Judena didn't feel quite as scared as she rightfully could have been. It was definitely dark, danger was lurking just outside their limited field of vision, some of their companions already went ahead to clear the way while the party left behind had proven themselves capable in the last encounter.

It was all familiar to Judena, her beard slowly deflated as she let her thoughts wonder. The calm she felt was simply a confidence in knowing as tricky as the current situation was they'd make it through. She held faith. The Falmer were certainly tough but they did not spook her the way they clearly spooked the likes of Anifas, or was it Anrenfar? The vomiting was rather unbecoming but who was she to judge, she remembered her first few shocking encounters that had her topple head over heels from fainting.

A stone skittering caught her ear and her beard expanded again. It would help knowing where the Falmer were-

She gently tapped the heel of her hand against her forehead, quietly she approached one of their sneaky party members. Someone who was skillful enough to remain undetected by the sensitive Falmer ears.

She approached Alim tapping his shoulder, leaning down to whisper, "Aladdin, psst. Let us work together to remove some of the immediate Falmer, give our companions some peace of mind while we wait for the way to be clear."

Alim blinked, his expression somewhat startled and somewhat bemused from the sudden pat and name change, as he had just been running his hand over the now bandaged wound on his arm. Thankfully he had not been cut on a nerve, and the cut really was not as deep as he had thought. There had just been quite a bit of blood, and he always felt a bit superstitious of using an injured limb too much until it scarred over.

Still, despite his raised brow initially, he nodded. "Now that sounds like what I would call a good time." He replied matter of fact, a cunning glimmer in his dark eyes. He'd cleaned his sword already, and with a deft movement the blade was unsheathed once more.

"Try not to hiss too much. You kind of hiss when you're particularly excited." He joked.

"Oh, I had not noticed!" Judena whispered, tapping the pads of her finger tips against her lips. Inevitably hissing more, she thanked him. "Thank you for saying so, Alam."

She bent back up gesturing with her spear, "The Falmer are just beyond our vision, I will use the spell Detect Life to reveal their positions. I point you in the right direction, you remove them with the element of surprise. You are sneaky, yes?"

"Am I sneaky!?" Alim exclaimed, and while it wasn't very loud, it was louder than a sneaky person. He was a bit confused though, close to offended. He thought his reputation as a ne'er-do-well proceeded him. He looked around once he caught his voice though as if he had just alerted the guards as he crept out with a crown jewel. His next words were lower in volume. "Yes...yes I am quite sneaky."

"Quietly as quiet can be, we will remove some of the Falmer in our immediate vicinity. I think you can do it, I believe in you." She said.

He gave a wink, and awaited the Argonian female (he believes) to cast the necessary spells in order to give him the edge™.

She nodded, in her hands she gathered the magicka for the spell. She spoke the spell easily from memory, she connected her forefinger and thumb together in a circle, where the magicka travelled in visible blue light. She brought the circle of her fingers up to her eye to peer through, now seeing life through it. She looked down to Alim seeing his distinct red life-blood the magic highlighted him with. She looked now into the gloom of the darkness, shapes the size of various Falmer. She hummed, concentrating on the spell judging the distance.

"Thirty-seven steps to your immediate right, then twelve more straight you will arrive within three steps of a Falmer. They are hunched with possible armour. Be sure to aim true. Return following the steps and I will guide you to the next one. There seems to be about four just a few feet outside of our magelight. They are far too close for comfort." Judena said, blinking she held the spell steady. "I will keep an eye on you."

"UuuuuuuUUUUHHHHhhhuuuuuh," His voice rose and fell when she mentioned how many steps he was to take, suddenly conscious of how long his steps were and if she had measured them. He was not unmethodical, but stepping on instinct was usually more helpful in these situations. "Uuuuunderstood."

He made his way through the rocky terrain, his steps as measured as could be, hands out to steady himself just in case. Thirty six, thirty seven...he turned straight, and headed another twelve steps, nearly bumping into a Falmer, sucking in his breath at the scaly, slimy sight or smell of it. Luckily its back was turned, squatting down and eating something nondescript. Without a sound, Alim shoved his sword in the Falmer's back. He caught it as it fell, letting it touch the ground softly.

Judena watched on, approving of Alim's approach. When he successfully returned, she patted his back. "One down and three more to go. I will not lead you astray, Alment. You can trust me." She said earnestly. She breathed in gathering her magicka once again peering with the aid of the spell. She saw a hulky Falmer turned in their direction, paying attention to them and their companions.

"Our next target is paying attention to the group, this will be a little more complicated. I will lead you around the current Falmer then I will make a small distraction, like throwing a stone, get their attention away so you may have the opportunity to strike." She whispered, self-conscious of the Falmer paying attention. Concerned.

"You will need to take... forty-six steps to the left and forward, you will be moving in an angle around the Falmer. You then will then need to take five steps to the right. You will arrive within four feet of the Falmer, my stone will make a little noise to grab their attention. When you hear the stone, pause then take four steps right to strike." Judena's instructions were clear, she deemed her judgement fairly close. Adjusting a little based on how big of steps she saw Alim take, which weren't nearly as long in stride as hers would have been. "Please move slowly for this particular one. They are paying attention."

Alim wondered how hard a 4 letter word was to pronounce a bit too long, because he hadn't been paying the most attention to her for a few sentences. Luckily, he had an apt mind and her words recorded in the back of his mind flooded back, realization dawning. "Ah, I see Judalia." He replied, giving her quite a nice false name if he said so himself, and promptly turned around without waiting for her reaction to go and perform the instructed steps. It was only halfway through his walk did he idly wonder how smart it was to taunt her if she was the one to throw the rocks, but then he shook his head. He knew his success benefited her as much as it did himself, as well.

He made it to the destination, and waited for the stone's noise.

Judena cocked her head at the strange way he pronounced her name, perhaps he had heard wrong from their first introductions. She decided it would be best to clarify upon his return. She briefly wondered if she had his name incorrect? No, it couldn't be. He kept answering to what she referred to him as. Naturally he would have corrected her, had she been wrong.

She took a deep breath, beginning to feel a bit of strain from the consistent use of her magicka. She watched his lively form make his approach, her breathing hitched when the Falmer turned in his direction. Suspicious, jerking movements, Alim came to a soft stop at the Falmer’s movements. The Falmer took a step closer to Alim, she scooped up a stone then took quick aim throwing at the Falmer’s feet. The Falmer turned at the noise with a deep guttural hiss.

Alim's next words were merely breathed, but the Falmer's enhanced hearing caught the entire slang as the Spellsword's blade began to fall.

"Bitch."

The Falmer didn't have any time to react, even respond verbally above the beginning of a 'peep' before Alim chopped through its neck with ease, a swift knife through butter. He couldn't muffle the sound of the body falling, but luckily, he realized whatever other Falmer in the area didn't take any heed to it. He did catch the head though, regretting it a moment later when its open neck oozed what he imagined was blood.

Alim made his way back over to his partner, setting the head down gently halfway and doing his best not to stumble in the dark.

When Alim approached back onto the safety of the Gazebo Judena let out a long sigh of exertion. Slouching forward to speak to him, "Good job, hah, Alan. I believe this is not the best time to address it but, I think you may have heard my name incorrectly in our introductions. My name is Judena and not Judalia." She said gently, keeping her voice low at a whisper. "You were very close, however."

As Alim wiped his blade (and arm) off, he paused halfway through the stroke and deadpan looked at Judena, brow raised. He had no idea what to say.

"You uh." He started, letting silence hang for a few moments. Should he tell her? She he not? Would this get annoying eventually? Find out next time "You do know that my name is Alim and you haven't said it correctly for...ever." He didn't seem mad at all, but just perplexed. He had not spent much time around the Lizardfolk of Blackmarsh, so he simply chocked it up to her not being used to the names of men or mer.

He finished wiping his sword, and held out a hand to shake. "Let's start over, shall we? I am Alim. Hello, friend."

Judena straightened like a board, her 'beard' shrinking with a sharp inhale of surprise. She knocked the heel of her hand against her head, "My apologies, Alim. I- I am very sorry, there is no true light to read by and refer back to my logbook. Please forgive my poor, very poor memory." She took his hand in both of hers, "Truly I meant no offense." She bent forward, earnestly.

"Yes please I would like to start this over, friend." She said gently squeezing the young man's hand. "Please do not hesitate to correct me."

Alim was expecting the Argonian to either refuse or be very rigid, but he found his face falling as if he had just seen a doggy. He shook her hand, smiling. "It is completely fine, Judena. And you do very good magic, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You're the best Falmer killing wingman I have had."

She nodded, giving his hand a firm shake as well. A pleasant hum thrummed out of her throat, "Thank you, what spells I do know I know quite well. You do not get very far in this business otherwise. Now, Alim. Are you ready for the last two? They look as if they are together. Easy pickings as you have demonstrated."

He finished shaking her hand and picked up his sword, resting it on his shoulder casually. "Why, I would be delighted to kill a few more Falmer. As my father always said, killing the last two Falmer is the thing to do. Well, he didn't really say that, but he would if he was here so we'll go with that."

She chuckled at his joke, "Let us go with that, indeed. Your not-father is a smart man."

Summoning her magicka once again she straightened seeing the final two together. The pair of Falmer were huddled together hiding among some rocks, fearful of the autonomous searchlights. Seeing them trying to hide had given Judena a wave of sympathy. They were simply doing what her companions were hoping to do right now. She watched them, feeling her magicka begin to strain much more quickly than when she started. Judena counted the steps, these two were the closest, dangerously close to hearing even quietest conversation had they decided to pay attention.

"20 steps directly to our left, behind a section of rocks - hiding. A pair of Falmer, huddled. Hold..." She watched closely seeing the Falmer’s form reach for something, using both hands. "I believe one of them is armed, two handed weapon." She sighed, bringing her hand away from her eye. "This might be trickier to do this muted, if you were to remove the one holding the weapon first you can make short work of the secondary one."

Alim nodded, using what little light he had to check and see the rolling and jagged landscape of the cavern, wondering if there was any way he could use it to his advantage. He stroked his chin with a cultured hand, a professional air about him.

Alim turned to Judena. "I think I can get them both, but just in case one managed to run, I'll make sure he does right toward you so be ready." He informed her, and without further ado he crouched and made his way back toward the Falmer, choosing the left side of the cavern as that gave him a small advantage in height. A very small passageway that merely led to a short overhang was Alim's path. Most would think only a cat or a small animal could traverse it, but Alim just barely managed to hug the wall, sword out and body flat against the cavern's side as he snuck closer.

Soon he found himself within a (admittedly very long) jumping distance from the two Falmer, and they were none the wiser. Though that would not last long. He was too close with little cover, and he had to think quickly. Knowing he would need to make the jump, the idea popped into his head and he muttered the spell for 'feather' upon himself. Granted, he was not very good at such a spell. However, it would still help him gain some air, and as soon as the flash of the spell was unleashed, he leaped for his life.

One Falmer chirped in surprise, while the unarmed one looked up and tilted its head, before pointing and chittering. Its companion spun and attempted to hack at where it imagined an enemy would be, but Alim was still above him due to the spell. He bent his legs to dodge the swipe, then kicked and struck the Falmer in the head. He suddenly released the spell and dropped, cutting into the fallen Falmer's chest cavity. The other tried to grab at Alim, and the spellthief got a few scratches from the feral assault before his pommel found the Falmer's nose.

It grunted, and decided this was not worth it and scrambled out of their hiding spot, right toward Judena. Alim cursed and swiped, but the Falmer was a bit too slippery at the moment.

Judena watched the fight with anticipation, when the Falmer came darting out of it's hiding spot after the sounds of Alim's fight made its way to her ears. She squinted watching it get closer, then braced going still as a stone statue.

When it came within a few feet she towered above the blind creature, her beard expanded. Much like spotting a fish in the stream Judena struck down with her spear through it's neck, silencing any final cry it had. A loud thunk into the ground where the spear followed through, blood splattering up the shaft. She tsked, a clicking sound between her teeth. "Used a bit too much force it would seem."

Gently rolling the dead Falmer to its side, its death was imminent, and it struggled no more. "Find peace." She whispered removing the spear slowly as to not jostle the body. She transmuted the blood from out of her spear, magicka light flowing through the grains of wood into her hand. Once it gathered she shook it free, blood splattering at her feet.

"That was quite the bit of work but I believe we have removed all the Falmer surrounding our immediate vicinity. You were a great help, Alim." She commented brightly.

Alim jogged over to see her having dispatched the Falmer in short order, thankfully. "Yep, we make a good team." He replied, giving a wink. "Let's go back and inform the others of our success." It was an offer he hoped she would agree with, because impressing his employer, the ladies, and perhaps the lady employer was a certain bonus in their achievement here.

Gaius groaned as softly as he could as the feverish heat of the poison ran the remainder of its course through his body. Fortunately, he was a rather healthy man, and though his arm was painful, the wound was shallow. In conjunction with the potion that Brynja had given him—he thought, since at the time he'd existed in a haze of semiconsciousnes—his natural hardiness and the grazelike nature of the cut had him back on his feet, if a bit slow and shaky. But slow and shaky had no place here. He had to keep moving. He had to. If he stopped for even a moment at the wrong time, if he tripped and bashed his head, if he—for any reason—couldn't move forward, he knew in his gut that they wouldn't be able to carry him and still avoid the Falmer. He would die down here. That moment was, of course, the moment when the lethal spotlight shone its barbed rays between the crumbling remains of once-grandiose buildings and Daro revealed its mechanism of execution. Yet another way for him to die. It seemed like they were stacking up; Falmer, Dwemer automata, impalement from the enormous structure that haunted these ruins, a collapsing lift...

I'm not ready to die, he thought with grim certainty. And so, even when a few others sat down in the gazebo-esque structure that the group took brief shelter under, he stayed on his swaying feet, hand on the hilt of his sword as he held on to his shield like it was a life raft. He pressed his forehead against it momentarily, uttering a prayer to all nine Divines under his breath, not caring overly much if Durantel heard him at this point.

Gaius had seen the cruel lethality of Dwemer making before; a few soldiers had borne armaments of it in the Civil War, and those blades and his own shield were a testament to its durability and impossibly good edge-holding capabilities. A bolt forged of that big enough to impale a Falmer certainly gave him pause. But, as his soldier's mind reviewed the situation, he became acutely aware that a pause here was enough to kill. So he swallowed down his fear and trepidation, steadying his shaking hands, and replaced them with the iron-hard conviction that came with the previous decision: I'm not ready to die.

As Rhea told them that they needed to clear a path, Gaius cleared his throat, glancing at Daro'Vasora, Solandil and Meg, and mentally wishing them good luck. Now, as for the rest of us... "If anybody gets caught in the light, shout for me. If there's anything that can stop a harpoon like that," he tapped a clenched, armored fist lightly on Empire's Aegis, "it's this." With that, he moved out of cover, following Rhea and doing his best to move his armored body along as quietly as he could, with dubious success. As he stopped behind a long-dried fountain a few meters behind Rhea's position, he attempted to calm his nerves. It's not so different from Whiterun, he assured himself. Just pretend the light is archers, and try to stay close to block the arrows.

But at the same time, he added mentally as his joints clanked with what seemed infinite volume, breaking out of his imagined siege, the closer they are to me, the less likely they are to escape the Falmer. And, really, he had his doubts as to whether or not even his time-tested shield could stand up to something lethal enough to make Daro'Vasora as afraid as she was.

So, it was the pale Altmer. If he had a hunched, degraded posture and a nightmare-bulldog kind of face, he’d almost look like a Falmer in the lack of light. It almost gave Daro’Vasora the chills. Still, he was willing to do what he was hired on to do and kill the ugly monstrosities they were almost certain to bump into along the way, and for that at least, she was grateful.

“I think subtly is the least of our problems right now.” The Khajiit replied, the loud groaning of whatever the Beast was accentuating the point along with its ceaseless searchlight. “We have to get out of the open, and the quicker the better. How ready do you feel about landing on top of unseen Falmer?”

“They won’t have to time to scream for help when my blade finds them.” Solandil replied grimly, gazing into the darkness ahead with a glower. To most, this would be nothing more than a boast. But Solandil was now beginning to form a very personal vendetta against the Falmer - whether because everything about them disgusted him, or the fact that one had landed a lucky blow on him; or certain aspects brought back sour memories of his childhood and younger life, he didn’t know - but a tense anger built up in his chest when thinking about them now. His comment wasn’t a statement of ego, but of resentment.

Looking back to the Khajiit, Solandil considered her character. They hadn’t interacted much - from what he had witnessed at the campsite, she was sassy. From what he’d witnessed down below where the group was stuck, she was resourceful. Unlike many of his kin, he didn’t automatically assume the worst because of someone’s race. He assumed the worst because he was a pessimist at heart, but there was no discrimination behind it. At the very least, Daro’Vasora had shown enough skill to gain some respect.
“Point me where to go, and I’ll follow.” His eyesight was poor, but Falmer were rarely subtle in killing innocent traveller sor intrepid explorers - if he didn’t kill them, there was a certainty that the monstrosity hanging above them would do the job eventually.

As others were heading off to clear their own ways and maybe flush out the Falmer of their own, Daro’Vasora quickly surveyed a course of 5 bits of cover between their destination and current spot. If anything was concealed behind walls or in the huts, it was impossible to say, but she didn’t like her odds. As if putting even more pressure on the Khajiit, Rhea crouched down beside her, squeezing her shoulder reaffirming. “We’re counting on you. I trust you.” and with that, Rhea set off into the dark, leaving Daro’Vasora to stew in her thoughts. “You know, I’m starting to think whatever payment I’m going to get out of this isn’t about to be worth it. Come on, heroics await.” she said. With lithe feet and near-silent footfalls, she took off in a low run, mace in her bandaged, aching hands.

The first bit of cover, what looked like a dwelling that had been crushed from above, was reached without incident. Crouching behind the wall for a moment to catch her breath and to see if there were anything waiting up ahead, she stared at the next bit of cover; one of the Falmer huts that looked like it was a giant cone-shaped batwing. Trying to see, even her eyes had a hard time making out the darkest details in the shadows, a loud thud hit half a meter from where her neck was. A shade of movement was up ahead, a Falmer with a bow taking aim. Scurrying away from where the arrow had hit, she moved beside Solandil, grabbing his arm and pointing it forcefully towards where the Falmer were. “That’s our next stop. One or two, they’re loosing arrows at us. About twenty meters or so…” she grabbed one of the loose stones and hurled it away, hitting another broken dwelling nearby, reverberating a sound across the cave. She elbowed the Altmer, “Go.” She hissed quietly.

Although helpful of Daro’Vasora to point out his path and foes, she may as well have just asked him to guess where to go. Nothing was clear in the darkened distance, and it was only the miniscule noises of scurrying, clawed feet on stone that betrayed anything ahead. And that was what he could hear over the groaning giant above them.

Shaking his arm lightly from the Khajiit’s grip, Solandil moved forward, still crouched slightly. Despite his height and the typically clunky nature of iron armour, Sol was surprisingly light on his feet. Coming from years of hiding from bullies or trying as much as possible to avoid people noticing him, Sol had grown accustomed to placing his feet in the right places. Even in the pitch black, his steps were cautious. Not cautious enough, however - several more arrows were sent his way, one catching the edge of his greaves and making a loud clanging noise, the high-pitched “ting” echoing.

Picking the pace up - as any shelter they had in the dark was gone now - Solandil marked each step as a gauge for when he’d reach the next set of cover. More arrows flew by, and the creature on the ceiling thudded once again, nearly vibrating the ground with how loud it was. Finally, Sol could make out the outline of a crude Falmer hut, and movement in the shadows betrayed their foes within. Wasting no time, Solandil swung his sword in a wide arc in front of him, allowing himself a slight triumphant smirk as his blind hit had struck one of the Falmer. Finishing it off as it fell to the ground before it could attract any more attention, Sol looked about, and then to Daro’Vasora.

“Where’s the other one?” He whispered, unable to pick up on any movements. Was it above? Or had he already killed the archer?
A shriek behind Solandil belonging to the archer broke the quiet as it had charged the Altmer from behind, a poisoned chitin dagger ready to plunge down into his neck.The Falmer didn’t have a chance to bring the blade down, however, as the studded head of a mace was brought across its’ face, knocking the Falmer over with a gurgled cry as it tried to catch itself when it fell. Another double-handed blow to the nape of the neck snapped bone and the Falmer fell still.

The Beast groaned loudly in response and a light shot across the ground towards their position; Daro’Vasora ducked into the hut as the light passed overhead, scanning for movement. A few moments of methodical searching ended, the light venturing elsewhere as the thing moved closer.

“Good distraction. Better they fling arrows at you than me, yes?” The Khajiit asked, rapping her knuckles twice across Solandil’s breastplate. “Just a few more times doing that and we’ll be there, unless that thing gets on top of us.”

Glaring at Daro’Vasora for her comment was pointless in the pitch black, as Sol doubted even she could see much, even with her night eye - this didn’t stop him though, as he didn’t appreciate being used as much more than a walking shield. The cat would do better to invest in better armour rather than have an elvish bodyguard on standby for the rest of her life.

“Better they don’t “fling” arrows at either of us.” He muttered in return, eyes darting back towards the ceiling and wondering if they’d attracted any attention from the unknown beast. It wasn’t directing any more light towards them, despite the ruckus killing the falmer caused. Despite not currently being able to see their next destination, the Khajiit had pointed out a vague path that even he could follow in the dark. As Sol moved on from their current cover, crouching slightly as he moved, he could only hope that the Falmer were becoming too scared of the predator above to attempt another attack. Of course, that was asking a lot of such mindless creatures.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Daro’Vasora replied, looking for a moment to break for it, and seeing that there was an ample window, she said, “Stay close behind me, listen to my footfalls.” she urged, taking off towards the next bit of cover. Her heart was pounding so fast it threatened to burst, the chance of the light swinging towards her all too real. However, it didn’t come, and she was feeling far more in her element now, a bit of her confident swagger came back to her and her actions weren’t based on fear so much as the thrill of danger. It was a problem, most likely, but it got her this far, didn’t it?

To her pleasure, nothing waited for them in the next two bits of cover, although from the clashes throughout the cavern, it was really dumb luck if they landed on falmer or not; she trusted the others could handle themselves, after all, wasn’t that why they were hired? The gate loomed tantalizingly close, and when she was about to break for it, a blinding light shone on the bars, the Khajiit falling on her rump as she forced herself back towards cover, hugging against the wall. The groaning hurt her ears, and thanks to how sensitive her eyes were in the dark, it felt like someone cast a blinding spell on her. Several moments passed, unable to see and her ears aching from the thing being more or less right on top of them, but considering she didn’t feel the acute death that waited in the light, she presumed she’d evaded detection, as did Sol.

“I fucking hate that thing.” she murmured, looking around for the Beast, and it seemed to be searching elsewhere when her vision gradually returned. Knowing it was now or never, she turned to the Altmer behind her. “Here I go. Watch my back, yell if you know what starts coming my way.” The what in this instance meant literally everything.

The Khajiit bolted out of cover, and with her right hand, she rehooped her mace and grabbed a lockpick set from their hoops in a practiced motion and almost the instant she reached the gate, she had the tools in the oversized lock. As advanced as the Dwemer may be, she had found in her travels that they depended on much the same physical security as everyone else, but with the added benefit that the locks were so well constructed they often budged without needed oil even though they sat dormant for thousands of years. Shoving in the tension wrench the bottom and torquing it slightly to keep it slightly offset, the pick went in next and she began to probe the pins, sliding each in turn upwards until she heard the almost inaudible click of the pin slotting into its grove, unable to slide back on its own thanks to the slightly out of alignment pressure creating a bit of a lip.
One down, six to go.

Having followed the Khajiit closely - and glad she had once again taken the lead as opposed to him blindly stumbling along - Sol echoed her curse silently as he too stumbled backwards, avoiding the light with a quiet hiss of pain as it overwhelmed his senses. He’d never done well with bright light, and as the beast moved on, Sol’s eyes were left watering… but still working. As were his sword arms, and they would be doing their best to ensure Daro’Vasora finished her job. Yelling, however, was out of the question - he’d just have to defend as quietly as possible, and hope that the Falmer were also following this line of thought. They were mindless creatures, but surely they had worked out that silence meant survival with that thing on the ceiling?

Thankfully, Sol didn’t have to do much. The Falmer either hadn’t noticed them at the gate, or were too spooked to come out. A few half-hearted arrows were shot his way, but thunked into the ground harmlessly feet away from the rogue and himself. One decided to be brave and attempted to sneak up on him, but with Sol’s back to the gate, it was an impossibility to remain unseen, even with the Altmer’s poor sight. Bearing down on the Falmer as soon as it slunk into his periphery, Sol’s sword met it’s throat before it could utter a war screech.

Glancing around nervously as he lowered his fallen foe the floor quietly. “Are you nearly finished?” He muttered to Daro’Vasora, still surveying the dark area around him. He was starting to question his reflexes, and whether they’d be good enough to leap away from the light before being skewered if it were to land on him. Probably not, but there was always the hope that the creature would get confused with two moving targets in it’s spotlight.

As if punctuating Sol’s question, a moment later the final pin gave and the lock turned with a quick torque, the gate swinging outwards in an outstretched hand. The Khajiit turned to grin at Solandil. “I think so. Let’s get the others to confirm.” Sliding her lockpick away in their hoops, she grabbed her mace and knocked on the metal bars a few times, ringing out in the cavern like a dinner bell. “Better get behind the metal in case the ugly bastards get here before the others.” Daro’Vasora observed, calling out, “Gate’s open! It’s now or never!” she called from the mouth of the gate, stepping behind the metal. If the Falmer came for them, they’d be thwarted by the gate, an easy kill for Solandil to stab through the bars. The head of the mace was a bit too thick to slide through the bars, so she stuck to calling out incoming attackers as needed.

It felt like several agonizing minutes, but the party started to make their way to the gate, being cautious to avoid getting spotted by the Beast, and there were still Falmer threats. With more swords by the gate, the defense became easier, and soon the last laggard made their way through. As Daro’Vasora was closing the gate, the spotlight found her. Not even having a chance to gasp, a deafening clang crashed into the double-thick bars in front of her, bending the metal back with terrifying ease and the point sticking through by several inches. Suddenly, harpoon began to reel back, and the gate groaned in protest.

“Time to go.” Rhea announced, grabbing Daro’Vasora by the shoulder and the party headed down through the structure’s hallways, the harpoon coming loose behind them and whistling in the dark. A quick glance back revealed that the gate was bent outwards against its natural movement of travel; there would be no going out that way, as the gate would clearly no longer open due to the deformed bars.

The gate, however, held.

The hallway was a typical dwemer-style design, only carved out into a semi-cylindrical shape rather than a boxy rectangle, the ceiling height one and a half times the size of a man. It was dark still, but magelight guided the way and the group moved comfortably for a change. With no dark shadows or even signs of spider or sphere tubes, there was an odd sense of calm. Eventually after a few minutes, they came to a large set of double doors, a pedestal off to the side contained a square slot. Rhea, like anyone else even remotely familiar with dwemer contraptions, knew what it was for. Fetching into her own pack, she produced a dwemer control cube, slotting it into the slot. It was shaped like a cube with flat ends, and as it was fitted into the slot, metal bars slid out of the pedestal and interlocked with the missing ends, rotating the cube 180 degrees. The doors slid open, disappearing into recesses of the door frame, formerly concealed gear tracks moving the door smoothly and with a satisfactory series of clicks.

“The cube was discovered in what we had assumed was either the administrator or commander’s quarters within a locked cabinet.” Rhea explained, watching as the cube was ejected from its newly rotated position to be taken again. She turned it over in her hand, admiring the intricate machinery in even such a small device. “I’ve held onto it for expeditions in case we came across a doorway that couldn’t be opened with conventional means. I’ve always wondered why we never came across the access points before, and now we’ve found one here. Curious.” the Imperial mused, turning to the group before they continued on.

