As luck would hold, the team didn’t encounter any of the Kamal below deck, presumably because most, if not all of them, were topside dealing with the counter-boarding action. The sounds of violence and death were still rather audible above, and streams of dusty light were shining through like breaks in an overcast day through the cracks between planks. The ship construction, while somewhat alien in design, still retained enough familiarity that anyone familiar with sea vessels could identify common threads. While the frigate was large enough to house three subdecks, both Niernen and Valen seemed adamant that the prison hold was on the same deck they were on, which made sense; it was easier to load and unload “cargo”, and if there was a breakout, the prisoners would be unlikely to retreat below deck even further, reducing the odds of them stumbling across something important or useful in their escape attempt. Given the gaps between wooden planks, Do’Karth assumed there also wasn’t much protection from the elements. Comfort was never a concern for those you viewed less than you.
Large gashes in the hull let light shine through, illuminating the way through the dark interior, the evidence of the Dwemer ballista’s effectiveness even more apparent from the unique perspective of seeing the impacts first hand. Do’Karth reflected on the fact that the weapons and constructs were all hundreds of years old; how on Nirn did anyone manage to withstand the Dwemer when it came time to war? He quickly cast those thoughts aside, and continued through the deck, combing it for intruders.

Opening an oversized wooden door towards the stern, the sudden stench of body odor and waste filled the air and massive iron bars and a locked gate were visible, and beyond, the deprived but still alive bodies of the prisoners. The team rushed over to the gate, to inspect the lock. “We need to get the lock off…” Do’Karth stated, rather obviously. He looked at the people beyond the bars; hallow sets of eyes staring back with a mixture of hope and despair. “We are here to rescue you, hold-“

The Khajiit’s words were cut off when he was lifted off the floor as a force directly underneath him threw him upwards off of the deck and hard down, his ears ringing from the detonation of the charges that Roze and Sagax had placed, unbeknownst to the boarding team. The ship groaned in strain and protest, and a very present tilt to the floor was felt, along with the cracking of wood and the smell of burning timber. The below deck had exploded, and the flames would be spreading.

Inside the prison cell, a hole in the floor had opened up under the gored remains of one of the prisoners who had been caught directly above one of the charges. Flames flickered like the depths of Oblivion, salivating over the prospect of tasting Tamrielic flesh. The prisoners moved away from the hole, which only stood to grow larger and the supports of the ship started to give out due to structural failure. The ship would sink, and sooner rather than later.

The only way for the prisoners to escape was through the locked gate, which would require a key or a very crafty lockpicker who was dealing with a much larger and sturdier lock than a typical lock-pick would open. There was also still the matter of getting off the ship intact, since staying below deck seemed like a death sentence, and the Kamal were sure to be desperate and twice and dangerous as they were normally.

Below deck, the Pakseech sat slumped against the wall, a piece of jagged timber impaled through his abdomen. He scarcely minded, as the Kamal who was harvesting his people was screaming in otherworldly vocals as flames consumed him and the bodies of his cruel labour. Perhaps it was as the Hist willed it, and while his people failed to return to the swamps where they were summoned, this was a tiny gesture of vengeance against those that preyed upon the argonian people. As the Kamal finally lay still and the flames spread closer and closer, the Pakseech smiled through blooded lips before enough of his life had slipped out with his blood, dimming the lights of life forever.

The explosion had rocked the top deck enough that the mercenaries and sailors were largely knocked off their feet, some toppling overboard. The ladders that had been secured to the ship were knocked ajar, and it seemed that the only escape would be the frigid waters unless someone managed to remount the ladders, which were dragging down the hull of the frigate and dangerously close to dipping into the sea to be lost forever. The Kamal seemed even less sure of their footing, as it was much harder for creatures of their bulk and weight to adjust to the shifting balance of the deck and pick themselves up. However, the danger they provided was real enough, as anyone within their reach was at their utter lack of mercy. They likely knew of their impending fate, and were determined to bring the Tamrielic fighters down with them.

Jorwen, Sevine, and Rhasha’Dar had reached the front of the inn where the White River Braves had taken up defensive positions. Pools of crimson blood painted a grotesque picture, dotted with chunks of flesh, one that failed to surprise Sevine. She had long ago worked past the smell of death on the battlefield, one that quite frankly consisted of piss, and excrement. However, what did capture her surprise, happened to be the sight of Marcel and Keegan standing in what appeared to be a blast-center of gore. Even more shocking, was the sight of Daelin himself. Last time she saw him was in bed, inside the inn, being tended to by Rhasha.

Sevine quickly learned that she had no time to rush to her comrades. Echoing through the air, the ominous sound of a war horn froze her to the spot. She recognized that sound, and remembered the siege of Windhelm. Appearing on the horizon, a wave of Kamal calvary spilled forth. Like a landslide, adrenaline washed over her, cementing her to the spot. Scrambling for her bow, she fished out a steel arrow and notched it on the string.

The muscles in her forearm seized up, cramping her hand where her aim became shaky. Hot tears of pain welled in her eyes as she fought to keep her arrow level. Fight through it, Sevine. Ignore this pain that your body is telling you. It is doesn’t matter, it’s not real., she thought, clenching her jaw. Whistling through the air, her arrow sailed overhead into the surge of oncoming Kamal. She notched another arrow when she spotted Daelin charging forth into the fray of battle, firing what arrows he had. Swearing at her incapacitated state, and at Daelin’s recklessness, she leveled her arrow again, and fired off another round into the line of Kamals. Slinging her bow across her back, Sevine hefted the axe at her hip from the tethers. She glanced once at Rhasha and called to him, “We have to get Daelin out of here!”

With leather boots pounding against the dirt as fast as her legs could carry her, ignoring the burning of the muscles in her left ankle that threatened to cripple her, she headed for a Kamal wielding a throwing spear device who had turned his attention on Daelin. “Over here you thick-headed wretch!” She roared, with both hands on the handle of her axe, she swung with all her might, driving the blade in sideways at the gap in its greaves.

Upon re-grouping with the others, Rhasha was unsure what was to be more shocked about - the bloodied remnants of an exploded foe (“How did that even happen?” He thought to himself incredulously), or witnessing Daelin. Not just conscious, but upright, talking. Shock swiftly turned to apprehension as the war horn of the Kamal sounded, eerily echoing in the night air… the battle was not over yet.

“This one will get to him! Watch our backs, and be careful.” Not even hesitating in agreeing to Sevine, the pair launched themselves towards Daelin - what was going through his mind, to throw his life away so carelessly? For one to survive wounds as grievous as his, it was impossible to believe he could give it all up in the slight hope of killing these monsters. Either way, Rhasha felt it necessary to save his ally, his thoughts from earlier only stronger now upon seeing Daelin conscious. It was a good sign - although any hope was certainly marred by the presence of the Kamal cavalry.

With spear still ready in hand, Rhasha knelt by Daelin as Sevine battled the Kamal. Hoping he could tend to Daelin in enough time to help her - or better yet, that she required no assistance at all - Rhasha’s hands passed over Daelin’s battered body, the light blue glow of healing magic casting shadows over the pair.

“This one is glad to see you up Daelin - but could you have not left the Kamal to us?” Rhasha couldn’t help but chuckle over his words, still glad to see Daelin alive.

The axe in her hands did nothing more than glance off the greave of the ranger, if anything, the Kamal in turn, looked down at her as if she were only a pesky fly buzzing around a pile of hot horse manure. Never had she been so close to a Kamal before, at the siege of Windhelm Sevine had taken to the ramparts, and even in the flight from the city, she had evaded them thanks to Leif’s help.

She swung her axe again at the monstrous snow demon, this time the blade cut up as she drove it towards the Kamal’s elbow, aiming for the gap at the exposed portion on the inside. A guttural roar tore from her lungs. Intercepting her oncoming blow, the ranger grasped her by the back of armor, and lifted her off the ground. With the handle of her axe pinched between its over-sized hands, Sevine hung motionless in the air, fear enveloping her. Was this it? Was this the end? With its free hand, the ranger grasped the spear portion of its atlatl, and drove it to impale her.

Fate was on her side. For now. As the spear shaft was much larger than a normal spear, two to three times bigger, she rocked her body back and forth, swinging her legs up above her head. Sevine evaded the spear head, just barely, as she somersaulted backwards over the ranger’s arm. When she sailed over top, she ripped herself free from its grasp, and dropped onto its forearm. Though her limbs trembled from the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she overcame this by shutting out every distracting factor. It was just the ranger and her.

The next few moments, Sevine wished that Roze and Sagax could see her, they would be proud of her. She narrowly missed an oncoming jab of the spear as the ranger thrust it at her, the spear tip whistled past the tip of her nose. With a jump, Sevine hurled herself from the forearm of the Kamal to its shoulder, where her hands caught the edge of its armor. Roaring in its native tongue, the ranger tried to snatch her off. She ducked beneath the massive hands, and found herself seated behind its head. Without her axe, Sevine had to rely on the dagger at her hip. Fishing it out, her hand wrapped around the hilt, and with what strength she had left, drove it into the ranger’s temple.

While she had expected to murder the ranger, it affected him little. Instead it only enraged him. He snatched Sevine from her spot, and flung her as far as he could. Sevine sailed through the air, utterly helpless to gravity. She hit the ground hard, the wind gushing from her lungs, leaving her gasping on the ground like a fish out of water. White and black stars danced beneath her eyelids, blurring the night sky into one. As she struggled to recover, Sevine rolled to one side while blinking away the stars. Staggering to her feet, Sevine spotted Rhasha’Dar trying to assist with Daelin. Each breath she took, a piercing pain spread from the left side of her chest, leading her to believe that she had at least a broken rib or two, if not more.

Sevine was clearly struggling, and Rhasha was stuck between aiding her, and aiding Daelin. While healing the injured Bosmer, the Kamal was closer to the pair than the Huntress, whom he had watched been thrown like a rag-doll through the air, landing heavily. He desperately wished to aid her, but Daelin could not be abandoned now, not after everything they were risking to save him. The Kamal ranger seemed to not noticed them now, attention fully on Sevine - who, at that distance, could be safe for another moment.

“Come along my friend; let us get you to safety.” Daelin was conscious now, barely; his burns were no doubt putting him through hell, and his more recent injuries were likely not helping in the poor man’s agony. Now spent of magicka, Rhasha lifted Daelin onto his shoulder as gently as he could, wincing both on behalf of Daelin as he groaned, and his own discomfort as the movement sent shivers of pain through his chest and back. Even his cut arm and face were beginning to burn, the constant movement beginning to tear the fresh tissue that had formed there. Now balancing the wood-elf on his shoulder, Rhasha struggled to his feet, hoping to get Daelin somewhere safe before Sevine fell once again before the Ice Demon… perhaps for the last time.

‘Now is not the time, Sevine. Keep going. For Do’Karth. For Liliana.’ she chided herself, head spinning still. With her vision clearing, she scrabbled for her bow, thankfully, it had miraculously survived the throw. Closing the distance between them, the ranger was nearly upon Sevine when she lurched away, her boots sliding against the blood-soaked earth as she rushed towards Rhasha who now carried Daelin like a sack of potatoes slung across his shoulders. She spared herself a glance over her shoulder, and watched as the ranger hefted the atlatl aiming to strike her down. So close was she to Rhasha and Daelin that she could almost touch them.

Notching an arrow was a feat in itself, not only did the muscle in her forearm radiate with pain, so did the muscles in her side. Hissing, she circumvented the ranger, drawing his attention away from Rhasha and Daelin, and ended up behind the ranger. There, she aimed for the head again, the bowstring sang with a twong. Sweat beaded on her brow from the exertion, yet she persisted, and reached for another arrow. As it flew, it sailed over the ranger, headed straight for Rhasha. She swore loudly and reached for another arrow, if Rhasha could only get over the hill with Daelin, she would chase after them.

As adrenaline coursed through Rhasha’Dar’s body, Daelin’s weight on his shoulder seemed to only get lighter as he made his way up the hill. As soon as he crested the top, they would be safe - he could leave Daelin in hiding or with other comrades, and then turn back to aid Sevine. A foolproof plan… but as a curious sensation of numbness hit his back, Rhasha’s pace began to slow, legs growing heavy and head beginning to swim. Looking down for a moment the Khajiit noticed the bloodied arrowhead sticking from his diaphragm, numbness spreading from where it sat, and the entry wound on his back. Stumbling now, Daelin seemed to weigh ten times as heavy than before, and the icy numbness was swiftly replaced with a red-hot agony. Rhasha fell to his knees, right at the top of the hill, and threw Daelin from his shoulder, gasping for breath.

”Again?... How could this happen again?!” Was his only thought, the sight of the arrow sticking from his chest reminding him all too much of the claws of the Spriggan Matron. Rhasha’s vision began to blur, and blood was bubbling up between his haggard breaths. With his diaphragm punctured, he’d likely drown in his own blood before he lost enough to die. Raising one hand, the Khajiit attempted a healing spell; the light throbbed weakly in his palm, and died out after one second. All of his efforts had gone to Daelin, and there was nothing left to help him now. It would seem in his attempts to rescue others, he would have to be rescued himself.

The tides of fate turned, and for once, there appeared a lucky break. One of the White River Braves charged in at the ranger. She took this chance, and bolted as fast as her damaged body would carry her. It was fast enough for her to dodge the ice and rocks being flung by the siege weapons. As she reached Rhasha, her face paled at the sight she found him in, rushing to his side. “Rhasha! No, oh gods be damned. Hold on, friend.” She pulled him from the ground to her, his blood painting her hands crimson, the pain in her side was excruciating, causing her to suck air in over her teeth. With one hand attempting to slow the bleeding, she found herself stuck between a rock and a hard place. Her gut told her that she ought to leave Daelin behind and save Rhasha. Yet, her heart kept her in place, torn between the two.

“We need some help over here!” She roared, her voice straining to rise above the din of battle. Hot tears filled her eyes at the possibility that, just maybe, Daelin and Rhasha would die, and her as well.

Despite his pain and trouble in breathing, Rhasha couldn’t help but smile to see Sevine by his side, and the Kamal nowhere in sight. It was too much to hope that it had become distracted and forgotten about it’s first attacker, but the sight of Sevine was a positive one anyway. While her voice seemed echo-like and far away, he could work out her words. Calling for aid… it was unlikely any would come. The best thing to do would be to get out of sight.

Shifting slightly on the ground, only to grunt in pain at the movement, Rhasha grasped Sevine’s hand lightly, motioning towards Daelin.

“Roll… roll him down the other side of the hill. He’ll be fine… out of sight.” He panted, coughing up more blood between his words, the movement racking his body which then curled up slightly from the pain. With Daelin getting out of the way of the battle through gravity, Sevine could help Rhasha stand, at least to some extent. It saved the injured woman trying to carry two barely-conscious men, anyway.

‘Roll him down the hill? Mara, this best not be the work of Sheogorath. Roll him down the hill he says.’ Sevine could have sworn aloud, though that would do nothing to aid in boosting morale. Releasing Rhasha’Dar from her grasp, she half-sank half-stumbled for Daelin. Thankfully, the Bosmeri scout was no Jorwen Red-Bear, and she found the task manageable. And roll him she did. Daelin went sailing down the hill, bumping and flailing like a ragdoll as he went. He came to rest at the bottom of the hill, she had to admit, even in a time like this, Rhasha had good ideas.

Returning to his side, she slipped her arm about his back, careful to avoid the arrow jutting out from him, and pressed her hand against his side to keep him close. “I won’t let you fall.” She grunted, the weight of him caused strain in her ribs, yet she said not a word, “I’ll get us out of here, I promise.” With that, she started the agonizing process of heading down the slope.

For some reason, this lone arrow seemed to be causing Rhasha far more pain than the claws of the Spriggan before it. Perhaps because it remained lodged inside his chest? Or that it had struck a far more serious place? He didn’t know, but it was too much to stifle a gasp of agony as Sevine got him to his feet, the pair both stumbling under his weight. Blinking away tears in his eyes, Rhasha readied his spear once again with his spare hand; not to attack, but to support. Leaning on it as a walking stick, he felt some of his weight shift from Sevine and balance out. He felt sympathy for her; already injured herself, now here she was with a tall, heavy Khajiit to support.

“It could be worse.” He said with a dry chuckle, voice rasping between laboured breaths as the pair carefully made their way down the hill, the noise of the battle beginning to quiet as they got closer to Daelin. “This one could… have an arrow… in his head.” While the diaphragm was not much better in terms of potential fatality, it was distinctly better than having a punctured brain.

“Aye,” She offered a pained grin, “Or you could be under the boots of Cat-Kicker.” The fact that Rhasha tried to make light of his situation led her to believe, that purpose, he would make it. The Khajiit chuckled at this, decidedly glad that it was Sevine at his side, and not Dumhuvud. The Cat-Kicker likely would have abandoned all three of the injured here - even with Daelin looking better after Rhasha’s healing. Coming to a rest at the bottom the hill, Daelin roll over weakly and offered the pair a tired smile, which was returned in kind. Despite everything, they were all alive. For now, and the future didn’t hold good things - but in the present, they were alive, and glad for it.

---

"Shivering shit balls!"

There's no more appropriate words for Keegan to describe the current situation. Daelin wasn't the most intelligent elf around, but Keegan never expected him to be this stupid. His already frowning face frowned harder upon seeing Utu-ja's severed head on the Kamal commander's shield. So Daelin was triggered by that, which to Keegan, was utterly ridiculous. Having a slimy lizard to head infect the enemy should be a good thing, right? So why in Oblivion did Daelin want anything more to do with it? Or gods forbid, want to get it back. He chalked it up to superstitions of the backwood races; perhaps Daelin wanted the head for his own collection in Soultrap Go? Another curious matter was the Kamal commander itself. In his dream-assisted insertion into a certain snow demon's mind, Keegan felt like he was strangely familiar with Daelin's opponent, Dzuungits, or something like that. He remembered this Kamal to be newly promoted, and judging by the way it led the current battle, Keegan guessed Dzuungits might be proving himself.

Having enough to think about for a minute, Keegan decided he wasn't going be Dzuungits' proving ground material. Daelin had that honor, and it was rude to take another elf's honor. When Dzuungits disposed of the Bosmer half of its size (following a commendable effort by Daelin), Keegan realized that it was now or never. Bharzak had Dzuungits' attention; that was enough for the Altmer to slip out of the side of his cover and make a dash for his fallen staff.

"I'll be back." Keegan told the Orc, though that was the last thing on his mind. If everything went well for Keegan, Bharzak would fight Dzuungits to her death; buying Keegan maximum escape time and preventing explanations later on.

A faint shine from the staff crystal stood itself apart among various battlefield debris. One piece of boulder that was flung in earlier served as Keegan's main cover, along with shattered planks and corpses to hide his route when he ran hunchbacked. Retrieving the staff was surprisingly easy, and the sturdy Dwemer weapon endured over its tumbles. On the other hand, the getaway was anything but easy.

Tired of cramping his spine, Keegan celebrated his staff run by standing back up to full seven feet. Immediately after he had done that, a Kamal on its bear pointed him out and started shouting things. Keegan could have had that classic deer-in-carriage-light look, but if the last month taught him anything, it was that running saved lives. He took off opposite of the Kamal; when the first ice spike whizzed past his side, Keegan was already halfway out of Nightgate grounds. For the remaining distance, Keegan simply ran and prayed. He was expecting the next shot to slice into him, and as a result, he was too terrified to even look over his shoulder. This was how it always worked, wasn't it? Keegan acting like a headless chicken, only to be hit and knocked out cold like a pied clown. Heck, he could swear some ruffians even made a betting game out of it.

Yet for some stroke of dumb luck, Keegan crested the hill unscathed. In was near pitch darkness across the hill. The sound of battle was still ever present, but Keegan's own labored breathing drowned out all sources of sound. He looked around, spinning his head in one direction and then his entire body to the other. All he could he see was the night, and the fear of Akaviri invaders was suddenly replaced by the fear of nocturnal predators. Keegan found himself crouching instinctively. Hold on, why was crouching an instinct? Was it because folks told Keegan crouching increased stealth? On a second instinct, he got back on his feet. A detect life spell emerged from his hands, and when nothing announced itself in the vicinity, Keegan shot up a ball of magelight into the sky; an imitation of the Forsworn signal.

Panic was tempting, so Keegan did closest thing; pacing around on a dark road. After an undetermined amount of time, living beings appeared in his magic vision. Dax came from the main road Keegan came, and in his tow was an Altmer. Upon closer examination, the second Altmer had many resemblances to Keegan himself. It couldn't be, Keegan told himself. It got to be the poor visibility, his tired eyes, or the fact that he had been away from fellow Altmers for so long. There was one difference though; where Keegan held his sophistication, despite of overwhelming stress, the other Altmer looked like he ate a whole plate of nails, and was suffering the constipating aftermath.

Keegan and Dax both missed Daelin until he rolled down a grassy hillside (Keegan found himself hating, for some reason, while Daelin was rolling). At this point, the sound of bombardment had resumed. Keegan supposed it had resumed earlier, but he was far too occupied in his own thoughts and breathing to notice. Was Nightgate already fallen? Were Kamal siege engineers ignoring their own friendlies? Whatever the case, he didn't want to stick around to find out. He rushed to Daelin, fearing that running away would earn the Bosmer's ire, and earn a well-deserved bone arrow to his knee. Daelin was smiling, though a scowl wiped it off fast.

"No...go back...Utu-ja's head...Kamal shield...honorable burial..." Daelin gasped.

At this point, Keegan could have done a number of things. He had a world of questions to ask, and a two worlds of reasons to get the Oblivion out of Windhelm (will this be a new phrase?). For example, he could have grinned at the arrow poking out of Rhasha'dar. Satisfying should be the word, especially after being told that the spear-cat was responsible behind R'ihanna shooting a bolt into his fleshy parts. But when the appallingly stupid words blurted out of Daelin, the only right action for Keegan was a timeless palm to his face.

As for the right words?

"Shivering shit balls!"

---

His breathing coming out in ragged gasps, the Argonian's voice sounded even more throaty than usual when he uttered his next well thought out word.

"Fuck."

His cable-like muscles were still useable, but they were shaky. He knew fighting half a dozen Kamal helpers was a lot, even with hit and run tactics. Daixanos supposed he should merely be thankful to the Hist for keeping him alive thus far. His curse, however, had been uttered because he did not know how long that would last for either he or his companions. Over the next rise, his fears had mounted when he heard the war cries of something he could only guess was a Kamal. He'd never seen one before, though it couldn't be more frightening than a giant. He could hear Sevine and Rasha'dar cry out. Unfortunately, his bleeding wounds and shaking body would not react in a deliberate way at the moment.

He had faith in the Huntress, for he had heard tales of her. His respect for her skills was enough to give her the benefit of the doubt, even in such situations. Still, Daixanos was not good with words and he did not fancy the idea of seeing Do'Karth within a week, only to tell him "Yesss, I heard your lover dying over the hill. Fear not, for the Hist will perhaps reincarnate her in a few centuries."

The Altmer on the ground in front of him groaned, but lay still. Daixanos had hit him quite hard on the head, and the blasted Elf would be out for a very long time, he knew. Speaking of blasted Elves, Keegan showed up out of the dark, at that moment. The Argonian ranger supposed he should be glad. He'd not really spoken a lot to Keegan, but his survival meant there was a chance the others had as well.

He looked just in time to see Daelin flop down the hill. It would have been comical to see him awkwardly roll down the slope if Daixanos had a developed sense of humor, but alas, it was mostly confusing and, actually kind of ominous. Rasha'Dar and Sevine cresting the rise brought him some sense of relief, though the war cries behind them showed this was far from over unless they fled.

Fleeing was not something Dax was used to, and Hist be damned if he'd ever tuck tail and run without putting up a fight. He finally felt able to get to his feet, albeit unsteadily. He growled, rising up slowly and wiping some of the blood from his side off his armor, turning his clawed hand crimson. He looked, and indeed felt, just about ready to grab his Axe and head straight back up the hill to fight whatever foe they faced. But...

He saw the condition of his companions, and he did indeed feel concerned over the arrow in Rasha'Dar's torso. Perhaps a tactical retreat was not something he should feel ashamed of, when it meant the safety of his team. He had to admit he felt a sense of responsibility to them at the moment.

