildings that resembled the auroras that danced across the night skys, and the population was so lively. After being so cold, miserable, and unable to escape the specter of death, this seemed like he stepped through time into someone else's life. After all the atrocities that had happened in just the past few weeks alone, this festival seemed completely out of place.

Even inside the tavern seemed to be suitably uplifted, and the barkeep seemed to break out the fancy stock of ales, meads, and brandy. Whale meats were roasting over the central floor flames, and several drunkards were singing loudly, off key, but utterly enthralled with the revelry that it hardly mattered. A smile creased Do'Karth's lips. "It would seem wrong to not join in the celebration, would it not?"

"Reckon we'd be out of place if we didn't." Solveig felt cooped in with cacophonous crowds about her, but she tried to find some stability in Karth. She took a deep breath and tried to find her way to the bar, dodging and dancing around passing barmaids and flailing drunks. She kept her head down and tried to get past a man in the crowd but he stepped in front of her. She swallowed, her fingers inching towards her knife.

"You know who stands before you, woman?" A deep voice growled. Her brow cocked, a pang of familiarity was what she felt in the voice and before she realized who it was, she was wrapped in big arms and nearly squeezed to death.

"Pa?" She wheezed, then she was put down on her feet and her father's big hands were left on her shoulders, the man looking down at her, "Pa?" There was a lump in her throat and she couldn't talk, for she did not trust her voice not to shake.

"So you took care of her well enough." Jorwen smiled to Do'Karth, "And took care of yourself, for that I am also happy."

The big Nord lifted one hand from his daughter's shoulder and placed it on the Khajiit's, squeezing his shoulder, "It's the Whaler's Festival, my friend. Music, food, competitions for young adventurers to go at each other. You lot picked a fine day to return."

"Yes, this one is a man of his word, as it were. Solveig does make it hard, but she takes care of herself. She'd make a good khajiit." He chuckled, reaching out and clasping Jorwen's extended wrist reaffirmingly. "Perhaps the gods decided we deserved a break? Do'Karth wants to eat himself stupid, but first... this one has not thrown a javelin in some time, but he thinks he can show the Nords how it is done." he glanced around the room. "Things were fine here, this one trusts?"

Jorwen shrugged and his smile dropped slightly, "Trouble with the Lizardfolk. Anyhow," and his smile returned in force, "You thinking of competing, eh? I never took you for the type. I spared a thought, but I'm still not sure. Flaunting and posturing like that down by the docks is a young man's game, maybe."

"You know how to throw a spear?" Solveig smiled, "Maybe I know how to throw one better." She challenged, good-naturedly.

"Do'Karth does, when the mood strikes him. He usually prefers the wait-and-see approach to people. Besides, there's a certain charm to being underestimated." he smiled, looking over to Solveig. "Do'Karth was one of the best of his clan, it was an essential part of some of the martial arts, such as Goutfang. Along with unarmed combat, of course. We do like our claws." he said, neglecting to mention one of the reasons he was chosen to assassinate a head of state was because he was extremely talented with a javelin. "But perhaps Solveig can show Do'Karth a thing or two, a wager perhaps?"

"Cup of Colovian whiskey." Solveig grinned, "Let's go."

The three of them made their way towards the competition grounds. A menagerie of young warriors amassed themselves about the different areas, as well as curious onlookers. There were big men and women, small ones, but all of them stood with their chests puffed and wearing their most grim faces. Jorwen would be lying if he didn't feel some urge to compete, but he would let younger Names shine today. Finally, they'd made it to the javelin contest. There were a few still jutting from the dirt many paces away and a few warriors stood holding their spears, talking amongst each other. Solveig grabbed two of the spears still on the racks and handed one to Do'Karth. "As the challenged, it's tradition that you go first."

"Do'Karth will endeavor not to set the bar high, then." He replied cheekily, taking the offered weapon in hand and testing its balance. It had been quite a few years since he'd used a weapon such as this; not since he left his old life behind, anyways. He said as much, "It has been some time since this one has handled such a weapon. Perhaps best of five throws?" he asked.

Solveig chuckled, "Why not."

She was sure of herself. She'd faced some big Names in Markarth Side and beat them all. Do'Karth was a man of many talents, she was sure, but she was also sure that there was no one here that could best her with a spear. "Are we waiting for sun-up?" She teased.

"Ah good, the restless are prone to mistakes. Do'Karth will cherish that whiskey." he grinned, stepping up to the line. The target was about twenty paces away, a throw that was challenging, but certainly an easy mark for most experienced throwers. Stepping back a few paces, Do'Karth held the weapon up, alongside his head and other arm outstretched. With a quick dash forward, he released the javelin, which struck just to the right of the target, skidding along the sand harmlessly. He grunted. "How do you Nords tolerate such unbalanced weapons?" he joked, taking the sting of his miss out. It was the oldest excuse in the book; blame your inadequaces on your tools.

Gesturing for Solveig to step up, the khajiit stepped aside, arms crossed. "By default, you appear to be in the lead." he chuckled.

Solveig grinned at Do'Karth, keeping it towards him as she walked to the line. She drew in a breath, judging just how much strength to put into the throw, hopefully not falling pitifully short or being over-eager and having it sail over the painted bale of hay. She took in another breath, raising the spear in-hand near her cheek, outstretching an arm and then letting loose the spear. She watched as it sailed through the air, a good trajectory, but it stuck in near the rim of the target, the end bouncing on the dirt while the head stayed buried. She frowned, then regained her smile, "Still closer than yours." She gestured for him to step up.

"This one simply wanted to lure you into a false sense of security." He said, stepping up and grabbing another spear. Already the weapon felt more comfortable in his hand, his muscles becoming accustomed to something that had once been as routine to him as eating. Giving it a quick few spins in his hand, Do'Karth set up as he did before, only with much more fluid and aggressive motion. The spear flew confidently, buring itself low on the target, its point undoubtably piecing through the bottom. "Do'Karth can taste victory already." he grinned, stepping aside.

"C'mon, Solveig, kick the cat's ass!" Someone in the crowd jeered. There was always one, although the murmors of agreement suggested it wasn't unpopular.

"They know your name?" Jorwen whispered, genuine confusion. Perhaps the return of the Company was the talk of the town amongst the young warriors who were not yet part of a Band or a Company. He remembered how it first felt when men he didn't know the faces of treated him with respect. It was a dangerous feeling, that much was true.

"Why would they not?" Solveig said with a cheeky grin, taking another spear in hand. She didn't like how close Karth's spear hand landed to hers and how much better a posture it had as it landed. Already, a crowd was forming around the two, and she caught sight of a few of them exchanging bets. She readied her spear, her face the picture of single-minded concentration. She pulled back, she threw, watched it fly and had to keep herself from pumping her fist in celebration as it landed a few precious inches above Do'Karth's.

The khajiit was amused. It was turning into a contest, after all. As opposed to Solveig's intense concentration, Do'Karth allowed himself to loosen up, letting the distractions flow past him like water. Battle meditation was something he had become quite proficient with, and as it turned out, it worked rather well for a simple feat of arms such as this. His leg was throbbing, but he could ignore it, for now. Twirling the weapon theatrically and bringing it around his back, he grasped it when it came into reach of his dominant hand, the khajiit hurled the weapon, it sailed with considerable velocity, striking level with the bullseye, but a fair deal to the left. The khajiit looked at Solveig and Jorwen and shrugged. "It's like a staff, only you want to let go of it." he grinned.

Solveig frowned, rolling her eyes, "Pah!" She crossed her arms, "I'll buy, then."

Jorwen chuckled, he hadn't seen his daughter look so defeated. She pointed to the circle in which two men fought a mock duel. Just as she lifted her hand towards it, one of the men was brought down by the other, yielding with the wooden sword's tip at his chest. "First to yield."

"Perhaps tomorrow." Jorwen raised a hand, "We'll drink to a good contest. You've proven yourself as a worthy opponent today."

Solveig grunted, wasting no time in making her way back towards town. Jorwen and Do'Karth watched her go. A small silence grew between the two. "You throw a spear too well for a man who professes to be one of peace." Jorwen noted with a cocked brow, "A soldier?"

The khajiit let out a low sigh, his whiskers twitch and tail swaying uneasily. "It was another life. Do'Karth wasn't always the khajiit you know, but that khajiit has been buried in the sands long ago. He was no soldier, this one never had a taste for uniform or wars... which sounds hilarious now he speaks those words in light of all that occured." He smiled sadly, his eyes tired. "You know, Jorwen, Do'Karth had fully expected to have left to preserve himself long ago. Khajiit are notorious for letting others do the difficult things and watching out for themselves and their kin. He never expected to feel like a group of mercenaries was home."

"The soldier's life is all I've known. You speak like you've done deeds worth forgetting, my friend. If only mine were a world away like you speak of yours." Jorwen felt his age come pressing down on him of a sudden, the weight of his sins, but did his best to perk up, "This is a festival though, words like these are best suited to different places, eh?"

"This one agrees. Apologies, Red-Bear." Do'Karth said, grinning at the awkward use of his earned-name. "Do'Karth still doesn't understand the fixation with names you Nords have. Perhaps some drinks will make sense of it. Besides," he said, nodding towards Solveig's back. "This one can think of at least one deed of yours that is worth celebrating. Family, no?"

Jorwen looked towards his daughter as she walked away. So different from the little girl holding a stick like a mighty sword who greeted him every visit with a stubborn frown. How much she'd grown. He always wondered what kind of woman she'd grow to be and the one she is now perhaps isn't far off. Jorwen nodded at Do'Karth's words, "Aye, not all in my life's dark, I reckon."

With that, they followed the sullen woman back to the tavern, the festival still lively around them, and the drink still flowing readily.

---

Ghostly white vapors rose into the early evening air from the labored breathing of the survivors, each trudging slowly onwards, their feet passing over the worn, smooth stone path before them with heavy steps. In admittance, the stone archway that served as the main entrance into the town did not serve to protect, but merely acted as an entrance. The people of Dawnstar, with the cozy hearth fires of their homes that emitted lazy tendrils of curling grey smoke appeared unaffected even still, on their day of return, from the approaching dangers to the east.

However, as she vividly recalled, the overwhelming number of Argonians that had come in search of refuge, and also came in search of ships to bear them home to Black Marsh, now it seemed that in their absence, the attitude of Dawnstar had soured towards the lizard folk. This was evident as the company had passed the growing "tent city". While her mind was troubled over the gnawing pit in her stomach, her heart leapt at the welcoming view of the sleepy port town from afar, and she would have shouted in rejoice had her vocal chords allowed her to do so. The grappling choke-hold with the Falmer had left her neck badly bruised, to the point where it was difficult to raise her voice above anything than that of a loud whisper, and even then that was a great strain. A motley color scheme of black, purple and blue could be easily seen on her neck, along with the distinct outline of the fingers that had curled around her throat. There, as the company stepped foot into town, a place where she believed at one point during the rescue mission, she would never see again, they were greeted with an uplifting sight of festive banners, and even the town's mages, what few they were, had come together to create a festivity of glowing colored lights.

The sweet, tantalizing smells of baking goods filled the air, and the people were merry as laughter and song filled the evening air. Those that could play music gathered to form a ragtag band on the wooden porches, and surprisingly, played several known ditties on lutes, lyres, and drums. As she soon discovered by the abundance of whale bones erected in the shape of a tunnel, for the bones are massive and tall when anchored upright, that the festival in order, was a result in the annual celebration of the whaling season, particularly the end of the harsh winter and spring, to allow the whaler's to bring in plenty of meat for the town.

Despite being footsore and suffering an aching back from the weight of her gear, she walked with the lead rope in hand, Asper now relieved of his burden from carrying what gear he could. He bore the packs well, and now, as they strolled through the town, not only did she enjoy the scenery, but even the young children that ran amok carrying sticks with paper whales tied to them, descended on Asper when they discovered him to be a friendly creature. Their tiny voices pled for the huntress to let them adorn him with wreaths made of snowberries, she reluctantly allowed them to do so, but made them promise not to torment her mount. Securing his lead to an overhanging tree branch, Sevine left him alone so that he may graze upon what grass he could, and the children carried on in their festivities by setting on the task of assembling him a wreath, while the others set about braiding his hair with ribbon.

Exploring the festival, Sevine wandered from stall to stall, from vendor to vendor. After securing a freshly baked sweet roll, as her stomach growled with such intensity that she could only oblige and fill it with sweet decadence. As she bit into the sugary morsel, still warm in her hand,Sevine discovered the familiar outline belonging to one of her companions. Licking the glaze from the tips of her fingers, so as not to leave them sticky, a smile crossed her lips as she approach the figure. When she came to stand beside him, she managed a weak croak. "Do'Karth! I am glad to see you out here..." She paused, studying her furred friend, "I wanted to thank you for coming to my aid back there in the cave. I have to say, you surprised me when you came roaring in like a saber-cat with that sword."

Do'Karth turned to face the familiar voice and returned Sevine's smile, which added even more of a glow to the festivities. He dared think he actually was enjoying himself. "Do'Karth would not miss a festival such as this, his nose is attracted to far too many delightful scents." He raised a hand to stop her train of thought. "It was nothing, Sevine. Do'Karth saw you were in peril and he had the chance to act. We would not want our journey to end in such a place, no?" He said, playing down the fact that he had been terrified of Sevine being murdered by the beasts of the cave. He was prepared to face so many realities, but that was not one of them. He shuddered at the thought of what the Falmer and Chaurus would do to their victims. If he saw them again, it would be too damn soon.

"Are you well? It has been a hard few days for all of us, and we have not had a chance to speak of late." he asked, concerned for her well being.

"Asides from this...," ere the tips of her fingers brushed against the painful myriad of colors arrayed in a grotesque fashion. "It hurts to speak, so forgive me if I do not have much to say." She said with a wince.

