Anvil had arrived like a light at the end of an endless, miserable tunnel for Raelynn. Suddenly what had been such a grey and dreary period of her life - that had seemed to last forever - had ended, and the sun was shining again. Her blue eyes watched over the scene and the sun brought colour back to her cheeks, the thought of comfort brought a spring back to her tired step. She had barely spoken to anyone on the journey - save for a polite 'thank you' at meal times, and a nod here and there. Tamriel was collapsing around them with the Dwemer threat, but for now, the sun was in the sky and bringing a glimmer of hope with it.

Not that the Dwemer threat had been anything to do with her. She'd always disliked Rhea - the smug Imperial bitch. So she did have a chuckle to herself as she listened to her being scolded - by a Khajit of all things. Finally the weary travelers disbanded and went their separate ways, each to rejuvenate themselves and find their own comfort here. She wanted to do the same - she ached for a soft bed, for a hot bath, for some real food. They were at the top of her agenda. She had been holding onto a vial of lavender oil for such an occasion. It would go so well in a hot bath...

Such a silent pilgrimage had allowed her to observe her companions. She had learned a lot about them all, simply by watching them - listening to their conversations, seeing how they reacted to certain other members. There was definitely a closeness between certain individuals compared to others. It interested her. She had foreseen the fall out between the Khajit and the Imperial a mile off, too. Which added to her amusement even more so. One thing she had noticed was that Alim had not been doing so well. He was slower, strained. She guessed it would be something wrong with his back - perhaps his bones weren't correctly aligned. Now that they had time to wind down, she made a note to help him with it at some point. To crack it back into place. Perhaps if he was lucky she might save some of the lavender oil and rub him down. Perhaps. She rolled her eyes at the thought, he was a womaniser and it would be exactly what he would want - therefore he might pay a premium for the pleasure.

Gregor was still a person of interest on her radar. She had stayed her distance from him for now, but as with the others, she had observed. He had been quieter than her, it was a mysterious aura he had that held her interest, she even found herself almost attracted to him. He had large pockets - or at least, he might have in his near future.

Finally, her thoughts drifted back to the young orphan girl she had left behind. She felt an ache for the girl in her heart. It wasn't something she was used to, but she didn't fight it. The future of the child was now uncertain, like the fate of Tamriel. Uncertain.



Raelynn slipped into the hot bath, free of her torn and shredded clothes, free. The scent of lavender soothed her mind as well as her body and she scrubbed at her skin - rubbing away everything that had happened, letting it wash away, bringing back beauty in it's place. She was also able to wash her hair. The ritual was cathartic for her and with each rinse she felt more and more like herself, the weeping, weak woman from the refugee camp gone - Raelynn reappearing once again. She felt strong.

And she ate! She gave good coin to eat fine foods - the richness of it almost unsettled her stomach, but she persevered through it, feeding her soul the luxury it had been desperate for. The last step to reclaiming herself would be new clothing. She opted for a violet caped cloak, embellished with pieces of shell from the Anvil beaches, and with copper filigree around the shoulders. Hell, she even splashed out for new boots. The hike to Anvil had just about worn the soles of the last ones. She felt renewed, and strong. Thank goodness she could leave the group at last - maybe she would head back to High Rock.

She had made that note, however, to track down Alim and treat his injury. He might be surprised she knew - he had been doing his damnedest to hide it. An injury couldn't be concealed from a Doctor, though.

Anvil - 21st of Second Seed, Midday

---

Judena realized a few things over the course of their travels to Anvil. Uncertainty reigned everyday and unlike before where it would burn away with the morning sun, it lingered for the entirety of the day. The lack of routine to her days was beginning to wear, the need for certainty growing. Perhaps for the first time in a decade did she feel a tug of homesickness, for Soulrest.

Genuinely she appreciated the company but their quiet suffering was suffocating. Judena’s empathy soaking up the various forms of misery - a little from some and a lot from others. Perhaps - perhaps some time to herself in the new city would clear these cloudy thoughts. The new faces of Rhona, Calen, Gregor, Jaraleet, and Nanine took some time to learn, mixing up their names and their faces often. It was usually easier to learn one or two at a time not five. Jaraleet in particular took an interest in keeping close, learning quickly of Judena’s memory. His acute attention pulled away upon arrival to Anvil.

Judena pulled away from the group, quietly. Not announcing her departure, knowing some on reflex now try to pull her back to the group. That reflex served them well while they travelled but Judena was confident in her abilities to move around in a city on her own. Things were uniform and unchanging.

She got lost nonetheless.

She gave up on trying to track her movements in her notes, stopping every few feet to write notes on a city she was never bound to remember let alone be in again - it seemed a waste of time and paper. If it was important her feet would remember. She wound up several times by the docks, always pulled to the sound of water. Drawn to the sound of the open market, merchants trying to sell their goods to travellers and sailors. She peeled open her satchel, some tradable goods held on from Skingrad, things she could potentially haggle for but she’d have to search beyond the vendors here to sell her finds.

Her clothing suffered various patch work and while dips into water and scrubbing away grease stains helped, she looked undeniably shabby. Her scales dull, flakey skin peeling up in need for a decent molt or her bristly brush left behind at the Arcane University. Her ‘beard’ felt itchy, however the humidity was working a magic of its own for her. Perhaps a midnight swim in the bay would help. The salty waters always felt better for her skin than ponds and rivers.

Daro’Vasora aired one sentiment she agreed with when she yelled at Rhea. It would have been nice to get paid. The young Khajiit always so vocal. Being on the road allowed for so little certainty. Truthfully their brush with the Dominion was terrifying, the Thalmor infamous for cruel torture. Judena knew she would not be spared if they were caught. Rhea was at the end of her rope, she felt the imperial woman’s cloying guilt. It made the elder argonian uncomfortable.

A bright spot of light shined on her eyes making her squint moving out of it. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of a vendor selling what appeared to be various bright coppery gold dwemer pieces, unmistakable to her sharp eyes. A strange place for them to set up shop, she reasoned they hoped to snag some curious travellers. Re-adjusting her bag behind her, she approached the booth. The middle aged imperial man counting septims as he addressed her. Curly brown hair and a full moustache grew on his upper lip, dark green eyes shrewdly going over Judena.

She did a small wave, “Hello, good sir-”

“Brant.” He said, he stuck out his hand. “Interested in taking a closer look at some dwemer pieces. Missus-”

“Callisar.” Judena supplied, “Yes I am! May I see what you have on display?”

Brant smiled, “Of course, Madame Callisar.” The tell tale twinkle of a future sale in his eye. “Authentic pieces scavenged from the Imperial City, gathered at a great cost and peril to my personal safety but here we are! A little piece of the bastards themselves.”

She reached for one piece, looking like a severed piece of a gyro, he scrambled patting her hand. “Please be careful, ma’am. It is very heavy-”

Lifting it far more easily than she expected she straightened with it in her hands. “Worry not, I am an expert. This is quite a bit lighter than I expected but perhaps it is because it is only partially intact.” She used both hands weighing it with more scrutiny. Instincts telling her something wasn’t right.

Brant’s eyes widened at the mention of expert he reached again to pull it out of her hands, “Really I must insist.”

Judena let him have it but as his back turned to carefully replace it she scooped up another bit of plate metal. It was far too light. This time she held it out of his reach. She examined her fingertips, brushed copper paint gathering under her nails. Her eyes narrowed, searching around it for more signs of authenticity.

“Madame, please. You are pawing away it’s value from Imperial City.”

Judena said quietly, “Did you know that a great deal of Dwemer material can be dated by its direct proximity the piece was discovered to the Falmer and how deep it was found? Soil samples, temperature, and marks delivered by Falmer weaponry lend well to telling scholars when exactly it existed and on closer inspection based on the metal work we can discover when it was created.” She peered up underneath the plate, purposefully rubbing her thumb leaving a streak exposing the true metal beneath it - iron. “Details that are the building blocks to a story.”

Brant’s initial excited faded into panic, he pushed up on the tip of his toes to reach for Judena.

“Ah ha!” She said bringing the phoney piece back down and dropping it to the ground. It caught on the merchant’s foot. He howled jumping away holding his foot.

“Absolutely fake!” She declared, going through his stock on display. He scrambled behind her as she scowled at more fake pieces, “This is truly disgraceful, taking money and scamming people for cheaply disguised hunks of metal.” She pushed through the display knocking more to the ground with klangs! “What if a Legionnaire happened by your booth and bought any of your so-called pieces to examine? What good would that do? Hmm?”

Brant angrily snapped, “It’s none of your business you nosy lizard! Now leave before I call the guards to haul you back to the swamp you crawled out of!” He grasped at broken mace in Jude’s hands, using his bit of strength to tug it from her.

She held strong, “It is wrong! You are capitalizing on a tragedy for easy coin! I will not stand by and let this go!”

Other merchants were looking on out of curiosity. They argued on, Brant demanding Judena to leave. Jude insisting to pay the coin back out to his previous customers. She didn’t know what had come over her, anger and unease boiling over directly at Brant. Her beard expanded. Their ruckus drawing more attention. Other shoppers wagging a finger and taking Judena’s side while some of the neighboring merchants defended Brant.

“Gods be damned, lizard!”

^{A collab brought to you by @POOHEAD189 and Mortarion}
Anvil; 21st of Second Seed, Night.

---

Alim stepped up the stairs of the Anvil Inn, going up to the room he had acquired earlier in the day. He had a very self satisfied smile to his face, after having a lovely dinner with a woman he would enjoy having dinner with again probably. He’d even dazzled her a bit, though a part of him was just glad he had a fine night, and he helped her have the same. All in all, it was a fine day. But he was tired even when he sat down to enjoy a meal with Rhona, now he felt like he was about to collapse. He nearly fell back down the stairs when he turned the corner and came face to face with Jaraleet.

