---

Daixanos jerked his Axe out of Farid's chest, and spent a long moment looking at the man as he toppled forward into the dirt. It was odd, for the Argonian. He had felt like he had known him already, despite only seeing glimpses of him in the crowd now and again and never actually having been introduced. Perhaps in a different setting, this fight would have been for sport, and ended in less final terms. He gave Jorwen a nod at the big man's comment.

The Argonian let out a breath from his nostrils. They still stung from the Redguard's hits. He waited for Do'Karth to finish paying his respects. “This one offers his services to mend your wounds. You fought well.” the Khajit said to him. Dax did not speak at first, and instead knelt over Farid for a moment, placing his hand on the dead man's chest. "May your Gods guide you." he intoned. The Hunter was not entirely sure how to pay respects to one of a different faith, but it was all he knew to say. He stood up at that, and gave Do'Karth a grunt of acceptance. "My thanks." His nostrils waxed and waned as he breathed silently, setting his Axe down beside his fallen bow and standing before his new comrade.

Do'Karth gestured for the argonian to follow him, leading him away from the circle and towards a front-facing deck with some chairs on the nearest building. "Sit, and remove your armour. This one needs to see the wounds before he can do anything." he instructed, setting his equipment down on a nearby table. The whole motion was very mechanical, and he tried not to think of the circumstances that led to this all too much.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, not turning around as he laid out some fresh bandages, a sewing needle and thread, and a candle and tinderbox he'd plucked from elsewhere in the village earlier in the day.

Dax's armor was moderate, giving adequate protection but giving him a fair amount of free movement as well. He removed his Iron breastplate, and nordic guantlets and bracers. They dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. Next he peeled off his linen tunic, and allowed the Khajiit to examine him. "I am in some pain, but nothing I have not felt before." he said simply.

Do'Karth knelt before the argonian, checking the most obvious injuries, the slash wounds on Dax's arm. "Normally, Do'Karth would caution against infection, but he understands that is almost non-existant of a concern for argonians. Makes this one's work easier." Igniting the candle with a flint and steel file, the khajiit ran the needle through the open flame, as if he were roasting a rabbit over a fire spit. The silence hung heavy, but Do'Karth felt he needed to break it. He needed to understand exactly who Daixanos was.

"This one understands you have only very recently joined our ranks. Why risk your life in a trial by combat? Do'Karth does not understand why you chose to do such a thing. Few know who you are, and this action is what people will know you for. One does not gather faith or trust with his comrades if they feel you are prepared to cut them down at a moment's notice."

Daixanos glanced up at the Khajiit, his expression unreadable as most Argonian expressions were if one did not look close enough. It would have been fairly neutral either way, however. "I was under the impression Farid of Hammerfell committed murder." he said. "My life has been a constant test of my strength in arms. I do not relish killing, nor do I hold your former comrade ill will as I had said before the contest began. But from what little I know of the situation, he was someone who demanded to fight a champion for Ashav. I did not see it as a chance to kill one at a moment's notice. I felt honored to be able to fight for a cause that was just, and had not had much by the way of Mercenary work since we began." He paused for a moment.

The Argonian spoke up once more. "My people believe that when we die, our soul travels back to our sacred Hist to begin anew when another hatchling drinks from the sap. My time from hunting and war has brought me little fear of death. Besides, I would think that it would have been worse for the rest of the team if Farid had killed or been killed by one whom you had grown to know such as he."

It was a point worthy of consideration, Do'Karth conceded. Either Dax was being genuine or was gifted with diplomatic language. He did not judge him for what he did, but rather he wanted to understand him better - whether to trust him as an ally, or to keep his distance. Life seemed all to quick to be erased at a moment's notice these days, especially if one didn't watch their steps. "The crime was dealt with as per the company custom. It is not Do'Karth's place to say if it was just or not, simply that it occurred. This one did not know Farid particularly well, so it is not as if he lost a friend." he replied neutrally.

His ears pivoted with interest at the argonian's view of the afterlife, it was always quite strange, even by a feline that took form based on whatever the moon phase happened to be at the time of birth. Argonians were rather alien to the other races of Tamriel, and it probably was a large reason why the dunmer of Morrowind had historically enslaved and slaughtered them. It was easy to kill an animal, less so a person. Things were much simpler if you did not allow that line to blur. "Pardon this one's bluntness, but if you had been reborn time and time again, why is it no argonians have memory of what came before? Does it not make life seem rather cheap and worthless if it simply never ends?"

"Perhaps it is the fact that we do not recall that makes life more fulfilling than it otherwise would be." Dax replied. "If it is what the Hist wills, then it is so. Visions of things past, and of things perhaps yet to come do we receive from them. It was they that give our people form and purpose. With their help, we overcame our enslavers, as well as the Daedra themselves. I do not question on the reasons for the purpose of such things. Or...I do not often do so. I simply attempt to live as best I can with this life I find myself in. I simply live with the purpose I have." He paused again, almost uncomfortably so. "I do not often speak unless it is with my Hist brothers, forgive me. Even today reciting my past actions, it was simply for form. But your bluntness is not seen as..." he didn't quite know the word to use. "-rudeness. Worry not."

"You are not comfortable associating with other races?" Do'Karth asked with a long blink. "What drove you to Skyrim, to this company in particular?" he asked, curiously so. Holding the needle just above the gash, he cautioned, "Steel yourself. This may hurt." After being sure that Dax had time to absorb that bit of advice, he drove the hot needle through the scales and softer tissues as he began his work. "Do'Karth has never really had the opportunity to speak to argonians before this month, he is afraid to say. There is an air of uncertainty about you, and he feels somewhat ashamed of it." he admitted, working with steady, delicate hands. He knew that working quickly and talking was the best way to distract form the pain.

Dax's jaw clenched at the sudden searing pain, but he merely grunted though his fangs were clamped shut within his mouth. "I am not used to it." he admitted. "Landstriders are often as strange to me as I am to them, I believe. Even the few years I have been here, I have mainly visited the town of Rorikstead to sell my skins or find more bounties. I need only the land and beasts for company. Though it can be a welcome opportunity for comrades, at times." He breathed in and out, letting the pain subside a bit.

"I do not know what compelled me to leave Black Marsh, at least in its entirety. I do know I felt compelled, however. After fighting the Dunmer, I simply attempted to make my own way with what skills I possessed as a hunter. I wound up in the north. It was after various trials in southern Skyrim did I think Dawnstar and the Reach would provide me with new grounds with which to hunt. I received word of Ashav and his group shortly thereafter, and gave him 3 bandit bounties. He allowed me in." He was going to finish his story there, but continued after a moment. "Perhaps it was the Hist that guided me here...before you and your comrades returned, I halted a ship that was carrying Argonians to be enslaved in the south. This place does not look fondly upon my people. If I am to do good in this world for my fellow Hist brothers, perhaps it is here, with your group, that I begin."

The wound was close to finished up, so Do'Karth continued on and cut the thread before preparing another before speaking again. "This one had not heard of the argonian slaves, and slavery is not something Do'Karth abides." He said earnestly, shaking his head in recollection. "The way the Jarl in this hold treats the argonians, keeping them away and enforcing it through steel is something that this one finds quite distasteful. It reminds Do'Karth far too readily of his own people, the lost and misguided trade caravans, that are denied access to the cities, condemning them to wander the dangerous roads for what very well may be their entire lives. This one suspects the only reason he is tolerated in these lands is because of the company. Barring this Hist you speak of... why not travel West or South? This one found Hammerfell quite agreeable."

The Argonian nodded. There were tensions between his people and the people of Do'Karth, he knew. But Dax had never felt any animosity on his part. They often went through the same prejudices. "Perhaps I will one day." Dax said. "I suppose Skryim was an agreeable choice, for the land is untamed with beasts to hunt, and the conflict of Skyrim brings out many bounties to collect." He let the words hang in the air. "How did you come to Hammerfell? Or this Company?"

Do'Karth smiled. "Do'Karth walked." he said, beginning on a new wound with the needle. "This one has wandered, never staying in one place for long. There is much to see in Tamriel, so many different places that defy one's imagination and all manner of customs that are so strange and wonderful. It seemed a crime to simply stay where this one was born when there was a world calling for him. Do'Karth came to Skyrim because he foolishly wanted to see a dragon, or to see the sky dance in the night. The Nords are fascinating people, he rather likes them, although the feeling is seldom mutual... with strong exceptions." he chuckled.

"I feel similar, on the Nords at the very least." Dax replied. "They are hardy for menfolk, but often times look down on others. It makes my respect of them lessen somewhat, other than a few notable friends I have made in Rorikstead and Markarth. Perhaps one or two in Whiterun as well, but I seldome travel there to sell my wares."

Dax decided that, while he had time to speak, it was a good time to find out information. "How do you feel on the companions were have in this company?" he asked. "Do they work well together? Are there others that would perform such deeds as Farid did?" It was a blunt question, but he was too tired to be subtle. Not that he was usually subtle in speech, only in stalking prey on the tundra.

"They are a people of strong passion and conviction, things will be one way or another with Nords... there seldom is a middle ground. They stand firm for what they believe, which is commendable." The khajiit noted, finishing his work and setting his tools down for the time being, rolling back into a sitting position, his back against the ash bannisters behind him. He considered what he would say in response to the inevitable inquiry of what he thought of his companions. How could one find sufficient words to sum up the outfit? How would he possibly know the intent of those he had not met? It was a difficult thing to ponder, but he tried, anyways.

"The people are what one would expect from sellswords. Most are concerned with money, many have questionable histories and moral standpoints, and many are shaken from what we had endured since Windhelm. There have been grievous losses, many good men and women cut down by an impossible foe, and Do'Karth would like to think it's brought the survivors closer together, but strains are occurring. Farid may only be the first of many who break under the strain. While this one does not know many of the company personally, for he has only been among them for only a few short weeks, there are a few he trusts without reservation. They are his family." Do'Karth said definitively, feeling both proud and defensive of the people he was serving alongside.

Dax listened with a cool reserve, letting him speak his mind and holding no judgements. When Do'Karth was finished, the Argonian stood up slowly. "Good to know." he grunted. His reptilian eyes examined the khajiit for a moment, before he held out his relatively noninjured arm out, hand extended toward him. "I do not know if you viewed Farid as a friend, but I did what was required of me. Let it be known that I believe you to be true, and that I trust you as a comrade to fight with me in the future." Dax was not so easily trusting with his life, but he would also not lie. Do'Karth seemed to be a decent sort from the Landstriders he has seen. If Tsleeixth trusted him as a friend, Daixanos would as a companion.

There was a moment's hesitation as Do'Karth regarded the offered hand. How Dax carried himself in conversation was certainly different than in the ring, but it was still too early to tell what his true intentions were. After a moment's decision, the khajiit grasped the offered wrist in a shake. He did not know what to make of the argonian, and the way he analyized him was discomforting. "We all must do our duties. You need not concern yourself with Do'Karth's intentions or skill at arms. This one has survived much, all without armour or intent to kill. He has had to make adjustments in other aspects to cope, but the results speak for themselves." he smiled tersely.

Dax gave a curt nod, much like a fellow soldier would. "Thank you for tending to my wounds." he said. "You honor me." The Argonian was now patched up, and retrieved his fallen equipment. He would be sore for a bit, and some of his wounds would sting to high heavens. But his Argonian regeneration and resiliance would have him feeling healed in no time. He headed out.

Do'Karth was left to his own devices. It had been an interesting introduction to the new member of the company, one who had announced himself in a rather explosive fashion at that. He'd mended Dax's wounds and he seemed pleasant enough, but time would tell if his words proved to be genuine. With a sigh, the khajiit found himself on his feet again and decided to make himself available to the commanders; word was they had more assignments lined up, and it seemed that time without action tended to make people make rash and regrettable choices.

All he could hope was that wherever they were taken next kept them far from the sea as possible.

Do'Karth's hopes and dreams were about to be crushed by the announcement that evening. Along with Keegan, Sevine and Rhasha, the seasick-prone members of the company were unimpressed (to say the least) about their incoming assignment. After cleaning up the dueling ground and paying Thoring for the mess, Ashav and Gustav held a meeting in a fenced area near the Argonian camp. What everyone have to do next, Ashav explained, is to secure an edge against very possible Kamal incursions. The town guards have busied themselves by reoccupying old forts of the hold and beefing up seaworthy ships for combat. According to several sailors that escaped Windhelm, traditional rams and projectiles have little effect versus Kamal ship armor. The snow demons sailed state-of-the-art vessels on par with those of the Summerset Isle, differing in that maneuverability was traded for even more defense. Some proposed a brute-force counter, that was bringing in bigger ships of their own. However, the remainder of Skyrim's neglected navy, the victims of the Dragonborn's obsession with his army, stay docked in Solitude. Skald's reluctance from taking sides in the standoff between Manis' hardliners and Balgruuf's jarls resulted in little aid coming his way. There were several advisers from both side that offered help, but those offers quickly broke down as the sides argued and threatened to cut each others' heads off. Thankfully, Skald still had his thane and a mercenary company.

Before the survivors from the Courtesan returned, the thane's Steelhead brought back the largest contingent of Winterhold mages. Around ten made it to port safely, while a few succumbed to their sicknesses due to the lack of amenities on the boat. Along with various magical supplies salvaged were the last batch of arcane bombs. These items have been deemed far too unstable to be produced, and many prototypes have caused grief by blowing up student quarters during the disaster. However, a small crate was brought by the thane. This crate housed the most up-to-date experiments, and four bombs would be allocated to Ashav.

In exchange, Ashav would be riding the Kyne's Tear, Gustav's armed freighter (though it seemed like a blockade runner to trained eyes), northwards. Gustav located a smuggler's map of the Sea of Ghosts, he studied possible summer routes and found one promising name; Bthamz. It was an old sailors' hideout, farther up so that it was only safe for summer travel. The place housed a dwarven ruin, and as the rumors have told, it was a weapon storage. The more knowledgeable members of the White River Braves have been suggesting Dwemmer ballistas and crossbows for days, finally, Skald relented on what he previously called a "wild goose chase".

But that's not all. Gustav said he had shipped supplies to a place called Bleakrock Isle before. He said the shipment was ordered by Morrowind officials, and it was confirmed by a local sailor who served on a Redoran ship before. Bleakrock had not seen habitation since the Ebonheart Pact days, that was, when the first Kamal invasion was repelled two eras ago. Historians suggested that the location of the isle was perfect for monitoring future invasions, being in between Blacklight, Eastmarch and Solstheim, it couldn't have been a better spot to launch reconnaissance squadrons. With Solstheim being emptied for a supposed plague, it was determined that the armiger scouts must have originated from Bleakrock. This was too convenient for Skald, who wanted to kill two birds with one stone. Why stop at retrieving dwarven weapons? Why not test them on an enemy garrison?

The departure was set for the 20^th morning, then Gustav introduced the company to the sailors that would take everyone there. Karena, the ship captain with a nixad perched on her shoulder, looked like she could barely stand her first mate, Hargjorn. Fourteen other sailors crewed the ship, and about another fourteen could be carried on the trip. In addition, the volunteer ship that turned back halfway during the college rescue would be accompanying Kyne's Tear, albeit with a completely different crew than it last held. Keegan dreaded to be on the sea once more, with cramped quarters and rowdy sailors, not to mention horribly uncertain objectives, he could already feel his stomach doing knots. Good thing for him (and several others) though, there was an alternative.

Forest fires have been scorching the Pale forests. A couple of burning trees once in a while was perfectly normal, but this fire struck out of normal seasons and have somehow angered spriggans. Some spriggans have been corrupted into lurchers and attacking already strained refugee flows. It suddenly seemed important to clear way for the hundreds of refugees that would surely flock to Dawnstar, and perhaps even more importantly, to see if the cause of those fires could somehow be used against the Kamals. Skald already had the idea of Dunmers starting the fire, and if not for his more sensible court, he would have rounded up and jailed every single dark elf. Daelin took it upon himself to accept the contract. Ashav, Edith and even Madura were slated for the north sea, while Ariane attached herself to a second rescue of the college and Dumhuvud were assigned to babysit Gustav. As the night fell and meeting adjourned, Keegan lined up first outside of the command tent to get himself on the forest mission. Inside the tent, Ashav recommended another man for Daelin; Marcel Gwain.

"How can we help you?" Gustav welcomed Keegan inside, though none of the other commanders seemed welcoming.

"Well, I would like to volunteer with Daelin." Keegan announced. Even after all this time, he felt nervous being around the big bosses. What he was doing now felt like a recurrence of the night before the Reach assault. "I believe seasi-, believe my skill sets could be put much better use in the wilderness than the sea." He half-lied. Truth was, if not for the debt enforcers, he would have lingered no more in this camp. But the Altmer could say he was among friendlier crowds, believe it or not, than basically everywhere else. He had not heard a single word back from Summerset, understandable considering the distance his letter would travel. "So..."

"Done." Gustav nodded. Ashav was about to object but was silenced. "Keegan Vasque, right? I've got your requisitions." He unraveled a packet of clothing from its bindings. "Anything else?"