"Walk with me as we talk, my friend. I wish to see what else this festival offers," Gesturing for him to walk with her, with a wave of her hand, Sevine and Do'Karth started off through the throngs of people celebrating. For once, in the din of merrymaking, Sevine found her troubled mind to be eased in comfort, and a small part of her allowed herself to forget the growing troubles in the east. There were many townsfolk red in the face from having much ale or mead to drink, despite the early evening hours, and it appeared that everything was in plentiful abundance. The air held a slight chill as the evening sun sunk ever slowly over the ocean waters to the west, sinking behind a snow-capped hill. The clutches of winter had eased enough to allow blades of green grass to return, and with it a fragrant smell of earth hung in the air as a light breeze from the west rolled through the town.

Finally Sevine broke the silence that had grown in the short time between them as they came to stand on the outskirts of the festival, a clear view of the bay glimmered red in the fading sunlight. Her eyes shifted nervously, hesitant to speak. After the encounter at the cave, there was much that had troubled her mind, from tormenting dreams, to Leif's ailing condition from his arrow wound. Naturally, she was not the person to open up to anyone, but Do'Karth was a friend, and if he could see her troubled nature, then perhaps it wouldn't hurt to confide in him again.

"I... am concerned over Leif. He is my friend. But... his actions towards me of late, are those of a jealous lover. I do not mind his advances, for to me, they mean nothing. He is a man well-versed in women, but I am not one to fall under such...foolish notions. Do'Karth...," ere she paused again in her speech, glancing to the toes of her boots, and then casting a queer sideways gaze at him that she held for several seconds before continuing.

"I believe him to be in an envious state. He is protective of me, that is certain. Yet, I also believe that he is envious of my attention to you." Her vocal chords creaked and cracked with every word, evident that the strain of the attack hurt her to speak. Even then, as a hoarse whisper, she bore through the pain to speak with him.

"How do you suggest I handle this matter?"

Walking by an unattended bottle of wine, likely forgotten in the revelry, Do'Karth grabbed it with a swift snatch of his hand as they walked by without breaking stride. He offered it to Sevine. "For the throat. Perhaps it will help ease your words?" he said, curious at to what she was saying. She clearly seemed aware of Leif's infatuation, but did not take it as anything deeper. "This one thought it obvious. Leif sees you as more than a conquest, the way he looks at you, well..." he said, thinking to himself, Is the same way this one looks at you, but he left the words unspoken. "Do'Karth believes Leif sees this one as a threat in courting you, he sees you as something more than another notch in the belt, to borrow a crude metaphor this one has heard men use in his travels." The khajiit shook his head slowly, feeling somewhat put on the spot, between admitting to himself and to her that he understood how Leif felt, all too well, and that the fact she was a human was irrelevant. He wanted nothing more than to be by her side, whatever that entailed.

"This one would never presume to tell you what you should do with the choices ahead, and he would never advise you against your interests. If you feel that Leif is genuine and someone you could see yourself with as a mate and companion... well, perhaps it would be wise to take his affections seriously. If not..." Do'Karth hesitated, looking around as if to brace himself or find the words. "Perhaps it would be best to tell him how you really view your relationship with him, that he isn't the one you chosen for yourself. Do'Karth wants to see you happy, to be there when you need it. He does not wish to dictate to you what he thinks that should be." the words stung coming out, like it was an admission of defeat or bracing himself from a blow, but he would not try to manipulate her feelings because of what he wanted. It was her independence and sense of self-determination that made her stand out from so many others, and he would preserve that.

Even if it cost him.

Again, silence returned between the two companions as she remained in deep thought. Do'Karth had spoken truly about Leif. His affections towards her were obvious, and similar to that of a man in love, and saw her naught as another conquest, but as a potential mate. This thought perturbed her, and left her feeling perplexed. Uncorking the bottle of Alto wine, she peered steadily into the green glass at the dark liquid beneath, as if the answer could be found within. Taking a slow draught, the wine refreshed her parched tongue, allowing her to find courage to speak again. Her voice came at a whisper still, though it not creak from strain.

"Your words carry wisdom, Do'Karth. I am like the bat that fears the light of day. I know it in my heart that I must confront him, but it is what I feared. He is a good friend to me, and we owe each other our lives. But I do not share these same feelings for him. My heart lies elsewhere, as it always has. In darkness. I am relieved to hear your words, and while I dread them, there is also comfort." She fell into a bout of troubled thoughts again, before she looked to her companion.

"Leif is a good man, of that I am sure. But I will not make a good wife or lover for him. While he is experienced in that realm, I am not. I save my heart for someone else. I only wish to be happy. Thank you my friend, I have much to think about it, but now is not the time, this is a day full of merriment. Before we go, is there anything that troubles you, in which I can return the favor?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing that is worth mention. Do'Karth's friends are safe, and that's all that matters." He paused. "You said you are saving your heart for someone else. Have you found that person?"

"Have you found that person?" His words echoed in her ears as she felt a great fire rise to her cheeks, she knew the wine was not to blame for the sudden rush of blood to her face. She felt as if her face resembled the shade of her crimson tresses at this point. Clearing her throat, she chose her next words carefully.

"I... have. It is only a matter of whether or not they share these same feelings. This person, that I have chosen... our relationship may be viewed negatively in the public eye, but I have no qualms with what others think. I am fearful, indeed, that only my heart will lead me astray. Perhaps Leif's songs of love have only filled my head with nonsense. Perhaps, for once, my heart has finally found a desirable suitor. Whatever may be the case, I have no desire for anyone else." Her words were at length for such a short answer, but there was a hidden meaning amongst them. Not revealing to him who held her heart was done only out of fear, for if she did, she worried she would fall down in a faint, so great was her fear. Ever since the evening spent in Leif's house, her dreams had become muddled, strange and wistful.

Like a ray of sunlight breaking through weeks of rain, Sevine's veiled admittance vanquished the uncertainty and fear. After all this time, being confused himself in his own emotional state, found his spirits lifted to the point that all of the horrors and injustices they endured, the obstacles they overcame, it was worth it in the end for this moment, the one where after so many years, Do'Karth wasn't alone any longer. "This one is no stranger for being an outsider in people's eyes, but he never sought their approval." he said, finding her blush endearing. There were times he was glad that fur covered any sign of embarrassment of his own. Reaching out, Do'Karth gently took Sevine's fingers into his own for a moment, offering a reassuring squeeze. "Yours, however, is all he ever wanted. Here, now, this is what matters."

The touch of his furred hands taking her fingers into his set off a great tremble through her being, while she wore a smile of relief on her lips, she could not help but to quake and tremble at the touch. Excitement flowed through her veins like a great and magnificent dam had burst. Down on the docks below, the music supplying the source of festivity drifted up the hill. Facing her beloved friend, Sevine searched his feline eyes, while her own mind busied with seeking the right words. Tears began to fill her eyes, practically blinding her. Do'Karth became a blur of colors before her, and before she had any such notion, she flung her arms about him, all the while burying her face into the crook of his neck. "Oh Do'Karth!" She cried aloud, her voice reaching the threshold of the highest pitch she could maintain, yet not wishing to relinquish him from her hold. Then her senses returned to her and she released him as she hastily wiped away the tears that stung her eyes so as not to draw attention.

"We must talk later, but I will secure a room at the inn before this night is over, find me there, if you wish. There are some folk I must go and speak with before the night grows older." She said. Now, in the evening light, she gazed upon Do'Karth with a renewed certainty.

The embrace was sudden and welcome, an impossible comfort in such a strange land in such strange times. Yet here, as Do'Karth wrapped his arms around Sevine's back and resting his chin atop her head, he found a peace and acceptance he scarcely dared dream of. So many years of inner turmoil and feeling that he would never be able to fully atone for the man he once was, Do'Karth finally found himself grateful for how the fates had played their hands. It was a strange pairing, one people would consider unlikely, if not impossible, but they mattered not. With all the darkness they had endured, and how a chance injury with a chance set of skills had brought the two together, it felt right to say to Oblivion with guilt and doing what others wanted. If there was something selfish Do'Karth wanted out of the world, it was this unconditional love and affection he'd never known before. People came and went, faces and names forgotten to the sands of time, but this would be eternal, the one constant in a wanderer's life.

Sevine's strained and joyful voice was unrestrained, and it was music to the khajiit's long ears. When she parted her embrace, Do'Karth gently ran his finger beneath her eye, clearing away the tears. In truth, it was hard for him to hold back his own surge of emotion. "Of course this one will, he will make sure it is the right room after all. But before you go," Reaching into his budi, the khajiit pulled free his amulet of Mara, pulling it above his head. With a smile, he said, "Do'Karth is surprised this worked. Maybe you Nords are onto something with these amulets." he chuckled. The amulet was carved in Elsweyr, a brass medallion with sandstone set pieces in the shape of the mother cat in the twin crescents. This he placed about Sevine's neck, emphasizing the gift by pressing it against her chest with his hand softly.

"This amulet is one of the most treasured things Do'Karth has ever owned. In his darkest days, where he felt cold, angry, and lost, Mara found Do'Karth and set him on the path that let him forgive himself and set aside his hatred and fear of others, of the world. This one never knew love or compassion, but Mara showed him how to find the good in people and that this one should show the same mercy and compassion that the gods showed him, so many moons ago. The journey led Do'Karth on a lengthy exploration of the lands and the people, allowing Do'Karth to immerse himself in their cultures and be invited to eat under their roofs. But nowhere, not even Hammerfell, were the warm sands... it took finding this company and the people who needed this one for Do'Karth to finally understand what my people truly meant by finding the warm sands. He found you, Sevine." he said softly, reaching out run his fingers through her hair behind her head and bringing his forehead to hers. "It is yours now, as is Do'Karth. Now go, find the others. Enjoy your evening... this one will find you in time." he promised.

Her mouth hung slightly agape in awe, surprised that he was most willing to part with such a beautiful amulet, she knew she would cherish it, Mara had blessed her after all... His words and actions mirrored those that she held within, as she listened earnestly to him. "It is yours now, as is Do'Karth..." Why if anyone from the company saw her now, they might poke fun at her, for the great and mighty Huntress quaked in her very boots. The joy at relieving her heart's burdens, and finding that, in Do'Karth, she had more than just a friend. Giddy with delight, Sevine planted a kiss on his furred cheek, ere she sprang away like a mountain deer, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Keep safe." Her hand remained clasped around the amulet, savoring the feeling of how his hand had pushed the amulet onto her chest. This would be her prized possession now, even more so than her axe. And with one long lingering gaze, she headed away from Do'Karth into the throngs of people milling around the festival, and cast one more glance backwards before she was lost amongst the growing crowd of festival attendants.

---

As the company made it's way back towards Dawnstar Tsleeixth's eyes widened in surprise when -once they were close enough- the growing tent city that had formed outside of the port town came into view. "What the....did the Kamals attacked another city." He muttered lowly, wondering if the tents belonged to refugees from another city perhaps.

But, as they made their way through the "tent city", the truth, as uncomfortable and painful as it was, revealed itself to the Argonian spellsword as it became evident that the camp they were going through had been set by his fellow Saxhleel who had fled from Windhelm's destruction towards the safety of Dawnstar. "What the....who's responsible for this." He thought as he took in the scene that surrounded him and the rest of the group that had gone to the College of Winterhold.

He felt his teeth gritting at the miserable condition in which his fellow Argonians were, shivering as their meager dwellings and whatever clothes they had were unable to properly protect them from the cold that was still present in the land. Shaking his head in resignation, knowing that there was nothing he could do at present for his fellow Saxhleel, Tsleeixth continued trudging along with the rest of the group towards Dawnstar's stone archway.

The sight of the festivities, and the different aromas emanating from the various stalls selling sweet rolls and other assorted morsels, did nothing to ease Tsleeixth's mood, in fact the raucous behavior of the Nords and their cheery mood only worsened his own. "My people are thrown out of the city, left to fend for themselves, and the Nords are throwing a festival." He mused bitterly, even though he knew that, logically, the two events were probably unrelated to each other.

Making his way towards the inn, Tsleeixth dropped the pack containing his belongings in the room that had been given to the company and then -without bothering to change out of his armor- made his way towards the bartender, asking for a hot meal and a strong drink that would -hopefully- give his mind a brief respite from his gloomy thoughts.

Meanwhile, another Saxhleel made his way past the Main Thoroughfare, his bow still held in one hand and his tail swaying with unreleased energy and agitation. It was the only thing about Daixanos that betrayed his inner turmoil and pent up anger. He had been resting and spending his time within his own chambers as his fellow Hist brothers and sisters had been thrown out of the city. Lucky for the Dawnstar authorities he seethed within himself, then let out a calming breath.

Now they sought to insult him once again when he decided he would like to joined the archery competition. The looks he received when he had strode up to take his position in line for the tournament had been something he was quite used to. Many saw his kind as undesirable in recent years, and fighting for your life in the wilderness numbed the pain of getting sharp looks by those whose opinions mattered little. However, one large Nord flanked by a few of his brethren had decided to take it upon themselves to question his reason for being there.

Truth be told, Dax had no answered them. He had simply knelt down and strung his bow, not giving in to questioning he did not want or deserve. The clamor of their unacceptance rose however, to the point where the authorities had to ask Daixanos to please vacate the area for the sake of peace this day. For a small moment there, he nearly refused. His normally stoic face hardly changed, but something in his eyes bespoke that to push him further would cause violence. Reluctantly however, he agreed after thinking for another few moments.

Now he made his way back to the Inn that had been his resting place the day previous. Now it felt more like solitary confinement. He stepped into the warm room, merry making abound. A few familiar looks (that he was growing weary of) met him, but otherwise he was mostly ignored as he strode over to the bar. To his surprise, as well as something to warm his heart and calm his mental health, he saw a fellow Saxhleel. So happy was he that he actually initiated conversation, something that was a rare occurrence indeed! "Well met, brother." as he sat down next to Tsleeixth.

Tsleeixth was surprised when someone adressed him as brother, turning to look at the person who had sat next to him he was pleasantly surprised to see that it was a Hist brother "Indeed, it's good to see you brother." He said, stretching his hands for Daixanos to shake "Please, join me, it has been a long time since I've last talked with one of our own." He said, his lips curling upwards in a smile but it quickly fell from his face as his thoughts returned to the camp that the Argonian refugees had set outside of Danwstar "Forgive me for asking but, do you know why it is that our fellow hist brothers and sisters have been cast out?" He asked Daixanos, hoping that his fellow Saxhleel would have answers for him.