When he saw Alim about to fall back down the stairs, Jaraleet’s reaction was immediate. He reached with both of his arms and held the half-blooded redguard by his arms, holding him in place for a few seconds until he was sure that Alim wasn’t about to fall down once he let go. Alim had already placed a foot behind him to steady himself, but Jaraleet did indeed help.“Easy there….Alim, I believe it was?” He started, having to pause for a few seconds to remember the half-blood’s name. “My apologies for startling you, I was about to head down to the inn for a drink. Why don’t you join me? Consider it my way of apologizing for the fright and for, well, having you nearly fall from the stairs.”

“Dibella’s tits!” Alim exclaimed, as his first sight round the corner was a crimson and black reptilian face rather than a hallway. “Jaraleet, you scared the Oblivion out of me. I’m sorry I just...I’m tired is all. A drink?” he echoed after a moment, gathering his thoughts. “UuuuuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuuuuuuh suuuuure, yeah. That’d be cool. Lemme just…” Alim held up a hand to hold Jaraleet there, then he literally leapt down two flights of stairs and peeked into the common room.

Rhona is no longer there, sweet, he thought to himself. It would be poor flirting to have a date (?) and then come back down after he left with Jaraleet. But luckily, the coast was clear. He bounded back up and gave a nod. “Drinks sound good.”

Jaraleet chuckled softly at Alim’s reaction, nodding slightly when the redguard held a hand up to indicate him to stay put. “I’m glad to hear that.” The Argonian said when the half-blooded breton returned. “Might I ask why jumping down two flights of stairs was necessary? Trying to avoid someone?” He prodded, wondering about the reason behind Alim’s….somewhat dramatic actions. Without waiting for a reply, Jaraleet descended down the flight of stairs, sure that Alim was following and sat near one of the empty tables. “Do not worry about money, I’ll pay. As I said before, consider this my apology for startling you.” The assassin spoke, signaling one of the waistressess that were wandering throughout the tavern with one of his hands before turning to look at his sudden drinking companion once more. “So, Alim, how have you been holding up lately?” The Argonian decided to start with, a simple enough question with which to start a conversation. After all, it had been many days since they had left Skingrad so it was a wide enough topic of conversation to start with.

“I appreciate your kindness, thanks.” Alim replied, taking the drink the barmaid brought him. She eyed him, clearly recognizing him from before. He eyed her back until she walked away. “Yeah, I would not want to be rude to Rhona, I just ate dinner with her...as for how I am? Pretty good. It’s been...different, but still close to what I’m used to. Danger and accusations. This time I’m simply glad the latter is not pointed at me.” Alim scratched his nose and leaned back on his chair, letting the heat from the lamps relax him. “Then again, I could definitely do without the slaughter of women and children.” he said, his tone was light but there was a gravity to the very words he spoke. “I always could.” He ended the thought right before he took his next sip.

“It is no problem, your group welcomed me and fed me when the Rangers returned after our first, and sole, successful mission, buying a couple of drinks is nothing.” Jaraleet replied, nodding when Alim mentioned Rhona. “Ah, the other newcomer. It’s good to hear that she is well, or that’s what I’m inferring based on what you’ve said.” The Argonian spoke, taking a sip of his drink. The Haj-Eix let out a dark chuckle when Alim mentioned that it had been different, taking another sip of his drink before speaking again. “It doesn’t gets much stranger than the return of the Dwemer and the Dominion making a blatant powergrab mid-invasion, doesn’t it?” He spoke, tone light.

Jaraleet nodded at Alim’s comment about being able to do with the slaughter of women and children. “It’s a dark line of work the one we thread, its best to….close oneself to such feelings I’ve found, lest they drag you down and drown you.” He spoke somberly, looking at his drink before taking another sip of his drink. “Hmmmm, I assume that you watched Vasora’s rather….uncalled display of honesty, no?” The Argonian asked, deciding to steer the conversation away from darker topics at least for the time being. “It was a rather unpleasant thing, wasn’t it?” The assassin continued on, picking his words carefully. After all, he didn’t know how Alim felt about the accusations that Vasora laid on Rhea’s feet and for all that he knew the redguard shared the same concerns as the Khajiit woman.

Alim lifted his mug up to get a refill or the Imperial Ale. “I did,” he revealed. “I’m certain Daro’Vasora has her reasons, though I don’t think her accusations against Rhea were truthful. She’s been nothing but a fine leader from what I’ve seen. Then again, I’ve only done a few things with her like supply gathering.” The mug was refilled, and he took a good sip of the brew. “I also share her concerns on Severus being announced a governor, and the Thalmor presence is problematic. I think our Khajiit friend misread the situation. Either way, until I find incriminating evidence against one or the other, Rhea is my leader and Vasora is my teammate. Of course, I always stay away from most people when it comes to teamwork. It leaves me ample room to maneuver and flee just in case.”

“It is a wise policy to keep, especially in this line of work.” Jaraleet said in response to Alim’s words, lifting his own mug to get it refilled. Once the barmaid had done so, the Haj-Eix took a sip of the ale before he spoke again. “I do agree with you, I think Vasora’s words were hollow and bereft of merit. Admittedly I haven’t been with your group for too long in comparison to you or her, but your words seem to confirm what I thought already.” The assassin said, taking another sip of his ale. “That is to say that Rhea is a capable leader.” He quickly added in case his words weren’t clear enough. “Though, on the matter of Rhea, it didn’t escape my notice the way that she seemed to react when Severus was announced as the new count of Skingrad.” He said carefully, thinking how to best breach the topic. “You said that you had worked with her in the past and so I ask of you, is there any particular reason why Rhea would react in such a way?”

“Well...Severus already betrayed the city of Skingrad by letting her and I past the walls at night, and with the arrival of the Thalmor, I would think there would be some sort of correlation.” The ale was muddling his thoughts nearly now, but he still felt crisp. “I haven’t seen anything explicit, but it does seem obvious.”

“Ahhh, I see, so that’s why Rhea reacted in such a way.” The Argonian said in response to Alim’s words, shaking his head slightly. “Poor woman, she must feel as if she is solely responsible for Skingrad’s annexation to the Dominion. Must be why she said nothing back to Daro’Vasora.” Jaraleet said with a sigh. He felt bad for Rhea, the annexation of Skingrad had gone far too smoothly for it to be merely attributed to whatever Severus had gotten in return for helping them. Regardless of what she did, the annexation of Skingrad was gonna happen and due to this reason the Haj-Eix pitied the woman.

“And what about you Alim?” The Argonian asked his drinking companion, taking a sip of his ale. “It didn’t escape my notice that you mentioned that Severus let Rhea and you slip past Skingrad’s walls.” He commented in a quiet, albeit nonchalant, tone. “How do you feel over the whole situation?” The assassin asked curiously, wondering what Alim’s perspective was on the whole situation.

“I’m afraid you’re asking the worst person,” Alim chuckled helplessly. “I believe we did, perhaps, accidentally did have a hand in what happened, but when we...requisitioned the city’s supplies, it was for survival, you know? I often have to do things that are against the law in order to live or to serve the clients that pay me. I never try to harm anything in the process, but sometimes…” he let his words trail off. “Maybe Severus knew that the Count would have a fiasco on his hands and would be deposed soon if he couldn’t control his city or foodstuffs. He never left our sight for long when we had infiltrated into the walls.”

“You will find no recriminations from me Alim, do not worry.” The Haj-Eix said, fully honest. “Survival often calls for one to use underhanded methods, this I understand and this holds even more true when you are trying to keep not only yourself but other people alive.” He continued on, taking a sip of his ale once he was done speaking. “I’m not sure if this will help, but I don’t believe that either you or Rhea are responsible for Skingrad’s annexation.” The Saxhleel said, reaching across the table to pat Alim’s shoulder amicably. “The Dominion moved...too smoothly, as if this was an operation that was months in the planning.” He continued on, chewing on his lower lip when he realized that he was perhaps saying too much. “Maybe the ale is starting to addle my mind.” The assassin thought, shaking his head. “But, well, what do I know, I’m just a mercenary, eh? But what I do know is that neither you and Rhea should hold yourselves accountable for what happened at Skingrad, you simply did the best that you could.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Alim said, an inward smile on his lips as he gazed into his swiftly emptying mug. Everyone was different, but he never did think he would find a comforting comrade in the form of an Argonian assassin. “I try not to think on it too much, helps me sleep at night. Speaking of which, I am interested in your profession, or how you go by utilizing it in our group context. I suppose I’ve been an assassin once or twice, though it was never apart of a contract. It was usually done out of survival and simple need. But still…”

“You’re a perceptive man, Alim.” Jaraleet said, shaking his head slightly and letting out a chuckle once he had gotten over the alarm that the half-blooded breton had managed to deduce his true profession. “I thought I hadn’t given too many clues away as to my true profession, I don’t think I’d have gotten as warm a welcome as I did if I had introduced myself as an assassin after all.” The Argonian said, taking a sip of his ale before setting the now empty mug on the table. “But, to answer your question, I can work as a good scout, sneaking through cities has given me ample skills to evade people so there’s that. I also know a fair bit about alchemy, mostly about making poisons but I can prepare most antidotes to them as well. I suppose that’s how I could contribute to our little group.” The Haj-Eix explained to Alim. “Though, I do am curious, how did you figure out that I was an assassin?” He asked quietly, so that the question wouldn’t be heard by other patrons of the inn. “Oh, and if you’d do me the favour of keeping this between us it’d be appreciated. I doubt many would be accepting of the fact that I’m a part of the group if they knew my true profession.”

A grin bloomed on Alim’s face, and he clacked his mug against Jaraleet’s in good faith. “I can tell deft movements when I see them. And you didn’t look the investigatory type, so I made an educated guess. I am glad I still have an eye for that sort of thing. After the Dwemer attack, it’s hard to tell what is and isn’t real anymore.” The mixed breed man cleared his throat and down the last of his drink. How many was that now? He should probably stop. He could already feel his voice slurring a bit. “Don’t worry, discretion is something I am good at. I might have a flair to how I am, but I’m nothing if not a professional. Besides, we’ll keep this entire conversation between us, eh? I’d rather remain a neutral party in our group politics.”