That did not cause him to lose his yearning to face Kamal in battle. It was one of the main reasons he had decided to stay in this merry band, and he loathed the fact that he had to run on his first encounter with them. He glared daggers at the crest of the hill, daring any Kamal to make it over before his companions were ready to go. His mind caught up with him, however, and he made his way over to help Sevine carry the injured Rasha'dar. He looked over his shoulder back up the rise once more, and made a promise in his mind. This new prey of his would not escape a second time.

A collab by @Peik, @Mortarion, and @MacabreFox

---

‘’SUCK ME ASHEN PRICK, YA BLOODY SNOW FUCKING WANKERS!’’

Sadri wasn’t exactly the kindest or nicest fellow, but everyone could agree that he wasn’t always this rude – rather, he wasn’t this brutish (he preferred indirect insults). Unfortunately, as it were, he had been a sailor once, and now, hopping around on his sea legs, jumping around on a ship too busy sinking and caving in on itself, throwing salt bombs around like candy and chopping at anything alien-looking with a sword, he had too many reminders to that portion of his life, which inadvertently brought Sadri to that old state of mind of being a mariner, and many could attest that there was nothing more uncouth than a sailor in battle.

He let go of another salt bomb, which smashed itself right in front of the feet of a Kamal sailor approaching the Dunmer bruiser amidst all the carnage. Taking advantage of the Akaviri shipmate’s hesitation to move forward, Sadri brought down his sword against the beast’s unarmored head and split it open like a melon.

‘’HA! YA WANT SOME? YA WANT SOME? I’LL GIVE ITA YA!’’ He shouted, looking for the biggest, meanest Akaviri son of a bitch he could see in his vicinity, although the sudden sight of a sailor, one of their own, getting cleaved in half brought him back from his delusion of invincibility. He stopped in place for a moment, glancing behind to see if he had any backup in his sudden, out-of-the-past berserk.

"Talos be blessed!" Leif roared, a toothy smile slapped across his face. He had witnessed Sadri obliterate a Kamal, an impressive feat. "I didn't know you had that kind of shite in you, old man." He had left the ship behind, giving up manning the ballistas for a chance at some action. His wounds healed to a degree that enabled him to move about without pain, though to be fair, he should have kept to the Kyne. Of course, that was no place for a Nord, missing out on the action when his comrades had all the fun.

Wrapping his hands around the pommel of his longsword, Leif sidled up behind Sadri in a defensive stance. "About a hand, eh?"

''Shoulda seen me three decades ago, culled Pat Teale and his crew with nothing but a cutlass and a stool,'' Sadri mused, as his bad eye pulsed with adrenaline. ''That was a fine day.''

It really was not a fine day at all. He had been cut and stabbed about nine times that day - three of the wounds were severe enough to immobilize him for weeks. Oblivion knew it, some of the pain he could still feel when he flexed, but that had become a fact of life for Sadri, whose ragged hide could go toe-to-toe with the most hole-riddled cheeses of Bretony. But it was not a good idea to think of the aftermath during combat - no warrior worth his salt would hesitate from an attack because of the pain. It was a simple matter of efficiency, that was what it was.

''You know, so long as that fuck's alive,'' Sadri pointed with his spare hand at a bear-like iron brute, who seemed to be the leader given his decorated armor, tendency to shout things and immense size, ''these fucks won't be giving up. And I've a feeling this ship won't be staying here for long. Got ideas before we go under, young lad?'' Sadri asked, eyes darting around for any incoming combatants.

As Sadri and Leif spoke to each other, one of the Kamal warriors -taking advantage of the chaos which engulfed it's vessel- slowly approached both the Nord and the Dunmer with the intention of taking both combatants out of the battle's equation. Unfortunately for this warrior, he had been spotted by an unlikely figure; Tsleeixth, still not fully recovered but feeling well enough to move and fight, had made his way aboard the Kamal frigate and now he made his way towards the warrior that planned to attack his comrades.

At the approach of the kamal warrior headed for them, Leif shifted his stance, "Only thing I got to say about that, is we take out as many as these blasted beasts as possible. They hate fire, but I can't cast anything of that nature. So, balls blazing?"

‘’Balls blazing it is then,’’ Sadri muttered. ‘’I still got two salt bombs, should screw them over. Just got to get through this prick.’’ Then he saw the Argonian. ‘’Or not.’’

Pain flared from the half-healed wounds that the Argonian had received from the Ashlander back in Bthamz's depths, but still he made his way towards the unarmored Kamal. The chaos of the battle, which had shielded the Akaviri invader, also worked in Tsleeixth's favor, who managed to get close enough to the lumbering snow demon to, try and, drive his sword through it's knee and incapacitate him. Unfortunately the Kamal reacted faster than Tsleeixth anticipated, but the damage was still done as the giant warrior was unable to turn quick enough to face Tsleeixth, who took the chance to plunge his sword into the Kamal's exposed neck.

Dislodging his sword from the Kamal's neck, Tsleeixth made his way towards both Sadri and Leif "If I might suggest." He said as he turned to gaze upon, who he guessed was, the Kamal captain "We could try and throw him overboard. With that armor he is bound to sink to the bottom and drown, and I don't think we could take him head on, at least not without being gravely wounded." Tsleeixth said, his eyes turning to look at both Leif and Sadri.

Leif's eyes widened to the size of saucer plates, never had he expected the Argonian to take down a Kamal single-handedly. At the suggestion of throwing the Kamal leader over-board, he grinned devilishly, "Right then, let's send him to a watery grave, eh?" His eyes darted between his companions, "Distraction tactics might work best. Say lizard, er, Tsleeixth? Can you work magic?"

‘’Well, it’s magic or salts, but the three of us could send that fat fuck down to the Yokudan Hole, one way or another,’’ Sadri muttered as he slowly picked up the pace against the armored captain in the distance. It wasn’t hard for the brute to notice the Dunmer picking up the pace towards him, and as a response, he groaned some ugliness in whatever Akaviri language they spoke, which attracted the attention of a couple of snow beasts, likely the captain’s lackeys, towards Sadri. He thought to himself of Leif’s words, about distraction, and suddenly found a purpose in his rash behavior – maybe he wasn’t just subconsciously trying to get himself killed living the dreams of decades ago, but actually doing something worthwhile.

"I got something that could send the bastard down to the depths of the Sea of Ghosts." Said Tsleeixth when Sadri mentioned that, between the three of them, they could get rid of the Kamal captain. "But I'll probably need a distraction for it to work." He said as he began making his way towards the Kamal captain alongside Sadri.

He nodded towards the captain momentarily for Leif and Tsleeixth, and then squeezed the muscles holding his sword to bring his body back into the moment. There were two of them – unarmored, but still, two of them. He figured he would probably get himself maimed or killed trying to pull this off, as was usual from Sadri, who (likely not consciously) always had low expectations of things. The plus side was that no result could disappoint him – conversely, though, he never got too excited. Maybe that was why he was always jaded. It was an interesting thread that he had caught, and he had some thinking to do on the matter, only not right now. He had the part of a sailor from the past to play.

Mantling his past self in a manner of moments, Sadri rushed towards the duo, who raised their cutlasses to cut down this easily approaching foe. Taking advantage of the footwork that this defensive stance gave them, Sadri feinted back into a parry right in front of their swords, which swung at thin air, and raised his iron hand in preparation for sending a salt bomb at the sailor to his left, who instinctively paused and threw his upper body back, and immediately sent the flammable piece of pottery to his right, landing it on the face of his less expectant foe, who, after a pause, began groaning and crying in immeasurable pain. Using the momentary chaos this caused, the Dunmer swung his sword to his left, licking at the cutlass which was meant to plunge into his torso.

‘’MOVE!’’ Sadri shouted for his companions as he deflected another swing by the mariner, hoping to clear the path somewhat.

Tsleeixth looked as Sadri rushed towards the duo of Kamal sailors that had answered the call from their captain. Part of him wanted to stay and help the Dunmer fight off the new assailants, but he knew that their true objective was the Kamal captain and that the old Dunmer was acting as a distraction so that he and Leif could reach the Akaviri leader unimpeded. Nodding towards Sadri as he shouted for them to move, Tsleeixth turned towards Leif, “Come, the faster we get rid of that captain over there,” he said while motioning towards captain Kghergitz, “the faster we can go and lend our aid to Sadri,” he said aid as he began approaching Kghergitz, already focusing his magicka on summoning the frost atronach at his disposal.

“Right.” He said, noticing the glowing orb of magic appear in the Argonian’s hand. In truth, he felt torn. He wanted to help Sadri take down the other Kamal’s, yet he knew that his fellow comrade spoke truthful words. Like a snake, if one cut off its head, it would writhe out of control before succumbing to death. This was true in the fact that they needed to cut the head off the Kamal leader, so to say. He gripped his longsword in hand, and darted past Tsleeixth, giving him time to finish the conjuration of the atronach. With his longsword raised, Leif charged in with a bellowing war-cry.

“To me you oaf!” As intended, the Kamal captain turned his attention to the puny figure of Leif, for the Kamal towered a good two-to-three feet taller than him. Clenched in both hands, the Kamal captain wielded a pair of dual maces. The size of each mace head were as thick as his torso. If luck evaded him, he would suffer from serious injuries, or even worse, death. On seeing the Nord man rush him, the captain lifted both maces and swung at Leif. He could feel the wind rush over his back as Leif tucked himself into a ball, and rolled between the gaps in his legs. When he emerged behind the Kamal captain, he knew he had seconds to find a way to immobilize him. There! He saw a gap between the greaves. A narrow chance, but one that Leif would take. Thrusting his longsword into the gap, roughly the size of his fist, he felt the longsword dive into flesh and muscle.

In the strange tongue that the snow demons were known to speak, the captain loosed a deafening roar, his leg buckled under his weight, lowering him to one knee. The Kamal spotted Leif rushing to take out his other leg when he swung at him. Had Leif not been particularly aware of his surroundings in this moment, that mace would have taken his head off. “Talos guide me!” He shouted as he sprang out of immediate danger, where he ended up on the outside of the captain’s uninjured leg. There, he drove his longsword into a similar gap. Agitated that he could not move, much less take out the annoying Nord running between his legs, the captain hefted one mace again, aiming it right for Leif. However, where he had hoped to obliterate him, the mace plunged itself through the metal-covered deck, and, seemingly got stuck, the pained captain unable to pull it through.

Letting the mace go and raising its other mace for an attack, the captain slumbered towards Leif with its spare hand, only to groan in pain once more, although with all the adrenaline (or whatever its Akaviri equivalent was) getting pumped through its body, this time it was quieter. Sadri, covered in blood and with a fresh cut jagging diagonally down from his forehead, pulled his sword out of the captain’s wrist, and the mace fell onto the ground with a clang. Half panting and half hissing, he spat at the face visor of the creature, whom Sadri could look at face to face now that it was on its knees.

The captain did not seem done yet, though, and immediately swung the arm he had been using as a crutch against Sadri in reaction of this disrespect. Sadri threw himself back to dodge, although nonetheless seemed to nearly get a fistful of the captain’s knuckles, or so the bruising pain in his chest implied.

‘’Play your magic, Lizard!’’ Sadri coughed out in pain, before turning back to see if any more Kamal would show up, and to hide his tooth-gritting, pained expression, not that he would admit.

WIth Leif distracting the Kamal captain, Tsleeixth had enough time to call upon the magicka he required to summon the frost atronach with which he had made a contract so long ago. Calling upon the mental link that he had established with the elemental daedra, he threw the orb of magicka in his hand towards the ground near the Kamal captain and -on it’s spot- the contour of the atronach began to form on the deck of the akaviri frigate.

Soon enough the lumbering form of the frost atronach manifested in full, the deck of the ship groaning in protest at the extra weight imposed on it. Re-focusing once more after the summon -and ignoring Sadri’s words- Tsleeixth pointed towards Kghergitz and gave the atronach a simple command: Charge. The elemental daedra promptly complied and began to move towards the Kamal captain who, having been successfully distracted by both Sadri and Leif, was unprepared for the appearance of the atronach that was now pushing him towards the railing with its full weight.

Despite the circumstance, the captain tried to stop himself from falling but the wound he had received from Leif towards one of its knees made ensured that it was a moot effort and, that for all its troubles, the only thing that captain Kghergitz managed to accomplish was pulling Tsleeixth’s Atronach with itself to the bottom of the sea. With the threat of the Kamal leader gone, Tsleeixth made his way towards his comrades. “We did it,” he said plainly, exhaustion evident on his voice. It wasn’t an easy thing to summon an atronach, and his wounds, which were now flaring up with pain once more, made it an exhausting task.

‘’Hip hip fuckin’ hurrah,’’ Sadri cursed out, trying to rub some magic into the fresh wound on his face.

“A job well done!” Leif said through heavy breaths, turning his attention to his fellow comrades. “Never seen a sight quite like that.” He added, clasping Tsleeixth on his shoulder.

‘’Something new every time, I guess,’’ the Dunmer replied.

---

---

As soon as they had made their way back on the Kyne's Tear, Roze knew their work was far from done. The charges planted had done their job nicely, the shockwave knocking nearly everyone to the floor as they exploded, likely ruining the engine. It wouldn't be long before the ship sank from it's varied damaged areas. They could leave, and Roze was more than happy to do so. But the cold look of defeat on Sagax's face, and other news spilling through the company about prisoners and locked doors made her realise it wouldn't be so easy. Of course, of fucking course, they had to do a rescue mission as well. On top of blowing up the ship and killing the damned Ice Giants, they had to undergo a rescue mission before the prisoners - or themselves - burnt to death in the now flaming underbelly of the ship. With a dejected sigh, Roze made her way back to Sagax, getting the attention of both him, and anyone else who cared to listen.

"Look, we probably have a bit more time and numbers on our hands to do try and do some good. One of these icy bastards has to have a key; either on their bodies or their quarters." Stifling a groan ("Why in Oblivion do I keep volunteering for death missions? Why?!") She beckoned towards the Kamal frigate, the fight still raging above deck. "Come on! The quicker we do this, the sooner the fight is over."

Raelyn was perfectly content to let Sadri, Leif, and Tslee kill themselves, she was planning to wait it out on the Kamal ship and see if anyone else would pass by to help. That massive explosion earlier hadn't exactly filled her with courage, it had more filled her legs with lead weights. Well, she had plenty of time in a sinking ship to think about what to do next. She heard something like the sound of splashing water, figuring that one of the three must have fell. "Looks like they went a little overboard with that plan." she said out loud, laughing to herself.

"Well...then we'd better get started then, the faster we find those keys the faster we can get those prisoners out! ...ah, and the faster we can leave these waters, of course." Sagax surveyed the crumpling ship in front of him; they wouldn't have a lot of time, and it wasn't certain that just the two of them could get the job done. Hopefully they'd be able to find someone aboard the ship willing to help. Without another word, Sagax made his way back over to the frigate. He didn't even wait for Roze to join him before beginning his search for a key. He had to leave the Pakseech behind, but Sagax was going to get the rest of the prisoners out of the hands of the Kamal no matter what he had to do. He was so wrapped up in what he was doing that he didn't even notice Raelyn standing just a few feet behind him.

Raelyn followed along, "Looking for something precious? Have you tried your own pockets?" She thought about it a moment, "Perhaps the largest, most intimidating...man? Are Kamal men?"

Sagax rolled his eyes. "I doubt the key to the jails would be on my person, so no I haven't checked." he said without looking over; he was in the middle of searching a fallen Snow Demon. They had a few somewhat-fancy ornaments on their armor, so he thought maybe they had a key. No such luck. "One down, a lot more to go..." the Imperial man thought to himself. Suddenly turning to Raelyn, he spoke again. "If you've got working legs, help find that key! Just look through their stuff, it may be hanging off of a belt or...something. Trust me it's easy, but we're running short on time!" That accursed frigate was getting closer and closer to being swallowed by the sea every second. If they didn't hurry, those taken captive by the Kamal would be going to the bottom with it, and that...was simply unacceptable.

Raelyn grinned despite Sagax's icy tone, "You should always check your clothes. Why, I can remember many a time I found I had lost a key only to find it hidden away in my trousers." She sauntered off, occasionally stopping to kick over a Kamal body with surprisingly hard kicks.

While glad Sagax was willing to help, the icy tone of his reply wasn't missed by Roze. Following him with a sigh as he strode off, not even looking back, she began searching through the fallen Ice-Demons. Clearly, Sagax was still annoyed at her, which in turn annoyed Roze. "Serves me right for thinking with my head." She thought to herself bitterly, a scowl resting on her face as she prodded a Kamal uncertainly with her foot, checking it was definitely dead. She jumped as the legs and arms began twitching, but the sword buried in it's head explained that one - nervous systems were weird things.

The injured bard seemed to helping... or at least, making light of the situation. While Roze could always appreciate some light humour, even she figured this wasn't the time or place. Perhaps it was Sagax's sour mood rubbing off on herself, but the normally amicable rogue wasn't particularly fond of Raelyn's laughter at the moment. However, even she had to admit the woman had made a decent comeback. Usually when someone gets stuck by a spear bad enough to cradle their own intestines, they're laid up for a while, contemplating just how close to death they came.

After searching four of the dead beasts without luck, Roze glanced down to where the stairs of the hold led. Surely the prison keys would be on those in charge of said prisoners - and they certainly wouldn't be above deck during the fight, right?

"Hey! I'm going below deck, going to see if we can round up some more help and find some useful corpses. The key can't be that far from the cell." Getting Raelyn and Sagax's attention, she descended into the hold before receiving an answer - if Sagax was going to be short with her, she'd return that attitude in kind.

Raelyn said, looking to Sagax, "You know, she has a point. If I were a Kamal guard, where would I be?" Of course, she felt this logic wasn't completely sound, as a Kamal guard she wouldn't have preferred to be dead at sea, but she soldiered on with the metaphor, "I'd stick to the cells and beat to death any man who came near. Or I'd run, abandon ship, and paddle a small boat to the nearest shore and try to make a new life as a fisherman, never again going by my true name. If it's the latter case, we may have a problem." She gave a sly grin to Roze, "Though I feel like some of us might be able to make due, even without the original key." She'd have been more blunt, that Roze was some sort of well prepared thief or shady assassin and was in all likelihood a reprobate delinquent of the highest caliber, but she always felt that tactful acknowledgement was better suited to her purposes.

"Right...yeah. That makes sense. Come on." Sagax looked up to find Roze already gone. Just like a thief, to be gone in an instant, though he supposed he was no better. He could disappear just as fast, and he had never forgotten nor forgave his own thievery.

Heading below deck, Sagax saw several dead Kamal before him, some with the odd armor ornamentation or coloring. They were heavy, so it would take time to search them thoroughly, but what other choice did they have? "Let's get to work, bard. I want to get off this boat and be done with this nonsense." Sagax said as he set out searching for the key. He made sure to avoid Roze, and it appeared she was responding in kind. Good, they each needed the space. Sagax stayed on his end of the ship, and Roze stayed on hers as they kicked over Snow Demon corpses. At least they were covering more ground that way.

Raelyn gave a coy smile, "No need to be so quick, speed isn't always indicative of quality. We should really enjoy these moments we have together, you never know if its our last." She made it a point to gratingly search each corpse with exaggerated care.

As each minute passed, Roze's search became more frantic. While she had some water-breathing magic, it would run out fairly quickly if she were trapped in the hold as it was swallowed by the icy waters... and speaking of, with that potion well worn off now, she had doubts over whether she'd survive such severe contact to the cold liquid. Even the Kamal seemed to succumb to the sheer cold of it. Or... maybe they just drowned.

"Oh, blast it! This is a complete waste of ti-" Roze's angry complaint was suddenly cut short as she saw something glinting in the middle of the deck, right next to a rather large hole. A severed arm of a Kamal lay nearby, and Roze had to wonder if it was truly going to be that easy. Just there, for her taking? Upon closer inspection, she could indeed tell it was a key, a large and strange type that she'd never seen the likes of before. "Good job I didn't attempt to pick the bloody door - I'd have been lost." She muttered, walking towards it... only to stumble into the wall as the ground lurched inwards suddenly, the sound of wood splintering and metal groaning all through the ship. It was really starting to come apart, and with a start, she realised the key was gone.

"Oh fuck, NO." Throwing herself at the hole with bated breath, Roze could hardly believe her luck when she saw the key once more, dangling from a splinter by the thread of fabric it was attached to. Snatching it away from the foreboding hole, she could have kissed the damn thing.

Catching up with Sagax and Raelyn, Roze skidded to a stop at a cross in the corridors as she saw them. "Oi! I've got the key, get your arses to the hold so we can finally get the damned prisoners out!" She yelled impatiently at the pair before moving on to the lower decks; while the key had been found, they were still at risk of dying on this ship. And for the sake of some strangers, Roze wasn't happy about that at all - the job had to be done, and quickly.

Raelyn shouted back, with some relief, "Oh thank Stendarr, I was afraid the last thing I was going to hear was Sagax complaining about how little work I was doing." She ran after, thankful at least one of the three knew how to find something that didn't belong to them. Then again, Raelyn had stolen one of the lizard-mens passes. Some would also say that her fake magic show at the festival was also a form of thievery. And, perhaps even writing a song about someone was some sort of theft. She was essentially stealing their legacy for her own profit. She wondered if anyone else had thought the same thing. It would certainly make her traveling life harder if she could be brought to a court over such issues. Though she guessed that a lack of flattery in a song may get her stabbed one day. She said to Roze as she finally caught up, "If you were in a song, what would you like the song to say about you?" She looked to Roze with piqued interest.

"About damn time..." Sagax thought to himself. He was growing increasingly frustrated with his own search, hurting his foot after kicking a Kamal in the head out of anger. The fact that Raelyn was a nonstop chatterbox wasn't easing his nerves whatsoever. He would be glad to get back to their own ship and maybe, hopefully, get some sleep. His head hurt fiercely, and he couldn't tell if it was that fall from earlier, a lack of any decent rest, or just pure stress. Perhaps all three. Whatever the case, the Imperial was all too ready to call it a day as soon as possible.

Following Roze down to the hold where the prisoners were kept, he couldn't help but notice that the frigate was starting to take on water at an increasingly alarming rate. The metal plating of the hull was doing it absolutely no favors. "Well? Come on then, open the damn door! We're almost out of time!" Sagax knew his tone wouldn't do anything to endear him to Roze, but he didn't care. She could be mad all she liked, as long as the prisoners were taken off the sinking ship and lead to safety. Maybe he would apologise later, maybe he wouldn't, it was hard to tell when they'd both cool down enough to be civil. All that mattered right then, though, was making sure that they and the prisoners got back to the company boats alive.

Despite an increasingly sour mood courtesy of the current situation she was stuck in, Roze lips quirked into a smile at Raelyn's question. It was an interesting one to think about.

"I suppose I'd want it to be truthful. Telling of all my dashing heroics and amazing feats." She answered with a joking grin - she certainly didn't consider herself to be heroic. Brave, perhaps? And foolhardy - but not heroic. "I suppose if the song came about after I'd died I wouldn't really care - death is usually what get's people into the famous old songs anyway, right?"

Raelyn nodded sagely, "Ah, yes, stories of heroism! Hardly ever true, but truth is often just a commodity that gives credence to lies. Lies are, as I've often said, the strongest magic. A Dragonshout, or Thu'um, of course, can create storms through words, and magic can through will set a house ablaze. But these create reality that is actually there and even illusion magic creates something one can see and hear. The strength of a lie is you can create a reality that one cannot confirm exists, but others may strongly believe or even die for. Most conflict, therefore, is caused by two different lies coming into opposition." She smiled, "Or maybe those songs did happen! Who can say?"

Upon finally reaching the prison hold, the innocents inside were clambering at the walls and pulling on the door in such a futile manner that Roze actually felt some sympathy for them. This sympathy was swiftly overtaken by irritation as their constant barrage on the seemingly indestructible door was making it too hard to even get the strange key into the lock, let alone open it.

"Alright, calm down!" Roze snapped out the words loudly, directed both to Sagax and the wailing prisoners, who seemed to finally get the message and stepped away momentarily. The key fitted into the lock snugly, and with a firm twist, the door came open. Darting a dark look at Sagax for his impatience, Roze began waving the people out, hoping to the Gods that she didn't get trapped behind the horde of prisoners and drown before she managed to get off the swiftly-sinking frigate.