As Tsleeixth spoke, Dax held up a clawed finger to the bartender to show that he wanted his usual cup of water. The hunter shook his horned head. "It eludes me. I know that dark have been my dreams of late, for our homeland. But I admit my circumstances have kept me from sitting down and talking to a fellow Hist brother for a long time. I cannot say."

This was probably the most he's spoken to someone earnestly in a very long time. Other than his speech the other day when he exposed the slaver for who he was, but that was passion in duty, not conversation. He let out a hissing sigh, accepted the water that was given to him, and took ginger sips. "What do you go by, friend?"

Tsleeixth almost choked on his drink when Daixanos mentioned that his dreams had been dark lately, related to their homeland, his eyes widening in shock. "You too?" He asked before he could control himself, a mixture of relief and fear at the fact that he wasn't the only one having the dreams. "Then maybe Windhelm's Pakseech was right after all..." He thought to himself.

Before he could continue that line of thought Daixanos asked him what was his name, pulling him back to the present "I go by Tsleeixth, what's your name brother?" He asked, letting out a sigh of his own as he took another sip of his drink, the alcohol burning his throat slightly as he drank it.

Dax's eyes narrowed the slightest fraction when he saw the other Argonian nearly spit out his drink. "Daixanos..." he replied, then clarified for short. "Dax. Forgive me, I've not spoken to another Hist brother in a long time, or...spoken to much anyone. And yes, I think there is something afoot with our brethren, but...I know not what it is." A small low growl escaped him, from deep within his throat. Not a threatening one, just an exhalation of air that showed frustration. He took another sip of his drink to wet his whitle, then placed his cup down with an audible 'clap' noise.

Daixano's reaction didn't go unnoticed by Tsleeixth "Forgive me brother, it's been a long time since I spoke with one of our kind...I was unsure whether or not if my dreams were truly the Hist's calling or if it was merely a product of stress, forgive my startled reaction." He apologized, nodding when Daixanos formally introduced himself and mentioned that he also thought something was afoot with the rest of their kinsmen "Yes, I agree....could the Hist really be calling to us?" He asked quietly, more to himself than to Dax, before he took another sip of his drink. A few silent moments passed as he continued drinking before a question popped into Tsleeixth's mind "What brings you to Dawnstar brother? Forgive me for asking but it seems like you too are a mercenary, correct?" Asked the Saxhleel spellsword, having noticed the bow that Dax had brought with himself to the inn.

Dax nodded, taking another swig of that sweet sweet water, then let out a breath. "I'm a hunter, bounties and skins. It matters little. I was recently hired by a man called Ashav here in Dawnstar. I happened to find a contract from him and accepted it, and I succeeded. So he saw fit to enter me into his service. Fortune seems to be against our kind, however. I halt slavers one day, and the next, the ones I saved from a cruel fate now have the privilege of freezing to death outside the walls."

Do'Karth had noticed Tsleeixth sitting at the bar counter a bit away from where he was making small talk with Solveig, who made good on her bet from the spear throwing contest they participated in earlier. The khajiit excused himself, weaving through the crowd until he found himself beside his argonian companion, and the strange one that he was talking to. Given that the vast majority of argonians were forced out of the city, Do'Karth was surprised to see the new face.

It was an awkward feeling, as if he were interrupting, especially since he wanted to express his gratitude towards Tsleeixth's kindness and watchful eye the past couple of weeks, something Do'Karth felt he didn't deserve. Drink in hand, he took a seat on the well-worn and aged wooden stool. "Tsleeixth, this one is pleased to see you well. Who might your friend be?"

Tsleeixth was about to speak when he saw Do'Karth approaching him, his lips curling upwards "Do'Karth, a pleasure to see you." Said the Argonian as his Khajit friend sat besides him "Ah, this is Daixanos here he was just telling me that Ashav had hired him into the company." He said to Do'Karth before turning to face Dax once again.

"Dax, this is Do'Karth he is also a member of Ashav's company, he has been with us since Windhelm's siege but I am sure that he himself could tell you more" Said the spellsword as he took a sip of his drink, letting out a sigh as he relaxed slightly.

"Do'Karth sees. Greetings, Dax." Do'Karth said, thankful for the simplified nickname. Argonian names were hard to pronounce. "It would not surprise this one if Ashav tried to recruit the entire town. Our numbers aren't what they once were even when this one joined the company back in Windhelm." the khajiit drank slowly. "Do'Karth assumes Dax has heard of that misfortune, yes?"

The ruddy skinned Argonian turned to this newcomer, staying silent for a moment before he considered that he was a cordial party, if not ally. "I've heard rumors and whispers, but nothing concrete. I've spent most of my time in the Skyrim wilderness. Only every now and then would I make forays into Whiterun and Rorikstead."

"Ah, it was a terrible event. The attack came from nowhere, one day in the morning we spotted the Kamal's ironclads near the docks of WIndhelm and the next we knew was that we were being bombarded by ice spikes that the Kamal ships somehow launched." Said Tsleeixth when Dax said that he had only heard rumors and whispers of the fall of Windhelm.

"Then the Kamal warriors assaulted the docks directly along with a few of their mages." He said with a sigh, taking another sip of his drink to calm his nerves as he reminisced of the events that led to Windhelm's fall "I am loathe to say it but, in hindsight, we had lost the city from the moment the siege began." Said Tsleeixth with a defeated sigh, finishing his drink shortly after "My apologies if I am scarce with the details Dax, it's not something I wish to remember much....especially since my dreams began during the siege." Finished Tsleeixth, holding his finger towards hte Bartender so that a second drink was brought for him.

The khajiit drank steadily as Tsleeixth recounted the horrors of the siege of Windhelm. They were not pleasant memories. "There was little to be done in the face of such power. Do'Karth considers it something of a miracle anyone escaped, that we stand here that this moment." he sighed, placing his glass down. "He is concerned of the day we face them again. This one hopes we move West instead, away from all of that." he admitted, not wishing to watch the people he had come to care for perish in the most lobsided battle in an age.

Dax absorbed the information with admirable stoicism, images of violence filtering into his mind from the descriptions Tsleeixth gave him. The Kamal had returned. It was rare to hear of them as legends in Black Marsh. To have them show up here as true threats, and to fell the city?

Truth be told, Daixanos almost wished he had been there. His calling wasn't so rudimentary as a quiet life beside the sea as most would wish for. He grew up learning a 'kill or be killed' lifestyle from his father. Well, it wasn't quite so cut and dry. But the hunter's life was the one he had felt a calling to, and if you hunted long enough, you would eventually find your demise lies in violence. He had made peace with this long ago.

Better to be in defense of something noble, or against an ancient foe, than to fall bleeding upon a mountainside from the lucky swipe of a Sabrecat. "I see..." he said finally. "I am...glad that each of you could make it out. I had no idea the city had actually fallen." The Argonian took the last sip of water in his jug. "Know that if they advance in this direction, or whatever threat we face, you can count on my bow and blade. I swear by the Hist."

Tsleeixth listened as Daixanos swore upon the Hist that, no matter what threat they faced, the company could count on his bow and blade "Indeed, just as they can count on my blade and my spells no matter the threat we face." He said, echoing the same sentiment as Dax. He looked as the bartender handed him his second drink, taking a sip of the alcohol before he spoke again.

He let out as his thoughts turned towards the Kamals once more, an involuntary shiver running through his spine "It's a shame, but I think we'll end up facing against the Kamals again, it's inevitable." He said tiredly, his eyes downcast "I mean, after all we learned when we rescued the Winterhold mages it seems unlikely that's the least we've seen of them. Specially if they are targeting Black Marsh as well."

"A significant amount of the argonians in Windhelm rioted, wanting to return to Black Marsh to fight the Akaviri there. Tsleexith convinced them otherwise. It was an impressive feat." Do'Karth interjected.

Dax looked between the two, and then nodded in approval towards his fellow Argonian. He had not expected to hear such a feat had been done. Though in his heart, he wondered if it wouldn't have been better for them to have returned home.

Tsleeixth shifted awkwardly when Do'Karth praised him for stopping the Argonian riot in WIndhelm, a feeling which only intensified when Dax nodded in approval "I just did what I thought was best, if they tried to leave mid-siege the Kamals would have butchered or enslaved them." He said with a sigh, taking another sip from his drink "How did you hear about that Do'Karth? As far as I knew only Sagax and a guard that was with him saw me talk to Windhelm's Pakseech." He asked to his Khajit friend.

"Word travels. You do not stay in an encampment of a tight-knit company without certain individuals speaking of it." The khajiit replied, smiling behind his glass. "Besides, one hour, Do'Karth is fighting the rioting argonians and dunmer, the next they announce they will travel with us. Some might wonder how that came to be, no?"

"Ah, yes, well, I suppose that is true." Said Tsleeixth, letting out a soft chuckle. They stayed chatting up for a few more minutes but, eventually, Do'Karth excused himself and left the tavern to join the festival that was going on at the moment, shortly afterwards Dax also bid him goodbye -mentioning that he had to go and talk with Ashav- leaving Tsleeixth alone in the inn who, draining what remained of his drink in one gulp, left the inn as well since he had no other reason for staying there.

Featuring @Scout

---

Whaling Festival, why Nords chose to celebrate when imminent doom is just to the east was beyond Ashav. He seen far more alien cultures in Black Marsh and High Rock, so this was nothing to be astonished by. Still, he was a practical man, and while Edith joined her countrymen in celebration (Daelin too, probably to scratch his pickpocketing itch), Ashav stayed in his room and studied various reports and maps.

After few hours, the Redguard decided to go outside for a lunch break; that’s when he saw a familiar face.

The white flesh of the Nordic folk seemed to glow as Elmera looked around the Festival. She wasn’t much of one for parties, but the colors were so vibrant despite the grey lands of Skyrim. At least, they were prettier under the effects of Moon Sugar when she upped her dosage just a little bit over the norm. She held a small lunch in her hand, picking at it with the other as she explored. Honestly, she wasn’t such a fan of festivals, let alone Nordic ones, but she felt like seeing something before this Company headed out elsewhere and this seemed sufficient.

It took a few hours and she was finally thinking of going back to her room when she saw Ashav. “Ashav!” She exclaimed, giving a small wave, “How’s your day going?” She asked, a little bit more open than he would remember from the other day. “Having a good festival?”

Browsing through a few stalls, Ashav eventually settled on a paper-wrapped fried fish. He had just payed his four gold coins before Elmera strolled up to greet. “Good of a day as any.” He answered nonchalantly. “I took it the coins served you well.” Nodding at the food in her hands.

“So this is what we worked for, what we cleared out the Argonians out for.” Ashav remarked as he started his walk back. A group of kids suddenly ran in front of him, causing the Redguard to yield way and giving their guardian room to catch up. These children were all Nords, and they were playing a twisted game; Skin the Argonians.

“I’ve heard of similar northern coast traditions, but it’s the first time seeing one of these.” Ashav commented at two person hanging a string of lanterns between neighboring houses. It was early afternoon, but the town enchanter was already preparing the illuminations. The lanterns energized quickly in response to magicka, glowing a spectrum of red to blue. “Anything like this in Morrowind?” He asked Elmera.

Elmera nodded, “They did, yes. Served quite well. I got to have a more enjoyable lunch than usual, thanks,” She replied as the children ran past. She rolled her eyes - children could be a pain, but Nord children were downright obvious about their poor upbringing.

“I suppose it depends on where you go, and it depends on where it’s located. Bigger cities, yes, of course, and coastal ones as well. But I was more of a studious child, I stayed indoors when I could. Morrowind is rather drab, if I say so myself. Left to see some of the world, I was just thinking of moving on when I heard about you folks, so it’s good I found you.” She crumpled the paper that her meal was served on and found a waste depository for it as they walked.

“Where are you heading now, sir?”

“I presume you worked as a battlemage in Morrowind?” Ashav inquired further. Judging by how effectively the Dunmer woman handled the rioters, this one’s got too much fight for an academic. “Court mage or law enforcement? A lot of recruits are ex-military or guard.” The Redguard wondered. Drab? That hardly sounded reason enough.

“I studied magic in my youth, returned home, and assumed a quiet position in the courts. To be completely honest,” She said, preparing to tell her first flat-out lie to Ashav, “I was little more than a glorified consultant and far from even a court mage. I know how to do magic, but teaching it or explaining it to others is not exactly my specialty. My father worked in the city guard, so he taught me to handle a blade and defend myself; as an only child and his sole daughter, well… You can imagine he’d rather I be able to protect myself than rely on others for it,” The dunmer explained, her hands clasped behind her back, concealed beneath her cloak as they strode side-by-side.

Taking another bite of his fish, Ashav tasted nothing worthy beside burnt out bones. He muttered something about his taste buds weakening with age and wiped his mouth with sleeve. “If you could get used to the routine, work and pay, I believe you'll enjoy a lot more than fine meals in the future.” Of course, Ashav didn't need to mention the gruesome deaths merely one week ago.

“Worry not; I thrive on routine,” She replied simply, shaking her head.

“I was just heading back and drawing up a proposal for the jarl.” Ashav told Elmera his destination. Resuming his walk again, he stuffed the fish wrapper in his pocket, because something as trivial as a piece of paper could be lifesaving at urgent times. “The White River Braves, which is a militia operating in Eastmarch, said the Kamals massacred an Orc stronghold. I, we, can advise Skald to ally with the Orcs.” Ashav bit his teeth bitterly, he could already see Skald’s stubborn face denying the logical. Still, he had to try. “To be fair, there isn't much to do. The Dragonborn and his army are probably swooping into the fight as we speak, and their generals don't seem to like me recently. My private sponsor is off at Solitude, said something about a prophet.”

Elmera furrowed her brow, in all of her travels, she’d not seen more than maybe two Orsimer walking the streets of Skyrim, so her opinion on their so-called aggressive nature and lack of intelligence was one left unformed, but she allowed Ashav his musings aloud, remaining silent and pensive. Her eyes followed a ball as a pair of children went darting past them after it. It was red, but blared so brightly in the lighting… She hoped that soon the effect of her Moon Sugar was ebb, if only slightly, to prevent a headache. At the very least, the noise of the festival, which had grown nearly unbearable an hour ago, was already easing to a rather normal level.