“Of that you don’t have to worry my friend, my lips are sealed.” The Argonian said with a smile. “Much like you, discretion is something I’m good at. But, then again, that’s probably an invaluable skill in both our lines of work, isn’t it?” Jaraleet said good-naturedly, chuckling slightly. “I am curious about something Alim, what got you mixed in with this whole group? Most of the members don’t strike me as being thieves, and you seem to have been amongst them prior to the whole Skingrad situation so you’ll have to pardon my curiosity as to how you found yourself amongst Rhea’s group.” He asked, raising his mug for another refill while waiting for Alim’s answer.

“We were one of the expeditions that entered a Dwemer tomb up north,” he replied, choosing not to refill his mug. He felt as if he had one too many. “And they hired me to scout, look for traps, find lost team members and if need be, skip over traps and procure Dwemer artifacts. Things didn’t go...according to plan exactly. But Rhea had heard of me through a contact and hired me on. I’m not exactly famous, but as far as adventurers go I’ve made a name for myself in certain parts of Tamriel, and it seemed Akatosh saw fit to hire me onto the team that first learned of the threat. Who knew?” he ended with a shrug, as if it was all a long joke.

Jaraleet listened intently as Alim related the tale of how he had come to join Rhea’s group. The fact that the half-blooded redguard said that Akatosh had seemed fit to hire him onto the team that first learned of the Dwemer threat piqued the interest of the Haj-Eix in particular. “Pardon me if I’m being too blunt…” The Argonian began in a quiet tone. “But are you implying that this group is somehow related to the return of the Dwemer?” He asked curiously but still keeping his tone low so that the few patrons that remained wouldn’t hear that part of their discussion. Jaraleet had no certainty that what he was saying held a grain of truth but Alim’s words definitively implied that the group was related to the threat in some sort of shape, of this the assassin was certain at least.

Alim shook his head. “Now that is the question that I ask myself.” He said, and grew quiet for a few scant moments. “We infiltrated a Dwemer ruin that reached down hundreds of feet into the earth...one thing led to another...the mountain exploded.” He said, and sighed. “Don’t ask me to get into more detail than that, the ringing in my ears will come back. We awoke and picked up the pieces and traveled to the Imperial City. Then Dwemer ships invaded the very center of Cyrodiil. Is there a causation? There could be...I certainly hope not.”

“Hmmmm, I see.” Replied Jaraleet, taking his mug and taking a sip of the ale. “Don’t worry my friend, I won’t insist. Pardon me for my curiosity.” He added after a few seconds, deciding that it would be of no use to press Alim for more details. It was clear that the topic made him uncomfortable and that any further insistence on his part would do nothing but sour the mood of the thief even further. “But it hasn’t been all that bad, has it? From what I’ve seen the group seems fairly close, no? At least there’s that, I mean.”

“Oh, they’re as fine of a group as any.” Alim said, amusement in his voice and an honest smile. “I am glad to know most of them, and the others I simply haven’t gotten to know well enough yet. But yes, it’s not all been bad. I mean, somehow they’ve given me a good time even without the usual suspects of fun. God, jewels, and nights with women.”

“See? It hasn’t been all terrible.” Jaraleet said with a light chuckle, downing the remaining ale in his cup in one gulp. “But I should be about heading to bed. Thanks for the chat my friend, it was a pleasure getting to know you better.” The assassin said as he stood up from the table and began making his way towards the stairs before suddenly turning back to face Alim. “Oh, and Alim, if I were you I’d get your back checked. You do a good enough job of keeping it hidden, but it seems a little stiff.” The Argonian said, smirking slightly, before he began making his way upstairs.

Alim blinked, taken aback. But he smiled after he composed himself and raised his glass. “And there it is,” referring to Jaraleet truly being an experienced assassin. Alim would head up to his room and do his stretches. Fate would have it that the next morning, a few problems would be discussed and solves...

---

21st Second Seed, Anvil 02:00AM

After having dinner and wine with Alim, Rhona retreated to her room for the remainder of the evening, keen on staying out of the public eye in case her path crossed with Cezare, and letting herself sober up. Tobias trailed happily behind her. Part of her wondered if Cezare had followed her to Anvil, especially after her brash encounter with him after two years spent diligently traveling. In all honesty, Cezare reminded her of a wolf on the prowl. He would hunt her down no matter what it would take. She crossed the threshold of the rented room, taking in the sight of the furnishings were simple and few. A wooden framed bed pushed against one wall with a bedside table, where a stout tallow candle sat, like a stoic keeper of the room. She shut the door behind her, sliding the bolt into place, and closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the worn plank. When she opened her eyes again, Rhona made her way with care across the floorboards, hearing their protests under her weight as they creaked and groaned. A miniscule flame appeared between her fingertips as she concentrated on drawing her magicka, she lit the chubby candle, watching the fire cling to the wick. Her eyes focused as the flame danced and wavered, growing brighter. The exhaustion consumed her, like the flame glowing, bringing her to sit on the edge of the bed. She couldn’t break her gaze from the dancing candlelight, as if she had slipped into a trance, and even though her eyes were locked on the flame, her mind let down its walls, letting in an overwhelming tide of emotions that caused her throat to tighten. Her eyes began to burn as she struggled to swallow the lump choking her of the ability to breathe.

Damn it. She brought the heels of her palms to her eyes, applying pressure to shirk the sensation of crying. Her efforts were wasted. Rhona shook like the last leaf of autumn clinging to a branch in a gusty gale. Sensing something amiss, Tobias approached her, pushing his muzzle against her in his attempt to comfort her. She couldn’t handle the poor goat at this time, and perhaps he sensed that as well, as he took a seat between her feet.

I never wanted this… and Cezare of all people. What did I expect? That I could avoid him for all of these years, and think nothing would come of it?, an anguished sob escaped her, she squeezed her eyes shut tight as hot tears flowed down her cheeks, her hands covering her mouth. No one needed to hear this. And that made her cry harder.

No. Rhona stop this. she chided herself, but it wasn’t as easy as telling herself mentally. She reclined back onto the bed, curling into a fetal position, she put her thumbs in her mouth, and bit down, trying to give her body a reason to quit crying. Anything was better than this agony, but that didn’t stop the personal attack she slipped into.

I’m nothing but a coward. Look at me. I never wanted this. I never wanted any of this. And I can’t even tell anyone no. A moan slipped out, one that physically hurt to suppress. Her chest felt tight, and it hurt to breathe, but she didn’t care.

Look at how you’re acting. Why would you ever treat Calen like that? And you have half the damned mind to flirt with Alim? Think of Aurelia, what would she say? It’s been months since she left, and here you are acting as if she never existed. Rhona what the hell is wrong with you? You’re nothing better than a damned whore without any fucking common sense. On and on this went, until she had quite literally cried herself to sleep.

Hours later…

When she woke, the candle had burned low, she knew it was late in the night, but her throat was parched, and she needed something to drink. Her tongue weighed like a mud brick left out in the summer sun, dry and hot, and her head a pounding mess. She moved her stiff legs out from under her, climbing out of bed as if she were an old woman suffering from an arthritic condition on a rainy day. Rhona located the water pitcher on the small table, and much to her luck, it was empty. She contemplated on returning to bed out of laziness, but her bodily discomfort wouldn’t let her. So, she slipped her feet into her boots, and headed downstairs, glancing back once over her shoulder to check on Tobias. He was fast asleep at the foot of the bed. Much to her relief, there were only two people downstairs, the innkeeper cleaning up the remaining mugs from the tables, and a distinct figure seemingly sleeping at the counter. She knew it to be Brynja from her impressive stature alone, she hadn’t removed her armor, and snored softly.

The innkeeper addressed her on sight, “Is there anything you need lass?”

“I just needed to fill my pitcher of water, if you’d be so kind.” Rhona said.

He nodded, “Sit it there on the counter and I’ll fill it.” She left it where he indicated, and before she turned to head back upstairs, Rhona paused, and turned back around, her gaze lingering on Brynja. The woman needed a proper rest, she didn’t deserve to sleep downstairs if she could help it. She crossed the room, and stopped beside her, taking in Brynja’s condition. Reaching out, Rhona rested a hand against her back.

“Brynja.” Rhona called, shaking the giant of a woman softly. She didn’t move.

“Hey. Brynja.” She tried again. This time, Brynja uttered a groggy moan, though she still didn’t move.

“Brynja. Wake up.” Rhona shook her, harder this time, causing Brynja to lift her head. She turned her gaze to look at Rhona, the expression on her face uncertain who was waking her up.

“What?” She growled, her voice hoarse and scratchy, like sand grating against wood.

“I can’t let you sleep down here.” A smile twitched at the corners of her lips, Rhona settled down on the barstool beside her.

“I was what?”

“You were sleeping. Do you remember where you are?” At her question, Brynja’s eyes scanned the interior of the room, where she groaned in annoyance.

“Damn it… hic... I guess you’re right.” Just then, Marius reappeared with the pitcher, and seemingly thinking that the now awake Brynja would need water to help sober up as well, brought an extra pitcher, and two tankards. He offered a smile before disappearing into the kitchen. Brynja accepted the water readily, and drank straight from the pitcher. She set it down, now empty, and turned her attention back to Rhona, her eyes narrowed into slits.

“Gods, you look horrible.” Brynja commented.

“Huh? Oh… I… couldn’t sleep.”

“Mm. By those eyes, you’ve been crying.” A silence came between them, causing Rhona to shift awkwardly.

“Why did you fall asleep down here?” Rhona changed the conversation, honestly, she was far too exhausted to even talk about what troubled her. She filled her tankard with water, relishing in the relief it brought her parched mouth.

“Guess I got too drunk… happens sometimes. I gave Anifaire my room, poor lass. She needs a good rest.”

“You gave up your own room? Where did you think you were going to sleep after that?”