Raelyn gave a practised, subservient bow, gesturing with one arm at her stomach gesturing for the prisoners to move that way out of the ship, the other held slantwise above and away from her head in the same direction. She rose, as the horde that could still move quickly barged around in that direction. She frowned at those that couldn't, the wounded, the starving, the old. She went over and held one, who had been limping, by the arm. "Alright, you, need to stop moving so quickly. Relax, this ship is hardly exploding! Why, it will be hours before this ship sinks." She gave a significant look to Roze and Sagax, that seemed to imply that contradicting her would be unwise for their well-being.

Roze's glare did not go unnoticed, and Sagax shot one back as he was helping one of the prisoners to their feet; their cruel Kamal wardens had been none too gentle with them. "Everything's going to be fine, we have plenty of time to get out of here. Our ship is docked right next to us" The first part was absolutely not true, of course, but Raelyn had a point in telling her little white lie. Mass panic was the last thing they needed. "Come on, let's get topside. The further we can all get away from these Snow Demons, the better!"

Thanks to the calming words of Raelyn and Sagax (Roze kept her own rational mouth shut; while not wanting a stampede, nor did she want a slow amble to be her cause of death), but her expression was more than impatient, and remained that way until all of the prisoners had been shepherded topside; blinking in the sudden light of the fires still blazing on the frigate, and clambering to get onboard the other ship. Finally breathing a sigh of relief as she made her onto the Kyne's Tear, Roze could have kissed the scorched wooden deck. Glancing behind her at Raelyn and Sagax, Roze felt less animosity towards the latter now that she was safe and less irritable in the face of impending doom. However, recalling his scowls and sharp words, she wasn't entirely pleased with him. The fact that he was irritated at her for simply wanting to stay alive annoyed her further, and so she turned back to the rest of the group, glad that everyone had survived. It meant at least she didn't have to speak with Sagax for the rest of the journey home, anyway.

---

Of all the mercenaries, Jorwen was about to have the worst time of them all. While the Red-Bear distracted Dzuungits enough for Bharzak to get away, the fight between man and snow demon ended abruptly thanks to bear intervention. In the end, it was not the Red-Bear that emerged victorious, but rather, Dzuungits' recently freed mount. Bringing eight heavy limbs down on Jorwen, shield and blade fell away like twigs. If not for Dzuungits restraining his Nanouk, Jorwen would have surely been paste.

The only lucky break for Jorwen was Dzuungits wanting to bring back a live trophy, one that not only hanged on his shield, but a humiliated champion of the defenders. Dzuungits would display this mountain of a human before the other first-guards, and after that, attach the crimson furred head beside Utu-ja's leathery one. This was how he would earn respect. All the other first-guards were first-guards from their homeland, and he, a former second-guard under the imbecilic Qafdgun, remained an outsider of the top echelon club. Some of his colleagues even dared to mock his head hunting, a tradition of Dzuungits' tribe since time immemorial.

So wrapped up in his future, Dzuungits barely noticed that bombardments had resumed in the present. He remembered vaguely about instructions prior to leaving Windhelm; to recommence siege attacks when no signal of breakthrough was raised within the allotted timeframe. What was originally an ample timeframe now felt like the blink of an eye. Every second standing near the inn is a bigger death potential, so the cavalry commander was content with letting the Orc woman run off for now and focused on hoisting the red-maned brute onto his mount. Another projectile landed far too close for comfort. Dzuungits raised his frozen forearm to shield his face on instinct, but soon put it down, when he realized that a sturdy helmet visor made all but an eye slit well-protected. He shouted for the mage responsible for signaling, who, to his annoyance, had been slain by some lucky defender.

Dzuungits had to order a stop to the bombardment on his own. He designated others to clean up the inn grounds, and rode back to friendly lines with an anxious frown. He was going to have the head of whoever started slinging, and when he found out that it was the armiger leader, he was incline to do so literally. "Cease frost!" He marched to the armigers and their catapults. "You blind? We just took them!"

"Cease what?" The armiger officer paused.

"Freeze, ikinaqtouk, stop the triggering!"

"I think it meant 'cease fire', sir." A subordinate armiger suggested.

"Heh," the officer chuckled haughtily, "you snow beasts speak worse Cyrodilic than those ashlanders from the fifth cohort. I thought you wanted us to pound that inn into dust; was it because of that Nord on your bear? Scared about us scraping his beard so you can't make love to it?"

That was Dzuungits' limit. He couldn't understand the exact meaning behind every word, but the smug condescension was obvious; too obvious. The offending Dunmer's head was suddenly enveloped in a giant Kamal hand. A good shakedown was the original intent; to scare the armiger officer back down the chain of command. The armiger in question decided to escalate his peril by spitting at Dzuungit's helmet. In response, Dzuungits pulled the Dunmer's head out.

"Azura's tits..." Other Dunmers gasped or jumped; their obedience (and fear) suddenly intensified.

---

"The northern cave belongs to some Falmers; they match the old..."

Dzuungits walked right in the middle of a meeting, at the Palace of Kings. The former great dining hall for Jarl Lodevemar has been re-purposed into a command center, with mages adjusting the atmosphere to match that of their homeland. Kamals can safely reside within these halls without their protective suits, and that was exactly how each meeting attendee appeared; true features shown without helmets or masks. One of the first-guards stopped their presentation, and many others stared, when Dzuungits threw the great doors open. They stared at the melting ice and slapdash bandages on his arm, stared at the bloody shield and sabre, and most importantly, stared at the stirring body he dragged behind.

"That was hardly a week." Tliskev was the first to open his mouth. "I knew Dzuungits would come back running, but I never thought he could retreat this fast; at least our latest first-guard's good for something."

Dzuungits clenched his teeth and fists. Unlike the insignificant Tamrielic entities, his fellow Kamals (especially officers) were not something to be trifled with. Dzuungits was confident that he would come up on top, if it was just him and Tliskev. After all, the other fellow was a mage, a bookkeeper and a glorified babysitter of their ash-faced allies. He wouldn't do it here and now, as Dzuungits still respected Hakkeam and a few others.

"We have taken Nightgate Inn." Dzuungits simply stated. "The enemies there have been defeated." He paused to contemplate how much to report. There's too much detail for a full war council; it'll be better to give Hakkeam a personal briefing. "This is one of their champions; other natives call him the Red-Bear." He turned and threw Jorwen onto the ground ahead, in open view of the war council. Jorwen was fast regaining his senses, meaning Dzuungits had to keep the Nord down with a boot on his skull. "The Red-Bear only joined their defenses one day prior to our assault, but according to one prisoner, he is a renowned warrior among these lands."

Dzuungits held Jorwen up by his neck for everyone to see. "I plan for a public execution tomorrow, so that the people of Windhelm can witness their former hero's demise; this will teach them to never rebel against us." He then shoved the Nord back on the ground.

"Look at you, giving this mess of red a hero's execution." Tliskev immediately mocked. "If the armigers' reports are to be believed, then you would casually dispose of our own allied commanders, but go the full length to honor the foe's 'red bear'. Perhaps spending too much time around bears have given you strange paradigms."

Dzuungits sucked in a deep breath to keep himself calm. Because he couldn't clench his fists any tighter, he put his frustration onto his feet, and as a result, pressed down harder on Jorwen's head. "If there are no objections, I will go prepare for the captive's execution."

"Objection." A hiss came from a shadowy corner on the far side of the hall. "I have purposes to keep this magnificent human specimen alive, in the east."

"We have no transport ships for this." Hakkeam said.

"You and I don't," the shadowy voice slithered into the light, "but our contractor does."

Whatever case Dzuungits wanted to make for keeping his trophy head vanished upon seeing the figure in full light; he knew better than to oppose this individual.

Elmera sighed... stuck in her bunk, mostly, since they had departed the ruins and boarded the Kyne's Tear. Her thigh now throbbed dully, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been. Putting too much weight on it, she feared, might cause her knee to buckle under stress, so she had been keeping her walking to a minimum. The bobbing ship was soothing, but the Dunmer woman was growing restless. She focused what she knew of restoration magic into the injured limb, but the bolt had punctured her thigh deeply, and it took more than a moderate understanding of a magic school to heal an injury that deep.

Elmera didn't get up until she heard sounds of crashing and shouting topside. What the hell was going on? She slipped from her bed and stood up, using the bedposts for support. The woman made her way to the top deck once she had belted her sword to her hip. Once she stepped out, her eyes went wide. The crew was scrambling to combat the attack and Elmera felt useless. At this point, she wasn't even sure why she brought her sword with her - she wouldn't be able to effectively use it anyway. Once she finally hobbled to the edge, she heard men barking orders to patch holes caused by ice spikes, boarding lines were being thrown out, and fighters were mobilizing. As the two crews clashed, Elmera sneered and a sharp tingle ran down her arm, crackling as sparks formed around her hand. As her free arm braced on the side of the ship, she tossed an Arc Lightning spell across the rail, affecting a few of the others nearby the one she struck.

Why now? So far, she had proven to be useless to the entire company. She was crippled in the ruins before she even had a chance to fight. And now they were being boarded and she likely only had a couple of spells in her for defense before she was completely exhausted. Her eyes flitted from the forward to aft on the Kyne's Tear, there had to be something she could do to be more useful. One of the ballistae seemed undermanned, she decided. That was a good place, she'd have something to lean on, and she always considered herself a good enough shot that she could help aim at a target the size of ship at point-blank.

She picked up her pace to a nearly-solid walk to join the crew before the crews were at all-out war on the deck. When she made it over, she placed a hand on the shoulder of one of the men on the weapon for stabilization.

"How can I help?"

"Can you help with the loading? The bolts aren't light, but with help, we can get them in here and do some real damage."

"On it," She stated immediately, keeping more weight on her strong leg. They had to be careful too - wasted bolts were not cheap, especially with equipment this sophisticated. At least, Elmera didn't think so; her knowledge didn't reach so well to siege weapons. Oh, how she wanted to be on the other side, weaving through battle and supporting her comrades with magic. But no, she had to save her strength for healing and emergency casting.

What had initially began as a sure thing for the Kamals had quickly turned sour as their vessel had come up against the unexpected weaponry in the form of the Dwemer ballista. Unable to maneuver and at the mercy of the mercenaries’ powerful advantage, what was supposed to be another routined skirmish and prisoner grab had turned into a fight for their lives and then a desperate resignation that the entire ship was scuttled; the waves would claim the vessel and everyone on it soon.

The daring prison break had paid off, and most of the prisoners who had not been killed in the initial blast, succumbed to the smoke and flames, or lost their footing and plummeted through the gaps on the capsizing ship were escorted to Kyne’s Tear by the remaining mercenaries and sailors who realized that there wasn’t much time left to disembark. With the Kamal captain, Kghergitz, felled by Tsleeixth, Leif, and Sadri, the remaining Kamal were much less certain of their chances of fighting. Those bold enough to wear the heavy armour were largely losing their footing and beginning to slide down the deck in the more severely tilted areas. Of the Tamrielic individuals still present on the frigate, Do’Karth and Niernen decided to do one last sweep to make sure no one was left behind, or worse, trapped. In the chaos of the battle, it was easy to lose track of people. The Khajiit felt safe from harm with Niernen at his side; her magic was easily powerful enough to immolate even the most brutish of the Kamal. With his night eye, he could make out details in the dark below decks, and with what few minutes they had, it was becoming clear time had run out. Do’Karth did not exactly have sea legs, and his balance was severely skewed to the side in order to remain upright. Looking at his Dunmer companion, he shook his head. “We’ve done all we can. Let us get off of this damned ship.” he said, looking at the light streaming from the top access hatch. Through it lay salvation, safety, and a firm deck. The sea had tried to claim him far too many times; today would not be the day it did so.

The duo found their way topside into the impossibly bright daylight and began to head towards the Tear. Niernen winced as her injured leg had to carry more of her weight than was comfortable while the ship lilted even further to the side. “By Azura,” the Dunmer whispered at the carnage that was visible on the top deck. Its metal surface was scorched, dented and torn in many places and blood (both Akaviri and Tamrielic) clung to… well, everything. The exhaustion of the past few days threatened to overtake her again and she grabbed hold of Do’Karth’s shoulder to steady herself. “Sorry,” Niernen muttered, aware of the extra weight she was putting on the Khajiit. “Yes, let’s get out here,” she added in agreement. The Khajiit helped brace Niernen, offering a supportive smile. “Fear not; this one won’t lose you again. We will make it.” he said, helping her move forward once more. The Tear was visible over the edge of the railing. Fortunately for them, most of the boarding ladders were still attached to the ship. Clambering down to the Tear wouldn’t be too difficult.

At the sound of someone calling her name, Niernen turned around and saw Valen stumbling towards them across the tilting deck, the arm of a wounded prisoner draped around his shoulders. It was an uphill battle and he looked to be struggling with the prisoner’s weight. “Hold on!” Niernen said and tentatively inched towards her fellow Dunmer, desperate not to loose her footing and slide down. Valen called out her name again, more urgently this time. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Niernen retorted, but her eyes were downcast on the deck beneath her feet and she did not immediately notice the reason for Valen’s urgency.

And then she felt like she was about to tip over. Panicking, Niernen threw her weight back and reached behind her to grab something -- anything -- to hold on to. Her grasping hands found Do’Karth again. He always seemed to be there. “Thanks,” Niernen gasped before looking down at Valen and the prisoner. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped at the sight -- a Kamal they had all believed to be dead had wrapped its hand around Valen’s ankle and trapped him there. Valen struggled to release himself and stabbed the Kamal with his spear using his free hand, but the Akaviri creature seemed unshakable in its desire to drag the Dunmer down with it.

“Valen!” Niernen screamed. He looked up at her and Niernen could see fear in his eyes for the first time. For Do’Karth’s part, he guided Niernen’s hand to a beam for support and he scrambled down as carefully as he could move towards Valen, knowing that the only way to save the Dunmer was to break the Kamal’s grasp. The prisoner, a female Imperial, was kicking ineffectively at the Kamal, trying to make it lose its grasp. The Akaviri didn’t budge; Do’Karth could tell that its final effort in consciousness was to grab for Valen, either out of vengeance or a final attempt at saving itself. It died, and with it, rigor mortis caused its joints to lock in place, making it difficult to pry the thick fingers from Valen’s ankle. “Hang on! Do’Karth will reach you. Grab the-” the Khajiit called, interrupted by a sudden lurch of the ship. The deck tilted enough that the Kamal began to slide down the deck, with Valen helplessly in his grasp. The Dunmer looked around pleadingly with saucer-sized crimson eyes, fingers clawing at the deck for purchase, bloodying them as skin and nails alike tore in desperation. The prisoner also wasn’t able to stop herself, and with a scream, she slid down the deck, and towards the waves.

“No, nono- please! By Azura, help! Gods, HELP!” Valen screamed, his face petrified with terror. His eyes met with Do’Karth’s, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still, the features of the Dunmer’s face etched in the Khajiit’s mind before the Kamal’s body hit the gunwale hard, causing a sizable dent before momentum carried the Snow Demon’s corpse over, and with it, Valen. His screams filled the air before they hit the surface, and Valen’s voice was cut out forever.

Do’Karth stared unbelieving, for a moment forgetting that he himself was still in peril. His eyes locked on the Imperial woman, who by the way she clutched her leg must have had it broken in the slide. There was no way to safely make it to her, but they had to try, didn’t they? “We need to save her! If we don’t, Valen died for nothing!” Do’Karth cried, looking frantically for a way down as the ship lurched again.

Niernen felt like she’d been punched in her gut. It was difficult to breathe and, as tears filled her eyes, difficult to see. “Valen,” she stammered weakly. She hadn’t known him for very long, admittedly, but bonds are quickly forged in the crucibles of war and shared suffering, and she owed him her life. And now he was dead. Her useless body, permanently weakened by poisoned Argonian warblades in Black Marsh years ago, had abandoned her yet again. It took a few seconds for Do’Karth’s words to register but Niernen realized he was right. Valen died to save this woman. She had to finish his work.

An idea suddenly struck her. Why would she even use her body? Niernen took a deep breath and steadied herself as much as she could against the lurching of the ship, one hand grasping the railing tight, the other extended in front of her. She was no more than an adept when it came to the school of Alteration. This would be one of the most difficult pieces of magic she’d ever attempted, but by Azura, it had to work. “Hold on to something, I’ve got this!” Niernen yelled at Do’Karth.

With a grunt of effort and veins visibly pulsing in her temples, Niernen used Telekinesis to lift the Imperial woman in the air. The prisoner initially screamed in blind terror, afraid another Kamal had grabbed her, until she realised she was suspended in mid-air by an invisible force. “Come on,” Niernen hissed through clenched teeth, the fingers of her casting hand trembling, and pulled the woman up and towards Do’Karth. Without access to magicka potions her reserves still hadn’t fully recovered after the fireballs she’d used to slay the Kamal earlier, so time was against her. She estimated she only had a few more seconds before her hold on the prisoner would break and the woman would plummet down -- a fall she surely wouldn’t survive. “Reach!” Niernen blurted at both her Khajiit companion and the prisoner that slowly, but surely, floated towards him.

Do’Karth supported himself the best he could, anchoring his feet on whatever firm surface he could reach, and he reached out with his staff, trying to reach the woman who was just out of reach. “A bit further, you can do it!” He called encouragingly, looking towards the woman but thinking of Niernen; she had to be tiring out. To his surprise and relief, a hand managed to grasp the end of the quarterstaff right as Niernen’s telekinetic grasp dropped, and the woman hit the deck, still holding onto the staff. Do’Karth jolted, glad he braced himself before offering his weapon for the Imperial prisoner, otherwise he would have lost his balance and slid as well.

His eyes widened as he noticed the woman’s hand slipping down the smooth steel cap at the end of the staff. “No, no… hold on! Take this one’s hand!” He cried, pulling against screaming muscles to bring the staff closer to him, and in extension, the prisoner, whose hand trembled as she reached for his fingers. Only half a meter to go, and inching ever closer…

And in an instant, it was over. Her hand gave out and with a harrowing scream the woman plummeted, tumbling head over heels towards a watery grave, her head cracking against the gunwale, ending her misery before she hit the water. It was a small, awful mercy that left a deep pit in Do’Karth’s gut. He was speechless, his throat clenching as he fought off a sob. It was all so damned senseless, wasn’t it? “We… we tried.” he managed, looking back at Niernen. He could at least save her. “We did all we could.”

Niernen averted her gaze with a strangled cry when the woman’s grasp slipped and she fell to her death. The elf grabbed the railing with both hands and slid down onto the deck. She wept openly, tears mingling with sweat and salty seawater on her cheeks. Do’Karth’s words, while true, did nothing to soothe the immense and crushing feeling of powerlessness and loss. It was, indeed, all so damned senseless. During the few precious moments of rest that Valen and Niernen had shared on this very frigate, less than a week ago, Niernen had learned a few things about the Dunmer -- not much, but enough to know that he hadn’t been living the best life before the Armigers took him. Their escape was the turning point. He’d saved Niernen’s life, joined up with the mercenaries, and courageously fought his tormentors with everything he had to give. This should have been his salvation. Instead, the rage of the waves had claimed him and Niernen couldn’t even save the woman Valen died to rescue. If only she’d had a few more seconds, if only she’d studied Alteration more back home, if only she’d been better… it was the running theme throughout her life. Always coming up short when it really mattered.

“I shouldn’t even be here,” Niernen managed to squeeze out in between choking sobs. “I can’t do this, Do’Karth.” She looked down at the Khajiit, her copper eyes filled with pain.

“Niernen,” Do’Karth replied, carefully plotting his way back to her. She was hurting, they both were, but there wasn’t time to dwell. “No one should be here, but staying put will not help anyone. Just another push, we need to get to safety. Please do not give up on Do’Karth; he does not wish to lose you a second time.” He forced a smile to look brave, reassuring, anything. “Look at me. Things will be fine, the road to get there is hard, but it will work out in the end. Please, come with Do’Karth. Just a bit further,” he said, reaching Niernen and offering a hand for her to take.

Having calmed down a little, Niernen silently took Do’Karth’s hand and climbed to her feet. She nodded once to acknowledge his words but couldn't find the strength to muster a proper reply. She wasn't even sure if she believed him. Would things ever be fine again? Niernen thought of her old life; peaceful and quiet study with her Redoran family and mentors. Since going to war she'd been stabbed, poisoned, bludgeoned, captured, beaten and broken. Her so-called High King had betrayed her and now she couldn't even see her family. Maybe they were all dead too, just like Valen. All she had left now was the company… and Do'Karth. “Let's go,” she whispered and squeezed his hand.

The pair made it back to the Kyne’s Tear, climbing down the ladder and onto a relatively level deck, safety. A deck officer was checking a scroll, containing the names of everyone aboard, and he shook his head. “Those were the last ones. Twenty three dead.” he said somberly.

“And my goddamn ship.” Another voice growled. Sure enough, the allied vessel was well below the waves now. The figurehead at the bow was still vaguely visible but vanishing fast. With the ship went two of the ballistas and all of the provisions, along with a handful of lives who had died in the skirmish.

With the ladders retracted, the survivors stood in silence as they watched the frigate begin to slip beneath the waves on its side, on the odd chance that maybe, just maybe, another survivor beat the odds. As the last of the monstrous metal hull was swallowed by the sea, it became quite clear that if anyone was going to survive, they were already here. A brief non-denominal sermon was held for the fallen, wishing them peace and happiness wherever the afterlife took them, and that was the end of it. Hargjorn cursed to himself, sharing a look with Edith, before he bellowed to the helmsman, “Set course for Dawnstar!” with that, the Nord marched to the stern of the ship to attend to the numerous metaphorical fires that needed to be put out.

Do’Karth found an unoccupied section of the starboard gunwale and he slumped down, staring back where the battle had just taken place, where so many had died- but many more yet lived. When was there going to be a clear victory that didn’t cost so much blood and suffering?

“This one does not think he was made to be a mercenary.” he said to Niernen quietly, sighing. “No amount of coin is worth this.”

Not missing a chance to give her legs some rest, Niernen awkwardly sat herself down next to the Khajiit and let out a long sigh of relief and fatigue. “Mmmh,” she mumbled at first and closed her eyes. It had been a terribly long week. The idea of setting foot on the mainland at Dawnstar and finding a bath was such a pleasant daydream that she was loath to pull herself back to the misery of the moment, but she realised that Do’Karth needed someone to talk to right now -- and it was probably better for her not to suppress the emotions of the day either.

Turning her head so she could see Do’Karth, Niernen said: “You’re pretty good at it, though. Your actions saved many lives today. It was your idea to rescue the prisoners. Losing Valen and the others like that is… terrible.” Niernen fell silent for a few seconds and swallowed hard. “But you were right. We did everything we could. Besides, you know as well as I do that you’re not in it for the septims. I’m sure that we will all look back on these times one day and be proud of our choice to fight back,” she added.

After a few more seconds, she laughed mirthlessly, and the optimism of her consoling words faded away. “What else are we going to do?” the she-elf asked rhetorically, her tone suddenly flanged with bitterness. “Neither of us have anywhere else to go.” Niernen grit her teeth and clenched her fists. No matter how much she wanted to cheer Do’Karth up, she couldn’t deny her own pain and fear and anger. The tears came back (which only frustrated her more) and Niernen looked away.

“I’m not crying,” she whispered.

Do’Karth reached over and placed a hand on Niernen’s arm. He smiled, although his eyes betrayed his own exhaustion, both physically and emotionally. “There are plenty of places to be, but there’s a certain responsibility that needs to be met. Leaving now wouldn’t make the war stop, it would just mean that the support we have here would not longer be there. This one does not care to find out how he fares against a run in with Kamal by his lonesome. He is glad to have you at his side.” He said, taking his hand back, interlacing his fingers on his lap and resting his head against the wood behind him. The Khajiit closed his eyes and just let the rocking of the ship soothe him. There were some things about sailing that were nice; Do’Karth would take what he could get.

“Do’Karth does not kill. It is not a mistake he wishes to repeat, but he wonders if that bit of ethics is going to cost someone else their lives. Not all who are shown mercy walk a more enlightened path.” he said after a few short moments, his eyes half opening and staring straight ahead. “So Do’Karth tries to make up for that potential and redeem himself by trying to help others, regardless of what it costs him. The gods kept him alive for a reason, but they refuse to say why. How does one remain virtuous when one sees so much wrong with the world?”

He looked down, exhaling before looking directly towards Niernen. “This one wishes to profess that until he joined this company, he did not form personal attachments to people or places, and kept moving when things became difficult. Do’Karth is unsure of why he remains, but for the first time in many, many years, there are people he cares for that matter more than he does. Valen’s loss hurt, yes, but this one asks himself if he would have done things differently had it been Sevine, Jorwen, Solveig… you. Do’Karth does not have these answers, and that frightens him.”

