[centre][b][i]Forging Friendship in Fire and Booze:
-- a collaboration between Dipper, Dusk, Nyxella and Rtron --[/b][/centre]

Insurgent Camp, West of Helgathe, 15 Rain's Hand[/i]

It was pleasing to hear her own views spoken aloud by another, but after sitting and watching the flames for a minute more, the Nord grew tired of the reminders of loss, and of the inaction. In a very dramatic manner, she threw her head back, tipped the seemingly endless bottle to the sky, and followed its direction upwards. “I feel like hitting something.” She pushed the bottle into Elayna’s hands and snatched the axe from her belt, twirling it with an unexpected grace. “Come!”

Taking the bottle with a bit of a jump, Elayna followed along with not so much as a complaint. It would be better for her to stick around others, and maybe the sound of metal being struck would drown out the shadows at the edge of her mind. Soon, the scents of roasted meat and burning coals welcomed them at the end of their path. It opened up into a wide clearing below a lattice of boughs and branches, where the occupants traded stories and shared meals around a central campfire. A short distance away, glowed the belly of a forge. Making sure Thyra was focused on her path, Elayna took a quick swig from the bottle, shaking the strength from her head. When she looked back up, Thyra was making a bee-line for it. 

A familiar, bulky figure was hunched over the flames and bellows. Elayna squinted, the booze beginning to take a bit of her sight. As they got closer, she could make out dark skin illuminated by fire, and the distinct teeth of an Orc. "Isn't that Gorzath?" She inquired, not to anyone in particular.

It was remarkably easy to lose yourself in old, familiar motions. And that's what Gorzath did. The world around him faded away, and his past failures (or near failures at any rate) were forgotten. There wasn't the knowledge that he had nearly tossed lives away for information that was likely a lie created by the Necromancer. There was no knowledge that the remnants of the Legion hated him for both killing one of their members and using their friends' corpses as a distraction. There was just the smithy, and the ore he was shaping. He wasn't just going to take only iron weapons into a Dwemer filled city. Even if the orinsium he was using to make a dagger wasn't going to be able to do much against the Dwemer weapons and armor, it was certainly better than iron. 

He was interrupted by the sound of someone, someone familiar, asking about him. Looking over his shoulder as he worked, he saw Elayna and an unknown nord holding an axe with her. There was a bottle between the two of them, a bottle that had been clearly used. Lovely. Out of all his companions, it had to be one who reminded him of the island and his near cold-blooded sacrifice to visit him. "Yes, it's Gorzath. Who is your friend?"

"This scary Nord lady? This here's Thyra. I feel like she could rip my head from my spine and...oh look, I'm rambling! Silly me!" Elayna gave a drunken chuckle, surprised that she had gotten so inebriated already. Whatever Thyra had, it was more potent than she originally believed. It served her Breton body right for trying to hold liquor so strong it would make sense only a Nord could handle it.

"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude..." The Breton said sheepishly under her breath before stepping back and placing the bottle down on the nearest surface. It was nearly empty, and Elayna figured that she'd end up making it up to Thyra. Now that she thought about it, as much thinkiing as she could do, Thyra had come to the forge with purpose, and the Breton decided to let her newfound drinking buddy take care of whatever business she had before the young Alchemist had a chance to annoy Gorzath further.

Thyra had launched herself at the tools on offer without a thought spared for the other in their company. By the time Elayna had spoken, she had already picked out what was needed. She huffed her amusement at the introduction and focused on the Orc, unsure of how her eyes - reduced to a shorter scope, but otherwise in working condition - could have missed his broad shadow. 

"Yes," she spoke to Elayna then locked a blue-tinted gaze on Gorzath, "We do." Further to his side, she saw the instrument she sought and made for it with a light shove. "Outta my way." Settling her axe on a bench, she took to the grinding wheel and felt for any patches of glaze in its edge. She pushed the pedal for a few test runs, listened to its song, and watched. There were no shrill squeaks, skips in rhythm, nor any other inconsistencies that required oiling or realignment. Maintaining the spin, one hand tipped the water cup suspended just above the wheel with a tenderness that opposed her hard expression, changing the wheel's lip to a darker shade. The other hand stretched out behind her and snapped its fingers, presumably at Elayna. "Bottle!" she called.