“I dunno.” Brynja’s grey eyes were bloodshot, ringed with red, and it appeared she had a hard time adjusting to the dim lighting inside. “So, who’s got you all sad and looking like you have a broken heart?” It was like Rhona couldn’t escape her, she fidgeted with the tankard before sighing. Might as well give her an answer.

“Myself.”

“And what did you do, to yourself?”

“I’m being an indecisive idiot.”

“Is it Calen?”

“How-”

“I watched you on the way up here. You avoided him like he had the Bone Break Fever. So, what happened?”

“It’s nothing. Really.”

“If it’s nothing then you can tell me.” Brynja raised an eyebrow, she didn’t like it when people avoided her questions, or tried to play off their inner turmoil. She could see Rhona struggling to muster up the courage to broach the subject, but she needed to come to terms with it if she were going to move past whatever afflicted her.

“It’s a long story.” Rhona tried again, but Brynja only smiled, there was no escaping her.

“I’m listening.” The two women stared at each other, Brynja unwavering in her attempt to get Rhona to speak her mind, and Rhona fidgeting with even finding the right words to say.

“You’re a tough woman.” Rhona groaned through a strained laugh. She shook her head before sighing, “I’ve been traveling the last two years because I left my husband,” she watched as the smile on Brynja’s face disappeared, “and I had met a group of people on my travels. There was a woman… Aurelia… and we became lovers. We were happy together, until she asked me months ago to leave with her and our friends to Valenwood. For whatever reason… I chose not to go. Not because I didn’t love her, but because…”

“Because you were afraid?”

“Yes. I’ve never left Cyrodiil until then, save for our few trips to Rihad. To me, Cyrodiil was safe. It’s what I knew. And maybe I’m just a coward. I don’t know. But I stayed behind, and when morning came, she was gone. Gone before I had a chance to say goodbye.” Rhona took a sip of her water, “I came back from Rihad, and stayed here to raise funds to travel. When I had enough, I headed for Skingrad. And that’s when…” She paused, her teeth biting into her lower lip, “I crossed paths with my husband.”

“Did you both live in Skingrad?”

“No, no. I lived with him in the City, he must have fled with the other refugees to Skingrad. He… he tried to take me back. I didn’t want to go back with him, so I hit him, and I ran. That’s when I ran into Calen. He helped me hide from my husband in plain sight. Quite literally. After Cezare, that’s my husband, had left… Calen took me to wash up, he had smeared dirt and dung on me, made me look like a Redguard woman needing directions. He was kind…”

“And?”

“And he helped lift my spirits that night. Helped get my mind off the idea that Cezare would come back for me, find me, and take me away with him.”

“Why did you leave him, your husband that is?”

“Why not? He was an abusive drunkard with a bad gambling habit. He almost killed me one night. There’s no reason a sensible woman would have stayed, regardless of what people said.”

“Fair enough. So Calen. It sounds like he treated you kindly. So why the aloofness? Why avoid him after he treated you with kindness? Did you think about how that might affect him?”

“I… I didn’t want him to end up getting hurt. Cezare knows who Calen is, if he saw him with me, he would kill him. Cezare wouldn’t care. I just didn’t want to see Calen get hurt because of me.”

“So you did what you thought was best. You avoided him to protect him.”

“Yes. That’s why Durantel is teaching me how to protect myself. So that if Cezare comes and finds me, which I know he will since he knows I’m alive, I won’t go back with him. No matter what.”

“And did you tell Calen this?”

“...No. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You chose not to be honest with him?.”

“Mm.” A silence came between them again, each drinking from their mugs respectfully. Brynja set her tankard down and gazed long and hard at Rhona. The woman appeared conflicted, and she could sympathize. Her words reminded Brynja all too much on how she handled Rorik and the death of Iona. Instead of telling him the truth, she swept her dirty secret under the rug, and letting that regret to torment her all these years later.

“But that’s not all of it, is it?” Brynja asked through a soft sigh, she could tell from the way Rhona’s body tensed at the question that the woman had not told her anything. And why should she? Rhona hardly knew her, save for the night on the road that she could barely sleep. She shut her eyes, trying to block out the remnants of the lucid dream she had, the anguished face of Iona lying cold and dead in her arms. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s just… it helps when you let out the things that are bothering you, instead of becoming a fire of self-destruction.”

“Why is it men make us feel the way we do? Aurelia never made me feel so conflicted.” Rhona sighed, her fingers tightening around the slim handle.

“It’s not men… it’s the idea of being found attractive. The idea of being loved, desired, and wanted. It’s because their words can be poison to our hearts, and we readily cast ourselves off the cliff and into a raging sea of trouble.” Now it was Brynja becoming the somber one. A hard lump formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow.

Her voice cracked, “...and for what? For a chance to be told we’re pretty? That we mean the world to them? That we’re the only ones that could ever make them happy. Men think with their cocks, not their heads.”

“Your words couldn’t be more true.” Rhona shook her head, she propped her chin up in the palm of her hand, resting her elbow on the countertop. “I just feel… guilty because I flirted with Alim. It makes me feel like…” She paused on seeing Brynja’s eyes squeezed shut, tiny tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

“You want to free that heart of yours from its troubles? Be honest. Be honest with your heart, and with others. I promise you Rhona, you won’t feel so guilty. People don’t deserve anything from you, but it’s nice. And your heart will thank you for it.” That silence came between them again, leaving Rhona wondering what had pained Brynja so much. The giantess sighed, a conflicted smiling crossing her lips as she opened her eyes. “You’d better get on upstairs and get some rest.”

“What about you? You said you gave Anifaire your own room, where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll be alright.”

“I don’t believe that. Come. I’ll give you my bed, and I’ll take the floor. My back could use the stiffness. You need a proper night’s rest.” Rhona rose up from her barstool, and beckoned to Brynja. She knew that Rhona wouldn’t take for an answer, not with that look on her face.

“Fine.”

As the group broke off from each other upon their arrival at Anvil, Anifaire set off to do the thing she'd been thinking about since they left Skingrad: getting the hell out of Cyrodiil. Anvil had a port, and though she'd done much of the last portion of her journey to the Imperial City on land, she knew there were options to travel by sea. While there were dangers to either route, at the moment, travelling by sea sounded like a relief. As did the idea of returning to her parents home.

The Altmer followed the main roads through the city the best she could, hoping to find some kind of market or city centre where she could access her parents' funds at a bank. Luckily, like most cities, it was less confusing than the Imperial City, and most large streets led to the same area as long as you were heading the right way. In not too long, Anifaire found herself at the centre of a bustling crowd, squinting around at signs trying to find a bank.

Once she spotted it, a large sign with a chest full of gold out front, she started pushing her way through the people. It was difficult; though tall, she was clearly a thin, willowy woman, and people didn't move instinctively out of her way as they would have in Auridon. I don't look like a noblewoman anymore.

She finally reached the edge of the crowd, bumping into a lightly armoured redguard who scowled at her before walking away, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The bank steps lay before her. She climbed up and headed inside.

There was only a handful of people inside, so it didn't take long for her to reach the front of the line. The teller behind the counter was the only one, though there were armoured guards at the back of the room. The teller was an older Imperial man, with a pointy nose and a receding hairline.

"And how can I help you?" he asked, his eyes scanning her up and down. Her clothes were ratty and dirty from repeated wear and travel, and no doubt he could smell her from farther away than she'd care to admit, but she stood tall, as would have been expected of her, and confidently answered his question despite the look of disdain on his face.

"I am Anifaire Mirlinde and I would like to make a withdrawal from our family accounts."

The man squinted at her and turned to pull out a large manuscript. He leafed through it faster than he could be reading the pages and as the seconds passed, Anifaire grew concerned.

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

"We do not have any dealings with a Mirlinde family."

Anifaire leaned into the counter, concerned. "Of course you do. My father, Aronar Mirlinde, has dealings across the world. He's an important man in Alinor, a political leader."

"Oh, in Alinor, you say?" The man's voice was filled with false joy. "And my mother's the Empress." He shrugged. "Next!" he called, passing her over.

Anifaire didn't leave. "Wait! It's true! My family is important to Thalmor leadership, ask anybody!"

"Thalmor, is it?" The man snorted. "Get out of my bank."

"You have to help me, I need to buy passage back to Alinor, or at least write a letter! I have nothing," she exclaimed, but the teller had waved over one of the guards. He wore heavy plated armour, and his head covered by a full helm. He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her along beside him as though she weighed almost nothing. The other patrons in the bank backed up to allow him to pass by, eyes wide at the scene being made.

"Thalmor bitch," she heard someone say, but she wasn't sure if it was the guard or a patron.

He pushed the door open and tossed her, literally, down the steps. She tripped over her own feet, unable to catch herself, and tumbled down the three stone steps, landing in a heap at the bottom.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "I come from an important family. We have funds in every banking company in the Empire! Shouldn't you all be more thankful - after all, didn't the Dominion just help you guys in Skingrad?"

The guard was already back inside the bank by the time she'd finished her sentence, but as she moved to stand up, trying to dust herself off, she noticed another set of steel boots step in front of her. She looked up, startled, met with a city guard standing far too close to her. Someone behind her grabbed her by the arm and pulled her roughly to her feet - another guard.

"Oh, from the Dominion, are you?" he jeered.

"Looks like a street rat, to me," the other remarked.

"Nah, nah, ya hear her voice? She's definitely Summerset Isles."

"I... My father is a prominent Tha-" she cut off, stepping back as the guards blocked her in. Suddenly, she wondered why she always found herself in these sorts of positions. While she'd first assumed the guards would be there to help her, she certainly didn't like the looks they were giving her.

The Flowing Bowl - Early Afternoon Outside, 2:00pm

“How ‘bout a fight then?” The voice belonged to none other than Megana, her gaze shifted to where she stood on the opposite end of the circle. Her limbs throbbed from fending off her last opponent, she wasn’t tired yet by any means, just from the hard blows the Imperial had delivered. Brynja couldn’t help but grin in return, a peculiar thought crossing her mind.