Pushing his luck was going to be a bad idea, but with Gustav in a optimistic mood, Keegan had to try it. "Can we please import some tea bags?"

By @Mortarion and @Chrononaut

---

Tsleeixth was about to have a bad time on the night of Sun's Height 18. As soon as he as tried to return to the inn, he was greeted by Thoring and a throng of guards. Thoring was furious to have seen Tsleeixth again, who somehow managed to sneak past him the first time around. Two guards made sure the Argonian got no closer than Windpeak's porch before stopping him with their hands.

"Argonians without permits are not allowed inside Dawnstar proper; jarl's order." The guard announced. "You're going to find your way to the refugee center, or shall we escort you there?"

Tsleeixth was surprised when, upon returning to the Inn, he was greeted by a throng of guards and a clearly furious Thoring, his incredulity only growing when the guards told him that Argonians without permits were not allowed inside Dawnstar "And here I thought the tent city was because my kinsmen were bored." He said acidly, taking a deep breath to calm himself. It would do him no good to upset the guards, especially since they were -at the very least- being civil enough to not throw curses and racist slurs against him.

"My apologies, the last few days have been stressing and my patience has been running thin" He explained once he was more calm "You see, I left with that expedition that went towards Winterhold and as such the deportation of my fellow Argonians is a relatively new piece of information for me." Explained Tsleeixth, trying to move a little closer to the porch of Windpeak "Maybe if I could talk to my employer, Ashav, I'd be able to procure the necessary permits but, alas, he is inside the inn at this moment." Explained the spellsword, not wanting to cause a ruckus with the guards.

Raelyn appeared beside Tsleeixth, "That's who we're both looking for Dax." she said in a tone reminiscent of Cyrodil nobility, added, saying through a smile, "Don't correct me."

She handed the guards Dax's permit, which he had just used to get inside the tavern earlier. "See? He's entirely legal and confused. Forgot he had a permit, on account of being hit on the head earlier."

The guards looked over the permit, then to each other. They all huddled around Thoring, who was holding the permit. They whispered but were loud enough that anyone nearby could hear them anyway, "I mean, that could be Dax. They all look the same." Thoring said.

Another guard whispered, "That other ones acting weird too." The man snuck a look at Raelyn then back to the guard.

"Alright!" Thoring announced. "Paperwork checks out, I suppose. Don't want to make an event out of it. But if we find out that this is theft or forgery, we will throw you into a cell so far below Mundus that your stink won't reach for days."

Tsleeixth blinked in confusion as an Imperial woman appeared next to him and addressing him as Dax. He was opening his mouth to correct her when she quickly told him not to correct her "Yeah, that's right." He added as the woman handed the guards a pair of permits, blinking again when she invented that he had forgotten he had a permit.

"Yeah, I hit against a rock in a recent battle....can't believe I forgot about the damn papers." He muttered with fake embarrassment as the guards huddled around Thoring.and began mumbling loudly enough for Tsleeixth to hear them "Thank the Hist that to this Nords every Argonian looks the same." He thought bewildered as Thoring muttered that all Argonians looked the same.

The argonian let out a sigh of relief when the innkeep mentioned that all the papers checked out "Don't worry, my apologies for the trouble gentlemen." Said Tsleeixth as he quickly snatched the permit from Thoring's outstretched hand, stuffing it in his pocket promptly after and entered the inn.

Raelyn followed after, "I can't believe you forgot your papers either, Dax. You know, when travelling to strange lands you should always have the proper paperwork."

"Oh you know me, never been particularly good with my paperwork." Said Tsleeixth with a light shrug, yawning a little "Well, time I was on my way to my room, we can talk more tomorrow." Said the Argonian as he stifled yet another yawn before promptly going back to his bedroom.

Alas it seemed that the Argonian, or anyone else in the company, would have much time to rest as the sounds of a scuffle coming from within the inn where heard. Hurrying down the stairs he gasped in surprise when he saw that a crowd was forming around Orakh's room "Someone is targeting us?!" Thought Tsleeixth worriedly as he pushed his way through the gathered crowd, breathing a sigh of relief when some of the other member's of the company started pushing the other patrons away.

However he wasn't prepared for what he saw from the corner of his eye, Orakh lying on a pool of his own blood and Farid being bound by Daelin once Edith had disarmed the Redguard. He blinked rapidly "By the Hist....this must be a dream....." He thought weakly, blinking as if to will the horrible scene away. But acceptance soon dawned upon the Argonian who moved away from the grisly scene, needing to clear his mind for a moment.

Raelyn was practicing near the entrance of the Inn, playing a song she'd been trying to write ever since having met Jorwen. She sung with some confidence,



There was something missing. Perhaps it was Jorwens daughter actually dying, sometimes the reality of a death could really make a dirge sing. Then again, that could also be in poor taste to someone who knew Jorwens daughter. Well, in any case, her death would happen soon. If there was anything certain about war, was that people died. That's why Raelyn avoided the practice entirely.

As Tsleeixth left the inn he heard Raelyn practicing and perplexed by the song, and looking for something to distract him from the grisly events that had occurred but moments prior, followed the sound until he found the bard "Uh, so you are a bard?" He asked the woman once he located her.

Raelyn grinned, "Picked that up did you? The lute must have been your first hint. I suppose from your sheathed blade, you must be a soldier? Or is that to cut shrubbery?"

"Aye, the lute was my first hint like you said as for if I am a soldier or not I think the term mercenary is more appropriate. After all, being a soldier implies you are part of the standing army of a nation, does it not?" Said the Argonian as he sat next to the bard.

"Perhaps, but consider this. A mercenary is someone who is paid by an individual to perform a task and a soldier would be paid by the crown. The crown, king, emperor, or elsewise, is yet another kind of individual. The wealth comes from the nation, but you could say that a mercenaries wealth also comes from a nations wealth, collected by the employer."

"True enough, but for a soldier to enlist within a nation's armies there are certain requirements that need to be fulfilled, such as being a citizen. Any person can sign up for a mercenary company, regardless of nationality or citizenship within a nation." Said Tsleeixth, letting out a sigh "Although some sort of regulation would be good." He thought grimly as he remembered Orakh's murder.

"Ah, but there is! Nations only suffer mercenaries, at any time the practice could be outlawed." she put a finger to her chin, looking upward, "Though, those mercenaries would be just as likely to join a professional army or commit to banditry."

"Hmmm, true enough, but I meant more of an internal-regulation within mercenary companies themselves." Said the spellsword, letting out a sigh "That would have stopped what happened to Orakh from occurring." He muttered lowly, although Raelyn could easily her him, before falling silent, deep in thought over the present situation and the bard's words.

"Orakh? Did I miss something today? I'm usually onto all the local gossip. Did you know that Brittle actually has a huge penis? At least, that's what he told me."

Tsleeixth was mortified by Raelyn's second comment, looking down "Eh...no, I didn't know nor did I care to know though I guess it's a bit late to say that now." He coughed awkwardly before looking down as he returned his thought to Orakh "Orakh was murdered this mornings by one of the company, a redguard by the name of Farid....not sure if you've heard about it" He said to Raelyn.

She put a hand to her chest, "Murder? My my, you're a very busy lot. Can't wait until the battle, have to start killing where you sleep. I'm guessing you brought Farid to justice?"

"Bah, Farid acted out of cowardice, snuck upon Orakh and stabbed him in the jugular as far as I know." He spat the words in disgust, at Farid's treacherous actions rather than at Raelyn "And no, we haven't handed him over to the authorities, last I knew Daelin had tied his hands after the Redguard had tried to do something with a dagger." He said, unsure of what exactly had resulted in Farid's hands beign tied. "We will probably judge him ourselves I think." He added after a while, letting out a sigh "By the Hist, what a mess" He muttered dejectedly, rubbing his forehead a little to try and calm down.

"Is that even legal? By local laws, I mean. Where I come from, you'd have the town guard hang him." Raelyn wasn't sure about this, she suspected that most Nords would have just stabbed him and called it what he deserved.

"I don't know, i mean, Farid killed one of our own, it's not like he had gone and killed a Nord from Dawnstar during a drunken brawl. If that was the case, the people here would be howling for blood already and, so far, things seem relatively quiet." He said, scratching his chin a little as he thought "Regardless, a sentence will be issued, either by Ashav or the local Jarl."

Raelyn said, "Ah, yes. Freelance justice and racial politics. Nordic culture at its finest. You know, they used to make wonderful songs. Even if all of them were about some battle or how someone in a tavern decapitated a man. Speaking of, you don't want to figure out what they're doing? I'm curious, it's not often that murder gets commited out here. They usually call it war."

Tsleeixht listened as Raelyn spoke, nodding in agreement when she asked him if he didn't want to figure what the company was doing in regards to Farid's murder of Orakh "Aye, I am curious as well on what will happen." Admitted the Saxhleel as he stood up "Come, I am sure that they'll be gathering somewhere nearby." He said as he made his way towards the streets of Dawnstar.

They later arrived at The Duel, which was a nice sort of diversion if you were wondering what a pint of blood outside of a mans body looked like on an Argonian.