Niernen kept her stare fixed on the horizon while Do’Karth talked. As he did, she felt her most recent outburst of emotions recede and a gentle calm came over her. It wasn’t even what he was saying -- just the sound of his voice and his strange, sing-song accent was enough to banish her worst thoughts. When he said that he was glad to have Niernen by his side, she looked at him fondly. While the salty wind tussled her tangled, dirty hair and a substantial layer of grime and dirt was caked on her face, the way the silver light danced in her eyes and her smile played around her lips brought out some of Niernen’s beauty regardless.

She leaned her shoulder against the wooden gunwale and placed her hand on Do’Karth’s knee. Her heart started beating faster. “That’s love,” Niernen said softly. “It’s nothing to be scared of.”

The way Niernen said ‘love’ made Do’Karth blink; there was a familiar affection in the tone he recognized in Sevine’s voice. Was Niernen implying… no, couldn’t be. The Khajiit was somewhat perplexed; he’d gone from being an utter loner without looking for love and affection to suddenly having it drawn to him the moment he’d allowed himself to open up to the idea of friendship. And now, this worn, beaten, but still fighting Dunmer woman next to him was starting to sound like there was something more in her voice than the annuls of friendship. Her voice was higher when she spoke to him, more receptive, than when she spoke with others.

What on Nirn was this? Mara liked her jokes, that much was becoming rather transparent. He looked down at the hand on his knee, and back at Niernen, his voice caught in the back of his throat. What could he possibly say?

“Oh, Do’Karth disagrees.” He said, chuckling nervously, clenching his fingers tighter together. “There’s loss, and confusion, and hurting people one cares for. Do’Karth does not wish to lose Sevine or see her hurt, for instance. She’s all he has. Jorwen is the best friend this one has ever had, and Do’Karth swore that he would keep Solveig safe, since Jorwen couldn’t be everywhere at once. Do’Karth lost you once, and it hurt, and now you’re back. He… is unsure of your intentions.” he admitted, fidging uncomfortably.

Suddenly acutely aware of herself, Niernen pulled her hand back and averted her gaze. “My intentions?” she said, a little too fast, and cleared her throat. Her heart was thundering in her ears now and the way Do’Karth spoke of Sevine stabbed in her chest like a hundred little daggers. “I didn’t… you know, mean anything by it,” she continued. Mustering the courage to look up at Do’Karth’s eyes again, Niernen shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “Just that you should let yourself feel these things. And that you should stay, definitely. No more running,” Niernen said and laughed timidly.

Well, this was about as awkward as someone walking in when you were using the privy. “Oh… Do’Karth isn’t going anywhere. He is far too tired for running.” he joked, dancing around the more serious implication of what Niernen was saying. “Understand that this one has had quite a few years of not truly understanding who he is or what he wants, so it’s a difficult road ahead. He trusts you will help keep him going the right way.” he smiled, hopefully letting the tense and uncomfortable moment pass. “For what it is worth, Do’Karth is sorry you cannot return home. He… understands what that is like.”

Niernen nodded slowly and faked a yawn -- though she was so tired that it almost immediately became a real one. She had to gather her thoughts and rest or she’d do something stupid again. “You’ll have to tell me that story another time,” the elf said and got to her feet. “I need to go find somewhere to sleep. See you in a week,” she quipped, managed a smile, and hobbled away towards the hatch that would take her below deck, giving Do’Karth no further opportunity to respond. Idiot, Niernen chided herself. What were you thinking?



It was early afternoon when the town became visible to the sailor up in the crow’s nest, who bellowed down at the faces below of his finding. The weary crew and passengers might have well sighed a collective sigh of relief; even those with permanent sea legs that couldn’t stand being on solid ground for any length of time seemed to be eager to get off of the sea for a while. After what felt like weeks, even though reality came up much shorter, and several high-stakes confrontations against the enemy in a Dwemer ruin and against the prison frigate later, which had resulted in no small amount of damage to the Kyne’s Tear. The loss of the escort vessel and two of the ballista was a heavy blow for anyone to take, and it was clear that everyone about the ship was well out of fight at this point. All wars involved revolving your front line forces to keep them fresh and the morale up; this latest assignment began to push that and a number of the crew were at the end of their ropes, especially those who had lost friends in the battles. On top of that, they couldn’t very well take a bunch of former prisoners into battle; basic decency dictated that they were returned to the mainland in good order. It was unlikely any of them would be eager to take to the sea again for quite some time after their stay on the Kamal frigate.

Ashav and Edith agreed that while time was of the essence, there needed to be at least a one day leave, if not two. However, Daelin’s company would be due to return within the week, perhaps even beating the Tear, and it would be paramount to find the results of the Bosmer’s mission. While it was easy to think of the war as being entirely in the East and to the North via the sea, the reports of Kamal activity moving further inland was disconcerting, to say the least. While the next assignment was going to go forward as scheduled, for intelligence would be needed before knowing who and what they needed to commit.

And so the crew was dismissed and the company was assigned to light duties and forced rest while the commanders planned their next move. The Innkeeper, for his part, tapped yet another barrel of mead. From the looks of the faces coming off the ship, it was needed.

---

Instead of Jorwen, the next group of people coming over the bend were demoralized Braves. There were three of them, and all of them terrified beyond measure. They wailed about their first mission being nothing like what they signed up for. Their distraught faces almost made Keegan feel sorry for them, but then again, what did they expect in the first place by signing up with a Nordic militia? One of them was crying non-stop, another was blaming the mercenaries for Aenar’s death, and finally, the last one witnessed their best fall to the Kamal.

“Not only Aenar, they also got Dorrance and the Red-Bear.” The militia fighter resigned in the defeated tone.

“Got?” Keegan looked to the Nord. “Did the Kamal kill them?”

“One of their monsters mauled Dorrance; I saw it squish his head flat.” The Brave recounted emotionlessly, as he was reading the script of a monotonous horror play. “I’m not sure about Jorwen. The big Kamal had him pinned, and I didn’t stick around to watch.”

“We can’t let them down,” Daelin’s ragged voice peeked into their conversation, “we have to...go back.”

“Are you out of your non-existent mind!?” Keegan fumed into Daelin. “The Kamals killed everyone at the inn and now they’re flattening the whole place. Why do you have a death wish all a sudden!?” The Altmer kicked a pebble in a pathetic expression of anger. “You know what? Go die if you so want to, but don’t you ever impose your death wish on the rest of us!”

“What are we going to do?” The crying (not so) Brave suddenly burst out. He seemed to be pleading to everyone, yet in his desperation, the words did not connect to anyone.

“We’re leaving.” Keegan responded. He was all worked up again. Hearing Jorwen being lost to the snow demon made him realize how grim their situation was. It was his survival instinct kicking in. Keegan “volunteered” for the forest fire because it had lesser odds for fatality. Now, he wasn’t going let some honor-bound Bosmer throw his life away. “Forget it, we are, I am, running for Dawnstar. The longer you stay here, the more likely Kamals will hunt you down.” He pointed at Daelin to emphasize their danger.

Normally, Keegan would be too reserved to make such a bold speech. At this point, he was too far gone to care. Whether or not his fellow mercenaries agreed or objected, Keegan himself was well on his way out. He marched briskly ahead, going about his way quietly and deaf to any words directed his way.

---

The journey was two days long.

Keegan was running on pure adrenaline in the first few hours. When his adrenaline died, he kept going on pure survival instinct. When it came the first noon and almost their twelfth hour of continuous walking, Keegan was running on fumes. It wasn’t only him, as the rest of the party looked like dead men walking. They had taken breaks no longer than thirty minutes, as these were only done to refresh and redress wounds taken earlier. Daelin suffered the worst out of the bunch. The Bosmer managed to walk for a short hour, but soon after, he had to be supported on someone’s shoulder. That someone was never Keegan, because he was still mad at Daelin getting them to this dreadful situation in the first place.

Everything began to blur in the first afternoon. Exhaustion, injuries and the depletion of supplies had pushed the party to their limit. They had agreed to rest up for a longer period, while those that were still strong went to get water from a nearby creek. Keegan was one of the “strongs”, though all that meant was he could still walk more or less straight. Dragging his tired legs to the dirty creek, Keegan’s mind struggled to decide whether or not he should drink still water.

Heavy, metallic boot steps jolted Keegan towards their flank. Half a dozen individuals bushwhacked out of dense vegetation in ragtag, bandit-like equipment. Keegan attempted to form a fighting position, but fatigue made him fall flat on his ass.

“No, why now?” He whined to the sky. “Please, don’t...” He also whined to the bandits.

“Did you come from the frontline?” More people emerged from behind the bandits. These folks were also armed, but their attires were Dawnstar guard uniforms. “Someone give them some water!”

The hillbilly delivering water to Keegan looked like the strangest thing on Nirn. “Why go through all this trouble to rob us?” The Altmer refused in contempt.

“If we’re really robbing you, you’d be long dead.” The hillbilly laughed. “You aren’t worth what the jarl offered us.”

Turned out good ol' Jarl Skald decided to buy the bandits out. There had been a "Highwaymen Guild" since the end of the civil war; a bandits' organization modeled on the Thieves Guild. The outlaws at Fort Fellhammer were members, and compared to their traditional lone wolf counterparts, the guild bandits exhibit a great understanding of "collective bargaining". This meant that they were pragmatically self-benefiting, rather than mindless violent and greedy. So when the jarl decided to invest in "unorthodox defense resources", the Fellhammer bandits were able to negotiate a contract no one could have expected.

In their hasty flight through the dark of night, the survivors from Nightgate Inn unknowingly strayed from the main road and entered the side route leading to Fort Fellhammer. The fort itself was beefed up from a bandit hideout to a fortified bulwark, which was controlled by both ex-bandits (now also known as "contractors") and uniformed guards alike. It was the first time Keegan rejoiced seeing a bandit fortress, though the presence of clean water, warm food and security against Kamal attacks might have helped. An iron mine underneath the fort garrison supplied a steady stream of ores. Because the garrison itself was already overflowing with the intake of guards, Keegan and his "pals" could only sleep around a dried up iron vein. Even throughout the night, miners continued working in nearby tunnels. The noise wasn't loud, mainly due to work being maintenance in nature. With that said, it was definitely not the best six hours of shut-eye Keegan had gotten.

Ample supplies allowed the next day of walking to be manageable. Keegan remained quiet, though he was able to exchange occasional words with the Braves. Apparently one-fifth of the militia fighting units were engaged in Nightgate. This number was augmented with a group of Orc hunters away from their home during the massacre of Narzulbur. Other volunteers included Khajiit caravanners and their associates (of which Fulrog belonged to), Nordic Army deserters (after the splinter caused by Thur's death) and even a few Companions. The Braves operated mainly along the White River, which meant missions outside of Eastmarch and Whiterun were limited in scope. Perhaps their limit at Nightgate proved to be a blessing in disguise, as deploying further manpower would have resulted in a much more crushing loss.

"The Dragonborn steered Skyrim towards a great power, and now this great power is busy tearing itself out from the inside." The militia fighter then went on to complain about the jarls' inaction, the selfishness of General Manis' military coup in Markarth, the horrible timing of the Falkreath uprising and how Maven Black-Briar was a "nasty woman" for taking Riften under Imperial sponsorship.

"This is not the Skyrim we bled for, Huntress." Another Brave chatted up Sevine. "All the hardship, all the sacrifice and all the patriotism just for the worms above to bicker while snow demons crush us under their heels. What is even the point to this? Why do you keep fighting?"

Morale was low, especially with the veterans. Keegan wondered if such despair was prevalent during the first Kamal invasion. His mind drifted to the second era account Ariane supposed to be translating; at least the Dunmers weren't traitors back then. What was Ariane even doing? Oh right, the second Winterhold college rescue. When Keegan sees her again, he's sure to have some tough questions for her.

Someone else not feeling the good fight was an Orc smith at Fort Fellhammer. Before leaving for Dawnstar, the Orc offered her blood-kin, Bharzak, an alternate path. She claimed that she was only working for the guards to save up for a ride to Orsinium. After that, she would enlist in Orsinium's war against Hammerfell. "That is our war, sister, not this." She tried to sway Bharzak. "Join me, join our people; you do not belong with Nords or mercenaries."

Daelin could once again move his tongue on the second day. He talked with Rhasha briefly, sharing their experiences away from home. For Daelin, he had ran away from a secluded tribe in the Jeral Mountains to seek something greater. Having now found a conflict with stakes greater than he could ever hoped for, Daelin wanted nothing but to reunite with his tribe. The Bosmer would ask Rhasha about his family, somehow already knew the Khajiit's siblings in the ranks of assassins and at the helm of Elsweyr's army. Keegan did not forgive Daelin for nearly ordering his death, but while eavesdropping on the conversation, his thoughts drifted to his own home far away. It had been a month since he sent a letter from the Reach to the Summerset Isles. Did his parents receive the letter? Would they even care to write back?

The road itself was cooperating for a change. The weather was sunny, and temperature was truly befitting of summer. This meant Keegan no longer had an excuse to whine about the cold, but not long after embarking, he started whining about heat. All in all, it was warm enough to give shirtless bandits a legitimate reason to be shirtless. But this summer heat had another implication; were the Kamals weakened?

If the Kamals were indeed weakened, the mercenaries would not be there to enjoy a precious advantage. Dawnstar was the reward for walking morning till later afternoon. Gustav and Dumhuvud were there to welcome them back, and so was Ariane, who just returned from Winterhold hours before Daelin's mission. Nothing homecoming awaited in Dawnstar. Gustav and Dumhuvud did not looked like they got along. Ariane, who dragged back Almad from the college, had bad news to report (though it was restricted to the company leadership for now). However, the center stage of all troubles was a murder in Dawnstar.

Some Argonian shanked Vurwe last night. Already boiling anti-Argonian sentiments had officially boiled past the point of no return. Jarl Skald firmed his resolve after seeing citizens marching to the Argonian camps with torches in hand. Argonians were now banned even within sightline of the town, and they have less than a week to decide between evacuation and imprisonment. Skald claimed his decision was pragmatic rather than personal, as he allowed distinguished Argonians, such as Dax and Tsleeixth, full accommodation within town. That didn't stop Argonians from striking back. Some of the lizard folks took their rage out on local Dunmers. About the same time Daelin and his men returned, the corpses of Gordo and two Argonian bruisers were discovered in a back alley.

"We have to leave, brother." An Argonian fisher said to Dax. "We are surrounded by enemies waiting to slit our throats. An expedient sea lane is no longer open, so we have no choice but to travel the long roads to Black Marsh."

"Join us, brother!" An Argonian cleric, who was supposedly the Pakseech's protege, pleaded with Dax. "We need you and your spellsword comrade. Our elder is probably already fighting; they say snakes and monkeys besiege our homeland."

With the chaos in town, Keegan's attention was pulled towards one matter. Gustav had given him a letter, one that he processed in Ashav's absence. Keegan could hardly stop his hand for trembling with anxiousness, and as he rushed for a private corner to read its content, he hardly paid any mind to Gustav promoting Marcel from temporary to full-time employee.

The Altmer's heart almost skipped a beat when he saw the envelope's seal; it was from Alinor.

---

The journey to Dawnstar left Sevine physically and emotionally drained. How she even managed to lift one foot after another confounded her. She remembered little of the events from the journey, save from the blurred image of the ground underfoot. Without her axe, as she lost it in the fight with the Kamal ranger, her level of vulnerability skyrocketed. As she trudged on, she heard only snippets of Keegan’s anger towards Daelin. While her body screamed for her to stop, to seek rest, but a voice in the back of her mind kept her going. ’For Do’Karth. Make it back to see him. If I can but see his face again, everything will be fine.’ That train of thought is what made her ignore the fire in her ribs.

Needless to say, when the newly contracted guards of Dawnstar appeared from the bushes, Sevine had little energy to speak. She welcomed the water, it cooled her hot tongue. With their aid, they escorted them to Fort Fellhammer where they spent the night uncomfortably sleeping on an empty ore vein. With supplies modestly replenished, the group set out the next morning. Along the path to Dawnstar, one member of the Braves tried to strike up a conversation with her, the nature of which only further soured her attitude. So when he questioned the reason to keep fighting she snapped, perhaps a bit harsh than what was appropriate.

“Why? You want to know why?” She began, her voice low and hoarse, “We keep fighting so that we can protect our land. This is our country. And when your country is under attack, you do not tuck your tail between your legs and make off like a beaten whelp. You stand your ground, and you bare your fangs. There is no glory in war.” She said through gritted teeth, her thoughts flickered to Jorwen. Bile rose in her throat, forcing her to stop in her tracks. How could she have let him be apprehended by the Kamals? Guilt ravished her while a fire burned in her eyes as hot tears threatened to spill, yet she forced herself to speak over the lump in her throat, “There is no glory in war, but there is honor and pride. And those come from protecting the weak and innocent, the infirm, the elderly, the women and children. That is why I keep fighting. I fight because there are others that cannot. I fight because I have someone I love, and because of that, I must survive. That is why I keep going. That is the point of it all.”

By that late afternoon, the remaining survivors trudged into Dawnstar. For the most part, Sevine was relieved to see that Asper and her chitlin shield hadn’t gone missing. She checked him over, and found him to be in good health. She stayed with him for a few hours, his presence providing a comfort she hadn’t felt since the night Do’Karth and her had chosen to share the same bed. The warmth radiating from his massive body soothed her somewhat, though it did nothing to obliterate the pain inside. Her wrist and ankle had swelled, while the surrounding edges of the bite marks were white and spongy, hinting at an infection. The money she received as payment wasn’t as much she had expected, but at least she had something. With the warm air of summer now present, Sevine opted out of renting a room at the inn. She pitched a tent outside, and set off to buy a health potion. Instead of stocking up like she normally would have, she purchased the cheapest potion available.

For the remainder of the evening Sevine settled into her tent as her eyes lingered on the bay, watching for any sign of the Kyne’s return. What had become of Do’Karth? Had he survived the voyage? Did they encounter any dangers as their group had? Was he hurt? Was he dead? Her mind became her own private torture cell, the worrying thoughts over his well-being placed her in a state of unfeeling blankness, a shell of a person. She passed the evening alone, refusing to join in with the others. More importantly, she worried over Jorwen. How would they break the news to Halla, or worse, to Solveig? The mixture of emotions roiling through her allowed her no peace, she had lost her appetite days ago. When night had fallen and thousands of twinkling stars emerged, her eyes grew heavy from gazing up at the twin moons, Masser and Secunda, there she settled onto her bedroll and knew no more.

---

Leif kept to himself on the voyage home to Dawnstar, though he did check on Elmera when he saw her, and shared a peculiar conversation with Roze. The poor dunmer could barely stand from the wound in her thigh, when he had the energy he offered his healing spells to help with the pain and to speed the recovery. He watched Do’Karth from a distance, weary of his interactions between Niernen. Even he could see how she reacted around him, like a smitten maid fallen head-over-heels for a soldier. Though he kept his opinions to himself, a small part of him, though he refused to acknowledge it openly, was relieved to know that Do’Karth survived the escape from the frigate unharmed. Sevine would be happy.

From him, there were no songs to be sung on this return voyage. He gave a helping hand where he could, cooking, swabbing the deck, hoisting the sails, tending to the rescued prisoners wounds, and keeping an eye out for any sign of frigates seeking to destroy them. Thankfully, on his end, the journey to Dawnstar remained uneventful. It wasn’t until early midday when the Kyne’s Tear docked in the harbor. He noticed that the Courtesan had returned. He made a mental note to speak with Atgeir later in the day, for now, he set off into town.

Listening to the people of Dawnstar revealed that the group sent to investigate the mysterious fires had returned, though in poor shape. To his dismay, he learned that the Red-Bear was not amongst them. Some Braves whispered of his fate, possibly killed by the Kamals, though none could verify his death. He headed straight for Windpeak Inn, hoping to find Sevine there before Do’Karth did. He spotted the Khajiit and quickened his pace. Flinging the wooden door open to the inn he let his eyes adjust as the sunlight filtered into the dimly lit tavern. There were some members of the group from the fire mission inside, though he could not see her familiar coppery hair amongst them. His heartbeat quickened out of fear, had she succumbed? If she had… only he was to blame. He left abruptly and scoured the rest of the town.

Leif found her. Sitting outside of her tent with her head in her hands, he could tell something was wrong. He burst into a run, she was alive. That was all that mattered now. “Sevine!” He shouted, he would no longer fight the joy pulsing through him. He watched as she lifted her head from her hands, weary green eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him. Then, her brows furrowed as out of concern. When he reached her, he knelt beside her, his chest heaving from the physical exertion as well as from excitement.

“Leif…” She began, he could hear the tiredness in her voice, but he cut her off.

“Are you well?” He asked, his eyes roaming over her. It did not take him long to discover the bandages around her wrist and ankle, as she had cast off her bracers and boots. “What happened?” He demanded, taking her hand in his, while the other unraveled the linen.

“I… stop. Leave me alone.” She snapped, and yanked her arm away from him.

“You’re hurt. Let me help you.” He said in a pleading voice, reaching for her arm again.

“I said stop!” She thundered, her eyes darkened in annoyance. “I am fine… where is Do’Karth? Is he alive? Is he hurt?” Sevine winced from the sharp pain in her side, and placed a hand over her ribs. Earlier that morning, she had lifted her tunic and discovered a motley of dark bruises along with a degree of mild inflammation. Now, she was in no mood to be trifled with.

Leif merely gazed back at her, stung by her harsh tone. The dagger in his heart twisted, he regretted coming to see her now. “Your lover,” he spat with anger, “lives.” He rose to his feet, eyes narrowed into slits as he glared down at her. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Sevine. You do not deserve to be called the Huntress when you openly fornicate with a cat.” Her rejection a second time around wounded him deeper, he had always taken care of her injuries. His hands curled into fists, he wanted to strike someone, to take his anger out on anything would alleviate the distress suffocating him. He couldn’t bring himself to argue with her anymore, so he turned away from her, yet, lo and behold, when he turned about he came face-to-face with Do’Karth.

“You.” He took a menacing step towards Do’Karth and jabbed a finger into the breast of his budi. “How dare you.”

---

---

Sitting by herself below deck, Roze peered at the blue waves outside of a porthole, deciding that the voyage so far hadn't been as pleasant as she had imagined. What with the other ship sinking, and the prisoner's rescued from the frigate, the Kyne's Tear was just a touch more claustrophobic from all the extra survivors down in the hold. On top of that, what with many still injured, the atmosphere was depressive. Especially without Sagax to crack jokes with - the tension between the two hadn't lessened any since leaving the Kamal to die in the icy waters, and she had no intention of being the first one to try and salvage their relationship. He was the one acting like a bloody fool.

Realising with a scowl that she was beginning to sound like a cranky old woman (thankfully just in her head), Roze stood with a slight groan, stretching her muscles and deciding that some fresh air would likely do some good. If Sagax was above deck, then she'd quite happily ignore him - with the skies cleared, the view would be enough to distract anyone anyway.

The wind blew across the surface of the Sea of Ghosts bore a chill, though the sun above warmed his skin. Leif had found a moment of peace, he had nothing of importance to attend to, nor was his help needed for that matter. He rested his elbows against the wooden railing, his eyes turned upwards to the periwinkle sky above, and watched as puffy white clouds that reminded him of tundra cotton drifted across the sky. As of now, he hadn't a worry in the world. Oh sure, there was the pressing matters of a surprise Kamal attack. Just then, he turned his head at the sound of footsteps across the boards. there came Rozalia. A small smile crossed his lips at the sight of her, "Roze. That was a brave thing you did." He called out to her.

As it happened, Sagax was nowhere to be seen; instead Leif was stood admiring the very scene Roze was drawn to. Approaching the Nord with a grin, she waved off the compliment. "Ah, you know me Leif. I seem to have a penchant for blowing things up, it was nothing really." Coming to a stop beside him, she rested her back against the rail, closing her eyes briefly as she took in the light breeze. Strands of wavy hair came free from her bandanna and whipped about her face, content expression curling into a light frown as she pushed the offending ringlets back. It was about time she had the damned mane sheared.