“You wish to test your strength against me?” Brynja called out, moving to stand in the center of the circle. “Then come meet me here.” She drove the point of her blade into the ground between her feet. Meg would be her third contestor if she agreed to challenge Brynja.

"That's right," Meg replied with a nod, ignoring the others around her, some who seemed a little indignant that the chit of a woman was coming between them and a fight, and others who simply believed she would fail. Truth be told, she was quite sure she would fall, but there was nothing like a duel between friends, just like when she would train with her Pa. "Don' think I won'!"

She pulled her sword from its scabbard and entered the into the makeshift fighting circle, the grin on her visage much easier to note than the determination in her eyes.

It was hard to keep a grin off her lips as she moved towards Meg, her hand outstretched towards her fellow kinswoman, “A fair fight then.”

Meg looked at Bryja a moment, noting the grin on the warrior's face before taking a firm grasp of her hand and shaking it. So from arm wrestling to dueling? Well, at least this contest gave Meg a chance to win. "Aye, for sure. Wouldn' be fun if it was anythin' but, eh?"

She lowered her voice loud enough for Meg to hear, “If I win, I’ll split my earnings with you.”

Eyebrow rising for a split second, Meg couldn't help but smirk at the proposition. "Soun's like a plan t'me," she muttered under her breath; like Brynja, her voice too was only audible enough for the other Nord to hear in the current hubbub. Meg could very well use the gold, seeing she hadn't been been or expected to be paid any time soon.

She let go of Brynja's hand and moved back, sword held out before her, making a convincing show of analyzing her opponent. She would lose the fight, yes, but she had to make it convincing... and fun.

A heavy stillness filled the air as the crowd looked on in anticipation, the only voice breaking through was the sound of Marius’ call for bets, “Place yer bets! Bets! Who will win? Will it be the short and fiery Nord? Or will it be Brynja, our towering stone giant? Come on, place yer bets!” A flurry of people rushed to Marius, slipping what septims they could spare into his hand, each speaking with excitement.

“Put my money on the big lass!”

“Here! Put mine on the fiesty one! Give that underdog a fighting chance!”

Before the throngs of people had a chance to thin out, Brynja made her move. She gave Meg a slight nod to indicate she was ready, and without further delay, closed the distance between them in three lengthy strides. She appeared an intimidating figure dressed in her full suit of steel armor, but it was the way she moved, purposeful, her longsword coming up, and brought it down in a calculated swing.

She moves fast! To be fair, Meg hadn’t ever been on the receiving end of Brynja’s attacks, so it made some sense that she had no true idea as to how her companion fought. Of course, the same could be said vice versa. In all their time together, the younger Nord had been keeping mostly to her bow, though she was more proficient with her sword. And it felt good, feeling the weight of another sword hitting against hers as she brought it up just in time to stop Brynja’s swing.

It was clear that this current battle of strength wouldn’t end well for Meg, she could already feel her sword being pushed down. However, she wasn’t about to give up… not this quickly anyway. She ducked and scrambled to the right, and as she did, she grabbed her hilt with her left hand now, pulling it away from under Brynja’s sword. Blade now free and now behind the Nord, Meg attempted to strike at the other Nord’s legs. A gasp went up from the crowd at the counter attack.

“We’re going to fight like that, eh?” Brynja twisted, narrowly escaping the blow that would have cut through a gap in the knee joint. She backed off, giving Megana room. The other two fights had taken most of her stamina, but she knew she could endure. She had to be practical and efficient. With the space that she had given Meg, Brynja decided to taunt her, hopefully enticing her to attack her first.

“You move fast for someone whose father was a hamster. Did your mother smell of elderberries too?”

Meg couldn't help but snicker at that comment. Rather than taking it offensively, it caused her amusement because her father could easily have been seen as a small furry creature among towering Nord men. "Well y'know, mice're usually too quick t'be caught. As for Ma, I couldn' rightly say, but I'm thinkin' pro'ly cheese."

That said, Meg switched her sword to her right hand once more and shortened the space between herself and Brynja, this time striking at her sword arm.

She had limited options. Knock Meg back, deflect the blow and fight in close quarters, or retreat again. Brynja dropped her opposing shoulder, and drove it down towards Meg, aiming to body check her. At the same time, she brought the edge of her longsword up against Meg’s blade.

There was no chance for Meg to do anything with her sword, not with her falling to the ground due to Brynja’s body check. An oof sound escaped her as she landed on her back, a slight grimace as she felt rocks pressing into her. She still had a hold of her blade, so her hold tightened around the hilt before slackening. She let go of her her sword and it clattered to the ground.

“A’right, I yield,” she called, lifting both hands in the air from her position on the ground. She hoped that was enough of a show for those watching them.

For those that had placed bets on Brynja, they gave a cheer and went to collect their funds from Marius, while those with bets on Megana turned away, disappointed that the fight had ended rather abruptly. However, for Brynja, she moved towards Meg, hand outstretched as an offering to help her to her feet.

“You alright, Meg?” She asked softly.

Meg nodded. She could have prolonged the match, but she didn’t feel it would be the wise thing to do, especially if Brynja was to fight more people. Taking hold of the sword with her right hand, she reached up with her left and took hold of the offered hand. “Aye, thanks.” As she pulled herself up, her sleeve slipped a little down, showing the edge of the bandage still covering the half healed stab wound from when they first arrived in Skingrad.

“What the- Megana Corvus. Just what the hell is that?” Brynja demanded, not releasing Meg’s wrist quite yet. Her grip actually tightened as she brought herself to look Meg in the eye.

“When did this happen? And why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Meg looked away for a moment, trying and failing not to seem like a child getting in trouble. "Been a while now," she finally muttered. "Got in a l'il trouble back when we first got to Skingrad. It's almost healed now as is... y'all had lots on your mind already, what with the Rangers. I didn' wanna be a bother when it wasn' a big deal, y'know?"

“You’re coming with me.” Brynja said, and proceeded to drag Meg over to Marius, who remained rather docile and didn’t attempt to struggle.

“That was a good fight lass! Here’s your cut. When do you want to fight again?”

“Give me three hours, and I’ll be good as new.” Brynja gave a curt nod, and without letting go of Meg, dragged her away from the crowd and into the entrance of an alleyway.

“Let me see it.” She demanded.

Meg pushed her sleeve further up so that her complete forearm now showed, not wishing to further annoy Brynja. Truthfully she felt slightly
giddy at the attention, but there was also the 'you're in trouble' feeling that made her inwardly cringe.

"Well," she said, looking at the slightly stained bandage, "there's it."

Brynja shook her head, clucking her tongue like a disapproving mother, “What are you trying to do kid? Get yourself killed? Cuz that’s what you’re gonna do if you don’t get this cleaned right quick. Just look at this, Meg. This is borderline infected. What the bloody Daedra did you do to it? Did you try and clean it?” She pushed and prodded around the wound, shaking her head.

"Ow!" Meg winced a little but kept relatively still. "I did, mostly! Didn't really think of its since we had t'leave Skingrad." She knew it was stupid but she'd been in such a mood during the journey that it hadn't even crossed her mind to look over her arm.

"Uhm... so... can you fix it then..?" She looked up at Brynja, sheepish as well as embarrassed at having to ask now.

“Course I can. That’s what I did back in Jerall too, remember? C’mon let’s get you to the inn, so I can clean this first before I heal you.” Brynja released her, the look in her eyes softening. “And I’ll give you your half of the winnings too.”

"Oh, right those." Meg finally resheathed her sword, and then let out a little sigh as she pulled her sleeve back down. "It'd be nice, finally havin' some gold." Taking in a deep breath, she slowly let it out before looking to Brynja once more. "That was fun, the duel, even though it was short. And er... thanks for... y'know." She nodded in her arm's direction. "Lead the way."

Moments passed before Meg and Brynja took a seat in the corner of the inn, she had cornered the cook, and claimed a bowl of hot water with a fresh cloth. Brynja settled into her seat and gestured for Meg, and then remembered the gold. She didn’t even bother counting out the winnings, just handed her the entire pouch. She had made plenty from the two duels earlier in the day.

“There ya go. Now lay your arm out flat on the table.”

Meg did as she was told and laid her arm as Brynja said, though her eyes still rather wide as they stared at the money pouch. "Woah... y'sure 'bout givin' all that to me?" She looked to the older Nord, blinking. "You did most've it, y'know."

“‘Course I am. What do you think I’m going to do with all this money? Blow it on booze, that’s what. Marius is giving me free room and beer anyways.” She folded a corner of the cloth, and dipped it into the hot water. Her eyes looked to Meg, “This might be hot, but it won’t burn you.”

Brynja applied the wet cloth to the encrusted wound, and began to clean away the filth that had accumulated, along with the scabs. Her gaze focused entirely on the wound that she didn’t bother making small talk, not that she didn’t want to, but because her work entranced her. She repeated the steps of dipping different corners of the cloth into the hot water, eventually soaking its entirety, and gave her forearm a good, rather abrasive, stroke that cleaned up any remaining gunk. While the wound was clean, that didn’t mean it was healed.

“Ok. This might itch, but it doesn’t look so bad as I thought.” Brynja wiped her hands on the sides of her pants before grabbing Meg’s wrist with one hand, and holding her free hand inches away from the wound. She closed her eyes, and focused on drawing out the restorative magick stored within her. She was exhausted from the dueling, but she hadn’t spent any of her magicka. Slowly, a pulsating white orb swirled beneath her hand. The flow of magicka radiated out around Meg’s forearm, enveloping it entirely. It felt like minutes, when it was really only seconds before she pulled her hand away. The wound healed without so much as a scar.

“There we are. How does that feel?”

"Bloody good," Meg replied, shaking her head. "Always amazes me when I see someone fix up wounds like that." It was also something she was envious of, but she'd never had a head for magic, and neither did the people she'd grown up around.