“To be honest, sir, talk of prophets sounds rather… how should I put it… well, from what I can collect, it sounds more likely that Skald would accept your proposal to join the Orcs than such a man truly exists,” She finally replied. When it came to the Eight and One, Elmera hardly saw any reason for them to communicate or deal in the land of mortals for anything short of preventing complete destruction. Even in the Oblivion Crisis, the proclaimed appearance of Akatosh could be disputed by your average cynic.

“No need to call me sir.” Ashav waved it off as he came near the inn and leaned against a railing. “Most of the company’s dea-” Ashav stopped himself at the sight of a battered crowd entering from the east. Leading them was an unmistakable figure with an ugly voice matching his ugly face. “I'll be damned…” He whispered beneath his breath; what timing…

“Come now, I don't think you have signed the contract yet.” Ashav went for the door. Better get this over with, because there’s going to be a lot of talking soon enough.

“Understood. Let’s take care of that…” She responded as she noticed the sudden shift in Ashav’s demeanour. “Pardon me, Ashav, but… Is everything in order?” She asked, referring to the way he cut himself off and switched subjects.

“Everything is in order.” Ashav shook his head and sat down beside his makeshift command desk. “More in order than I expected.”

He pulled out one of many copies of the contract and passed it, along with an inked quill, to Elmera. “The rest of my company just made it back.” The Redguard explained and gave Elmera time to read and sign the paper. “Think Jorwen’s a handful?” He let out a dry chuckle. “Just wait until you meet his daughter.”

---

A man shunned, a heart broken, woe upon him, did Leif Raven-Stone come stumbling from the Windpeak Inn, his coin spent on several flagons of ale, and his blood boiling like molten iron. It pained him, and it felt as if a great, poisoned blade had been thrust through his very heart. Glimpses of his beloved, Sevine, came to him, again and again, a scene that would never end. How she stood beside the Khajiit, Do'Karth, the two exchanging intimate words in hushed tones, and how she leapt upon him, her arms embracing him readily, like a lover now known. There, the Khajiit gave her a token of his affection, some amulet that she now bore proudly around her slender neck. The very same neck that he yearned to kiss, the very woman that for so many years, he desired to call his own. She even had the courage to kiss this cat upon his cheek. And what of him?! He was cast aside like a piece of spoilt meat! Staggering off the porch of the inn, Leif made his way through the streets, the hour of the early evening had gone, and little light now remained as the sun, now a brilliant ball of crimson, sank lower over the hill. Muttering to himself like a mad-man, one that lost his mind, as tears stung his eyes, he came upon Sevine's horse, Asper. A creature she loved and doted upon even more than himself. Swearing harsh curses under his breath, he fumbled hopelessly with the knot she had tied, a simple loop, until it unfurled. Slapping the powerful beast on the rump, he yelled, waving his hands wildly in the air, "Be gone ye beast! Have off with ye!" With that, Asper sprang away, startled at the sight of the drunkard that had become Leif. Where the horse went, none would know until Sevine came to call for him later.

"Forsake me, will she? I will show her! I will show her the true man I am, and then she will desire to be mine..."

For a while he rested against the tree, burying his head into the crook of his elbow, as sweat poured down the sides of his crown, with his eyes closed, as he had not the strength to open them and to look upon the world. Off in the near distance, he heard voices of men engaged in conversation. This seemed to provoke him, for he pushed himself off the tree with great force, almost collapsing to the ground, and went stumbling, headed towards the voices. Swaying to and fro, his sight well blurred, he could only make out the figure of a tall man, with great height and girth to match, along with a mighty red-beard. 'Twas none other than Jorwen Red-Bear, and even in his dastardly state, Leif knew him nonetheless. Approaching Jorwen, and his companions, he bellowed in a great and terrifying voice, perhaps to instill fear, whatever the reason, it could not be discerned in his clouded mind.

"I challenge ye! The three of ye, to a match! Come! Take up your swords, and bear them against me! I am Leif Raven-Stone, I fear no man! Fight me if you wish, for I am no coward! And only a coward would deny such a worthy challenge!" His fingers felt blindly as he reached to unstrap his sword from its leather thongs, and when he had done so, swung it in a wide arc as a display of bravado. Although, to the others, he would simply appear as a drunk fool that would only harm himself than them. The sword slipped from his grasp, and wedged itself into the flesh of the earth. He found not the strength to recover his sword, for he could not steady himself in his current state to even take the hilt again into his hands. As he went to retrieve the blade, he fell to his knees, and there, he remained, his blood-shot eyes glaring up at the three men, too drunk to move, or to speak for the moment.

Of a sudden, Brittle had his knife in his hand and took a step forward. Jorwen reached out clamped a hand on Brittle's shoulder with a grip that told him he would have no blood. "I'll have you know, little lad, every moment you are in my presence is one I choose not to murder you. You take one more step towards that man, it'll change."

Brittle grinned sheepishly at Jorwen and let go his high laugh, sheathing his knife and holding his hands up in peace. Mire made no moves, though Jorwen was ready for him. He never came on. Instead, he spoke, "This talk isn't over. Black Sutt still wants you at your earliest convenience."

"Who knows when that'll be." Jorwen squinted at Mire, "Perhaps it'll be so long he'll keel over before I get a chance to. Or the Deadlands freeze."

Mire just chuckled and shook his head, gathering his companion and walking away into the town, the darkening sky over the bay around them. Jorwen watched them leave and when they had finally gone, he turned to Leif. "There was a time, Raven-Stone, when bellowing a challenge to the Red-Bear was something only a man looking for a gory death would do." Jorwen walked towards Leif, his hair dangling over one eye, and he stood over him. Then he pushed the locks from his face with a sad smile and offered a helping hand to the lad who was very obviously drunk, "But I distance myself from those times unless that man I was is utterly needed. Take my hand, Raven-Stone, and walk with me."

Even after the flashing gleam of metal blades were sheathed, Leif did not flinch, nor wallow for an apology. Yet, as the great Red-Bear came to stand over him, he simply looked up, his body swaying, he went to push the offered hand away, and fell to one side, he quickly scrambled back to an upright position, and regarded Red-Bear as a man that dared to end his rage. Whatever logical sense was left, Leif uttered a crestfallen sigh, and after a few misses grabbed the weathered man's hand in his own, and forced himself up. If Jorwen had a nose like a hound, he would certainly smell the alcohol coming off his body in great wafts, so potent that some would wonder if they themselves could become intoxicated by simply being in his presence.

"And if a gory death be what I seek, who are you-" Leif hiccuped loudly, one that shook his body with great force, "to stop me? My heart has been thrust upon a deadly knife as is, so there is nothing left... in this world, for me to hold life dear." His words were slurred, and his head bobbed like a dinghy being tossed about on mighty waves of the ocean.

Yet, as he stood there in his condition, he did not relinquish Jorwen's hand, for it was like a great anchor that kept him from drifting out on the sea of miserable drunkness.

Jorwen frowned at Leif's words. The father in him wanting to hug the lad, but Leif was a man. He needed guidance, not pity, or at least just a conversation long enough for him to sober up or fall asleep. "We've plenty chances to come for gory deaths, my friend. But try as you might, I will not give you one." Jorwen laid a good-natured hand on Leif's own and then put his steadying hand around the lad's shoulders, keeping him upright as they began to walk. Jorwen looked Leif up and down, the smell of alcohol stinging his nose, "One only drinks like that either for great mirth or great sadness. I can tell it's the latter, friend." He let it go unsaid that he was no stranger to it, the drink or the sadness, "What troubles you? Speak freely. Has a friend passed, a lover?"

As they walked, his feet shuffled, as if his boots were filled with lead, when Jorwen mentioned what troubled him, his mane of tawny hair shook as did his head. "One could say... that the one I love has forsaken me, and chosen another to be her lover. Of all the fair women in this land that I have lain with, sang to, wooed, adored with tenderness... It is she that has captured my heart since I first lain eyes upon her." Shaking his head once more, as if to clear the drunken fog from his mind, Leif sighed, like that of a forlorn lover.

"It is Sevine. For she has taken her first love. Do not misunderstand, Red-Bear, for my pride as a Nord man is gravely injured. She has not chosen a man! Her choice lies with the furred beast, Do'Karth. Perhaps my beating heart would not feel so wronged if it were another man, but this?! This is an abomination! And where is her great pride and dignity for a mighty Nord woman, that she might lie in the bed of a dirty cat?!" He cried aloud, nay, shouted, so that all may hear who were in ear-shot.

"She cannot even bear children with him... And I have would have been an honorable husband, I would have loved her until her beautiful, crimson tresses were grey with age, and wrinkles on her face. I would have looked after her until the end of time, and there would not be a want that I couldn't fulfill. What man I am now? I ask of you, what man I am now, if all this time, I have been but an ignorant fool? She never wanted me. She never saw how I took care of her, even in the darkest hours of the war, when she was struck down by that Imperial officer, who smate her with a poisoned blade. Who was there when she laid upon that cot stricken with fever? 'Twas not that beast! 'Twas I! And I have tended to her ever since, like a faithful housecarl that serves his Thane." His words were morose in nature, and he did not hold back the torrent of deep pain he held in his heart. Perhaps it was the alcohol that made his tongue loose and wagged so freely. Yet, as they walked, Leif leaned heavily on Jorwen, he wanted to sleep, but as the bear of the man led him on a walk, he knew in his heart that he needed someone to speak with.

"I see. You loved the Huntress." Jorwen nodded, and his pain brought to mind his own from years ago, buried by the sheer amount of years between it and now, but Leif had uncovered it. "I was not always my wife's lover, nor was she mine. I found another while Halla and I were..." He looked away, "She was a warrior, one of those in Ulfric's Band he took to take Markarth back from the Reachmen. I followed her, because war was the only thing I was certain I could be good at and because she understood me in that light. The Reachmen ambushed us one night after we escaped the Empire's so-called justice for Ulfric. I was stabbed, the lifeblood draining from me, and what they did to her... they slit her throat and left her on the ground like a broken doll. I raged and raged across the Reach." Jorwen sighed. "My heart was torn and battered by more things than you could know. I was alone, angry, so endlessly angry at the Gods and at everything else. I know your search for a gory death all too well."

Jorwen set Leif down on a bench and sat next to him with much work. His joints were not all there anymore, but he'd die before he could no longer heft his sword. "Try to look for death to your heart's content, Leif." Jorwen looked up at the night sky, his breath smoking on the cold air, "As you say, no man can stop another from making his own choices. But want it or not, those you'll leave will miss you, Sevine among them. And the death you seek is not quick or painless. She's made her choices, you can make your own. Rage across the lands of men and elves and beasts all you want. I only hope you find something that brings you happiness at some point in that journey far sooner than I did."

The deep brevity of his words resounded within Leif as they sat side-by-side on the bench, his body had quit swaying, and all but a great headache had slowly begun to descend upon his crown, his conquest for emptying his purse of all coin. He did not speak for many moments, there were many questions that swam inside his head, and for once, he forgot Sevine, if only for a little while. "Then mayhaps, this heartache too, will disappear in time, and mayhaps, there will come some greater good of it. All I have yearned for in this life, is a woman for which to make a wife, and to one day, have a family of my own. I envy you, Red-Bear, that you have such someone to call your own, to have a warm embrace waiting for you... Alas, it will not be for me, for sometime to come. But tell me this Red-Bear... Your wife, Halla? Does she know of your lover to wrongly slain? Does she know of your grief that you once held inside?" Why he wanted to know this, he could not say, perhaps to comfort him in the future if he found himself in a similar situation, were his potential lover to be cruelly murdered as had Jorwen's.

"No." Jorwen shook his head. "She only knew that I was a proud and contemptuous man from the day I met her. I fathered Solveig after I'd talked Halla for two days and it was not the warm and gentle entanglement of lovers, but of two people who had a pain to quell. And failed to do that. Her anger and sadness has leaked out of her as the years passed, as did mine. Our daughter may have found both."

Jorwen chuckled at that, "And yes, Leif. It is often hard for young men to realize there are many years ahead of them and not just the very moment they are in. If nothing else, you will learn to be at peace with yourself. Only then can another love you the way you deserve. Halla found it to be true, as did I. The ghosts of my past are still there, but I have learned to distance myself from the man I was. You are ever the better man than me, Leif. That I know from the stories men tell of your's and your Clan's name. Keep it so."

At the mention of Solveig being his daughter, a blossom of red coloured his cheeks like that of a blanket of poppys covering a grave in the spring. Why had he been such a fool? Oh woe upon him, and mercy befall him if Jorwen ever heard from his daughter's mouth the words he had said to her at Candlehearth Hall before knowledge of the Kamal's had blackened this world. Clearing his throat, he offered Jorwen a gracious smile. There was a deep comfort in his words, one that Leif had never heard before in his life. For his father and mother alike, Jorrlak and Sanja, dead they may be now, never spoke so soothingly to their son, and if they did, he was a lad too small to remember. "I am all that is left of my kin... Perhaps that is why I seek so strongly a family to make my own, so that my namesake will not be forgotten so easily, and like the Red-Bear, and even of the Huntress, my name too, will be sang in halls long after my passing. But come, I will keep your secret, as your wife is a good woman. You have a kind spirit Red-Bear, one that most must often over-look because of your name. If I may ask one favor of you tonight, as you have done me a great favor already by saving me from shame... Will you walk with me back to the inn, so that I do not lose my way, or fall down in a pile of manure to sleep?" Already, his head dropped with the heaviness of sleep, and his eyes closed slowly, tiredly. He would feel better in the morning, or wake with a crushing headache.

Jorwen's head leaned forward from looking up into the sky, a small smile on his lips, "I thank you for letting an old man talk and hopefully finding that some wisdom sticks. I think Halla and I have been together so long the news of another woman long dead would hardly phase her past punching my shoulder." He chuckled, "And of course, friend. I'll walk with you."