"I hear that you and some others took down the Kamal Captain. Some sailors say he wielded two morning-stars. Other says he shot lightning bolts from his eyes and had a poisonous tail too, but either way, it seemed to be quite the arduous task to complete." Roze replied with a laugh, pulling her hair back and using the bandanna to tie it into a messy, but tight, bun. Leif's wounds from Bthamz seemed to have healed somewhat; the burns looking nowhere near as raw and painful as they had before. If he was lucky, he'd be free from scarring - and perhaps grow some of his beard back.

"Ah yes, that was quite a..." He sighed, a hand absent-mindedly brushing against the burned portion of face. The burn stretched from his temple down to his jaw, where a good chunk of his beard had gone with it. Some might consider him vain from the simple fact that he spent most of his spare time healing the burn little by little. Granted, the burn on his face healed quicker than the one on his chest. "I am glad to be alive. What more can I say?" He said finally, glancing at the woman beside him. "Forgive me if it's not my place, did something happen to you and Sagax? You both seem oddly distant lately."

Leif's inquiry was met with a roll of Roze's eyes, folding her arms across her chest as if she were stubbornly caught in an argument.

"It's nothing. Sagax just needs to learn that you can't save everyone, and it's silly to beat yourself up about that fact." She replied haughtily, scowling momentarily before her gaze softened as it landed on Leif. "Speaking of distant... I've been meaning to talk to you about... well, about Sevine. I've gathered you must be upset." Her tone became somewhat sarcastic towards the end; most people in Dawnstar had become privy to Leif's drunken outburst. It wasn't everyday that someone challenged the Red Bear to a fight. "Care to share your thoughts?"

Every muscle in his body stiffened at the mention of Sevine, he glanced sideways at Roze, what was she trying to discover? Could he trust her? No, he thought too much on the subject. After all, Sevine belonged to Do'Karth now, she was not his to claim. Slowly, his shoulders drooped in defeat, "Rozalia, have you ever loved another?" He asked, testing the waters.

She hesitated before answering, turning from where she stood so she was facing out at the sea. Love was an odd thing... many said that it was indescribable until you had witnessed it yourself, but how could one discern between love and true love?

"I... believe so, yes." Said haltingly, Roze cast her eyes towards the horizon. "It wasn't a heart-breaking love, or a passionate one. Just easy; easy to sink in to, easy to miss." Glancing back to a down-trodden looking Leif, Roze figured that what he was feeling was a lot different to what she had just described.

"Good." He nodded, "I don't know if this is something you can relate to, but my love for Sevine... Imagine reading a book, if you can read," he paused in his words, searching for the right words to say, "and you ended up falling in love with that character. Of course they're not real, so they'll never know your feelings, or how you yearn to be with someone like them. It's... quite like that. Sevine doesn't know the wound she has inflicted on my heart by being with Do'Karth. Yes, she has every right to be happy, that I know and respect. But..." he faltered again, his eyes searching the dark waters below before turning to face Roze directly, "I know the way I treat women can be off putting. Perhaps that is why she has never considered me to be a partner. But, I know in my heart of hearts that I would love her until the end of time, if only she would let me. And now, she has chosen her partner, and rather hastily in my eyes. I have been there for her longer than most would care to know. Did she ever consider my feelings? Did she even care? Have I wasted years pining after her for nothing? I feel as if I never existed fully in her eyes. That I am just someone that saved her life countless times in the war, tended to her wounds like a devoted lover, and still, she kicked me aside. All I've ever wanted is her to give me one chance to show her how I love, and could love her." He finished speaking, the corners of his mouth turned down into a deep frown while his eyes were a saddened pool of sky blue.

Sighing uncomfortably, Roze rubbed the back of her neck, looking back to the waters, finding it easier to look there than Leif's melancholy expression.

"Leif, I understand you must be hurting. Sevine does to, because she's your friend. But you need to start looking at this from more than just your perspective. I know it seems unfair, but we don't choose to fall in love with people - she's never given you that chance because she doesn't love you in that way." Roze also figured that Leif was acting rather uncouthly towards their flame-headed friend, and that was helping much in their relationship; but she didn't need to point out that he'd acted immaturely. Understanding would work better here... hopefully.

"She does care for you - you know that. But she doesn't owe you her love." She finished softly, placing a comforting hand over Leif's on the railing.

His eyes shifted to the delicate hand atop his own, his thoughts were running amok and finding the words to say made it even difficult to speak. Leif knew that what Roze said was true, painfully true. An iron lump formed in his throat, he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly to calm his nerves. With his other hand, he reached out for her hand atop his where he patted it, giving it a gentle squeeze before removing from his. "You speak the truth, I am afraid to admit. But the truth nonetheless. I can only hope that she chose the right person. I have my doubts concerning Do'Karth." He recalled Niernen's peculiar behavior towards the Khajiit, and debated on whether or not Do'Karth would be a chivalrous partner for Sevine after all.

"Doubts?" Roze questioned, one eyebrow raised. She could understand such worries if Sevine had taken a fancy to the likes of Dumhuvud, but Do'Karth was a fine fellow. He'd treated her most courteously in the past, and while she too wondered if the pair were rushing into something, she had no qualms about Do'Karth. "Surely it's not because he's a Khajiit?" Although Nords were infamous for their distrust of the furred folk, Roze had never pegged Leif as the blindly discriminatory kind.

"No, although one can't be too cautious these days. I regard everyone with suspicion unless proven otherwise." He managed to laugh for once, "It's... uh... Niernen." He lowered his voice in case the Dunmeri woman happened to be close by. "She's rather fond of him. I can't speak for himself, I just hope that he has a noble heart and won't fall to the perils of temptation." A silence fell between them, and Leif felt uncomfortable for once. It was odd, to say the least, to speak to Roze on such matters of the heart.

Roze's laugh echoed Leif's once he had finished speaking. "Leif, the casanova of Windhelm, being worried about another man falling to temptation?" She snickered, clearly amused behind the irony of the sentiment. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. We all know what Sevine would do to a man if he dared cheat on her." It didn't have to be said that the adulterer would be missing several appendages that would be sorely missed. "It is interesting that you bring up Niernen though. I too have noticed to looks of longing she gives to him... perhaps you should talk with her. Your love lives seem to have taken the same path together - it may even help you both move on, in some way?" Her suggestion was a long shot, but it probably wouldn't hurt. However, part of her believed that Leif had no intention of moving on, not when he still saw a chance with his unrequited love.

"Mmm. I hope she would if that were the case." He added, his lips parted into a grin at the idea of Sevine hacking off unmentionables out of pure spite, though his thoughts strayed to her suggestion. Perhaps he should speak with her. Not now of course, but perhaps at Windpeak to share a mug of ale. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to try." He nodded in agreement, his eyes softened at the realization that it had helped to speak with someone on matters of the heart. Too long had he kept it bottled inside, even with Jorwen, he had dared not reveal the entire extent of his love for Sevine. A brow curled into an arch as he gazed at the tiny Breton woman next to him, just then, a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, "Thank you for listening, Roze."

Returning his smile, Roze pushed off from the rail of the ship. "Anytime Leif - I'm always ready to listen to my friends." And with that, she made her way back into the hold, stomach grumbling and ready for whatever edible food she could scavenge on the full ship. She felt better; both from the fresh air and the talk. Leif had seemed somewhat more content, and that was enough for the young rogue to feel like she'd done something worthwhile. For some reason, she felt happier about that than she had saving the prisoners earlier.

---

---

The second day aboard the Kyne's Tear was about as insufferable as the first; less food, and the smell radiating from the liberated - but unwashed - prisoners grew worse at each passing hour. Not to mention all of the vomit. But finally, as Roze once more reached the top deck for some gloriously clean air, the familiar bay of Dawnstar appeared in the distance. A smile graced her face, met with a relieved sigh. In just a short amount of time, they'd be back on dry land.

"It is a relief, seeing dry land, no?" A familiar feline voice asked, his Southern accent smooth against the chill of the air. He had been sitting cross-legged on the deck nearby, meditating, when a familiar set of footballs caught his attention. "You are quite distinctive when you walk. You are much lighter on your feet than the others." Do'Karth observed, rising to his feet gracefully and standing alongside her. "It has been some time since we last spoke. Have you been well?" he asked Roze with a smile.

"That's a fine compliment, coming from a Khajiit. Everyone knows cats are the most silent of predators." She replied with a grin; while Do'Karth was no thief (As far as she knew, anyway) he still had such a quiet grace about him. Even the group's heavier Khajiit Rhasha'Dar had a lighter foot-fall than one would expect from someone wearing such heavy armour. "And I am fine. I fared far better during this fight with the Kamal than the last time; you won't have to stitch me up again." She added with a chuckle, smile faltering slightly as she recalled her conversation with Leif the other day.

"I've been meaning to pass along my congratulations; you and Sevine seem quite happy together." Pausing, Roze looked back to the coast and the ever-growing town of Dawnstar. Hopefully Sevine would be there, alive and well after the forest mission. On that note, Roze hoped everyone survived. "You are happy with this new relationship, right?" While said bluntly, it was not meant to insult Do'Karth; her gaze had returned to the Khajiit, wondering about his answer. Love was a wondrous thing, but very rarely did it give one only happiness. It came with a cost too - Roze only hoped Leif was the only cost of this union between her friends.

Do'Karth blinked, surprised. "Of course. Sevine is all Do'Karth has thought about since we left Dawnstar. This one regrets having left her... there is a feeling of resentment towards our commanders for it, but this one knows his place in the company. We all have a duty to fulfill, and a courtship cannot come before the needs of the many. It does not mean Do'Karth cannot feel a bit selfish about the whole thing and wish he had gone with Sevine." He replied earnestly, standing erect with his hands crossed behind his back. "Do'Karth is a healer; there were simply more people who could use his talents here than on a scouting mission... at least this one presumes that is the justification for the assignment."

Leaning against the railing and resting her head in the palm of her hand, Roze laughed lightly. "Oh, I'm pretty sure our glorious leaders just pick randomly - I doubt they put much effort into deciding which of the company becomes cannon fodder. Or forest fodder, in Sevine's case." Again, Roze was glad to have not needed Do'Karth's assistance in restoration this time around; although his presence was definitely comforting in the case of injury happening. And after coming across Armigers, a Dwemer Centurion and a Kamal frigate, it was a good thing so many on board knew healing magic. Roze really needed to learn some, at this rate.

"But I'm glad you seem so devoted to her. When we talked before leaving, she was happier than I had ever seen her before. If only..." She paused, lips clamping shut for a moment. It wasn't as if Do'Karth didn't know, however. "I only wish your happiness wasn't affecting... others." She finished tactfully.

"Leif." Do'Karth stated, flat out throwing the elephant in the room on the table. "This one wishes he could say he felt guilt for Leif's jealousy and affections for Sevine, but he will not apologize for what Sevine and this one share. It is unfortunate that love affects people, sometimes without clear cut divisions, but Do'Karth is not going to pretend he knows why Mara lets things play out the way they do." The Khajiit said with a sigh, staring out at the bay ahead. "This one did not set out to Skyrim looking for a lover, but he found one nevertheless. He found a place that he felt he could call home with her, after so many years of searching for a purpose. Do'Karth has her, and the friends he had made along the way. It pains him to think that he's wounded Leif by his actions, but has Leif ever thought to ask about Sevine's happiness, or is he just searching for his own gratification, to fill a hole that he thinks she can fill?" He asked, tail flicking irritably.

Making a mental note to kick herself later for annoying him, Roze straightened up, looking to Do'Karth with an understanding smile. "I know - he's acting immaturely, but a lot of men do when they're hurting. Not that that makes his actions justified, at all. I'm fairly sure he'll get over it after a while, and hopefully make things up with Sevine." She paused uncomfortably, glancing at the Khajiit's tail. You didn't have to spend much time around cats, sentient or not, to understand what that meant. "I'm sorry for bringing it up - I didn't mean to upset you."

"Not at all." Do'Karth said warmly, a smile crossing his lips. The tension ebbed out of him. "This one was simply reflecting, it is nothing personal. For now, there is nothing to be done in regards to our mutual friend, so this one will simply wait for him to act upon it... which Do'Karth assumes will be sooner rather than later." The Khajiit admitted with a shy shrug. "But that is enough about Do'Karth. He is glad to see you escaped injury, but have you fared well?" He asked, concerned. "It was quite a frightening situation, and although Do'Karth knows you and Sagax placed the charges that sunk the ship, he doesn't hold you responsible for what happened to Valen. It was unavoidable, and you two saved lives." He paused, looking towards her with concern. "Normally you two are inseperable. Since then, this one has barely spotted you together. What happened?"

"Gods, everybody seems to be picking up on that. And here I was ignoring him to avoid bringing attention to it." Drumming her fingers lightly on the railing, Roze pursed her lips in discomfort. "Oh... it's just..." She paused, wondering what Do'Karth would think about the Pakseech. Would he judge her too, for wanting to leave the elder Argonian behind? Then again, it would do no good weaving lies, as it would only take asking Sagax to discover the truth. "When we were planting the charges, we came across the engine room. The Kamal... naturally, they don't use normal fuel like wood or coal. The engine was like a giant soul gem." A lump seemed to appear in her throat at the memory, goosebumps shivering down her spine at the horrific image of it. To have a soul destroyed like that was... sickening. "The Pakseech from Windhelm was there, still alive. Sagax wanted to save him. I... talked him out of it. We left, and he probably died." She couldn't bare to meet Do'Karth's eyes. In any other situation, Roze wouldn't have even thought twice about it. But now? "Who knew a group of mercenaries would make me soft?" She thought to herself with a cynical scoff.

Instead of rebuking her, Do'Karth placed a hand on Roze's shoulder. "You did what needed to be done. There is nothing to apologize for. This is war, and people need to make difficult choices. Yours was between a handful and the many." The Khajiit said softly. "This one swore he'd never kill again, and so far he has held true to that, but how long can that last? This one struggles with the thought that his mercy might get an innocent person killed. If the Argonians were being used to fuel this engine you speak of, and had no fight left... what other choice was there? You saved those who had not been harvested from a much worse fate. You were brave to do so. Roze," He said, leaning in front of her so their eyes could meet. "You are a good person. This one has seen that in you, and you risk your life every single time we go out there so others may live. You can continue to walk with your head held high."

Roze was unsure why she felt so surprised; she already knew that Do'Karth was kind-hearted, but what with Sagax's reaction, she had expected the worst reaction from everyone. Once more, Do'Karth had brought a smile to her face when she was feeling down. At this rate, she was beginning to think he was a healer in more ways than just restoration. "Thank you. It means a lot to hear that... it's easy to think bad of yourself in harsh times like these." It was curious - before now, she hadn't even considered this situation to be war. To her, war was knowing exactly who your enemy was, and meeting them in battles with banners, war-horns and drummer boys. Bloody and brutal, yes, but against the Kamal, this simply felt like survival. Part of her wondered if they could even defeat them... but then again, they were ice giants. Ice melts eventually, and it does so a lot quicker than flesh decays.

Frowning for just a moment in confusion, Roze realised what Do'Karth had said. Never kill again? But... surely he had killed Kamal. Or had he? "Wait... you don't kill people anymore? Not even in self-defense?" She asked, wondering just why he would think like that. "You too are undoubtedly good, but sometimes people just... need to die." Roze hoped she didn't sound callous there, but she was right. While he was no doubt adept in using his quarterstaff, Roze worried that this abstinence from killing would lead to his demise.

Leaning back against the gunwale, Do'Karth's smile didn't waver. "Once was enough, when Do'Karth was a different Khajiit and much more... let's say single minded person. Since then, he realized who he needed to become. Do'Karth was one of those people who needed to die, Roze." He said, shooting her a bemused glance. "But S'rendarr spared him, for some reason. Run through with a half dozen blades and thrown into a pit to rot, somehow this one managed to find his way back to the living and not pass to the Sands Beyond the Stars. Do'Karth should have died years ago, but he is living on a gift that he wishes to use to the best of his abilities. That means trying to see the best in people, helping where he can, and not taking lives." He looked down at his hand, imagining it coming back bloody like he had those many years ago. "Perhaps it will get this one killed some day. Perhaps it won't. Do'Karth knows that if he ever crossed that line again, that person may very well be someone like him who was misguided, and simply needed a second change to set things right and leave the world a better place than they found it."

It was hard for her to imagine Do'Karth in the way he had just described his past; it was not her place to delve into it, but she had to wonder just what he had done to recieve such injuries. Deciding that today was not the day for her to learn such things, Roze figured that Do'Karth had already told this tale to Sevine. And if Sevine was happy with it, so would she.

"A brave way to see this world and it's people. Foolhardy, some would say, but we all have our own different perspectives." Smile growing, Roze placed her hand on his shoulder as he had her. "But if I have anything to say about it, you'll stay alive for a very long time. You and Sevine both - and the world will be better for it." This was fairly set in her heart; Roze could see Do'Karth and Sevine's love, and with them being her friends, she'd be more than happy to take hits for them. At the very least she could kill attackers without Do'Karth having to. Sevine would be happy for her assistance, at the very least.

"And to think, there's still so much of the world out there this one hasn't seen. He'd like to stay around long enough to see the fruits of his labour pay off, no?" Do'Karth laughed, feeling much lighter in heart than he had before. "Thank you for listening to this one prattle on, he is anxious, you understand. It is a wonderful thing to have someone waiting for you."

Joining in on his laughter, Roze's spirits lifted even more as the ship neared the mooring station. "Indeed it is. Go and find your fair maid and sweep her into your arms!" She joked, glad to have had another cheering conversation with Do'Karth.

As the ship docked and the crew members milled away, Roze felt quite content. She'd avoided Sagax - and an inevitable argument - for the whole voyage, and she'd also talked with both Leif and Do'Karth about Sevine. The young rogue had high hopes that her words had done something to alleviate the pressure between the three, and as she strolled casually through the streets of Dawnstar, figured that all of their troubles would blow over and all could be friends again.

Then she turned around a corner and saw the very same three she had been thinking about; Sevine looking pissed, Leif looking pissed, and Do'Karth probably looking pissed if his flicking tail and Leif's finger upon his chest was anything to go by.

"Oh, come on guys. You had one fucking job!" She groaned quietly, slapping a hand to her forehead in sheer disbelief.

Foxey and I wrote this!

No sooner did the Kyne’s Tear dock did Do’Karth disembark at the earliest possible moment that the ramp was secured and the ropes knotted about the cleats to keep the ship anchored to the dock, being one of the first to leave the ship when cleared. Part of his motivation was to get off of the hated seas as soon as physically permissible, but also that there was a good chance that Daelin’s outfit had returned before the ship, and with it Sevine. His heart raced with uncertainty; until he saw her with his own eyes, there was this lingering fear and doubt that consumed him that he would never see her again. The war had already cost so much, and after Valen’s passing and that of the prisoner, mortality was heavy on Do’Karth’s mind. The Khajiit needed to find Sevine safe; no other outcome was tolerable.

It didn’t take long for confirmation of Daelin’s return to make the rounds, and there was talk about a siege at an inn and Daelin’s burns, but it was enough to know that they had returned. Elated somewhat, Do’Karth walked about Dawnstar, trying to see if he could catch sight of Sevine. Knowing her, she wouldn’t go somewhere too hard for him to find. Conspicuously absent was the ginger giant that was his good friend; Jorwen was usually one of the easiest people to pick out from a crowd, and a part of Do’Karth felt the man was probably resting off the journey and spending a few quiet moments with Halla.

When the Khajiit could not find Sevine in town, his heart began to sink, and he feared the worst when he saw Leif taking off in a hurry towards the outskirts of the town. Feeling that the man likely knew something he did not, Do’Karth followed, keeping a distance as to not provoke a confrontation. Soon, he caught sight of a tent, and a familiar set of crimson locks from beyond the flaps.

It’s her. he realized, elated. His feet almost failed to move with his will, his relief was so profound. This quickly became soured when he heard the commotion and Leif’s body posture suddenly get rigid; it was clear things did not go as he pleased. Hurrying to catch up in case things became violent, Leif turned suddenly as if to leave and looked immediately disgusted to see Do’Karth.

A finger jabbed into the Khajiit’s chest.

“How dare you.”

Do’Karth’s eyes narrowed, his ears pulling back. “Do’Karth cares not for what you think you’re implying, Leif Raven-Stone.” he said, swatting the hand away with the heel of his hand. “This one has done nothing to you.”

Sevine scrambled to her feet as best as she could, sensing that something might happen if these two were allowed to continue their verbal dispute. Personally, she didn’t want to see Leif, and his obsessive attitude over her had put her in a foul mood. She had the idea to put him to the ground herself and beat some sense into him.

“I beg to differ.” In his eyes, a storm brewed, a tempest on the verge of releasing a torrent of fury, “You have taken the one person I cherished most, and you have done it through your deceitful nature as a Khajiit. You are the same as all Khajiit.” He said, pushing Do’Karth in the chest.

“Leif!” Sevine lumbered towards him unsteadily, “Get the hell out of here. I won’t have any fighting over your delusional notions.” She grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him back from Do’Karth.

“How can you say that? That I am the delusional one? Take a good look at yourself. And it’s all because of this damned cat.” He reclaimed his arm and turned back to Do’Karth, “LOOK. Look at her!” His voice climbed an octave as he turned to shouting, “If you so much as cared for her, you lying bastard, you wouldn’t have left her alone! She could have died. And you didn’t give a shit. You weren’t around to protect her. You weren’t around to help her. No, you tucked your tail between your legs and submitted to Ashav’s orders. You didn’t protest, you didn’t ask for a change, you let this happen. You don’t care about her.”

“Leif, I swear to Mara, if you don’t get the hell out of here, I’ll deal with you myself.” She raised her own voice. Damn it to Oblivion! She never felt more helpless than in a time like this, not being at her physical peak skewed her ability to defend herself.

“No.” He turned to glance at her, “No. Someone has to defend your honor. And this mewling cat won’t care to do it. Unless he actually has a backbone.” Leif pushed Do’Karth again.

“Sevine does not need anyone to defend her honour! She is a warrior, we all know the risks!” Do’Karth spat back, stepping forward after the shove. “It was not Do’Karth’s decision to separate with her, but perhaps if you were not so selfish in demanding the world cater to your whims and greed you would realize that we are fighting a war and need to listen to our orders or we’re all dead!”

The Khajiit stepped to the side, attempting to prevent Leif from being between Sevine and himself. “All you have done is act like a child since Sevine and this one chose each other, and this one has attempted to give you space and respect that you were hurt, but do not dare call Do’Karth’s love for Sevine and her well being into question.” he stated, his voice edging on a growl. “This one cares for her like nothing else in his life, and a part of that is knowing that she was her own person before this one arrived. She is a warrior long before Do’Karth came into her life, and this one will not shield her from that part of her life. It is who she is, and it is her calling. She is not to be controlled by the likes of you, a man who claims women like trophies! You only care for her because she is the one woman you could never have and it has driven you to madness!” The Khajiit was shouting now, fists clenched. “She has requested you leave. She does not want you here. Go, now.”

A glob of saliva flew from between his lips and struck Do’Karth’s chest, Leif squared his shoulders in defense, “There you go again, you mangy cat. Do you hear how he speaks his honey-coated lies? I will not go.” He declared, his hands curled into fists as he raised them up, ready to fight. “Fight me cat. On her honor, fight me. Show me the type of a man you truly are, if you are a man at all.”

“More so than you.” Do’Karth replied pointedly. “You wish to solve with fists what your mouth cannot. It is always someone else’s fault, never your own. How do you live with yourself?” He adopted a wide stance, a fist gently guided into an open palm. “This is not something you can hope to win. Walk. Away.”

Sevine’s head spun with anger, how dare he do this! If it weren’t for Do’Karth in her way, she would’ve handled Leif herself, cracked ribs or no. Her stomach twisted in a series of intricate knots as she watched the unfolding scenario. “Leif. Just leave. Please. You’re only going to get hurt.” But her words fell on deaf ears.

“You are not from our land, you do not know our customs, leech. I will not turn my back and run.” With one fist, he lobbed it at Do’Karth’s gut.

Do’Karth’s fist moved down to deflect the blow, bringing it down and out to the side, the momentum away from his body while his open hand came up in a flash and chopped towards Leif’s exposed neck, a hard strike that wasn’t with the violent intent that Do’Karth would have usually put into a fight. Usually, he would seek to end things as quickly and painfully as possible to discourage further violence. He simply needed Leif to come to his senses.

Hopefully.