“I must admit, I do feel somewhat guilty about what transpired. In truth, this was far behind the scope of anything I’d have expected to encounter, and all of you have performed incredibly. I’m grateful for each of you, and that we haven’t lost anyone along the way. Please hold onto hope that we’ll find our way out, this isn’t the first situation I’ve encountered where I’ve been trapped in ruins and tunnels, and I don’t aim for it to be my last. People like the Dwemer never designed their dwellings to have a single point of access for the obvious reason that if there’s a cave in or an enemy occupying one point, you could escape out the other. Rabbits and other rodents do something similar.” Clasping her hands together, she said, “So despite the setbacks we’ve endured, let’s not forget why we’re down here. Discovery always invites risk, and we want something to show for this whole endeavor. Now, let’s carry on. I think we’ve bought ourselves some breathing space.”

The doorway had a very pronounced panel ahead, lit from the typical dwemer lighting that populated much of the ruin. The doorway opening had evidently lit the lamps, the soft thumping of pipes that had not been used in centuries starting to carry the load of steam and heated liquid along their channels. A small wheel with finger slots was evident on the pedestal, and curiosity gripped Rhea as she slotted her fingers into the holes and gave the wheel a twist. A bright light emitted from above, a natural beam that was subsequently channeled through a number of green mirrors and crystals that immediately became something like a series of lamps, and soon the entire room became illuminated by a soft and comfortable white-green glow.

As it turned out, the room opened up into a series of platforms, and into a rather sizable orb-shaped room with an incomprehensible labyrinth of piping and gears focused around a lattice of concentric rings centered around a massive orb of blue light several meters across. Four pillars supported the ring assembly, although the orb appeared to have been suspended from contact with the rings via some sort of energy field.Glass discs were present across all of the surfaces. Regardless of what it might be, it was a truly impressive sight.

“I do not think that is going to fit in my pocket.” Daro’Vasora observed, walking around the platform, taking in the scale of the device. She had been so busy studying the discs of one of the larger outer rings when she nearly stepped on something on the platform.
It was the skeleton of a dwemer, still dressed in frayed and time-consumed robes with the distinctive alloy bangles, hair rings, and amulet laid about. Instead of registering shock, after all it wasn’t the first skeleton Daro’Vasora came across, she immediately began stripping the body of valuables. She’d determine if any of it was rare or unique in any way and discard the rest for whoever wanted it. However, one thing came up to her attention; a cube, very similar to the one Rhea possessed, that tumbled out of the skeleton’s hand. “So, you kids want to see a dead body?” She called out, tossing the cube towards Latro. “So here’s a dead dwemer who didn’t disappear into nothingness but rather died in here and rotted without getting cleaned out of existence like the rest of them. Any thoughts?” she mused.

“As macabre as the rest of this necropolis.” Latro said, bouncing the cube in one of his hands as he sided up with Vasora, “Perhaps...” Latro knelt down with a wince and a grunt, fingers creeping ever closer to the remains of what once was someone with thoughts, wants, regrets and dreams, “He had but one last task.”

Latro held the box up in the light that the giant luminescent ball of whatever it was in the chamber gave, taking in the engravings, each angle, curve, line, corner, “A mer with a key and no one else to be found.” He handed the box to Rhea as he stood, “A picture of Dwemer making an exodus.”

“I do so love ancient mysteries.” Rhea said, running her fingers along one face of the box absent-mindedly as she scanned around the large chamber, “Shall we figure out what this box does for this… this.” She gestured a sweeping hand to the huge ball of energy in the middle of the chamber.

Daro’Vasora was quiet for a few moments, still mulling over the corpse, although not for sentimental reasons. “He locked himself in to die. Why?” she asked, sliding a bone back in between her teeth to chew on. The bone, thankfully, wasn’t off the ancient corpse. “You need a cube to open and close those doors. Why seal himself in here and not leave?”

“An exodus...” Latro whispered.

“Exodus requires leaving somewhere. This one clearly didn’t get the message.” the Khajiit pointed out.

The sight of the withered Dwemer corpse brought back vivid memories of her time spent spelunking in ruins with Rorik. Brynja’s upper lip curled up in disgust, “This sounds like a bad idea, last thing we need is some shriveled up Dwemer bloke coming back to life and terrorizing us.” She grumbled a bit too loudly.

“Worry not, Brynja.” Latro smiled, “Draugr are a Nord thing.”

“I hope you’re right.” She said, casting a look of unease at Latro.

“She has a point. After everything, well… nothing should be out of the realm of possibility.” Rhea cleared her throat, turning from looking out at the huge constructs and to Latro and Daro’Vasora, the first to discover the stone slab of history, “Daro’Vasora, Latro, it was a picture of Dwemer ascending to a gate, and that was the last of the drawings?” Rhea asked, a look of profound epiphany slowly tugging a smile at the corners of her lips.

Daro’Vasora shrugged. “Should we not be more cautious about jumping to conclusions? The probable explanation of that one was the Dwemer who locked the gate behind him last was the last one they saw enter or leave this place. Really, I have my doubts that a bunch of slaves who were starting to lose their minds would be really keen on metaphorical imagery depicting their captors.”

A loud thud echoed down the chamber they had come from. After a few moments of dreadful silence, it struck again. “So, any volunteers to see who’s at the door?” the Khajiit asked dryly.

Rhea shook her head. “Whatever the meaning of the images, we do not have the luxury of time to debate their meaning. The way we had come was the only obvious entrance or exit, but perhaps this device could be of assistance. Perhaps we are mistaking exodus for exit? Perhaps this is some sort of… transport system?” the Imperial continued, her mind racing.

Daro’Vasora wasn’t entirely sure if she agreed with that assessment, but it was better than waiting to find out how strong that gate was. “What if it’s connected to that crawling Beast we’ve spent the last, Alkosh knows how long avoiding? A defence system after the Falmer began to overrun the lower levels? This could be the control center.”

Another loud bang came from the tunnel. It was clear there wouldn’t be time to debate the potential consequences of activating the machine. Even Daro’Vasora, who in particular was vocally against assuming it was a gateway, became subdued, her back to the wall.
Rhea sighed, feeling as if the cube was heavier than a gold bullion. Her gut was telling her that she was mucking about with something she did not understand, but the expedition depended on her. They were trapped and running out of time, and it made the choice much easier. Slotting the cube into its place, she stepped back as the arms accepted it into the device.

Almost immediately, the green discs on the rings began to illuminate with a near-blinding sheen and the rings began their rotation, each ring moving in opposite directions of the one before. Before long, the rings were spinning so quickly that they appeared to almost be a solid sphere, a blinding energy emitting from it; it soon became impossible to look at. The pumps and piping of the chamber thudded loudly as fluids and steam filled them at increasing velocity, and the temperature of the chamber became noticeably hotter. It became clear that staying put would not be a good plan.

The party fled the chamber, and no matter the distance they put between the room and themselves, the intensity of energy seemed to grow exponentially, the entire chamber felt like it was vibrating beneath their feet. What became immediately apparent was that the gate that had barred them before was no longer there; it had been ripped clean of its hinges. Fortunately, no falmer had hurried to fill the void.

Before the party could decide what course of action to take, chunks of rock had begun to fall from the ceiling of the chamber, smashing into the ground with deafening impacts. The ruin wasn’t much safer; stress fractures were showing in the stones around them. They had to get out, that much was clear.

Outside of the ruin was utter chaos, the entire cavern was beginning to fall apart; the Beast was sprawled out on the ground, several heavy boulders smashing into it from above. The lift wasn’t safe, and there wasn’t a clear way out. “The river!” Rhea shouted, thinking on the fly. While it was possible it would lead to channels that were without oxygen, she reasoned the water had to come out somewhere. A huge pulse of energy lit up the cavern, driving into the ceiling, destabilizing it further. More and more heavy boulders and stalactites rained down from above, some smashing dangerously close. On the plus side, the green-white energy was enough that the non-khajiit could see in the cavern now, and the peril was immediately apparent. Not wishing to argue the wisdom of throwing themselves into a watery grave, the party sprinted for their only real hint of safety, narrowly avoiding being crushed from above. As the first ones jumped into the water, the cavern was so bright it might as well have been daylight. The air was growing so hot that it could immediately bring recollections of the Alik’r Desert to any who had experience that before.

The river was choppy and terrifying, dragging bodies beneath the waves before spitting them back up again several seconds later, unable to tell if low hanging rocks were waiting just above the surface. It was disorienting, deafeningly loud, and utterly terrifying. However, after several turns and drops, an encouraging sight was seen up ahead; daylight. The watery tunnel grew steeper and brighter until suddenly, the tunnel opened up into a sudden drop outside; after a few seconds of free fall, each member splashed into a deep pond, formed by centuries of water raining down from the mountain. The water carried those that surfaced up further down until they hit the banks.

Despite the terror of the ordeal, they had survived, and they were outside.

Daro’Vasora climbed out of the water, coughing water from her lungs, struggling to breath. After several laborious seconds, most of the water had been ejected from her lungs. She looked up from her hands and knees, weakly looking at the mountain that they’d come from. Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief;

The entire top third of the mountain wasn’t there anymore. Shooting into the sky was the green-white energy, pulsing out in such intensity that more and more of the eons of solid rock that had comprised of the mountains were shaking loose, causing rockslides that tumbled down the mountains. However, it was clear that they were safe where they were.

Rhea starred with agonized realization. “The camp. Everyone in the ruins…” she managed, the realization setting in. No one on top of the mountain could have survived that, the rock below their feet having been vaporized or otherwise exploded into the atmosphere under the intense, unknown energy. “Knuut.” she said, realizing her close friend and right hand man was gone. Everything they had built for weeks, the dozens of lives that had trusted in her expedition had all perished. All except for those who had survived the deeps with her.

Latro clawed from the river to a nearby rocky outcropping, once again feeling the cold seep back into his bones with the intimacy of a lover at that point. Each soft breeze sent him tensing up like a knife up his inner thigh as he shivered, coughed, shivered, coughed, and then after he’d retched up all the water he’d breathed as readily as air as he was tumbled about like a spider inside a glass, he collapsed against the rocks. When Rhea almost immediately began lamenting the loss of everyone else but those present in the expedition, he was almost guilty in the fact he was almost too exhausted to care enough to stand and fret with her.

He was alive, having survived almost drowning twice, being almost run through with a sword and more encounters with Falmer than he ever wanted in his life. That much was good enough for him. Weakly, he curled into a ball. The one grave loss that crossed his mind after the fact was that his instruments were among the casualties at the base camp. Surely, looking for them would prove as fruitless as looking for the bodies of the others in the rubble. Even then, he only mourned with naught but a deep frown and a sigh. “Fire,” he croaked, “Fire and shelter. We should move.”

Though he said it, he made no move to put actions to his words. He didn’t trust his legs, or his body overall to be able to make the trek to any settlement, city, or town, much less to just stand.

Daro’Vasora had managed to get to her feet, still coughing up a lung. “I don’t think any of us are in any shape to move far. I’ll go find some wood, or something.” she said, trying desperately not to consider what had actually happened. “Look, we survive now, freak out later, alright?”

Rhea’s eyes were glued to the energy projection, a mixture of dread, hatred, and guilt cementing her heart. “Do it.” Was all she managed. Whatever she was looking at, she knew that nothing good was going to come from it, and it was entirely her fault.

She screamed into the night.

The night had crept across the sky with the same slow determination the party had come together around the fire with. Each of them nursing wounds both physical and mental from the events of the day. Latro himself sat by the fire, going from staring at the embers to looking at Rhea, who had resigned herself to sitting a ways away from the others. He knew there was nothing he could say to console her, she would have to come upon it on her own. As for the others, they either stayed quiet or added to the din of hushed conversations.

Another aftershock of a tremor ran through Latro’s body as a breeze rolled through, swaying the fire slightly. His clothes were mostly dry and these little bouts of shaking were the only tangible evidence on him that the previous events were not indeed a bad dream. He fretted on that, hoping at any moment to wake up in his tent, go to meet the others in the first chamber, descend in the lift and have yet another mostly uneventful expedition into the deep-reaching ruins. Alas, he never did, and the onslaught of memories beat him over the head with the reality of it all each time. He sniffled and returned his hands to wrapping themselves around his chest, trying to conserve the warmth the fire was giving him.

He sighed, looking once more to the ravaged mountain, a faint suggestion in the night, but the pulsing pillar of energy glowing still, albeit just a touch more faintly. “What did we do?” He whispered to no one in dejection.

Daro’Vasora was leaning against a tree, still just within the warm radiance of the fire, her eyes locked on the energy that showed above, cascading above in a mesmerizing albeit entirely unnatural light that bathed the valley with a sickly green glow. A stick that had been shaved down of bark was grinding between her teeth, her mind racing with endless possibilities of that very question Latro asked.

“Other than accidently murder people we’ve been sleeping beside and eating with for the past few weeks? We blew up a mountain. Past that? Divines know if I have any idea. This is why we don’t trust ancient cave paintings when dealing with sophisticated dwemer bullshit.” she said, her voice even, exhaustion setting in.

The warmth of the blazing fire did little to ease the chill of fear writhing inside her. Brynja had nearly drowned on the escape out of the ruins, her steel-plated armor weighed her down like an anchor. Yet, she managed to survive. They all did. For better or worse. She had long since removed the armor, and had taken to drying herself out by the fire, seated next to Megana. In the orange glow of the fire, Brynja might have appeared less intimidating to her companions without her full set of armor. She appeared far more gangly, her arms and legs, though well muscled, took on an emaciated look with her still-wet clothes clinging to her like a slippery second skin.

Her set of leather trousers and jerkin took a bit longer to dry than cotton or canvas. Her hand slipped inside the flap of her rucksack, where she fished out a silver flask. Her last bit of alcohol. And she wasn’t about to savor it. The spiced whisky scalded her tongue in an intimate way. If she was going to die anytime soon, best drink the last of her reserves. With the last drop gone, Brynja sighed aloud, replacing the flask inside her pack.

“Does it matter what we did or didn’t do?” Brynja asked in return to Daro’Vasora’s question, not particularly looking for an answer. “We’re all alive. Somehow.” Her eyes were cast on the dancing flames, trying to block out the fact that the sky had turned green, casting the surrounding landscape in a pale green glow.

“Can you honestly look at our accidental cataclysm and think that it doesn’t matter, not even a little?” The Khajiit retorted, glancing over at Brynja, stick bouncing between her lips as her tongue worked the letters she spoke. “I’ve done a lot of solo expeditions, even hurt quite a few people and cheated others along the way, but I can’t say I’ve ever completely changed the landscape or annihilated an entire camp of innocent people who were just looking to get paid along the way. You have to admit this is just a bit fucked up.”

“Of course it is.” Latro spoke with perhaps the most harshness anyone had ever heard his voice, “I can go with you if you’d like, we swim back upstream and turn off that big fucking light and maybe put the rocks back up there.” Perhaps it was the fact he was too exhausted to care, perhaps it was Vasora’s earlier jibe about toying with ancient machines that he took just a bit personally, but he found it hard to hold his tongue at the person a few hours ago had saved his life and he’d bandaged, “It was do or die. In all of your expeditions, have you never had to do something or die?”

“What I meant was,” Brynja exhaled, an attempt to clarify what she meant seconds ago, “We can’t change the fact of what has happened.” She added softly after Latro’s last question to Daro’Vasora. “Accidental cataclysm or not.”

Daro’Vasora put up her hands, as if to ward off future blows. “Look, I’m not looking for a fight. Of course I’ve had to do all sorts of things to survive, and I’m definitely not complaining that I’m here and not up there. I just…” she struggled with the words, rubbing her freshly bandaged palms. “I’ve just never had anything like this happen to me. This is the kind of bizarre, unspeakable nonsense that happens in dusty old tomes in the library, not to real people. Any time I had to hurt or kill to survive, it only ever affected the ones who put me in that situation. I’ve always prided myself on keeping things contained. This… this is beyond me.”

“I’m sorry,” he spoke softly, in his more normal tone this time, “None of us have. This is...” He shook his head, “Damn it.”

Kneeling at the edge of the fire’s glow, Mortalmo’s lips moved silently and feverishly as he eyed the others, his eyes hard and his face creased with worry. Reduced now to simple furs and fabrics, still damp, he shivered. Either from the cold garb clinging to his skin or something else entirely, he could not, would not say. Still, he pulled his cloak closer around him, and inched ever so closer to the fire. The dwemer, Mortalmo decided, he was right to be wary of. Nothing good ever came of venturing too deeply into their ruins; the unearthly light hanging about them all was evidence of that fact. “Music,” Mortalmo said to himself, softly. “Music could help.” He rummaged through his pack for the bundle of cloth that he prayed had kept the contents within safely intact. His hopes were dashed within mere moments. Unravelling the cloth revealed the flute, cracked into two disproportionate pieces.

Snarling then, he seized up the ruined instrument with vigor, striding purposefully towards the edge of the fire, before casting the thing into the flames. “Damn it all! Damn it all to Oblivion!” The altmer released a shaky breath, taking a few steps away from the fire.

About a quarter of the way around the fire from Durantel, Gaius sat, staring unblinkingly into the core of the flames and watching the pieces of carven flute crackle away into smoke and ash. His armor was scuffed and scratched from the tumble down the river’s stony bed, and his face was ashen pale, a far cry from its usual tan shade, and totally expressionless. His sword’s sheath hung conspicuously empty by his side, the weapon lost somewhere up the raging dark waters. He’d barely survived the trip down the river. His armor had weighed him down so much that he’d breathed about as much water as he did air, and it showed. His journal lay in front of him, utterly beyond salvaging. The pattern of blocks he’d drawn just the night before—it seemed so much longer ago—had turned into a smudged mess of running ink, and all of his previous entries were similarly illegible.

“All I wanted was to find my brother,” he murmured, voice totally devoid of feeling. His hands began to shake, and he slowly stripped his gauntlets off, looking as if confused as they quaked. Whether from shock, fear, guilt or anger, he didn’t know. “Was that really too much to ask? Was it, Akatosh?” Anger slowly began to seep into his words as he rattled off the list of divines, and by the time he made it to Talos, he was bellowing in rage, spittle flying from his mouth as he kicked the edge of the fire savagely, scattering embers and sparks across the small campsite.

Mortalmo’s head whipped around to face Gaius. “You cry to false gods. And perhaps this is your just punishment.”

“Oh, here it comes.” Daro’Vasora murmured, looking back towards the mountain. It was surely less volatile than what was to come.

Gaius’ eyes bored into Durantel’s as he shook with rage. “Is that really what you worry about right now? What gods I choose to worship?” He flung a hand over towards the mountain, or at least what was left of it. “How many people are dead now, altmer? How many innocent lives were just lost for the sake of curiosity? Surely somewhere in that lauded mind of yours, you can find the idea that maybe, just maybe, their lives are more important, more worthy of agonizing over, than the worship of Talos!” He threw the gauntlet in his left hand to the ground and stood before the elf, fists clenched as he hyperventilated.

A laugh barked out from Mortalmo’s throat, and he stared back at the imperial with contempt. “Please, do try to calm yourself now.” Condescending, as an adult would speak to a petulant child. “Does the farmer grieve for his butchered cattle? Does the fisherman send a prayer for each fish he manages to snag on his line? Must I beg forgiveness to each and every blade of grass that is trampled beneath me?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not at all concerned with those who died atop that mountain.”

“And that’s probably why Talos broke your flute, Durantel.” Daro’Vasora chipped in, a mischievous tone to her voice, forcing an unexpected laugh out from Brynja. Even Latro snorted.

“You two remind me of one of the tombs I went down in High Rock, I was partnered up with a really zealous Bosmer who couldn’t go a day without praying three times, and a Nord hardline sovereigntist who was only doing it for the cash to raise a warband. The two spent so many nights arguing theology, really just chewing each other apart, the great ideological clash of men and mer that’s been going on ever since the Reman dynasty decided the Ayleids were a bunch of assholes.

“So anyways, to make a long story short, the two got in an argument as per usual, only this time, both decided to get into a shoving match, real manly stuff you see. The Bosmer gets his leg stuck in a bear trap, and the Nord thinks that hey, Talos finally made himself known. He struts ahead confidently, refusing to help his companion, only to forget that it was the Bosmer who’d been disabling all the traps ahead. He ends up with half an arm cut off from a swinging blade not ten steps later.” She smiled at the story, bouncing a foot up and down atop her knee, looking the two over. “And to think you two were doing so well in there, all brothers in arms against the falmer. Now look at you. We’re safe for a few hours and suddenly you’re arguing over how someone chooses to grieve. Do I need to get you both to go for a hike in opposite directions until you forget what the disagreement was about?”

“Your wit, cat, as ever, is both scathing and striking. I really did enjoy the fable. You can trust that I have no intention of coming to blows with the child before me.” Mortalmo frowned at the sky. Green suited it just as poorly as red.

“Keep picking at scabs and it isn’t your intentions we’ll have to fret over next fire.” Latro said, picking apart a piece of dry long grass, “People died. People will mourn, let’s keep all of our teeth together about how they’ll do it or there’ll be more to mourn and no one to limp back to the White-Gold city because Auriel’s favorite son decided to stoke fires with Talos’ most devoted acolyte.”

Mortalmo’s lips pressed themselves into a thin line. “I will not be the one to cast the first blow. I can say this much.” The breton spoke more sense than he was comfortable admitting aloud. Perhaps it would do some good to let Gaius alone for a time.

Gaius deflated, all the fury rushing out of him, and he sat down heavily, face buried in his hands. “Divines, eight or nine, I don’t care. Just…” Just what, Gaius? Fix this? A deep breath. No. This was not the gods’ place to fix, and he was a fool for even entertaining the idea. He lifted his head, staring up at the eerily-lit sky. After a moment he stood, back hunched, to retrieve his gauntlet before sitting down again, looking fruitlessly at the polished surface of the metal. What do I—we—do?

“None of this fucking matters.” Brynja stated, her eyes picking out the distraught figure of Gaius across the flames, she sympathized with the Imperial internally. She had felt like that in her time with the Legion as a healer, looking over every battle field for her brother, and even in her final years of service with Rorik. “None of it. What matters now is what we do. And that’s just it. What the fuck do we do now?” For some, payment would come to mind, but for Brynja, she was inwardly voicing her own concern. Were her services even needed?

“Now? Now I think we are all owed compensation for services rendered.” Mortalmo pointed languidly towards Rhea’s huddled form. “The expedition is over, is it not? We’ve all played our parts accordingly, and now I see no reason as to why we should remain in each other’s company past our remuneration.” Though, the immensity of the event that had transpired demanded some level of appreciation. Leaving this ordeal to rumor and hearsay was a poor course of action.

“I’d rather not talk coin so close to a graveyard.” Latro pursed his lips, “It is a point to be made, though. We could depart on our own endeavors once we reach White-Gold.” For once though, for whatever reason, wandering alone did not hold the same spread wings of freedom they once did to him. He looked around the fire, to Rhea, back still turned on all that was going on. He spoke to Vasora, “Where will you go?”

“I’ve still reason to claim Imperial City as my base of operations. Rhea’s from there, as well. I always figured that’s where her capital to fund the expedition is kept, not up in camp. It would be a bit silly to carry entire chests of coin up a mountain, wouldn’t it?” She asked rhetorically, sitting up before deciding to walk over to the fire and join the group proper. She sat next to Latro, enjoying having her feet free and facing the fire. “Truth be told, I was never really all that interested in coin. It’s passed my hands in such quantities that I could go months without worrying about lodging or food to nearly resorting to panhandling some months. For me, it’s always been about finding the next hidden treasure to appraise and sell to prestigious or ludicrously wealthy patrons just to build a name for myself. Those paintings and carvings we found in the ruins were probably the most valuable things I’ve come across in years, I was hoping to take credit for it.” She started to grin before looking back at the light behind her, her expression soured. “But you all know how that turned out. All any of us have to show for that is that we’re alive, I suppose. What about you, any grand adventures planned after this one, or was that enough excitement for a while?”

“Write songs, about this, maybe. The Snow Elves. Wander.” Latro shrugged, “I never peek over the mountains before I get to them. Maybe I’ll go back to High Rock, become some noble’s court minstrel and live out my days never worrying if my tent’s got a rip and that those gray clouds seem awful dark.”

“Oh, come now. You know you’d go stir crazy within a month. What kind of song can be inspired by being trapped in some nobleman’s keep? Ode to the Chamberpot? The Seven Hour Audience with the Peasants?” Daro’Vasora giggled. “You signed up for an expedition for a reason, and travelled all this way for what I presume is some sort of adventure, am I wrong?”

Latro smiled, “True enough,” he shook his hands of all the pieces of dried grass he’d torn apart, “And what of the quarrelsome companions? Durantel, Gaius?” He smiled softly to the Nord woman who’d sealed his gut-wounds shut, “Brynja?”

She shook her head softly, the sudden intake of whisky had a hold on her, “I… won’t be going anywhere. If it’s to the Imperial City, so be it.” There were other reasons for her to continue on with the group, but she wasn’t about to voice them so publicly, what with the whisky making her tongue loose.

“There’s been many a time that I missed a healer and an able sword in my travels.” Latro smiled, “Perhaps you’ve a few songs waiting to be written.”

Her brows rose at Latro’s words, an unexpected comment that left her without anything to say. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, where she cast her eyes down towards the fire, he reminded her then, of Rorik. “It is my duty. If… the need arises again, you can count on me to be there once more.” She said, lifting her gaze to meet his with a nod of her head.

Gaius sighed. “The Imperial City for me as well. I need to let Helena know that I’m alright.” And maybe Lucius is back, he added to himself, reminding himself once again of the reason he’d actually come on this sojourn.

“I believe,” Mortalmo began. “That notifying some higher power of what happened here seems pertinent. We have no way of knowing what that device unleashed.” The faintest shudder ran throughout Mortalmo’s form. “It all seemed far too deliberate a result to attribute to simple malfunction.” Maybe paranoia was beginning to grip him, maybe. But Mortalmo could not count out the possibility that the choices made in that mountain would have far-reaching consequences. “So I agree, the Imperial City would not be a poor choice.”

Judena had spent her time away from the fire and core conversation for sometime gathering a scraped together meal for everyone. Carrying sore shoulders and a heavy heart from being ejected out the mountainside. She had spent the first minutes out of the water recording several pages of what she witnessed in hopes to not miss a single detail. Truthfully her feelings poured across the freshly restored pages, high in contrast to her daily logs being concise in nature. In her arms she carried several fish of various sizes, already gutted and ready to be roasted. It was all she thought to do while others struggled to reconcile with what they saw.

Perhaps it was the shock and grief, perhaps it was just being tired from nearly dying three times over in much too short a period of time, or perhaps it was the security of the sky above her head and the warmth of the fire, but not soon after Brynja had taken her seat next to her, Meg had closed her eyes, rested her head on her knees, arms wrapped around them as she held them close to her chest. It hadn’t been restful, but she hardly expected rest to feel any sort of rest for the next few weeks at least. Still, she hadn’t really wished to share her feelings or anything of the sort at that time.

She had lifted her head not when the argument had ensued, which was probably for the better. Who needed fights about true gods and false ones right after escaping death? And why had such topics even been brought up? She couldn't understand it. Didn't Durantel realize that they had to work together to keep each other alive so as to come up here? Any of them could have chosen to leave a companion behind... but they hadn’t. Her grip around her knees had tightened before relaxing once more. She couldn't have expect someone to think like her if her own father still held his prejudices against others who were different that him.

Still... it always made her wonder what went on in people’s minds that caused them to continuously bring things like this up. Perhaps it was the older altmer’s way of dealing with the shock of what had happened?

Nevertheless, it was when talks had calmed that Meg finally opened her eyes, letting out quiet breath. Her green eyes flitted from person to person, listening to their plans of what they would be doing now. She honestly hadn’t the slightest clue, having expected this expedition to have gone long enough that she’d have time to make up plans.

“What of you?” Brynja asked, Meg, as she preferred to be addressed, had stirred from her hunched position. “Are you coming with us?”

"Uh..." Meg thought about Whiterun for a bit before mentally shaking her head. She definitely couldn't go back there; her father would wonder what was the matter while her stepmother would probably have another hissy fit about her returning so soon after leaving.

"Why not?" she finally answered, giving the older Nord a small, lopsided smile. "I've been slackin' in adventures for a while now. Imperial City..." She couldn't help but let out ghost of a laugh at that. "Should be fun headin' somewhere I've never been. My father's from there but..." She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "Not like he'd ever go back."