He stood and the two clasped each other by the wrist. Jorwen hauled the man up, not such an easy feat for the man's size and his sleepiness. The two walked in comfortable silence back towards the tavern. Jorwen could not say farewell to his friend and have him hear it, as he'd fallen asleep standing somewhere between the bench and the inn. He threw down what coin was needed for a room and laid the man down in the bed there, face-down lest he meet an end ingloriously choking on his own vomit. He lingered in the doorway, ruminating on their talk, and wondering if he'd ever have the strength to talk to his daughter like that. If he had the gall to, after so many years apart and absent. Jorwen had never tried to lie, and so he gave Leif his wishes for a heart at peace someday and meant it. He made his way feeling both tired after old hurts had come back to him and a small bit content that his words could help another instead of hurting them. Settling down and doing nothing these past days felt good, especially when they were with his wife. For more time than the quiet moments before the battle, Jorwen had been a man of peace. He hoped Leif would take his words of staying as good a man he could to heart.

It was for that reason, a bittersweet feeling came over him when he saw his friend, Do'Karth by his fire.

---

Sagax sat bitterly in a dark....well, more dark, area of the cave after the rest of the Falmer had been driven off. His loud pre-combat empowerment speech didn't seem too great any more, seeing as how he got shot directly afterwards. Is this what being a war-drummer in the Legion is like? You think you're an inspiration to your comrades but really you're just giving the enemy an easy target? He wasn't even sure if anyone bought it. He didn't hear any mocking laughter though, so at least it didn't make him look like an idiot. Sighing and leaning back, Sagax began to rest his eyes a little. The bit of cloth Farid gave him helped stop the bleeding of his wound, but his head still pounded for whatever reason. He couldn't wait to get back to Dawnstar, maybe he'd actually get a proper room. Sleeping on the floor again didn't sound too enticing at that particular point in time...oh come on, he wasn't even dreaming, and yet there that armored pile of bones was, staring at him.

"Go away, I'm not in the mood..." he said aloud, and they vanished. Well, at least the guy had some manners. Sagax probably wouldn't retain any great wisdom in his state. He also apparently was very unaware in his current state, as he didn't hear the tiny footsteps that made their way over to him moments before. That's nice, Sagax, now you look like an asshole to...someone. Who was it anyway? Looking forward at his visitor, he saw a familiar and welcome leather-clad Breton, arms crossed in mock-annoyance in response to his rude words, which to Sagax's credit weren't even meant for her.

"Oh, hi Roze. Sorry, was talking to my ghost advisor." Is what he would have said if he were utterly delusional. He settled with just the greeting part. "Oh, uh... hey Roze. How're you doing on this...absolutely magnificent day?" He sounded a little more cynical than he was actively trying to be, but hopefully Roze wouldn't be too off-put by his foul mood.

Raising one eyebrow in confusion, Roze's eyes darted to the wound on Sagax's forearm.

"Better than you, obviously. Also, I'm certain you'll change your mood when you see what I've got." Unfolding her arms with a dry smile, Roze walked over to Sagax, kneeling beside him and taking out two items from her nearby bag - one, a bottle. Two, bandages.

"Drink some of this - it's Dunmeri Sujamma, so it'll knock you out nice enough." She stated, handing it to him and she unravelled the bandages. One of the Khajiit had given them to her, as he tended to the wounded himself, she had offered to help out in some way. "I'm the current resident expert on arrow wounds, so you're in safe hands." She added with a light chuckle, glancing up at Sagax once again with a somewhat more worried glance. "You sure you're okay? You were way more happy after the Kamal incident, which was a lot worse than an itty-bitty arrow wound."

She was right. He got blown up back at Windhelm, this was nothing in comparison. "I don't know...I guess I feel like I didn't really accomplish much this time around. I mean, I got one Falmer, and then I was back down on the ground with an arrow wound. At least we managed to obliterate that Kamal ship, even if we got blasted ourselves." He took the bottle and looked at it almost worriedly. Seemed like he might be meeting with his new friend whether he was in the mood or not. At least Roze could deal with that accursed arrow wound, though. No doubt she'd do a better job of it than Farid. "Sorry about snapping at you, by the way. Didn't really hear you until you got really close, thought you were someone else." He swapped the Sujamma over to his other hand to set it down on a more even part of the cave floor. Instead, he nearly shattered it; his arm could barely hold it up, just enough to stop it from plummeting straight down to the ground. "Oh that's going to be a joy to work through...good thing I'm right handed!"

Taking the sujamma from him with a swift roll of the eyes, Roze gripped the cork with her teeth, spitting it out and smelling the liquor before taking a cautious sip. It was a curious flavour; sweet as honey, with a hint of spice and a definite punch of alcohol.

"Ooh, by Shor's sweet ass that tastes good." Holding Sagax's arm out as gently as she could manage, Roze carefully poured some of the alcohol over the wound. It wasn't perfect, but it would do to fight off some infection. Hopefully. "Look, don't put yourself down for getting hurt. For all you know, that Falmer you killed would have fatally stabbed me, or Sevine, or yourself. It wasn't a worthless act." These words were said in a soft, yet matter-of-fact tone. Roze wasn't going to be argued on this point; she wouldn't have Sagax feeling down just because some foul creature had pegged him so soon.

Placing the sujamma firmly back in Sagax's good hand, she began to wrap the bandages around the wound, making it as tight as possible without cutting off circulation. Sebastian was around the cave somewhere, helping the rest of the injured; she'd have him give Sagax's arm a blast of healing magic at some point before leaving.

"And I'm sure I can forgive you for your rude words - stressful times, after all." Speaking with an impish smile upon her face, she tied the bandage off as neatly as she could. It was far better than her first attempt of bandaging; it would likely last until Dawnstar. "As for this "someone else".... I'm going to be having words with that certain Redguard." Roze added, a steeliness coming to her eyes; she'd heard Farid in the cave. In fact, she'd heard plenty of the things he'd been saying recently, and quite frankly, she'd sooner have a conversation with the Cat-Kicker at the rate Farid was going. Perhaps he had to be taught a lesson by a small, angry Breton.

While the burning sensation of the alcohol on his wound wasn't exactly agonizing, it wasn't very pleasant either, getting an audible grunt out of Sagax at the very least. He opted to focus on Roze's words to help him ignore the stings and pangs in his arm as she wrapped the wound up. "Yeah...you're right, I suppose. The hero can't always get off scot-free, right?" he said jokingly. He knew he was no hero, just someone that could use a blade a bit better than his enemies. It felt good to help his friends, though, and didn't mind taking a hit in Sevine or Roze's place. Besides, one more scar to add, right? Another story, another victory.

Sagax dismissively half-waved with his open hand at the mention of Farid. "Don't bother with him, Roze, he's not worth your time. He's got a big mouth, and that's all." As much as he would have loved to see Farid get taken down a notch, the only thing that would come from Roze seeking retribution was trouble. With Farid, with Ashav, whoever. "If he ever does anything truly abhorrent, I'll deal with him myself, ya?"

Out of curiosity, Sagax held the bottle of Sujamma up and took in the liquor's scent. It was...strange, to say the least. Roze seemed to love the stuff, though, so it probably wasn't too bad. Speaking of good spirits, just as Sagax was thinking of having a taste of the Sujamma himself, he noticed that the air behind his Breton friend shimmered strangely. It appeared as though the specter had influence even in the far reaches of Skyrim, albeit very weak influence. They didn't seem capable of taking any definite shape, and they emitted no sound. Whatever mental link the spirit had with Sagax seemed to be greatly diminished in the waking world, as they made no attempt to speak to him. They just...stood there. For a moment, anyway; the shimmering ceased completely after he blinked. This was completely crazy! Or maybe Sagax was completely crazy. Should he tell Roze about his recent dream...? What harm could it do? The worst that could happen is that Roze would laugh it off as just that, a weird dream. He needed to tell someone lest he utterly lose his mind.

"Hey, Roze, can I tell you something? It's nothing intimate or anything, just want to share something real quick."

With her job all done - quite nicely, as she thought - Roze settled herself down more comfortably on the floor and shook her head in amusment.

"Aw, c'mon. You know I'll be more likely to get out of trouble than you - I'm all sweet, innocent and angelic remember?" The laughter in her expression dimmed somewhat at Sagax's next request; not in discomfort, certainly, but rather confusion. There he went, going all serious again.

"Sure, you can tell me anything, Sagax." She replied, curious as to what it was - and somewhat happy that he wished to share something - that was having some large impact on him - with herself.

"Great! Now, this is going to sound pretty crazy and...well, it is pretty crazy, but hear me out. Last night I had this wicked dream. I was back at Windhelm, about to fight that Kamal mage that gave us so much trouble, but just before it got a spell off, it just...disintegrated." Just to think, that's the normal part of it. "Behind the mage was some kind of swordsman; he turned the damn thing into ash with a single strike..." He went on to describe how the land transformed before his eyes, what the swordsman looked like, and the limited information the specter offered about itself.

"...then it told me that I should not be...what did it say? That I should not be fooled by fear? Yeah, something like that." Good thing Roze already thought he was unhinged, or else Sagax was sure she'd be running for the hills at that point. "...uh, anyway, I brought this up because well, one, it's super weird and I had to get this crap off my chest. Two....I think I just saw him right behind you. Gone now, though, so no need to freak out or anything!" Right, because that'll make her feel so much better. Could you be any more inappropriately nonchalant, Sagax?

Roze watched on in silence, an increasingly incredulous look growing on her face as he spoke. Dreams could be weird, sure - she'd had her fair share of odd ones, and even more about the Kamal incident (although those were more in the realm of terrifying than odd) - but having these dreams affect what you saw in the awake world?

"Uhh..." Roze hesitated before she spoke, not mentioning the sudden goosebumps that had appeared over her at the thought of some kind of ghostly dream guy standing behind her. "Well... at least he's not telling you to stab people in their sleep or something crazy like that." She joked weakly, unsure how to process the information. Certainly, Sagax seemed to be worried about the situation. Hells, anyone would be, unless they were insane. And despite Sagax's strange hobbies of blowing shit up and bareback riding monsters, she sincerely doubted he was losing his wits.

"So, can you like... talk to this guy? Ghost? Thing?" She asked after an awkward moment of silence between the two, hastily glancing behind her before looking back to Sagax.

"Well...kind of? We can converse when I'm dreaming, but when I'm awake I don't really feel his presence anywhere. In fact, what I just saw maybe have just been my imagination; there wasn't really anything solid there." Sagax rubbed his temples and seriously considered downing the entire bottle of Sujamma right there. "Sweet Mara I'm already talking like it's a fact...maybe it really was just a vivid dream? I mean, dreams sometimes have meaning, don't they, a kind of subconscious subtext? At least, that's what I remember reading back in my tutoring days. This guy really could just be a figment of my imagination." Why was that so hard for him to believe? Out of anyone, he should be able to convince at least himself, but it just wasn't happening. This world, Nirn, was a very strange place, with countless unsolved mysteries, and it's not like ghosts didn't exist; there were people that hunt the things for a living.

"I must sound fucking insane to you, Roze. Like, actually clinically insane." Rubbing his eyes, he was relieved to see nothing, and when he opened them again, all he saw was Roze. It was the stress, it had to be. The siege, the college rescue, the shipwreck, it was just getting to him was all. "I think when we get back to Dawnstar, I'm going to rent out an actual bed. Maybe some decent sleep will knock this crap out of my head. If it persists, then, well...I'm sure there's a priest somewhere I can go to. I apologize in advance for any nightmares!" he finished with a smile.

She had to admit, despite the ream of... unlikeliness that Sagax had just spouted, the prospect of a real, proper bed in Dawnstar was tantalising. Right now she'd make do sleeping on Sebastian, who'd likely grumble about it but wouldn't dare push her off.

"I've heard crazier stories Sagax. I grew up in Riften, remember? Man, some of the shit I heard there was unbelievable." Stopping herself before launching into a long tale of sorts, Roze grasped the bottle of sujamma and took another drink, this one a good heart swig before handing it back to Sagax. "Relax, I'm not planning on throwing you into an asylum at any time. Just... try and keep..." She paused, wondering what to say. Sane? Not hallucinating? "Look, just let me know if it happens again, or you need to talk about it anymore. You don't have to deal with this on your own." Standing up and brushing the dust from her trousers, she motioned towards the bottle in Sagax's hand with an amicable smile. "Keep a hold of that - it should help you get some decent sleep tonight. Ghost or no ghost."

It was a great relief to Sagax, hearing Roze offering up her support. He'd hate to chase away such a good friend with his crazed ramblings. "That means a lot Roze, thanks. I'll make sure not to completely hit rock bottom any time soon...I'm sure there's plenty more ships to blow up, and we'll need to be in top shape, I'm sure!" Lifting up the jug of oddly sweet-smelling liquid, Sagax drank a share large enough to make sure that he'd actually get some damn sleep; the spectral training could wait. Wouldn't you know it, when Sagax found a good enough spot to lie down, he slept without interruption. No dreams, no weird shimmering blotches of air, just some quiet down time. He didn't even think about all that nonsense. Sure, he felt a little dizzy when he woke up, but that was probably just the Sujamma. Alcohol has the tendency to pull those kinds of tricks on you.

Roze did not have quite as good a rest as Sagax - not nightmares, but insomnia. She was unable to sleep for a good long while, having only taken in a few hours of rest before the rising sun brought everyone to consciousness. Thankfully, the journey back to Dawn star was not a hard one, and at every stop they had along the wilderness, she caught up with her exhausation. It seemed the thought of having a bed to sleep in after so long was tricking her into thinking the cold grounds were comfortable.

Well.. perhaps not overly so, judging by the back ache.

Either way, by the time the group reached the markets in Dawnstar, Roze was in high spirits. The fun of the festival charged some mischief within her, and with with plenty of people milling about with bulging coinpurses, Roze felt they were ripe for the picking. The rich ones wouldn't complain that much, probably.

After successfully snatching a couple of coinpurses, Roze wandered around the different stalls, pondering what to buy, and of course, the location of her companions. Sebastian had gone off somewhere to send several letters of import to mages around the country, even the Mages Guild down in Cyrodiil. Last he visited them in Skingrad he was run out the city for some reason... but he had no doubt they would answer to his call for help upon hearing what had happened at Winterhold. As for her other fellows, Roze did not know. She'd been meaning to catch up with Sevine, to see just what was going on with Do'Karth and Leif. Perhaps Leif could use some company too. As for Sagax - well, she just hoped he hadn't followed his ghostly dream friend off a cliff edge or something.