“I admire your enthusiasm, Keegan.” Daelin said flatly. For those who weren’t acquainted with the bosmer, his disposition could be either interpreted as dry sarcasm or indifference, but the reality was quite a bit different. The memories of the retreat from Windhelm still weighed heavily on Daelin, the memories of the terrified flight from the Kamal cavalry and the screams of the dying, many of which were his men. It had shaken him to his very core, and for the last few days, he made himself scarce, not able to face the survivors for his failure to lead his men safely, for their untimely fate. He was alive and they were not; it was shameful. He could have done so much more, but instead focused entirely on saving his own worthless hide. And now, Ashav was forcing him to lead a new team. He would do his duty as diligently as always, and he would put on a brave face, but it was going to be hard to look at even the new recruits and not see the faces of those he’d failed. As the company departed for the night, Daelin remained behind nursing a clay mug of rotmeth, forcing himself to come to terms with the simple fact that the company needed their lead scout back. There’d been enough time to mourn; they needed Daelin if any were to survive the upcoming assignment. Pounding back the fermented meat, the bosmer vowed he’d do better. For all of their sakes.

~~~

Sunrise, 20th Sun’s Height, Outskirts of Dawnstar

“Alright, listen up.” The bosmer called, standing tall on a large rock on the periphery of Dawnstar where his team would be volunteering. “Red-Bear, Keegan, Marcel, Rhasha’Dar, Daixanos, Huntress, gather around.” As the mercenaries gathered from the loosely assembled company that were preparing to depart for their next assignment, Daelin was quietly congratulating himself on his foresight to commit his group to memory, as well as the five minutes or so it took to actually pronounce the argonian’s name. It was so much nicer when they called themselves something simple like “I-Eat-Rocks”, or “Cover-With-Butter”, or “Don’t-Skin-Me”.

Looking at the assembled faces, some eager, some looking already like this was the last thing they wanted to be a part of, the bosmer continued, “I trust you all have your affairs in order. This is a scouting mission, we will only engage if we find imminent threat to ourselves or citizens of the Pale, and if it’s a battle we can win without risking unacceptable losses. Like Ashav said the night prior, there’s been a number of reports of pissed off Spriggans… well, more so than they usually are, anyway.” He said with the slight upturn of his lips. “Leading theory is that someone or something’s been causing quite a few rather unnatural fires, we’re going to see if we can’t figure out who that is, so in a way this might turn into a bounty hunting operation. Huntress,” Daelin said, turning to Sevine, regarding the fiery haired Nord with professional admiration. “I trust this will be familiar ground for you. It’s why I personally requested you for this assignment. We may have to look for signs and clues of the culprit, and your reputation precedes you.

“Likewise Daixanos, first off I’d like to welcome you to the company. Ashav speaks highly of your skills, and we all saw how you handle yourself in a fight.” He said, his tone still light and accepting, as if the events surrounding Farid’s death were either unimportant or never happened. “Ashav assures me you have skill with tracking, and your physical prowess will be handy if we run into Spriggans. Likewise, Red-Bear, you will be our vanguard if things get rough, along with Daixanos. We need Marcel’s detect life spells and spell absorbsion abilities to both detect our Spriggans and anyone of interest, including potentially any responsible parties for the fires here. Marcel,” Daelin continued, eyes fixed on the Breton, “If you haven’t stocked up on magicka potions, get some before we depart. We can’t depend on you absorbing hostile magic just to make use of your talents.”

Reaching the end of his briefing, he at last focused on Rhasha and Keegan. “Rhasha’Dar, I need you to be quick on your feet and support our fighters with healing spells, and in our rests, to work on potions as you see fit. The forest is bountiful with ingredients as I’m sure you know, but if you see a target of opportunity, I expect you’ll strike true with that spear of yours. And finally, our volunteer, Keegan.” He said with some finality. “I’m guessing you’re sick of ships after what occurred heading back from the College? Heard you vomited anything that went into you the whole time.” He said, grinning teasingly at the altmer. “You’re handy with quite a few schools of magic. I’m sure you’ll have a better idea than I what spells will work for whatever situation we come across.”

Clapping his hands together and rubbing them with somewhat forced enthusiasm, for he did dread the prospect of reliving the hell that was the retreat from Windhelm once more, Daelin shared his final thoughts. “Right. We’re projected to be gone perhaps two days, three at most, and as such we’ll carry four days’ worth of rations to be on the safe side. Red-Bear, I’m counting on you to keep an eye on the party when I’m taking point and scouting ahead with the Huntress and Daixanos. The three scouts will go forward two at a time, and periodically one will return to the party and report their findings and the next one will go forward in rotation. This makes sure we don’t lose anyone, information is constantly coming in, and it shares the burden evenly. Well, that about covers it; say goodbye to Dawnstar, and hello to the great unknown.”

The group set off in pairs with Daelin walking slightly ahead of the formation as Dax and Sevine were sent ahead to scout the terrain. One would report back in an hour, and Daelin would head out to take their place charting a course. It was the beginnings of an assignment that Daelin found most pleasurable, the escape into the wilderness and the hustle of the company dynamics. He liked people, sure, but a part of him still yearned for the simpler time in Skyrim’s wilds with his clan, where the biggest concern was hunting and keeping your people safe. In a way, it wasn’t so different from what he was doing now; as far as Daelin was concerned, those he marched alongside with the moss and flower hewn fields of the Pale were his other clan, and he owed them a responsibility to lead them well.

The hours passed and the sun crested over the sky, giving brilliant illumination to the mountainous passes and dense forests that made up the Pale. The weather was finally returning to more seasonal Summer-like temperatures, which to most who did not call Skyrim home would feel it were almost like early Spring temperatures elsewhere, where one could make do with or without sleeves and be comfortable. The weather, along with the progressive bird song and buzz of insects made it a rather pleasant day, all considered. Deer were spotted from time to time, either alone or in small groups up to four, and in a couple notable instances, a pack of wolves crossed up ahead, paying only token notice to the group of travellers, and a bear was plodding along aloofly with a pair of cubs close in tow. All in all, it was an uneventful journey, and even when the group stopped for lunch, spirits seemed high and a few of the more comical members of the party earned a chorus of laughs from tall tales and jokes, often at the expense of someone else in the company, bringing up happier memories that seemed long forgotten. The fire was extinguished and the food scraps were left behind for scavengers; the rule of the forest that nothing went to waste.

Nearing late afternoon, a haze was beginning to fill the air, and Daelin knew that it should have been possible to see Whiterun even from this distance, far to the South, but the air was simply too thick to see more than a few kilometers at most. The distinct smell of burnt forest permeated the air, and the bosmer knew they were quite close to their objective. Soon, Daelin crested a ridge and looked down into the desolation below. He had seen forest fires before, and really, who hadn’t, but how through this was definitely leant the region an unsettling air for how complete it felt, as if the flames had taken the time to completely remove all traces of wood and underbrush in an increasing radius, where the still smouldering husks of trunks remained. Daelin felt his throat clench as he took it in; this was not a natural fire. Without turning to look at his companion, Daelin ordered Sevine back to fetch the rest of the party. Their work would start now.

Around ten minutes later, the rest of the group caught up with Daelin and they began to move into the scorched lands, many covering their mouths with whatever free cloth was available to keep from breathing in the fumes. Daelin did the same, tying a brown scarf around his mouth and nose as his feet pressed through the ground below, the deadfall crunching beneath his feet. It became clear the closer they reached that the central area, where this particular blaze started from, had a thick layer of ash and not much else. “Marcel,” Daelin said, turning to the Breton, “Start looking around, see if anything lives in this waste. Sevine, Daixanos, spread out, look for tracks, remains, anything that might give us a-“

”GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

The shout came from a only semi-scorched group of trees to the Southwest as an older Nord man, who looked to be in his late 40s or early 50s with a great braided beard and receding hairline of dark hair crashed out into the beginnings of the clearing, wearing a simple cotton shirt with a rope closure about the chest, that might have been white, but was long stained from the soot, and a brown leather apron fell onto this back, screaming as bees began to overcome him. Letting out a torrent of flame from his palm, the man freed himself of his assailants before he noticed the group standing on the ridge, waving wildly with one hand and holding a wood cutting axe in the other. “HEY, HEY!” he shouted, trying to close the distance. It didn’t take long to see what his issue was; a group of 5 Spriggans cleared the brush, including one of the orange matrons, and a rather thin, mangy and crazed looking group of four wolves alongside them, growling menacingly at the man. The matron raised a branch-like arm towards the man, condemning him. Suddenly the wolves burst forth, closing the distance.

The group was only about 120 meters away, and Daelin knew they had to do something. “Move in to intercept!” Daelin shouted, readying his Nord-crafted bow with a steel-headed arrow as he loosed it towards the closest wolf that was closing in on the fleeing man. The arrow hit true, burying itself in the wolf’s neck and causing it to collapse. He was in the process of notching another as the man swung his axe into the next wolf’s skull, his powerful arms crunching through bone with ease. The other two wolves, having to move to avoid the collapsed leaders, took notice of the oncoming party and moved in to engage.

20th of Sun’s Height

Morning came quick for Sevine, as she roused herself from the warmth of Do’Karth’s arms. Oddly enough, after her conversation with Roze at the end of the duel, Leif was nowhere to be found, or at least he avoided the inn completely while she busied herself with composing another letter to Liliana, passing on her blessing of well-being, as well as Roze’s own blessing. The rest of the evening, she fiddled with her armor, oiling the weathered leathers, and even took her axe to the grindstone to have it sharpened. With that accomplished, her pack assembled once more, and her gear in the best of any condition that it could be, she spent the rest of her evening relaxing by the fireside at the inn. So when morning came, and word traveled around breakfast that they were to assemble on the outskirts of Dawnstar to be divvied up into the appropriate groups, she made her way out of Windpeak Inn, and followed the rest of the group to the designated area with Do’Karth at her side, her hand entwined in his..

Once they were all present, orderly and settled down, Daelin, the Bosmer scout, leapt upon a rock and demanded attention. He called out the names of those that would accompany him on his mission. Marcel, Jorwen, Daixanos, Rhasha’Dar, Keegan, and herself were the named members of the company. Before she shuffled forward, she threw her arms about Do’Karth’s neck and buried her face into his shoulder, planting a delicate kiss upon his collarbone.

“Mara keep you safe, and bring you back to me.” Sevine said as she dropped her arms, while one hand caressed his cheek, before she planted another kiss on his snout. With that, she turned away from him and headed over to Daelin to hear the details for the mission.

Moreover, when those chosen for this mission had assembled before Daelin, he addressed her first, calling her yet again by her Name, though she couldn't blame the Bosmer, only Do’Karth, and well Elmera too, knew of her distaste for the Name. Although, she did feel a swell of pride upon hearing that he specifically requested her for her skills, at least she would be of use on this mission. She would do her best, that much was certain.

The mission itself sound peculiar, and she first believed the source of the strange burnings to be a work of rogue fire mages upsetting the spriggans of the forest, or even, a fight between flame atronachs, though the latter part made little to no sense, as she could only recall that those types of atronachs had to be summoned. Then again, she could be wrong, as she didn't no much in regards to magick.

When the group set out, Daelin had Sevine and Daixanos scout ahead together, their eyes peeled for any clues. After so many leagues traveled, one would report back their findings, and Dax was the first to do so. The Argonian and the Huntress did not travel close to one another, rather they spread out to cover more ground, but they did remain within shouting distance of one another in case any tragedy were to befall them. By the time Daelin came to join her, the morning breeze was cool, but warmer than normal, a sign of fair weather approaching, a change in the season, and she began to take note of the increase of woodland animals.

Sevine had chosen to leave her shield behind in this excursion, as it was a scouting expedition, yet with her, she carried her bow and quiver set, along with her axe tethered on her hip, and her dagger just beneath that. In the events of yesterday, after the grisly duel, and after her conversation with Roze, Sevine had found time to take some time to visit the local apothecary again, this time, she had a small clay jar prepared, and it was full of green paste; her war paint. Now, she sported a thin green stripe, stretching from cheek bone to cheek bone. The minimal application of camouflage helped to disrupt the pallid color of her skin to those in the wilderness. Granted, unlike those that sported a full face of intricate camouflage, Sevine opted for a simple pattern, one she would waste no time in applying.

Everywhere she looked, butterflies flitted from flower to flower, even on occasion, the gentle buzz of a bee pollinating flowers could be heard, and more present, the precious sound of birdsong. The prominent silence soothed her mind, or rather, the lack of people conversing, and once again, she felt as if she were one in her realm. The woods were her home, and she knew how to use them to her advantage, her footfalls were silent as she picked her way over fallen branches and across patches of decaying leaves. Here and there, as she moved through the undergrowth of the pine forest, she could spot game trails, and the near hidden impression of animal prints in the dirt, even so much as identifying particular plants used in alchemy, the mountain flowers were fairly common, and so were snow and juniper berries. For now, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Sevine headed back to report in for Daixanos, and so that he could take her place.

When they gathered for lunch, Sevine had a light meal of bread and water from her water skin, not wishing to weigh herself down with a heavy meal. She couldn't help but to laugh at the tall tales that were told in an attempt to lighten the mood, but asides from that Sevine kept to herself, her eyes constantly scanning the circle of the clearing where they had settled. While she sought for unseen foes lingering in the shadows of the afternoon sun, she noticed how her thoughts ventured to studying the breathtaking beauty of the Pale. Even from her seated position on a bed of pine needles, she could see the mountain passes that towered in the distance, and a part of her heart yearned to traverse those familiar footpaths once more. Three times, during the length of the war, Ralki the Bear led their squadron through the mountain passes to join forces with other Stormcloaks in need of reinforcements. These mountain ranges were colder in temperature, and the snow never seemed to melt in those high reaching passes.

After the luncheon fire had been extinguished, they carried on. This time Sevine and Daelin taking the lead again in the scouting effort. She took note of an immediate change in the atmosphere, the scent of burnt wood mixed in with the late afternoon wind, and it left her mouth dry. During lunch, she had taken the time to tear a swath of cheesecloth in anticipation for the burnt section of forest, wetted it, and now sported it around her face, covering her nose and mouth to prevent any ash being inhaled, which soon came in handy.

Trailing behind Daelin, and a bit to his left, Sevine noticed the distinct rise in the land and how the ground beneath her boots rose, they were climbing a ridge. Rather abruptly, she heard Daelin’s voice echoing. Strange it was, for she noticed the lack of forest life present, all animal noise had disappeared. There were no gentle fluttering of butterfly wings, no birdsong that rang through the forest’s canopy, and certainly no sign of any bear, wolf, or even deer to be found.

“Huntress. Fetch the group and bring them hear.” His words filled the eerie silence. She bade as he said, and turned back without another word to lead the others to the spot Daelin lingered.

Ten minutes later, with the rest of the members in tow, Sevine came to stand alongside the Bosmer scout, and here, she beheld the troubling sight beneath them. Far below, appeared a radius of burnt forest, some of the trees still smoldered, for thick white vapor rose from their smoking trunks. And further in, there was nothing, it seemed that some of the trees had been turned into complete ash.

Finally, Daelin gave his orders, and Sevine split off from the group, bow in hand with an arrow already notched, resting on the bowstring. Before he could finish giving off orders for the rest of the company, a shout filled the silent area.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

Her head snapped in the direction the shout came from, towards the south-western region of the circle, she spotted a Nord man, perhaps near Jorwen’s age, come bolting through the fringes of the forest and into the clearing. She did not take him to be a bandit, for his manner of dress spoke of a civilian, perhaps a farmer, or even a miner. Yet, she was surprised to see him release a spout of fire from his hand, and dispel what she assumed to be a horde of angry bees. The man immediately took notice of the company members for he began shouting at them.

“HEY! HEY!” The Nord man sprinted for them, and she raised her bow in defense, concerned that he might use his flames on them. But then, trailing behind him, she understood what he was shouting for.

Behind him were a flock of five angry Spriggans, including an even angrier Spriggan matron, and moving forward were a pack of four wolves, rather malnourished in appearance. Unexpectedly, as if by command of the matron, under a gesture of her branch-like arm, the wolves sprang forward on the Nord, the sound of their fearsome snarls filling the surrounding area.

“Move to intercept!” Daelin’s command rang out, and Sevine, already somewhat distanced from the group, leapt away in an attempt to draw the wolves towards her. The Bosmer’s arrow struck down the first wolf that attempted to finish off the Nord when she had released her own. The blowing wind turned the direly aimed shot, and the steel barb of her arrow buried itself in the front leg muscle of one the wolves. That did it. She readied another arrow, or at least tried. The arrow in her hand slipped from her fingers, and as she fumbled for another arrow, the painful bite of the wolf she had struck bit straight through her leather bracer, the fangs piercing her skin, biting deep into the muscle. Seering, white-hot pain spread from the inflicted wound, down to her fingertips and travelled up the length of her arm.

Dropping to the ground, for even though the wolf was malnourished, the beast still held a formidable grip on her forearm with surprising strength. She cried out in agony, as she fell back from her knees and onto her back, teeth gritted in sheer desperation as a cloud of ash flew up around her. The forearm the wolf held in her mouth was her axe arm, so she could not reach for her axe to fend off the wolf. Just as she found the strength to plant a firm boot into the belly of the beast that held her captive, she felt another wolf sink its fangs into her ankle, biting clean through her leather boot. Writhing in pain, she flailed in the ash with her free limbs, throwing black clumps of the sandy material with her free hand in a wild attempt to blind the first wolf still clinging to her forearm, and trying to kick off the other with her free leg. Above her loomed the wolf, its golden eyes gleaming with a fierce hunger, the upper lip curled back to reveal the yellowed fangs that sank into the flesh of her arm. She managed a glance down at her captive foot and saw a similar sight, the wolf there held fast to her ankle, shaking her entire leg as if it were a ragdoll. Fear engulfed her entirely, would this be it? Would this be the end of the Huntress? Taken down by two mangy wolves in an ashen forest?