Stepping back into a slender profile, an open palm closest to Leif facing towards him while a clawed hand curved behind him like a scorpion’s tail. Do’Karth squatted somewhat, giving his muscles a lot of potential energy to spring out and react as need be. “As you do not know Do’Karth’s. You are clumsy, you telegraph your every move. Your anger makes you weak.”

The strike to his neck left him on one knee, blinking away the stars that danced before his eyes. He shook his head to clear them away and staggered to his feet, his upper lip curling into a snarl. “The audacity you have.” He growled. While he set himself in a defensive stance, Leif surveyed the situation. How could he best Do’Karth? By attacking him unexpectedly, that’s how. Several seconds passed before Leif lunged at Do’Karth, his arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him down to the ground. Sevine cleared the area, giving them a wide berth to fight. She could call for help, but what good would that do? Leif would never learn to leave her alone if Do’Karth didn’t teach him a lesson. She watched from a distance, her hands over her mouth. With Do’Karth beneath him, a hand curled around his ear giving it a hard yank while he drove a fist into his face.

The pain was agonizing; having one’s ear yanked was hardly sporting, and it more or less made Do’Karth’s mind up when it came to the question of holding back. Another strike across his muzzle brought the taste of blood to the back of his throat, and Do’Karth forced his rising anger down. Pain is weakness leaving the body… pain is weakness leaving- he chanted mentally, extending his claws on his hand, and as Leif brought his fist up once more, Do’Karth jabbed all four of his fingers tightly together up into the man’s exposed armpit, tearing into the exposed flesh. Taking advantage of the moment that he’d bought himself from the fist, Do’Karth brought the heel of his other hand up into Leif’s throat, ideally stunning him and forcing him to choke. Having bought himself some room, Do’Karth grabbed into Leif’s shirt and pulled him back, enough for Do’Karth to get the weight off of him and break free, scrambling to his feet once more. Standing with more of a wide stance, the Khajiit prepared to dodge incase Leif leapt up into a tackle.

White-hot pain scorched his underarm from the Khajiit’s claws while the palm to his throat forced him to release his hold on Do’Karth. Now that he had the upper hand on him, Leif found himself being tossed to the side. He lay on his back, one hand clutching at his throat while the other put pressure on the wound in his armpit. When he regained the ability to breathe, albeit, still painful, he rolled to his knees. He glowered at Do’Karth, of all things he happened to overlook, he forgot that Khajiit’s had miniature daggers equipped to the end of their fingertips.

“Leif, I’m telling you, you’d better stop before you get hurt.” Sevine warned, seeing a chance to talk some sense into him.

“Shut up! This is between Do’Karth and I.” He shouted as he hoisted himself to his feet. As he did so, he spotted a metal tankard that belonged to her. He snatched it up, and in a second hurled it at Do’Karth’s head. The Khajiit couldn’t react to being assaulted by more than one object, or so he believed. As the tankard sailed through the air, it’s trajectory aimed for his head, Leif lunged forward, one leg slipping behind the cat’s ankle as his hand grabbed the budi to prevent him from going anywhere, while the other leg drove itself towards his groin.

The tankard was easy enough to dodge; it was expected the moment Leif grabbed for it. The grapple came immediately afterwards, and before Do’Karth could break Leif’s grip, he knew what was coming. Do’Karth had been in his share of dirty fights before. His duel a decade prior against Daro’Sahana came to mind; she would have done anything to dismantle Do’Karth completely.

Leif was no Dara’Sahana.

Managing to squeeze his thighs together enough to slow the momentum of the knee down, Do’Karth nevertheless took the hit, but he’d been conditioned against pain in more than one way. The lessened blow didn’t have the impact Leif was hoping for, and instead of staggering Do’Karth, he was rewarded with a headbutt into the temple for his troubles. Bringing both of his arms down against Leif’s wrists to break the Nord’s grip, Do’Karth closed in, unleashing a flurry of pointed clawed jabs into various places along his shoulder joint, chest, and abdomen, claws puncturing skin and tearing muscle tissue along the way. Using his bent knee as a leverage point, Do’Karth planted his one foot firmly against the knee and brought the other into a high kick, striking under the man’s jaw. Like any good cat, Do’Karth landed on his feet and brought some distance, preparing for Leif to grapple and charge again.

Daro’Sahana was defeated by not allowing her to escape. If he grasps you once more, do not let him leave standing. he thought to himself.

“Pathetic. Do’Karth thought you were a warrior.” Do’Karth taunted, scorn oozing from his voice as if rebuking a stubborn pupil instead of a jealous lover.

Crimson liquid painted his billowing tunic, the blow to his jaw left him stunned, and one on knee while the headbutt had him seeing stars again. His chest heaved from a mixture of pain and anger. Do’Karth became the symbol for everything he felt on the inside, the sorrow, jealousy, and anger, he was the physical embodiment on which he could take out his frustration. All the while, Sevine watched from the sidelines, her hands clasped together in worry. Do’Karth held his ground without trouble, yet it was the unexpected attacks from Leif that worried her. If he wanted, Do’Karth could kill Leif, and the last thing she wanted to see was his blood spilled on the ground. She felt torn, but she said nothing.

When he regained his strength, Leif got to his feet, the ground swaying before him. The adrenaline coursing through his veins slowed him down, it made his body heavy like lead. But he would not give up. Not to a cat. While he wanted to say something in return to Do’Karth’s comment, he couldn’t think of anything on the spot. He settled for a grunt. Sweat soaked through the thin fabric of his tunic, it clung to his muscled torso, while his chest heaved with each breath. He had all but ran out of ideas on how to get the cat back to the ground. He had used distractions, tackling, a kick to the groin, there was but one option left. Full on assault, no holding back.

He let loose a roar that tore through the air as he charged Do’Karth, he closed the distance between them in seconds. His fists were flying as he struck at Do’Karth, his rage kept the fire burning in him. All of the hurt he held inside were in those punches. The Khajiit was quicker and either dodged or deflected all but two of his blows. One connected to his ribs, and the other in the chin. Yet Leif continued until his arms tired out. He sprang on Do’Karth with surprising agility, one hand pinned his wrist to the ground while the other recoiled back to strike him.

The Khajiit twisted in the grip, bringing his legs around to grapple Leif’s arm like he was climbing a rope and he forced the man to his back, twisting the arm in his grip while pushing against the man’s torso with his leg, stretching the arm to its natural flexibility limits. Hearing something pop, Do’Karth wasted no time releasing Leif, kicking him in the face with the flat of his foot. “Yield, or this one will start to break you. Every blow will be a new broken limb. How do you plan on fighting if you can’t even take a shit without asking for help?” Do’Karth stated ruefully, wiping an armful of blood from his bleeding mouth.

He gritted his teeth as Do’Karth pulled his arm out of the socket, amongst all the other wounds on his body, this one sent him over the edge. The kick to the face set off a nosebleed, bloodying his lips and teeth. As he lay in the dirt, somewhere deep inside him, he realized something. Part of him had hoped that Sevine would separate the two of them, plead to Do’Karth to stop, but she did not. Did she want him to be beaten this way? Did she truly hate him enough to allow this fight? Roze’s words came dancing back into the forefront of his mind, ”She doesn’t owe you her love.”, and that he realized, was the truth. He had forgotten their conversation after fearing that Sevine had died in assault on Nightgate. His old feelings had resurfaced, and because of his own self-ignorance, he found himself in this situation. While his pride was strong, his body was weak, he couldn’t keep fighting even if he wanted to. As he considered his options, he thought of throwing dirt into Do’Karth’s face, but what good would that do? The Khajiit had bested him. With a painful sigh, he nodded his head in consent. “I yield.”

Stepping back and placing his fist against his hand as he had done at the start of their duel, Do’Karth bowed to his fallen adversary, the fight having left his eyes. “It is done. Find a healer.” he said, stopping short of advising Leif to meditate on the day’s events. What good would that do. Instead, Do’Karth, bloodied but still very much mobile, walked towards Sevine, his old injury in his leg beginning to throb. He knelt before her with a pained grunt, looking up at her with apologetic eyes. “Do’Karth is sorry for what had transpired. He had tried to avoid this. Would it be too much to ask for your forgiveness?” He asked.

Without another blow from Do’Karth, he pushed himself to his feet. His eyes locked with Sevine, shocked to see the Khajiit kneeling before her. She glanced at him for but a fraction of a second before returning her attention to Do’Karth. He watched as she placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed his forehead, just like what he always wanted for himself. He turned away, disgusted with himself, and made the slow walk back into town.

“My love.” She dropped to her knees and embraced Do’Karth, “You do not need my forgiveness, you have done nothing wrong.” All she wanted in life was in right there in her arms, the man she loved was alive and well. And so, she kissed him.

Letting the kiss linger, feeling the doubts and fears wash off of him like a wave purifying a stone, Do’Karth pulled Sevine into a tight embrace, determined to never leave her again without a fight.

Daixanos wasn't against Keegan's logic. Only his supposed cowardice. He had a feeling that Keegan's lack of determination in the conflict might have caused the death of some of the Braves. Dax lamented he couldn't be everywhere at once to give support. The Argonian winced at the sharp pain in his side, and it was a reminder he'd done his best. Hist help him, he'd tried.

Still, it took the entire party moving forward for Dax to start moving as well. It was quite a hard thing not to turn about and take a few Kamal's down, even if he knew it would spell his doom. With a grunt, he loped forward to the fore of the group with his hunting bow at the ready. Dax kept his shoulders square and his head up, gazing to and fro to make sure they were not being pursued.

The two days of trudging was dull and dreary. The wilderness and endless steps were taking its toll on his companions, he could tell. Daixanos was feeling quite the opposite. The Argonian was used to such wordless and hostile travels. Sevine was no less of a Hunter than he, but his stoicism and his Argonian regeneration helped him to remain somewhat more healthy for the time being. He could feel the scarred wound in his side and shoulder, now only aching echos of their original pain.

Admittedly though, he was glad they made it to Fort Fellhammer when they did. The mines he didn't mind sleeping in, keeping first watch out of habit, even if they were within a safe place. He did manage to find some sleep later on. It cleared his mind for what he would need to deal with the following day. It seemed there were far more domestic problems than he had imagined. Yes, his people were always treated harshly, but this was different.

It was when he was met with his fellow Argonians that he realized his recurring nightmares were perhaps not nightmares at all. What truly beset his homeland? He did not wish to leave his newfound companions, but his kinship to them was a far cry to his allegiance to the Hist and his true brethren. He gave the Argonian priest a look of understanding. "I have much to think." He said, and made his way into Dawnstar.

Dax was nothing if not introspective. It was contrast to his decisive, predatory nature. Long it took before he made a decision, and yet he so often moved on pure instinct. He wished he had the answer now, though deep in his heart he knew that his time in Skyrim was coming to an end. Although...

The muscled hunter found himself on the sidelines of a fight he did not see coming. It seemed that the Nord had a problem with Do'Karth and Sevine. What was the Nord's name again? He'd seen him before, but only briefly. His actions were brutish and unthinking, like a dying animal in its last throes of life. Only this one seemed to be pained from within. Was he infatuated with Sevine? Dax found that he truly did not care. What he did care about was a fellow hunter's honor, as well as Do'Karth's, surprisingly enough.

The Khajiit had healed Daixanos, after all. Dax felt a certain thanks to him for that. And so he waited, and watched the ensuing conflict. It was not his place to interrupt a duel of honor, and even if neither knew it, this was clearly for Sevine's honor. The Argonian rested his hands on his BattleAxe as the two fought, tooth and claw. It was quite the display. The Nord was no slouch, as Dax expected. Do'Karth surprised him, though. He had not known the Khajiit was a true fighter. He used his claws with an accuracy that Daixanos appreciated within his own skill set.

Once the fight was over, he found he had enjoyed watching. He was not one to applaud, though he surely would have. The Argonian appreciated a good bout, regardless of emotions or personal feelings. Speaking of which, D'Karth and Sevine embraced, hinting to Dax his original thought was correct. This had been about Sevine.

Dax wasn't stupid, but he had a difficult time with social cues after having lived on his own for years and years on end. Still, he knew a tender moment when he saw one and did not approach Do'Karth or Sevine for the initial moments of their reunion after the fight. He would offer congratulations when he could, however. Afterwards, he would speak with Tsleeixth. Dax was certain they had things to discuss.

----
Weasel Strand snuck about around at dusk, followed along by the biggest boys he had. You could never bring enough strong lads with flexible morals and light purses. That was needed for this sort of job, she'd only described the man and explained where he might be on any given day. Gold had stalled any further questions.

"I want you to find this man and take anything from him that looks like a document, letter, or even just paper. Or whatever else you want." The smiling woman had said. That's all he had seen, the lower half of her face in the faint candlelight. She sat behind a storage crate she was using as a desk,"Do you understand?"

He did. He remembered her lips curling, teeth glinting red in the ruddy candlelight. "I'm glad we understand eachother."

One of his boys gestured with a meaty arm to the a figure strolling towards the Windpeak Inn. "That him?" Weasel gently pushed the mans arm down and extended his foldable telescope. "Yeah, that's him in'it? Well, it don't matter, we still got the coin if it ain't. Maybe we can take some off him too while we're at it." There was a light murmur of approval.

--
Five minutes later

Weasel and the remaining survivors of his boys fled. Weasel swore under his breath, "Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck." He had the papers in his hand, but that was little comfort. The man was chasing him last time he turned around and he hadn't checked to see if he were still following.

One of his boys looked to him, shouting, "He killed Willow and Blackard!"

Weasel swore again, then said with more cogience, "Shut your damn mouth and follow me." They all, Weasel and four other men, darted into an alleyway. He said, panting, "We gotta avoid the guards and get back to the woman. If we say she did it, we may come out of this with our heads still attached to our necks. And maybe if we're lucky, our asses still attached to our waists. You got me?" One man opened his mouth and Weasel stabbed him, fast and hard. The man sputtered, a silent scream leaving his mouth. The other men looked on in horror. Weasel released the man to the ground, hands covered in blood, staring the second toughest looking bastard in the eye, "You got me?!"

He returned to the docks, the location of the woman and his first meeting. He told his last three boys to wait outside, she had asked he come alone. As he came in, he was surprised to find she was already there. The lighting was similar. He was starting to think she had set the candles that way on purpose.

She smiled, "Are you here for my pleasant company, or do you have what I asked for?"

Weasel snorted, "I got it."

She said, flatly, "Give them to me."

Weasel laughed, "Why should I do that, when I could return the papers to Ashav, bring you to him, and steal what you plan to pay me?"

Her smile quickly turned into a frown of deep unhappiness, almost disappointment, "I really wouldn't suggest that."

He planted his hands on the damned crate she was using as a desk, one among many in the room, "Yeah, bitch, you wouldn't suggest that? What the fu-" and just like Raelyn thrust a hand forward, fish gutting knife flashing through the air then down. Weasels left hand was very quickly left pinned to the crate, blood seeping from where the blade met flesh. He stared at his twitching hand in disbelief, then wailed as the pain suddenly swept all the way through to his arm.

The woman sneered, her smile turning into clenched toothed menace, "Do you think I'm fucking stupid? You think I hired the smartest thug I could find, someone who I could trust? No, I hired the smallest, weakest, cowardly damn idiot with a thirst for gold!" She twisted the dagger, Weasel wailed through clenched teeth. She eventually released the dagger and Weasel stumbled back, staring at the new hole in his hand. He pointed at Raelyn with his good hand, "You crazy bitch, my boys are going to tear you apart in a minute!" He backed against the wall, reaching for his own knife.

She swung herself over the crate and he could see her unremarkable face. She laughed, "What boys? The men outside currently being accosted by the town guard? I told them a bunch of thugs who robbed Ashav would be here!" She wasn't lying either, if Weasel strained his ears he could hear the sounds of blades clashing.

Weasel blurted, waving his knife, "Stand back, or I'll cut that fucking smile out of you-" and suddenly her fist drove into his chest, then another fist to his face, then a firm embrace of his shoulders followed by a knee to his groin. He fell over, in utter agony.

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

Raelyn looked at the writhing man below her and made one final curbstomp to his skull, ensuring he wouldn't be moving for a while. She breathed slowly in and out, panting. She needed to calm down, think things over. After a moment to catch her breath and gather the papers that Weasel had stolen, she calmly pried open the crate she had been using as a desk. She shoved Weasel into it, hammered it shut, and looked through a tiny peephole she had made in her temporary hideaway to see if the guards were still outside. They were not. She left, to search for a man with low enough moral scruples for what she had planned. Or at least didn't ask too many questions.

-----

She went about the Nord docks, heart a flutter. Would someone find the box? Would she be found out? No, there was no tie to the man. Other than the prisoners she had just gotten arrested or killed might speak of him. Maybe he knew what she looked like. She couldn't think about that, she had to find the shadiest looking man.

She spent some hours just looking for someone that wasn't a Nord. Nordic men were generally more scupulous, believing in honor and such. That wasn't what she needed. She needed someone who thought honor was just a word the soon to be dead spoke of. She eventually heard of a man who had once operated in the Dunmer slave trade, skin as black as his heart by pretending to care about a drunkard sailors ramblings about other ships and their bastard crew.

He said, voice raspy, "His skins as black as his heart it is! Redguard, through and through. Rat bastard used to trade in slaves before Red Mountain erupted! Sent him right angry, that, when he found his gold had blown too!" A smile sprung on Raelyns face that she didn't even have to force.

"Hellooooo" she sung.
The Redguard Ex-slave trader looked her over, "You some kind of jester?"
She paused at that, "No, I'm someone with a lot of gold." She waited for a response.
"I'm listening." he said.

"How would you feel about dumping a box into the middle of the ocean?"

He stared hard at her, "What's in the box?"

"Some Altmer memorabilia."

The man spat, "I'd almost do that for free!"

"Will you?"

"No.

--------

They were back in the storage room. Raelyn said, "Here's the crate. I need you to bring it out of eyesight of the shore, and dump it into the ocean, like I said."

The man nodded, rubbing his chin, "This can be done."

Raelyn gripped his hand and slid fifty septims into his palm, She said, "And if anyone asks about what is in the box."

Waylod said, "I don't know, check yourself."

Raelyn slipped another ten septims into his hand. He answered again, "That's none of your damn business."

She slipped ten more into his hand. "What box?"

She slipped ten more. "What is a box?"

She smiled, "A man after my own heart."

----

Several hours later, Waylod ordered his men to bring a specific crate from the hold and push it into the ocean. Before this was done though, he opened it. There was a man inside, possibly dead but he wasn't sure at this distance. He nearly wretched. That bitch said...well, there wasn't anything he could do about it now. He quickly shut the box before his first mate saw.

"What is it, Captain?" Romav said.

Waylod frowned, "Nothing. Get this off the side."

He watched it sink, bubbles forming as the water forced itself into the crate. Eventually the weight sunk it and he figured that was that. He wasn't sure how good he felt about it.

---

---

The immense relief of being able to take a bath in Dawnstar's Windpeak Inn lifted Niernen's spirits so much she almost managed to forget the events of the past few weeks. The Dunmer ran her hands through her soft, moist hair and sighed with delight. "I'm sorry for not taking care of you properly," she mumbled to herself, cooing to her dark locks like a mother to her child. Having dried herself off with a towel, Niernen stared at her outfit for a full minute, wondering how to salvage the rips and tears in the wool and leather that were a thorn in her eye. She might be in the middle of a war but Niernen was still a nobleman's daughter. Looks meant something.

A low grumble in her stomach broke her reverie and Niernen decided to momentarily shelve the concerns about her clothes and dressed herself. The leather armor, which had been perfectly form-fitting before her departure from Blacklight, now hung a little too loosely over her frame. Niernen grimaced and hid the visual reminder of her physical state beneath the folds of the grey cloak she'd picked up during her terrifying escape from Windhelm. "It'll do," Niernen told herself and left her room, locking the door behind her. She'd spent the remainder of the trip practically comatose inside the hold of the Kyne's Tear, recouping weeks worth of missed sleep, and finally felt a little rested. Sleeping any more would be pointless now. It was going to take time to feel like her old self -- what she really needed was food.

Niernen descended the stairs and entered the main hall of the inn. Candles were lit, meat roasted above the spit and someone plucked away at a lute in one of the shadowy corners. Niernen wasted no time and ordered a huge meal of potatoes, pork and beef. "Do you have any flint?" she asked. The innkeeper replied with a blank stare. "Sujamma? Matze?" Niernen continued, sounding increasingly exasperated.

"This is Skyrim, dark elf," the innkeeper said at last. "I have mead."

Niernen raised her hands in mock surrender and added a mug of mead to her meal. Nodding, the innkeeper set about to preparing the food and Niernen took a seat near the fire. She stared into the flames and let her mind wander this way and that, but was careful not to let her thoughts stray too close to Do'Karth -- like asking herself where he might be or what he might be doing.

The door to Windpeak banged open as Leif staggered inside, blood painted the lower half of his face in crimson streaks from the nosebleed he received only seconds ago. He looked one helluva mess, that remained a fact. Some folks turned their heads at his uncomely appearance and set to whispering amongst themselves. What happened? He appeared as if he just had his ass handed to him. With one hand pressed against the underside of his arm to stem the steady flow of blood, he half-walked half-limped to the counter. On seeing him, Thoring clucked his tongue in disapproval, his eyes sweeping over the man before him.

"What happened to the likes of you?" He asked, the smell of cooking pork and beef wafted through the air as the innkeep turned to glance into the kitchen, checking on Niernen's meal so that it didn't burn.

"Got into a fight with a cat." Leif said, the last person he wanted to talk with over what happened just moments ago was with a nosy innkeeper who enjoyed gossiping as much as the next person, "Do you have a rag and some water I could have? I'll take a loaf of bread while you're at it." He pushed a septim towards Thoring, where he watched the man bite the coin and then shrugged. Leif's head hung low, he could barely keep his head up, much less engage in petty conversation. He fished out another two septims when Thoring returned, "And a bottle of ale too."

When he acquired the rag, pitcher full of water, ale, and loaf of bread he made his way over to the long table in the center of the room. He settled down into a chair and propped one foot up in a vacant seat. He poured some of the water onto the rag and began the slow process of cleaning the blood away from his face. The muscles in his arms grew heavy, forcing him to stop half-way through. His eyes shifted to Thoring setting down a plate of food before a familiar Dunmer woman just a seat away from him. He recognized her immediately, but wanted to make sure he had her name right.

"Niernen, is that right?" He asked. He had to admit, she had a pretty face, and the scar running down her face did little to mar that.

Distracted from her meal by the sound of her name being mentioned, Niernen looked up to see Leif Raven-Stone. She recognised his face from the Dwemer ruin and the Kyne's Tear, but did not know his name. Not that it mattered for what she was about to say next.

"By Azura, what happened to you?" Niernen replied after hastily swallowing a mouthful of food. "I mean, yes," she added, "that's me. You're with the Company, aren't you?" Her coppery eyes went over Leif's blood-soaked face and clothes. "You didn't look this beat up the last time I saw you."

He ran a shaky hand through his matted hair, thinking of the best way to give her an answer. He could be blunt and say that he had lost a fight to Do'Karth, or he could tell her the same as Thoring. In the end he opted for a more vague answer, "Love." He reached for the brown glass bottle of ale and raised it to his lips, drinking with a great thirst. Leif sat the bottle down with a shake of his head. "A painful subject when your love's not wanted, mm?" He asked more to himself than to her.

"I don't think we've ever met face-to-face. I saw you last in Windhelm. The name's Leif." He outstretched his hand for her to shake, but then thought better of it and retracted his hand, after all, offering a blood-covered hand for someone to shake seemed rude. He returned to dabbing away at the blood on his upper lip.

The elf's eyes sparkled with amusement and understanding at Leif's mention of love. She watched him offer and retract his hand and raised an eyebrow in response. "Oh, give me that," Niernen said eventually, shuffled over to Leif's side and took the cloth from him. "Lift your head," she instructed and inspected his nose. "Hmm-mhm. I can fix that. Hold still."

He did as she instructed, curious as to why she went out of her way to help. He settled the thought with his own answer, Niernen must simply have a kind heart. After all, Dunmers and Nords didn't get a long too well as it were.

Hovering her hand over Leif's nose, a gentle golden glow of Restoration magic flowed from her palm and set Leif's nose straight again. She wiped away the last remnants of dried blood from his chin and leaned back to inspect her handiwork. "Better?" she asked. Her eyes darted over Leif's body again and she spotted a few more injuries, including a nasty cut in near his armpit, but didn't presume to lay her hands there without being asked. "Anything else I can do for you?"