Unfortunately, Sagax didn't have a great time making his way back to town. He had a decent night's sleep, but the wooziness continued further into the day, and he eventually had to take off his cloak; he just felt far too hot. He shook and sweat constantly, and almost tripping over himself several times. The sun also felt much brighter than usual...actually, everything seemed brighter, like he was staring into a candle or something.

"I'm never accepting any kind of drink from Roze ever again..." He severely regretted drinking that Sujamma. That's clearly what was causing his ills, of course. When the company finally got back to Dawnstar, the first thing Sagax did was find a bench in a relatively empty part of the market and sat down. His vision had begun to swirl and blur, and he felt incredibly nauseous. What a shame, he was looking forward to joining in the festivities, but his body was simply not agreeing with him. The sounds of the celebration were just noise and he paid no attention to anyone that passed him by, not even to Roze and her impish laughter brought on by a pocket well-picked.

"The 'path of the warrior' sucks..."

"Ah! Speaking of friends, there's one now." Obviously in a high mood, Roze made her way to Sagax with a bright smile, that only dimished as she got closer and saw him properly. His skin had become incredibly pale, and she could see the sheen of sweat on him from where she stood. Merriment abandoned, Roze tossed whatever pastry she had been munching on over her shoulder (It promptly hit one woman in the back of the head, but Roze was gone before she could even shriek in anger) and ran the rest of the way to Sagax.

"Sagax, what's wrong?! Have you been hurt again?" She asked in a panicked tone, kneeling in front of him and placing her hands on his shoulders - he looked ready to tip over at any second. What in Oblivion was it? Surely not his arm wound? It was just one Falmer arrow!

"Oh, crap. Falmer." She muttered, suddenly realising. How could she have been so damned dense?

Roze startled Sagax a fair bit, causing him to jump up a little out of his fevered stupor. "Hey Roze....I don't think the Sujamma agreed with me whatsoever. I feel...well, I feel like trash, I'll be honest with you." Oh gods there she goes again with the weird angel....blur...thing, but thankfully he wasn't quite delirious enough to make the same mistake again. He hadn't felt this awful since he first woke up on the docks after the bombing run...wait, what'd she say about Falmer?

"Why are the Falmer important? Pff, what, did they poison your liquor just to try and spite you?" Sagax said with oblivious sarcasm. Suddenly, he felt the urge to expel everything he ate in the past day or so. Leaning over to the side of the bench, he did just that. Oddly enough, that made him feel a little bit better...kind of...sort of. Not at all really. He didn't feel nauseous any more though. Still pretty awful, he wasn't going to lie.

Roze leant back slightly as Sagax emptied his stomach - silently thanking the Gods he'd leant over the side of the bench rather than straight on her.

"No you idiot, they've poisoned you! How strong do you think that Sujamma was to give you a two day hangover?!" She said in an exasperated tone, removing the water skin from her belt and handing it to him. "We need to get you to an apothocary or something... I'm so sorry Sagax, I should have realised those bastards would use toxins on their weapons." Roze felt awful about it - she'd grown up in Skyrim, she'd heard endless stories about the Falmer, even ran into them plenty of times herself. And yet she forgets something that could potentially kill her friend.
So much for my "expert medical skills." She thought to herself chidingly, standing up and attempting to get Sagax to his feet.

"Come on, let's get you some help." She said in as brisk a tone as she could manage to get the barely lucid Sagax standing, but it wasn't a tone she was used too - especially when upset.

Slowly getting up with the help of Roze, Sagax gave it his all to stand on his own two feet. He could manage it, but just barely. Before leaving for an apothecary, Sagax made several futile swipes at his cloak, which he left sitting on the bench next to him, but he was able to grab it eventually.

"Damn, I didn't know the Falmer used such terrible poisons..." This was the result of a single arrow, and it was affecting him this badly? If he had taken another one somewhere, he'd certainly be dead. Maybe, in a roundabout way, killing that Falmer and taking the one arrow was the best course of action, as it stopped him, and others, from taking several more. "Do not be fooled by fear." Those words rang in his head, and Sagax found a new understanding of them. If you let your fear of something get the better of you, your inaction simply gives it more time to affect you. Just strike them down, before they get the chance to do anything beyond scare you....or something like that. Maybe he'd run that by Roze later, whenever he stopped dying for a few seconds.

Looking up, he could feel Roze guiding him to some kind of building with a sign hanging over the front door. His vision was...messy, but he could sort of make out a bottle of some kind. Was that the apothecary? Maybe. Probably best to just leave that thinking stuff to Roze for the time being...

Raelyn waved her hands in what would probably look like some mystic gesture at a chair. The sailors and farmhands around her ooh'd and ahh'd. "Bajibolo!" The men started, leaping backwards.

Raelyn gestured to the chair, "Yordeck, if you please." Yordeck, a poor woodworker Raelyn had accosted into her venture, cautiously approached the chair in the manner one might approach a pit viper. He very gently sat down upon it, only to rocket to his feet in a yelp of pain. Raelyn placed a hand over her mouth, suppressing a laugh. The men around her kissed amulets of Talos and muttered some silent prayer of thanks.

One man, Jorvab, reluctantly handed Raelyn about twenty septims. Raelyn nodded in a haughty manner, "I hope you learned a valuable lesson about doubting the magicks a woman possesses."

Jorv protested, "But I don't see how you did it without producing some sorta, whats it called Yordeck?"

Yordeck said, "Rune, Jorv."

Jorv nodded, "Rune, right."

Raelyn winked, "A mage never reveals her secrets." Though she was sure that someone was about to discover her secret in a few moments and decided to use the excuse the Nine Divine had blessed mankind with at the very beginning. "Oh, excuse me a moment, I need to use the privy."

She sauntered off into a crowd of revellers. She had Yordeck, always the skeptic, yelling about pins and cushions far behind her. She was thankful that she hadn't planned to stay in Dawnstar for much longer. She had heard a certain ship had arrived from a certain little birdie that fed on coin. This birdie roosted at the docks in the twilight hours of late afternoon. It was a very talkative bird.

--------

Gordo threw several sacks into the back of a wagon. They clinked and clanked. The terrifying Altmer woman who paid him had said that they needed to have the sacks in the back of the wagon soon, for they were to leave in haste. The wagon rider didn't seem to be too concerned about what they were doing.

"Welp." he had said. "Not my business what they use my wagon for." and had continued smoking his pipe. Even when people fled poured past his wagon away from Windhelm, he'd shrugged. "Nothing that needs worrying."

Gordo shouted, "This bad! Are the horses ready?"

The Wagon Driver looked at his two horses. One was on the ground, sleeping, the other standing though possibly also sleeping. It was hard to tell with horses. "Yeah, I suppose."

There was a splashing sound in the river below. Gordo looked down, seeing a wet Vurwe forcing herself out of the frigid water ahead of them, nearer the end of the bridge. Gordo shouted, "Vurwe, wagon ready it is!"

The...THINGS that were destroying Windhelm began pouring from the main gates. Gordo cursed, "Driver, go!"

The Driver lazily slapped his horses lightly with a whip. This took a few tries. The horses begrudgingly awoke, lazily rose and began a slow trot.

"Faster!" Gordo shouted.

"You can lead a horse to water, but it ain't gonna sprint there."

A crossbow bolt flung past the driver and into the dirt ahead. "Welp." he said. "I suppose I could whip them harder." He did so with somewhat more enthusiasm.

As they flew at a speed that was a little slower than a man sprinting to the end of the bridge, Vurwe was seen cresting the hill. Gordo held his right arm out, "Lady, grab!"

Vurwe grabbed at the mans arms. She began to be dragged along the ground. She screamed, "Gordo, pull me in you lazy lout!"

Gordo heaved, pulling Vurwe into the wagon. She immediately scrambled to her knees, brushing her dress off and pounced upon the bags. She untied it, revealing several bars of varying materials they'd looted from a smithery. She grinned the wide grin of someone who knew a nearby mercenary troop of under-armed warriors and overworked blacksmiths.

---

They'd later stolen the Wagon while the rider was going to natures calling in some wood. They'd left behind one bottle of Alinor Vintage, a sum that Vurwe thought should be priceless to a man who lived driving wagons. The driver shrugged, "Welp, I guess I'll have to get my wagon back." He flicked his right hand and it crackled with power. He walked along what he hoped was a path worn by humans and not bears.

---

At the festival, Vurwe was busy talking to some local historian about the Dark Brotherhood. "So." she said in a hushed whisper. "They just kill people? With no payment?" The man shrugged, "Some think the payment might be the act itself, but surely they must have some income."

Vurwe leaned in, "Have they ever killed, lets say, a Duke?"

The man looked side to side, then whispered, "Some say they killed Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Really?" Vurwe said.

"Possibly."

Vurwe considered this. "Think I could contact them?"

"Well, I can't tell you how to do that, but! There's some tales going around about the practice. Why, I have this book..."

Vurwe ignored him and gestured to Gordo, who was singing in a uncharacteristically beautiful voice and playing some rowdy Nordic diddy. Unfortunately he degenerated to his malformed Tamrielan as he spoke, "Gordo don't want to go! Music make drunk women want Gordo!" he gestured at his huge, rotund form, "And who wouldn't? Gordo handsome!"

Vurwe looked at his troll-like face, "Me."

Gordo frowned, "You not good friend."

"I'm honest. Would a friend lie to you?"

"Yes."

"Well I won't. Now lets hurry, I heard the mercenary company returned. One of those degenerates has to know how to summon a Dark Assassin guild. I bet they kill eachother for sport."

Cilo was annoying, for sure – but at the very least, he was a very handy fellow, and his baselessly high opinion of Sadri meant that the Dunmer could occasionally (as to not overuse the lad’s trust) make use of him. The bottle of flin he had gotten from the lad was small, but he still had some of the liquor left in his drinking skin. Enough for two, at least. Two. Sadri thought of an appropriate partner for himself to spend the rest of the night with, someone that he felt he could relate to, someone he felt close to. There were plenty of people enjoying themselves thanks to the festival – and he had gotten his fair share of conversation from that woman they called the Huntress, Sevine – but somehow he still felt alone.

‘’Solveig.’’

Right. How had he forgotten about her? The youthful, lively Nord, strong, yet bearing a conflict, a melancholy in her eyes – a melancholy that gave her depth, at the very least in Sadri’s eyes. Sadri had been drawn to few people like her in the past; two of them were definitely dead, and he had not seen the other in decades. Sadri took a gulp of flin to wash away creeping thoughts of the girl being less than half his age, and also being likely to die in his lifetime. He had wasted a lot of opportunities to be happy. He did not want to waste another.

Sadri wandered far and wide through the streets to find the lass, silently moving through the crowds who were far too cheerful and preoccupied to notice the sad, battered Dunmer. In the end, he found her not far from where he had started his journey – sitting by the tavern door, alone. The sight filled Sadri’s stomach with warmth, one that also hurt bitterly, as if it came from coals. Sadri smiled faintly, and painfully.

‘’Hey,’’ Sadri spoke as he slowly sat down next to the girl. For a moment there was silence – silence, that he felt, could last forever (and for a part of Sadri, it did), but even in this silence he felt a degree of joy. At least, there she was, radiant in her glory, reeking of life, with all the good and evil that entailed it. Sadri could not explain his fondness for her. Perhaps some things did not need explanation. He felt like he could just enjoy the moment, despite the bitter feeling in his stomach.

‘’Alone?’’ The Dunmer asked, offering a bottle of flin to the girl. Perhaps it was inappropriate, but with the sort of life Sadri had led so far, it felt good enough – plus, it seemed, she wasn’t the sort of girl to take bouquets of flowers and ballads. For all Sadri knew, he had put himself in the offer. But this sincerity and submission in the act was likely subtle enough to not be noticed by anyone, except Sadri himself.

Solveig had not noticed Sadri walk out of the crowd to sit next to her. It was these moments that she realized she did not notice much besides that woman's face, that child's cries from the rubble and the soft resistance of the old woman's neck her knife felt. She was tired of remembering. It was at one point a way for her to punish herself in a way, remembering was, but now the thoughts and memories came of their own volition like a parade of sin. She only heard Sadri speak one word, 'alone?' and she nodded. She was, or at least she felt it to be true. She folded her arms around herself and sighed, "Are you well?" She remembered how he'd come to what they both thought was her rescue, for all they knew. Like Do'Karth, she felt a strange tug towards Sadri each time he was around, but Sadri's was that bit stronger.

It wasn't the graceful sharpness of his ears, it wasn't his scarred, but still handsome jaw, nor was it all the warrior in her looking at his scars, his missing limb or his lost ear. It was just there. Asking her how it came about would warrant the same response a farmer would give if asked why the sun fell and the moons rose after. The mer was more than twice her age, but age to a mer was nothing. At least, she told herself that. "I mean it. Between you and I, we make a solemn pair. Even in the Company." She took the bottle of flin and gulped it down. She was surprised how her throat closed around it and she put the back of her hand to her mouth, speaking in a hoarse whisper, "I guess us living through a siege and chased by a mob of lizardfolk will do that." She coughed, realizing she was yammering almost.

Sadri had been caught unaware by Solveig’s question – perhaps it was because she was the one who asked it, but her asking him the question he had avoided to the best of his ability in life, now that caught the Dunmer off guard. Was he well? Sadri sighed. It was a damn good question, he had never thought about it because he knew the answer. He was not. He was a wreck, one who had exhausted his body, mind and options at such a young (!) age. He had, over the years, devolved into a simple element of violence, a thug. Worse yet, he was accustomed to it.

He tried to open his mouth, wave off the question with a sarcastic answer, but Solveig insisted. Sadri stood still, his hand still holding the flin in an offer, and then she took it with a flick of her hand and took a gulp of the bottle. Sadri’s reaction to this was delayed by a few seconds, surprised by her insistence, and, admittedly, appreciative of it. He had seen his fair share of his sort – her sort, too – in life, bearers of melancholy. Few had asked him about it, few had let him know that they knew too. Indeed, they were a solemn pair. Had he not been staggered by the question, he would have felt happy about her mention of them being a ‘pair’. But right now, he felt pained, and also relieved, by someone, someone he felt was dear at that, proving that they knew him well enough to see his secret from his face, like a nail getting removed from flesh.