The first rays of sun hit Halla just right. The Gods let their light fall upon her in perfect clarity, just the half-light of a new day leaving shadows where they needed to be across the angles of her face, and Jorwen smiled. It was not often he got to appreciate Halla like this. The gentle rising and falling of her chest as she took each delicate breath in and out, a stray lock falling across her face, caught in her lips. It was times like these that Jorwen was a man of peace, where he wondered how he could have ever wanted a hard Name and a hard woman named Fridtha more than Halla. But youth is a time of lessons that the youthful do not yet appreciate. Halla stirred, her tired eyes opening and focusing immediately on Jorwen's own. She held his gaze for a long, long moment and her face broke out in a tired smile he wished could be painted in a locket.

“Breakfast?” She whispered.

Jorwen shook his head, giving a smile of his own, “I've already made it.”

Halla's smile only grew and she scooted closer to him to plant a gentle kiss on his wrist. Jorwen leaned down and gave his own kiss to her cheek, “Up now, 'fore it gets cold. Soveig's already eaten her share.”

Halla squeezed his wrist and buried her face in her pillow, stretching her long and lithe legs and then slowly getting to her feet, exiting the tent. Jorwen followed, gesturing to the cast iron pan next to the fire. Halla took a wood plate and forked some eggs onto it and a cut of ham. “You didn't have to.”

“I'm not one for dutiful wives.” Jorwen smiled.

“Oh, please,” Halla rolled her eyes with a smile, “Dutiful wife, my arse, I like cooking for my family. You didn't have to get up early to do this.”

“I couldn't sleep.” Jorwen said, a bit less happiness to his voice. “I... I don't know why.”

But he knew why, he spent the night with Cleftjaw when he couldn't find Solveig. They spent their night reminiscing about White-Eye and Thrice-Pierced and every other friend long gone. Dough-Boy came tiptoeing down the small stretch of path that led to his and Halla's campsite away from the rest of the Company. “Ashav's orders, report to Daelin at the outskirts of Dawnstar.”

“I'll do it when I've finished breakfast with my wife, Ashav can wait.” Jorwen growled.

“R-Red-Bear, please, you're already on thinning-”

“This isn't the first plunge into the cold water I've taken, boy. Run along, I'll be there.”

Halla frowned at him over her eggs and ham. Jorwen sighed and called for Dough-Boy, who'd only just turned around with a forlorn look on his face, Jorwen knew the boy got the shit jobs, being the youngest in the Company and not much good for fighting, “Thank you, for yesterday. Giving Farid a respectful burial. A man ought to keep his word like you did.”

Dough-Boy gave a small smile and nodded before puffing out his chest a little. Jorwen knew there wasn't much word to keep when he was paid a gold coin to bury Farid, but he knew the boy needed some appreciation every once in a while. Halla smiled now, though he saw the sadness in her eyes. One day she'd never have to say goodbye to him so often. “Best get going, warrior.”

“I'd rather not.” Jorwen rubbed at his face. He had less and less taste for the fray as the days here in Dawnstar went on. He hoped the taste for it never came back. He sighed and rose anyway, turning up Halla's face to his own and kissing her, leaving his lips on hers for a moment and then turning away. No matter how many times he did that, she always blushed and smiled.

“Come back to me, Red-Bear.” He heard Halla call at his back, “Soon and safely!”



Jorwen walked, rubbing at the ring on the leather cord around his neck. It reminded him of younger days, both in daylight and in moonlit rooms in the inn with Halla. He smiled absent-mindedly before Sevine came quietly through the trees, hardly breathing any harder than if she strolled from one end of a room to another. She reported their findings from up ahead, and Jorwen frowned, knowing what was to come. He put his nasal helm on his head and buckled the strap that kept it secure across the underside of his chin. They followed Sevine to the front of their scouting column with a quickness and found a good expanse of burned-out forest. Jorwen had seen fires before, but none of them like this, none of them so complete. This looked like man's work, like the torching of a village or a crop.

“It's too bare.” Jorwen mumbled under his breath, his eyes narrowed to slits as he scanned all that was now ash. “Man's work.”

A vulgar scream came from somewhere and a man around his own age bounded through the barren, charred landscape with what looked like an angry swarm of bees about him. He wondered how he'd managed that, until the bark-skinned, feminine forms of Spriggans followed him out of the charred treeline with a pack of mangy wolves in tow. Wolves that skinny would attack anything, he knew. The pack darted out and made for the lone man but the one closest was shot down by Daelin. He didn't have much time to watch it unfold, nor did he want to waste any time doing so. He grasped the familiar hilt of his sword and threw off its scabbard, laying the grayed metal bare.

A wolf came huffing and growling as it bounded towards him, jumping in to grasp his neck in its yellow fangs, but Jorwen let go a roar as he swung his sword in a great arc that rent the thing's forelegs from under it. It tumbled to the ground, no breath in or out as he stepped aside from its path. Something begged for him to turn and he saw Sevine pinned helplessly, her leg being thrashed by one wolf while her red arm was in the grip of another wolf's jaws. A fate like that for the Huntress just would not do. Jorwen's feet pounded under him as he charged, letting out his loudest warcry to try to intimidate the creatures and set them in a panic.

Rozalia met Sevine's smiling face with one of her own - embracing the larger woman fondly. It felt like they hadn't talked properly for a good long while, and regardless of the juicy gossip she wanted to pull out from Sevine, it would be nice to have a chat. There weren't many women in the group, after all.

"Never mind myself and Sagax - I don't want to get you into a bad, worried temper just yet! Because... I've been hearing things about you." She began, waggling her eyebrows up and down in a conspiratorial type of manner. "You and a certain Khajiit; acting in a somewhat intimate way. But surely, you wouldn't embark on such a wild, romantic journey without telling your dear little - wicked - Breton friend?" Now, her tone was teasing,indeed showing a friendly glint of wickedness in her eye. There was some excitement, in the hopes that this information was true - in the eyes of Roze, Sevine deserved happiness. She was a good woman, an even better friend, and some love in her life would hopefully do some some good.

A rosy hue bloomed in the apples of her cheeks at the words of her friend. So, word had spread already like wildfire through the company, either witnessed themselves during the faire, or wagging tongues from Dawnstar's citizens. "Ah! So you've learned already?" She put a hand to the back of her head and gave a nervous chuckle, "I won't deny anything that you've heard! Yes, Do'Karth and I have entered into a courtship. I feel silly saying it, but come walk with me now." Sevine prompted, snagging Roze by the elbow of her arm and leading her away from the circle by the crook of her own elbow.

"Roze, I never thought I would find myself in love, or much more poignant, even the idea of having any attraction for anyone else. Though, now let me beg the question from you... I have heard from loose tongues that Leif is in a foul mood for whatever he may witnessed or heard from last night. Tell me this, have you heard with your own two ears of what he may have done, or said?" She asked, her brows sinking low to match the concerned frown on her lips.

Ah, so the rumours were true! Roze felt like jumping up and down on the spot in her excitement - unlike some (or, many, as the case may be) in Skyrim, she bore no ill will towards the beast kind, and thought relationships with them were wonderful; a step forward in wider acceptance of the races. Even better for Sevine for her to have found a good one in Do'Karth. Roze still had not forgotten his kindness to her when they first came to Dawnstar.

"Oh, it's not silly - but you should be as silly as you want! Love makes us feel that kind of giddiness, after all." Roze laughed - although her smile dimmed slightly as the pair walked. Sagax and herself had spent half the day and most of the night drinking in the inn - it had been a pleasant experience, but even in her somewhat bleary stupor, Roze had found it hard to ignore Leif.

"Ah... well. I believe it's safe to say he hasn't taken the news of your courtship very well." She began hesitantly; according to some gossip overheard last night by an unpleasant looking pair in the inn, some drunkard had been wanting to start a fight outside - over some sort of lost love. By the looks of Leif when he had staggered in with Jorwen, and the rumours that Roze herself had already heard, it didn't take much to connect the dots. "Sevine - from what I know of Leif, he's a passionate man. Passionate in his love, and his losses. He may be very emotional now, but in time, I'm sure he'll understand that you and he were never meant for one another. Not in the sense he currently lusts for, anyway." At least, that was what Roze hoped for. It would be a shame for such a friendship to be lost over a broken heart; one which could mend itself, if the individual chose to overcome their feelings. "If I were you, I wouldn't worry over it. Enjoy yourself, and your new love. Leif is all grown-up, and should be able to handle his emotions himself. And should he accost yourself or Do'Karth, I'll give him a stern talking to myself." This last sentence had an air of comedy about it; there was nothing particularly stern about the young rogue.

Upon first hearing Roze speak truth of Leif's actions and words, all blood drained away from her face, extinguishing the once present blush on her cheeks. Yet, as she spoke, Roze provided insight on how to effectively handle her current situation, one she found that she knew the answer too, even as her friend advised her to do so. A chuckle escaped from her lips in light of Roze's jest, lifting her spirits again. "Whatever may come, will be, and there is nothing I can do in the meantime to change that course. I can only pray that Leif will not act so ignobly if that time ever comes. Now speaking of love..." Therein her eyes, a mischievous glint appeared.

"What of that fellow from the College? Sebastian, is that his name? You seemed particularly overjoyed to see him." For once, it felt good to simply shoot the breeze without having to worry about the immediate future.

Roze couldn't help but laugh in the change of subject; for any other friend, she'd be concerned they were simply taking the attention away from a problem that needed said attention - but for Sevine, that was doubtful. As said by both women, the issue with Leif was one that they couldn't - or indeed, shouldn't - have to get involved with. It was his feelings, and his own ego to overcome.

"Ah... Sebastian Vorell. I was very pleased to see him, especially as I thought of the possibility of his death. We met many years ago - when I was still living in Riften, at the age of 14. From there, we established a fond connection." Roze confessed and then paused, meeting Sevine's mischievous gaze. "I wouldn't say we're in love. If I were to love him, it would be as a friend. We just... get physical now and again, if nothing else has caught our fancy." She paused once more, frowning slightly. "I think perhaps I'm not explaining it well enough. You see, we've always had wild adventures together. Most come down to mischief brought on by alcohol, and one of us egging the other along. All fun and games, but not for a prolonged sense of time. If we stayed together for very long, I'm afraid we'd end up jailed... or worse. We'd be terrible lifetime partners for one another - unlike yourself and Do'Karth." She finished with a chuckle. It was a shame, really - Roze did truly enjoy Sebastian's company, as he enjoyed hers. But every time they spent more than a fortnight together, trouble would follow them.

Imagining what could be worse, a Roze and Sebastian duo or a Roze and Sagax duo made her stomach turn, the Divines help her if all three were to end up together! Perhaps she had hoped to hear more of a romantic tale, but it appeared that Roze's relationship with Sebastian was not as she had first believed. Then again, as Roze had expressed, perhaps it was for the better that they had not entered into a partnership.

"Sounds like another Sagax to me, though I hope he doesn't have enough courage to take a gander at riding chaurus' for fun." Here she let loose a relaxed chuckle. "Ah, now while we're on the topic of love, so to speak, I can't seem to recall mentioning this to anyone, but I have thoughts of other matters that occupy my mind... I have a sister, Liliana, that entered into a union with her husband. She recently revealed to me that I am to be an aunt. Being so far from her in her condition, I find that I am worried over her well-being. I mention this solely for the sake of my nerves, and I wondered, Roze, do you have any siblings?" Sevine asked.

Ah, more good news for Sevine! Roze could see her friend being a fantastic Aunt; she had plenty of motherly qualities, certainly. Herself and Sagax had found that out the hard way after their little bombing run back in Windhelm.

"Ahah... well, I don't think there's anyone quite like Sagax. Chaurus-riding or otherwise." She chuckled; the thought of Sebastian doing so was an amusing one. He'd attempted to jump on a mammoth's back once when they had been particularly young and foolish. A few miles of running and broken bones later, it was decided that neither of them would attempt it again.

"As for your sister, pass along my congratulations when you come to write to her again! I hope she has an easy time with carrying and birthing the child; according to my Mother, I was quite the handful even before I stepped out of the womb." It was only natural for Sevine to worry; pregnancy could be a worrisome prospect even during calm times in Skyrim, but with everything else suddenly happening, it made the situation more dire. Roze only prayed nothing bad happened - Sevine needed more happiness in her life.

"I always begged my parents for siblings as a child; alas, it was not meant to be. The closest things I had to siblings were my friends in Riften. I think I had some distant cousins, but neither of my parents were on good terms with their own brothers or sisters. So, I never met them." She wasn't really lying here; although there were no children her own age in the guild, she was still friendly with the older thieves. However, Sevine didn't need to know of her membership there. Petty thievery was a far different thing to be judged for as opposed to being a member of such an influential group, after all. "How about you, Sevine? Ever thought of having your own little cubs one day?" Although unlikely she could have any with Do'Karth, there were more than a few orphans about Skyrim who would benefit from the love of such a strong, kind woman.

Sevine found to her surprise that in fact, Roze was an only child, perhaps for the better of society, yet she pitied the younger woman, for she wished that her friend had had the chance to know the pleasure of having siblings. At her inquiry for having children of her own, Sevine came to realize that she had not thought more on the matter. Her passion for protecting the innocent was strong, that much she knew. But producing children from her own loins? The haunting memory of her mother's last moments alive came rushing back to her, snippets of a time long forgotten.

Sweat covered Gudrun's smooth brow, blonde hair clung to her temples as she screamed in agony, desperately trying to birth Liliana. The midwife, Haelga, knelt between the legs of her mother, her thinning grey brows pinched together in concern while eight year-old Sevine lingered by her mother's side. With one final heave, Gudrun relaxed onto the hide skins beneath her as the room filled with a sudden cry, a cry of a newborn babe.

"Take the child, little one. I must tend to your mother." Haelga said as she passed the mewling babe into her tiny arms. As instructed beforehand, Sevine began to wipe away the blood from the baby's skin with the fresh linen. Yet, as she looked up to show her mother, she witnessed a horror unlike any other. A large swath of blood soaked through the skins and began to pool beneath her, coming from her loins where she had moments before birthed her child.

Unsure of how long she had been lost in thought with that grisly memory, she uttered a tense sigh. "Perhaps not from my own loins, no. Child bearing is a dangerous matter, and during the war, I came to know that there are many children left as orphans from the war that still need a good family. But I will, pass along your blessings in my next letter to her, I have mentioned you once to her when we first met. Perhaps one day, when this is all over, you could have the chance to meet her. And what of yourself, Roze? Any plans for children of your own?"

Roze's curious smile had faltered slightly as Sevine zoned out for a moment or so; a somewhat haunted look settling deep in her pine eyes. Roze had been about to shake her friend before she suddenly snapped out of it, continuing the conversation and echoing Roze's own thoughts. The moment of worry was lost with pride; there was something pleasant about being mentioned in another's letter to a loved one. Well... if the mention wasn't one of a negative nature in regards to some odd prank involving sheep dung and mead. That had been a fun one to explain to her parents as a 7 year old.

"I'd very much like to meet her - I'd love to hear stories about you as a wild youth." She said with a teasing grin; she couldn't imagine the child version of Sevine to be any less intimidating or motherly than the adult one - but surely there'd be a lot more mischief. "As for my own children... perhaps one day, when I've found the right man and settled down. The life I'm living now wouldn't be all too accommodating for a child, I think. Nor pregnancy." A sudden comical thought set off a peal of laughter from her. "Can you imagine it? Everyone launching into battle against Falmer or something, and there's me waddling behind - wide as I am tall and puffing along with my bow!"

"Aye! That I could, what a sight to see that would be!" Sevine bent with laughter, slapped her knee with one hand while the other clenched her stomach as it tightened with a heart-felt chuckle. Indeed, the sight would be an amusing one, especially considering how in a condition like that, Roze would have the energy to tag along. Thank the Divines that neither of them were heavy with child.

"Ah, Roze..." She straightened up, and wipe away a tear that had formed in the corner of her eye with the back of her hand, then gave a low sigh. "I am glad that we are friends. Come, let us leave, I believe Ashav has another mission for us to be announced."

---

It was starting to get dark outside of the tent. Keegan’s way was illuminated by a combination of dusk rays, torches and the ever so faint glow of the moons and stars. It was times like this that he found a never before pleasure in seeing a perfectly normal sky. No bloodmoon and no freak storms, and if there's also no snow demons anywhere near, he could even see himself composing a poem.

Of course, the line of people may not be as relaxed as the Altmer. Were they all here to change missions? Keegan knew other seasick prone members, but did they all had it as bad as he? Whatever the case, Keegan decided to keep walking. He walked with a small box of lotion in hand, because in windy climates like the northern coasts, a little balm tend to go a long way. The freshly packaged cream was everything he could ask for, that was, until the lid stuck solid.

Keegan cursed silently. He cut his nails earlier today and was now having trouble prying the damned thing open. If only…

“Do’Karth!” Keegan hailed. There he was, back of the line and claws probably better than can openers. “Do you mind helping me with something?” He asked. He wondered if the company leaders would still be in the mood to entertain requests when it came the Khajiit’s turn. Whatever, that's not Keegan’s lot to worry.

“Can you get this open?” Keegan showed the lotion box.

The khajiit’s ears pivoted at the sound of his name being called. Upon discovering the source, Do’Karth pondered if perhaps Keegan was about to tell him that the men who wanted him to repay his debts were back. He looked towards Keegan apprehensively until the altmer’s very mundane request came to light.

He didn’t know if he should feel insulted or relieved. Whatever the case, Do’Karth took the small box in hand, unsheathed a pair of claws and popped the lid without much effort before handing it back. “Lotion?” he asked, a bit confounded from such an ordinary, yet somehow out of place item in a company of hardened mercenaries.

As fate would have it, Keegan’s request might as well affected Do’Karth for the worse. In the seconds it took him to recognize the lotion and open it, a few other mercenaries managed to jump the line and fast-tracked their appointments.

“Thanks.” Keegan thanked the Khajiit. The expression of Do’Karth was, confusion? What's so strange about lotion? “Herbal lotion.” Keegan confirmed. “It's so dry and windy outside of Sum-, uh the, outside of home.” Clearing his throat in the most pathetic attempt to hide his stutter, Keegan continued. “I assume Khajiits must have something similar for their hair? Fur? I don't know about you, but my skin cracks up here without those. Plus, it'll be drier alongside forest fires that the sea.” Keegan explained, sticking out a hand to show the coarse skin from the trek.

“Does the skin under your hair crack and chaffe? Likely not. Same for khajiit. Our exposed skin, like our nose and lips, are rougher than yours. It simply is not a concern unless we get sick. Besides, we, ah, groom.” Do’Karth said evasively, glancing back at the line that was going on without him. He involuntarily gritted his pointed teeth together, realizing every person that went in before him was just as likely not to be going on the damned ship.