Elayna marvelled at how efficiently Thyra worked the grindstone, getting lost in the rotations and gentle pouring of water from the cup on top. So lost, in fact, that she jumped when Thyra demanded her bottle. The blush on Elayna's cheeks grew stronger, and as she grabbed the light bottle and handed it over, she shuffled away, wringing her hands. "Please don't murder me, please don't murder me...." She said under her breath, almost sure the few swigs left probably weren't enough to satisfy the Nord.

Gorzath watched, alternatively amused and irritated by their drunkeness. It was interesting to note that Elayna seemed much less...inclined to threaten others when she was intoxicated. Then again, she was also not getting angry over suggestions that she needed protection from either of them. When Thyra stared at him, he shrugged. Intruding would have been if he was where he thought no one would look for him, or expect him to be. Seeing as the forge was a public place, that idea was out the window. Still, it didn't help the fact that Elayna so easily reminded him of his failure as a 'Hero'. Before he could dwell on that particular screw up, he turned his attention to Thyra.

"So how did you get caught up in all of this mess?" He asked the Nord, chuckling lightly as Elayna practically flew to do Thyra's bidding. 

With a flick of the wrist, the bottle surrendered its contents quicker than the Nord had anticipated, and the wheel immediately screeched to a halt. Genuinely perplexed, Thyra shook the bottle and held it upside down, all the while examining its dry lip with a puzzled look. Loudly, she wondered, "Why is the rum gone?!"

Before she could interrogate Elayna, Gorzath caught her with a question. She made a gruff noise and slammed her foot on the pedal, almost kicking over an empty bottle. The axe to her right was hastily grabbed at and held over the rolling stone. Blue sparks flew before her eyes in reaction to her rolling movements, the sound of grinding metal screeching back, like the ones that bled onto her axe's lip. The ones that blunted its edge with their bone. The ones that now lay with what remained of her.

"Got restless," she finally replied. "Took a job that was simple and tame, but instead of escape, it leads me to a mischief-Cat and new trouble." She rubbed a finger over the sharpened edge and shook her head. "I don't give a damn about the others, but the girl? She was only a child. A lippy brat of a child, who I'd 'ave put over my knee for all the t'ings she spat," she gave a short chuckle. "I'm not sayin' I owe the Cat, and he ain't why I'm here, but if he didn't have his head on, I'd be where Vurwe is right now."

As the Nord began to speak, Gorzath felt a feeling of dread enter him. There had been only one child he knew of, sent on that trip. And certainly only one child on that trip who fit the description Thyra was giving. Still, he hoped. [i]Don't say her name. Don't say her name.[/i] He begged silently. But of course, that did nothing. Thyra said Vurwe's name, and that was quickly followed by the sharp breaking sound of a dagger blade being broken by too strong a blow from Gorzath. 

He remained frozen, face blank. She was dead. Zaveed was many things, but he wouldn't have left her at the mercy of Goblins. Besides, he was supposed to be killing them. Gorzath just felt..empty. He had been the only one willing to protect her, had been the only thing keeping her alive when things turned nasty with Sash and her boss. Then again, he had also been the cause for that. She had made her decision and decided to go to the Goblins, rather than the Necromancer. He could have made the choice to go with her, to protect her. But he didn't, and she died for it. A bitter smile crossed his face. [i]Another failure to add to the list, eh?[/i]

Softly, he asked, "Was it at least quick?" 

"She was a half-starved little scarecrow, the gas would have made off with her swiftly," Thyra stated bluntly. Hopefully, he was convinced and wouldn't ask anything else of it. In all honestly, she wasn't sure if the girl suffered, and was not yet prepared to entertain a guess. The tender tone he took made her wonder about something else. "You knew her?"

"He did." Zainat said as he approached the small group, and glanced around, looking for someway he could work with his hands to keep his mind occupied. With a sigh, he placed a small bundle of sticks he had gathered while foraging in the surrounding forest onto the ground. He then glanced around, looking for the small sack of arrowheads he had left there shortly before. "Where in Mephala's name... Ah, there. Breton. By your feet, mind handing me that bag?" He asked, although judging by his tone, it was likely rhetorical. 