She gently poked at the wound, tense as if expecting pain, and letting out a breath when there was none. "Thanks so much- and I promise in Talos' name I won' let a wound go untreated again. Promise." She gave Brynja a sheepish but hopefully convincing grin.

“Good. If anything just come to me for goodness sake. If you let that go any longer, I would’ve had to lop your arm off, and then you’d be Megana One-Arm.” Brynja winked, the wound hadn’t been that badly infected, but she hoped that got the point across.

It's Such a Wonderful Thing to Love

---

Anvil, Cyrodiil 21st of Second Seed, Midday

Calen considered himself well traveled for the most part. Was this the first time out of Skyrim? Yes and no, he had occasionally brought his cart to High Rock's border halfway to Jehanna to drop people off, but he barely considered that an abroad experience as he always turned back to serve the people of Skyrim. Cyrodiil was his first experience truly traveling the international flight, and the Gold Road between Skingrad and Anvil was a long and arduous one, even with what little respite Kvatch provided for the weary travelers. Though most of the group fared rather well, Calen was suffering from a unique experience among the company.

“Oh Gods – oh Stendarr! It's so hot!”

The home-grown Nord was having a lick of trouble adjusting to the warmer southern temperatures as they steadily inched closer towards the tropical line. He had long since shed his outer layer of clothing, and the white and blue shirt underneath helped to at least reflect some of the harsh sunlight, but his acclimation to the heat left much to be desired. Even his pony seemed especially spooky and more sluggish than usual, and trying to tend to Danish had put a strain on managing his own supplies. It put a bit of a damper on the mood of the trip as the one who was usually the sole bard responsible for the morale of his compatriots was too distracted by his own misery, however, even in his wallowing was he not entirely oblivious.

It was possible that said misery had tinted his perspective a bit, for he couldn't help but notice that the one friend he actually got to know on a personal level – and that was not to say he wasn't friendly with the others, but lacked the same kind of intimate understanding – was avoiding him. Out of sight, she was, and he was no stranger to casual affairs or one-night flings, but he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he had overestimated the significance of their time together. It made an already uncomfortable man distracted and subdued, but he put his best smile up when questioned. Passed it off as hot and sweaty, not used to the climate – no one was none the wiser.

It was good they were going to Anvil. There were questions he wanted answered.

Like how its lighthouse was a beacon of hope and refuge to weary sailors, it's front gates were beacons to weary caravans. He was one of the few without the luxury to immediately rush into the safety of its walls, for he had to pay the stables and string Danish up himself, who was welcomed with cool water and plentiful hay. He helped the people he carried off of his wagon and collect their belongings, before pulling it into a neighboring storehouse.

When he was able to join the others inside the walls, however, he was met with a marvelous sight. The paved cities, the architecture of the buildings, fountains, the hustle and bustle of countless people – it nearly rivaled Soltiude in the culture and beauty it exuded, and he was very much tempted into setting a box down in the middle of the square and playing his music. But as the hot sun beat down on his head and shoulders, his mind turned towards visiting the local tavern for some shade and drink, as well as friends and music – but the thoughts of such revelry would've been the antithesis of what he intended to accomplish upon coming here. He wasn't much a man of resolve, but it had been too long since he gave a visit to a proper temple to his lady.

He laughed and smiled with acquaintances along the way, other refugees, familiar faces, members of the company, and gave a cheery hello to new faces as he circled around the city looking for where this temple would be.

“You mean the Chapel? It's over east. It's a big, tall building, you can't miss it.”

Making a beeline towards the Great Chapel of Dibella, he wondered how he ever could've missed it. It was like the size of a castle, towering high and proud into the blue sky with ornate windows and brickwork decorating it all along the way. It's size and beauty of its outward appearance had put the Temple of Dibella in Markarth to shame, and his mouth hung open and speechless in awe. It was fitting that the Goddess of Beauty had a chapel so encapsulating. As he pushed open one of the doors, he was greeted with a dimly candlelit interior, wide and spacious, with a long walkway leading up to a large altar before a tall statue of Dibella herself looking over her worshipers. Though the chapel was rather empty of patrons aside from one or two, there was a priest and priestess dressed in red, leading their followers in dance and song.

Calen smiled at them. Though it was clear that this was not the same kind of temple as the one in Markarth, they still practiced the arts.

Though as he walked on towards the altar, the rhythm of their Cyrodilic melody was tuned out from his ears as he thought carefully about what he was to say. There has been a lot on his mind lately, so perhaps... just to start from there, then? He sighed heavily and fell to his knees, then leaned forward as he pressed his head against the altar. The was weird. Strange. Usually he just prayed the usual prayers, be all happy and the like – they were usually laced with flowery words like poetry, it only seemed right given the Goddess he was praying to – he wasn't terribly used to being so... open and vulnerable with his feelings. He figured that's where he should start. Shame on him for breaking one of her rules.

“Blessed Lady... I ask for your forgiveness for not living and feeling honestly.” He muttered.

'No', he thought to himself, 'That's not it. I'm here now. I'm talking. Confronting this... I've been honest. Honesty isn't the issue. Oh, Dibella, why am I here now?'

Calen hesitated for a minute, then continued, “No matter the seed, if the shoot is nurtured with love, will not the flower be beautiful? Illia has told me you've said this, and I've done what I can to live true by your sentiments... but I've grown doubtful, not of you, but of myself. Past and present friends and lovers alike, I still hold them in great esteem, but I... the fire of my ardor remains stoked, but... I'm afraid. That of my fellows, their own would sizzle down to smoke and embers.”

An image of Rhona appeared in his mind, wrapped in blankets, but was quickly replaced by a moment of eye contact with her on the open road before she quickly moved deeper into the crowd and out of his sight. A twang in his chest made him wonder if this is what it felt like to be the lute he plucked at so often, but he quickly focused back on his prayer.

“This one was not the first time, nor I fear her to be the last, and it reminds me that I've often wondered if I left others feeling the same way. I wonder now if the path I walk is true – no, it's true – I just wonder if it's for me.”

The smoky smell of incense filled his nose in that moment, like rose and lotus. He looked up at the statue, and in the midst of his somber face did the corners of his mouth curl upwards slightly. He was faithful, yes, but not much of a holy man. He couldn't interpret the signs of the divine very well, or tell if they were signs at all, but he wanted to have faith that it was a message. He knew the smell well, and looking up at the statue took him back to the days in Markarth, in the days of the wagon, learning all he could of her doctrine. This was simply the way of love. Love sometimes hurts. That's part of what made it beautiful. He remembered what he told Rhona a few nights ago, "When I think about past loves, I don't think about what I lost. I think about what I gained. The love I felt in those moments were real, and those moments are valuable to me. So the memories don't hurt me that much. More than anything, they feel... fulfilling."

He chuckled to himself a bit, thinking, 'I can be such a hypocrite sometimes.'

The young bard stood up, smiling. He wasn't really sure about how much he has accomplished here, but he knew this place would comfort him. The sight and smell of his Lady, the other worshipers – despite it's differences, the chapel had the same atmosphere. It brought on memories which helped to remind him why he was here and why he decided to become a follower. Regardless of whatever misfortunes that were behind him and those that lie ahead, there was beauty and wisdom to be found in each of them. Besides...

He had history to record. The dwemer wouldn't likely return again for a while after Tamriel figures out how to send them back down to their skeever hole.

Though the walk back to the front gates of the city of Anvil was a bit of a hike, he made good pace in finding that spring in his step. The warm sun and beat down on his skin and the humidity in the air clung to his clothes, he was able to begin appreciating the difference in weather between southern Cyrodiil and Skyrim. As he circled around the stables to get to the storehouse where he kept his wagon, intending to procure some of his instruments and his journals, he was barked at by one of the refugees that had followed their caravan earlier. Apparently they still had problems with getting in.

“'Ey, Calen!” They said. “Where you been? Frolicking about in the tavern and the local girls, I reckon!”

Calen just laughed in response, yelling back, “Yeah, I guess you could say that!”

Evening, 21st of Second Seed, 4E208
Anvil, inside the Frisky Dolphin

Still lost in thought, Gregor found that his wandering feet had taken him to a tavern and he blinked a few times to let his eyes acclimatize to the moody lighting inside, the door swinging shut behind him. He cast a practiced, habitual glance at the patrons and took a double take when he recognized someone -- the Khajiit from their ragtag group, the same one he’d tended to at Elenglynn and who had fallen out with Rhea so ferociously outside the city gates. She looked the way he felt. Unaware of the conversation that Daro’Vasora had just had with Roux but intrigued by the pouch, the modest tower of coins on the table and her brooding appearance, Gregor approached at a languid pace and offered her his most winning smile.

“Hello again, Daro’Vasora,” the Imperial said and inclined his head in greeting. “May I sit with you?”

Looking up to see Gregor approach, one of the few survivors from the Rangers, Daro’Vasora was surprised to see him appear to be so… cheerful. She gestured across from him as her eyes scanned over the parchment in front of her, deciding what was worth eating and what was likely to cause gastrointestinal distress the next morning. “Be my guest. To what do I owe the honour?” she asked flatly, glancing up only occasionally from the menu.

Gregor accepted graciously, sat down opposite the Khajiit and began to relieve himself of the swords he carried on his person, setting them aside beneath the table. While the unhurried and pleasant expression on his face remained, his slow and cumbersome movements betrayed more weariness and fatigue than he was readily willing to admit, and there was no hiding the bags beneath his eyes. Gregor noticed Daro’Vasora had obtained new clothes -- his own outfit and armor remained the same, immaculately cared for; the stains of Dwemer blood had been washed out already.

“Coincidence, really,” he said and settled into his seat properly. “I wasn’t looking for you in particular. Now that you’re here, though, I do have a question for you. You see, I’m a little… lost, myself,” Gregor continued and he rubbed his brow with his left hand. “I wanted to fight against the Dwemer and help defend my homeland but recent events have made it perfectly clear such thoughts are wishful thinking. We are not prepared for this.” He paused and cleared his throat -- he looked much more serious now. “I’ve gathered you’re something of an expert on the Dwemer. What do you think? What are you going to do next?”