“Actually, the shampoo-” Keegan was about to respond. “Never mind.”

At this point, at least four mercenaries have come and gone from Ashav’s tent. The processing was so uncharacteristically quick that it seemed like they did nothing at all. Then, as Keegan was about to continue the current conversation of insignificance, someone flipped open the tent flap and called out the next in line. That meant Do’Karth, the only one still waiting.

“Sorry, don't let me hold you.” Keegan got out of the way respectfully and let Do’Karth do his cat things.

With a nod and a slight nervous smile, Do’Karth stopped at the tent flap. “It is of no concern. This one simply saved you from an unspeakable crisis. It will be but a moment.”

Inside the tent was surprisingly well illuminated from a trio of lanterns posted off of the tent’s supports on either end, as well as one hanging from a thick rope that was oil treated to prevent it from being affected from the heat of the flames and metal. As one would guess, fire was bad for tents and anyone inside.

Sitting inside, looking like he had not slept for six years or so, was Ashav behind a well-worn hardwood table that at one point probably would have been presentable enough to be a dining table in a somewhat upscale dwelling, but years of use and neglect had all but stripped the varnish, and visible cracks and chips finished giving the table an appearance that looked as worn and strained as the Redguard manning it. Standing off to the side was everyone’s favorite Nord, the so-called Cat-Kicker, who looked like he wanted to reaffirm his Name as way of greeting Do’Karth. The khajiit did his best not to pay much mind to the man, as he was a lost cause and his reputation hardly engender admiration or respect. The other leaders also stood present, including the bosmer ranger Daelin, the quartermaster Edith who was an old friend of Sevine’s, and another man he did not readily recognize. “Do’Karth reporting for assignment.” he said simply to Ashav.

“Are you here to ‘volunteer’ like the first four?” It was the Do’Karth-did-not-readily-recognize man who greeted. He wore fine upper class cloth and was clad in an ornamented breastplate that looked more functional in a showroom than the battlefield. “Or do you want lube for your staff like the last one?”

“This one does not follow,” The khajiit replied, uncertain of what exactly had transpired before he got into the tent, and he was not eager to find out. “Do’Karth simply is here to do what is required, although he would prefer anything that did not involve returning to a ship. It is… disagreeable.” he stated as diplomatically as possible.

“So you don't like ships like the first four.” Gustav smiled. “Ashav, you've got to screen for seasickness in the future.” The Nord gave an amused glance to Ashav, who responded by fuming instead of anything related to amused. “No problem, let me-”

“That's enough!” Ashav suddenly bellowed. By pending his fist against the table, he seemed to startle everyone. Well, everyone except for Daelin, who seemed to be relieved after mouthing his worries to Ashav. “This is none of your business to begin with! I don't care if you are concerned about the so called health conditions, I don't care if you think your non-existent experience trumps mine, and I don't even care if you bought me the glass sword.” He stopped ranting to point to a malachite great sword laying in the corner. “You gave me the mission and I execute it, you hear me? You will not send off my entire crew because of one concern. This is my company!”

Gustav opened his mouth to object, but Ashav didn't stop ranting. “Meeting adjourned.” He announced. “Why are you still standing there?” The Redguard raised an eyebrow at Do’Karth. “You're dismissed; get out of my tent!”

Whatever had happened with the mercenaries even a few spots before Do’Karth managed to reach the tent had obviously set a rather unpleasant precedence that found the khajiit caught in the crossfire of Ashav’s rage. It became immediately apparent that he wasn’t getting any leverage in where his assignment took place, with a quick nod, Do’Karth stepped out of the tent, and the radius in which the Redguard’s rage could be directed at him, and stepped outside where Keegan was still waiting around. Sparing a glance back at the fabric and the incendiary voice of their commander still ringing through the air, Do’Karth picked up the pace in putting distance away from it. “It would seem this one is stuck on another damn ship,” Do’Karth grumbled to Keegan. “It went so well the first time. It would seem you lucked out for this draw.”

While Do’Karth pled his case, Keegan found a quiet spot in the encampment to finally compose his poem. But the serene mood for poetry was soon interrupted by loud ranting from Ashav and Do’Karth’s disappointed voice. “That’s unfortunate.” Keegan looked up from his notepad. Noticing he probably sounded with zero sympathy, he stashed the pad and quill away to properly talk.

“At least you won't be toasted to death.” He tried the comfort the Khajiit. “I'm sorry they won't have it any other way.” The Altmer noted to the still furious voice emanating from the tent. “Look, if there's another ship-related mission after this, I'll do everything I can to make sure you're not on it.”

Chilling winds sudden blew upon the duo, it could have been called refreshing, but it was dry and cracking for Keegan. He took the fresh lotion and rubbed some on his face, the balm suddenly reminded him. “I heard the apothecary sells potions that suppress seasickness.” He mentioned. “They also have water repellent creams; maybe that'll keep your fur dry?”

“Perhaps. Water breathing and potions of warmth seem to be in order of Do’Karth. He does not cherish the prospect of drowning or freezing to death. This seems to be the worst place in all of Tamriel for that, no?” Do’Karth replied with a forced smile.

As the conversation went on, a Dunmer woman strolled in from the town. She seemed to be heading for Ashav’s tent, and seeing less shouting than before, there was no doubt she picked a better time than Do’Karth.

“Is she with the company? I haven't seen her before.” Keegan tilted his head to the newcomer, still out of earshot of each other. “I'm not sure about Dunmers, I mean, we did get attacked by Morrowind troops and the newspaper confirmed the Nerevarine collaborating with Kamals.”

“She is, to Do’Karth’s understanding, a new acquisition along with the new argonian, Dax. Jorwen and her did not get off on the best of terms, this one has heard.” the khajiit replied, the orange hue of his eyes catching nearby torchlight as if they too were alight. “But Do’Karth would caution about painting her with the same brush as the dunmer we fought. After all, have you not experienced accusations of being Thalmor? The pendulum swings either way, this one feels.”

“Fair enough.” Keegan agreed. “Though most Thalmor agents do a lot more belittling and killing than myself.”

The khajiit grinned. “Perhaps that just means you have the perfect cover. No one would ever except Keegan the Unassuming.”

---

Elmera ran a hand through her hair tiredly. What an insane day - getting a bunch of errands run and attending the company’s meetings. She’d only just joined and it was likely she could have been absent from most things throughout the day by simply pleading ignorance. However, Ashav had specifically told her to come to the tent at some point throughout the night. She’d made multiple stops, but the line was extremely long each time, so she just decided to wait her turn. Ships never truly bothered her - she’d taken a trip to Solstheim once, there was nothing too horrid about the sea, so she was not upset about her assignment in the least. On the other hand, that Bosmer had still been in her room when she went back after speaking with Jorwen… It was more than a little bit awkward, honestly speaking.

The Dunmer came to the tent, rubbing her red eyes. Soon she’d get a little shut eye and they’d get moving. Thank the Nine that she’d been able to have a short smoke between the day’s happenings, so her nerves were a little bit less erratic so far. She peeled back the flap to the tent and looked inside.

“Ashav? You called for me?” She asked cordially, “If this is a bad time, I can come back,” The Dunmer pointed out, truly praying she would not have to return.

“Not at all, Elmera.” Ashav forced a diplomatic response. His face still had lingering traces of red from ranting and Gustav looked like he was shrinking from the Redguard. “Excuse me.” Ashav cleared his throat and drank from a cup of water. “Have you read the newspaper today? Are you aware of what happened in Morrowind and Eastmarch?” He asked.

Elmera nodded and stepped inside, maintaining a professional posture as her eyes drifted over each of her new employers. She was lucky to be a Dunmer - the effects of her light Moon Sugar use was a little but less obvious if she kept it minimal.

“I'm not particularly read on the situation, unfortunately. I had some other business,” she said with a small smirk, thinking back to that Bosmer in her room. “And a lot to do today. I was on the road prior to that and hadn't caught wind of much, sir,” she started, returning to the formality. “I haven't been in Morrowind for quite some time. Should I be worried about anything?” The question was innocent enough, but Elmera could feel something behind her interviewers’ curiosity. She'd done enough interrogating to know that every question had a purpose.

“Horse shit!” Dumhuvud spat. “She’s lying, there’s no way-”

“Let’s hear it from her first.” Ashav raised a hand. “In short, the Nerevarine decided to ally himself with the Akaviri invaders. I’m sure you heard of the Morrowind Armigers, the standing army under the Nerevarine.” Ashav leaned forward and pulled out several reports. “The people that went to Winterhold were ambushed by Armiger scouts on their way back, and as far as we know, another one of their detachments is currently helping Kamals occupy Windhelm.”

“And in case you don’t know, the Great Houses announced that Dunmers fighting for any other cause besides themselves are enemies of the state.” Ashav read from the Gazette.

“We are not sure if you would choose the company over Morrowind or vice versa.” He finally dropped the big question.

“Ah. I see,” Elmera started flatly, watching her employers carefully. “If that's all, I can assure you that there is no need for alarm. After my father’s passing, there was nothing left for me in Morrowind. I'm hardly fighting for a cause, rather than coin, and being made into an enemy of a state in which I do not live is hardly a concern.” The woman took a breath, choosing her words, “Moreover, I would be willing to state for the record that I've no ties left to the people or government of my home country.

“As you can plainly see, I'm not a Nord - a chunk of land is of no significance to me just because I was born on it and I don't go spouting serious, accusatory lies about people who would sooner save my life than end it,” she stated without glancing to the Nord at the table. Jorwen had been quite crude to her at first, but those amends were made. Still, the statement was quite obviously not just that, but also a bit of a retort for him.

“Interesting,” Gustav observed, “you admit to something many mercenaries don’t, but what happens when the enemy offers you more coins?”

“It’ll be interesting when she stabs one of us in the back.” Dumhuvud snorted.

“No more!” Ashav stood up and slammed both his fists onto the table. “She’s coming with me, on the ship, the end! None of you will say a thing about my decision!”

The tent felt silent again, despite how Ashav’s voice rasped when he shout, his words carried a certain sense of authority. The company leader sat back, stretching himself on his chair to calm down. “Like I have mentioned in the briefing, you will be expected to kill Morrowind troops when we raid their camp.” Ashav said, when his rage died down. “We will also need your Dunmeris to interrogate prisoners. And even if there are enemies who know you from the past, you will not hesitate to defeat them. Am I clear?”

Elmera crossed her arms and stared daggers into the other two men of the table. “I may be here for coin, but I'm not traitorous swine. I don't change sides when one is losing and I don't kill those with whom I work. Believe me, there would be far better ways to destroy Skyrim’s resistance than joining a Mercenary Company, if that were my goal.” She then turned her head back to Ashav and nodded, “Understood, sir. Thank you for your support, believe me when I say you've made the right choice.”

The very idea of being an “Enemy of the State” to Morrowind was borderline comical. On the other hand, Ashav and she had similar goals, albeit for different reasons. If somebody from her past managed to be caught up in this debacle, the last thing she would want would be for them to recognize her and survive the ordeal.

“Then we’re finished here.” Ashav concluded. “Time for bed, everyone. We've got a big day ahead.”

Sunrise, 20th Sun’s Height

Daixanos crouched near the outskirts of the city as dawn approached, his clawed hand lightly swaying over a track of a bear that had apparently decided to wander close to Dawnstar due to a scent, or perhaps curiosity. As the sun lifted over the horizon, the Argonian's snout caught the rays at its tip, before smoothly sliding over his scales until it filled his vision. If not for the thickness in the air, he would have had to look away immediately. But instead he met the sun head on, standing up from the track to greet it as he would an old comrade.

After his meeting with Do’Karth, he had decided to make the best of the little time they had left before the new contract. He had retired to his room with ample food and water, resting at his chair next to the fire and allowing his body to knit its wounds together at an accelerated rate. He had awoken early, ready to face the day as he would any foe, for one never knew what the day would bring. A curiosity that he considered the sun a friend, but the day something to be conquered.

Dax had made it out of the city before the others. He had no loved ones within 2,000 miles. He held no attachments and no affections, nor wished for them. The Hunter appreciated his lot in life as it was, as he appreciated nature, a fine fight, the heat of the sun, and the Hist for blessing him with it all. He stood as a statue, letting the distant sun warm him to the best of its ability in the early morning. He could feel the invigorating heat envelope him, and he let out an audible breath.

As the morning progressed, he met with his group and received more intel on what was expected of him. He saw many of faces in his party that he had seen not a day previous, but had not recognized at the time. He was surprised to learn that The Huntress herself was here, and that she would be scouting with him. He had heard of her, once or twice. It was an honor, as far as he was concerned. Nords were hardy fighters, but he had lived with many of them not understanding the complexities of being a Ranger, which was why his skills had been sought after for so long. He was impressed one of them had gained a reputation that met, or might have exceeded his own.

As the day progressed, Daixanos found himself in his element, and he could not ask for more. Tracking in the wilderness, moving ahead of the main group and reading the signs of the wild. What's more, he did not have to speak. He found that he had been doing that entirely too much the past few days. Here, he was not an object of conversation, or someone who might become a friend. Here, he was the Hunter, and nothing else.

His tail whipped and feet padded softly and quickly through the forest, Sevine's form being ever present either from the corner of his eye or from the snap of a twig he observed. To her credit, he hardly found any trail of her at all. She was quite adept, and he respected her as a true ranger. Near midday when they all feasted, he stayed relatively quiet and enjoyed gazing into the trees rather than merrily converse, but he did give them all a greetings and a nod. Even chuckled at a joke or two as he devoured his rations to keep his strength up.

Once they broke camp and continued onward, something he had noticed was the amount of animals that had crossed their path had not lessened very much. Perhaps it was from the warming weather. He knew he certainly appreciated it. Through brush and tree and thistle and bush, he ranged at the fore until for the last time they all gathered round. It was then the yelling had drawn their attention.

Dax growled when he saw the Spriggans. He had a few bad experiences with the fey creatures. Magic oft made him uncomfortable. He saw Sevine in trouble, and felt not only duty bound, but honor bound to help. Every ranger fell on ill fortune at times in the wild, and he did not blame her for it. He nocked an arrow and aimed, making sure to aim an extra second before letting loose, for his mind was half distracted from the Spriggan's mystical presence. His arrow struck one of the Wolves rending her in its ribs.

Unfortunately, his entire world was then filled with bees before he could attempt to attack the second one. He felt stingers strike his flesh over and over, and he howled before hitting the ground in a roll. His bow was dropped but his Axe stayed with him. He crushed many bees under his bulk, and many dispersed after. Those that stayed he even bit at to scare off, and he got to his feet. He found himself much closer to the Spriggans now, and he hefted his Axe at this unexpected turn. The Hist curse all blasted magic!

Keegan was pretty sure he's not the only "volunteer". In fact, he's certain he saw some people in his group just last night, lined up outside of the command tent and taking away Do'Karth's privilege of not being seasick. So when Daelin semi-sarcastically mentioned his name and role, Keegan did not feel like smiling in the slightest. Some could say the Altmer took things too seriously, but in all seriousness, he was fed up being the worst combatant in the entire group and felt increasingly urgent to prove himself in combat. After all, basically everyone that got this far from the Reach or Windhelm have killed something significant; everyone but Keegan. He never wanted to kill people, but wildlife was another story, and the savage nature of beasts made them the far better candidates to demonstrate Keegan's prowess.

The weather's nice, warm, as some called it. While it was the warmest he had ever experienced in Skyrim, the temperature today still ranged far below anything in Alinor or Hammerfell. Even Daggerfall and Wayrest were warmer for the most part. But with his latest set of sturdier clothing and a belly full of hot food, Keegan not longer shivered for a change. He's feeling toasty with a well-prepared lunch and some good hiking, so much toasty that it toasted into, burning?

What could someone expect by walking straight into a forest fire? Probably not something like a swarm of bees and a panicked lumberjack. Actually, the second one was to be expected, but the stream of fire coming from the man's hands was not. Here was Keegan thinking that all Nords are no-magic potatoes, or at least, the popular Nords always picked on the magic nerds. Dangerous arts like pyrotechnical destruction should not be simply thrown around by simpletons. In all likelihood, this whole fire thing was probably caused by idiots like this one.

The forest burn damage was severe, but Keegan's already underestimating the situation. Somehow, the thought of the entire mission being simple, and thus ending soon, crept into his mind. So when the spriggans and wolves closed in on his comrades, the Altmer threw caution to the winds. He saw Sevine being pinned by wolves and was not far from becoming doggy chew toy. In this case, people like Jorwen and Dax were far more qualified to help than he. Instead, Keegan picked the biggest and the baddest tree-witch thing to test a maneuver learned from a dubious "polearm training book": the frontal charge. What could possibly go wrong?

Brows narrowing and lips curled up to a sneer, Keegan let out a surprisingly respectable battle cry and propelled his feet towards the spriggan matron. He ran as fast as he could, across a route cleared out by other mercenaries, with the blades of his staff leveraged like a spearhead. As he drew past the screen of wolves, worries suddenly replaced the excitement of combat. He remembered how Felix tried to do the exact same thing for the exact same reason on different enemies. Surely a rickety old piece of voodoo wood broke easier than an adamantium-clad snow demon, right? Nope, Keegan found out. The four blades did go into wood, except that they stuck in shallowly, barely one-third to the hilt and not even close to going through as imagined. Yet for some cruel reason, Keegan had trouble pulling the staff back out.

In a situation as dangerous as his current one, Keegan went for the least logical move; punching the spriggan. If Keegan wanted safety, he would have not charged in the first place. He would be better off throwing spells from the back, but then again, someone (like that brainless moron who couldn't figure out the square root of four) would scold him for being a "useless support" and having to "carry his ass". Turned out he really should have been the "useless support", because all his punch did was denting a sharp stud and bloodying his knuckles.

"No way!" Keegan screamed.

That ever so fierce battle cry shifted into the crack of a child. The Altmer had the spriggan's attention now, and as the monster's head turned to look at him, Keegan thought about headbutting it. Unfortunately, the thing headbutted him first. Keegan fell back like a sack of rocks.

His head hurt so much that his ears rang, not only that, his nose bled and vision clouded with black and gray. In Keegan's current state, the spriggan could kill him by merely walking over him. So much for that bravado. In the future, if there's even a future for him, he would absolutely not heed a single line from that training book ever again. For now though, a nap sounded real cozy. The ground was nice and charred, the clashing and screaming melted into a lullaby for Keegan. Plus, the spriggan stepped around him to find someone else to kill; how nice of it.