Similar to Meg, Sol had remained silent for the grief-ridden, anger fuelled conversation darting around camp. He’d been stuck wandering through his own thoughts, still trying to shake off the shock of what had happened. This was groundbreaking… literally. He couldn’t understand how it had all happened so fast; the room, then the ceiling caving in, nearly drowning in the river - as he recapped everything in his head, a light shudder went through his body. Sol had never been a strong swimmer, after having never really been taught to do so as a child. Although he didn’t have a true fear of water, it was certainly uncomfortable being caught in it. Especially in heavy armour. Even after clambering out of the river; spewing water from his lungs and taking several painful but wonderful breaths of the icy air, his armour weighed him down - sodden and retaining most of the water it had taken on. By the time the fire had been built, he’d stripped most of his armour off, setting it near the fire to stop it rusting. As of now, he sat with his back to the fire, shivering in his thin clothes, the shirt still torn and blood-stained at the shoulder. The wound hadn’t reopened, thankfully, but it still hurt like a bugger.

Tilting his head up to look at the sky, now a sickly green hue, Sol considered their situation. Unlike the others, he didn’t particularly feel any loss for those still on top of the mountain and within the ruin. He was just hired muscle, and hadn’t built up any kind of relationship with those that had died. But the others certainly didn’t need to hear that - while unaffected himself, he could understand grief. But regardless of how everyone felt, something had to be done about this tragedy. What was the purpose of it? Surely a mechanism of the Dwemer, but what did they have to gain from half-destroying a mountain for a light show?

“Has something like this ever been recorded?” He asked quietly; question directed towards the closest researcher to him, Daro’Vasora, though he was eager for an answer off anyone present. “Should we be worried about other Dwemer ruins holding the same nasty surprise?”

“Are you set on going back into any of them?” Latro asked, “I’m no historian, but surely it’d be talked about if something like this ever happened before. I wonder how far off anyone can see this.” Latro wondered, looking again at the light ascending far past where his sight could reach.

“I mean other than the Dwemer vanishing instantly at the Battle of the Red Mountain? Nothing I’ve come across. They disappeared two eras ago. A lot has been lost in that time.” Daro’Vasora replied, looking towards Solandil with tired eyes. “It’s been widely accepted they paid for their hubris of trying to become greater than the Divines and the Princes, culturally they believed that there was nothing they couldn’t accomplish with technology and ingenuity. They even largely shunned magic because of it. Problem is, books have a hard time surviving thousands of years and most of our insight about them has been limited to what scholars have interpreted by studying the ruins and estimating what purposes they served.”

The Khajiit looked back to the light, her fingers tracing along her palms. “However, if there’s one thing I know about the Dwemer, it’s that nothing they ever built was without purpose. The real question is this; what is the purpose of a device that expels so much energy and maintains the output?”

Judena listened, building the fire more to cook what she caught spearing the fish in a circle around the embers. She sat back on her heels, eyes on Rhea’s back concerned for their leader. Jude possibly had the best of their trip outside the mountain, thrown against rocks by the powerful torrents. Bruised but not feeling the chill of the night from the water. Daro’Vasora puzzled over the machinery casting the eerie green glow in the sky, it truly was a mystery. Sol’s question was one that she wondered herself as well. In all her time in and around ruins of various origin, nothing quite compares. “Dwemer artifacts have unique markers for age, the majority of intact pieces we have been able to study come from deep inside preserved ruins. Similarly to the one we were just in, untouched for hundreds of years to tell us a story that we clearly do not know much beyond the surface. A puzzle, I feel as though all the clues just went up in the most spectacular fiery fashion.” She gestured to the mountain. It was frustrating from a scholar and historian’s point of view to see all your clues be torched without much of say. A tragedy on all fronts.

She rotated the fish, evenly cooking the meat. She wondered idly how much she would forget the next morning, thankful for recording everything in detail as it was fresh. “I am unsure how to proceed from here. The Imperial City would be the best route to collect our bearings, recover and decide.” She plucked a spear using Flames in her hand to finish off the fish, “Please, I caught enough for everyone to have two. I will go see to Rhea.”

She stood carrying a spear to the Imperial woman. Offering it wordlessly, the explorer seemed wrapped up in the confines of her own mind. “Ma’am. When you are ready to join us, the fire will do well to chase the chill away of the water and the events of the day. If there- If there is some consolation, I did record names and likeness of everyone I met at the camp. We can bring some families peace in their account and loss.”

Jude stabbed the spear into the ground close to Rhea. “If you can, eat it before it gets too cold.” Taking a few backward steps she idly scratched at her ‘beard’ then walked back to the fire.

In the time Jude had gone and returned, Meg had decided eating some fish was the right course of action for the time being. All that being jostled about did cause her to feel peckish, though it was only now that the she felt the hunger, probably due to the lovely aroma of freshly cooked fish. By the time she took her first bite, she had to make sure she didn't have any saliva rolling off her chin.

She swallowed what was in her mouth before speaking up. "Thanks for the fish, Judena." It was certainly nice of the Argonian to make enough for all of them.

“Aye, many thanks.” Brynja chipped, she had helped herself to some fish as well.

For Anifaire, the shock was beginning to fade. She felt loss over the explosion, but rather than for the lives at the top of the mountain, she grieved the loss of everything preserved in the lower levels of the ruins. She’d been so close, standing right next to Dwemer writings, and hadn’t been able to study any of it. Now it was destroyed. As for the people… that loss didn’t hit her. Without the bodies staring her in the face, it was difficult to be distraught over people she hadn’t known.

She’d sat, quietly, by the fire. Her clothes were dry now, and she’d begun to feel more comfortable, especially as she ignored the chatter of those around her. Conversation seemed too foreign, as though after the ordeal she’d been through, she’d forgotten how to interact with others in a setting that was far less life threatening.

Despite the exertion of the day and not having eaten since the morning, Daro’Vasora wasn’t hungry. Her guts felt twisted and she wasn’t the kind of person who ate when stressed; it was rather the opposite. “Thank you, I’m not hungry at the moment. Save some for me though, I think I’m going to go for a walk.” she told Judena. Despite feeling rather exhausted, she needed to clear her head and take a few moments to reflect away from the group. Rising up with protesting and sore legs, she offered a half-hearted waved to the group, stepping outside of the fire’s warming glow as she headed towards the river.

Judena watched her associate go, waving a little. Then quickly she plucked two spears in one hand then another two for her other hand.

Mortalmo eyed the fish skewered over the fire doubtfully. He still had some jerky left in his pack, even if it was slightly damp. Better that than to be fed by a lizard. He rose from his post then, and strode towards Anifaire, nearly brushing shoulders with Daro’Vasora as she made her exodus from the campsite. Wordlessly, he extended a piece of jerky towards the younger altmer, seating himself. The poor thing needed to eat, and he disliked the thought of Anifaire consuming a meal prepared by Judena even less than if he were to eat out of that animal’s palm himself. He saw Solandil, back turned to the fire, out of the corner of his eye. Deformed as he was, the three of them were better off allying themselves with each other than not. The way the albino had handled himself in the ruin was nothing short of admirable.

He turned his focus back to Anifaire then. “My lady,” He spoke to her softly, an unfamiliar compassion staining his voice. “I would be happy to share my provisions with you.”

Anifaire looked up in surprise when Mortalmo approached her. She considered the offered jerky for a moment before accepting it. It would be more agreeable to her than fish, with her weakened stomach. At least it didn't have a smell.

“Thank you, Durantel,” Anifaire replied, polite, a reflex but sincere. She began nibbling at the jerky, and thankfully it didn't turn her stomach. Things didn't feel quite normal yet, but she was getting there.

“It is my pleasure to be of service to you.” Spoken clearly and sincerely. He leaned closer then, voice dropping to a low whisper, amber eyes boring into Anifaire. “I am yours to call on. I dislike and distrust near all of our company. It would be wise of you to stay close to me, my lady.” He pulled away from her then, and called out to Solandil. “I have some jerky left to spare, should you lack sustenance of your own.” Let the others see what company he chose for himself. He had no intention of making nice with lesser creatures, least of all the ones currently surrounding him. He found solace in the knowledge that he would soon be free of them and their foul companionship, once Rhea dolled out her owed septims. Perhaps he would purchase some sort of curio to send back to Alinor.

Anifaire nodded in response to her companion, mulling over the words briefly. She glanced around at their companions. While competent people, she didn’t feel very comfortable in their company. They were a strange bunch, many of which were unlike anyone she’d ever met. Durantel was, of course, a more amiable companion. Normal. She doubled down on the jerky.

After retrieving her spears of fish she took a seat down beside Gaius, nibbling away in mindful company. She saved two spears for Daro’Vasora but offered one of her two to Gaius. She had not heard what he said earlier but the event of the day dragged his shoulders down. “Here you are. Be careful of the bones.” She freed up her hand then dug out her logbook, scanning the pages for a name, “Gaius Milonem the Third, we carry with us the task of delivering the dead’s final accounts to their families. The unfettered story of what had happened here today. It is a burden, but we carry it all the same.” A snort came from Mortalmo’s direction.

She tore into the meat, flipping to the next page remembering her first notes in regards to the Imperial man. They were all positive, detailing the way his voice sounded to how he wore his clothes. Her notes were of this nature in regards to everyone she met, details. Wiping at the grease gathering at the edge of her mouth she finished her portion, digging into her dry bag she pulled free a heavily bruised but intact apple.

---

It had been a rough nine days.

The first two days had been spent on foot, navigating the difficult mountainous terrain and Southern Jerall foothills, having to forage for food when the opportunities arrived. The survivors headed East, towards Bruma, the closest city. Exhausted, dirty, and generally in low spirits, the group spent a couple of days in the city replenishing supplies, sleeping in proper beds and eating proper meals, and arranging passage to Imperial City to the South. The light from the dwemer ruin seemed to have died down somewhat, although it was all anyone seemed to be interested in talking about in town. Rumours were plentiful, and only a few even came close to the mark. By the time the caravan headed South, most, if not everyone, was all too ready to leave the gossipers behind.

Spirits had improved considerably by the time the caravan made it to Imperial City, the four wagons traveling during the day and stopping for the night to allow the horses rest, food, and water, and now that everyone was rested and fed, the tension that followed them was a lifetime away, it felt, save for the occasional moment when recollections of what happened that day in the mountains came back; the glow in the night sky to the North, although fainter, was a harsh reminder of what had come before.

It was a relief when the towering walls of Imperial City were spotted at last in the distance; at a circumference of roughly five kilometers and a population numbering in the hundreds of thousands, it was easy to see how Imperial City was the long-reigning capital of multiple Empires and arguably the de facto center of all of Tamriel, both geographically and economically. It was Alyeids who constructed the city back in the First Era, and since then it had changed hands a number of time, and now both men and mer had something of a claim to its heritage.

Behind its colossal walls was a ring of six districts, the Westernmost one, the Talos Plaza district, that acted as the main portal into the city itself from the only bridge into and out of the city. As the caravan drew closer, evidence of the Great War lingered with damage to the walls and masonry all over, the reconstruction efforts for such a colossal city slow going given its scale and limited manpower and resources after the greatest war in modern history. Even today, labourers and masons were hard at work trying to restore the splendor of the city, but as great as their work often was, the repairs were often discoloured and uneven as a result of being the first new masonry done in centuries. The entire city was covered in similar scars, and those were on top of those earned during the Oblivion Crisis when Mehrunes Dagon himself rampaged through the city with his Daedric hordes.

After a brisk 20 minute ride to cross the bridge itself, which was absolutely teeming with horse and foot traffic, the caravan passed through the towering wooden gates, the Imperial Dragon sigil still proudly cast in iron upon the facade. Entering the Talos Plaza district, the expensive residential area of the city filled with mansions and most of the city’s nobles and aristocracy, Rhea turned to speak with the others,

“Home sweet home. My family residence is in this district, as is the bank where I’ve been keeping my expedition investments stored away to afford my explorative whims.” she said with a sad smile, looking at each of her companions in turn. The heavy losses they endured made each of them precious to her, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye, and it would be bittersweet to say goodbye. Still, she owed them their dues for the expedition, and it wouldn’t take long to free up the funds.

“Valerius Manor is in the Southwest, two blocks from the Temple District gate. The family name is out front, as are a pair of gargoyles that flank the front steps. It’s hard to miss. Come by in three nights, I will have your compensation packages put together, along with a few extra surprises as a token of my gratitude and to hopefully help make some pleasant memories out of the ordeal. You are all invited for supper that evening, if you wish to stay. I will also arrange transportation for those of you who do not call the city home to return to your own.” Her expression lightened up somewhat, signalling for the carriage driver to stop as she dismounted. She called up one last time, “Remember, three days! Of course, that’s not to say I’m adverse to a social call if I happen to be home before then. Farewell!”

With that, everyone was left with three days to spend in the largest city in Tamriel.

A collab by @Dervish and I

3 Hours Later…
The sheer size of the Imperial City frustrated Brynja, she had taken a wrong turn somewhere along the line, and after help from several locals, she ended up in the market district. It was unlike anything she had experienced, there were so many people, of all races, wandering through the streets. Hell, she had even seen a handful of Nords. Though none of the citizens paid much attention to her, except for the occasional gawker, perhaps they thought her another contender in the Arena? She certainly looked the part, she hadn’t the place to relieve herself of her armor, so she stuck to wearing it.

Her brow was slick with sweat as she tried to navigate around the daily hustle and bustle, on one occasion, she elicited a yell from a carriage driver as she had strolled blindly into the horses path. To say the least, her nerves were frayed from the overwhelming sensations of such a lively city. She had tasked herself with replacing some of the items destroyed in the flight from the mountains. Her journal for one, was completely waterlogged, her inkpot destroyed, and her quill snapped in half. And that was just half the problem. Her potion bottles were shattered, and all of her alchemical ingredients had been saturated with a mixture of ink and water. A complete mess.

On her search, Brynja caught the attention of a gaping child, a little Dunmer girl. She could feel the child’s eyes on her back, gawking at her sheer size surely, when she turned to face her. She had to admit it, she was hopelessly lost. “Little girl.”

Her crimson eyes widened, as if she were caught stealing.

“Can you tell me where I can find some potion bottles?”

“Ah… there’s a shop, down yonder, with a big wooden sign. It’s got two large C’s carved into it.” A flash of a smile crosses her face before she turned and ran off.

“Bloody kids.” Brynja grumbled as she trudged off.

Sure enough, a wooden sign depicting two engraved C’s with the words Curious Curios scrawled in an elegant script caught her attention as it hung above a storefront. Uncertain if she had found the right place, Brynja decided to give it a shot, and opened the door. She crossed the threshold into a dimly lit room, where she stood with a profound look of confusion splayed across her features. Her eyes blinking fast to adjust to the glow of oil lamps.

A number of mounted oils lamps fixated on varnished wood beams, each were carved into cylindrical shapes with flat ends for the lanterns and other objects to be mounted for display. Along the southern walls, oval windows let in a decent amount of light, the glass divided into green and clear checkers between iron struts that formed a cross-hatched diamond shape. The floors were hardwood, and someone very clearly cared about how clean they were kept, and despite some obvious wear, they had a sheen like they were varnished every few years.

The north wall that lead to a backroom behind a door, and a spiral stairwell were roped off, more of a polite deterrent for curious visitors than something meant to act as a barrier. A well-stocked bookshelf took up most of the free space, filled with a mix of books and smaller display items like stones, inexpensive jewelry, skulls, common decorative bits found in tombs and ruins, pieces from dwemer automata such as gears and struts, and baskets filled with soul gems. More expensive pieces, such as swords and more rare artifacts, were kept in locked glass cases of thick glass and wood that was stained black. Across the floor, all manner of other things were kept, such as a large globe, a map case, an assortment of calipers, alchemy tools, gemstones, and more impressively, a complete cave bear skeleton and a woodland troll skeleton; a pair of mammoth tusks, a trio of varla stones in authentic Ayleid pedestals, and an assortment of welkynd stones, giving off lighting where the torches did not reach. All in all, it was an impressively kept shop.

Out of the back room came an orismer man, standing only slightly taller than Brynja. His chin had a grey-black beard that was braided with care, matching the ponytail he wore proudly atop his head. Both of his tusks had ornate rings about them and he was adorned in a forest-green tunic and dark brown trousers with ankle-high boots to match. He carried himself with a straight back and purposeful posture, a man of refinement. However, a pair of curious and welcoming emerald eyes peered out under bushy eyebrows, he looked up from a book he had been carrying with him with one hand, taking notice of his new visitor.

“Why, greetings! You are a new face, welcome to Curious Curios, where the wonders of the world end up for fine folk like yourself to lose yourself in. May I be of assistance?” he asked, a polite refinement to his voice, hinting at a respectable upbringing.

“Oh… uh… hello. Yes. I was told I could find some potion bottles here? But…” as her eyes adjusted to the lighting, she could see, that once again, she had perhaps walked into the wrong store. Her gaze shifted to take in the items on display, trying to locate what she sought.

“I think I might be lost…” She said through a terse sigh, “Unless you happen to have some glass bottles I can use for holding potions in?”

“Almost all of the bottles you’ll find here are somewhat antiquities at this point, my dear.” The orc replied politely, walking over to guide Bryna to the shelves where some of the glassware were displayed.

“Not to say that some of it wouldn’t suit your purposes, mind you, but there’s some history to most of what we have in stock, or generally just ornate craftsmanship. If you were planning on keeping them in your abode and for gentle use, I would think they would suit your needs and give a fine second life to them, but if you are planning on going out on rough and tumble adventures, I would recommend a proper alchemy shop. There’s a few within a ten minute walking distance around the Market district, although I would highly recommend Reginald’s Reagents and Supplies to the north. He seems to be a bit more fair minded when it comes to budgetary concerns, and he carries a fine stock, although not as much in the way of specialty items.”

Brynja had followed the orc over to the shelf, and took to admiring the ornate bottles. Too bad, if she weren’t traveling, she might have bought one of the bottles before her. They were, in her mind’s eye, what looked to be captured essences of the stars worked into glass, truly a marvelous work of craftsmanship. There were some bottles with red and green hues, while others appeared in curious shades of blue and deep purple. Others were clear, or amber colored, and came in all shapes and sizes. With a heavy hearted sigh, she turned to the orc, “Well thank you for your help, sir. If I weren’t on the road, I’d surely buy one of these bottles.” Or if she had a home to store it in at that, she thought bitterly.

Just as she turned away from the shelf, she felt her rucksack catch on something, and the sharp sound of glass breaking froze her to the spot. Her face turned crimson at the sound, not the first time in her life that her size had been a factor in knocking things over. “Oh Gods be damned!” She hissed.
“I’m terribly sorry, let me pay you for the…” She turned then to look at what it was she had broken. A small amber bottle with a long neck, with a carved topper in the shape of a flower lay shattered on the immaculate floors. It certainly looked expensive. “...bottle.” She finished, a hard lump forming in her throat.

The orc simply closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. Within moments, his composure was back to normal, and he gently guided Brynja away from the site. “If you would, please remove and carry your pack while in the store. I would be amiss if I didn’t say I’ve done something similar on more than one occasion. It’s a shame, I was rather fond of that piece, it is-”

“A perfume jar dating back to the early 3rd Era, likely around Magnus Septim’s reign. It was found near Cheydinhal in some elderly hag’s possession that she was trying to barter off for skooma money. You’re rather fortunate that that wasn’t one of my prouder finds, Brynja.” An all too familiar voice came from the stairwell.

Setting the rope back into position, and now wearing a nicely fitted red and black dress with a plunging neckline, a ruby amulet set into a white gold fixture of Redguard design and the same dwemer wrist bangles that she had plundered in the ruins up in the Jerall mountains was Daro’Vasora tidied up, and actually looking somewhat feminine and well-kept from how Brynja was accustomed to seeing her. She regarded the broken glass with impish eyes. “I don’t suppose you have a spare 60 Septims to pay for that one, do you?” she asked.

She felt like she was in front of her mother again during one of her lessons in etiquette. She grimaced at the sound of Daro’Vasora’s condescending voice, sending a shiver down her spine, funny how the two women sounded so similar.

“Hello, Vasora.” Brynja said with a curt nod of her head, her eyes lingering on the Khajiit before her for a few seconds too long. It was strange, certainly, seeing her fellow companion appearing… well… in an outfit that complimented her figure.

“I…” She fished for her pouch of septims tucked inside her breastplate, “not exactly…” of course she didn’t. She had spent half her money on drink alone in Bruma. 60 septims for some old timey perfume bottle? She was actually 25 septims short of what Vasora asked.

“I didn’t think so. I’m surprised if you were actually able to hold onto that kind of coin at one time. You’ve always struck me as… frivolous.” The Khajiit remarked, staring up at the troll skull staring down at her.

“Sora, we’ve spoken about this.” Zegol chided her. “This woman is a guest and customer, berating her for an accident is unbecoming.”

“We’re colleagues. She’s one of the ones who came back to town with me. Did you not hear me call her by name?” She asked with an innocent smile. Zegol grunted, unamused.

“My point still stands. You still have a room here, you always will, but you will respect my rules while staying with me.”

Daro’Vasora grinned, picking up one of the welkynd stones from the shelf, spinning it in her grip. “Oh, hush old man. Just put these closer to the front with a sale tag on it, and you’ll make the coin back with a single transaction. Now Brynja might have the physical grace of her dearly departed relative’s skeleton we have on display, but at least allow her to make it up to you. Do you not have a package you need sent off?” she asked the orc.
A smile crossed the orc’s face. “I’d say that’s a fair compromise. Would you mind running something down to the courier for me, Brynja? I would consider that a fair compromise and apology. The walk just isn’t as kind to my knees as when I was a younger man.”

“Yes, of course.” She said, her eyes darting to Vasora. Always with the troll and giant taunts. The Khajiit was no different than her brothers, the rowdy kids from her childhood, the soldiers in the Legion, or even the men she encountered alone these days. “I can ensure you that I’ll get it there safely. Where… ahm, am I taking this package to?”

“I’ll take you there. We want to make sure that your parcel arrives, no?” Daro’Vasora said, smiling innocently as Zegol disappeared into the back room for a few moments. He emerged with a cloth and twine wrapped parcel with a note on top with the relevant delivery information. He handed it to Brynja gratefully. “Please don’t fret over the glass, my dear. This is a very kind favour you’re doing for me, I am grateful.”

“It is the least I can do for destroying your priceless bottle.” She could feel the heat in her cheeks return. Her mother always chastised her for her lack of “bodily awareness”.

And so, Daro’Vasora set out with Brynja in tow. The Khajiit seemed to be in her element among the crowds and smooth stone streets. Merchants hawked their wares in front of stalls set up in neat and orderly rows, and a number of store fronts promised wares ranging from books to arms, alchemy reagents to horse saddles.

“So, in the largest city in Tamriel, where you could go your entire life without seeing the same person twice, you show up in my personal life in a matter of hours. I don’t know if I should be annoyed or impressed.” Daro’Vasora said, her strides measured and almost elegant. It was as if she transformed in a matter of hours.

“Well if it’s any bit of consolation, I wouldn’t have recognized you had you not changed clothes. Or said my name for that matter. Though I suppose it’d be different for a big oaf like me, what with the intelligence and size of a troll. Or giant. Probably both.” She said the last few sentences under her breath.

“You’re surprisingly modest.” Daro’Vasora observed. “I would have thought you’d have wanted to refute my snarky comments.” Brynja merely grunted in response.

Daro’Vasora made a line towards one of the food vendors, an unassuming man reading from The Black Horse Courier, the oldest newspaper in the city. He smiled when he watched the women approach, and after a polite exchange, Daro’Vasora left with a bag of honey-glazed tree nuts. She took one for herself and offered another to Brynja.

“I always get these for Zegol. It’s kind of my little appreciation ritual when I get back into town and need to stay with him.” she explained.

Brynja eyed the glazed nuts as if they were coated in poison, and came out the asshole of Sheogorath himself. She accepted the offering, nevertheless, and popped the treat inside her mouth. Once she had swallowed the morsel, she cleared her throat and looked at Vasora, “So how did you end up with the orc, seems like an unlikely pairing.”

“Long story short? He’s an old associate of my father who agreed to take me in after Leyawiin grew perhaps a bit too small for my liking. I had similar interests to his profession as a relic hunter, proved to him that I am historically inclined, and instead of just being a leech, I helped him expand his business. The more he taught me the tricks of the trade, the more I was able to bring back for him to sell off. Of course, his connections became my own, and I’ve earned quite a bit of coin thanks to what I’ve learned from Zegol. He’s practically an uncle to me, I love him.” The Khajiit explained, letting out a light sigh as she debated taking another nut before tying the bag off.

“He’s the most kind soul I’ve ever met, and he’s the kind of man who would give whatever he could spare if it helped out someone in need. I hate seeing people take advantage of him, and I spent most of my teen years being the biting voice he lacked because I can’t stand by and watch people talk down to him, or try to swindle him. He wants to believe everyone’s good, that the bad ones just don’t know it yet. That’s why instead of being upset over your clumsy mistake, he’s grateful you’re being so generous to him. He would have let it slide, but to me that’s income that he won’t be getting, and his business is very volatile. Sometimes, every septim matters. I trust you understand.” Daro’Vasora said, glancing over at Brynja. She knew the city well enough that she didn’t even need to look at the signs.

It was strange, hearing the kindred words uttered by Vasora, Brynja was used to hearing her sardonic wit. She listened to every word, coming to understand the Khajiit and how Zegol helped influenced her. When it came to the matter of septims, a winded sigh escaped.

“I understand… I spent a bit too much of my coin in Bruma.” She said, though it didn’t justify her spending habits, “Couldn’t sleep much.” She added in a mumble.

“What of your folks? You mentioned your father…” Brynja said, hoping to turn the tide of conversation back to Vasora. She didn’t like talking much about herself, it only made her feel awkward, and out of place. Far too much darkness haunted her, so she preferred to push it down into the crevices of her mind when it came to conversation. It helped her to focus on another’s voice than listening to the one inside her head.

“Still in Leyawiin, being the properly connected upper echelons of society. They’re actually supposed to be coming here next month some time, it’s part of why I took Rhea’s job offer. I wanted the extra money to lodge and feed them for their stay.” Daro’Vasora explained, offering a quizzical glance. “So no, I’m not an orphan, if that’s what you were worried about.”

“Wasn’t worried about if you were an orphan. Just curious about your folks.” Brynja said, “I figured some light conversation wouldn’t hurt.” She stopped walking midway in an attempt to gather her bearings, not that it helped, she was already lost again.

“How much further til we’re there?”

“It’s near the Talos Plaza gate.” Daro’Vasora explained, which gave them a bit of time yet. It was something that was an essential truth about the Imperial City; it could either be extremely quick and convenient, or the better part of the day to do something unless you were willing to pay for public transit. Fortunately, the courier was more along the former. After a few more twists and turns, their destination was up ahead next to the city stables where a number of horses were corralled. The two women entered the courier’s shop where a young Breton man in his early 20s with a sandy blonde ponytail and freckles across his nose busied himself with writing in a ledger.
“Perceval. It’s been a while.” Daro’Vasora announced, walking up to the counter. The man’s face lit up.

“Oh! Daro’Vasora, it’s been far too long. I’ve been missing you.” He looked over to Brynja and the parcel she carried. “And who might you be, madam?”

“You can call me Brynja, no need for formalities.” She extended her hand towards the Breton for him to shake. He reached out to shake her hand, and when her hand curled around his, an expression of grimace spread across his face.

“That’s some grip you have!” He exclaimed, holding his hand to his chest, before shaking it out in an attempt to return some feeling to his extremities. Taking the parcel, he read the note on top, and recorded the information with surprisingly pleasant handwriting.

“That will be six septims, and we’ll have it on its way.” Perceval said amicably, a light suddenly coming on in his eyes.

“Oh, I just remembered! Something came in for you, Daro’Vasora! Give me a moment.” he disappeared behind a curtain into the backroom, leaving the two women in front of the counter, and Brynja searching her coin purse.

When Perceval came back, he carried a wax-sealed scroll and a small jar that was evidently filled with sweets. “That’s just a bit extra, for being such a… you know, wonderful customer. A thank you reward!”

“I’m sure you give that to all the girls. Thank you, Percy.” Daro’Vasora said, taking both the scroll and the jar with a playful brush of a finger across his hand. He beamed, acting like a love-sick puppy.