When she settled back, Leif's eyes widened in shock. Normally he would have healed himself, yet for once, someone healed him. His fingers brushed over his nose, surprised to feel that everything felt in place, "Yes, thank you." He locked eyes with Niernen, he had had little interaction with Dunmers in the past, even when living in the Gray Quarter in Windhelm. He had assumed that all Dunmers had crimson eyes, but not Niernen, no, hers were a peculiar shade of amber with a coppery sheen. He realized rather abruptly that she had asked him a question.

"Ah... if you don't mind, yes." His eyes darted away from hers, suddenly wishing that he still had blood smeared across his face to hide the fire in his cheeks. "I'm not sure if you have the strength to heal them all, but..." Leif winced as he reached for the hem of his tunic, where he pulled it off in one smooth motion. There, all across his abdomen and upper region of his chest were a series of strange wounds that bore the resemblance of claws. Here, he raised his arm and revealed the long gash that stretched from under his bicep to the bottom of his armpit.

Niernen frowned and whistled. "Damn, Leif," she muttered and leaned in closer, prodding the wounds with the tips of her fingers. It was hard not to notice the sheer physicality of his body, even when it was wounded and bloodied like this. Niernen tried to ignore that. He was a patient, she was a healer. "Did you fight a wolf or something?" Niernen asked as she began with the smaller injuries, knitting the skin back together and cleaning the blood off as she went. The long cut in his armpit was going to take a little more effort and preparation -- she'd have to figure out exactly how she wanted to apply her healing magic beforehand or she'd mend it the wrong way or, even worse, run out of magicka halfway through.

He sighed, closing his eyes while he thought. One way or another people were going to find out about his fight with Do'Karth, might as well tell someone now to save himself from questions down the road. "I wish that were the case. But no. I got into a fight with Do'Karth." He opened his eyes, watching as the flesh knit itself back together under the warm glow of her magick. "Stupid really. I did nothing but make a damned fool of myself."

"You did what?" Niernen asked and sat up straight abruptly, her discerning gaze directly meeting Leif's sky-blue eyes. "Do'Karth? Really? The Company's resident pacifist?" she continued. Her tone was laced with wariness and concern. It didn't seem like the Khajiit at all to beat up a man so badly. Unless... Niernen's mouth fell open in an o-shape, almost comically, as she made the connection. "Ah." Her hands dropped into her lap and she stared at Leif for a few more seconds until she averted her gaze and began to laugh.

Leif emitted an annoyed groan when she began to laugh, "Yes." He stated with a bitterness that he fought to control, after all, it wasn't her that dealt him this pain. With one hand, he rubbed at his face, hoping to calm himself before he overreacted. "I know. I know. Not the smartest idea. He... I..." His hand fell away as he stared back at her, "I know how you feel about him, I can see it in your eyes." he said perhaps a little too firm for his intended meaning. There were so many words he could have said, yet formulating a simple sentence to explain what he struggled with on the inside made it too difficult. Shaking his head in confusion, his mind a whirlwind of emotions, so he let his head fall back while his eyes travelled to the rafters above hoping to find some solace.

"And that is how I feel, no, felt, about Sevine. She... is injured, and I have always taken care of her. I thought that... just maybe she would care. I don't know what I was thinking, Niernen." He sighed in exasperation, hoping maybe that he gave her some insight to his actions before he shifted his weight uncomfortably in the chair. He brought his gaze to meet her coppery orbs again, they reminded him of a polished fire, if there ever were such a thing. "It doesn't matter now. She has Do'Karth, that's all there is to it."

Niernen cleared her throat and crossed her arms in embarrassment when Leif said how he'd noticed her feelings for the Khajiit. She hadn't meant for it to be so obvious. His comment felt a little uncalled for -- she hadn't laughed at him or his expense. No, she'd laughed because it felt like it couldn't be coincidence that she would run into the victim at the other side of Do'Karth's and Sevine's relationship like this. They were like two sides of the same coin; though Leif sure like he drew the shortest straw, Niernen thought to herself.

"Yes, she does," the she-elf said eventually, as much to herself and the painful clenching in her gut as to Leif. "It's up to us to respect that." To which he grunted in approval, she spoke words of truth. Though apart of him held surprise at her words, she had used the words 'us', so she must have meant the both of them. Niernen's face softened and she took the cloth to Leif's chest again, healing the last of the various minor cuts and nicks. They faded away and barely left a scar. That left just the big slash in his armpit. Niernen tenderly lifted Leif's upper arm with one hand and pressed the fingers of her other hand against the ragged edges of the cut. Blood continued to flow from the wound. She bit her lip as she struggled to apply her knowledge of anatomy and Restoration. Was it better to knit the underlying flesh and muscle back together before mending the skin, or would the other way around be easier?

Tutting, Niernen shook her head. "You know, Leif, this would be a lot easier if you Nords weren't so muscular." Realising how that sounded, Niernen hastily added: "Because that's harder to heal, I mean. Dunmer physiology is different." Niernen briefly glanced up at Leif's face. She cleared her throat again and focused on the task at hand.

Out of today's events, Leif found the courage to smile at Niernen's words, "Is that so?" He teased, a half-smirk pulling his face to one side, "A Nord has to know how to wrestle a bear, and fight off a pack of wolves bare-handed, or else he isn't really a Nord." He found himself chuckling at his own remark and then let out a soft sigh. He regretted fighting Do'Karth now, and he regretted making an ass out of himself in front of Sevine. The Dunmeri's fingers were cool against his pained flesh, offering him more relief along with the restoration magick she had worked. "I appreciate the help, Niernen. Ah, if you, uh..." he helped hold up his arm for her, while the other hand overlapped her own.

Carefully, he guided her hand to the deepest portion of the wound, upon doing so, his arm trembled and shook something fierce from the strain. Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth as he winced, white-hot fire raced to his fingertips and down to his hip, "That muscle there, ah shit," he swore under his breath, tears burning his eyes from the pain, "Can you heal that?" Of all his life experiences, never had he a woman with her fingers in any wound on his body.

"Yeah, right," Niernen scoffed at Leif's comment on Nords. "You just stick to learning how to fight off cats, okay?" She glanced up at his face again and winked. When Leif guided her fingers deep inside the wound, she focused and looked away, using her sense of touch to determine if she was in the right place. The trembling of his arm and the grimace on his face was all she needed to know. Drawing upon the majority of her magicka that remained, Niernen fused the muscle fibers back together, slowly pulling out her hand as she worked. It was difficult and her concentration strained. After the muscle was finished, Niernen wiped a few beads of sweat from her forehead with her not-so-bloodstained free hand and took a deep breath.

"I'm going to close the wound now, Leif, but it's not fully healed. We'll let your body do the rest," she said and shifted her weight, trying to get more comfortable for the last bit of work. She ran her fingers up and down the injury and the skin mended -- it was sloppier work than on the smaller cuts on his chest, owing to her exhaustion, and it still left a very visible scar. Niernen sighed when she saw that and dropped her hands as soon as she was done, leaning back in her seat.

He resisted the urge to scratch at the newly mended skin. While his body still held onto the soreness of the fight, it was nice to know that he wasn't bleeding anymore. For a few moments he could do nothing but glance at Niernen. He watched her, worried that she had over-exerted herself by going to such great lengths to restore him. He could have done the last part, maybe not as well as she had, but still. Lifting his arm, Leif peeked at the pink scar from Do'Karth's claws, amazed that asides from stiffness in the muscle, it looked good as new. He turned his attention back to Niernen and offered up a small smile of thanks.

"Best I can do," she stammered in between deep breaths.

"You didn't have to do all that," he started, his lips pursing into a thin line, he extended his hand to her again, "If you ever need a helping hand in a fight, I've got your back." He figured that was the best he could offer her at this point in time. For once, his typical philandering thoughts were suppressed by the simple gratitude of her kindness. "I'll try to stick with fighting cats then." He added.

Niernen chuckled and shook the offered hand. "Thanks, Leif," she said and resisted the urge to add something witty about his offer to cover her back -- there was obviously a joke in there somewhere, considering how his last fight turned out. As her magicka began to regenerate, Niernen's breathing recovered and she sat up straight. After a large swig of mead, Niernen looked at Leif again, sideways, thinking.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked. The tone of her voice made it obvious she was talking about Sevine and Do'Karth. If Leif wanted to recover his friendship with either of them he would absolutely have to apologise, Niernen thought. Leif seemed humble enough now, during this conversation, but how long would it take for him to gather his courage to do something like that? Would his pride allow it so soon?

Adjusting his chair just so, Leif scooted in closer to the table. He considered putting his shirt back on, but the fact that it was drenched in blood turned him off from doing so, he would have to wait until it dried. He settled on the thought of purchasing a new one before the day ended. When he heard her question he simply shook his head. What was there to do? He doubted Sevine or Do'Karth wanted to see him so soon after what he had done. "I think the best course of action here, would be to give them both the room they need. If I get the chance, I'll ask for forgiveness, but as of right now, I'm not going to do a damned thing, except drink this ale." He raised the bottle up in a mock toast and finished it off before tearing into the loaf of brown bread.

"It seems odd, how the both of us managed to get caught up in all of... this" Leif gestured with a wave of his hand to mean the unintended affects of their relationship. "What of yourself? What are you going to do?" He asked after swallowing a mouthful, his indirectly implied his question towards Do'Karth. Surely she wouldn't keep pursuing Do'Karth emotionally, not if she wanted to have the same results with Sevine. Even Leif didn't want to fight her.

Niernen nodded slowly at Leif's answer to her question. Perhaps that would indeed be best. When he steered the conversation back to her and her feelings for Do’Karth, the petite Dunmer sighed. "Same as you, I guess. I don't begrudge him his happiness at all. It's just..." She fell silent, wondering how much she wanted to tell Leif. She barely knew him and she wasn't sure if a man reckless and impulsive enough to fight Do'Karth was the best candidate to confidence in. On the other hand, Leif had been candid with her.

Taking a deep breath, Niernen looked down at her food and continued. "After Windhelm I had to flee the city on foot into the forest. I made my way back to Morrowind because I wanted to see my family and make sure they weren't in any danger. The Armigers captured me and sold me to the Kamal as slaves. They said I was a traitor. Me! A traitor! I almost died for my country in Black Marsh!"

To emphasise her point, Niernen threw her cloak over her shoulders and yanked her leather cuirass up to her midriff, showing Leif the dark, faded scars of the Shadowscale attack on her abdomen that nearly claimed her life.

"That Kamal ship of theirs we sank yesterday? That was the ship I was prisoner on. The whole time I was there I thought about Do’Karth. We had fought the Kamal together on the docks of Windhelm -- I don't know if you saw us, but we were amazing -- and now that my family was out of my reach, all I wanted was to get back to him. He could keep me safe and make me smile. And I did get back, with the help of Valen, another prisoner -- he died yesterday, it was awful -- but then Do’Karth had found Sevine and, well... "

By the end of her tirade, tears had formed in Niernen's eyes. "Now I don't know what to do. I'm scared, Leif. Every time we fight the Kamal something terrible happens, my family could be imprisoned or dead for all I know, and the person I pinned my hopes on is with someone else."

She took a few deep breaths and blinked the tears away furiously, determined not to break out into full-on crying again. She was Redoran. Niernen wouldn't let herself wallow in self-pity forever. "Anyway," she said, sounding more composed, "all we can do is carry on."

What could he say? In truth, no words could alleviate the pain she experienced, and he certainly didn't expect her to reveal what happened after the siege in Windhelm. His eyes widened at the sight of her faded scars, and even moreso when she informed him of how she had become a prisoner on the Kamal frigate they sank days ago. Leaning back in his chair, Leif covered his mouth with one hand, his eyes studying the distressed Dunmeri woman beside him. His thoughts hearkened back to the first wave at the docks when the Kamal appeared, and in that hellish fight, he had seen Niernen and Do'Karth fighting alongside one another. After all, he had been atop the ramparts ready to repel anyone that dared climb the walls.

He understood her pain. The rejection, the having hopes of a future with a potential partner, only to be thwarted by another's appearance. It seemed unfair to him, especially in regards to Sevine. Leif's mind flitted to the civil war just four years ago, remembering how they fought alongside each other, how she guarded him and he her, how he tended to her wounds like a doting lover, and despite all the times he tried to woo her in a serious fashion, she never saw him like he did her. That cut him deeper than any knife could. A lump formed in his throat as his hand fell away to his side, the corners of his mouth twitched with a smile. A realization dawned on him, Niernen and him were more alike than he had imagined. It mattered not the color of their skin, or what language they spoke. What made him see her as his equal was the pain she carried in her heart, just like he did now. Leif rose to his feet, towering over her while she sat. By her elbows he hoisted her up on her feet, where he then pulled her into an embrace. His thick arms wrapped around her shoulders where he rested his chin atop her head. "You are stronger than you know. And that comes with the understanding that you can be weak, and still be strong."

Niernen's surprise at being hoisted to her feet and enveloped in a powerful bear hug was too great to allow any resistance. It was a kind gesture, of course, but the hairy chest, masculine, sweaty musk and rolling muscles were a bit much to handle all at once and Niernen gently extracted herself from the embrace after a handful of seconds and patted him reassuringly on the elbow -- though what she was assuring him of Niernen did not know, exactly.

"You're sweet," she said as she tucked a few rebellious strands of hair behind her ears and glanced up at the towering Nord, smiling. Never had she been so close to a man that made her feel so small. Her opinion on Leif changed; he was still a pretty ridiculous man, but if she wasn't mistaken Leif had a heart of gold. Either way, she felt better. It was nice to know that she wasn't the only one in this predicament and it was nice to be understood.

He allowed himself a smile at her compliment, his gaze traveled past her to the table where her meal sat majorly untouched, "Best finish that before it gets too cold." Leif stooped to retrieve his bloodied shirt, now dried, and slipped it over his head. "I'm going to find a shirt, can't have a man walking around Dawnstar looking like this for too long. I'll be seeing you then." He gave her a curt nod of thanks, and made his way to the door. Though he stopped before leaving, and glanced back at Niernen one more time, "Thank you again."

After sitting back down at her meal, Niernen turned around as Leif paused at the door. She smiled -- a warm, bright, genuine smile -- and gave the Nord a mock salute as if to say 'at your service'. Truth be told, she felt just as grateful as he did.

---

---

---

---

It had been a cold and dreary trip back to Dawnstar. Talk was limited, and supplies were running short. When the harbor came into view, Sagax joined the collective sigh of relief that could be heard across the top deck. He had remained topside for the most part, as he preferred the open sea air. But, as misfortune would have it, Roze was also on the top deck. Neither of them wanted to so much as look at each other, so both sat on opposite ends of the ship, as they did aboard the Kamal frigate when searching for the jail key. Roze had been killing time by speaking with Do'Karth, and still was by the time the Kyne's Tear docked. Sagax took the first opportunity to hop off the ship and get to dry land; he spoke with no one. He was simply too tired and drained. His head rang, his shoulder and arm panged from their previous injuries, and his mind was in conflict. Surely, deep down he knew that Roze was right, that not everyone can be saved. Ever the idealist, though, the Imperial stuck to his convictions. Everyone could be saved, it sometimes just takes a little doing. Whether that was a sensible outlook or not didn't enter Sagax's mind, his only concern was maintaining his principles.

Sagax left the company's current ramshackle headquarters with fewer coins than he was previously promised. He would be lying if he said he wasn't even slightly resentful about it; who the hell did that Jarl think he was? War bonds, right, and Sagax was Uriel Septim himself. Thoughts raced back to a time when the Imperial had to steal to make ends meet, and more than once he thought about trying his hand at the craft once more, but decided against it. He would not stoop to petty thievery, not ever again. Instead he bought the meagre amount of food and drink he usually ordered from inns he stopped at, and went back outside; he didn't want to deal with all of the noise echoing inside the inn. His meal left him with few coins, but this Sagax did not mind. Once out in the open air again, Sagax searched for a place to sit, and immediately spied a building with the best view of the sky. He had a knack for telling what buildings afforded the best view of things, and this ability helped him more than once when trying to find his way around the Imperial City. These viewpoints were as much a home to Sagax as anything else.

It wasn't a magnificently tall building, but it was high enough to place him a few tens of feet off the ground, and it gave him an overview of not just the sky, but Dawnstar itself. Sitting down casually, Sagax bit away at the jerky he had brought from Windpeak; it was still warm, and this coupled with the fur cloak graciously gifted to him by his friends from Windhelm left the Imperial comfortable, if not cozy.

Following the brawl between Leif and Do'Karth, Roze's good mood seemed to ebb away. All that talking she had done with the pair aboard the Kyne's Tear, for nothing! Leif starting fights, Do'Karth beating the crap out of him, and Sevine looking on helplessly. It was all so... uncharacteristic to see her friends in acting such a way. Before the fight had even finished, Roze had walked off, temper beginning to steam - she had wanted to talk with Sevine, but figured she and Do'Karth needed some alone time to deal with... well, that shit-storm that had just happened. "Honestly! What is it with these men? Always thinking with their bloody hearts all the time." Her anger wasn't just directed at Leif, and she knew that - immediately feeling a sense of guilt afterwards. Thoughts and memories of what had occurred in the past few days kept swirling around Roze's head, and any confusion coming from such musings just tickled her temper further. Deciding that she needed some form of a pick-me-up, Roze directed her stomping towards the headquarters rather than the inn for her pay... only to come away with less than normal.

"Where's the rest of it?" She had asked the quartermaster, knowing simply from the weight of the coinpurse that it was less than usual. After some weak excuse of the "Jarl's War Bonds", Roze left the offices no better off mood-wise than when she had entered. Still... it wasn't as if she couldn't find some spare change lying around elsewhere...

About half an hour later, Roze had managed to reimburse her lost payment threefold; with so many guards milling around on the look out for Argonians, they didn't really pay attention to the slight Breton girl wandering around. Nor did the townsfolk, or the visiting merchants. Dawnstar was abuzz with the news of the murder of Vurwe, and with the growing tensions between the Argonian refugees and racist Nords, they were easy pickings for the thief. Rewarding herself with a room at the Windpeak Inn, changing into some clean and comfortable clothes and buying a bottle of whiskey (and a few skins of mead for later), Roze found herself wandering the ever-emptying streets of Dawnstar, nearly whiskey bottle in hand and feeling that strange sense of contentment one gained from alcohol. Not quite happiness, but definitely a pleasant buzz. The buzz didn't leave her as Roze's gaze turned skyward, suddenly catching sight of a familiar face. Sighing irritably, Roze wondered what kind of games the Gods were playing. First the trouble with Do'Karth and Leif, and now, just as her own mood was beginning to pick up, they shove Sagax into her vision? Everything that had happened onboard the frigate suddenly came rushing back, and a scowl set firmly in her face. Being stuck on the ship with him was awkward enough, but Roze was still pissed off at the fact he was judging her so harshly. All she had wanted to do was to survive, and make sure he survived! What gave him the right to act like he had?

"Oi!" Pausing in her step, Roze glared up at the building. "What are you doing up there? Trying to get yourself killed again?!"

Looking around in confusion, Sagax wondered where the sudden yelling was coming from. Peering over the edge of the rooftop, he found the source...and she looked drunk off her ass. As usual.

"No, as a matter of fact, I am not. I'm trying to relax. Or at least, I was." Getting up on one knee so as to get a better angle over the ledge, Sagax peered down at the sneering Breton below. "What do you want, Roze? Don't you have some working-class sods to pick coins from? Maybe some homes to crawl in through the windows of? Surely you have to be busy with something, you don't need to be bothering me." Sagax already knew she was in no conditioned to be reasoned with, and so he hoped that maybe he could just....make her go away for a while. He would speak to her sober, and that was that.

"Seriously?" Roze scoffed incredulously, muttering under her breath to herself. Sagax's tone made it obvious what he thought of her lifestyle... and while they'd debated about her thieving in the past, they'd never really butted heads over it. Not like this. "It's not like I'm hurting anyone by taking a few septims here and there." Even looking back when she had done some serious work for the Guild; heists and sweep jobs - they had never hurt anyone! And she'd never targeted the poor... that's not how her or the Guild worked.

"Don't act like you're better than me!" Roze suddenly snapped, properly scowling at the Imperial now. "I steal from people who don't need what I've taken; it's how I've survived for my whole life! Don't tell me you're living comfortably with the meagre amount they gave us today!" The amount was just short of what any other Merc would get... but for the job they'd just done? There were bandits out there getting more money for killing a giant! Their group had just tackled ancient Dwemer killing machines and bloodthirsty armigers, and then they find out their pay was cut by a quarter? Roze wouldn't let Sagax pretend he was happy with that.

"Survival!?" Sagax snapped back, now standing up straight. "What do you know of survival!? Stealing to survive is taking a potion off of a rack when no one is looking to cure the rockjoint your mother is in agony dealing with! Stealing to survive is whisking away a loaf of bread to give strength back to your withering sister after a day of hunting! Stealing to survive is not duping some gullible baker with sweet smiles and honeyed words to score a free sweetroll!" Taking deep breaths to relax himself, Sagax continued softly. "Am I better than you, Roze? Honestly, I would say no. But the reasons why we do what we do are wildly different, as are our circumstances. So don't you sit there and try to give me a speech about how we're 'not so different'!"

"As for our pay today...I agree, it is irritating that we have not gotten our full allowance of coin. But I know how to live within my means!" Eyeing the flask the Breton carried, Sagax scoffed. "Clearly you do not."

Cheeks beginning to flush red, Roze's face twisted with anger. Despite his "honest" words, there was some tone of superiority present. Sagax had had a hard life, that she could not deny - but just because her's was different did not mean she had struggled any less.

"I may not have struggled with finding food every night, but by the Gods I had to work! My Mother was no Saint, and she made sure to raise me in the exact same way! I had no choice... and don't you dare stand there and question my morals. I did what I had to do as a child to make sure my mother looked upon me with favour. And I do the same now as an woman to keep those I care about safe." Glancing at the flask of whiskey in her hands, the container was less than half gone; nevertheless, she flung it to the ground, smashing the glass and spilling the alcohol across the streets. Not just in anger, but to prove a point to Sagax. Looking back to him, frustrated tears of anger were beginning to build up in her eyes. "Don't act like you are perfect. You're not without sin; and neither is your family." Her words would be vague to any except Sagax - he knew what she meant.

Face dropping from a slight scowl into a loose, but obvious glare, Sagax jumped down from his perch and landed but a few feet from Roze. He knew exactly what the Breton was talking about, and normally words like that wouldn't bother him. But it was the fact that they were coming from her, from Roze, that made them cut so much deeper. He had poured his heart out about his father to Roze last time when they were in Dawnstar; they had drunk a fair amount of spirits and both got onto the topic of their parents, and then the Gazette entry that came in the next day...to use that against him...he felt almost betrayed. In the heat of the moment, Sagax dug deep for something that would strike at Roze as viciously as she struck him, and he found it quickly.

Staring straight into Roze's eyes, Sagax spoke icily. "My father was taken from me unfairly...but at least he did not abandon me."

And with those parting words, Sagax began to walk away from the woman he called a friend not more than a few nights ago.

Although aware that she herself had hit below the belt, Sagax's comeback may as well have kneecapped her; there was a moment of stunned silence as Roze's jaw dropped slightly, simply unbelieving that Sagax had brought up... that. He knew about her father's disappearance, knew about the desperate search that she herself had ended just before joining the mercenary outfit - he knew she hated not knowing whether he was alive or not. And to insinuate that he had abandoned her and her mother, without any justifiable reason?

The back of Sagax's head became swamped in red, as did the rest of Roze's vision. All of a sudden she was striding forward, fists clenched into balls and clocking him in the side of his head while his back remained turned. Had she been completely cohesive in the moment, Roze would have considered such an action cowardly. But with her temper snapped and blinded with sudden rage, the thief had no case for "rules" of fighting. She just needed to hit something; preferably Sagax's face.

All of a sudden, Sagax's vision burned with searing agony. "Why does everyone go for my fucking head!? he thought to himself bitterly. The hits he took at Windhelm and in Bthamz did him no favors against Roze's punch. Without those prior injuries, he was sure he could have just shaken off her assault. Turning around unsteadily, Sagax tried deciding between confronting Roze further, or simply taking to the rooftops and laying low somewhere in Dawnstar. He didn't have to choose either.