Propping an elbow up on the table, she rested her cheek against a balled fist. “The sentiment is similar. I’d forsaken rationality for the sake of vengeance, and in the end, what did we accomplish? Wipe out a minor scouting outpost? As soon as they were prepared for us, it was like Imperial City all over again.” She sighed, glancing around for something to chew on. “The Legion’s best in Imperial City was discarded like a plaything, I think the idea of changing tactics to more hit and run style was worth a shot, but ultimately, the risk is too great. We lucked out because they got complacent, and we figured we’d had a shot against them, but now we’re fighting on their terms, and every time that happens, there’s no winning.”

Deciding on a few gulps of brandy, she mused for a few minutes, trying to figure out how to answer his next question. “I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do now. I lost mostly everything, and I want to regain some sense of normality. I just don’t know how to do that with what’s going on. You? What would you do in my situation, or your own?”

While Daro’Vasora thought about what she was going to say, Gregor ordered something to drink (wine) and a bite to eat (a cheese platter). He was polite and well-mannered enough to simply let her think, so he leaned back in his seat and folded his hands in his lap until she spoke and posed a question back to him. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance but he managed to keep his expression in line. She was steering the conversation away from what he wanted by implying that she wanted to escape from the conflict. Coward, a cold (and somewhat hypocritical) part of him thought.

“You won’t find that anywhere,” Gregor replied darkly and took a slow, measured sip of his wine, staining his lips crimson. “Tamriel is at war. The Dwemer won’t stop at Cyrodiil. We’re not capable of fighting them now but that is no reason to attempt to retreat back into your old life.” He paused, frowned, and when he continued, his pleasant tone had disappeared entirely and been replaced by something hard and unyielding. “I’m disappointed, Daro’Vasora. You’re an accomplished dungeoneer, highly knowledgeable about the Dwemer, which means you’re far more important to the war effort than the average Khajiit, and here you are instead, thinking about the things that you’ve lost instead of the greater good. I’ll readily admit that the Dwemer that came back are a far cry from the ones that left Tamriel all those years ago, but who’s to say that the secret to defeating them doesn’t lie in their past?”

He shifted in his seat and pushed away his cheese platter so that he could lean forward, resting his elbows on the table, his dark eyes gazing intently in Daro’Vasora’s. It was obvious now that Gregor’s sheepish uncertainty of earlier had been a facade -- he knew exactly what he wanted. “In your situation I would put that clever wit and knowledge of yours to good use in deciding where to find the answers we need. I certainly wouldn’t turn my back on the Empire in search of ‘normality’.”

The Khajiit’s expression remained impassive, she just slowly emptied the glass as Gregor went on a suddenly impassioned tirade to, what, goad her into action? While she considered herself culturally Imperial, Gregor perhaps embodied the over-zealous nature that seemed all too common in the guards. “Oh, so you’re the expert now; you know exactly what range and capabilities they have. You should know one thing about armies, it’s that they shouldn’t overrun their supply lines. That alone tells me they can’t be everywhere. Save your disappointment, it’s unbecoming for a stranger to try and pressure someone to die for a cause that only they believe in.” she rolled her eyes, watching as a small loaf of bread and a serving of salmon were headed her way. The waiter put it down before her, and refilled the brandy. She slid a pair of Septims his way, which were taken with gratitude before he disappeared to the back.

“What is the greater good, hm? An Empire forged from the bones of Tiber Septim’s ruthless conquest, or maybe the Dwemer see themselves as the heroes for reclaiming their birthright? I heard a phrase long ago when I was a child that always resonated with me; Wars only work if both sides think they’re righteous.” She picked off a chunk of the bread and chewed it for a few moments, staring Gregor back in the eyes the entire time, unblinking, no passion of fires behind the feline slits.

“I’ve passed on what I know to the Legions, you’re also making some rather rash judgements on what the Dwemer are and aren’t capable of; their technology isn’t remarkably different than what historical artifacts suggest. The only thing that makes this particularly brutal is that nobody alive has ever had to fight it. I do best when I’m digging up old artifacts and making sense of my discoveries, not waiting to die as sword fodder for someone else’s war. I don’t wear the armour of the Legions, I didn’t swear fealty to Emperor Mede, and I certainly don’t owe allegiance to lofty ideals set by those who lord over us. Songs are written about conquerors and great heroes, not the thousands that died for them to achieve that dream. Go ahead, name any random conscript from the Great War. Unless you know them, you can’t.

“And that’s the problem, Gregor; I’m not prepared to be forgotten to history because someone else’s war fell on our doorstep. I’ll honour my mentor by doing what he taught me to do, and maybe if I find anything worthwhile, I’ll pass it along to the war effort. You don’t become an expert at something if you just… don’t do it in favour of some foolish notion a war can be won entirely by sword and shield.” she said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

Like snow melting in the sunlight, Gregor's chiding look vanished and was replaced by a smile from one second to the next. “Fair enough,” he said casually and moved his cheese plate back in front of him as he relaxed into his seat again. He broke eye contact to pick at the cheese with his fork and took a few bites, appearing to thoughtfully evaluate his food. Internally, he was screaming. Daro’Vasora had no idea who she was talking to, being the next person in a long line of people over the last decade to be deceived into thinking he was an upstanding citizen -- that was precisely his intention, but Gregor was tired and pulled taut and a part of him yearned to interact with someone earnestly instead of always having to play these games.

The Pale Reaper hushed him to be quiet.

“I'm not suggesting you should be a soldier, by the way,” Gregor said at length and looked up again. “You would obviously be wasted as sword fodder. I'm just saying the Empire needs all the capable help, in any capacity, that it can get. You're smart, Daro'Vasora, you know the Dwemer better than most. What are their weaknesses? Where did they come from? Where would you go to find out? And if you don't care about the Empire, fine. Care for its people. My family is in the line of fire, for example. But disregarding even them -- do it for yourself. You know who won't be forgotten to history? The treasure hunter who discovered how to beat the Dwemer. History doesn’t remember the countless dead, true, but it also doesn’t remember those who ran from the great conflicts of their time.” Gregor's smile widened and he took another long sip of wine, carefully observing her reaction over the edge of his goblet.

Her eyes widened, disposition changing to something decidedly more childish and excitable. “Oh, really? Maybe they’ll make me a statue and children will pretend to be me when I’m long decomposed!” she let out a feminine giggle before her face returned to its default sardonic expression. “You completely misunderstand my point. People get goaded into this shit all the time, all across history, because the very small handful of leaders and divinely chosen heroes make promises of glory and honour, riches, a nation of their own, women, blah blah blah..” she rolled her eyes, taking another large bite out of her meal.

“Look, Gregor, I really don’t care about what happens to most people because everyone dies eventually and trying to stop major regional events is like standing in front of a boulder that’s crashing down a hill to save your friend. You may believe you can stop it, and who knows? Maybe a few trees will catch it and change its course. But more often than not, you and your friend are going to die.

“I’m pragmatic; I care only about my little world. If it’s not some damned deep elves, it’ll be the Dominion, or a future Emperor with a mental tick and delusions of grandeur. All of them will be washed away in time, for someone like me to dig through their precious junk and pawn it off like it’s worth a few drinks and maybe some new clothes. Sentiment is meaningless, but people pay a lot for it.” she paused, swirling her glass in thought. “So tell me; do you honestly think you’re going to stand in the way of an army from hurting your family, or would the smart thing to do would be beat them to it and get them away before the storm hits? How many Legionnaires do you suppose marched off to war to find out they can’t rush home to protect their family from a well-executed counter offensive? What are you going to do that saves your family?” she asked, starring with interest at the Imperial’s face. Was he all hubris and nationalism, or was there a sense of self in there, she wondered.

Gregor has obviously spent too much time in Skyrim, he realised. Daro'Vasora's pragmatic cynicism was the polar opposite of the reckless and daring Nords that he had become used to. Gregor hated it. She was being smart and careful, which meant she was entirely uncooperative, and she had interpreted his words in a way that made her think he was an idiot. He said nothing at first as a look of simmering resentment passed over his face, his exhaustion preventing him from masking his emotions as he usually did. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth and then finally sighed relentingly.

“It’s more complicated than you think,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning in closer. “I have my own, very good reasons to stay involved in this war. The Dwemer… have something I need. Something valuable that they’re not very much willing to part with. You know what they’re like.” He opened his mouth to continue but closed it again. How could he explain this to Daro’Vasora without actually explaining it to her? He looked more forlorn than ever. “I can’t tell you what it is but I need it to save my family and myself from a fate worse than death. And I need help.”

That certainly hit a nerve, and while Daro’Vasora was content to bask in a smug victory against the blatant manipulation attempt, his sudden earnestness caught her off guard. She regarded him with a steady gaze, attempting to scry Gregor’s rugged features for more deception. She came up short.

At last, she replied, “What could the Dwemer possibly offer you that you cannot find elsewhere?” she asked. “Why do you think this could save your family, and why come to me for this? I studied the ancient ruins and technology, all of this living Dwemer business is entirely new and unknowable for me as it is for you.” she replied, shifting in her seat and feeling somewhat taken aback by Gregor’s change of tact. This didn’t feel like him trying to change tact to convince her to join him, instead it felt like he pulled back a layer of himself and exposed a raw part of his being for her to pry into. While she understood that having someone with some familiarity with the Dwemer was probably a wise course of action, what she couldn’t figure out what was exactly he was after.