‘’I guess us living through a siege and chased by a mob of lizardfolk will do that.’’

Sadri chuckled, and took a breath.

‘’I expect that you know better than I, this is beyond that.’’ He hunched forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. Might as well face it.

‘’I can see it in your eyes, Solveig. At least, I think I see it. Way I see it, you bear a burden. I say so, because so do I. One isn’t solemn solely because of extraordinary events. On the contrary, I would say it is the base decisions of man and mer that often lead to this state of mind.’’

Sadri sighed. This was practically a mental disembowelment of himself – ripping his guts out, revealing it for all to see. Or perhaps it was more of a mental ritual sacrifice out of the proceedings of a twisted religious ceremony, with the most private parts of his being revealed to those deemed worthy.

‘’I’ve done some sad shit in my life. I’ve lived long enough to learn that regretting the acts don’t help. What I do regret is how I’ve spent myself. I may not be old for a mer, Solveig. But I’ve seen seven decades of life. And yet here I am, risking my life for a bunch of coins and a hot meal, killing people over such matters. After all this time, you can’t help but ask ‘what for?’ It wasn’t because of tragedy that I am in my state, it wasn’t unpreventable fate, I wasn’t changed from my core – it was solely my own doing, a gradual debasement of who I could have been.’’

He took the bottle of flin from Solveig’s hand, and took a sip. This was hard stuff for him, and likely, she felt like she had to ‘leave because of most pressing matters’. Although he expected she wouldn’t take off with such a petty lie. She was strong enough to tell him the truth, at least.

‘’Look at me. I’m lamenting over things in the past. But thing is, Solveig, it’s not that I’m not satisfied with where I am. I’m not satisfied with how I am. I’m not happy.’’

Sadri took a pause. He needed it, and she needed it, he figured.

‘’I speak of this to you, because I feel you are alike – that we share a common bond in this. We may not have done good things, we may not be satisfied with our lives, but don’t we deserve to be happy?’’

And Sadri leaned back against the wall, waiting. It was the moment of truth. He hoped the truth wouldn’t hurt.

Solveig opened her mouth and her lips stayed parted for a while, until a sigh smoked out on the air and she closed her mouth again. Her heart was aching, and that dull pain was a cage around her chest that prevented her from taking a good breath lest it turn into a quivering sob. Did she deserve to be happy? She could say no, she could spite herself for the murderer she'd become, but if that meant she wouldn't earn a Name, she wouldn't be able to make her father settle down next to mother, that she wouldn't be sitting next to Sadri... Did she deserve to be happy? She took the bottle and swigged again, feeling the burn, and again. "My father used to say that men don't often get what they deserve." She said, then glanced sidelong at Sadri, "But piss on that. I've always had it that if the world told me I should not, I would. And gladly, laughing all the way."

A fierce smile crossed her lips, a ravenous twinkle in her eye, but it was short-lived. The words lost their meaning and were hollow boasts after all. Her smile faded, she didn't want Sadri to see what everyone else saw. She would earn a hard Name, but hard words were for fools and cowards. Sadri didn't need hard words anymore than she did. "But you're right." She said in a meek half-whisper, and her heart began to stammer, "In the siege, I did things just to escape with my life. I felt like a mangy cur biting at its brothers for a moldy apple core in the gutter. A woman asked me to help her child trapped in the rubble and I pushed her away." The breath caught in her throat and she bit her lip, she felt a tear race down her cheek and she turned away from Sadri to wipe it off, "I'm here. They're not. I haven't been doing well under the weight of all that, Sadri."

"Good people do good things and I have not done many good things." Solveig sighed, gathering herself, "I want to be happy regardless of whether I deserve it or not. I guess." She stood, her arm emerging from the front of her cloak with an offered helping hand at the end, her cloak kept tight with her other, "I hate crowds. Come walk with me."

Sadri sat still, eyes blank on the horizon, as Solveig confided in him about the things she’d done. Despite what her words entailed, Sadri was happy that she was able to open up to him – show the conflicted interior underneath the outlook of a hardy warrior-woman. After all, being able to be unhappy with someone was still better than being unhappy alone. When Solveig stood up, face bitter and eyes gleaming wet, he felt scared for a moment, thinking she would be leaving, but then he noticed her arm sticking out of her cloak, and felt a tinge of relief even in the grim mood. Sadri took her hand, grasping tightly, and pulled himself up. He could see the leftover moisture from a swept-away tear on her face. The sight alone made his chest burn, but he did not show.

He began following Solveig, walking away from the crowd, and kept silent for a while, breaking the silence a minute or so later, for there was a certain beauty even in her silent sorrow (although acknowledging this made him hate himself because of his selfishness), and more importantly, one often needed silence to think clearly when trying to attain peace with oneself. He did not want to deny Solveig that.

‘’I would say that our regrets are enough of a punishment for us to deserve happiness,’’ he said, walking alongside her as he spoke. His face and mind had placated to one that of complete defeat, complete acceptance, and perhaps even complete submission. He felt like the flattened ruins left after the destruction of a civilization, silent, still, destroyed, but ready to begin anew. There was a certain peace in this certain state of mind of his. He felt accepted as the wreck he was when with her. It was in this acceptance that he found serenity, and gratitude. Deep down, he wished that she would also let go, release her floodgates, and just show herself, her true self to him. Looking at her face, he wanted her to see that he would accept her for who she was, let her feel relieved, just as she made him feel.

They walked for a quiet while. So quiet and so long they stayed, that Solveig was terrified of Sadri rejecting her. Of Sadri casting her away for the lowly rat of a murderer she was. Each moment was one that tore a hole in her heart and so when Sadri finally did speak, she stopped walking altogether. Her head hung low and she brushed aside her hair from her face and looked Sadri in the eyes, "Truly?" She asked, almost a whisper, "Then why do I still feel like this selfish whipped cur of a woman? Should the Gods not see it has been enough torment these weeks past and given me some reason to be happy?"

She looked Sadri up and down and met his gaze. The two stood silently, well away from the crowds or the town itself, even. Solveig's arms were wrapped around herself under her cloak as she looked to the side, "Do you not see me as a selfish rat forsaking others' lives for her own?"

His silence stung deeper than anyone else's she had met. She had met many men, talked to them, even bedded them when she had needs or they had charm... but Sadri's words, for whatever reason, were the ledge she held on to over the roiling, spitting waves. She saw much of her same pain in those eyes of his. He had enough sins as much as he did scars, and Solveig's hurts and sin dragged her and willed her to meet his own. Her lip quivered and her voice was low and hoarse and just a small bit pleading for him to say something that would lift her from the river she was drowning in for long days, "Answer me." She said, and unfurled her arms and let them fall straight at her side, waiting for the poisoned arrow of Sadri's words to pierce her, the blurry film of tears accruing in her eyes, "Do you not see me so?"

She let a tear roll down her cheek and then another, "Your small words tell me everything. At each turn, Sadri, the Gods deny me happiness! My own father did not love me enough to stay at home for more than a day or two, so don't think me weak enough to lay bedridden at your answer! I stood the absence of one man I needed, I chased my father with the help of a good man I wanted for my own and he died far away from my arms! Twice, I've felt the barbs of absence from men I needed, I won't be struck down by your abse-" She clamped her teeth shut. She wanted so much to run away like the little girl she felt like, but only had the strength to look away and cover her mouth with a trembling hand. She stayed silent, bit her lip to remain so, and she dropped to cross her legs while sitting and rested her back against a tree. "I..." She took fistfuls of her trousers, "I feel as if I'm drowning, Sadri. To choose between letting the current take me or fighting towards the shore... I'm set on either choice every other day."

Sadri looked at Solveig, thinking of finding an answer to her questions that both would not be a lie, but also not hurt her. If he could, he would wrap her up, convince her that it was all just a dream. On the other hand, he knew well that crying was a means of relief – and, as much as it pained him to see it, she needed her share of crying, to save herself from the constant clutches of regret. ‘’Tears wash away your sins,’’ a wandering priest of Mara in Bergama had once said to Sadri, while he was a librarian. Its true meaning dawned upon Sadri in moments such as these. Every tear on her cheek was like a new wound for Sadri, only they hurt deeper than steel ever could.

‘’Look,’’ Sadri said as he squatted next to her, although standing taller as if he was trying to shield her from something. ‘’I wouldn’t leave you, or look down upon you, for what you have done in the past.’’ He felt like ripping his flesh off, wrapping it around her, protecting her that way, such was his intensity. ‘’Whatever you might have done, I will not say that it was the right thing – but I will say, it was the human thing. It's alright.’’ He took a breath, although it hurt to do so, just as it hurt to do anything else at this moment.

Sadri’s good eye became blurry with a thin layer of tears – it had been two decades since his eyes had done such a thing, if you didn’t count some of his contemplative mornings, and this burned his eyes, his brain. He could feel a very great, very powerful flame burning his insides, cleansing his insides – it hurt, his head felt like it could burst any second, and his bad eye was practically filled with blood, but at the same time, he felt that much closer to absolution.

‘’You are strong, Solveig. You may have wronged, but you are human still. Your tears are testament to that.’’ He took a breath. ‘’You can cast this punishment off yourself. If the Gods don’t give you happiness, you can take it from them. You can let go.’’

He paused for a moment. He lifted her chin, and smiled the best he could. She deserved that, at the very least. An accepting smile.

‘’We can let go.’’

He wished to cry his eyes out, cry and scream like crazy, until he was empty of all his baggage. He wished she would do the same.

Solveig listened to Sadri's words. They didn't help anything by themselves, but his presence was good. That was all she needed, she guessed. When Sadri lifted her chin, her cheeks felt like fire and she knew she was blushing. It's the cold, she'd say, but instead she said nothing as she looked into Sadri's one good eye. He was not the beauty Finnen was, her mentor in Markarth, nor did he speak the awkward but heartfelt poetics that Leif did. Even so, every part of him, inside and out was genuine. She thought so, and that was all that mattered. She snaked her fingers around his hand, a smile creeping across her lips and breaking the run of tears down her face. This was the first time she truly smiled for a long time, a genuine smile, not one of spite or a fierce baring of teeth to scare an enemy into submission. A sad, tired one, but a genuine one all the same. Thank you? Yes, we can? I want to? What was there to say to that?

She admired him, her lips parted, not knowing what to do. She'd never been spoken to so tenderly, not by any suitor, only Finnen. And even then, she'd never declared her feelings for him. How does one do that? With one hand on their breast and head upturned, bellowing it for the Gods to hear? Or a whisper, noses almost touching? Does it need to be, or do they just know? "Sadri..." She whispered, bottom lip quivering.

She knew not what to do now. But as a sob welled at the back of her throat, she let it out in a whimpering sigh, looking down with her eyes closed and baring her teeth, she drew in a breath, "Then we'll take it from the Gods." She said, regarding the mer with a sad smile of her own.

She patted the earth beside her, beckoning him to sit next to her. She did not want to leave this spot, for the world and its happenings were but an interruption, the buzzing of flies. All the world that mattered was here and now. She desperately hoped that Sadri felt the same, she wanted him to be happy as much as she wanted it for herself and a selfish part of her wanted Sadri to be happy with her. When he sat, she asked in a low voice, "I've two questions," She cleared her throat, "Do you still have your Dunmer whiskey, and will you tell me of your scars?"

Sadri smiled back at Solveig as her expression slowly turned to one that of happiness, despite her tears. He could feel her fingers atop his own hand on the ground, her heat burning against his flesh. It was a good feeling, he felt like he could give his good hand forever to her, just so the sensation could stay. As she agreed to take happiness from the yoke of the Gods, the flame that he had been feeling burn him up inside blazed up white hot, eat away all the creeping thoughts and regrets inside his mind, inside his flesh, and turn them into ash and soot to be absorbed and made into something new. After all, some of the rarest, most beautiful flowers grew only after fires, through the ashen soil.

Sadri sat down next to Solveig, his mind and body refreshed, as if reborn, thanks to her agreement to take happiness from the Gods’ yoke. In a small portion of his mind, for the rest was dedicated exclusively to her, he could see his past, all his deeds good and bad, in clarity, in acceptance. At this moment, he was happy, happier than he had been in decades, and thus, his past deeds felt worthy and with purpose for once, for they had all led him to this moment.

He smiled at Solveig as she spoke, a heartfelt gleam in his eyes, a flame that burned the most intense when he looked at her. ‘’Yes to both,’’ Sadri answered, his voice soothing his own throat and mouth as it left through his lips, and unstrapped the skin of flin hanging off his belt. To him, the drink was unnecessary, for her presence gave him more joy than all alcohol could bring. ‘’But I will hear of your scars, when I am done.’’ Putting the container between them, Sadri began to speak, translating to her the coded epitaphs and memoirs grafted upon his skin by steel and magick. His entire story.

Her feet were light as she strode, nay, sprang, away from Do'Karth, as were her heart. She walked with purpose, one that guided her through the masses of bodies, searching for Sadri Beleth. She had thanked Do'Karth, and now she had to pay her respects to the Dunmer. Were it not for the two of them, she surely would have succumbed to the mandibles of the chaurus. She sought high and low for Sadri, even going as far as to venture inside Windpeak Inn, which proved difficult to navigate through, as there were many people drowning themselves in the ale and mead alike. Leaving no stone unturned, so to speak, she made sure she searched for him thoroughly, even checking below the tables to make sure he wasn't sound asleep, or passed out in some dark corner. When she did not find him, Sevine left Windpeak Inn, and began her search outside. She passed by Asper, to check upon him, and found that the children had now left, after decorating him with a great big snowberry wreath, while his tail and mane were braided with brilliantly colored ribbon. After a reassuring pat, she left him to munch on the grass, and carried on with her search.