“It is my genuine pleasure.” Perceval said, receiving Brynja’s payment. That transaction concluded, the duo headed outside again. Daro’Vasora placed the jar in her bag and peeled back the wax seal with a claw. Her eyes began to scan the parchment, the Khajiit navigating around the crowd with well-practice peripheral vision. “That boy’s taken a fancy to me ever since he laid eyes on me. Some kind of cross-species fetishist, that one. As long as he keeps showering me with gifts, I let him dream. We both win, right?”

Brynja cast a long sided glance at Daro’Vasora, she felt sick. Not for her… but of other past reminders. It reminded her of Rorik, and his loose ways. Playing with the hearts of maidens as if they were nothing more than butterflies flitting between flowers. Her stomach turned at the recollection.

“I’m not the one to tell you how to live, but I think it’s a bit cruel to lead someone along like that. Why not tell the poor thing the truth, and save him the heartbreak?” She asked as her eyes swept the area, a weak attempt to remember her whereabouts.

“Shall we head back to your mentor’s? I’m still in need of a few items anyways. He’ll be happy to know the parcel was mailed out accordingly.” Brynja stated. Though she would have to decide on how to spend her coin wisely.
The Khajiit blinked, shaking her bag. “Sweets, remember?” she reiterated, practicing a well-practiced tone of playful ignorance.

“Besides, if he wanted more than the fantasy, he’d ask me himself. So far, just schoolyard infatuation that he’s too shy to act upon. Not saying I’d say yes necessarily, but I’ve been proven wrong before. He also has no idea what I do for a living, and chances are I’ve pilfered and sold something that belonged to his great-great-grandmother. Ignorance is best, yes?”

“Bliss. Ignorance is bliss.” Brynja corrected her, not the best, but it could be bliss. “I suppose if you enjoy the benefits of free sweets, then by all means, don’t stop. Honesty never hurt anyone, or at least a dilated version of it.” She added.

“In my experience, honesty only really counts if you are close to someone. All bets are off past that, because someone will try to swindle you. And yes, we’ll head back that way. What did you need to acquire?” Daro’Vasora continued reading over the note, letting out a long, annoyed, “Ugggh, him, really?” she asked rhetorically, her ears folding back and a quizzical raise of an eyebrow were involuntary reactions to the news she was reading.

“La’Shuni’s my kid sister, adorably innocent girl at that. She’s apparently seeing J’Kharrid, who’s a real piece of work. I thought I taught her to have some better standards, but alas, I can’t be there to teach her such fine things as taste, and that she could have anyone she wants, settling for bloody J’Kharrid is like settling for someone who eats paste because one of his crossed eyes lingered on you for too long.” Daro’Vasora said, rolling up the parchment, and putting it away. “She better not be bringing him up here next month. I might sign him up for the Arena just to make a point.”

“I…” Brynja stopped short of giving her a response, as she let Daro’Vasora’s words sink in about her sister.

“The irony.” She chuckled, indeed, her own sister, Elyse, tormented her suitors, much like Vasora. “Honesty is best when it comes to the matter of the heart, especially if you’re not particularly interested in someone that gives you such attention. There’s no worse a feeling. Feeling that you’re in love, or infatuated as you put it, and you go out of your way to do things you normally wouldn’t just to show them how much you care, when in the end, they were only toying with your heart, and they leave you high and dry for some other woman. And the reality comes crashing down around you that they never loved you at all, and this whole time you thought they did. There’s no worse a feeling, Vasora. For everyone else, they can all fuck off with honesty.”

“So, uh, are we still on Perceval or are we on you now?” Daro’Vasora asked, amused by the sudden vehemence Brynja was showing. For someone who was typically guarded, this was a waterfall of emotion.

A hard lump formed in her throat. Fuck. For fuck’s sake. Why in the bloody blazes of Oblivion had she opened her mouth about love. “It’s… it was a hard lesson I had to learn. I made a lot of mistakes for a foolish man. A man I thought fancied me.” She snorted, “Hah. Can you imagine that? That’s an entertaining thought for you. Someone fancying me, aye?”

She cleared her throat, “I need some ingredients for alchemy.” And a good drink.

Daro’Vasora shrugged. “You’re a mixed bag, and you drink too much, but you’re a conventionally attractive woman with a pleasant voice. Most men probably fancy you, at least superficially.” she said, mentally steering them towards Reginalds’ shop. “Look, even I have men, and some women, attracted to me, even in most places that aren’t Cyrodiil or Pelletine, or Anequina, that tend to subject me to quite the outpouring of vitriol on account of me being a cat, less than men or mer. Don’t sell yourself short. You don’t have pointy ears or a tail, and I’m reasonably sure no one has ever threatened to turn you into a coat or a pair of slippers.”

“You don’t have to make me feel good about myself.” Brynja grumbled, she hated that the most.

“It’s not that I’m not interested in men or women, so to say. It’s just the fact…” she stopped speaking, why bother? Vasora would probably use whatever she said against her to taunt and goad her later.

“It’s just the fact that love isn’t quite the same as I imagined when I was a little girl. The mind is a dark and scary place when you’re alone, and I prefer to keep my ghosts to myself.” She finished.

“Has the delectable Vasora ever had a partner? Or is it all fun and games for you?” She asked, turning the conversation away from her again. She could feel the seed of bitterness and rage boiling in her stomach. A drink would help her forget. Help quiet the shadows in her head. It helped. For a little while.

The Khajiit regarded Brynja for a moment, deciding how to proceed. “You know, you seem keen on plucking answers out of me without extending the courtesy. I think I’ll let that one sit out in the open and let your imagination do its work.” she said, not maliciously, but enough to let the Nord know that she was done giving without receiving anything in return. It’s not that Daro’Vasora particularly worried about Brynja, a woman she was likely never going to see again after this week, knowing too much about her, and she wasn’t a secretive woman to begin with. She simply wasn’t ashamed of who she was or who she associated with.

Over the next hour, the pair went to the alchemy shop, and true to Zegol’s word, the proprietor was indeed affordable and quite helpful for Brynja’s needs. Daro’Vasora spent her time reading over the letter again, grinding her teeth at J’Kharrid’s name, wishing she had something to chew on.
Before long, both were standing outside of Curious Curios once more. The sky was a forget-me-not blue, where a few lazy white clouds drifted across, a rather pleasant day.

“Thank you, for being my guide. Again, I’m sorry about the perfume bottle. Will you give these flowers to Zegol? I’d do it myself, but I still have some errands to run.” She held out a bundle of lavender, and white lilies.

“You coudn’t spare five minutes?” Daro’Vasora asked incredulously.

Brynja stared dead-eyed at the Khajiit, she could have said so many words in response to her question. And instead of answering at all, Brynja simply brushed past Daro’Vasora, and entered the shop, bundle of flowers in hand.
On crossing the threshold, she called out for the orc, “Zegol?” Perhaps he had gone to the back room?

Zegol appeared a few moments later, looking surprised to see them both back so fast. “Welcome back! I trust there weren’t any issues finding your way?” he asked.

“I delivered the package for you, as promised. And… these are for you. It’s nothing much, a small gift for breaking the perfume bottle.” Brynja extended the flowers to him to take.

The orc blinded in surprise when he was offered the flowers, it was an exceedingly unexpected and thoughtful gesture. They were pretty white and yellow things with the occasional splash of blue, and while Zegol never was one to know one flower from another, he could still appreciate them.

“You really didn’t have to do this, but you’ve proven to have a kind soul. Thank you, really and truly.” He said earnestly, a warm smile across his face.
“I wish you the best of days. Take care of yourself, Zegol.” Brynja bowed her head, and turned to leave. She caught Daro’Vasora’s eye, but said not a word to the Khajiit. She shut the door behind her, setting off for the nearest tavern.

“You never mentioned that your friends are so thoughtful.” Zegol said to Daro’Vasora when they were alone, finding a pot to put the flowers in. The Khajiit followed, glancing back at the door.

“Yeah, she’s alright. It’s like you like to tell me, everyone’s good deep down. She even insisted, if you can believe it.” Daro’Vasora lied, pulling out the bag of nuts she purchased earlier to set down on the counter. “For that big old sweet tusk of yours.” she said.

Zegol laughed, overjoyed. “It’s never a surprise, but would you fault me for saying that this is one of the things I look forward to most when you come visit?”

“Not at all. You better eat them before I start feeling peckish, alright?”

The Merchants Inn

The smoky scent of burning wood filled the Merchants Inn, while the din of glasses clinking and patrons conversing provided a cozy atmosphere. Most of the patrons were day workers enjoying the end of their day. This was the kind of tavern that Brynja could enjoy. The only piece missing was the sound of music provided by a self-proclaimed bard. She settled down onto a barstool at the counter, still sporting her armor. Her joints cried in protest at the weight of the steel, but she ignored it, she was accustomed to the pain, and to her it was more of a nuance than a concern.

The barkeep, an Imperial man with a crown of thinning grey hair, sidled up to her behind the counter, placing an empty mug before her where he then rested his elbows on the wooden countertop. “What can I get for you?”

“Have you any Nord Ale?” She asked, aching for a taste of home.

“Ah. I do, but I’d recommend our home brew. It’s made right here in the tavern, it’s called the Imperial Crown Ale, a favorite amongst the locals. It has a nice amber color, with a tart sweetness to remind you of the summer to come. Earlier this week it was voted as favorite ale of the year in Cyrodiil by the Black Horse Courier.” He said, a hint of pride in his words.

“I’ll take a mug then.” She nodded, Brynja was open to trying new types of alcohol, though she wasn’t picky by any means.

The barkeep grabbed the empty vessel, and brought her a mug full of Imperial Crown Ale, and moved on to make his rounds to those in need of a drink. It was on her second drink, and dangerously close on running out of coin, that she caught the barkeep’s attention. She uncovered his name to be Cassius after some idle pleasantries.

“Cassius, how’s business been?” She asked, an idea brewing in her head, her hand swirling the amber colored liquid around in the mug. He had been right, the ale was delicious. And it certainly reminded her of summer.

“It’s been slower than I’d like, to be honest. Why do you ask?” He asked, one brow lifting in a quizzical manner.

“Well Cassius… how about you help me out if I help you out?” She kept her face expressionless, she wanted him to take her seriously.

“What are you thinking?” He asked after a pause.

“I could draw in a crowd, if you give me room for two nights, and free drinks.” She watched as his eyes broke from her gaze, drifting to stare at a knot in the counter.

“That’d be a lot of coin I’d be missing out on.” He said after a few uninterrupted seconds of silence, Cassius shifted his gaze to her.

“I guarantee you’ll make more than what I consume.” Brynja pushed the mug away from her, hoping to show that she meant business.

“What do you propose?” He asked with a nod of his head.

“Have an open challenge available to patrons. An arm wrestling-drinking contest. Each participant chugs a drink of their choice, and then engages in an arm wrestling match with me. Charge them for their beverages, keep mine free, but charge them an entrance fee. There is no prize, save for beating me which comes with boasting rights, of course. I’ll wear my armor as you see me now, even the helm, it’ll be a nice show.” Now Brynja offered a half smile, this wasn’t her first time doing such a thing like this, although in Skyrim, it was rowdy drunks trying to challenge her to an arm wrestling contest while inebriated. This time, she was the one asking. Part of her thoughts flickered to Daro’Vasora’s words on her frivolous spending. Well, she might only have eight septims left, but Gods be damned, she’d find a way to get herself another drink.

“And in return?” Cassius’ tone indicated that he wanted to know what she was interested in getting out of an offer like that.

“In return, you give me two days worth of room and board, and free beverages if I ask. Trust me, I’ve done it several times in Skyrim. Even killed a man in a drinking contest. Though to be fair, he died in his sleep later that night, not at the table.” The half-smile had disappeared from her lips. There were other rumors she had heard about herself from drunken men and women in the taverns of Skyrim. Several apparently thought she slept with bears, for whatever reason.

“By the Eight.” Cassius whistled at her tale, “Well I tell you what. I’ll take a gamble on it. I could really use the boost in business here.” He turned his back to her, fumbling in a lock box before procuring a cast iron key. “Its the room on the first floor, end of the hall, last door on the right.”

“Thank you. If you put the word out to those in here, I’ll be ready in a few moments.” Brynja said, a bit relieved the barkeep decided to take her up on the offer. She had free room and board for the next two days, along with free alcohol. What more could she want? First thing on her list, a hot bath.

One hour later…

After soaking in the wooden basin in her room, Brynja replaced her full suit of steel armor, and made her way back out to the tavern. She could see heads turn as she emerged from the darkened hallway, Cassius had done a good job on getting the word out about the contest. A table in the center of the room had been cleared, two mugs, a pitcher of ale, and an expecting participant waited for her. As promised, she even wore her helm.

Cassius spotted her, and came around the bar to approach her, “Look at you. You look like one of the first Nords to land with Ysgramor. I’ve put word out that they would be arm wrestling a Daughter of Skyrim, a warrior that goes by the name of Brynja the Giant. Now, you have your first contestant. He’s about two drinks deep. But don’t go killing anyone tonight.” He said in a hushed voice. She could see he was excited to see how this would play out, the only thing he was really losing money on would be the alcohol she consumed, and the pay for a room.

“Good. Good. How much are you charging for the entrance fee?” She asked, Brynja didn’t want him to lose out on earning coin after all.

“20 septims to take on the mighty Brynja the Giant. There’s even a sign outside. This is the busiest I’ve seen this place in about a month! Go on now.” He gave her a gentle push on the arm to get her going. Not that she needed much persuasion.

Brynja moved with a heavy, lumbering gait, the sound of her footsteps drew the attention of even more people. She wanted to instill a bit of fear in her first contestant, and those that thought they could defeat her. The man seated at the table was a Breton, his face red from the alcohol. He was a small man, somewhat older, perhaps in his late thirties to early forties. He was lean, with scraggly brown hair. She smiled. This would be fun.

She settled down into the chair across from him, and uttered not a word. His nose shriveled up in distaste at the sight of her, to those taking interest, Brynja looked like a wall of steel. Immovable. She proceeded to fill her mug with ale from the pitcher. Then, she downed the drink in one go.

“You don’t look so scary like Cassius made you out to be, Nord. Here I was expecting an actual giant from the land of Skyrim.”

She would rely on fear in this contest, what could be more intimidating than facing off against a woman of her size, silent, and dressed in full steel, unable to discern her expression. True, a large portion of her face was revealed, but it was her eyebrows that often gave away her true feelings, and with those covered by the steel helm, she had a damn good chance of instilling fear in her opponents. She said nothing, only laying her arm out across the table, hand extended upright, ready to begin.

“Ha, the silent type eh?” He gave a short laugh before joining hands, their forearms crossed. “No matter. I’ll make you regret going against me.”

‘Mighty words for a man so small.’, she mused. With a solemn nod, the fight commenced.

She let the Breton to engage first, why waste strength when she could use it when needed? She almost laughed as the man put his weight into his arm, trying to force her hand down. That was one of the benefits after serving Rorik, countless years spent wearing armor and fulfilling quests from the Jarl had toughened her body. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she struggled not to laugh. The man grunted as he strained in desperation against her, his arm looked pitifully small in her hand. There was no sense in robbing a man of his dignity. She pushed his arm down against the table, as if she were slicing butter. The man scowled as she released his arm, a look of humility as he realized he had overestimated himself.

“A fair game.” Brynja said, she gestured to the barmaid to fill the pitcher, as the Breton left to nurse his injured pride, another contestant took a seat in the empty chair across from her.

For the past few days the party had been traveling, Latro had slowly transitioned from mourning the loss of the many faces he once knew that milled about the archaeology camp and moreso to his instruments. Every night of camping on the road or hearing bards both terrific and horrifying play in taverns from Skyrim to the White-Gold city made him miss his instruments more every time. His fingers yearned for something to do and resorting to making grass whistles or fiddling with any small objects he could take up in his lithe hands was cutting it less and less as the days and nights dragged on. Once he and the others finally got paid for their time at the archaeology camp, he almost immediately rushed to the marketplace to peruse any wares.

Until now though, he hadn’t found something he liked. The lute that he held out before himself and appreciated was an extravagant piece of beauty, scrollwork along the body, small bits of gold inlay along the neck and head. “500.” The merchant grumbled.

Latro’s eyes went to the merchant’s, his eyebrows cocking at the price he just heard. “Take it or leave it.” The merchant gestured to a simpler designed lute, “This’n’s cheaper.”

“Ah.” He said, gently placing the lute down where it first lay, a finger tracing along a section of scrollwork before his hands finally left it. Whatever quarrels he had with the merchant and his attitude didn’t involve that little beauty.

Dejectedly, he resumed his walk about the marketplace, already knowing for sure that he’d be back for the simpler and more cheaply priced instrument. Having something is better than nothing, after all. He only hoped the presence of extravagant scrollwork and other such amenities had no impact on how sweet the notes played. Well, he knew it didn’t, but one could dream of owning an art-piece he could create art with.

“I was hoping I’d run into you.” Daro’Vasora called out, hurrying over to Latro as quickly as her dress would allow without making a total fool of herself. She stopped a few steps away from the bard, composing herself. “I ran into Brynja earlier in the day, she stumbled into my mentor’s shop in true Brynja fashion. You’ve been looking at instruments, I’ve noticed.” she said, transitioning from one thought to the other without it being too jarring, she hoped.

Latro heard the familiar voice of Daro’Vasora behind him. He smiled, another friendly face amongst this crowd. When he turned, his smile twitched a bit, not expecting Daro’Vasora to be the type to find herself in anything but her armor or the simpler, more utilitarian dresses she wore in camp. What she was donning now, though, well… it complemented her. “Yes.” He said, simply, before he cleared his throat after a pause even he noticed might not go...unnoticed, “Sadly, I’m not ready to part with as large a sum as the merchant was asking for. I would like at least something to play with at camp, or anywhere at all.”

His soft smile was back on his face, “I had no idea your mentor had his shop here.” He chuckled a bit, “Or that you had a mentor.”

The Khajiit smirked. Well, at least that was a reaction that was usually welcomed. She wasn’t the only awkward one around someone she was trying to keep in good graces with. Still, she maintained her composure, more or less.

“Where do you think I learned the tricks of the trade? I could hand a child a sword and they could probably figure out what to do with it, but to be good at something comes from somewhere. For me, that comes from Zegol.” she glanced back at the surly instrument vendor that had turned Latro away. “Don’t worry about him, or most of the vendors on this row. They mark things up to try and rake in some free spending nobility with impulsive shopping habits or tourists and travellers who feel like they need to purchase something from Imperial City, where only the finest wares show up without considering a lot of it’s junk.”

“You’re right, I’ve met a few before. It’s hard to give up a habit, especially when the habit factors so much into a passion.” Latro clucked his tongue and shrugged, “I don’t mean to forget the graves so readily, but, my instruments are under that mountain now. I haven’t played a song anywhere but my head and my dreams the past few weeks.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Latro looked Daro’Vasora over once more, the dress, the bangles, the ensemble. It looked as if she was about to attend a dinner with one of the Emperor’s courtiers. “What’s the occasion? I’ve, um, never seen you dressed as such.”

“Oh, you mean to say that in the ever so long time we’ve been in acquaintance, you’ve never considered that I have clothing that isn’t field garb?” She teased, grinning. “Welcome to the Imperial City, a wondrous place where people dress up for the sake of it and to convey social status. Very alarming, I’m sure.” she walked over to Latro, taking him by the arm, steering him away from the vendor alley. “But no, I usually don’t wear finery as a daily ritual. Just consider it my way to shed weeks on the road off and mentally tell myself I’m home.”

Latro’s brow quirked as Sora took him by the arm, leading the way in what was now their walk about the city’s streets. “Makes sense. I didn’t mean it how it sounded,” he smiled sheepishly, “I’ve only ever seen the nobility dressed as such. You see a lot of it in Camlorn and Daggerfall. It looks nice.”

He walked alongside Sora, eyes still able to appreciate the ancient architecture of this place. “Where should we go? Were you heading anywhere?”

Daro’Vasora took the compliment in stride. “I’m glad you approve. The cost of trying to look presentable is you lack practicality, so thank you, I do take pride in my appearance. And I have something I’ve been meaning to give you, actually. A gesture of appreciation for keeping me from being eaten by the Falmer, or worse, taken. I’d like to think you are the reason I’m still alive to dress and go for fancy walks in the capital.” She explained, perhaps a bit too cordially considering the topic at hand.

“Ah.” Latro said. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, he was only doing what anyone would. He liked Daro’Vasora, but the idea of even her feeling like they owed him somehow… to say the least, he was not used to the idea of that. Even when things went bad for him in Markarth, he didn’t feel as anxious. A fleeting thought that the man in search of a place he belonged and just enough coin to get him there would ironically be so uncomfortable with the idea of people treating him like he belonged right after he got enough coin to get him somewhere. He silently cursed at himself, he hadn’t run as many circles in his mind like this since, well, for some time, “I do appreciate it.” He hoped she wouldn’t sense his apprehension.

Even above his dislike of feeling like he did in this moment, he didn’t want to feel like he would in the moments after he refused a gift from someone who thought he was the reason she was alive. He did have to admit though, Daro’Vasora’s words made him feel something. She was alive and well, and seemed to like him. Everyone he traveled with, well, most everyone, did.

A man dead to the world named Finnen could feel his heartbeat quicken and a soft smile curl up at the corners of his lips. Even so, “I was only doing what anyone else would. If anything, the person getting a gift should be me, admittedly. The others may not have ever seen me again had you not been there with me every step of the way.” And that was something he did not wish to think on, despite his few but climatic brushes with death in the past. “I am sorry I couldn’t use my magic to heal you. That poultice was all I had. I hope nothing scarred.”

The Khajiit snorted derisively “Oh, you’d be surprised. I’m pretty sure ‘anyone else’ includes the likes of Durantel, who I’m pretty sure would cut your heel if it meant buying himself five extra seconds to escape. And please, don’t even worry about it. Hands are fine, see?” Daro’Vasora said, showing her palms. Only faint lines brushed across her padded hands from where the cuts had happened. They looked like old scars, at this point. “I was well looked after when we got back to the others. Besides, you had quite the scare, yourself. You did what you had to to survive, I respect and agree with that.”

They continued on, and they were headed down a less busy alleyway towards Curious Curios some blocks away, where a lot of the more niche speciality shops resided in the Market District. It was a warm, sunny day with a gentle breeze. All considered, it seemed like a perfect day that didn’t care about what happened in the North. “But if you feel so inclined, I’m not adverse to being spoiled on occasion. Consider it a trade, if you must.” she said after a few moments with a smile. “How are you enjoying the city so far?”

Latro nodded at the faint reminders of what had happened northward, “I’m glad.” He said.

To her comment about being spoiled, he gave a chuckle, “I might have to do that, then. As for all of this? I feel like I must have been on the roads too long, even Daggerfall and Anvil pale in comparison. I ventured to those places with someone you could call my mentor. I thought they were large cities.” After a bit of walking, he asked, “Are you from here?”

“Leyawiin, which I would heartily recommend you give a hard pass if you are given the option to travel there. It’s been ransacked during the Great War, the climate is swampy and humid, and most of the architecture is pretty run down. It feels like an outpost against Khajiiti incursions that never evolved with the times. I’ve been here since I was in my mid-teens when trouble finally caught up to me.” she explained. “I was always fond of Anvil, the ocean’s always been something that captured my imagination, the salty air, the warm sun. I hear the Dominion has some incredibly coastlines, but I’m not in a hurry to go find out what I already know about those lands.”

“Trouble?” Latro asked, almost not surprised. He figured anyone with skills like hers had to have picked them up and honed them somehow and for some reason. After all, he was living proof that a first glance, or even weeks spent around a person, could never show them the truth if you didn’t want them to see it. “Of what kind?”

Daro’Vasora was quiet for a moment, eyes darting about as she mulled over her answer. Ultimately, she decided the truth was harmless enough. “I was always a well-off child, both of my parents work very lucrative lines of work compared to most so growing up, I had everything I could ever need. Problem was, it wasn’t everything I wanted. I, like most children, pushed the boundaries for what I could get away with. And, unlike most children, being immensely spoiled meant pushing the boundaries way further than anyone should.” she allowed herself an impish smile, her eyes settling on a pair of pigeons roosting.

“First it was small things, seeing what I could pocket and not get caught. When I didn’t get caught, I kept upping my game. Seeing what I could skim off of merchant ships or caravans, taking things people just left laying around for a few moments. Eventually I was caught when I was on a merchant boat and decided to make myself known before I ended up somewhere I couldn’t get home. Hence the honourific, Daro. It loosely means swift fingered, clever, thief.” Daro’Vasora explained, turning down the street to the shop.

“So mother more or less kept me under house arrest in Castle Leyawiin, where she served the count. I more or less became an indentured servant at that point, toiling away at housekeeping duties and often under watch so I’d stay out of trouble. They let me into the library and I spent a lot of my downtime in books, where I yet again decided to up my game and go find these relics I read so much about. I told my parents I wanted to leave, and up the river I went to Zegol, where I promptly became someone else’s problem.” she concluded, looking over and meeting Latro’s eyes.

“It suits you, the honourific. You struck me as ambitious from the first time I saw you at camp.” Latro said, not breaking eye contact with Sora. Part of him wondered how she would take that and he wasn’t one to shy away and blush when speaking the truth, as easy-going as he was, “There were stories in camp. Some ridiculous, like you breaking into the White-Gold Tower to swipe an Elder Scroll or even the crown jewel itself. At least most of the stories are better than the ones about me.”

Daro’Vasora laughed, a light and flighty sound. “Normally when most people find out that the prefix of my name treats thievery as somehow noble, they start getting very protective of their coin purses. Can’t say I blame them, but I appreciate that about you. You don’t let prejudice get in the way of learning who a person is.” she said earnestly. “And that particular story is a half-truth, but I figure stories are more fun when your imagination is involved. So what of you, where does Latro the Bard hail from?” she asked.

“I was born in Camlorn. I never was close with my father. So, I pushed boundaries like you, just not with the same things.” The best liars drip truth into their lies. It just didn’t help that the truth dripped into this one was something he didn’t truly like, “I left Camlorn to find myself. My family said it would be good for me. I haven’t been back since.”

He felt a frown making the muscles in his chin sore and forced the soft smile back onto his face, “I met my mentor some time after that. He was the one who helped me the most. I learned a lot from him. Not so much how to fight but when and why. Violence is the first tool of simple minds. I don’t like violence.” He shrugged and decided to turn the conversation back upwards, “He even introduced me to some of the finest bards in High Rock and Skyrim to hone my talents. I even know a few ballads from Hammerfell.” He smiled, sincere, this time.

The Khajiit could sense when there was something bordering on discomfort for Latro and his origins, so she decided not to press the line of thought. If he wanted to share that part about him, he would in time. Regardless, she didn’t mind. His company didn’t require strings or conditions, and it helped make her feel a lot more at ease with him than the others. She didn’t even have the urge to bark snarky retorts at him like others.

Gods, I’m getting soft.

“He sounds like he was a good compass for you, Latro. This is a world where you need to know how to fight, but I’m glad you’ve found a purpose for it. I’ve never liked killing, although fighting can be fun. It took me a few weeks to get over the first man I killed, but it was life or death, so you know how it goes.” she said, gesturing to a sign above. Curious Curios dangled above. “Well, we arrived. Please, follow me.”

The two entered the shop, their eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the dim compared to the bright day outside. Zegol was assisting another customer, who was looking at a daggers, so Daro’Vasora didn’t want to bother him. Instead she gestured towards the orc. “That’s my mentor, Zegol. He’s a big softie.”

“I haven’t met much Orsimer you could attribute that word to.” His head dipped in a slight bow when the Orc cast a glance towards them but continued on with the hardy man he had been attending to, “So, I am your guest here. Where to?” He smiled.

“Upstairs. And no, not for that. I’ve got something I wanted to show you.” She said, heading to the stairs and pulling up the rope barrier. “I’ve probably been responsible for about a quarter of all the relics you see around here. As you can imagine, I’ve been very busy the past few years. However, there’s something I know you’ll be interested in.”