Glancing at Thyra, he shook his head, and she leaned away from the wheel, curious to hear him. "I was the last one out of that Azura-Damned mine. I thought Vurwe was behind me when I shot that barrel, but..." He shrugged slightly, trying to appear aloof about it all, but his eyes spoke different. "She wasn't. She was slow. And judging by how those Goblins died, it was quick. Excruciatingly painful, worse than any death I've ever seen... But quick. A little girl had no place being in a Goblin filled mine anyway. Zaveed killed her by insisting she come with us, just like I killed her by being the only elf she felt comfortable being around... And like I did by releasing that gas." He laughed bitterly, his lips curling into a mockery of a smirk. "The gas was just a dagger."

Elayna had sat herself on the ground, leaning against the beam holding up the canopy over the forge. Her initial fear from Thyra's inquisition about the rum had subsided to a feeling of guilt and sadness as the Nord warioress fell into thoughts of Vurwe aloud. Elayna kept quiet, and the inebriating drink allowed her mind to fill with a disastrous train of thought. If she were there, could Elayna have used what she knew and saved the girl? Most likely not. But the smallest possibility was what grated at her.

Before she could give her input on the gas, which, given the effects, was most likely the most unpleasant way to go, a Dark Elf approached, answering Thyra's question for Gorzath. The elf asked her, or at least, the only 'Breton' there for the bag next to her feet. The young woman looked down to it with clouded eyes, before picking it up and standing to hand it to the man. "Here. And it's Elayna, not 'Breton'." She huffed, sitting back down. And it was good that she did, with the next set of comments from the new-comer.

The Alchemist buried her head into her knees as this Dunmer said that he, as well as Zaveed was at fault. It wasn't something she cared to hear, all this about death and blame. It wasn't making the drunken feeling much fun.

Gorzath nodded in minor relief. At least it was quick, and her suffering was kept to a minimum. The Spellsword opened his mouth to answer when a Dark Elf walked in, answering for him. He glanced curiously at the newcomer, struggling to remember where he had seen the Elf. A few moments later, it clicked. The meeting, where they were technically blackmailed into killing the Necromancer and the Goblin tribes. Then, of course, he had to go into greater detail of Vurwe's death rather than leaving it where it was. Apparently, he had shot the barrel, releasing the gas. Consigning Vurwe to a very, very painful but quick death. 

Gorzath's hand tightened around the hammer, and for the briefest of moments he felt the easy rage the rest of his kind felt. Here was the person directly responsible for her death. For the High Elf he had promised to protect, and failed to protect, dying. For a brief moment, he actually entertained the idea of attacking the Elf, extracting a blood price. But then, reason won over rage. Even if Zainat was right, and it was both the Dark Elf's fault and Zaveed's fault, it was also his fault. He had let the girl go where she pleased, instead of following her. He couldn't just blame it on one man, no matter how tempting. 

So rather than attacking, he simply said, "Yours, his, mine. Too many opportunities to stop her from going, from it ever occurring, none of them taken. All of our faults, over all." Then he turned back to Thyra. "He's right. I knew her. I was the one who took over protecting her from both her mouth and other threats when she first came with us. Obviously, that failed."

"Not your fault... When she came with us, she insisted on following me. I kept her alive through the Goblin raid at the Oasis... That was my charge. My duty. I was supposed to keep her alive after we parted ways." He shook his head, and then opened the bag of arrowheads and began attaching them to the rough wooden shafts. "Not your fault. I doubt facing a Necromancer would have been much better." He scowled angrily as he began to fumble with the arrow, seemingly unable to attach the head to the shaft. After a few moments, it was clear that the Dunmer wouldn't be speaking much longer. He snarled, and tossed the arrow to the side, and then swore in Dunmeris before he sighed. When he spoke, his voice was filled with sadness. "I liked Vurwe... She was a good child. Snarky. Catty... But not a bad child."