Thirty seconds after he entered battle, Keegan blacked out.

---

The sky whorled into a blur of agony. Raelyn could almost see her regret. It looked like the cup next to her. Then the other one. And the other one after that. She smelled like beer and sweat. In the night's events it seemed she had lost her boots. She later found one in a tree. The other she had to buy back from a fish peddler, who claimed she had sold her boots for one fish which she freed by throwing it into the ocean.

The aftermath of the duel hadn't left Tsleeixth exactly happy. Even though he had wished for the Redguard to pay for his crimes against the Company his death had left him with a weird feeling of sadness and had volunteered to help bury their former comrade and afterwards had left to wander the town, needing some time to think for himself. By the time he had returned to the inn it was already afternoon but, when he entered the building, he was greeted by the sight of the bard that had helped him previously, lying down on a table with several cups on the table next to her.

Approaching the woman he shook her gently before sitting next to her "Hey, what happened to you?" He asked her, his brows furrowing as he looked at the cups strewn on the table "Wait here, I'll get you something to eat and some water." He said, making his way to the innkeep and buying Raelyn some food along with a cup of water. Settling down both the food and the cup on the table, the Argonian sat himself on a chair next to Raelyn as he waited for the Imperial bard to provide him the answers to his previous question.

Raelyn groaned, raising her head, "I think I invested, in a large stock, of the Inns mead supply." she looked at the water, took it, and chugged half of it down. "It disappeared mysteriously in the dead of night, who'd have thought?" she held a hand to her temple. She took a piece of bread, ate it, gagging it down with every ounce of reluctance in her throat. She wriggled her toes, "...I think I gave one of my boots to a fish peddler. Not sure where the other one is. Do you have my boot?"

"Ah, I see, that would explain the large amount of cups next to you" Said Tsleeixth when Raelyn explained that she had 'invested' in a large stock of the Inns mead supply "Hope it was a wise investment" He said with a hint of humor in his voice as the Imperial bard downed half on the water he had brought her in one gulp. He laughed when she mentioned that the mead had seemingly disappeared in the middle of the night "Hmm, truly, a mystery for the ages." He said as his laughter died down, a chuckle or two emanating from him before he turned serious as he saw Raelyn gagging as she ate the bread he had brought.

"Easy there, have some more water." He said as he sympathetically, and gently, patted Raelyn's shoulder, rolling his eyes a little when she asked him if he had one of her boots "No, I do not, in fact you have your boots on the ground nearby, unless I am mistaken." He explained to her, waiting for her to process what he had said before talking again "Now, care to explain to me what led you to 'invest' so much in the Inns supply of mead?"

She looked down at the boot, "Oh that? Don't think that's mine." she squinted, "Is that Brittles?" She shrugged, "After we saw the duel I had some feelings on the nature of mortality, which lead me to writing a song about it. That song was very upsetting, though I can't remember why because then I started drinking. That felt pretty great, then Gordo challenged me to a bard-off and I'm not going to let some Dwemer musician ruin Cordellos Fantastic Flight while I'm mostly conscious!" she paused, "I should note that a bard-off traditionally involves drinking. Whoever starts playing poorly loses, because any bard worth their stringed instrument of choice should be able to play well even while dead." She sipped some water, "Do you know who won?" she said into the cup.

Tsleeixth shrugged a little when Raelyn said that those boots weren't hers "Sorry, look the same to me as any other boot." He said bluntly "And who is Brittles? Never heard of him" Asked the Argonian, more out of idle curiosity than any true desire -or need for that matter- of knowing who this 'Brittle' character was. He listened as the bard explained to him the series of events that had let her to get into a competition between bards and how that, in turn, led her to get completely drunk "Alas, no, I wasn't here when the lash between you bards took place" He said, a hint of humor in his voice as he spoke once again. After a short while had passed a question popped into his mind "Hmmm, now that I think of it, I haven't asked you why you were here." He said to Raelyn "Are you here to join the company?" He asked curiously, wondering what the bard was doing in Dawnstar.

"Damn." she said to the bard-off comment. "I thought someone could explain all the broken glass." She asked curiously, "Do you have to join to play music with the company?" She gestured everywhere below her neck, "I don't exactly have the fighting figure of a nordic shieldbearer. I was originally just going to hop along and figured no one would say no to a bard traveling along. I thought at worst they'd assume I was a traveling courtesan."

"Could probably try asking the innkeep, I am pretty sure that he could fill in the blanks of what happened last night. EIther by how he reacts or what he tells you." Said Tsleeixth, shrugging a little when Raelyn asked him if she needed to join the Company to play music with them "I don't think so but if you are gonna stick around with us you'd better ask Ashav to give you a contract, that way you'll be getting payed for whatever trouble we get you in and I am sure that he'd find a use for you within the company proper." He said as he scratched his chin, thinking a little "I could put in a good word for you if you so desire, been with the company for a long time so, hopefully, Ashav would take my word into consideration." He added as well, waiting for the answer of the bard to his offer.

"No to the inkeeper, never know if you owe septims for damages. "That'd probably work. Maybe I can charm him with my resplendent personality!" she vomited a little onto the counter, "Well, or I could impress him with my impression of "A Nords Axe Has a Knob on the End" she gagged, "Or I could, I don't know, just smile and nod."

"Alright, alright, your call" Said Tsleeixth when Raelyn protested over his suggestion of going over to ask the innkeeper what had happened the previous night. He chuckled a little when she said that she could charm Ashav with her resplendent personality albeit his demeanor turned serious when she vomited a little onto the counter "Alright, take it easy" He said as he patted her shoulder gently, his worries only increasing as she gagged once more "Perhaps we should just first make sure that you are up to your one hundred percent before we go see Ashav." He told Raelyn.

Waiting for a little while more, once he was sure that Raelyn was feeling well enough he went out with the bard and guided her to where Ashav was. "Ashav, sir, this bard wants to join our Company and I'd like to give my recommendation for her induction into our ranks." He said once they were in the presence of the Redguard commander.

"Bard?" Ashav gazed towards the duo in confusion. It was fairly late and he was preparing to sleep after a long day. This sounds like a joke, and Ashav’s not one for joking around, especially not around bed time. "We don't have room for a musician on the ship, not with Madura being the free loader." The Redguard said, but pondering for a second, a better idea came to mind. "Recommendation you say?" Ashav took a step forward and looked the bard in the eyes. "How do you like cleaning chamber pots? I need someone else to dump the dumps when Dough-Boy isn't around."

Turning to Tsleeixth again, Ashav said. "Your bard friend doesn't look like much of a fight. What you really recommend for her is latrine duty, eh?"

"Tell you what, I'm feeling generous right now." Ashav went back to Raelyn. "I'll contract you for two-thirds of regular pay, for sanitation services." He took out a pre-written contract and made a few modifications to it. "Take it or leave it." He extended the quill to the newcomer.

Raelyns eyes darted back and forth between (R)Ashav and Tsleeixth. She didn't much like the sound of that work at all. Namely, she had kept free of disease by staying far away from randy looking men with boils at Inns and keeping the business of latrines at her back-end.

Raelyns face, for just a moment, creased towards the lines of pure indignancy usually reserved for when someone asked she played for free as Ashav handed her the quill, but settled on a plastered smile, "Sounds agreeable!" she signed briskly in handwriting suggesting that she either often wrote or was used to signing documents.

---

The transit was two days, hardly a stretch considering the calm waters. The Kyne's Tear was similar in to the Courtesan, both being twin-masted cargo vessels with well-built figureheads (a blued eagle on Kyne's Tear). Unlike the Courtesan, Gustav's choice of captain and first mate did not appear synergized. At the helm was Karena Wave-Rider, a middle-aged Nord woman who made no efforts to hide her dishonest sailings. She claimed to have transported "liberty goods", clearly contraband, between High Rock and Skyrim. Karena also said he knew another man called Farid, one that bore striking resemblance to the one buried in Dawnstar and was apparently, a pirate. She gladly theorized that the pirate Farid could very well have fathered the younger Farid. Leading a promiscuous life even in his late forties, Karena told the listeners, pirate Farid supposedly left an infamous trail of orphans. Hargjorn Thrice-Battered, the first mate, stayed out of these conversations. He grumbled every time his ship or Karena was mentioned. According to him, he spent his life saving and a great deal of loans to purchase the Kyne's Tear. The maiden voyage was supposed to a grand adventure of discovery and profit circumventing the continent. That adventure never got far, because as soon as he hit the Black Marsh coasts, Hargjorn was robbed blind by Sharee, the Terror of the Padomaic. A long list of debts forced the Thrice-Battered to turn his beloved ship to Gustav, who in turn, demoted him under Karena. Now, Hargjorn called Karena the "Pirate-Bitch". Karena referred to Hargjorn as "Potato-Head"; a surprisingly accurate description.

There wasn't much to say about the weather. It was a mix of cloudy overcast and bright sunshine; no precipitation or high waves at all. Before disembarking, Ariane told Ashav that she suspected three possible sources for the Winterhold incident. From interviewing college mages, studying Armiger documents and reviewing town records, Ariane declared it was unlikely the Kamal stood behind the storm. It could have been rogue mages, or some secret weapon belonging to the Nerevarine, but the most terrifying prospect was the Tsaesci, Akaviri vampire snake-men rumored to have weather control magic. Ashav didn't think much into it, he couldn't think much into it. He was a dud when it comes to magic, and so was the majority of the company. That suited him just fine, after all, he just couldn't bring himself to trust mages after the fiasco with Glen, Iron-Pumper and the necromancer. Edith still hurts thinking about it, Dumhuvud would get angry and Daelin, well, he would just cover it up by working himself to exhaustion. Ariane only got in because Gustav put her in, but now, Ashav wanted Fontaine to be on this boat. Before they left port, both the Kyne's Tear and its companion ship (simply called Ship Two), got loaded with arcane equipment. There was a set of crystals that can transmit voice over a short distance, the Winterhold enchanters named it the "walkie-takie", and they say it would be commonplace in the fifth era. Some of the other goodies included a life-detecting telescope (that no one figured out how to use yet), an enhanced compass and adhesive compounds made from horse jism. Of course, how could one forget the arcane charges? These bombs had the reputation of being the only effective weapon against Kamal ships. Coincidentally, the two person that field tested them are on board as well. For the two days at sea, sailors would flock to Roze and Sagax to hear their suicide bombing adventure.

Bthamz wasn't much to look at on the outside. It was a circular rock with the tip of a Dwemer structure jutting out of the middle. The were smaller rocks around it that formed a sort of miniature island chain. With a sheet of mist on the 21^st morning, Karena declared it was unsafe to guide the Kyne's Tear any closer. So she sent two dinghies under the guidance of Hargjorn, in addition to giving him and Ashav each a voice-transmission crystal for communication. Having put a good amount of sea between himself and his boss, the first mate went on a tirade explaining how he would have ran things differently, and more efficiently. His talks were mostly harmless nonsense until he noticed Do'Karth zoning out.

"Quit daydreaming." Hargjorn shook the dazed Khajiit. "You look like you're gonna throw up. Get it over with, just don't fall off."

Thankfully, Do'Karth did not fall off; no one did, not even Madura. Most people tend forget the journalist when he wasn't being a nuisance, and quite frankly, he wasn't one at all. Madura stayed primarily in a enlarged closet, plunking his cot down and going to work on one of his reports. A couple of mercenaries were surprised to see Madura hopping into a dinghy, awkward iron helmet still on his messy hair. However, the journalist did his share of rowing and kept his mouth shut. To the veterans of Winterhold, the rowing was suspenseful but otherwise untroubled. When the dinghies found a suitable outcropping of rock to tie up, Ashav, Madura and Hargjorn decided to circle around while Edith received a "walkie-talkie" so she could lead the rest to the dwarven structure. What Edith found was small tower leaning slightly to one side, a dwarven double door half broken and several wooden beams and barrels strewn about. Hargjorn told everyone that smugglers frequent this place during summer, so a few left behind items were no major concern. Still, as they went down a short flight of stairs into an elevator, Edith cautioned everyone to have their weapon ready.

Her caution turned out for the better. As soon as the elevator came to a grinding halt, thick steam prevented anyone from seeing, hearing or venturing ahead. The vapors cleared seconds later, putting a medium-sized room into sight. Stone walls and shelves formed the edge of the two-storey tall chamber. Several stone tables and chairs formed a semi-circle along the outer reaches. A large hanging light provided the main source of illumination with its blue glowing crystal. Only the center opening was well lit, as the Dwemer furniture and shelves further away were steeped in shadow. However, the middle was not empty. The dead bodies of two raggedly armored Dunmers lay lacerated and filled with bolts, beside a snuffed out campfire and contemporary camping supplies. One sword, a pickaxe and a handbook scattered around the corpses.

Any comments Edith prepared were cut short by the sound of grinding gears. Out of tubes from the sides crawled out at least eight dwarven spiders. From an entrance opposing the elevator, four dwarven spheres entered with blades and crossbows aimed towards the mercenaries. "Move, spread out!" Edith shouted. The elevator cramped everyone together in a tiny space, making ballista hits extremely easy. "Shields up front!" She shouted again, strapping her steel targe to her arm and ducking a bolt that could have gone through her skull. In truth, Edith was hesitant to block supposedly armor-piercing projectiles. For now, she'll have to make due with whatever at hand and worry about tactics when they get out alive. With her sword in hand, Edith managed to chop apart the nearest spider. Another bolt whizzed past Edith's torso and found Elmera behind her, impaling itself into the Dunmer's right thigh. The sphere responsible for the shot quickly rolled in blade buzzing, intended to cut Elmera's head off. Not far away, two spiders knocked Leif off his feet, they then went to work zapping his face and chomping down on his arms.

20th of Sun’s Height - Dawn

For once, Leif woke up not within the walls of Windpeak Inn, but inside a tent where those that did not wish to spend their coin had erected a circle of canvas tents near a campfire. Respectfully, he had done the same, purposefully done, so that he could avoid crossing paths with Sevine or Do’Karth. As he lay within the warmth of his bedroll, his eyes stared up at the canvas ceiling, his thoughts scrambled. After the duel had conceded, Leif ventured off to Quicksilver Mine, and volunteered to be an extra mine-hand for the day. Typically, Leigelf wasn't interested in taking on any extra help, but to Leif’s good fortune, one of his worker’s came down with a bout of ataxia, so to his luck, the balding Nord amiably agreed to take him on for the day.

In turn, when the sun had set and all of the miners were calling it a day, Leif brought all of the ore he harvested that day to Leigelf, who paid him for his day’s work. Now, as he lay in his bedroll, he could feel the soreness in his muscles, his entire back, arms, and even thighs hurt from the intensive back-breaking labor. At the time, it felt good to release the strangulating emotions through swinging a pick-axe, very well picturing it to be Do’Karth’s face, or imagining that he was quite literally, splitting his heart in two; physically destroying any remaining emotion with each swing. But now, in the early morning hour, a deep pain emanated from where his heart beat, possibly the symptom of his heart breaking. The deeply rooted sense of betrayal had not subsided, rather, he desperately wished that he could look upon Sevine’s gentle face, to hear the sound of her voice, or to see how her eyes sparkled when she spoke of passionate things. While the pain in his chest remained, he struggled to raise himself up from the bedroll. He wanted nothing more than to disappear, to not have to deal with the chance encounter of seeing her, nor him. Yet, while he could spend the entire day commiserating in his own grief, he knew that there would be a boat setting sail to Bthamz, and he knew that he had to join the members setting sail today, if he wished to leave behind, for the time being, his sense of deepening grief.

With the newly acquired coin jingling merrily in his pouch, Leif kept his head held high, avoiding gazes from the townsfolk as he made his way to The Mortar and Pestle. As he pushed open the door to the apothecary, he was greeted by a familiar face. Ol’ Captain Atgeir carrying on a merry conversation with Frida, while in his left hand, he clutched a bottle filled with green fluid.

Taking note of a new patron, both Atgeir and Frida paused in their speech and turned to see whom came through the door. At once, Atgeir began to smile. “Well I’ll be! I haven't seen the looks of you sober since we stepped foot in town. What have you been up to these days, my good man?”

“Hullo, Cap’n. Ma’am.” Leif said, nodding his head to Frida, “nothing of particular, worked at the mine yesterday. Say, whatever happened to The Courtesan?” They had, after all, abandoned the ship when the hull struck a rock.

“I've sent out a rescue boat, paid a pretty gold coin for it, of course, but she’ll be back here in harbor before you know it, and I'll have her sailing the sea again.” Atgeir said, his frigid blue eyes sweeping over Leif as he spoke, as if searching for answers to questions that neither had asked.

“Truly? That is good news! Perhaps, when my contract with the company is finished, I would cherish the opportunity to sail with you again, Cap’n.” And that, Leif did look forward too. Anything to take his mind off Sevine.

“Of course! There aren't many strong men like you, willing to go the extra mile to make sure the job is done. Now come, don't let me keep you from your business. Frida, you let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.” With that, Atgeir moved past Leif to the door, clasping the man on his shoulder as he went, and left the apothecary without another word.

“I take it you were a sailor for Atgeir?” The elderly woman spoke up, eager to help a potential customer.

“Aye, not too long ago, I sailed the Sea of Ghosts with him.”

“He's a good man, true to his word. Now, is there something of interest I can help you with?” She asked, her eyes creasing as she smiled.

“I came to find any potions of health, if you have them.”

“You came just in time then, I only have three left. Are you with the mercenary company?”

“That I am.”

“Your lot has picked me just about clean, which is good for business, but now I have to restock. Here you are.” She set three potions filled with red fluid on the wooden countertop and stretched out her hand to receive payment. Leif didn't say anything as he counted out his coin, he didn't have the courage to.

“Say, tell me, do you know of that pretty lass in your company? The one with the crimson hair?” Frida’s words froze him in place. Of course he knew, it was none other than Sevine, who else in the company possessed curiously dark red hair?

“Aye, I know her.” He muttered, a bit shell-shocked in his state to address that sensitive topic so suddenly.

“Will you do me a favor, and pass this onto her? She left behind this bottle of perfume that she purchased yesterday. I haven't had the time to take it to her, and I'm afraid that she’s already left town with the scouting group.” There, she pushed across a curious bottle, small in shape, with a clear-yellowish fluid inside, in delicate handwriting, the paper label indicated that it was Troll Scab, how unpleasant.

“Certainly. I’ll make it so that she has in her hands again.” Leif then collected his potions, and the bottle of perfume, and departed from the apothecary.

With his pack secured, along with his long sword strapped across his back, Leif made his way down to the docks where those chosen for the sea mission, were now boarding Kyne’s Tear. Not long after he had claimed a hammock, and set his gear inside, he ventured topside to see if he could lend a helping hand. Karena Wave-Rider, the captain, and Hargjorn Thrice-Battered, her first mate, were engaged in a tense conversation when he interrupted, Hargjorn simply grunted in disagreement with each sentence she blathered.