He could swear they weren't there before, but Sagax could see through the haze in his eyes someone standing behind Roze. A very heavily armored someone. Before he could react, the stranger grabbed Roze by her neck and by the back of her shirt and threw her to the ground like a doll.

"Piss off, you Breton whore, before I break every bone in your fucking body!" These words rang out from the stranger's large helmet. They were...a woman? Either a woman or a very effeminate man. Sagax was stunned into silence...with a hint of fear. This person looked the sort to make good on their promises.

Before she knew it, the red haze surrounding Roze's vision suddenly vanished; as did the ground, and Sagax, as someone roughly grasped her from behind and picked her up effortlessly. A split second later, Roze saw the ground again. In fact, she became so closely and suddenly acquainted with it that all the air seemed to be squeezed out of her lungs, and everything turned black for a few moments. Even despite the tunnel vision, Roze could hear the resounding crack as she hit the floor, and the yelled words from the stranger rang in her ears.

"Wuh...?" Was all she managed to mumble past confusion, fear, and pain radiating down her body. Roze had been slammed well and truly into the ground, and the right side of her body was feeling it. Gazing blearily at the armoured stranger, the argument with Sagax suddenly vanished from her thoughts. Who was this person? Were they going to kill her? "Gods, what if they kill us both?!" Feeling particularly naked without her armour or any form of weapon, Roze found herself regretting what might just be her last action on this mortal plane.

After seeing that Roze was successfully united with the dirt, the armored stranger turned and knelt by Sagax, holding him by the chin and turning his head.

"You okay, Sagax? She's pretty damn small, but you look like you're about to fall over and die...well, you aren't bleeding or anything, but-"

"I, uh, um, I appreciate the concern...ma'am...sir? But...who are you?"

Staring at him for a few moments, the stranger spoke again. "What? What the hell do you mean 'who are you'? You gone so long you've forgotten what I sound like or something?" Without waiting for a response, the knight removed their helmet and coif....

"Piper!?" Sagax asked with exasperation. "What the hell are you doing here!?"

Placing her gauntlet-covered hands on her hips, Piper responded shortly. "Making sure you don't fucking die out here doing whatever it is you think is a good idea to go do." Nodding towards Roze, she spoke again. "Who's she? Some five-coin streetcorner worker? You really know how to pick them..."

As sense seemed to come back to her surroundings (And air to her lungs) Roze was able to listen in on the conversation between Sagax and the stranger. Except it wasn't a stranger - it was his sister. While relieved that her attacker wasn't just some random psychopath intent on killing people in the street, any positive feelings drained away at Piper's acknowledgement of her.

"Hey! Go fuck yourself!" Too dazed to think of anything smarter than that, Roze made do with the insult and simply spitting a gob of blood at the armoured woman's boot; Roze had bitten her lip on her violent journey to the ground, so there was some satisfaction in seeing her blood land on the polished metal.

Glaring down at the grounded thief, Piper gritted her teeth and brought back her leg for a kick against Roze's chest. "Little rat-faced bitch-!" Before she could let loose, Sagax intervened frantically.

"No no no no, Piper, don't! She's...she's a friend, Piper."

Looking at her brother with bewilderment, Piper said loudly, "Friend!? What kind of friend nails you in the back of the head when you aren't looking!? You ought to kick her teeth out!"

Looking towards Roze sheepishly and with guilt in his expression. "It's...complicated. I can explain later. We're just going through a rough spot, you know? Some disagreements..."

Throwing her hands up and rolling her eyes, Piper bent over to pick Roze back up. "All right then, friend, get on your damn feet then..." She didn't wait for Roze's hand, instead the Imperial woman grabbed the thief by the sleeve of her shirt and lifted her to her feet.

Flinching as Piper's leg drew back, Roze expected a hard kick; not a defence from Sagax. Meeting his sheepish gaze, her own was uncomfortable to say the least. He could have said a whole host of words rather than friend to stop Piper... but he didn't. Guilt washed over her, seeing the look in Sagax's eyes and the red mark from where she had hit him; however, any contrition was paused as she was hoisted up by the towering Imperial, the cotton in her shirt sleeve stretching under her grip.

"Thanks." Roze muttered sarcastically, glaring sourly at Piper as she rubbed her ribs tenderly. She was sure a few were broken, or at the very least bruised. Never before had she missed the protection of her leather armour so much.

"Pfft. You'll be fine, little rat. A few bruises should toughen you up a bit." Looking back to Sagax, Piper spoke with an almost unnoticeable reduction in iciness. "When you're done with your booty call, meet me back at the inn. I want to hear everything, from when you left until now. And there better not be a damn detail missing!" Before leaving, Piper took the chance to snort derisively at Roze as the Breton cradled her side.

Not really knowing how to deal with the thick air of awkwardness between the two rogues, Sagax just ended the encounter simply. "Uhm...I'll....I'll see you later, Roze. Sorry about Piper, she's a little...rough." With a mere few glances back towards Roze, Sagax followed Piper to Windpeak Inn, leaving the injured thief alone in the street.

Narzul Alone

24th of Sun's Height, 4E205
Wayward Pass, Skyrim

He had quickly decided he hated these lands.

The sun was at its apex overhead and, while its light shone unobstructed across the desolate mountainous landscape, it didn't seem to melt the snow at all this high up. Narzul Venim clenched his jaw and ground his teeth as he trudged through the knee-high bank of white crystals. He was constantly reminded of the swampy terrain of Black Marsh and how their marches had been just as slow and exhausting back then. Now, however, Narzul wasn't dressed in the finest ebony armor, marching in formation with hundreds of his fellows. Instead, the tall Dunmer was clad in a mismatched suit of armor assembled from pieces in different styles in various states of disrepair. Combined with the hooded cape that hung limply down his back (over which he carried his bag and shield) and the rusty helmet that hid his face Narzul looked like some nameless hedge knight or mercenary for all the world to see. That suited him just fine.

And he was utterly alone.

He had decided to mostly stay off the roads and make his way parallel to them throughout the wilderness, but the sloping hills, mountains and forests that Skyrim was made of were just as unwelcoming as Narzul had heard. An encounter with a ferocious cluster of frostbite spiders the day before had forced him to sit, rest and clean their corrosive venom off his shield for half an afternoon. A pack of wolves had hounded him during the night four days ago, sending him off course for hours. And even when Skyrim and its creatures weren't trying to kill him other threats slowed him down. Last week, back in Eastmarch, he had to divert for several miles to avoid Kamal and Armiger patrols. While he was technically on their side and shouldn't have anything to fear, Narzul wanted as few people as possible to know his whereabouts and his motives. On top of that, Narzul had no idea what to expect from the foreign Kamal and he knew that the Armigers who ranged out into Skyrim were Ashlanders; they had no love in their hearts for the Dunmer of the Great Houses. And last but not least was the terrain itself that also seemed to be fighting his progress, especially now that he hiked the mountain passes that stretched from Winterhold to Dawnstar. With every passing day, Narzul's concern grew.

Clutched in his gauntlets as he marched on was Narzul's only clue to the whereabouts of his sister: one of the latest issues of the Tamrielic Gazette. He had obtained this copy from the same group of Armigers that had let him pass through the border. Those patrols were drawn from Blacklight locals and, after some persuasion, were willing to set aside the rules for a second to aid one of their own... especially Narzul Venim, hero of the raids on Black Marsh and the youngest House Father of Redoran. The Gazette contained an alleged interview with Niernen, who was described as 'noble sorceress, honored by the High King himself' that selflessly put herself between the 'savage invaders' and the citizens of Windhelm. Recklessly, Narzul thought bitterly. Not selflessly. She had inadvertently made herself an enemy of her own nation. Before Niernen had left for Windhelm Narzul had pleaded with her not to do anything stupid or rash -- this certainly seemed to be exactly those things. Why didn't you come home?

Most importantly, however, was the journalist's signature at the bottom of the interview: 'Madura Dalas, reporting from Dawnstar.' If Niernen had remained true to the statements she'd given Madura and stuck with the Company after the fall of Windhelm, that's where Narzul would find her.

Narzul stopped for a short moment of rest in the shadow of a large, snow-covered boulder that had made its resting place on the mountainside and consulted his map. If he had accurately charted his journey Dawnstar looked to be only another day away. Narzul peered around the boulder and in the supposed direction of the coastal city. He could see the pale gray waters of the Sea of Ghosts at the edge of the horizon while the rest of the Pale stretched out beneath him; sloping foothills of the mountains that gave way to a sea of green pine trees and, even further, the rocky coast. It was summer and the skies were blue. Narzul had to admit there was something beautiful about the sight. After a few seconds of searching his eyes found the straw rooftops and columns of smoke that indicated Nordic settlement and a faint smile curled his lips.

I'm coming.

--

25th of Sun's Height, 4E205
Dawnstar

It was already evening by the time the Dunmer warrior reached the outskirts of Dawnstar. The closer he got the faster his heart began to beat and the quicker his pace became. This was the moment of truth. If Narzul could not find her here, his search was likely at an end. As he finally left the last of the pine forest behind him and came within view of the city, the first thing he noticed was a large tent camp set up outside the city walls. Once he realized what it was Narzul froze in his tracks and watched from a distance, trying to discern the nature of the camp's inhabitants that were milling about. Before he became consciously aware of it, his subconscious had already interpreted correctly what his eyes were seeing and Narzul was strongly reminded of one of his time in Black Marsh, lording over a thronging mass of scales and tails.

Argonians.

Immediately wary, Narzul narrowed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. Was this a Kamal slave-camp? Had Dawnstar already fallen to their assault? He was confident he had kept time correctly during his journey; it seemed unlikely that the foreign invaders were ahead of schedule and, while he had never seen them with his own eyes, Narzul hadn't seen any ships in the city's harbor that matched the description he'd received of the Kamal war frigates. Slowing his approach to a cautious march, he resumed his path towards the city which would lead him, unfortunately, through the camp, as Dawnstar was protected on all other sides by natural barriers.

None of the lizards seemed pleased to see him. Their heads turned as they heard Narzul approach and their strange, slitted eyes glared at him with a mixture of emotions; fear, resentment, exhaustion. Narzul was fairly sure they had no way of telling his race unless they got close enough to see the reds of his eyes but he kept one hand on the pommel of his sword just in case. The camp smelled terrible and many of the Argonians looked like they hadn't had a proper meal in weeks, but they were moving and talking freely. It dawned on him where he was -- a refugee camp. Various thoughts crossed Narzul's mind, ranging from how easy it would be to snatch all of these lizards up with a few dozen soldiers to a subtle acknowledgement of the despair around him. Narzul had never been on this side of a war before. The fact that there still seemed to be a semblance of hope among the refugees made it even more piteous. Half of you won't live to see another winter, Narzul thought to himself.

As if his mind had been read, Narzul heard a raspy voice call out behind him. "You, stranger," it said, and Narzul came to a sudden halt. He looked over his shoulder to see a trio of male Argonians dressed in rags staring at him. The Dunmer opened his mouth to say something but quickly cut himself off -- if he spoke now, the gravely nature of his voice would betray his race to these lizards. A potentially fatal mistake. Instead, Narzul chose to remain silent, expectantly waiting for the Argonians to say something else. "You carry supplies, do you not? Many here are sick and wounded. We need your help. What can you spare?"

Unfazed, Narzul looked ahead and continued walking, his iron boots thudding heavily on the dead grass and muddy ground. If that was all they had to say he wasn't going to waste his time. Behind him, the Argonians hissed in anger. "Do you not care at all?" one of them called out to Narzul. It occurred to him that he had never had a proper conversation with an Argonian before. He wasn't even aware they were so eloquent.

The pit-pat of fast footsteps approaching from behind made Narzul whirl around, unsheathing his ebony war-sword in one fluid motion. The Argonians sprung back out of the blade's reach and one of them cried out in rage -- all three suddenly had shivs in their hands. "Give us your bag, landstrider! We are dying!" Their gazes shifted nervously from the tip of Narzul's sword to each other and back. The Dunmer was confident he could take on three unarmored lizards armed with nothing more than crude daggers, but he did not relish the thought of facing the wrath of the entire encampment; more Argonians had gathered around them, watching the confrontation from between the tent flaps in silence. Still refusing to speak, Narzul shook his armored head slowly from side to side.

"Let the stranger pass unharmed. We do not stoop to petty thievery in times of hardship." Narzul and the Argonians looked to aside to see a much older Argonian, hunched over and with his claws clasped around a walking cane, the color of his scales faded with age. The three assailants stepped back and put their shivs away, though the anger did not leave their faces. So you respect your elders, at least, Narzul thought and slowly sheathed his blade. It was weird and uncomfortable to find common ground with these creatures. Begrudgingly, Narzul nodded once in the old lizard's direction, who returned the gesture. "Go in peace."

Once out of the camp and at the city gates a pair of guards ordered Narzul to halt. The way their blue eyes moved around shiftily and how their hands rested on their swords betrayed their anxiety. Narzul did not blame them; he wouldn't enjoy having a camp full of angry lizards right in front of his city either. "State your business," one of the Nords said gruffly. "And remove your helmet." Narzul hesitated but complied. Upon seeing his dark skin and red eyes, the guards grimaced and gripped the hilts of their swords tighter.

"Calm yourselves," Narzul said, evidently annoyed. "I am only here to find my sister. She went missing a few weeks ago and the only clue I have suggests that she might be here. Let me into your city so I can find her. If she is not here, I will leave. If she is here, I will take her home and also leave." To emphasize his point, Narzul handed his copy of the Tamrielic Gazette to one of the guards and pointed to the relevant article. "This is her."

After a few seconds of reading, the guard grunted in approval. "Aye, that mercenary company is here. Fought hard against the damned Kamals in Windhelm from what I heard. You say she's with them? Very well, you may enter."

"Thank you," Narzul said curtly, snatched the newspaper out of the guard's hands, put his helmet back on and stomped past them and through the city gates.

Once inside, Narzul slowed his pace and looked around. His heart was racing. Niernen could be right here, in one of the wooden, characteristically Nordic buildings, or down by the docks -- anywhere inside the walls. Or outside, but he tried not to think about that. Narzul wagered there wouldn't be many Dunmer women here, so Niernen would stick out like a sore thumb. Anyone that had seen her would be likely to remember her. Otherwise, he'd figure out the location of the Company's current headquarters and ask around there.

The city's Nordic inhabitants did not look like they were in the mood to talk. Their gazes seemed to go right through and over him as they passed with heavy footfalls. None of them looked like mercenaries. As luck would have it, however, Narzul saw a familiar face when he rounded the corner of the general store and spotted a fellow Dunmer sitting out on the veranda. He was talking and another man, though younger and not elven, looked to be transcribing the Dunmer's words. The elf looked old and severely damaged; his face was full of scars, one of his arms was a prosthetic and even his eclectic outfit seemed the worse for wear.

Narzul approached the pair with large strides and stopped only a few feet away, knocking on one of the wooden beams that supported the second floor of the house to grab their attention. "Pardon me, master Dunmer," Narzul asked, ever courteous to his elders. "Have you seen my sister? Her name is Niernen and she is Dunmer, like us. About ye tall," he continued, hovering his hand level with his chest, "with dark hair and amber eyes."

The ragged Dunmer, having raised his head from the skewer he had been feasting on upon mention of the name, waited for Narzul to finish, and after a delay of him eyeing the armored Mer up and down with his eyes, and seemingly not accomplishing much, thanks to Narzul being armored head to toe, continued halfheartedly.

‘’Niernen’s your sister?’’ He asked with a cautious tone, and then shrugged. ‘’She must be inside the inn, I reckon,’’ he replied. ‘’Send my regards. She wasn’t very well off last I saw her. She should be glad to see you… provided you take off that helmet.’’

Having seemed to accept their conversation as over, the Dunmer turned his attention back to the Nord and began guiding his writing once again.

Narzul's heart lept in his chest and he hastily made his way for the inn, his eyes scanning the wooden buildings until they fell on a sign that read 'Windpeak Inn'. He practically flew up the stairs to the veranda, threw open the front door and stormed inside. Many people filled the inn's common room, seated around the firepit or at one of the tables that lined the walls, eating supper or talking with one another. All of them looked up at Narzul's brusque entrance. He ignored their pointed stares as his own gaze jumped from face to face, until...

There she was, in the corner, reading a book. Her skin was paler than he remembered and she looked unhealthily gaunt, but it was her. "Niernen!" Narzul yelled and dashed towards her, weaving past the other patrons and knocking over a drink in his haste. She looked alarmed and put the book down. Before she could say anything, Narzul tore off his helmet and came to a halt on his knees in front of her. He grabbed one of her hands in his own and smiled as relief washed over him. "You're alive," he said breathlessly. "Thank the gods, you're alive."

Niernen had spent her time after her conversation with Leif to take a quick stroll through Dawnstar. She'd made a stop at the local alchemist to restock on ingredients and filled three of her glass vials with a magicka-restoring potion, and bought a few books to read in her spare time from the general store. It had felt surreal to be able to calmly walk through town and freely spend her money instead of slaving away in the hold of a ship or fleeing for her life in the dead of night.

Now that her brother suddenly appeared in front of her, she knew she had to be dreaming.

She stared at him with huge eyes and her mouth hung open uselessly. "Narzul," she managed to stammer eventually, still full of disbelief. "Is it really you?"

Narzul nodded. "Yes, sweet sister. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to --"

He was interrupted by Niernen throwing herself forward and wrapping her arms around him. She immediately started crying and buried her face in the nape of his neck, her torso wracked with sobs. Narzul kissed the top of her head, reciprocated the hug and gently stroked her back. The patrons of the inn, initially annoyed by Narzul's reckless charge, now smiled at the emotional reunion and a collective 'aawwhhh' was heard.

"Everything will be alright," Narzul whispered. "Hush now, sweetheart."

Niernen gripped him even harder, but she slowly calmed down and collected her composure. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and looked up at her brother's face with a huge smile. "Oh Narzul," she said and kissed him on the cheek. "How did you find me? I am so glad you're here. How are mother and father doing? What happened back home? You must tell me everything!"

"One thing at a time," Narzul said and chuckled. "I found you with this." He showed her the newspaper and waited a few seconds for Niernen to skim the article. "Mother and father are just fine. As for everything back home... is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

Niernen smiled while she read the article. "Wow, I forgot about this," she said. "Seems so long ago now. Somewhere we can talk? Yes, I rented a room here. Follow me."

The siblings got up and Niernen led them to the room upstairs. Upon closing the door behind them, Narzul's face took on a much more serious expression and he immediately started talking. "Before I tell you everything, I need you to answer some questions first. I do not know if you are aware of this but your life is in danger. You're wanted for treason, Niernen. The High King has accused you of colluding with a foreign power. The newspaper says you fought the Kamal in Windhelm. Is that true?"

Surprised and wary at the grim look on her brother's face, Niernen replied hesitantly. "Yes, it's true. I've killed many of them." Narzul groaned and he sat down on a chair with his head in his hands. "Narzul," she continued, "none of this is my fault. The city was suddenly under siege by demonic beasts without warning. They did their very best to kill me. How was I supposed to know the truth?" She paused and frowned. "You knew about this?"

Narzul stared at the floor. "No, you couldn't have known, but you were not supposed to get involved. I specifically asked you not to do anything dangerous when you left. Why would you even defend a city that is not your own? Have you become a Nord?" He gazed up at her and Niernen winced at the accusatory look in his eyes. "You should have come home immediately, not recklessly endanger yourself. Did you forget your condition? Do you not remember what happened in Black Marsh?"

"That is not fair," Niernen retorted. "Of course I didn't forget. But I couldn't just stand back and let them slaughter innocent people. Have you forgotten that the Gray Quarter in Windhelm is full of our own? Narzul, answer me; did you know about this?"

Frustrated, Narzul got up from his seat and started pacing the length of the room. "Yes, I was informed beforehand, just after you left, but I never thought you would do something this stupid. The whole point of the siege in Windhelm was to liberate the Dunmer in Windhelm from the oppression at the hands of the Nords. Don't you see that? This is all part of the High King's plan for our people," he said, speaking quickly and articulating animatedly.

Nieren scoffed, hurt by his words and his tone. "Stupid? Narzul, what's wrong with you? Do you honestly believe that? The Dunmer were slaughtered as indiscriminately as everyone else. Inviting these brutes to ravage Tamriel is not for the benefit of the sovereignty of the our people, or whatever bullshit it is that he's filled your head with. Have you even met the Kamal? They are horrible, violent creatures that will undoubtedly turn on us when it is convenient for them. They tortured me, for Azura's sake!" Niernen pointed at the wooden splint attached to her broken leg. "I was a slave on one of their ships for a week. Do not defend them."

Narzul stopped in his tracks and stared at Niernen, dumbfounded. "What are you saying?" he asked.

"The Armigers captured me when I tried to go back home after Windhelm and they sold me to those beasts," Niernen said, venom dripping from her words. "It was awful. There were other Dunmer there too, Narzul. The Kamal don't care in the slightest. Whenever any of us died, the Kamal soultrapped them and used that as fuel. I escaped with someone and ended up being rescued by the Company. That's how I ended up here. Whatever you think you know, the Kamal are not our allies."

Narzul's face fell as Niernen told her story. His jaw worked and he fingered the pommel of his sword in agitation. "You were a prisoner of war," he began but Niernen cut him off immediately.

"Don't defend them! Honestly, Narzul, how can you even attempt to rationalize that? They did it to me! Your very own sister! That should make them your enemy now!" she yelled in a hoarse voice and balled her fists.

"Great gods of nowhere, Niernen, it is not that simple. What do you propose? That I turn my back on my High King and my nation because of your mistakes? I came here to make sure that you were alive and to -- somehow -- bring you back home, not to switch sides and wage a war against my own King. I am sorry that these things happened to you, but this has to end now," Narzul said. "You have to come with me. We can try explaining the situation, that it was an honest mistake and that you are not an enemy of Morrowind, or I can find a way to smuggle you through the border... what?"

Niernen shook her head. It was clear from the expression on her face that she was torn, but when she spoke, her voice sounded resolute. "No, Narzul. I'm not leaving my friends. I'm very grateful that you came to find me but I can't come with you," she said and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

Throwing up his hands, Narzul laughed mirthlessly. "Right, your friends. Like the Khajiit from the interview? Come now, Niernen, don't be ridiculous."

"Yes, actually," Niernen spat. "Do'Karth is one of the most admirable people I've ever met, so don't mock him without knowing what you're talking about."

"Niernen, stop this. He is a cat. What else is there to know?" Narzul said, becoming increasingly exasperated. "You can't stay here, surrounded by lizards and Nords and gods know what else. There is no resisting the will of the Nerevarine. If you don't come with me, you will die. I can't let that happen to you."

Niernen frowned at this. "What about all these people? You're just fine with the Kamal butchering them? Like I said, the Kamal are not our allies. Tamriel should unite against them and all other Akaviri scum. The Nerevarine is a traitor to us all."

Narzul let out a long sigh and shook his head in disbelief. "This is absurd. Why do you care what happens to a filthy Khajiit and his mongrel outlander friends? You are a Dunmer of House Redoran, for crying out loud. The Nerevarine is your High King and you should trust him. If he saw fit to ally with the Kamal, he did so for a good reason and I'm sure he will keep them under control. Now, please, come with me. I don't even understand why you fraternize with these creatures in the first place. They're only useful as slaves and you know this. Let them die. I don't care."

Surprised and dismayed at the depth of Narzul's racism and ignorance, Niernen jabbed Narzul in the chest with an accusing finger, a fierce scowl on her face. "You are a bloody s'wit, Narzul! Do'Karth is a far better man than you and you don't deserve to talk about him like that! I care, Narzul -- by Azura, I love him, and I am not going to leave him to die!"

After a second or two, Niernen seemed to realize what she'd said and took a step back, suddenly afraid. Narzul looked like he had been punched and a mixture of emotions passed over his face; astonishment, disbelief, indignation and finally wrath. "You have taken leave of your senses," he gasped. His eyes were bulging and his mouth drawn into a thin line. Niernen clasped a hand over her mouth and shook her head.

Abruptly, Narzul turned around and walked towards the door. "Narzul, I'm sorry," Niernen said. "Please don't go -- come back, please! Narzul!"

He did not listen and slammed the door behind him so forcefully that the whole inn seemed to shake. Narzul stalked down the stairs, through the common room and out of the inn.

Outside, he unsheathed his sword.