Thyra gave a light-hearted scoff, "Course you'd say that. Girl was more attached to you than soot. We can argue all night about who feels more sorry for themselves than the other. In the end, Arkay decides who stays, and for how long." Thyra stood, and a loud rattle sounded as she slammed her axe on a workbench nearby. "Vurwe died in battle. Where I come from, that ain't a tragedy, that's an honour." Her eyes locked onto Zainat's for a second, and the Dark Elf nodded, agreeing with her. The Nord's focus then shifted to the Orc, her stern address led by the sharp point of her finger, "You didn't owe the child a [i]debt[/i], you had a [i]duty[/i] to fulfill, and there'd be more dead if you abandoned it. Nothing would change if you came with us, the situation was out of anyone's control. We had no chance of saving Vurwe," an involuntary breath created a pause. In trying to reconcile their grief, she was ignoring her own.

Shaking the dreary thoughts of 'what if?' from her head, she hastily attached the axe to a loop in her belt and strode towards the exit. Zainat was clearly frustrated, and she was in half a mind to keep going, but something tugged at her to slow down. She sneered at her own inability to feign indifference, and stepped over the pile of sticks to stand next to him. "Imagine if she were still here," she started with a chortle. "What a pain in the arse she'd be to keep alive. Hiding a mouthy, High Elf brat in a Redguard city filled with Dwemer soldiers?" Thyra's grin opened with a sudden burst of laughter, "Better chance shaving a werewolf, if y'ask me." 

"True. Although I think it would be more like shaving a werebear... As it is, you'll have an Ashlander, whose Tribe was at the forefront of Lord Nerevar's charge against the Dwemer. My ancestors will be screaming for Dwemer blood." The Ashlander said, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Thyra nodded at his show of spirit. From where she stood, the fragments of Gorzath's work appeared to glimmer in the dull light. Although he was cut from a different cloth, the civility could not mask the rage his kind was known for. "Gorzath, our lady needs something to defend herself with." She called out to the laboring giant, tilting her head towards Elayna. "Can you help?" 

"And you," she lightly tapped Zainat's leg with her leather boot. "Steady the shaft between your knees so you have both hands free to fix the arrowhead. Call yourself an Ashlander?" she teased. The Dark Elf grunted slightly, and took the Nord's advice. "I'm a Warrior of the Urshilaku, not a fletcher." He muttered, obviously embarrassed at his rather amateur mistake. "Thank you, Thyra." He said after a few seconds, glancing up at her with his blood tinged orbs. Again, she nodded, and after watching him work for a few moments, she looked around at the three of them, "We lost a life, but let's not forget there are countless more riding on what we do from now on."

Elayna looked up from her knees as Thyra spoke, strong and resolute, while the rest of them faltered. The Breton had never given thought to the fact that she could be the voice of such reason. At the mention of getting a weapon ready for her, Elayna was about to object and just use her trusty dagger. Though, it was dull and scarred from her use of it in the fields of Leyawiin. It was stained and damaged, and she didn't want to end up having to explain each ding and splash of color. No, a new blade would do her good.

Standing, she smiled Gorzath's way, a headache drumming in her brain. "Want some help? I'd hate to be lazy." Elayna offered, hoping to just get the night over with. She'd most likely try to help anyways, and get ready late into the night. Sleep would be hard to catch, at the least.

Gorzath opened his mouth, ready to contest Zainat’s point, when Thyra started speaking. The Ashlander was first, and then it was his turn. At the mention of duty, Gorzath’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. A duty? Oh yes. A duty he had nearly failed, consigning people to death for evidence that probably didn’t exist. Innocents to death, people who had probably trusted him. At her words about no chance, he muttered quietly, “Magic can make chances.” Then again, if he hadn’t gone with Wets-his-blade and Elayana, it was entirely possible that the two people they saved would have died or the mission would have failed completely. What if…what if…

Shaking himself from his reverie, he glanced down to the shattered bits of metal and then back up at Thyra. “I can make her one. As for the countless lives riding one what happens next, I won’t forget. But the Dwemer will pay. For the sacking of Imperial city. For their brutal conquests. For Vurwe. For the countless others whose lives they’ve ruined or taken. They’ll pay, and they’ll pay in blood.” Glancing over to Elayana, smiling. “Any help you can offer would be appreciated.”