“Pardon me, Captain…” Leif’s words faltered at not knowing her name.

“Karena Wave-Rider, at your service. What can I do for you?” She said with a flashing smile.

“I was wondering if you needed any help on-board? I’m a sailor, eight years under my belt by way of Captain Atgeir.” He raised his brows as he spoke, he didn't want to linger around on deck without pitching in.

“Well...the manual labor is covered, but you are more than welcome to lend a hand with the cook, Jyrki. You can find him in the galley below.”

As Leif made his way to the steps leading below deck, he caught sight of a familiar figure near the railing. Do’Karth. He hadn't noticed the cat before when he boarded, and now a bout of dread bloomed in his heart. Close quarters in the ruins, and on the ship would bring them together, it was inevitable.

22nd of Sun’s Height - Bthamz

So far, Leif managed to avoid Do’Karth, not that it was noticeable, he just made certain that he wouldn't end up within earshot of the cat. Both nights on deck, the 20th, and 21st, Leif had the luxury of providing song through a flute for the shipmates, as he was well-versed in sea shanties. This time around, he skipped the love songs, and chose simple ditties that anyone could sing, for the chorus’ were repetitive.

Before they company entered the Dwemer ruins, Leif gave a low whistle to himself. He found the company of Roze, and Sagax, though he spoke not a word. His grief lingered still, and the desire to hold any conversation left him feeling exhausted. As they began to cram themselves into the elevator, his stomach began to turn with nausea, and as they descended, he fought back a wave of bile that threatened to spill forth.

When the doors of the elevator were opened, the company fell into a prompt engagement with fearsome dwarven spiders, and as he had reached for his long sword, Leif felt a weight on his chest as he fell to the floor, sword sent spiraling across the granite floor into a darkened corner. He looked up in time to see that what pinned him to the floor were two spiders. Sparks from them exploded over him, and he felt a burning sensation, followed by a wetness on his cheek. Desperately, he flailed his limbs in an attempt to overpower his opponents, but alas, even though the spiders were small in size, the weight of the metal kept him in place.

“For the love of Talos! Help me!” He thundered as another zap from the spider singed off a great chunk of his beard. He could feel again, a seeping wetness that spread down his chest, and across his left shoulder.

"What do I think about the Dwemer? Well, they certainly knew how to make an exit." - Raelyn, when asked about what she thought about the Dwemer when traveling aboard the Kyne's Tear.
---
Raelyn, all in all, thought herself an educated woman. She'd written a book and traveled the world! She had met men and women of every creed, fled from one specific creed, the Khajiit after the Skooma Incident, and all in all had lived an exciting life. She was, however, not prepared for mechanical spiders made of metal who spouted lightning. She wasn't sure if this was worse than the latrine duty.

In an unfortunate circumstance, one approached her. In a rather more fortunate, even more improbable circumstance, its threat assessment went as such.

QUERY: THREAT?"

[YES], [NO]

TARGET: RIGGED, STRAIGHT, NOT MOVING

DATA INSUFFICIENT.

CLOSEST EQUIVELANT?

[STALACTITE], [PIPE], [SNOW ELF]

STALACTITE HIGHEST PROBABILITY.

ASSESSING.

It then clanked off towards someone else. Others of its kind would occassionally glance in Raelyns direction, but seemed to not even notice her. She took this opportunity to proffer a sword from the nearest dead Dunmer and swung it in a manner suggesting she'd swung a sword before in a panicked arc towards the nearest Dwemer horror contraption. While it didn't die, she did manage to break a leg off with the swing and someone else finished it off.
---

"You know what, in the practice of censoring knowledge that no one should know the wot of, maybe we can just burn all the books we find." - Raelyn, minutes after her first encounter with Dwemer Spiders.

Elmera checked the laces on her boots and pulled her coat over her shoulders. Skyrim waters weren’t exactly famous for their tropical climate, she knew, so the Dunmer was sure to be fully equipped for the voyage. She clasped the sheath on her boot to secure her knife and then placed her sabre at her hip. She checked out of her room and made her way to the port. She pulled her hood up to protect her face from the cold. As far as what she was carrying went, she only had what Ashav told her to bring and a little bit of Sugar to help her along the way.

The deck thumped under her boots, but she was reassured by how solidly built the vessel was. The crew seemed interesting, but she gave them their space and did what was asked of her. Most of her time was spent at the side of the ship, watching the waters roll around them. One of their companymen seemed pretty sick, a Khajiit who didn’t seem too thrilled to be on a ship. She didn’t care to ask why, but from the sounds of it, a lot of the others in their company had recently had a bad experience.

Supposedly, they had cargo with magical equipment. She’d seen a few of the devices, but she wasn’t as well versed in the schools which enchanted them, save for the explosives, which she decided not to handle herself. They’d be better in the hands of somebody who couldn’t conjure destructive magic anyway. Finally, after a shockingly boring trip across the open water, there was a call to muster and board the ship’s dinghies. It looked like things were about to finally intensify around her, Elmera realized, looking to the ruins ahead as she climbed into the boat which she was directed to.

Something hung heavy in the air as the lift reached the floor for which is was destined and she drew her blade. This was unnerving… They were all so vulnerable crowded in here, but if they split up coming down the elevator, they’d have to face the danger at the bottom apart from each other. The doors opened and everybody was suddenly clouded in steam. Elmera waved her hand, covering her face for a moment as orders were barked. Elmera had never faced any kind of Dwemer opponent before, but she was pretty sure that regardless of what it was, she could kill it with fire. She looked to her free hand and a flame ran down her arm and finally came to fruition in her hand, forming a ball. It was too crowded, she couldn’t get a shot off due to the close quarters. The woman in front of the sorceress was taking charge, but as she dodged an attack, Elmera took aim and threw her spell into the midst of enemies. It exploded on contact – directly striking a spider and sending it sprawling across the room in multiple pieces. However, what she had failed to counter was an incoming bolt which found a home deep inside of her right thigh.

The Dunmer let out a cry of anguish and fell back as the elevator started to empty and the others took up defensive positions. She dropped her sword and a sphere charged her with a buzzing saw. Elmera tried to conjure up another spell, but it was moving so fast and the pain broke her concentration. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” She muttered, scooting back to the wall, scrambling for her blade. Unfortunately, even if she had it, it wouldn’t be much help – it was more suited to slashing and she couldn’t move. It probably wouldn’t help to fight off the machines even if she wasn’t injured. “Hey!” She called out as the saw closed in on her.

It probably would have left any sailor mortified and aghast if they ever heard what Do’Karth was thinking in that moment; all ships looked alike.

Before him, a dual mast behemoth of treated hardwood and drawn, yet sprawling canvas sails loomed ominously, as if the Courtesan came back for a second round of oppression upon its passengers. The people spoke of it as the Kyne’s Tear, named after a Nordic goddess that apparently had something to do with the dragon tongue. For the patron of a mostly dead language, she’d probably have a few words about her namesake being a horrific floating death trap that would certainly lose against any icebergs it came across, or submerged anything, really. The winds made it creak and groan like some great mortally wounded beast, and yet it was where Do’Karth was expected to embark.

He resolved that if he ran across Keegan and that damnable lotion box on the ship, it would be overboard before the altmer knew it was no longer in his hands. He could have been safely on land with Sevine and Jorwen where his skills would be of great use; instead he was trapped with the man who probably would try to murder him in his sleep. On the plus side, at least Solveig was going on this particular adventure. That, at least, meant he could keep his oath to Jorwen that he’d watch over her. Miserably enough, if things went like they did during that last blunder to the College of Winterhold, she’d probably be the one looking out for him, provided she did not discover the joys of being bashed into a mast.

Do’Karth turned to look from the cue he stood in to board the ship, seeing Daelin’s group departing, along with the brilliant red mane of Sevine, the sensation of her touch lingering upon his fur like a phantom. A pang of regret filled him, as he knew that each time they parted ways could very well be the last, especially with how things were going in this company.
”Mara keep you safe, and bring you back to me.” Sevine said, a caress cradling his cheek, committing to a promise through a simple gesture, sealing it with a kiss. Grasping the nape of her neck, Do’Karth gently brought their foreheads together, holding together for a few moments before they broke off, headed to their respective assignments. He noted the straps of the amulet he entrusted to her, feeling a swelling of reassurance that she’d make it back to him. Anything else was inconceivable.
Death was something that seemed increasingly common, and less and less familiar faces remained. While the khajiit considered himself fortunate for what little time he’d had with Sevine so far, he pondered on whether or not Sadri, the weathered dunmer that reminded him of a storm atronach that gave the allusion of being worn away from time and hardship like a desert boulder, would find the courage to speak with Solveig about his own affections towards her. She was tough, blunt, and not one to be coddled, and she came across as cold, Do’Karth knew. She also had a rather infamous father with a reputation for violence, so that probably deterred would be suitors. If anything, it would be interesting to see unfold.

Along for the trip was also Sagex and Roze, the two rather chummy friends he had that he felt were somewhat crazy for the risks they were willing to take. Do’Karth was alive because of Sagex, and for that he felt he owed a debt he could never repay, but the Imperial seemed to be quite happy with just being helpful and he was irrepressibly good natured; something that would doubtless make the voyage ahead easier. Do’Karth also remained quite cordial and fond of Roze, although they had spoken all of once; she’d left quite the impression and seemed to be a bright spot on an otherwise dour outfit.

Another among the ranks, of all people, was the damned journalist Madura, the very same who had accosted him and Niernen in Windhelm during the riots, asking inane, prying questions. The khajiit didn’t care for people such as that, forcing people to speak their histories so they could profit off of others’ stories. Others seemed to respect, or even like the dunmer, for whatever reason, but it would take a lot to wipe the memory of his indelicate timing away. The other questionable addition to the team was the bard he’d noticed for the first time the previous night, the Imperial woman, Raylin or something of that nature. She was a member of the company now? Was she even a fighter? It was hard to say, and as someone who was used to being underestimated, he wasn’t about to do the same. The most unassuming people held the biggest surprises.

Before long, Do’Karth boarded the Tear and resolving to try and face his fears, stayed on the top deck as long as the weather held out, his resolve buffered by a pair of potions of warmth and a potion of water breathing, which he hoped he’d never need. He couldn’t imagine letting water fill his lungs and not panic since it didn’t matter if magic was manipulating your body into taking water into your lungs like air, the rest of a person would still object vehemently at the prospect. Still, it was the cost of staying alive in the very worst case scenario, and it provided even a small amount of comfort as his padded feet touched the creaking wooden plank that headed up onto the Tear

For a moment, standing on the deck, Do’Karth got his bearing and decided that the only way he was going to tolerate future expeditions on a ship, which he realized he’d never know if his contract stipulated they would be a presence in his duties or not on account of his lack of ability to read. He suddenly felt the need to confront Keegan about those children’s books he professed to have, as insulting as the implication was. It did not help matters that at that moment, he looked over and met eyes with Leif, the Nord who had quickly come to despise him over their mutual affections for Sevine. Leif broke the gaze quickly, looking rather as uncomfortable as Do’Karth felt. The khajiit shook his head, stepping away from the gangplank to both put some distance between himself and the gunwale and to let the rest of the company board. Their whole rivalry was stupid, Do’Karth decided. He would not allow himself to forget that Leif took him into his home during the siege of Windhelm, even if it was a gesture mainly meant to make Sevine happy. Under any other circumstances, had the matter of the heart not intervened, they could have been fine friends. It made the prospect of fighting him later that much worse. Do’Karth was all too familiar with the Nordic custom of solving petty disputes, be it over love or improperly milking one’s cow, was often done with fists in mind. They were such a violent, severe people. Under other circumstances, it would almost be amusing.

Soon, the ship departed from the harbour, and taking place nearer to the bow of the ship and out of the way by resting against one of the masts Do’Karth decided to remain for much of the voyage, trying urgently to forget that below just a few layers of wood were dozens, if not hundreds, of meters of frigid, murky death, water one could not drink. Everything about the sea was hostile, and for a fleeting moment, he pictured those stupid mages who tried to flee in the storm being pulled under to their deaths, and what manner of creatures would soon dine upon their bloated cadavers. Do’Karth shuddered at the thought, and pulled his coat tighter. If every ship was a death trap, no one would sail… would they?

It was worrying that he didn’t come to a satisfactory answer for that line of thought.

For the next two days, the khajiit grew more accustomed to the sea, the pleasant summer weather and lack of storms making this voyage more pleasant than the one aboard the courtesan. The sun was warm, and the air brought in a scent of salt and brine that was familiar, but unlike anything he took the time to notice before, and a part of Do’Karth finally understood the appeal of sailing, although he was far from agreeing with the sentiment. He helped tend to minor wounds brought about from sailing, such as rope burn and scrapes, and he even volunteered his services cleaning the cookware after a few of the meals, given his expertise in manning a ship were negligible, at best. In his down time, he spoke with friends or napped, finally getting used to the heavy but gentle movements of the ship, and before long, Do’Karth decided he rather enjoyed hammocks.

As with most things, the pleasantries came to an end as the island came into sight, and soon him and the others were put into the damnable dinghies once more. Clutching the sides for dear life, his staff secured beneath the bench, Do’Karth didn’t even dare utter a reply to the Hagjorn sailor as he jokingly, or not, implored him to not fall out, as if that were something he intended to do.

Mercifully soon, land was beneath his feet, the cool, wet rocks seeming like a blessing that made Do’Karth want to burst out in relieved laughter as he gathered his weapon and helped pull the small boat ashore. Bthamz, as it turned out, was a mystifying ruin that was utterly captivating for someone like Do’Karth who had not seen the dwemer ruins before. It was a portal into another world, another time.

The group fell into formation as they entered the catacomb-like confines of the structure, and while looking out for dangers, Do’Karth was mesmerized by the beautiful and ornate details of the carvings and infrastructure, so ancient yet unlike anything the world had to offer. He wondered why no one had ever attempted to reclaim these dwemer ruins and inhabit them once more, until he recalled that a city in Western Skyrim called Markarth was such a place. Perhaps he would have a chance to visit there?

His ponderings of why no one tried to inhabit the ruins after so long were soon answered by the discovery of two dead bodies of soldiers who had tried to make camp. Apparently something was not fond of their habitation, and that something was approaching, fast. Hissing steam and the rumbling of alloys filled the hall and the group had not even step foot off of the lift before they came under attack by the strangest constructs Do’Karth had ever witnessed. Small arachnid like drones quickly took down Leif before he could react, and the new dunmer to the company, Elmera. Do’Karth was too far to help either of them, and despite his misgivings towards Leif, he did not wish to see the man meet his end. Trying to reach his companions, Do’Karth was immediately accosted by one of the humanoid-sphere contraptions, which tried to hew him down with a sinister looking and curious rotary blade, ever sharp and polished after Alkosh-knows how many years, that whizzed past his chest as he leaned back with limber flexibility, giving him room to jam the steel-plated end of his quarter staff between the thing’s joints, immobilizing the arm. The join screeched and grinded in protest as Do’Karth applied leverage against the limb, and soon it popped loose, hanging loosely from a few struts as the khajiit freed his staff and jammed it under the thing’s ‘chin’ with enough force that it dislodged the head from its position, making the thing move around aimlessly, whatever magic or compulsion it had weakened. Another hard whack cleared the head clean from the metallic frame and the sphere dropped to the floor with a deafening clang.

“LEIF!” Do’Karth shouted, tense and horrified that he was still too far to stop the soon-to be fatal display before him.

Following the announcement of the missions by Ashav, Roze departed from Sevine's side to find Sebastian - having been picked for the sea mission, they would have to leave one another on the morn; and likely not see each other for a good long while. When awaking by his side in the early hours of the morning, Roze found herself in surprisingly high spirits - their last journey by sea had not gone fabulously, after all. Perhaps it was just the prospect of moving onto another adventure?

"I seem to have grown accustomed to his kind of life." The thought was not a particularly bad one; not right now in her life, that was. While thievery was a lucrative - and mostly - enjoyable occupation, there wasn't much life-changing about it. In this company, Roze was finding she was actually working towards something bigger than herself, finding a family in what had once been a group of complete strangers. And that was a refreshing thought for the young Breton.

As per her promise to Sevine, Roze kept a quiet eye on Leif during the voyage - which once again, was a very enjoyable one for her. After staying at the stern until Dawnstar - and the lone figure of a waving Sebastian - blinked out of sight, Roze found herself mingling with the crew and the company. Mainly sharing exploits to the sailors with Sagax, and their daring suicide job on the Kamal warship. Naturally, as stories tend to go, embellishments were added, either for humour or extravagance; wrestling one-on-one with an Ice Demon in the water, and helping to take down the dozens of vampires and werewolves that had swarmed the docks all of a sudden. While most went unbelieved or were met with roars of laughter from their ever growing crowd of listeners, Sagax and Roze could back up what had really happened with their scars; some still looking fresh with an angry crimson hue. The quiet presence of Do'Karth was noted by Roze, along with the equally quiet presence of Leif - never at the same time, naturally. With his help on the ship and entertainment of the crew with songs, Leif seemed to be keeping busy and was far better than last she had seen him... but Roze wasn't entirely convinced. As the ship neared it's Dwemer destination, Roze made a mental promise to talk with Leif after they had dealt with whatever was inside. Although being perhaps over-the-top in his anger, it wouldn't seem that way to him; and the heart-broken could always use some comforting words.

However, as the events unfolded in the Dwarven ruin, she felt a great fear that such a conversation would never happen; they were attacked almost instantaneously, and poor Leif - plus another comrade - fell rather quickly to the mechanical beasts. Seeing them in action, Roze found a new sense of amazement that her Father had been able to retrieve this bow from a Dwemer ruin decades ago; the fact that only he had made it out alive from his group had never really stuck with Roze until now... these places were dangerous.

So, naturally, her company decided to kick the dust up in the place, maybe have a picnic too. Typical.