Latro smirked and he was hoping not to be blushing at the mention of [i]that[\i]. He was always bashful in that aspect. He’d fought, he’d killed, he’d survived a perilous life, and it was ironic to him that that was where he drew the line. “I wouldn’t dare presume you the type.” He chuckled and followed after Vasora, “That’s quite the feat though, I’d no doubt you had adventures under your belt but somehow this surprises me.”

Daro’Vasora headed up the stairs with a cheeky grin. “Oh, I’ve had my share of fun. Life’s too short to be squeamish about what everyone wants to do anyways, you know? You’ll find I’m full of surprises, probably comes from the fact I’m a respectable and learned woman when I’m not skulking around someone’s eons old vanity project in an attempt to have their identity immortalized for something I can pawn off for considerable coin.” she said, leading Latro up the stairwell.

Soon enough, they found their way to the landing and there were four rooms breaking off from the hallway, including a fairly well furnished living area. Heading down the hall to an emerald green painted door, Daro’Vasora opened it and inside was a small, but well-used room with plenty of shelving with all manner of knick-nacks, relics, and books lining the walls, as well as a surprisingly sparsely stocked wardrobe. Mounted to the wall next to the semi-made bed were a trio of lutes. Pulling one off of its padded mount, the Khajiit propped a foot up on her bed to support the instrument and nimble claws began to pluck the strings, in succession, the other tuning the instrument. In a few moments, she was strumming a tune that may have been familiar to Latro, Home by the Way of Topal, which was a popular folk song in her hometown. Having strummed through a couple verses, she offered the instrument to Latro. “This one’s a third era find of mine that belonged to a trader in Anvil. No real history for it other than it’s been refurbished and restrung a few times, but it has a nice deep tone that I’ve always been fond of. It’s yours now.”

Latro’s eyebrows found themselves going up when Daro’Vasora surprised him yet again with a beautiful rendition of a folk tune he did indeed remember the tune of by the second half of the first verse. He sat listening to her play the rest of what she did with a content smile, tapping his foot along with the beat. When she told him of the quaint history of the lute, he listened with the same content smile before it dropped off his face to be replaced with mild shock when she told him it was his. “Sora…” his bottom lip twitched and he bit on it lightly to mask it before speaking again, “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to make a big fuss out of it; I already could tell you were lost on the way back from the Jerall Mountains without your instruments, and friends don’t let friends buy overpriced crap lutes from street vendors. Seriously, it’s nothing; I have five of them. It’s not even my favorite.” She said, extending her arms out with the instrument, as if offering her sword to his cause. “Take it.”

Latro took his moment, looking from Sora to the lute and back and forth. “You really think it was a crap lute?” He smirked before plucking it from Sora’s hands and immediately set to plucking out the jaunty [i]Wayward in Wayrest[\i]. “I’m still going to get you a gift.” He said, smirking while carrying on with the tune.

She set herself down at a desk, listening with a smile. “Oh yeah? What could you offer me that I haven’t pillifered from some dead guy’s stash already?” she countered coyly, her hand making slight motions as she took in the rhythm. It wasn’t a song she was all too familiar with, but like a word that stayed at the tip of one’s tongue, it was something that had been present in her past, she just couldn’t place where. “You know, part of me’s being selfish here. I was quite fond of your playing back when we all met at the fire how many moons ago, and I admit I’ve acquired a taste for it. You’ve quite the talent, Latro.”

“You said it first,” Latro paused to bend the strings upwards to produce a higher pitched note during the song’s closing riff before ending it altogether, “to be good at something comes from somewhere. Who knows, you could’ve stayed at an inn I played at on the roads and never stopped to notice just where the melody was coming from.” He smiled.

He held the lute out before him. It was just as pretty as the one he held in the marketplace but the fact it came from the hands of a friend meant all the difference. His eyes met Sora’s again. “Thank you.” He said softly, quietly grinning. “As for the gift… I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, care for a drink?”

Daro’Vasora clasped her hands together, rubbing them together conspiratorially. “Now you’re talking. It would be nice to drink somewhere that has a roof and a grasp on basic hygiene. Spot a place already?” She asked, standing with some manner of grace, the dress not inconveniencing her motion in the slightest. “You could impress a few of the locals for coin with your new instrument of mass seduction.” she pointed out, gesturing to the lute.

“There’s only been a select few in my life I’ve cared about impressing with anything.” He smiled, “Coin though, I’ve accepted that from anywhere. How about a stroll and you can show me your favorite establishment? I’m new in town, after all.” He shrugged.

“I’m of the mind to go where the winds take us. When has being impulsive ever led to bad ideas?” Daro’Vasora grinned, grabbing her coin purse from the desk and her family dagger, which was quickly belted about her waist. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve felt a bit peckish as well. Shall I use this big nose of mine to find what doesn’t smell like baked rat, or at the very least a very well spiced baked rat?”

“I’ve eaten worse things.” He grinned and gestured for the door, “You’ve done a good job leading me where I want to be so far.”

With that, they spent a good amount of time meandering the streets. Latro smiled and cast a glance to Sora with the few compliments he got on his lute. Good conversation about the history of each place they passed filled the space between her bedroom door and the Merchants Inn. Latro pushed open the door and the tail end of his laugh was drowned out at the cacophonous cheering pouring out onto the street like a wall of water from a broken levy. Brynja had just pinned a man’s hand to the table and then met Cassius before going to the bar. If Latro didn’t know better, it seemed she had slipped into a mood more befitting a funeral when she was left alone at the bar. He sighed and made his way through the crowd with Sora. “Hello, my friend.” He said to the Nord, an easy smile on his lips. It would seem his night was only getting started.

Gaius plodded—swordless, tired, and dejected—through the Plaza Of The Divines, the district of the city once known as Talos Plaza. This place doesn't really change much, does it, he thought, aiming for the elegantly-worked door of dark wood and gold that sat by the inner circle next to the Akatosh statue that had replaced the former Talos piece. Fishing for a moment around his armor's gorget, he retrieved a heavy steel key. Placing it in the lock, he tried to turn it and found that it was stuck. He jimmied it for a few more moments before attempting to pull it out and finding it trapped in the lock.

What followed was about five minutes of trying to either turn the key, or pry it from the hungry lock. The streets were relatively empty, but the few that passed gave him odd looks; a large man in full armor trying desperately to open a door. The blasted thing finally turned with a heavy clunk, and the door slid open, leaving Gaius staring down the point of a particularly nasty-looking spear held by a defiantly glaring woman. After a moment, her look of anger gave way to one of puzzlement, and he batted the weapon aside with an armored hand, walking past her.

The estate looked much like he remembered it; given Helena's habit of rearranging things, the fact that it had remained constant for even the relatively short time he'd been in the mountains was nothing short of a miracle. To him, though, all that mattered was that he knew exactly where his favorite armchair was. Walking with Helena through the sitting room and dining hall, he arrived in his study, taking a seat in the beloved chair. He stripped his helmet off, revealing his close-cropped hair, and gave her a haggard smile. "Nice to see you too, Helena."

"What are you doing here, Gaius?" she asked, confused and mildly surprised. "I thought you weren't supposed to be back for weeks, at least."

He sighed. "Things got...complicated. We did something—I don't really know—and then the mountain exploded."

She tapped the side of her cheek. Gaius smiled wanly at the familiar habit. "Well, there was that green light in the sky off to the north a while back...I wondered what that might've been. Are you telling me it was you blowing up a mountain?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" he responded dryly, face twisted into a wry grin. After a moment, it fell again, leaving him with the same morose expression on his face that he'd been wearing up until then. "You know, Helena, much of our living is provided for by way of killing people. I'm a soldier, and I'm a damn good one at that. I have no qualms about taking a life when it's what needs to be done." He paused for a moment, beginning to strip away his armor.

"This, though..." he continued once he'd divested himself of the heavy plates, "these people weren't rebels. They weren't soldiers, they weren't fighters. By Talos, they were archaeologists. They didn't know they were going to die."

"Gaius, tell me this," Helena cut in, voice characteristically serious. "Did you know what would happen when you triggered it?"

"No," he replied sullenly, immediately seeing where she was going with this.

"Did you have any way of knowing?"

"No," he muttered again.

"And, given the chance, would you have done the same thing over again?"

"No, no, no," he repeated.

"Then, my dear brother," she replied, a hard edge in her voice, "stop acting like a child. What's done is done. Move on and try to fix what happened instead of wallowing in an imagined prevention."

Gaius sighed again, dropping his head. "Thanks, Helena."

She shrugged. "It's what I do." She slung her arm around his broad shoulders. "Look, you're under a lot of stress. Don't tell anyone I said this, but you should go drinking tonight. As long as you keep yourself under control, you should be fine." She patted him as she walked back towards the stairs towards her office, where it seemed she'd been working. "You should go see Tolquist about getting a new sword made."

"He's still in Solitude, Helena!" He called after her. No response. He looked down at his large, callused hands. "She's right," he murmured. "A night of drinking will do me a world of good."

---

Gaius had never been the hedonistic type, but he'd hit his alcoholic event-horizon at about the moment when a mountain exploded above him. With that in mind, he departed the Milonem estate. Instead of his somewhat-iconic armor, he was wearing a fine tunic of pale green linen embroidered in gilt thread along the sleeves and hem above a pair of leather leggings. His heavy sabatons had been replaced with shoes of soft leather, and his empty swordbelt and Empire's Aegis had been returned to their place on the mantle. Tonight wasn't a night for combat. It was a night for fun.

As he walked down the street, greeting those he knew and engaging in small talk, he heard a subtle roar from off in the distance, one which gradually grew much louder as he grew closer to the source: the Merchant's Inn. He smiled despite himself. He'd been here many times in his younger days. A sign caught his eye, advertising an arm-wrestling-drinking contest. Gaius' smile widened as he saw the name on the sign, and he walked into the tavern. "Twenty septim, huh?" he chuckled. "Sounds like fun." He strode up to the bar, keeping an eye on Brynja's contests as he did so, and shaking his head at the poor sods that were currently getting their arms wrenched to the table by the Nord. He caught Cassius' eye, calling him over. The older man shook his head in wonder.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or has Gaius Milonem decided to grace my inn for the first time in years?"

Gaius wasted no time, dumping thirty shining coins on the bar between them, smiling wolfishly. "Ten for a Crown Ale, and twenty for Brynja the Giant." Belatedly, he realized that Latro was at the bar as well. He inclined his head. "Trying your luck, Latro?

Cassius scooped the coins up, replacing them with a frothing mug. "All yours, Gaius."

Gaius nodded at him, touching his fingers lightly to his forehead as a show of thanks, before shouldering through the crowd, taking the seat opposite Bryja and holding up the mug. "Cheers."

26th Rain’s Hand, 4E208, early afternoon…

The three days had passed, lending a sense of relief for the party as the individuals finished their affairs in anticipation of the final supper and payout at Rhea’s mansion. For some, it had been a productive and enjoyable time off that allowed them a chance to to ease off of the events in the Jerall Mountains. The pain of loss still lingered, but no longer was it so acutely felt. The rumours had spread and news had reached Imperial City of the strange light to the North, as well as the destruction of an entire mountaintop, but nothing consistent had made the rounds. People spoke of anything from rogue mages experimenting to some devious Thalmor plot, but none seemed anywhere close to the mark. Even if anyone were to say what had actually transpired, it would probably have been met with a healthy dose of skepticism. Even Rhea had a hard time coming to terms with what had happened.

The mansion was strangely empty; Rhea had the run of the place to herself. Her two brothers and father had left on some business trip to Chorrol. She had the payment lined up in tidy coin purses along the dining hall’s long oaken table, trying to decide on what parting gifts she should add along with her commission. For Daro’Vasora, it was a set of new leather-bound journals and a inkpot and pen with a watertight bag. Latro would be receiving one of the copies of the tomes that she had procured from the Bard’s College with a selection of folk songs across Tamriel and the musical notation to go with it. Megana would receive a new quiver of Redguard make that was crafted for a horse archer. For Brynja, she had managed to find a golden amulet that had a magicka enchantment that would ideally help her maintain her healing. Gaius would receive a shield from the beginning of the 3rd Era, one of the old Imperial Guard shields with the steel framework and spike protruding from the center.

It was the rest she was having an issue with; most of the gifts were things from her personal collection that she was parting with, partially out of personal guilt, but also that she wanted to keep the survivors well off and contented going forward when they parted ways. She drank from a wine goblet again, her third of the afternoon, knowing full well she was being irresponsible. Try as she might, she could not shake the sense of guilt and responsibility for the deaths of the camp. All of the deaths were on her; she had hired them to go up there for the expedition, and she made the call to activate the machine knowing full well that there was no knowing what it would do. She had simply wanted to save the lives of her companions, and in the end, she traded their lives for dozens more. It was simply disgusting arithmetic she could not abide by, and if she could trade her life for theirs, she’d do so in an instant.

The goblet was empty before she realized, and she stared at her dulled reflection in the pewter for a few lingering moments. She could not change the past, but she could do better in the future. “To the living.” she vowed, pouring her 4th glass and taking a bite out of an end slice of bread as an appeasement to her body.

Heading into the hearth, she realized that she was lacking a few of the provisions she needed for supper that night for her guests, whom she genuinely hoped stayed for a while. Well, a trip to the market, then. There’s still a few hours yet. she thought, making a executive decision to grab her coin purse and dagger and pay the vendors a quick visit. To mask her breath, she found a mint leaf from the spice cabinet, chewing it over like a grazing animal for several minutes before discarding of it in a waste receptacle, and moments later, she found herself in the entirely too bright afternoon light.

The walk was a pleasant one, a warm spring breeze gave the impression of summer and the sky was barely without a cloud, and the streets seemed lively with people in finery and light, breezy clothing acting more alive than she’d seen in months. Considering the season, it was one of the few respites without rainfall. Even the guards seemed more relaxed, Rhea even caught sight of a couple with their helms tucked under their arms or shield resting on the ground, supported by a hand to keep it from toppling. It was easy to forget the unrest of the world, and for the first time in nearly two weeks, Rhea was beginning to feel free spirited.

Time seemed to settle as she strolled along the carts and stalls that somehow managed to clear up each night, and Rhea was inspecting a selection of herbs when a shadow crept across, darkening the market. Initially, she had mentally brushed it off as a cloud passing by. That feeling of mundane comfort passed quickly when a chorus of gasps and nervous murmouring broke out around her, and a Dunmeri-accented voice shouted, “What in Oblivion is [I]that?[I]”

The Imperial looked up towards the sky, following hundreds of other stares and found her mouth agape at what she beheld. Above, dozens of inexplicable shapes were bearing down towards the city, and Rhea’s eyes widened when she realized they were ships. Her mind scrambled to make sense of it all until a nagging part of her memories recalled the designs of airships in literature and scrolls she had come across, but she’d never found anything to substantiate that from an artist’s flight of fantasy, until now.

“This is impossible.” she spoke aloud, full well aware of how many impossible things she’d seen in her travels. The airships approached swifter than her mind was capable of coming to terms with what was happening. Plenty of people in the market began to flee; she realized that they had the right idea. Nothing about this felt right, and given what she’d seen in the Jerall Mountains, Rhea was not fond of coincidences. She took flight, catching the stream of fleeing and screaming people. Soon, the entire market was in full panic; warning bells and horns sounded from the tops of the Imperial City walls and guards who had once looked complacent were now on full alert, some feebly trying to impose order against those who would have none of it. She wasn’t far from home; she just had to make it there.

Soon, the sound of propellers and steam contraptions were well audible and three of the airships descended below the city walls. Large doors on either side of the ship opened and suddenly massive hulking armour like the Centurions appeared, leaping down from the doors, several meters from the ground. Where the fall would kill or cripple most, the figures, standing over 2 meters tall in heavy Dwemer alloy smashed into the ground, pistons, springs, and gears working in perfectly calibrated concert as the armoured figures stood upright; blue energy surged through piping across the mechanized frame. In each hand was a variety of weapons. Oversized repeater crossbows, long tubes with loading assemblies, shields, arm-mounted spikes, axes, swords, and mounts for soul gems were observed, and behind caged and helm like faces leered the approximation of a mer-like face, much like had been found forged upon the Centurions and carved into walls.

They groaned, power surging through the suits, and immediately began to move, bringing their weapons down on any that were unfortunate enough to be within range. The one with the large arm-mounted tubes were aimed and with a thunderous roar and a flash of light, a trio of citizens were cut down, their backs covered in numerous bloody holes by unseen projectiles. Legionnaires and guards beared down on the armoured figures, some being cleaved by massive blades or punctured by retractable spikes, another send flying through the air several meters before landing crumpled on the ground by a shield. The arm cannons fired again and burst through the armour like it was leather trying to stop a pike; the Empire’s finest were falling like children trying to stop a Dremora lord.

The airships had all but touched down now, and out poured dozens more troops, more clad like one would expect from the Dwemer, although their armour seemed to be much more streamlined and well-crafted. Some carried swords, shields, and spears, others carried strange short staffs like crossbows. These ones took up kneeling positions around the perimeter and the staffs exploded much like the mechanized cannons, and more citizens yet fell in a volley of fire. Rhea was shocked, and she managed to get away from the scene intact, unable to comprehend what was happening.

She needed to get to her home and prepare.

All around the Imperial City, more of these airships landed, and from them came very similar compositions of forces, although some deposited the automata; the spheres and spiders took to the streets to flush out the darkest corners, and technical troopers began depositing stands with large soul gems on top that lashed out with lightning if any came within range of it without the Dwemer alloys. The city was under siege, and it seemed the guard was powerless to stop it. The massive walls and water that surrounded the city were long the city’s best defense against the land, but nothing prepared anyone for what came above. There was a slaughter in the streets, and those who weren’t immediately cut down were rounded up by sentries.

While no one could have predicted or prepared for what was happening, one thing wasn’t in dispute; somehow, after thousands of years being vanquished from Nirn, the Dwemer had returned and all anyone could do was try and escape.

While this was a city that was well heard of, the truth was that Meg had never visited Cyrodiil before the expedition, and certainly not the Imperial City ever before it in her life. In fact, even though her father was born here, any knowledge she had was hearsay from others rather than words from him. He'd always considered Riften his home and she supposed in a way that made sense; she'd bet a couple of septims that even if he decided to come back here again, he'd hardly recognize the place. If cities could change in less than a few years, then the thirty plus years since he had been there would probably shock him.

Of course Meg didn't even have faint memories of a place like this, and while it was somewhat awe inspiring, the proud Nord in her was quick to remind her that Skyrim had much more beautiful and breathtaking spots. That aside, she was much aware of the fact that she could easily get lost in such a big city. When Rhea had bade them farewell after asking them to return in three days, the Nord woman was a little bemused, wondering what she should do. She was certain there were probably more inns and taverns that she could could, but she didn't really wish to rest or eat at the moment.

She hadn't moved too far from where Rhea had left them, coming to a stop at the side of a busy street, seemingly lost in thought, though with enough sense to stay out of anyone's way. It just felt very strange, suddenly being alone and by herself. Not just strange... it felt uncomfortable. Maybe even incomplete. Meg bit her inner lip as her hand move up, grasping the amulet of Mara that she wore hidden under her tunic. It comforted her slightly, though she still felt a little hollow inside.

It wasn’t five steps inside the Imperial City that Latro remembered why he liked it best when he was on the road. The bustling crowds choked the avenues shut almost and Latro felt himself slip into a steady aura of unease at the onslaught of completely unknown and uncaring people shuffling past him. He ducked out of the crowd as quickly as he could, putting a hand to the wall to center himself and perhaps find the strength to wade through the roiling human rivers once more to some place more quiet, like a small tavern or an inn. Out of the corner of his eye, a very much needed familiar face was alone, absent-mindedly fiddling with something around her neck. He stepped up to her, showing a palm in greeting and a soft smile, “How do you fare?”

Broken out of her thoughts, Meg looked up, letting her hand fall loosely to her side. Recognizing Latro, she smiled a little more in relief than she'd want to show. "I wanna say I'm doin' good but..." She shrugged a shoulder before motioning in general at the city with her hand. "I've no idea where to start lookin' or walkin' ‘round here." A sheepish laugh escaped her before she continued. "Whiterun never seemed so intimidating, I can tell you that much." It seemed a silly thing to admit, but she hoped maybe the bard would understand what she was feeling.

Latro shared in the laugh, somewhat relieved to find someone just as uncomfortable with the crowds as he was, “Being well-traveled has naught to do with loving everywhere you’ve been.” Latro frowned at the crowds, “Even Daggerfall is not as busy as this.”

While Judena felt she was at home. Left to their own devices for a few days had immediately pulled on the want to return to the Arcane University. The city itself was her home away from home for many years while studying as an apprentice under the watchful eyes of her companions and ex-wife. Returning frequently to barter, share knowledge and recuperate. Others had split off with plans of their own but Judena hoped for some company, having grown used to having them as spotters. Helping others forage for food, always paired up with no risk of wandering off alone. She rather liked having that safety net of sharper minds around.

Latro and Meg were out of sorts, looking the part of confused and lost already at the entrance. They would suitably need a guide. Judena waved, a head taller above the crowd. About to call out she stopped short, flipping through her logbook to ensure she had their names correct. In the past days travelling she slowly began to remember their names one by one with more reliability. Catching herself when it sounded off.

“My friends…” She read, “Latro, Meg!” Judena excused herself through the crowd, smiling all the while. “By chance, I am hoping for some company while I make my way to the Arcane University. Would you both like to join me?”

Meg had just been about to speak when she heard the familiar voice of Judena. This caused her to smile yet again; she quite liked the friendly argonian during their misadventure, and it was nice to see yet another friendly face.

"Sounds like a treat to me," she replied, trying not to sound too eager. "Arcane University... I guess that means you're familiar with the city!" That would be a relief.

Judena hummed happily, “Yes! I was once an apprentice studying here in the city, I know it as well as I would my own hands. What of you Latro?”

“I’ve never been,” Latro smiled, “I’m looking forward to experiencing the city now that I’m with some friendly faces at last.”

“Oh excellent, then please - follow me.” Judena said beckoning them, she began to walk skirting along side the crowd. Turning over her shoulder to speak to her young friends, “Even if we were separated I am easy to spot. I am sometimes quite pleased with how easy I am to find but I have found sneaking to be difficult for that very reason. To be small and light on one’s feet is a wonderful skill.”

She turned back to observe the city as they walked through Talos Plaza, observing the masonry work, open business fronts and residential lots.

“There are several places in the Imperial City that are worth visiting while we are here, the Arcane University is definitely one. While the Mages Guild has not existed for a few centuries, mages from all over Tameriel network, meet and study within its magnificent walls to this day. It acts as a safe haven and sanctuary instead of an institution. I do enjoy the atmosphere at the College of Winterhold as it stands, but the Arcane University holds a dear place in my heart.” She said then sighed with content. “I simply cannot express how excited I am to return. I have spent the past few years in Skyrim. Have you two ever ventured outside of the province before?”

"Not me," Meg replied with a shake off her head. She seemed much more at ease now that both Judena and Latro were there alongside her. Strange how she had always been comfortable by herself when in the wilderness, but in a place as grand as this, bustling with life, being by herself seemed daunting. "I always roamed about Skyrim... I've been a traveller since I was a youngin, but never past the border. This-" she once again motioned with her hands towards the city in general "-is all new to me." She let out a breath before letting herself grin a little. "I'm pretty adaptable though, I'm sure I'll get used to here quick enough." Hopefully

“I’ve gallivanted about the North and West, mostly.” Latro said, eyes going about the crowds and architecture much more at ease now that Meg and Judena were with him. He’d never liked huge metropolises and Daggerfall was the largest city he’d been to until now, “I’m from Camlorn in High Rock, a small but peaceful place, but I’ve wandered about Tamriel for some years now, anywhere from Stros M’kai to Nibenay, but not this far south. I always thought the paintings and writings of the White-Gold city were playing it up, but now I can see even those left some things to the imagination.”

“Now that I’ve experienced this kind of city, Daggerfall seems a hamlet in comparison. Have you ever been, Judena?” Latro asked.

She replied brightly, “I can imagine I have, I just cannot remember at the present moment. I am sure I have it written down somewhere in this past year’s logbook. I make a habit of exploring historic or big landmarks in any of the provinces.”

“Pardon me, kind sir.” She sidled out of the way of someone carrying a large crate over their shoulder. “I am honoured to be your guide today for your first time to the city. The metropolis reminds me of the bustling diversity in my home of Soulrest, Argonia. The port towns are generally safe for travellers to explore but the wilds beyond the city are very dangerous, my young friends. If you ever find yourself there, of course. I trust the pair of you have sense enough not to try something so foolish.”

“Probably,” Meg chimed in with an inward laugh. “I like my livin’ state of being.” She was curious though… how different were the wilds beyond the city compared to the North? Surely it couldn’t be too dangerous?

They rounded a corner and finally had full view of the White-Gold tower, she gestured with her spear, “If you are ever lost in the city with nowhere to turn to, look to the tower. It is the center of the city.” Taking a moment to take in it’s sight again as she had done on their travels from Jerell Mountain. The biggest landmark for miles and miles to see. “Apologies, what was the question again?”

For a moment Meg was confused by the question about the question, and it quite clearly showed on her face as she looked away from the huge White-Gold tower and instead set her eyes on Judena. “Wait… oh, you mean the question Latro asked? But… you already replied him, remember?” It then clicked to her that this was probably more of the Argonian’s poor memory rearing its head, so she decided to elaborate a little. “He asked if you’d been to Daggerfall, and you replied that you might’ve but can’t remember.”

Judena bobbed her head in understanding, “Ah yes, thank you. It is so easy to be distracted by the sights of the city. Very good.” She pulled out her logbook even while they walked she scratched something into the pages, looking up to the sun and telling the time.

"You sure do lotsa writin'," Meg noted, half watching the path and more intrigued by the argobian's note taking. "I s'pose that's part of what they teach you in magic school's, eh?" She couldn't help but think of her own rather messy and faulty penmanship. "My Pa taught me some but it was harder to learn than other stuff." She chuckled sheepishly, thinking of her days in Riften, when her mind was more on learning to pick locks than the meagre time her father attempted to teach her to read and write.

Judena looked to Meg, “My mother and father taught us, my siblings and I - our words and numbers. Jel, then the common language of men and mer.” She finished a bullet point. “I do not mean to impose or assume you do not have plans or business, if you are interested Meg, you are free to spend your time in the city at the University. There I can help you brush up on your literacy skills. Perhaps with practice writing a letter?” Judena offered, sensing some opportunity to teach. Literacy was the way to knowledge and empowerment. Accidents and damaged memory couldn’t take it away from Judena.

Surprised by the offer yet pleased as well, Meg gave Judena a decisive nod. “Honestly, that sounds pretty great, thanks for the offer. I could do with some practice…” Her voice trailed as she thought of how long it had been since she'd written to her father. Would he be pleased or indifferent that she was all the way in Imperial City? “And aye, there are some letters I could do with sendin’.”

Judena nodded enthusiastically.

They arrived to the University, spending time exploring the grounds Judena as their guide. Jude spoke of it’s history, her time studying with her friends. Promising again to Meg she’d have time to brush up on her writing skills. When Latro and Meg decided to move on Judena armed them with quickly drawn maps of the city, making note of various areas of the city they should explore or stay away from. In truth Judena was glad to have some time to see to her own affairs, she was sure she’d see them again before the dawn of the third day.

---

_{A devious collab with the scallywags @POOHEAD189, @Greenie, @Macabrefox and I.}

The Merchants Inn, the evening of arriving in the city...

"Give up already." Brynja said, laughing through gritted teeth. Her opponent, a rather rotund drunken Redguard, struggled in vain to get her arm to budge. He had a thinning crown of white curly hair, now slick with sweat. Glistening drops slid down his temples, his eyes nearly crossed with exasperation.

"Can't - I won't lose to a woman." He grunted, a vein running through his forehead bulged at the pressure.

"You're... just going to hurt yourself, old man." She hiccupped once, then pinned his arm to the table top. His black eyes were wide in disbelief. He had lost, and to a woman at that. Brynja could feel the heat in her cheeks as she grinned, she had lost track of how many mugs of ale she consumed, how many times the pitcher had been refilled. The Redguard claimed himself, and retreated into the throng of onlookers. 