As she entered the lower portions of the bay, near the docks, Sevine was surprised to see that several competitions were arranged, javelin throwing, archery, even a ring where many people were gathered in a circle. Drawing near, she realized that those gathered in the circle were watching a mock duel, where combatants attacked one another with wooden swords. And then, she spotted him. Sidling around so that she came to stand next to him, Sevine noticed that his red eyes were focused on the dueler's while his mouth busied with a bowl of whale stew. "Sadri Beleth?" She asked, making certain that it was him. While she did not know many one-armed Dunmeri men, she did not want to make a mistake.

"It has been some time, hasn’t it?"

The Whaler’s Festival had brought a bouquet of good memories of the past, and with them, a dreadful sense of time lost, for Sadri. When was the last time he had seen this? How many decades ago? The taste of whale stew, while invigorating, also made him shiver on his spot. All this time somehow felt wasted. He wasn’t happy. Yes, he wasn’t happy – that was proof enough that his time was wasted. His body, wasted, his mind, wasted. "A waste." He needed to buy a water pipe – but did they even craft those in this backwards fishing town? Better to just focus on the duelists.

Children. There were children around, running with joy, unblemished thanks to their native ignorance – Sadri remembered once being like them, but by now, all that remained of those days were his parents, ancient relics of days gone by. "I should not have been a mer," Sadri thought to himself. Indeed, had he been a man, he would not have had the time to contemplate on a waste of seven decades – he would have been too old to care. Did it not dawn upon any mer at all, just how horrifying a curse it was to live so long? Here he was, with seven decades of memories, yet he was supposed to be young. How could one be young with the weight of such memories?

‘’Sadri Beleth?’’

For a moment, the Dunmer expected a sudden stab to the chest by some long-forgotten foe, for that’s how Sadri would have done it (he had not forgotten Dumhuvud), but when he turned to face his fate, he was instead pleasantly disappointed by the sight of Sevine, one they called the Huntress – an emotional, almost romantic young woman. Sadri vividly remembered of her arguing with members of the Dawnguard, despite crossbows aimed at her.

‘’Sevine?’’ Sadri asked back, although it was obvious it was her. ‘’Here to watch the lads?’’ He pointed absent-mindedly at the duelists, surprised by the woman’s presence.

At the mention of coming to watch the duelists, Sevine's gaze shifted to watch the fighters engaged in a rough spat, wooden swords made dull thunks as the men came together, parried, and then separated, sweat causing their faces to shine in the setting sun.

"Actually, as much as I would like to, no. I came to speak with you. The pleasure of doing so has evaded me for sometime, and I wish to amend that. I wish to thank you, for coming to my aid in the cave. Were it not for you, I would have succumbed to that hideous chaurus in the end." She said.

Recalling that fateful encounter in the caves, she had forgotten the fact that he had been pierced by an arrow of the Falmer, and so her eyes wandered over his good arm, but did not see any visible problems, although they could have been underlying just as well. "How does your arm fare? The arrowhead, was it not poisoned?"

Sadri gave a tired smile as Sevine mentioned her gratitude for him saving her in the caves. Of course, having been slouched by the relaxation of the festival after days on duty, Sadri waited well after she finished speaking. Had he no shame, he could easily pass as the grouchy old man; perhaps he really did have no shame and just unabashedly gripped onto the old card thanks to seven decades of life, despite the youthful body, but he conveniently threw that thought in his mental meat grinder.

True to his expectations, Sevine was not done speaking, and asked him about his arm, for it had caught an arrow from the long-degenerated descendants of the Snow Elves. Sadri smacked his lips, subconsciously too caught up in the old man act. ‘’Well, Sevine, I appreciate your thanks, but I don’t think it was anything worth mentioning. We’re soldiers, our job is to cover one another,’’ Sadri said slowly.

‘’As for the arrow, well, I was lucky enough that the arrow did not manage to pierce my skin. Back in Hammerfell, warriors wear quilted coats with a lining of silk to keep themselves safe from the heat, and arrows. I don’t leave home without it,’’ Sadri said as he patted the thick, although admittedly soft looking coat underneath his vest. ‘’Although the coat of mail I got from Edith must have also helped.’’

As the older Mer spoke, she returned the favor, as he had done, and listened to him speak. A light smile came to her lips, relieved to hear that he had not suffered the same fate as Leif. "Edith is a good woman, she will do her best to see our needs as quartermaster. We have known each other since we were babes sucking our thumbs." She said, her voice unusually soft, despite the damage to her vocal chords, as if reflecting on some long forgotten dream of nostalgia that Sadri could not see.

"As a matter of giving thanks, whether or not they are warranted, is to each their own. It is something I have always done, even in the war. It was... a way of bonding with my fellow comrades when I did not communicate with them as frequently." She fell quiet for a time, standing in weary silence as her eyes surveyed the duel before them. There were several spectators that had gathered round to watch. It appeared that the opponents were the blacksmith and a festival visitor, for he was large in all aspects, girth, height, and the thickness of his hands and legs, while the other was considerably smaller, and younger. They lunged, and they parried, avoiding serious knocks to the head with ducks and vicious swings to the knees. Suddenly, the blacksmith gained the upper hand in the duel, for his opponent had worn himself out with his quick footwork, and perhaps had under-anticipated the blacksmith's stamina. With a swipe, the blacksmith landed a crack on the youth's hand bearing his wooden sword. He cried out in evident pain, that would leave a sweltering bruise, no doubt, and dropped his sword. After declaring the blacksmith the winner of that match, the judge, the one that monitored the fight for fairness, made an announcement.

"Who dares to step into the ring, and try their hand? Do we have any volunteers? Any that wish to test their strength and wit, to earn the right to boast? Come now! Only the most valiant warriors will do!"

Sadri smiled faintly when Sevine revealed to him that she and Edith were childhood friends. It made him happy to hear that people had such long-lasting companionships, but also it made him jealous deep inside, for in his life he had lost many close friends, often to petty disagreements, arguments, violence, old age, or just plain misfortune.

‘’That’s quite nice, you and Edith. Friendships can be hard to keep these days, although yours should not be a surprise, with your intent to keep your bonds with your companions close. It is a rare quality.’’

"Indeed... My family have been taken from me in untimely ways, my mother in childbirth as she bore me my only sibling, and my father when I returned from the war. Some may say, that while my friends are few and far between, I do hold dear the value of those friendships, for were it not for them, I would have no one to speak to. And that, that is but a lonely path to walk." Whether Sadri heard her or not, for her voice came but a whisper, she knew that she spoke the truth, and part of her did feel heart-broken. There were times when she greatly yearned to see the smiling face of her mother, to bury her face in the warm bosom that held her dear in tender embraces, and to hear the voice of her father, to hear how he laughed with a great roar, or sat beside the hearth fire puffing on his pipe, his eyes cast downward into the flames, as if drawn into deep thoughts. Even now, she yearned to see the face of her sister, Liliana. How did she fare with her new husband? Was she with child yet? Had she changed at all?

In the heat (was it a heated conversation, even?) of the conversation, the mock duel had ended in the favor of the burly man, which had come off as no surprise to the Dunmer, for bigger people were usually better at bashing things, and wooden swords obviously did not have the equalizing sharp edges of their metallic brothers. Sadri looked at the judge of the fight beckon for more fighters, and then looked back at Sevine. As far as he knew, she had earned some fame as the Huntress in these lands, a renowned fighter. Sadri’s expression lightened somewhat.

‘’So, Sevine, what do you think about these duels? Ever partake in one?’’ He asked, one part of him not wishing to get involved in an unnecessary fight, and the other part of him itching for some youthful action.

At his question, for the shouting of the judge had not broken her thoughts, Sevine blinked slowly, as if hearing him speak for the first time. The corners of her lips twitched upwards into a hint of a smile, one that felt relieved to let go of such distant thoughts. "Aye... Aye, those were childish things of the past in the fondest days of my youth gone-by. It would be a worthy challenge, Sadri, to face you in such a duel. What say you? Shall we step forth, and give our hand a try? Mayhaps show these whelps how real warriors face one another? It would be good sport nonetheless, and nothing foul ever came of raising the blood flow to the heart, eh?"

‘’It is a lonely path indeed,’’ Sadri muttered with a solemn tone as his mind traveled to distant lands of sorrow for a moment. His parents were alive, at least, but for how long had he not seen them? He remembered the letter he had penned when in Windhelm, and the fact that he had been unable to get it sent. He figured he had to handle it, sooner or later, for he did not want to lose another tie to his better days in life.

However, when the Huntress actually went ahead and offered a duel for him, Sadri could not help but smirk in a youthful manner. In truth, Sadri had no theoretical knowledge of martial arts. His was more of years of accumulated experience and practice, often learned the hard way, as his wounds could attest. Nonetheless, if she were the Huntress, then she was worthy of facing the mer who had once risen to minor infamy amongst the Altmer in Valenwood as the Ashen Porcupine. Plus, perhaps the adrenaline rush could help him momentarily forget his freefall in life.

‘’Nothing foul, except a heart attack,’’ Sadri mused in reply to Sevine’s comment on the rush of fighting, and then moved into the ring after stripping off his thicker garments. Taking a wooden imitation of a sword, slightly curved seemingly thanks to constant battering against its tip, Sadri nodded for Sevine.

‘’As challenger, you have the right to first blow,’’ Sadri mused in a satirical tone, as he spaced the gap between his legs slightly wider for easier movement, his good hand holding the wooden sword in a readied manner.

A hush fell over the crowd, and as Sadri and the Huntress came to stand within the ring, there were audible whispers from the onlookers. "Isn't that Sevine the Huntress?" said someone hidden amongst the gathered people. "Aye, it be her. See the color of her hair? Red as blood. Some say it is from so many foes she slaughtered in the war." Someone replied. "This will be a good show! Do you think that Mer has a chance? He's only got one arm, I say." Came another.

She did not strike at first, for she appeared to either be lost in deep thought, or at least studying her opponent with a great severity. The image remained fresh in her mind how Sadri sprang into action back in the caves. What these people didn't know, or understand, was that despite the lack of a limb, Sadri was still a formidable Mer. Mimicking his stance, with legs parted, she drew up her sword in her right hand, and held it ready. Her eyes glinted in the sinking evening sun, like that of a predator's gleam when stalking prey in the underbrush of the forest. And so she sprang forth, unexpectedly, not a word did she utter, and thrust the sword between Sadri's legs in an attempt to strike him on the inner portion of his thigh.

Sadri was happy that Sevine had taken his offer of striking the first blow, for he preferred to stay on the defensive until he earned a certain familiarity with his opponent’s moves, and also make good use of the advantage of tiring them out. A strike between his legs was unexpected, definitely, and Sadri felt that the parrying window of his sword would be too limited to effectively deflect it, and thus, he hopped back on his two legs, covering enough distance to dodge the hit. He swung a strike in Sevine’s direction immediately as his legs settled back on the ground, although he did not expect for it to actually connect with Sevine – it was merely a bait of frustration for her to take, make her unable to think, keep her distracted.

She gave a short cry, more of a laugh really, for Sadri was more nimble than he let on. Ducking beneath the swipe of his sword, Sevine lunged again, this time thrusting her sword towards his ribs, right where his absent arm should have been.

The Dunmer, however, flicked the wrist of his weapon hand to his side to counter, and thus, instead of a grunt after a strike upon flesh, a cracking sound after a clash of wooden swords filled the air. Flicking his wrist back, Sadri swung the practice sword in his hand underneath Sevine’s extended arm and against her belly.

How he countered her incoming blow, she would never know. Perhaps it was the years of experience that had prepared him for such an attack, after all, Sadri's body held scars like that of a canvas painting. Or at least from what she could see. The edge of the wooden sword had found its mark. She yelped in surprise, not from pain, and sprang backwards. There may be a small bruise by morning come on the morrow, for the thickness of her leather armor reduced the impact of the blow. Of course, had the blade been one of metal make, instead of wood, she would have suffered gravely. During the voyage to the college, her chainmail had disappeared from her rucksack, even her steel helm had seemed to grown a pair of legs and vanished. Now this blow reminded her that she was without the comfort and protection.

Switching the sword from hand-to-hand and back again, Sevine decided to Sadri take the initative and make an attack. She had no idea how her opponent moved or attacked, and she would not wear herself out on brute force. Whether she assumed that with his lack of appendage, that he could not assail her properly, proved wrong.

"Come then, Master Beleth, and show me how great your skills are." It was not a taunt, nor a jest, but an open invitation to strike first.

Sadri didn’t like the notion of having the initiative in a battle, for it meant that he had to strike true, lest he get punished. He preferred to simply counter his opponent, but he could not insist for his adversary in a duel to keep attacking now, could he?

‘’As you wish,’’ Sadri replied, and then moved forward, closing the distance between them. Only, he did not strike at sword distance, but came closer, pulling his sword downwards against Sevine’s face at close distance, while his right foot went forward to hook itself behind Sevine’s.

Sevine had little time to counterattack Sadri's swift approach, she had to admit, he was a nimble fellow. She saw the oncoming blow of his sword, and ducked her head to avoid a blow that would leave a nasty mark. Bringing the pommel of the sword into his side, she had not noticed his foot so carefully placed. She stumbled backwards in a splay of limbs after trying to back way.

Upon seeing Sevine stumble upon the ground, Sadri immediately stepped upon her sword and pointed the tip of his weapon at her face to finish the duel. ‘’I suspect this should be enough,’’ he said to Sevine after a moment, dropping his sword and offering his arm to pull her up. It felt good to see that he could still hold her own against someone more than rabble – perhaps even made him feel slightly valuable, even.

Defeated by a Dunmer would have aroused rage from a typical Nord, especially in a man. But Sevine was neither typical nor a man, so with a smile on her lips, she accepted the outstretched hand by Sadri, and pulled herself onto her feet, dusting the seat of her trousers off. A murmur rumbled through the group of onlookers, some saying that Sadri had won his way by using tricks, and others muttered that maybe The Huntress wasn't what she used to be anymore. The judge of the duel declared Sadri the winner, and Sevine felt a sense of humility, not in a bad way, so to speak, but a feeling of gratefulness. Sadri could have done worse, he could have broken some bones, but this was not a fight to the death, but simply a game that children played, now by adults in lay of festivities.

"You honor me, Sadri Beleth. You have shown me more than I knew to be true of you." Here, she clasped her hand about his own, and shook it.