Freezing momentarily in horror at seeing Leif cry for aid, Roze desperately wanted to help. Despite everything that had gone in with Leif and Sevine this past week or so, Roze knew more than enough that her friend would be heartbroken if Leif were to perish; in fact, she herself would be grief stricken. While conversations between herself and the lovetorn Nord had been somewhat minimal, the last thing she desired was to see him hurt... or dead, as the case could be in their current situation.

And while everything within her screamed to save him, she instead turned to their other fallen comrade. Guilt instantly flooded her as she sprinted towards Elmera and the Dwarven sphere, but she knew she had a far better chance of saving the Dunmer than getting to Leif in time to aid him. There were others to help Leif. Or, so she hoped - but first things first.

Knocking an an arrow as she approached the injured Elmera, Roze let out a swift breath of air before loosing - the arrow slammed straight into the back of the sphere. It jolted to a stop, spinning around to look at her for another well-placed arrow to land directly between it's...eyes? Did it even have eyes, or were they just decorations? Whatever they were, they weren't seeing anymore; knocking another arrow, Roze aimed once more for the chest area of the machine - the impact puncturing the metal and knocking it to the ground, where several of it's pieces fell off at the collision.

"Huh. And here I thought they'd be sturdier than that." Roze muttered to herself before crouching by Elmera, giving her leg a cursory glance. The bolt was nicely set in the meat of her thigh, but it didn't appear to be life-threatening. "Just stay down for now, I'll keep them off you. Then we'll maybe do something about your leg - oh, and a head's up; Pulling it out is going to hurt like a bitch." She said with a light chuckle to the injured Dunmer. This was her first conversation with the woman; may as well keep it light while everyone was alive. Probably... all alive.

---

---

As Rhasha'Dar quickly found out, his relief of being given this mission was poorly-placed. When being told he would be joining Daelin in regards to wildfires of some sort, the Khajiit had felt a weight fall from his shoulders. No water; no fear of drowning. He could certainly get his fur singed in the forests, but it was a preferable fate to becoming a bloated corpse left to the horkers.

However, what awaited the group and himself in the forest all of a sudden made a ship and the waves far more appealing - spriggans, and wolves. Now, Rhasha'Dar had run into a lone spriggan now and again when foraging in woods. Never more than one, and he either left it alone or killed it with some difficulty. Now there were five... and with them beasts that he held no particular love for. He had always disliked wolves in the wild (as most sane people would, unless they enjoyed having limbs torn off by a hungry pack), but since the incident with the Werewolf all of those years ago, Rhasha had found a new sense of apprehension instilled in him around the beasts; even as far as mistrusting docile, domesticated dogs. His fear spiked when two of the scrawny beasts launched themselves at Sevine, bringing her to the ground all too quickly. Readying his aim, Rhasha flung his spear towards the wolf biting Sevine's leg... only for a swarm of bees to knock it off course; burying itself in the ground several feet away from the Sevine and her canine assailants.

As the spriggans closed in, Rhasha'Dar took his war axes in hand, and launched himself at the closest one with an animalistic snarl; beginning to hack away at the wooden body of the angry creature. Bellowing it's own strange, echoing screech, the spriggan lashed out with its branch like claws - although throwing an arm up to take the majority of the blow, its claws caught his neck and lower jaw. While his axe dropped from his hand from the force of the blow, Rhasha swiped the other in a vicious, upward motion with a hiss. The head snapped back, barely hanging on by a thread as he slammed his axe right into the neck while it remained motionless in shock, completely severing the head and landing a good bit away from the fallen body.

Examining his wound quickly while reclaiming his weapon, Rhasha winced as blood wept from the slices and stained his golden fur - the cuts on his arm were far deeper than those on his face and neck; but there'd be no way of telling if the wounds were poisoned or not. He knew of the spriggan's tricky poison and venoms - but that would have to wait until after the battle. There were more to kill, and people to save. Wiping the blood from his jaw and cheek with his good arm, Rhasha'Dar moved onto another foe with a determined glare.

“You're up early.” Solveig said, taking a seat next to Cleftjaw, and across from her father as he used a knife to poke into a cut of ham and flip it over.

He was silent for a second. Cleftjaw looked from her to Jorwen, “Cleftjaw, I'd like a moment with my daughter.” He said, his voice holding a tinge of unease.

Solveig felt like a little girl again, her breath quickened as much as her heart and she watched as Cleftjaw nodded and left, leaving her alone with the hulking man she called her father. As much as the tales told of Jorwen Red-Bear, bane of Reachmen and killer of Imperials, she saw him in a much different light, looking at him now. He seemed smaller, somehow, and no matter how many times Solveig cursed his name each time he left her and mother alone, she felt pity. She felt uncomfortable. Here before her was not a great warrior, here before her was her father. An old man. “I, um-”

She was about to make an excuse to leave and look for Sadri, but Jorwen spoke first, “Solveig...” The way his eyes were squeezed shut made it seem like he was pulling a knife from chest, not trying to have a conversation with her. She knew what he was going to say was serious. “Solveig, I don't tell you this enough...and I know that I was never a man that was, uh...”

“Pa, you don't have to-”

“I do.” His head raised and in the morning half-light, she thought his eyes seemed wet. Probably a trick of the light. “I do have to. I'm old, Solveig, if you haven't noticed through these years. Probably, you haven't, seeing as I've never stuck around too long. I'm sorry.”

She swallowed, not knowing what to say, “Okay.”

“Solveig.” Jorwen said, looking at her with the same desperation a man hanging from a cliff has.

“That's it? That's it, though, that's all?” She barked out a harsh laugh, “Just that-”

“I love you.” Jorwen said, “I love you. And there is no way I can put to words the stupidity of the man who would forsake a strong, beautiful daughter for something as fleeting and stupid as a hard Name and a small handful of forgotten raids. I am not a good man, I was never a kind one growing up, and I have not done many good things. But I married Halla, and we made you. And I'm sorry for not being thankful enough for having you as a daughter.”

Solveig sat there, her mouth hanging open dumbly. Her eyes started to get blurry and she couldn't trust her voice. She searched for something to say, but she could not find it. Her eyes went to the ground and a wooden plate drifted into view, a cut of ham and a cooked egg on it. Jorwen placed it beside her and she felt him kiss her forehead.

* * *

Boarding the ship was hard. She didn't want to set foot on the thing as she looked back to see her father watching solemnly as she left. Now it felt like she was leaving him. She raised a hand with some hesitation and waved to her father, who waved back. Her breath caught in her throat and she coughed into a fist, turning away from the shrinking sight of her father. The journey would be awkward, to say the least, as she'd only heard what was happening between Do'Karth and Leif. The weight in her chest was replaced with a suspicion at Do'Karth's presence though. It seemed every time she left her father's side, he was there. She narrowed her eyes at the Khajiit while he wasn't looking at her, deciding she'd need to have words with him, but stuffing that urge to walk up to him back down. How odd would she look questioning him and then finding out that it was a mere coincidence.

She then caught sight of Sadri, brooding over the sea next to the gunwale. She noticed his new arm almost immediately, and how he seemed to have an aura of quiet happiness, or at least contentment about him that she'd never noticed before. Perhaps it was because of her? Or perhaps it was because of his new arm. As her eyes lingered on him as she turned her head, she noticed she was wearing a smile. She snorted and rolled her eyes at herself. How did she begin to feel like this about a scarred and beaten man like that? Either way, after their time with each other telling the stories of their scars under that tree and laughing at some of them, she knew she had some reasoning behind those feelings. Most in the Company only saw a tough brute of a man in Sadri, she saw someone willing to look beyond the same type of first impression most had of her, look into her eyes and tell her she had a right to be happy. Or at least accept what she'd done. That meant something.

* * *

Well, what a shit time she was having now. A Dwemer automaton, something she'd only heard of in old stories of adventurers, was pounding away at her shield. Her arm was becoming numb and she tired of this. She roared and thrust her spear at it, the metal not giving way like flesh and instead only pushing it away. She stepped forward and punched out with the rim of her shield, knocking the thing's head back and continuing her attack. She thrust again, and again, finally sticking her spear into the thing's sphere-bottom, hearing something in the mechanism hiss and whir before it fell back, uselessly flailing at her. She roared again and brought her shield down on its chin, silencing it.

She saw Leif and the newly-signed Dunmer having a shit time of their own. She moved to try to help Leif, but a spider-like automaton stepped in her way, which she smashed over and over with her shield. Do'Karth called out Leif's name and she saw him engaged in a melee. All around her was chaos.

Sagax had ignored the duel that day, instead taking the time to walk about Dawnstar to collect his thoughts. Could his father really have betrayed the Empire? Though, perhaps it was understandable. The Empire, or more specifically, the Elder Council, betrayed him years before. Did that shake Caius' faith so much that he would collaborate with would-be assassins of the emperor? To have years of loyal service to the Empire and its people, thrown in your face would no doubt make one bitter and resentful. Sagax's face turned from angry contemplation to horror as he ran through another possibility. What if the rumors were true? That the Estate were vampires, and they turned his father when they came upon his cell? That was a thought that the Imperial wished he never came up with, and even worse, he couldn't tell if either scenario was better than the other. Sagax simply didn't know what to think, and neither did he have the energy or will to interact with anyone that day. So, he resigned himself to staring out towards the sea for most of the day before Dough-Boy found him.

"Speculatus, there you are! Ashav's calling everyone together, announcing our next assignment. We're meeting near the Argonian camp outside the city!" And just like that, off he went, barely giving Sagax time to register him.

"Another assignment? Already?" Sagax sighed. Well, at least it probably wasn't going to be any worse than Windhelm, and maybe this time he wouldn't get an arrow stuck in his arm. Flipping up his hood, Sagax made his way to the meeting area, ignoring everything he passed by along the way; he simply wasn't in the mood to put up with anything.

"Great, more boats..." Thought Sagax aloud as he made his way back to the inn after being given his new assignment. Could things just not go to shit every once in a while? Was that just too much for a man to hope for? Probably. Lately it seemed the gods absolutely delighted in the suffering and hysteria enveloping Skyrim, so any chance for a lucky break seemed very, very slim.

Good gods above, just listen to yourself! Rubbing his eyes, mainly in frustration rather than out of any exhaustion, Sagax silently scolded himself. Why was he letting all of this get to him so much? Not everything was horrible! He still had his friends, he wasn't exactly dying, and as far as he knew, his mother and sister were perfectly safe living with Varulae. The last mission was somewhat successful, with a good portion of the mages making it to Dawnstar. Maybe the trip to Bthamz will go just fine.

With the departure of the Kynes's Tear and its partner ship set for the morning, Sagax decided that it would be best to hit the pillow early. Besides, the less time he had to rethink his optimism, the better.

The next morning...

Sagax rose bright and early, the rising sun beating down on his face from the window. Cracking open his door, the inn was fairly empty, save for the one or two fellow early-risers. He heard a thud against the door when he opened it further, and looked down to find a small package with his last name etched on the top with ink. Opening it up, he found his new shirt, and the potions he requisitioned. The shirt was plain white cotton with long sleeves and a short open section that reached from the collar to the chest, though one could lace it up if they so wished. Kind of looked like Leif's, now that Sagax thought about it. He never really thought about how plainly he dressed, despite being a bard and mass suitor. Well, everyone has different tastes, Sagax supposed.

Discarding his old, singed shirt in favor of his fully-intact new one, Sagax packed up his potions and settled back in to his armor. Deciding that maybe he could use the fabric for something later, maybe, he packed in his old shirt as well. He wasn't particularly hungry, so instead of sitting down to eat, Sagax simply bit off a few pieces of his hardtack and went outside. The cold air wasn't unwelcome, in fact he had seemed to have grown to prefer it over the mildly-warm weather of Cyrodiil. It was just something different and new.

Not long after he left the inn, those assigned to the Bthamz expedition had gathered around the pier, ready to board their respective vessels. He was assigned to the partner ship, the one with the charges stored away inside of it. Over the course of the trip he was heckled for stories, along with Roze, and for the most part played along in her tales. One such tale included him flinging his sword like a throwing-knife straight through the eye slits of a Kamal commander's helm, blinding him before the Imperial landed the final blow by ripping the blade out and driving it back into the beast's skull. Of course he broke the awed silence with loud laughter and a confession of forgery, and went along with what really happened, showing his burn scars as proof.

Two days later, in Bthamz...

As the elevator came to a halt and the steam cleared, Sagax heard the sound of metal against metal, and metal against stone. Mechanical abominations rolled out of the walls, and small spider-like machines skittered toward the group. Leif was overwhelmed by the spiders, and the new dunmer took a bolt to the leg. Sagax quickly unsheathed his blade and attempted to advance on the wretched machines assaulting Leif, but he was intercepted by an arachnid that had gotten past the shieldbearers of the group. He entered a parrying stance, but instead of some physical that he could deflect, the Imperial was blasted with electrical shocks. The electricity coursed all throughout his body, paralyzing him long enough for the spider to jump on top of him and knock Sagax to the ground, making him hit his head hard against the cold stone floor.

"You blasted metal demon...! BEGONE!" Gripping one of the struts it used for legs, Sagax tossed away the spider drone. His arm was still weak from the arrow he took, so it didn't go far enough for him to get up in time and assume a proper stance. Gripping his sword as tightly as he could, he smacked at the skittering beast as he scrambled to his feet, it continually leaping at him with blind determination. Unfortunately, metal doesn't do well against metal, and at most Sagax could keep the damn thing away, but not actually kill it.

Sagax then took note of something. The red spinning orb on top of his foe's metal shell hummed with a strange energy, and it was where the bolt of electricity that struck him originated. Taking a blind leap of faith, Sagax aimed for the strange contraption. Keeping as steady as he could manage in the hectic situation he was in, Sagax jabbed straight into the small cage that housed the orb, and slammed into it with the tip of his shortsword, knocking it loose. Suddenly, the spider drone stopped completely, being frozen in a readied stance for but a moment before crumpling to the ground, lifeless and harmless as a collector's decoration.

Finally being allowed to stand up fully, Sagax winced and held his hand to the back of his head, which had grown slightly moist. He had foolishly pulled down his cloak hood, which was his only real form of head protection. Amazing. Why are you such a head wound-magnet, Sagax? You're going to end up like Gordo at this rate...if Sevine doesn't get to you first.

The premise of taking a ship to a long-forgotten Dwemer ruin to gather the remains of the achievements of the long-lost race was not an unfamiliar one for Sadri. Decades ago, he had worked for an expedition group that had specialized itself in this kind of work. Of course, back then, things were simpler, and the job was done for the sake of money, and not for fighting back against invaders from a mysterious continent. He vaguely remembered hearing of Bthamz in the past, but could not remember anything else about it aside from the familiarity of the name. Perhaps his mind had simply connotated the Dwemer name with his past line of work and accidentally created a false memory of familiarity. He himself wasn't sure.

Sadri had qualms about being on a ship that carried arcane charges, and had many more qualms about the fact that they were supplied with them again in yet another trip to underground. They hadn't killed him in the Reach, that much was sure, but nonetheless his opinion of them hadn't changed. The fact that they had almost killed two members of the party last time they were used likely did not help his assessment. But Sadri could, for once, see the other half of the glass - the weather was calm (however foreboding), the ship felt sturdier than the Courtesan, and Solveig's presence was soothing to say the least.

The sight of the Dwemer spire at the end of the journey was enough for Sadri to drop his restful, content demeanor and switch back to a business oriented attitude that was likely much more familiar to other members of the party - in all likelihood, even Sadri himself felt more familiar with it, like a troubled merchant waking up to a bland world full of debt after an enjoyable, unknown, surreal dream. But business was business, and Sadri was proud of his professionalism, no matter what sort of impression he made about it, and he did not wish to stain his standing with himself by not abiding to his principles. He had put in a compromise by keeping a constant thought of Solveig somewhere deep and sacred within his mind, and he would not deny himself the satisfaction of warming his insides by throwing aside glances and smiles at her as they prepared the dinghies, but he figured that by letting his guard down on a mission he could end up a liability, or be unable to prevent some things, things that he dared not think of.

As they rowed, he remembered previous visits to different Dwemer ruins, memories from years past peeking at him from underneath all the dust and cobwebs time had settled upon them, showing their teeth against Sadri's happier state of mind. His memories related to the work weren't very good - he had lost one of his many loves in such a ruin, although admittedly it was because of betrayal, and not because of the animunculi lurking within. Nonetheless, the connotation was bound once, and now the mere idea of going inside reminded him of the memory, and the tie his past love had with Solveig (in that they were both loved by Sadri) couldn't help but make him feel afraid for her. He tried not to show.

And finally, after the elevator, Sadri's fears were justified by the sudden appearance of many animunculi. The lifeless automatons came upon the party with stark resistance, shooting at them, trying to electrocute them, or simply cut through them. Sadri had experience against fighting such machinery, and thus knew to dodge the salvo of bolts shot by whatever contraption that wished to kill them, and also knew better than to try and cut through their plates once the animunculi began to close the distance for face-to-face (did they have faces?) combat. He simply kicked away a spider that wished to tear into his torso by sticking his foot underneath its body and punting it upwards into the air, and cut one away as it tried to lunge at him.

Unfortunately, the rest of the party, it seemed, were not as lucky as Sadri when it came to combating the brazen hulks. Solveig seemed to fare well against them, and the sight of her piercing through the beasts couldn't help but make him feel admiration for her. But, as said before, Sadri had made it a principle to be professional at work, and thus chose to help someone who wasn't as lucky as he or Solveig. The Dunmer battlemage was shot by one of the bolts - had it not been for Roze moving in to help her, Sadri would have likely had to, and given the distance between them, the outcome likely would have been worse.

Upon Do'Karth's cry, Sadri looked beside him and came to witness that the sailor lad, Leif, had found himself in a similarly shitty position. Sadri, not in the time to think of any allegory or metaphor to relate to Leif's position, simply strafed to his side and punted away yet another spider, this time off the lad's chest. The one immobilizing Leif's arm was cleaved into two by a heavy upwards swing, sending its carcass into the air like some fatal version of golf.

''This isn't time to lay down, lad. Get up,'' Sadri quipped to Leif, mostly to strengthen his morale. He didn't look like he was in a condition to put up much of a fight, but a positive outlook always helped.