"Ay, Brynja," the familiar voice of Cassius caught her attention, wherein she turned to see him approaching her, a grin just as big plastered on his face.

"Cassius!" She said, louder than necessary.

"That was the last one for the night." He slapped her on the shoulder, "I've not seen this inn as crowded as this since the last major fight in the Arena three months ago! You've done a splendid job, come. Let's get some food in you, I've got another pitcher waiting for you at the counter." Leaving Brynja to stagger to her feet, and follow him through the crowd of people. There were patrons who elbowed each other in the ribs at her passing, she could hear their taunts amongst their companions.

"I bet you could take her!" or "Ha! She'd crush you in a heartbeat." 

Despite the words, Brynja kept her grin as she settled onto a barstool at the counter. Her entire body was flushed from the exertion, and from the copious amount of alcohol she had already consumed. What was it, seven or eight pitchers? Her eyes followed Cassius as he disappeared into the kitchen, where he emerged shortly with a plate piled full of food. Her mouth watered instantaenously at the sight alone.

"Eat up! Let me grab you a pitcher." Cassius slipped away again, leaving Brynja to dive into her plate of food. She tore into a warm bread roll, and with the other hand reached for goat leg. She alternated between the two until there was nothing left. By now, Cassius had returned with the pitcher as promised, and set it down before her. He leaned on the counter top, watching her as she filled her mug.

"I'll be damned, Brynja. You helped me bring in over five-hundred septims worth tonight. And the rest of my patrons are just as eager for tomorrow evening." 

"Good," she said before lifting the mug to her lips and taking a hearty drink, "I'll be sure to do the same as tonight."

"Hold that thought," Cassius said, he peered past her shoulder before grinning, "I've got some newcomers to attend. If you see Danica, tell her I'm looking for her." And with that, the barkeep had disappeared around the counter, and out into the throng of people behind her. Danica was the barmaid, a new girl, and not very good at her job. But Brynja only had concern for the mug in her hand. She sighed, her shoulders sagging as she cradled her chin in the palm of her hand, and her eyes drifted down to the amber liquid in the mug.

Now that she was all alone at the bar, the exhaustion settled in. She wasn't used to interacting with so many people in one night. Hell, she could barely think a clear thought, much less speak without slurring her words. Yet deep inside, she could still feel that haunting ache that gripped her heart. The guilt. A shadow that followed her every step, that whispered softly in her ear. And that's why she drank. She drank to forget, to drown her guilty conscience, to hide her feelings. She raised the mug again to her lips, emptying the contents in one final gulp.

Taking the seat next to Brynja and setting his lute in front him, taking extra care to brush any dirt- real or imagined- off of the body of it, Latro smiled at the Nord mooning into her tankard. Truth be told, Latro had an odd fondness for the big Nord, maybe that was because she was the one to heal him back in the Dwemer ruins. He set down three septims on the bartop, “Colovian Whiskey, two fingers.” He said to the barkeep before he set himself to his task.

”Hello, my friend.” He smiled to Brynja, waiting for his drink.

At the sound of Latro's voice, Brynja pulled herself from the depths of her mug, and raised her brow at the sight of him, a slow smile crawled across her lips, "L-latro," She said through slurred speech, her head bobbed as she refilled her mug. "I didn't expect *hic* to see you here." 

She washed her words down with another gulp of ale, "I hope... you're feeling better." She returned the mug to the countertop, a bit too brusquely as ale sloshed out.

Just then, Cassius returned with Latro's drink order, "Here you are." 

"I'll have another beer," a voice piped in from the other side of Brynja.

Meg had entered the inn while Brynja had been in the midst of beating all sorts of fellows. After Judena had shown her and Latro around the University and helped with familiarizing themselves with the city, she had decided to take a chance and wander about, taking in the various sites and noting them down in her mind. It had occured to her that maybe Judena was rather smart to keep writing material on her person at all times; even if Meg's writing was appaling, she could still very well draw out a map of the places she was passing and note the landmarks down. 

Before any extra spending, however, she'd wanted some food and a night's rest on a proper bed. And so she found herself in the Merchant's Inn. She couldn't have said she was surprised by the affair; in all honestly those men were stupid wasting their money once they'd seen two or three fail. But that was honour and pride she supposed... or just being a bunch of idiots. It had been quite amusing, watching from her own table and cheering her fellow Nord on. In fact... it had been somewhat lucrative as well for the younger Nord, making some money off winning bets against silly persons who decided Brynja wouldn't be able to beat the last few fellows. 

By that time Meg had finished both her meal and her second mug of beer; seeing Latro was there as well, she'd decided to go meet up with the two.

"Ya sure showed them!" she added in Brynja's direction, a grin on her face, leg twitching excitedly as she talked.

"Megana!" What a night this was turning out to be, first Latro, and now Megana had arrived out of nowhere. "W-well, someone told me I'm a bit loose... with my money. So I decided to make some until Rhea paid us." She reached out to the younger Nord, and clasped her on the shoulder.

"Besides, free beer and free board." She chuckled a bit to herself, "What are you doing out at this time of night?"

"Findin' a place for the night, and a meal." Meg decided not to mention at the moment that she might have made money off Brynja, unsure how the older Nord would take it. "I don't really have a home 'round here an' all. Besides, if you're gonna be here as well then I might as well keep it permanent 'til I gotta leave. Better to be 'round people I actually know, right?" She looked over at Latro. "Are you stayin' here as well?"

Meanwhile

Danica giggled, her face flushed as Alim whispered in her ear, his voice honeyed and sultry. The pretty young barmaid tilted her head just enough to expose her neck, and she bit her tongue as Alim leaned in closer. 

"Hey!" 

Danica's eyes went wide like saucers, and Alim was suddenly 2 feet away as if he had never even been within scandalous distance. Cassius strode up, eyeing Danica and shooting a skeptical look at Alim. The Redguard Breton bastard stood with a regal poise and a respective look on his face.

"My good woman." Alim began, his accent cultured. "I am so sorry for bumping into you. Sleep has addled my mind. I would like two pints of the finest ale please."

Danica  was not nearly as good at acting, her neck still tingling from his hot breath and her utter surprise of being discovered brought a shock to her senses. "Um uh, y-yes right away." she breathed, hurrying off to fetch the ale, her strawberry blonde hair bouncing as she did so. "Excuse me." 

Alim raised his brow and leaned back on the bar counter, his elbows resting. Cassius shook his head, and nodded over to the table with the others. "Everyone else is over there." 

Alim grinned, knowing his facade was up. "Don't blame her." He said honestly, gesturing toward where Danica went. "She really was attentative and ready to take my order. I just started a conversation and...well I cannot help myself sometimes." 

"As long as it doesn't happen again." Cassius sighed and shoo'ed him away. Alim practically hopped out of Cassius' vicinity and pulled up a chair with the others as if they had already invited him. "So, what are we discussing?"

"Oh,  Alim, didn' see you come in!" Meg turned to look his way, greeting him with a smile. It was nice to meet up with the friendlier folks of their group once more. "Nothin' in particular, drinkin' and wonderin' where the night's gonna be spent." With her new beer finally arriving, she took a large gulp, licking her lips once she set it back down.

"Alim?" Brynja teetered in her seat as she turned to look at him, "Alim!" She crowed, she slapped him hard on the back, a bit too hard perhaps.

"We are... discussing, as it would appear... in this erroneous arrangement, that the topic of home is of great importance." She hiccuped as she finished her mug of ale. Brynja refilled the wooden mug with what was left in the pitcher, and pushed it away from her to signal that she was in need of a refill.

"I... have no home. Family in Whiterun, of course, but I am damned certain that my mother is very... unhappy with my behaviour. SO. I've no intentions of returning," she lifted her mug in a cheer, "To the limits of unbound freedom!" She held out her mug for those around her to clank their mugs against.

"My Pa's in Whiterun too, but I can't go an' stay with him, he got himself a wife an' another child, a boy." Meg looked momentarily grumpy as she took another gulp. "Marne didn' like me 'round the place much- I'd stay in the inn when I was there. Pa'd go along with it an'... bah, I didn' wanna cause trouble."

"Really? Then we might have more in common than I thought." Brynja's brows raised at Meg sharing a home in Whiterun. "If you have heard, my mother is Eydis WhiteHand. Runs a small apothecary shop in town. Though, as first born daughter, she placed a lot of weight on me. Expected me to become some type of fuckin' lady or something like that. 'Course that's hard to do when your daughter is six feet at the age of four-and-ten.Ran off in the war, looking for my brother, Ivor is his name, enlisted as a field hand. Had to patch men and women up, most died. Ma didn't like that at all, eh? Only made it worse when I came back, alive, and not even months later, I found myself serving Rorik Bone-Breaker, Thane of Windhelm. And from there everything became a downward spiral, mistake after mistake. Why bother going home when your family knows you're a good for nothing lout?" She lifted her mug to Meg, "I'll drink to that, disappointed families with nowheres to go." Brynja held a lopsided grin, yet there lay a distinctive shadow in her eyes, an aching in her heart that she could not.

Meg returned the grin with one of her own before finishing off her drink in one glug. Her life didn't sound so terrible, and least not in the way that she disappointed her father. He'd always been there for her when she was young and needed him... well, most of the time. 

"I didn't know my Ma much," she continued as she stared at her now empty mug. "She died when I was small. Pa took whatever care he could of me. Him an' Ma, before I was born, they used t'do go 'round doin' the same thing I am. Well, kinda.. er... a little. They were more... uh... what's the word..." She waved her hand in a careless manner, mind a little vacant for words. "People'd pay 'em to keep 'em safe." She set her mug down before rapping on the chestplate she still had on. "This was my Ma's, and my sword too." She scratched a little at the armour before shaking her head. "More beer here!"

"Sellswords. That's what I am now." Brynja said, Cassius came back around, and this time he replaced set a fresh pitcher down in front of her. "I lost my Pa in the war. Wulfgar. And my brother, Jorrid. Both of them ran off to join the Stormcloaks. I have a little sister, Elyse, and she had a twin brother, Mige. He died before his sixth name day." She rested a heavy hand on Meg's shoulder.

"I'm sorry about your Ma, Megana. Death is a bitter thing. For some, it takes our nearest and dearest away too soon, and for others, well, we have ghosts that haunt us." Brynja poured herself another drink, before sliding the pitcher towards Meg, "Cassius will be a minute, so help yourself."

Meg's eyes brightened at the sight of the pitcher, quickly refilling her mug once more. It had been a while since she drank; at least this time it was with others around to stop her if she went overboard... or not.

"What about the rest of you? Latro? Alim? What of your families?" 

"I prefer not to think of home too much." Alim declared casually, reclining in his chair and taking generous sips of his ale. He took a deep breath through his nose after a moment however, and leaned forward. "But I suppose if I had to say, it's fairly similar to Meg's story. Only I was taken from my mother in Hammerfell, and raised as a bastard of a Breton lord. My father." 

He placed an elbow on the table, and then another. His free hand poised and his drinking hand heartily holding his mug. "I guess my life was not terrible growing up, but it wasn't what I wished for either. I left it long ago to make my own way. It's been good so far, albeit volatile." He ended the last sentence with a wink. 

"That explains it." Brynja said with a solemn nod, her eyes attempting to study Alim, attempt being key as she continued to sway. "I couldn't tell what you were. A Redguard clearly. But no wonder you make the ladies swoon over you. You're like Latro over here, eh? Got that Breton charm in your blood." 

Latro chuckled at Brynja's offhand comment about Alim and Latro's...appeal. Cassius had set down his whiskey a few moments ago but Latro took his first drink while thinking on what exactly to say to the question. The subject of home was a touchy one for him if anything past the city name were asked. It was a lie painfully stilted on half-truths. He sighed, "I was born in Camlorn to a well-off family, aristocrats, if you will. I was never close to my father, he wanted a son that was more... well, more," he gestured to his person with an awkward smirk, "But I made my way. I left home years ago, started traveling in the endeavor to find myself. I met my mentor somewhere along the roads between Wayrest and Daggerfall and he introduced me to the finest bards he knew, as well exposed me to the fount of his knowledge on dueling."

"I consider that man more of a father than my blood one. He and I parted ways in Bruma not too long before I first came to what was once our camp. The rest is history." Latro smiled and took another sip of his whiskey. "You served as a housecarl, a position in Skyrim that has no shortage of songs written about everyone who's held the title since Jorrun the Skald-King's time? No one who's done that could be a good for nothing lout." Latro smiled as best he could, "At least you had purpose in that. I've known worse folk, I can tell you that. I wouldn't hesitate to, uh, let you stand at my back so the world may not overtake us, as the Companions of Jorrvaskr say."

"Purpose is only good if you believe in what you're doing. When you lose that, what else is there?" She grumbled to herself, "Well, I'll give you my word on that. If you ever need protecting, or healing for that matter, you can count on me to be there." 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're stalking me, Brynja." Daro'Vasora said, having arrived at the counter, taking a seat next to Latro with a drink in hand she clearly didn't pay for. With the amount of people and unattended drinks laying around, it really was a paradise for five fingered discounts.

"Afraid not, I had my own intentions on coming here tonight." Her tone was a bit cold, an indication of her lighthearted attitude souring at the arrival of Daro'Vasora, her smile dissipating as she remembered the Khajiit's surprised expression. She had asked Vasora to give Zegol the flowers, instead of doing it herself. And Vasora made it seem as if she had decapitated a dozen kittens before her.

The Khajiit looked down the row at the others, wondering if there was an invitation that she somehow missed out on. A pang of envy and regret came and went with a heartbeat. It seemed to be a more spontaneous gathering rather than anything planned, and she wasn't exactly trying to keep in the graces of most of the people here. At least Durantel was nowhere to be seen; the Altmer probably carved Thalmor jargon on minorities to remind himself of home.

"I trust you all are enjoying all the Imperial City has to offer. What's the occasion?" she asked, skeptically eyeing a bowl of pretzels a bit out of reach. They probably had been sitting there for some time.

Alim wiped a bit of the froth off the corner of his mouth, giving an inviting smile to Daro'Vasora. He always felt somewhat comfortable and trusting with Khajiit from his time in their tropical homeland. He didn't know why that stuck out in his mind, but it had and he always felt a certain camraderie. "Just good timing and favor of the divines." Alim said to her, indicating how they all ended up here. 

"How about you? Tired of roaming about?"

"The Divines have a peculiar sense of humour." She murmoured in response, electing to shove the pretzels further away to eliminate the temptation. "And of course not, this just happens to be home. It's worth remembering you have somewhere to go back to between journeys."

Alim hesitated by how she spoke, giving a slight squint of his eyes as they twinkled with a curious amusement. "By your home, do you mean this fine establishment, or the Imperial City?" He asked, wondering what tale she would have to tell if it was the latter. 

"What, you think I'm a drunkard who spends more time in a tavern than at home?" Daro'Vasora challenged with mock indignance. 

At first Alim felt as if he'd mispoken, but he knew a jest when he heard one. He was made of those! Feigning nonchalance, he sipped his drink. "The thought crossed my mind." But after a silence, he gave a grin showing he was kidding. Placing his drink down, he slapped the table. "You never said you came from here! Or...not in my presence."

The Khajiit gestured for the barkeep to head her way, turning from Alim for the time being. "You never asked." she pointed out flatly, resting her elbows on the counter and cradling her fingers. 

Meanwhile... 

Meg was conveniently ignoring the conversation taking place, her eye on the pitcher Brynja had so generously allowed her to partake from. Her sorry ol' mug was empty yet again, the dratted thing. "Bah." Green eyes glancing about in a shifty manner, teeth biting down on her bottom lip in dire concentration, the still somewhat sneaky Nord pulled the pitcher closer to her with every word the others said, until at last it sat right before her. Grinning at her success, she brought it up to her lips and took a long, liberating swig, ignoring the beer that escaped her mouth and dripped down the sides of her chin.

Latro had been pulled from the conversation at hand by the slightest bit of movement. At first, he thought it a trick of the eye, what with all the bustling of the other patrons and the bartender attending them. Then he was sure, the pitcher moved farther away, but only a hair's breadth. He watched its journey to the end, where it sat straight before Meg and she wasted no time in enjoying the pilfered pitcher by quoffing a good amount of it. He couldn't help but chuckle with a hand over his mouth, a canine pinning his lower lip down. The display definitely endeared Meg to him. If anything, this group he chose to travel with was turning out to be quite the bunch.

"Mind sharing that?" He leaned over with that easy smile and said just loud enough for her to hear as she placed the pitcher down on the bartop. "Our secret."

For a moment Meg was in comedic shock, eyes wide and mouth wide open, unable to fathom how her sneakiness had been so easily spotted and seen through. "Sh-share wha- oh..." The words secret were something she was more than familiar with hearing, and immediately brought her grin back to her face and a sparkle to her eyes.

"Psst," she whispered back. "If ya finish it without no one knowin', we could probably get more... they're givin' Brynja for free here!" With that said, she easily handed the pitcher over to him.

Brynja, who in the depths of her drunkennes, had no inkling as to the espionage occuring behind her back. Her eyes were focused on Vasora, swaying only slightly in her chair as she squared her shoulders.

"Someone once told me... that I'm a bit loose with my money. So I made a... proposition to the innkeeper. Give me free drinks, and board for two days, and I'll make him more money than what I ingest." She raised her eyebrow as she finished speaking. Though, to be quite certain, the expression on her face, one intended to impress, or rather hint at her capability of providing for herself despite her spending habits, was an over-exaggerated look. One that might appear more suave and deft, were she sober. But she looked a fool.

"Well, let me be the first to counter that, dear friend." Latro said with a smile, then a hand covered his chuckle which masked the fact he was wiping the last vestiges of ale from his pointed chin. Just that moment, before Brynja could think of turning to face him, the barkeep replaced the pitcher. "You are a fine haggler. We've barely put a dent in this pitcher here."

To Meg's credit, there wasn't much to finish off in the last pitcher, making it easy work for Latro to gulp down the bitter gold drink in mere moments. He winked to Meg and the two shared a smile at the harmless fun. Truth be told, he was beginning to like traveling with these people. He almost didn't want to think of the time close at hand that they'd all be parting ways. He at least hoped Brynja had given any more thought to his offer of traveling with him, and that Sora would keep in contact.

The second day in the Imperial City, Brynja continued on in her stupor and antics. After the previous night of arm wrestling at The Merchant’s Inn, an even larger crowd gathered for the next evening. While she felt sluggish, a contributing factor to all the many pitchers of ale she downed, she pulled herself out of it with a hot meal from Cassius. As she shoveled spoonful after spoonful of piping hot cabbage stew into her mouth, Cassius placed a small purse on the counter before her. She raised her eyebrows at the sight, unsure what he intended.

“This is for you. I had Danica help me count the coin from last night, and well, I thought I’d be doing you a disservice for all of the new patrons you brought in last night. Here. It’s small, but I hope it helps you on your travels, wherever you go hereafter.” Cassius watched as Brynja set aside her spoon, glanced between and the pouch before he nodded at her to take it. She reached for the purse, still expecting Cassius to laugh in her face and snatch it away. Yet when that didn’t happen, she claimed the pouch and opened it.

“Cassius-” Her eyes widened at the glittering septims inside, a hard lump forming in her throat.

“Like I said, it’s nothing much. 100 septims. Should be enough to get you a room, and some hot meals wherever you go.” He put one hand on his hip and let out a guffaw.

“I tell you! I’ve never seen a woman drink so much ale, I have to admit, you did make a good wager. Out of all the liquor, wine, and beer everyone drank last night, yours was a small percentage. I’ll leave you to it, I need Danica’s help with cleaning this place up, and I can’t find where that silly girl has run off too.” He grumbled, turning away before Brynja had a chance to say another word. She sat there, glancing between the cabbage stew and the pouch full of coins. Divines be praised, she had never had such good luck all in one day. She swallowed hard, trying to fight off the lump in her throat.



26th of Rain’s Hand

I have avoided writing in this journal for many a day, and for that, I am at fault. These days, the quill weighs as heavy as my own sword. Even now, each pen stroke is tiresome. My last entry was the last day in camp before we descended into the depths of a mortifying Dwemer hell. I have little idea where to start, so it is best to be blunt. Those who did not join us in our underground endeavours, have perished. We few, those who delved into the abyss, are the sole survivors. Rhea, Gaius, Balroth, Alim, Judena, Solandil, Durantel, Anifaire, Latro, Daro’Vasora, Megana, and I, are all who survived. I am weighed with a heaviness, call it not by guilt, but perhaps the word petrified suits the need.
I fear. I fear what will arise from this travesty. I am not afraid to admit that I wish it would all disappear. That I had never taken this contract, and that I was still on the roads in Skyrim. Then again, this event would still have transpired regardless if I had not penned my name on that line. And those lives would still be lost. I can only imagine how Rhea herself feels. After all, she hired every person, and brought them to that camp. I should not dwell on these thoughts much longer, lest I turn to the bottle too early in the day.

On another matter, I have not addressed the company I kept while in the Jerrall Mountains. The first that comes to mind is Daro’Vasora. What a cat. She plays with hearts as if it were that, a simple game. Zegol, her mentor, is an endearingly kind Orsimer, and were it not for my oafish behaviours, perhaps I would have enjoyed a chat with the man on the peculiar items in his store. Alas, my wounded pride got the best of me. I am still at fault for facing those I have injured. And Daro’Vasora did not play into my request to deliver those flowers to him. The expression on her face alone, drove a dagger straight through me.

Nevertheless, there is the case of Latro. The pale Breton with raven-black hair. I can see why the ladies would find him attractive. And I have no shame in admitting that myself. He did extend an invitation to me on the first night of my contest here at the inn. He opened the possibility for me to travel with him. Though, I am not sure how he would handle a woman like myself with a pitiful habit of turning to the bottle whenever possible.

Then, there is the independent Megana, a fellow sister from our homeland. I insist on calling her by her full name, since she has yet to correct me. Although the same cannot be said for poor Judena, our sole Argonian companion. She is touched with what seems to be a case of shortened memories, making it near impossible for her to recall the names of those newly met, lest she records each encounter in her logbook.

Ah, before I forget, as if I could, there are the three Altmers, each more different than the last. The first is the fragile, and seemingly dainty Anifaire. Durantel, an old codger who is defiantly set in his ways, and certainly his prejudices against all Men and Beast, save for his own kin. I find him particularly draining to listen to, though he is not inefficient as he would seem. And the last to mention is Solandil. As with Latro, I find him easy on the eyes, despite the looks he garners from others. It cannot be helped, with skin so pale, it is like me with my height. None can help but look. Though I am quite certain, after my lousy experiences with love, that someone like me with such manners would ever acquire attention from such men in general. I enjoy being alone, but being lonely is… well, a terrible feeling.

There is Gaius, and Balroth, who have served in the Legion together, though I cannot say if they were ever in one another’s company during the war. Nevertheless, they are seasoned warriors, and for that I can both appreciate and admire.

Lastly, there is Alim. While he bears many commonplace features found in Redguards, he revealed to me that he is also half Breton, an attribute Latro and him share. He possesses an endearing personality for the most part, though I would not trust him with my ale. I still have the foggiest idea how I received with an extra seven pitchers of ale that first night here, though I have a hunch he had a part to play.

For now, that is all. May these future days be filled with light.

By the third day, as promised, Brynja readied herself after a hot bath. She figured she’d best cleanse herself of the putrid smells that clung to her, sweat, alcohol, and bile. Not that it was her who had become sick, rather the contenders from last night. Her joints sang to the high heavens as she eased herself into the hot bath. For once, she skipped her armor, and decided to sport her leathers for the day. She saw no need to wear the heavy plate armor to a dinner party. Once she had readied herself for the day, Brynja decided to set out for Rhea’s manor. She had a hunch that she would become lost several times on the way over, so she thought it best to leave early in case that were to happen.

By high noon, she had indeed become lost. She had passed through the Market district several times, even though she had started off within the same place. There were far too many alleyways and side streets. As she settled into the square for a brief rest, she spotted the familiar dark hair of their leader, Rhea. She rose to her feet, elated that she would be able to find her way out with her guidance. And that was when...darkness fell. Like a wave cresting on the shoreline, a cool air turned many heads to the heavens. A wave of whispers, cries, and panicked voices rang out as the compelling sight of ships with wings floated overhead. She swore under her breath. Of all days! Brynja was certain that these ships belonged to the Dwemer, after all the mountain had blown up because of Dwemer designs. She scanned the area as people began to flee in terror. She should have done so as well, except for the fact that she was unarmed, and barren in terms of protection. Brynja was vulnerable.

Her eyes located familiar landmarks, and soon found herself bursting through the door to The Merchants Inn. Cassius was nowhere in sight, except for Danica behind the counter. Upon her entrance, the young barmaid raised her eyes at the sight of the towering Nord woman looming in the doorway.

“You must leave!” She shouted, not wasting a minute to spare.

“Why?” Danica asked, her brows knitting together. Surely, Brynja had drank one too many mugs of ale this morning for her to act so boldly.

“Don’t patronize me girl, there are fucking ships in the sky! Where is Cassius?” She demanded, making her way to the bar.

“He went to the docks to pick up some more flour. What do you mean ships in the sky?”

“For fucks sake.” She swore under her breath, “Listen. Whatever is floating in the sky can’t mean anything good. There are giant fuck off ships with wings in the skies over the city. The skies are dark as if this is the end of days. Go! Go home, and leave the city with your folks. This can only mean death for those who stay.” She abandoned Danica, and made her way up the stairs to her room. Never in her life had she slung on her armor as quickly as she did this day.

When she entered the lower part of the tavern, Danica was nowhere to be found. Good. With her rucksack fashioned over her broad shoulders, and her longsword clenched between her hands, Brynja emerged into the district to see a sight of horrors.

Three ships floated down, landing across the city. She swore again, the large crowd of people that once stood with mouths agape turned towards the heavens thinned dramatically. In an unfamiliar city, with her sense of direction robbed, Brynja knew she had to escape no matter what. She looked for the wooden sign posts, the horns and bells chiming echoing throughout the expansive citadel. By the braying sounds of call to arms, she could hear over the ruckus, the steady drum of soldiers rushing towards the ships in streets she couldn’t see. Following the tail end of citizens coursing through the paved streets, Brynja rounded a corner to see Legionnaires engaged in combat with an all too familiar Dwemer automata. She recognized the spheres and spiders that scuttled past, and headed for the citizens. She didn’t have time to understand what was fully happening, all she could see were the gleaming Dwemer metal, even in such dim lighting, figures that towered over the Legionnaires and made short work of them. The blood drained from her limbs, the longsword in her hand weighing heavier than she remembered.

‘Fuck this.’, she thought. Brynja turned tail and raced, shoving anyone over in her path. Now was not the time to play victor.

6th Day in The Imperial City; The Merchant’s Inn

A room with a view.

If by view, they meant the back alleys of The Imperial City - then yes, this was a room with a view.

This was just one of the many gripes that the young Bretonian Mage had with her current dwellings. Still, they had provided her a larger bed and had been able to find softer pillows too. It could be worse, she could be in Riverwood again, a place she had spent far too much time lately. If she thought on it hard enough she could still smell the livestock, shit, and sweaty farmers. She scowled up at the ceiling before rising from the bed.

She made her way to the dresser, opening the first drawer to find her latest procurement's - a small vial of lavender essence. She opened the vial and tipped it against her wrists, massaging it against the delicate skin until she could smell the subtle fragrance. Her hair too, was a mess - a tangled mess of long blonde locks to her waist - something would need to be done about it. For a while longer than a normal denizen of Tamriel might admit, she sat running her fingers through the waves, tucking, braiding, and fastening until it all came together in a delicate knot of plaits at her shoulders, the bottom layers cascading down her back.

Time for the piece de resistance - her new garment. A half robe with an asymmetrical hem, in an ombre wash of lilac to violet to maroon at the very bottom. She fastened the buttons at the front of the decolletage neckline - noticing that it gave her breasts a slight lift - she admired her overall silhouette. Coming to The Imperial City just for a robe - but it wasn’t just a robe. This was haute couture - a blend of velveteen and silks. This truly was an exquisite creation, down to every last detail. There were magenta threads spun through the back to create the shapes of flowers. The trousers were not quite so exciting, a beige colour with thicker fabric padded over the thighs and calves - providing a touch more protection from anything sharp. The final touch was a filigree gold corset belt around the middle. Delicate - the handiwork of the Altmer.

She smiled as she ran her hands down her own body, feeling effervescent - like the Lady of a Manor. She was ready to be on her way out of the City now, and she gathered her things, packing away her bag with efficiency - everything had its place in there. Her staff slipped so easily into the back of the robe too.

As she sauntered down the stairs of the Inn, she caught a glimpse of Cassius, and she made sure that he saw her too - alerting him to her presence with a soft clearing of her throat. “I’ll be taking my leave now, good barkeep. Thank you for the stay and your hospitality... “ she let her steel grey eyes scan the room, and she spotted an older looking gentleman - a Redguard sitting on his own in the corner, nursing an ale. “I just, I wanted to visit a few more landmarks but I’m not quite sure how to get there…” her voice raised a little - the Redguard’s ears pricked and he looked up at her “I’m a local Ma’am… I can show you…!” The ale was slurring his speech but that was perfect. She could see from his attire that he was an adventurer of sorts - perhaps even Military. He probably didn’t have too much gold to his name but he might have a coin or two to buy a true Lady a decent meal… After all, the food in the Inn was shit.

Cassius took Raelynn’s hand as she descended the last step - his touch repulsed her but she smiled through it, taking from her bag a small pouch of Septims with her left hand, as she pulled away the right from the Barkeep’s grasp - she passed him the pouch, to which he responded;

“Err, Miss Hawkford this feels a little lighter than wha-”

“I’m sorry my friend” she began softly, cutting him off, her voice like honey “I thought we had agreed to this, I did take a look at your back and gave you a treatment did I not… Was this not to be counted towards my stay?” she tilted her head to the side, eyes widening like a little girl.

“Oh, yeah… err, I forgot about that…” the disappointment sounded in his voice. She had looked at his back, yes, and maybe she had laid a hand on it but for some reason it actually felt slightly worse…

“I’ll be on my way then Cassius...”

The Redguard stood to attention as Raelynn approached, a faux naive glimmer in her eye as she recoiled inside while he bent out his arm for her to take. “So… my friend, where shall we go to get some real food around here…”



Stuffed full of pheasant roast, and peasant soldier out of sight, Raelynn began to make her way out of the City - she had gotten what she came for - and yes it had been worth it. She was turning heads; people were even gasping at her beauty. She felt radiant.

It wasn’t until people began screaming that she realised the reaction wasn’t for her at all she turned on her heel to face an onslaught of airships coming her way. There were Dwemer bursting forth from them, and suddenly Dwemer Spheres were rolling through the very same alleyways that had been her peaceful view. They now ran with blood.

It all happened so quickly.

A Spider lunged at her - set to kill, a City Guard stepped in with his sword; a fool. “Run M’lady - RUN! ALL OF YOU!” he yelled out - barely seconds had passed that he had finished the Spider, a Sphere ambushed him, the sword carving right through his midriff - pavement painted crimson as his insides tumbled outside.

It had happened too quickly.

A tidal wave of people came crashing towards the Breton, in her shock she could only do the same, run and run - eventually growing tired she dipped into an empty alleyway - a chorus of screams and violence. She could hear lightning somewhere, but couldn’t see anything.

"What is the meaning of this?"

No idea of where she was, how far from the city gates, or how soon her demise was to be, she stood with her back flat against the wall of the alley - looking to her left and right while breathing heavily, getting her breath back. She had only seconds to decide her actions now. Nobody was going to save her this time, for the first time in her life, she might have to save herself.

---

The Altmer woman took one more turn, stepping into another alleyway, glancing around to read the signs. With a sigh, she squinted at the nearest one, an alchemy shop. Had she been by here before? She couldn't tell. Looking around her, she tried to find any landmarks she recognized, to no avail. Frustrated, she sat down on some storage barrels near the shop.

Anifaire knew how to get a handful of places - a few shops, the bank, those sorts of things - but only from the University. Without the landmark, she found she had no clue how to find her way back to that part of the town. Suddenly, she wished she had spent more time in the city. Fear had always held her back from it. Thugs robbing a rich Altmer lady didn't seem unlikely, and even now the though occured to her, though it sounded less fightening in comparison to the Dwemer ruin ordeal.

As it was, she managed not to be too afraid, sitting on the barrels, trying to make sense of where she was in reference to the shop signs around her.

Unfortunately for her, she was noticed by a few fellows of an unsavory sort with their eyes trailing on her for more reasons than one. She was quite a bit taller than most of the crowd traversing the city. Her pretty face and obvious wealth sent alarm bells through the up and coming gang of ruffians, freshly immigrated from the wars in the North.

However, as fate would have it, she had also caught the attention of someone else. Someone who was an enigma to the oft sheltered Altmer. The dashing Alim had taken to the local marketplace, casually eyeing the merchandise and shops as he waded through the packed streets. He decided he wasn't in the mood to thieve today, feeling his surviving the exploding mountain pressed his luck far more than he was comfortable. Instead, he decided to spent a bit more than usual, tossing a few Gold coins a fruit vendors way before taking his pick of the stock. But Alim wasn't going to eat his assortment of food on the ground, and instead made his way atop one of the many buildings overlooking the marketplace to enjoy his meal.

The apples were quite good, but the peaches were to die for. He was just about to skin his last peach, a small knife in his hands as he began to peel the soft skin off when he noticed a movement down below sticking out like a sore thumb.

On second glance, it was quite a beautiful sore thumb. A sore thumb nearly seven feet tall, resplendent in a rich dress. He had never actually gotten to speak to Anifaire more than a few encounters, their being completely different people. But he wasn't above admiring a pretty Altmer, and he simply ate his peach and watched over her until she sat down atop a barrel below him, looking defeated.

After a moment, he realized she had to be lost. He was about to capitalize on the situation and maybe surprise her and amuse her with a few tricks as he helped her find her way, but fate threw another curve ball. The spellsword blinked as several gentlmen he would describe as 'thugs' materialized out of the crowd and began to slowly surround her, blocking any view from the street. Two were wearing hoods, but if Alim had to guess it was three Imperials, a Khajiit and a Breton.

"Might you be lost, miss?" The Breton asked, a dangerously mischeivous edge to his voice.

As the thugs slowly boxed her in, Anifaire jumped up from her barrel. She barely made it one step before she was cut off by a large Breton man. In an attempt not to seem frightened, she straightened her back, using her height to her advantage. She was nose to nose with the man, but he still had far more strength than she did.

Briefly, Alim wondered how these thugs could ger away with messing with someone in daylight, even in an alleyway. He'd thought the Imperial City wasn't as lax in their guardsmen. Either way, he wasn't about to let this happen to a comrade. Breathing in, he stretched his arms a bit and braced his hands on the building's ledge.

"No," she replied. "Just enjoying the day. If you don't mind, I'll just be on my way." She moved to step around him, but he stepped in tune with her to block her path again. She frowned, considering how to get out of the situation, but she couldn't see any way out. There were four more of them, blocking her off from the street. Were they after her coin? Nervously, she reached up and covered the jewelled necklace at her throat.

The Breton gave a grin, and held a knife. "Now now, don't get greedy on us..." and he reached for the necklace.

Suddenly, he felt a hand grip his arm and the men around him, too busy focusing on blocking the outer alley view, gave a start. It probably looked like Alim had materialized out of thin air to Anifaire, as he'd landed behind her and slipped under her arms to block the Breton's grab.
"Whoa now," Alim said. "Is that anyway to help a lady? Offer to aid her and then ask for payment immediately?"

Anifaire nearly jumped in shock at his arrival, at first glance assuming him to be another assailant. With relief, she noted who he was, from the expedition: Alim, the strange one.

He let the incredulous stares and open mouth astonishment of his appearance hang as he casually unhanded the dagger from the Breton and handed it to Anifaire, as if it had belonged to her all along. "Thank you so much for your assistance, either way. I was looking for her all over."

"You was...what?" one of the Imperials asked, a brutish looking man with scarred hands and a ruddy complexion.

"You know her?" The Breton asked, eyeing Alim's sword and his obvious skills of sneaking. This mark was looking a bit less easy now than they had originally thought. For his part, the dashing young spellsword placed a hand on his chest and gave the lady Altmer a longing look. "Alas yes, she is my fiance." he declared, before leaning over and whispering to the Breton. "She's a tad slow in the head." Of course, her Elvish ears allowed her to hear every word.

Too stunned to react, she slowly processed the words "a tad slow in the head" as she daintily held the dagger as though it would stab her of its own accord. She scrambled to confirm what was being said, relieved to see a familiar, if odd, face.

"I- um- there you are!" she stuttered. She glanced at the men around her nervously to see if they were backing off. The Altmer stepped hesitantly behind Alim, just wanting to avoid the Breton man. Fiance? This guy? She held her breath, hoping the deception was enough. But, really, would they believe that? Her? And this... She nearly shook her head, but stopped herself.

"It does my heart wonders to see her safe," the Spellsword said with relief, and tossed a gold peice to the Breton with a subtle flick, followed by patting the cheek of the closest Imperial. The Khajiit tilted its head in confusion as Alim's feather spell on the gold coin suddenly took effect, and the wealth halted in midair, before floating further within the alley as if a powerful gust of wind redirected its course. All of the thugs but the Breton chased after it.

"Now, if you'll excuse us kind sir, me and the misses must be going." Alim said, hooking his arm around Arinfaire's and escorting her out of the alleyway into the more crowded market. "Let's go dear. We've many things to do today."

Anifaire blinked a few times in the direction of the floating coin as she was dragged off by her rescuer. She mumbled an uncertain "of course" as they moved away from the alleyway and into the crowds. Once safely in the middle of things, Anifaire stopped Alim by the arm and offered him the dagger, held out in front of her as though it might burn.

Alim took a respectful step back, and then took the dagger off her hands. He flipped it, allowing the blade to spin once over before he grabbed the blade between his thumb and forefinger. "You know, the way things are you might need this someday." He said, but he slipped the blade within his belt.

"Alim, right? I, uh. Thank you, for your help." She glanced skeptically at the dagger, thinking she wouldn't know how to if she did.

The spellsword blinked and looked to her with a pleased smile, before giving a dismissive wave and shrugging. "It's no problem. We're companions after all." He replied. The spellsword looked around and made sure they were in no one's actual way, before continuing. "You're not used to the city, are you?"

"Well, I used to live at the University," Anifaire said with a shrug. "But I'm not accustomed to being lost in the marketplace by myself, no. I've never stayed at an inn on my own either, so it appears these are days full of new experiences." Longingly, she remembered having the aid of her father's retainers back home. She hadn't had to occupy herself with these things.

"Yeah I could tell..." Alim said, honestly pondering on how to help her. "First thing's first. The whole deal with the city is that there's more people than you're probably used to. And you might not have noticed but you kind of stand out. Not many imperials are used to a beautiful rich Altmer that gets lost easily..."

He glanced around at the shops within reach, pondering as he looked. "What you need is..." his voiced trailed off, and without a word he slipped away into the crowd as if born in it like a fish to water, before slipping back in front of her with a rolled up item. "A cloak." With a few quick motions, the cloak unfolded and he wrapped it around himself, his thick mane of hair and his face concealed and wrapped tight until he looked up at her, a knowing smile on his face before he unwrappred himself. "See? Can't cover your height, but it'll help you remain somewhat incognito."

Anifaire glanced at the bundled cloak in surprise when he reemerged from the crowd with it. Had he just stolen that? She shook off the thought and nodded in agreement. "Ah, I understand. That is good advice." The Altmer touched her stomach, feeling the lump of her coinpurse underneath her clothing. That had been advice from her mother, perhaps the reason nobody had pickpocketed her yet.

"My mother told me I should hide my valuables, but I'm unprepared, today," she admitted. "I haven't been thinking very clearly lately."

Alim wrapped the cloak up again to make it portable for her, though he caught the subtle wording of her next sentence and couldn't help but ask. "Why lately?" It was a quick and casual question, however he found he was very interested in hearing her explanation.

"After the business at the Dwemer ruin. I've never done anything like that before." She was uncertain she'd be able to explain effectively, and struggled with the next words. "It's as though... I'm not sure, I just can't get rid of the feeling of being chased by the Falmer in the back of my mind."

The spellsword regarded her for a moment, sympathy on his face. He sometimes forgot some people could be effected by such things in a deeper manner. He was often afraid as well, but it was an old feeling he was quite used to. He handed the wrapped up cloak to her, giving an encouraging smile. "I know the feeling. But it'll pass very soon, trust me." He chuckled. "You'll find Falmer are also not a common sight in about any location." He gave her a bow once the cloak was out of his hands.

Standing up, he inclined her to follow him with a motion of his head. "I'll show you around town if you're still lost."

Anifaire unfurled the cloak, wrapping it about herself. She left the hood down, but the fabric still covered her fine dress. She smiled gratefully and nodded. "Sure, that would be appreciated."

26th Rain's Hand, 4E208, early afternoon-

It was with a sense of both relief and regret with which Meg had woken up. It would indeed be nice to be paid, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to part ways with her companions just yet. Had bonds been made? She wasn't sure yet, but she did feel a sense of sisterhood with Brynja, even if she had duped her out of quite a bit of drink the first night, along with the help of Latro. Speaking of the latter, she found him quite pleasant to talk to and even just be around, much like with Judena. She had to admit she owed Judena big time; the map as well as notes she'd hurriedly given her and Latro before heading her own way had proven very useful to Meg at least.

Whilst the Nord had spend quite a bit of time indoors, sleeping away the tiredness of the journey that brought them all the way to the Imperial City, she hadn't wasted all of her time in the inn. With septims she still on her, she'd decided it was high time to buy a couple of extra pairs of clothing. She also spent quite a while by various weapon shops, wondering whether she should spend her remaining money on new equipment or not. It was with a not so heavy heart that she left the shops behind. Meg was both sentimental and a little bit of a stingy person when it came down to it; she doubted selling her current gear would give her enough septims to buy something better than what she had. Besides, it was probably best to wait until Rhea paid them.

Returning to the inn for what she supposed may be the penultimate time, Meg headed to her room, deciding to set her things aright, packing her clothes away and tidying her bags, emptying them of any remain crumbs from long forgotten dried food. She made a face as a couple of dried and desiccated beetles fell out as well. She doubted even a potion brewer would have much use for them in this shoddy state.

"Hm..." She looked down at herself. Her clothes had not fared well this expedition, no matter how many times she washed them. She had half a mind to toss them but decided to simply change them with her newly bought clothes instead, stuffing the old worn blouse and trousers in her pack once she was finished changing. Smiling, she patted at her new clothes, a grin teasing her lips. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself a little luxury; she forgot how uncomfortable stiff and unsure clothes felt at first. A chuckle escaped her and she shook her head.

"Don' get used to it, Meg," she told herself as she checked up on her bow.

She was all but finished and just about to leave the inn when she heard commotion outside. Imperial City was a bustle and a half compared to the cities of Skyrim, but even Meg knew this was something more than just the ordinary. Frowning, she took hold of her sword on instinct, holding it before herself as she opened the door and stepped outside.

At first it was hard to tell what exactly was going on. However it wasn't long before Meg followed the line of sight of everyone else, looking up to the sky. "What in-" Nothing else came out as she simply watched, unable to believe her eyes. Ships in the sky?

It wasn't long before panic set in on the people, and Meg wasn't spared from that onslaught. What was even happening? For a while she was frozen in place, not even minding the people rushing past her, simply aghast with what she saw. It was only when the huge armoured figures landed and stood upright she realized that this was actually happening.

A man fell before her, body littered with holes. A yell of fright could be heard- it felt like forever but was only a moment when she realized it had come from her. I can't- I can't die here! The very real realization that her life was in immediate danger struck Meg like a slap to the face, and she waited not a second longer, running in the opposite direction as fast as she could.

Dwemer, her mind yelled at her, it has to be dwemer! What else could it be? She didn't expect or want any answers to the fleeting questions that crossed her mind.

Ysmir, grant me strength!

26th of Rain’s Hand, 4E208. A @Dervish & @DearTrickster Collab

It had been quiet days spent roaming up and down the aisles of books at the Arcane University. Among peers, and friends that had decided to visit. As of that morning, Daro’Vasora had joined Judena among the University’s archives. They poured over tomes collecting shreds of information, anything they could find relating to the phenomenon that had turned Jerell Mountain into a beacon.

Judena stopped peering at the shelf, an arm already stacked with a couple books. She shrugged pulling the small journal free of the shelf, plopping it on top. Dressed in modest apprentice robes, old and the only robe she had that wasn’t eaten by moths. She rounded the corner of a long shelf, coming up to the work table. Scrolls with notes sat in a neat pile, Judena’s logbook was alongside them open with her notes.

“I believe I have collected a few other good sources, however I do apologize - I lost the page we wrote down all the titles I was meant to go looking for. I managed about three.” Judena gently placed them on the desk. “I do hope whomever penned in this journal wrote a little bigger than the last one.”

Daro’Vasora was garbed in simple, albeit fine trousers and a jerkin, her boots set nicely off to the side with a daypack that contained a number of her own notes and supplies for passing the day in a number of tomes that hopefully would illuminate what exactly they had encountered in the Jerall Mountains. A bag of honey tree nuts and another of smoked jerky sat beside her; her mind focused much more efficiently if she were keeping her mouth busy. On the other side, a pile of books and manuscripts she’d dug up with Judena were stacked neatly in order of importance, at least at first glance. The Khajiit glanced up as her companion returned, setting her own findings down on the table.

Vasora enjoyed Judena’s company, and the two of them had a bit of a history built on mutual respect and appropriating one another’s expertise when the need arose. While the Argonian’s mental deterioration had been an oftentimes annoying obstacle to overcome, at this point it was no different than dealing with a relative’s health complications. She barely noticed the lapses in memory most of the time these days.

“Paper is at a premium if you aren’t rich,” Vasora replied, slipping a strip of meat between her lips and working through it with small, measured bites. “I’m more of the mind that those who practice overly flourished calligraphy that sacrifices practicality for stroking their ego is much more tiresome.” She rolled her jaw, massaging her temple with a pair of clawed fingers. “You know what the frustrating part of the Dwemer is? They left behind a virtually untouched wonderland of infrastructure and engineering, but there’s barely any history. It’s like they were allergic to writing their thoughts and observations down, or stored it some way we don’t know. What we know is what historians pieced together centuries after the fact. War with the Chimer, enslaving the Falmer, a serious loathing of Nords, the splinter group that settled in Hammerfell… all of that is child’s knowledge. Why are there no mention of any settlement or interest in the Jerall Mountains? There aren’t even strange names for places I don’t recognize.”

“If the Dwemer were to practice calligraphy we may know a bit more about them. What we do have is a hundred different perspectives of interpretation. One of them must be close. For that I am thankful to pour through. A hundred minds have already done the work we can simply read. Do not grow discouraged my young friend.” Judena replied flipping the journal open with a shortened talon. “We have quite the unprecedented discovery on our hands, I feel as though had we returned to the mountain to see the source of the light - the beacon we may have had some better understanding.”

Jude pulled a chair to sit in, folding her tail to the side. “I have mulled it over to some length the past few days what the purpose of this light is. If you want the in depth thoughts they are in my logbook. However I came to a conclusion with the way it brightly shines directly into the sky and can be seen for miles and miles it must be a signal. Perhaps one they used eras ago built for an emergency. I am unsure why they would build something that could blow off the top of a mountain but, perhaps they had no chance to test it or calibrate it.”

Judena shrugged licking the tip of her thumb to pull apart some pages of the journal.

Vasora leaned back, arms crossed, chewing in a decidedly unconvinced manner. “If it were a beacon of sorts, why would it require that much power to unleash such devastation? They had a number of incredible and far more efficient inventions, I doubt that the light was the intention, but rather a byproduct of… something.” she said, trailing off. “They built the Numedium, for Alkosh’s sake. If they could build a giant steam golem that Tiber Septim used to conquer all of Tamriel due to it being an unstoppable abomination, something as simple as setting off a beacon seems trivial. But I’ll entertain the thought; to what purpose would they need a beacon that powerful?”

Judena reached for her logbook. “One moment.”

Patiently she read through her own thoughts, refreshing herself. “If we had time to travel as far as we could before losing sight of green light I would argue that it is meant to signal the far away reaches where other Dwemer ruins have been discovered. Warn them of enemies, signal others of ceremonial death or passing of a leader.” She gestured up. “I do not think they would build it originally to destroy the immediate surroundings, that may have been a result of our tamperings…” She paused, “Many variables to examine.”

She scritched a new thought down on the page. “I imagine a device to be used as a signal would be brought about if they were in need of it. Their disappearance gives us no clues as to why they disappeared as opposed to being wiped out by war or self destruction. There was no clear decline. If that is one thing we can all agree on is how strange their absence or leaving of this world is.”

“Tampering?” Daro’Vasora repeated incredulously “All Rhea did was shove the cube we found on site in the slot, Judena. Might as well have been a sword to its scabbard. And yes, we know that they mysteriously vanished. That’s why it’s bloody strange that we actually found the remains of one, the ruins should have had traces, remains, anything. Instead we’re left with more questions than answers. Take this for example,” she opened one of the books to her side, quickly skimming through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Turning the book around for the Argonian to see, Daro’Vasora pointed at an image of a ship. “They left images and models of things behind that we never found evidence of existing. They never had a navy, and this ship looks like it’s flying through clouds. There’s a bunch of things, including what I think was our creepy light monster in the ruins,” she turned another couple of pages. A large machine with spider-like legs was pictured, complete with anchoring claws at the feet. “There’s like two dozen things in here that look like ideas they had or concepts, and we’ve never found proof of it. There’s a lot of documentation for ‘what-ifs’ and yet nothing to do with whatever that contraption we activated was.” She sighed, chewing for a bit longer, until a light came on in her eyes. “Unless… they never had a chance to record it.” The realization dawned on her, tying into what Judena was saying. Was there a connection between the mountain and the Dwemer vanishing? It seemed unlikely, but if there were no mentions of the ruins like it were some kind of secret fortress, and there were still entire levels that weren’t fully explored in that place…

“By the Eight, what is that?” A voice called out, breaking the general quiet of the archives. Daro’Vasora looked up to see a bearded Imperial man in robes that denoted him as one of the senior members of the University’s faculty, who was staring dumbfounded out of one of the large windows to the sky above. Daro’Vasora headed over curiously, and followed the man’s gaze. Her eyes widened as her mind struggled to come to terms with what she was seeing, a portrait come to life. She rushed back to the tome, opening it to the page she had shown Judena moments earlier and glanced at the picture of the ship and back at the sky. The design was different, but there was no doubt what she was seeing was certainly real, as if it were pulled from her imagination and brought into being.

It took several moments for her to pry herself from the glass and with a creeping sense of dread, fueled by the sudden shift in atmosphere of those at the university, she hurried back to begin packing her things. “Judena, we need to go.” she stated quickly.

Judena stood, confusion sweeping over her expression. Seeing strange lights sweep past the windows, alarm spreading through the archives.

“I need to go to my chambers first.”

Judena gathered her logbook and their scraps of paper into her arms then took off in a run toward the exit. “This way!”

Running down the hallway dodging past terrified mages and students alike. Heading to the northern towers, running past windows had they stayed to watch they would have surely had clear sight of the sudden and terrifying onslaught of death. Judena raced on not sparring a look behind her, having no doubts Daro’Vasora could keep up. They climbed a wide set of spiral stone stairs arriving to the third level, other mages were rummaging through their own belongings. Judena stepped up to her own door, unlocking it with a key.

“I have to retrieve my memories. Some of my oldest ones are stored at home in Argonia but I keep a few recent ones here.” She said largely to herself, trying to justify their reasons for not leaving the more time spent in the city would surely mean being caught directly in the chaos unfolding in the streets below. Would it be worth it to bunker into the university itself with scores of mages to protect the walls and themselves? The city had survived being sacked, surely they could survive. She snatched her travellers pack and filled it with a decade worth of logbooks. The leaflet journals were all in various stages of age, restoration being performed on them in various degrees. On Judena’s desk was a few more books stacked but an old artefact was in several pieces waiting to be restored and put back together.

Throughout her small room, various things were locked away in small trunks. Stacked against the wall. A hammock was strung up in the corner, below it was a pile of clothing.

“Daro’Vasora! Gather any other valuables you see, break the locks I do not care. Gold, jewellery, anything. I have kept various things for sentiment.”

Judena pulled her desk drawer open lifting a small letterbox stuffed full of unopened letters. Gently placing it on her desk. Her face screwed up. Gently she unlocked the box the letters sprung up over the sides. Judena’s breathing grew shallow, she clutched at the ring hiding underneath her shirt. Her beard slowly expanded.

Normally Daro’Vasora would have protested at anyone else wanting to grab such trivial items. She herself tossed the book of Dwemer creations in her pack given the present situation, but if Judena lost what she’d written down, she’d lose a huge period of her life and memories that she tried harder than anyone to remember because she couldn’t afford to forget. It made the Argonian more sympathetic than most, because Judena was a good person who suffered in a way that she decidedly didn’t deserve. There were a list of assholes that Daro’Vasora had met along the way that could do with some brain-damage, but Judena wasn’t one of them.

“Alright, fine. Just try to hurry. I suspect time isn’t our friend.” she replied, pulling a lockpick out and getting to work on whatever needed unlocking. She wouldn’t touch anything unless Judena asked, spare the money and jewellry. It wasn’t greed or malicious intent that guided the Khajiit’s hands in this situation, but rather they would likely need anything valuable they could afford to get away with and carry to pay for supplies, barter, or even bribe. This was one of those moments where Daro’Vasora knew that history was being made, and history wasn’t often kind to most of the people it declined to write about.

Were the Dwemer back? It seemed impossible, and by Oblivion, it was impossible, but the proof was up there in the sky and the distant screams of those who found out that whoever these invaders were, they weren’t benevolent and as great as Imperial City’s walls and ramparts were, they were damn useless against something that could pass over them with ease. It must have been what the people of Skyrim felt when the dragons came back, another impossible scenario that had very real, world-shaking events. The Khajiit had opened three containers when she turned to look at Judena. “Are you nearly done?” she asked.

Judena shook her head then decidedly stuffed all the letters into the traveler’s pack. She grabbed a few dirty clothes and stuffed them on top of the letters. “Yes I am done, let us make our way to the exit. I suggest we take the exit out to the gardens and scale the walls. Where should we go once we leave the University?”

Judena took one last look about the room then stepped out. The panic was clearly settling as mages fled their chambers and voices carried up the stairs.

Thinking more than five seconds into the future made it sink in for Daro’Vasora. “Zegol. I… need to get home.” she stated suddenly, her teeth grinding together in anxious dread. “You know the grounds better than I do, just lead the way.”

---

Curious Curios....

The city hadn’t been this chaotic and terrified since the Great War. Zegol looked out of the checkered glass windows at the crowds rushing by, and wincing when some were knocked over and trampled. Ships had descended from the skies and brief glimpses of armoured figures, as well as damned Dwemer contraptions rolling by and striking at people with grim clockwork efficiency. He’d been an accomplished adventurer in his time, and he’d survived a number of scraps with Dwemer toys to know their lethality. A pair of local boys who had come by his shop often, usually just to marvel at his curios, were trapped in the shop with him. All the better; they would be safe with him. They dutifully listened to his orders to help barricade the door and windows, and he gave them a couple of daggers for defense. It would be next to useless in untrained hands, but youth often felt courage if they were shown even a bit of trust.

And what wasn’t trustworthy about the big, strong Orsimer in glass armour and a battleaxe as tall as he was? Zegol hadn’t worn his adventuring gear in nearly a decade as Daro’Vasora began to take over for most of his fieldwork, as he thought fondly on the young Khajiit who came to him as a favour called in. He smiled at the thought of the mischievous and far too clever young protege he’d acquired and grown to love like a niece, or even a daughter. He was too old to start a family, the call to adventure had been too strong to think of doing something as trivial as settling down, but it had always been a gap in his heart, his soul; it was one that Daro’Vasora had filled. She wasn’t of his blood and she kept in correspondence with her family down in Leyawiin, but he knew that he was as much of family to her as she was to him. He spoke softly, barely a breath leaving his throat. “Stendar, keep her safe.” Zegol wasn’t much of a praying man, so he hoped it would suffice. Hopefully she’d met up with her adventuring friends and were keeping one another safe. He’d have to believe that, but for now, it was the matter of two frightened boys that looked up to him with as much awe and wonder as people used to look at the Hero of Kvatch’s statue in Bruma. He’d prove their devotion well-placed, although he hoped it wouldn’t come to it.

The streets quieted down somewhat, and soon there was a hammering against the door, frantic cries to be let in that were cut short with the distinct sound of bolt cracking against the emerald coloured oak. Zegol’s grip tightened on the axe, its blade sharp enough to shave with. Voices of a language he could not recognize were heard next, and soon a flurry of blades and blunt weaponry were smashing against the door, it valiantly but futility resisting the mechanical onslaught of the Dwemer spheres. Soon it gave way and entry was granted. Five navy-blue cloaked figures in splendidly crafted dwemer armour atop their colourful garments poured in, strange cannons in hand and poleaxes. The Dwemer spheres waited outside as a rearguard, crossbows and cannons roaring as they shot at any who came into sight.

Two innocent lives depended on what Zegol did here now, his breath was heavy, a surge of battle rage he had not felt in so many years, making him feel alive in a way he’d long forgotten. Words abandoned him, and instead a fierce cry escaped his throat and he charged, swinging his weapon around as if he were 20 years younger.

The Dwemer calmly raised their weapons.

---

Hours later…

The streets had grown to be deathly quiet, often in the literal sense of the word. The Market District was filled with the dead, and any resistance of the local Legionnaires had been snuffed out. Daro’Vasora and Judena had made their way across the city as carefully and quietly as they could, and for all of their efforts to avoid being spotted, they had still been shot at, and in one particularly tense moment concealed themselves amongst bodies to evade the interest of passing Dwemer patrols. It was them, alright; they fit the profile, their weapons and armour were like something out of the books and ruins, only with arguably centuries more refinement, and their skin was pale, almost Imperial by the way of Dunmer in tone with elaborately knotted and trimmed beards that give them a much more ancient and ordered appearance than the Nords and their braids. By the time the duo had reached the homestretch, the sounds of fighting had reduced to clean-up work, and the attackers didn’t seem as hyper vigilant, instead beginning to establish chokepoints and defenses. At this point, they were rounding survivors up as prisoners, marching them in long columns to who-knows-where.

They had managed to make it to the street, which was empty, but a lot of doors were bashed in. They moved carefully, their hearts pounding intensely as they worried about peering into the windows and seeing something peer back at them. Daro’Vasora momentarily forgot her own personal safety when the came in sight of Curious Curios; the door was destroyed. She sprinted, entering the door without a care for her safety.

“Wait! Daro’Vasora!” Judena called after her picking up her pace. Entering the shop shortly after her.

There had been a fight here, shelves were toppled and priceless artifacts were smashed across the floor. Blood stained the wood beneath their feet, and the evidence of the attackers’ brutality was quickly evident. A young Imperial boy, no older than 12, had been impaled on the wall and now slumped against the floor, a trail of his blood marking his slide down to his final resting place. Another had been shot twice and lay feet from the one that was presumably his brother who had tried to guard his younger sibling. A lump formed in the Khajiit’s throat. She knew those kids; they had always been a pest to her, but now…

Her mouth was covered by her hands in shock and horror as a sight of green glass caught her eye. Near the base of the stairs lay a prone figure, his wonderful and beautiful glass armour crumpled uselessly and chunks of it had been ripped apart. “Zegol!” Daro’Vasora cried, rushing over to her mentor, her friend… she struggled to turn him over to face upright, his eyes were as glassy as the suit he wore as he stared lifelessly to the roof, a round hole bored into his forehead. His arm was missing, as was his axe, and across his torso were puncture wounds that his armour had been powerless to stop. She cradled him in her lap, her sobs coming freely and unrestrained as she placed her forehead against his, her tears washing away blood.

From the doorway, Judena checked over her shoulder then slowly came up behind her young friend crouching down beside her. “Oh...Oh no.” She whispered, her eyes casted away to the bodies of the young boys. “Such violence…”

The shop was destroyed, the Dwemer slaughtered them all. She allowed Daro’Vasora her moment of grief. She pushed up from where she crouched, picking up the body of the boy and laying him across the counter. She closed his eyes, Judena did the same for the other boy laying them side by side. Her heart twisted, the very real results happening all over the city as they took a few moments.

“We cannot linger.” She said quietly, “We need to find our way out of the city or there will be no one alive to remember them.”

“Daro’Vasora.” She crouched down beside her again, a hand on her shaking shoulder, “I am so sorry, I truly wish we had more time to grieve.”

It was hard to break from the agony she felt, but Judena’s touch helped bring Daro’Vasora back. She ran her fingers across Zegol’s brow, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” she whispered to him, kissing him on the brow and setting him down. “He deserves a burial, not to be left out like this.”

“He deserves the best, burial is not. . . realistic.” Judena said gently, “We can wrap him in a cloth and lay him to rest on his bed.” She suggested.

Daro’Vasora nodded, wiped her eyes, and got to work. Heading upstairs to her bedchamber, she stripped it up the sheets and brought it downstairs, quickly and deliberately forming Zegol’s makeshift burial shroud. There wasn’t time to strip him of his armour, and he wouldn’t have wanted to, she was certain. There was still that stubborn Orcish pride that he did so well to keep buried but she knew was always there, beneath his pleasant and friendly disposition. She took pride in him dying like a warrior, not being slaughtered like so many had been this day. She faltered at times, grief still consuming her, but she had to carry on. She couldn’t be caught and suffer the same fate, and Judena needed her. Her family needed her.

The morbid task completed, thankfully with her Argonian companion’s steadfast hands and gentle disposition, Daro’Vasora disappeared upstairs and began to grab her gear that she’d always had laid out in anticipation of the next big adventure. She just hadn’t expected it being so soon. Soon, she was heading downstairs with a full pack in her leather armour and pouches filled with gear. “Take anything you need from the shop. Better we use it than those bastards.” she said, noticing something immediately; all of the soul gems were gone.

It was something that was going to bother her for some time, but she couldn’t figure out why. Heading to Zegol’s room, she found some coin, a copy of his memoirs and an assortment of personal belongings, and perhaps most pressingly, a handful of invisibility potions. They’d at least help them get out of the city before it became totally locked down. Within seven minutes, Daro’Vasora was ready.

“Let’s go.” she said, leaving a medallion in Zegol’s hand that she momentarily uncovered. It was the one she had worn the day she arrived, trying her best to look like wealthy city-folk as well as the relatively run-down and boorish Leyawiin court could manage. “We’ll meet again, in the Sands Beyond the Stars. I promise.” she said as a farewell before rejoining Judena. She offered her one of the potions.

“Thank you, for being here.” she said softly, pulling the cork free.

“I believe I have you to thank, my friend.” Judena had found herself among the rubble some glass jars, unbroken. She trekked into the pantry to fill them with salt. “I am always quite terrified to be alone for long periods of time. I trust you would not lead me astray, as you imagine that is a very small handful of people.”

Stowing away the jar into her pack, nestling it among her letters. She popped the cork off of her potion as well, “Let us depart.”

As the sun peeked over the city walls, Alim stirred from within his bed. It was a simple cot of linen and cushioning, but when one was enjoying a sleep it felt like a veritable cloud. He gave a stretch that caused a groan to reverberate out of his throat. Once he had his wits about him, he briefly wondered how people woke up at a decent hour with such high walls blocking the sun.

He pulled off his covers and stepped onto the ground, before laying back down along his back on the wooden floor. The bare spellsword lifted his knees up, feet and back still on the ground and he began to do his daily stretches, pulling each knee to his chest one after the other, and then twisting his body slowly. He heard his back giving a few satisfying 'cracks' as he stretched. He still had to maintain his old back injury from when he was a child, having fallen from a roof. He made sure that did not stop him from the adventuring life.

Once he felt limber, the dashing mixed breed slipped on the loose fitting pants and multiple colored sash belts of his mother's people, followed by a breton's linen shirt, covered by chainmail, similarly covered up by a fashionable adventurer's top. Along his shoulders was a handsome cloak that carried varied items and hid his sword that he strapped to his center belt. Grabbing his cloak, he flung it about so it draped across his torso in a rakishly charming fashion.

The common room down below seemed normal enough. Alim gave the Innkeeper a nod of greetings and ordered some quick breakfast. He plopped down at one of the tables and awaited his food. Alim was a bit too mellow at the moment to flirt, but the waitress who brought his food gave him an interested smile he recognized. Politely smiling back, he began eating his quick meal of ham and grapes, along with some fine well-water. Wine would be for later if he felt the mood fit, for no one knew what the day would bring, after all.

He had no idea how right he would be.

The world he stepped out of the Inn to face was one of shadows and fear. It took him a moment to have the inclination to gaze up at the cloudy sky, only for his eyes to widen in surprise and cold fear as he saw the vast ships that blotted out the sun. So taken aback was he, that he uttered. "By the nine..." aloud, despite the desanctification of Talos as a God. Alim had made friends with a monk in the north that had claimed Akatosh himself had said to worship the 'nine.' Alim was not one to betray the Dragon God.

In fact, he could use Talos and Akatosh at this moment for strength and wisdom. For he saw the Dwemer descending. Behind him, the waitress that had fluttered her lashes at him gasped, her body halfway out the door, having come out to give Alim his change. She dropped the septims, along with her mug and tray onto the porch.

"Go back inside. Bar the doors." Alim said, speaking with a honed calm. He drew his sword in one fluid motion, ever ready. He wasn't necessarily the best soldier, but he had been in far too many dangerous situations, and he was a capable warrior and duelist. He knew how to keep his cool, even when staring at a race the bastard swore was extinct, riding in magical flotillas in the sky.

"Oh, this is going to ruin my day. I can already tell." He quipped, and his instincts told him he would have a chance to live if he remained mobile rather than stationary. An ordinary citizen should stay indoors, but he trusted his sword and spells over wooden doors anyday.

It was within the streets of the Imperial City, having given the Dwemer a runaround and clashing swords with a few constructs before he ran into something interesting.

26th of Rain’s Hand, 4E208

When Gaius woke, it was to a thrumming headache and the sound of screaming. Not the best of combinations, even on the best of days. "Thrice-damned booze," he groaned, rolling over in bed, not awake enough—or coherent enough, at least—to fully appreciate the panicked sounds of the city. The one night of drinking had turned into nights, and now it was becoming a regular occurrence to spy is burgundy-and-brown form at the Merchant's Inn on busy nights, laughing uproariously with complete strangers

Then there was a thunderous boom, and even the legendary hangover currently afflicting him couldn't really stop him from noticing it. He turned lethargically in his bed, looking out of the window. His eyes shot open. Lack of coordination notwithstanding, he bolted up, already mouthing a prayer. Dwemer. There are Dwemer in the Imperial City.

Contrary to popular belief, Gaius was not thick, nor did he have a poor memory. He very distinctly recalled exploding a mysterious device in a Dwemer ruin, sending a beam of light high into the sky with enough force to explode a mountain. It wasn't much of a stretch to imagine that this was a direct result of that. Burden of responsibility weighing heavily on him, he did his best to ignore the headache and dry mouth, putting on his armor at record speed and hoisting Empire's Aegis from the mantle where he'd let it rest. "Helena," he called, "stay inside, and stay safe!" There was no answer. His blood immediately jumped, and he dashed to the door to find it hanging open. The spear Helena had accosted him with on the first night was gone.

"No," he muttered, a drone that slowly grew into a bellowing shout, "no, no, no, no, no!"

Ripping a proudly-displayed mace from the wall, he bolted into the streets, looking on in horror as Legionnaires, some that he had trained with and known since he had been scant an adult, were unceremoniously butchered on the mechanical blades. His mouth morphed into a small 'o' of shock and terror for a brief moment. But only a moment. He roared, barreling down at the sphere and launching himself bodily at it. Though the mace was unfamiliar in his hand—he'd always been a swordsman—his rage fueled him, pumping liquid adrenaline into his blood as he pounded away at the Dwarven metal like a demented blacksmith. No more than a minute passed before it lay dismantled on the cobbles before him.

"This is my home, you curs!" he shouted at the ships in the sky. "You don't belong here!"

With that, he launched into a brutal slaughtering-spree through the city, bringing down spiders and spheres as best he could while doing his best to stay away from the massive Centurions and—as evidenced by the dripping of water off of his shield that had been the only thing to save him from some very nasty scalding—not entirely succeeding. It was as he was breathing heavily, hastily bandaging a cut in his mace hand that had gotten into the of his gauntlet, when he heard a sound from behind him and whirled, already prepared to cave in the metallic shell of whatever was creeping up behind him with the shield. He barely managed to throttle the blow, in fact, in time to stop it from caving in Alim's skull instead.

He stared at the man, breathing heavily with wide, rage-filled eyes, before slowly lowering the slab of metal, breathing a long sigh out. "So, the Dwemer."

---

A chaotic collab between @Dervish and @Macabrefox. _{with the briefest, most epic appearance from @DearTrickster}

With each stride, her chest burned with fire, sweat poured down her temples, slicking her auburn hair against her forehead. She had become lost within the winding city, she felt as if she were running circles. Who in their right mind could have ever thought building a city this massive was a good idea? She never had a problem navigating cities, then again Markarth and Solitude seemed much smaller than the Imperial City. A hard lump in her throat put her on the verge of breaking down, and giving up. The Dwemer would surely get her, she would die in this city, and all of the things she would never get to do flooded through her as she came to a stop in an alleyway.

She would never have a lover, never travel to see High Rock, or reveal to Rorik what really happened all those years ago to Iona. That Brynja was the one responsible— her thoughts came to an abrupt halt as a peculiar sound caught her attention. At first she feared it was some Dwarven spiders or spheres coming for her, though that fear was soon vanquished when she could hear soft whispers coming from the opposite direction of the alleyway. Brynja flattened herself against the wall as best she could, craning her neck in the general area of the soft approach of footsteps, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword.

Daro’Vasora and Judena, although invisible to the eye thanks to Zegol’s potions that were running low, had turned the corner and immediately caught sight of one terrified and lost Brynja. The Khajiit mulled over her next step for a moment, not wanting to spook the Nord who couldn’t see who was approaching.

“Brynja, it’s Daro’Vasora and Judena. Don’t freak out; we’re invisible.” she said from several meters away. The last thing she’d want is for Brynja to react and run her through with a sword by mistake.

Brynja couldn’t believe her eyes, quite literally. She could hear Daro’Vasora’s voice, who claimed she was with Jude, yet she couldn’t see either of them. Her brows sunk low, as she stared in the general direction of the voices. It was clearly Vasora’s voice, that much was certain.

Judena followed Daro’Vasora’s lead, “Bryan, I mean- Brynja yes. I am happy to see you are alright… relatively speaking of course. As we are as well.”

Judena took a few steps closer, ready to jump clear of a swing. “Have you seen or heard from anyone else?” Judena shouldered her pack, noticing her invisibility beginning to fade across her hands.

“I-” And before her very eyes, Brynja could see Judena, or at least her hands, so it was them!, “I haven’t. I got swept up in the chaos... I tried to find a way out of this cursed city, but I’m lost. Again.” Her shoulders sagged in relief. Hope had been restored. She didn’t even mind that Judena had called her Bryan.

“Perhaps it was luck you were lost, the Dwemer seem to be spreading out from their landing point. Together we can survive the day.” Judena reassured the Nord. “Would it be worth visiting Rhea’s home to look for supplies before attempting to leave the city? Perhaps others are taking shelter there.”

Judena appeared to be calm and focused. It helped not focusing on the destruction, death and damage they had passed by. The Argonian promised herself time to grieve for her city once they escaped. There was always hope that one day, one day she could possibly return. It was undoubtedly never going to be the same. Vainly hoping the University would remain intact.

Daro’Vasora watched as the spots and grey hue of her fur began to materialize again with an outstretched arm. She had a hard time adjusting to not seeing where her feet were falling, and she was glad Brynja hadn’t been around to witness her stumbling over the past half hour until she got used to the sensation. “I think it would be good to get off the street and make a plan. If anyone else survived or were looking for a place to regroup, Rhea’s manor would be a good place to start. There has to be more than just the bridge out of the city as a way to escape. I know the way, so if that’s the plan, let’s not linger.” she said, trying to focus on the job at hand and not thinking about her very raw loss. She just felt numb; the real pain would come later, she knew.

“Let’s go.” Brynja said with a nod of her head, she didn’t want to wait around any longer.

Judena nodded slowly, waiting for her friends to take the lead while Judena covered the rear.
~~~

It was slow going across the district, even though it was only a few blocks from where they’d found Brynja. They’d run into a few of the survivors in the back alleys, caught a few people peering from windows, and despite the sound of the battle having died down, there were still quite a number of people who had so far avoided death or capture. They came upon the mansion quickly enough, deciding not to take the chance of knocking on the door or window and instead Daro’Vasora went ahead, careful to avoid prying eyes or patrols, and set out to pick the back lock so she was concealed from the streets. Within a few seconds, she was gesturing for the others to join her, and the door was opened enough for them to slip in and closed behind them.

It was a welcome relief, to be inside and off the streets, though they weren’t anywhere far from danger. Brynja lingered by the door after it had been shut, where was Rhea? Had she escaped the city? Had she been caught up in the bloodbath in the streets? At the moment, it felt as if the mansion was holding its breath.

Deciding it best to keep silent until they knew if the house was safe, the trio made their way through the ornate halls of the manor with its smooth stone walls, candle chandeliers, plaque mounted weaponry, and near the front foyer, a mannequin in a complete suit of armour. The front doors look like they were intact, so at least that meant nobody broke in.

“I can’t believe it’s you!” A voice called from above. Up a stairwell, Rhea had been watching, and a bow had been trained on the intruders until she identified them. The Imperial woman laughed lightly, almost inaudibly, as she made the way down the stairs with fitted carpet towards them.

“I am overjoyed to see you all safe, I’ve held tight in anticipation for someone arriving, anyone really. I do hope the others are safe, although… I dare not hope too much.” she said, reaching the bottom landing and looking somehow relieved yet troubled all at once.

Daro’Vasora shook her head, deciding to take a moment to rest by leaning against the railing and crossing her arms perhaps a bit too tightly. She didn’t trust her hands to be still. It hadn’t been all that long ago she held Zegol’s dead body in her arms; the pain was just damned numbing.

“I don’t think we can expect anyone else. It’s nearly evening and the city is in chaos. We’ve all seen the danger we’re in…” She spoke, her voice had begun to waver and she clamped her eyes shut, trying to suppress the anguish that coursed through her blood. “How do we get out?”

Brynja snorted lightly, “I’ll leave the escape plans to you. I spent the last three hours running in a circle around this forsaken maze.”

“We go underground, there are a few of us who call this city home. Gaius, myself, Daro’Vasora, and you of course Rhea.” Judena offered, bringing her pack into her hands. “Daro’Vasora is correct. With nightfall, I hope others take to the shadows for safety. Latro and Meg carry crude maps I made for them. Now we have a little time to catch our breaths, plan our next steps.”

“Brynja you did well to survive, you can trust us to find a safe way to escape.” Judena nodded at the Nord. “You have my word.”

Judena hoped her small reassurance could help.

If anything soothed Brynja’s worries about escaping the city, it was Judena’s comforting words that the best way to escape would be to go underground. She shifted with a bit of discomfort under the weight of her armor, and managed a weak nod of acceptance.

Rhea smiled, the smallest upturn of the lips to contrast her stressed and wide eyes. “As it happens, there’s a way out in this very manor, one I’d hoped to forget and why it relates to my family’s fortunes. Follow me.” she said, leading the others through the foyer, and down the hall into the library, a room filled with towering eight-foot bookshelves and a number of artifacts, as well as decor that seemed to elude to a well-traveled wealth. Rhea moved to the edge of a row of 3 shelves and crouched beside the one on the right, putting her hand on one of the planks of wood and pushing it towards the shelf, where it slid a few inches, letting her grab it with her hand and pull it free. A track was visible in the now exposed gap, and it became clear that the shelf moved. Grabbing the edge of the shelf, Rhea pulled it across the track, exposing a dark passageway that was almost wide enough for someone to slip through without angling their shoulders.

“This leads to the dock, or more accurately, underneath them since it connects to one of the storm drains. My family took advantage of the chaos and confusion of the rebuilding during the Oblivion Crisis to dig this tunnel for smuggling purposes, since nobody would look twice at someone carrying tools or barrows full of dirt in those days given the entire city was damaged. It was originally to avoid customs, or to buy and sell contraband, but during the Great War, my family smuggled in supplies during the siege… for a price.” Her jaw tightened and rolled angrily.

“My father and mother took advantage of the sick and starving, and bled them dry for coin, just so they could get rich while exploiting a tragedy. Everything I had I was given to as a child off of the backs of how many people who were forced to live and die on the streets, because my family are no better than gods damned Daedra. I’m sorry,” she said, her expression softening, embarrassment crossing her features. “I just have tried all of my adult life to try and make the Valerius name something I can live with, and maybe be proud of.”

“So, why not open your doors and let others know about it? People are trapped in the city.” Daro’Vasora pointed out. It wasn’t an accusation; she knew that if she were in that position, she probably wouldn’t have found altruism to be her strong suit.

Rhea sighed, sitting on the arm of a reading chair. “Fear, I suppose?” She admitted. “If I called people to flee, the home would be ransacked, and I’ve too much pride to allow things I’ve spent so much of my life acquiring to be taken, and large numbers of people would draw attention. I don’t suppose you are under any illusion of what could happen if spiders or spheres got in the tunnels after people, and the exit would become rather obvious. We need to leave when it is dark, and hopefully others show up.”

Daro’Vasora nodded, deciding to look over some of the titles on the shelf. She didn’t respond.

Judena fidgeted with her nails, what Rhea and her family did with property and resources was for their own reason to call. “You are quite honest, Rhea. I did not assume there was such a pathway through the manor here. That is the boon we will use to our advantage. As for now, I feel like I would like to keep busy. I do not like to sit still.”

Judena spared a look at Daro’Vasora’s back. The argonian felt her friend could use some privacy but she found it difficult to read her as she was. What could she need in her time of fresh loss?

She coughed into her hand, “Rhea, to pass the time I would like to start gathering supplies for our escape. I would need help and would like some company.”

Judena looked to Brynja then Daro’Vasora. “With your permission of course.”

“Whatever help you need, it is mine to give.” She said with a nod of her head. It was an odd story, Brynja thought, of course wealth could be acquired in all manners. She had never expected that Rhea of all people, or rather her family, would have resorted to sordid ways to acquire wealth. Then again, acquiring wealth meant there to be an exploitation of some sort or the other, right?

Rhea nodded with permissiveness. “Alright, we’ll find a few packs and see what we can make use of.” She paused, giving the room a pensive stare. “Who knows if I’ll ever see this place again.” she muttered with sudden realization.

“You three go on. I’ll wait down here, see if someone else arrives.” Daro’Vasora added quietly, not making eye contact with anyone. She needed the space and the time for her own thoughts, and fortunately no one raised an objection. With something akin to a plan formulated, Rhea lead Brynja and Judena upstairs, leaving the Khajiit alone with the books and the all too recent memories.

---

For those trapped in the city, the one upside to the predicament was that the Dwemer forces could not be everywhere at once, and although it seemed like reinforcements came in by the hour on new airships, it was still possible to slink through most of the streets unnoticed, even by the automata. More discerningly, however, was that the gateways between different districts were among the first places to be blockaded and staging grounds were established near these spots.

Those at the docks had the easiest time of making a plan; get on a boat and leave, or chance a swim across Lake Rumare, which wasn’t entirely out of the question for those of sufficient athletic ability. Other spots had escape tunnels hidden away in reconstructed sections of the outer walls, a conscious choice made after the Imperial City had endured one of the worst sieges in history and having a singular way into or out of the city meant supplies could get choked off. There were only but a handful of these escape routes, and they were only known by the garrison and the builders, but those who had survived or evaded capture were beginning to take steps to opening these passages for any who could arrive without drawing attention. In the Arboreum District by the Arcane University, a guard sergeant named Galius has d sent his men to locate survivors, and lead them to the escape route he had secured, using the urban woodland to conceal movement and avoid being spotted from the skies. It may be the best escape opportunity for anyone in the Southeast of the city.

Most interestingly and perhaps most efficiently, some of the mages at the Arcane University and the priests at the chapels spread across the city were well versed in summoning portals, sometimes used to connect the various places of worship across Cyrodiil to aid pilgrims or clergy without risking the often dangerous highways in days of old. While these practices had largely fallen out of favour and the skills behind them had largely been forgotten, and the magical anchor points that had once been predominant hundreds of years ago had fallen out of use and may not remain intact. Still, in the Temple District, Sister Layanna thinks believes she has managed to create a stable portal that connects to The Great Chapel of Julianos in Skingrad. Without anyone having returned, there’s no way of knowing for sure where it leads, but it has not stopped dozens of people from escaping this way. Similarly, in the Elven Garden District, a man named Calix who claims to have been a traveling mage with dreams of reorganizing and reforming the Mages Guild claims he can open up a portal outside of the city, but he’s not entirely sure where it opens up, but he gathers it’s a much preferable option to going up and asking the Dwemer if they could leave.

26th Rain's Hand, 4E208, early afternoon-

It was a miracle to Meg that she had managed to evade the dwemer forces. Whether her prayers had helped her or whether it was her own sneakiness, she didn't know. However, as she kept herself hidden away quietly in the remains of an already destroyed shop. Her normal temperament may have been to scavenge, but right now that was the farther thing from her mind. In the distance she could still hear the screaming and the sobs, causing her to curl into herself even more than she already was. Eyes shut tightly, she pressed her chin against her raised knees. Arms clasped around herself, she fiddled with the amulet she had pulled from her neck, seeking some sort of comfort.

Don' take this the wrong way, J'raij, but I'm not meanin' to meet you any time soon.

Death was never on her to do list and the same could be said for today, but the way things seemed to be going these days, it would seem death was enjoying seeing her run about like a frantic chicken.

The thought didn't give her any comfort, and she remained as she was for a time longer; it was hard to tell if had been mere minutes or hours or days by the time she moved from her safe spot. Her hand loosened around the amulet, and when she made to wear it once more, the indentations could be seen on the palm of her hand. Taking a breath, she finally reached into her pocket and pulled out the map Judena had made her.

Opening it, she felt a lump in her throat. Was the Argonian alright? Did she manage to escape the disaster? What about the others? How was Brynja? What of Latro and Alim and Daro'Vasora? Where was Gaius and the three Altmer? For a moment her hand tightened around the map, causing the sides to crumple. Meg hastily loosened her hold, taking a deep breath to calm herself. Now wasn't the time to cloud her mind with such thoughts.

The map had been very helpful from the day it had been given to her, and she was going to put her faith in it once again. Judena had marked Rhea's house on it, and in Meg's opinion, it was probably the best place to go for someone not really familiar with the city. Hopefully the other non Natives thought the same... and if not, there was also the hope that Rhea was still there. Chewing industriously on her lip, Meg started tracing the way she had run from the inn when the attacks had commenced. Perhaps it was good luck from the gods above, but it seemed the way to Rhea's house wouldn't be too difficult for her to follow.

Sword in one hand and map in the other, Meg left her temporary haven. The sight that met her eyes was worse than before; bloodied bodies fallen here and there, shops and homes reduced to rubble and debris. It was difficult not to feel something as she quietly stepped over those who had been slaughtered, a sense of sorrow and hopelessness invading her. Was this how her father had felt when he had fought for the Imperial army? She didn't even know these people and this city; how would one feel if it was their friends and comrades?

The last thought caused her pace to quicken, though her paranoia forced her to periodically continue hiding as she followed the map, slowly but steadily inching closer and closer until at last she was standing before Rhea's mansion. Meg let out a soft sigh of relief. It was hard to ignore the temptation of racing to the door and entering, but she forced herself to remain calm, stealthily making her way until she finally reached the door. With one last uneasy look behind her, Meg fumbled with the handle before hurriedly opening the door and entering the mansion. Almost instantly she felt her shoulders droop- the immediate safety from the outside world was as sweet as a honey nut treat.