And there they were, the prying questions Gregor had dreaded as soon as he had finished speaking. There was no other option than to lie about it -- he only needed to get close enough to a Dwemer lord, after all. The precise details of what he was looking for could be fabricated, if he was able to think quickly now. As if on cue he was struck by a jolt of inspiration and Gregor moved conspiratorially even closer to Daro’Vasora before answering her questions. “A cure,” he whispered. This wasn’t strictly true, of course, but it was the ultimate goal of his journey, and he had discovered previously that lies worked best when they contained a coating of truth. “My family is cursed with a degenerative disease that robs us of our minds when we reach middle age. I watched my father waste away because of it. He died within a few months after his brain forgot how to breathe. The priests call it Vaermina’s Theft. The alchemists have a… different name for it. And even the mages of the Arcane University know of it. What they all have in common is that they have no cure. My father’s last few years on this world were spent exploring every available avenue to him, to no avail. The last thing he found before he died was an old book about the Dwemer,” Gregor lied, his speech quickening as he wrapped himself up in the deception he was conconcting, “that claimed they were capable of great longevity and preservation of their minds.”

Gregor’s index finger had tapped the table with great force repeatedly to emphasize his last five words, and the feverish look in his eyes affirmed the utmost importance he placed on this (fake) discovery. “That’s what I need. I didn’t come to you specifically, Daro’Vasora -- I just ran into you here -- but I need the help of every expert on the Dwemer that I can find. I need to get my hands on an ancient Dwemer lord of some kind, one who might be likely to know their secrets. And then all I need to do is reach in,” he said breathlessly, his hand contorted into a claw-like shape, his gaze staring into the middle distance, “and take it.”


Reflexively, Daro’Vasora straightened her back as Gregor drew closer, finding the suddenly closing distance between the two somewhat uncomfortable and his words, reach in and take it made a chill run down the Khajiit’s spine. In all of her travels and studies, she had never come across anything resembling what this book Gregor claimed to have read contained, and for all she knew, it was a convincing fable or a fake that he had latched onto in desperation. Something in his tone and the intensity in his eyes startled her, and she found her hand resting on the table knife out of reflex. This was a side to the man that she had no idea lurked beneath the normally tranquil exterior, and she had no idea if it meant he was a crazed man or not. She had no reason to doubt that his motives, protecting his family were genuine, but something about him made her feel like he’d latched onto the most obscure thought out of desperation and reason had left him somewhere along the way. She could sense that the man was dangerous, and not just with his prowess with the large sword he carried.

“A cure.” She replied, looking around both in thought and for a potential escape route, if the need arose. She hoped that Baan Daar would provide an escape if needed and that she was misreading the whole situation. “Look, I sympathize with how you feel for your family, I’d just be careful not to put too much into an unverified source.” She said delicately, not wishing to trigger an intense reaction. “I, too, wish to see the Dwemer pay for what they’ve done, but I’ve never encountered anything like what you’ve described, and… ancient Dwemer? There’s no way of knowing if these are the same ones who disappeared ages ago or their distant ancestors without careful research to corroborate this thought. I feel you might be going about this irrationally, or with false hopes that your problems will find a tidy solution under a strict form.” Her teeth grounded together, and she definitely felt a bit nervous being across from him. What was this man willing to do to chase what might have been a false lead as if it were the only truth? “Please, do not be rash or think that you’ve found an answer without knowing for sure. Maybe they do have some sort of medicine you need, but that wouldn’t require anything more than finding one of their doctors. I’ll think about what you’re asking, but I really need to consider what my own family needs, and a fool of a daughter who is chasing the intangible certainly isn’t that.”

Gregor sighed. “Very well,” he said and sank back in his seat, suddenly deflated. “You said you’ll think about it, and that’s all I ask.” He sounded exhausted now, as if the impassioned confession had drained him entirely, and looked down at the table. After a few seconds, his eyes snapped back into focus and he saw the cheese platter he’d ordered and only taken a few bites of. He set about to devouring it now and interspersed his voracious bites with big swigs of wine. It seemed he had nothing more to say.

The shift in intensity was certainly welcome, although Daro’Vasora couldn’t help but feel pity for Gregor’s predicament. They sat in silence for a spell, and the Khajiit’s thoughts lingered on her sister, who was going to visit later in the month. Her family probably didn’t know she was still alive, and the realization stung. Picking up a fork, she took a few more bites from her meal before returning her gaze to Gregor. “It’s plain that your family’s dear to you or you wouldn’t be going through this insane quest of yours. Tell me about them.”

That made Gregor blink and look up. He thought for a few seconds, swallowed, and said: “My father’s name was Hector. He died… ten years ago. My mother, Gaia, I think is still alive, but I honestly don’t know. I haven’t been home in a long time. My younger brother Marcus took over my father’s business. And I have a sister, Julia. They’re good, honest, hard-working people. Our parents raised us well.” Then the image of a raven-haired woman with eyes like sapphires flashed through his mind’s eye and he visibly winced, absent-mindedly scratching his left forearm as he did so. “I left everything behind after my father died. As the oldest son it is my duty to finish my father’s quest and find a cure for us. It was his last request. If I don’t succeed, we’ll all end up like him, and that’s… I can’t let that happen. My family doesn’t know that’s why I left. They wouldn’t understand that this is what it takes. My father knew that only I would be capable of doing so, which is why he left this task to me.” Gregor smiled sadly and shrugged. “You must think I’m crazy. I promise you that I’m not. I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, but the focus and drive might be. I understand and sympathize, I truly do. I just think that you may be so fixated on one potential option that you’re failing to see the danger, or discounting other courses of action.” she replied, blinking slowly and letting out a long exhale. “Perhaps there is merit to what you are proposing, and I don’t fault you for what you feel is the only shot at saving your loved ones, but take it from me; it’s when the treasure is in sight when you must truly be the most vigilant. If you let your guard down thinking you’ve overcome all of the obstacles, you may lose everything before you even touch the prize. I’ve plundered enough ruins to have known that’s a universal lesson that doesn’t just apply to treasure.”

Reaching over, the Khajiit placed a hand over Gregor’s, the pads of her hands resting gently upon his much smoother skin.

“All I’m trying to say is don’t act before knowing all the details, or you’ll have spent years away from Gaia, Marcus, and Julia for nothing and lost what little time with them you could have had left. I can’t promise anything, I need to do some soul searching to know what path I should take, but if I do decide to continue taking up arms against the Dwemer, I will help you try and find those answers you seek. Be brave, but not foolish.” she cautioned, her tone gentle while her gaze remained stern. She wasn’t one for smiling, so it tended to misdirect genuine sympathy for bluntness.

Part of Gregor felt like a young man again, the jewelsmith apprentice who lived in a cozy house with a wonderful wife in Bravil, ignorant of the hardships and cruelty of the world, when Daro’Vasora laid her hand on his and spoke her words of wisdom. He wanted to listen to her, to succumb to someone else’s ideas, let them take the lead in determining what the possibilities were and what risks he should take -- it had been such a heavy burden. But the iron core inside his mind wouldn’t allow it. That other part of him knew that Daro’Vasora’s advice was worthless. She had no idea what she was talking about. There were no other options left or Hector would have found them before he died. The lie that Gregor had spun for Daro’Vasora was actually somewhat plausible, now that he stopped to think about it, but she was right that it was a gamble and probably not even true. She didn’t know what Gregor was really planning, however, and that meant she was giving advice blindly. And that really annoyed that other part of him. Gregor could feel the resentment and the indignation simmering behind his eyes: who was this cat practically half his age to warn him of anything, who knew nothing of the true nature of his cause? If Gregor faltered now, he did not only risk his own family’s fate but also that of his very soul, for the gods would not be kind to him after everything that had happened. For a split second he imagined slamming Daro’Vasora’s arrogant face into the tabletop and condemning her to an eternity of suffering in the Soul Cairn. The moment passed as soon as it had come and Gregor, shaken, averted his gaze while pulling his hand back and into his lap.

“Of course,” he said softly. “I must keep an open mind. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” she replied, gesturing to the food. “Might as well eat. It’s not getting any warmer.”

---

Anvil, 22nd of Last Seed, Early Afternoon

After the fighting, scolding and healing, Megana had spent most of the rest of the day in the inn in her bedroom, whiling the hours away in the consumption of food, drink and copious amounts of sleep. It was probably a rather lazy way to spend her first day in the beautiful city of Anvil, but after the long journey and body check from Brynja, she hadn’t really cared much for sightseeing. In fact, aside from fiddling in the money pouch for septims to pay the innkeeper with, she hadn’t even counted to see how much exactly was in the pouch.

Morning had brought rest with a headache from maybe having a little too much to drink… but also the realization that she was a hundred septims richer than she had been yesterday morning. Therefore, after freshening up and having breakfast- it really was hard to resist delicious smelling food- Meg had left the Flowing Bowl to peruse the city and finally buy a shirt that didn't look older than she was. Of course, she was probably in need of new trousers and boots and a whole lot of other new things, but she’d always been the frugal type. It hadn’t taken her too long before she came across a vendor who had just what she wanted. Whether she persuaded him or he persuaded her, the end result of that transaction was that Meg now had a set of barely worn clothes for half the price.

After a little more wandering and sightseeing, including glances (or perhaps gawking) at the Chapel of Dibella, Meg finally returned to the inn and proceeded to change her clothes. It felt nice, finally having clean, grimless clothes touching her skin. True she had lived a lot of her life as a streetrat and was used to muck here, there and everywhere, but that hardly meant she couldn’t enjoy life’s simpler pleasures.

One of which included looking out at the harbour as she once more exited the tavern, watching the waves crashing against the shore, so different from the waves she used to watch as a child in Riften.

After his chat with Alim, Jaraleet had retreated to his room at the inn and started jotting down what information that he had gathered, and which he had deemed important due to the current situation, throughout the course of the conversation he had with the half-blooded thief. The self-imposed task had left the Haj-Eix will little hours of sleep, but the assassin didn’t mind all too much. In his line of work long nights and little sleep were par for the course but, even so, the ambiance of the inn had started to become overbearing for the Argonian assassin.

Changing from the leather armor that he had been wearing ever since that fateful Dwemer ambush that had decimated the Colovian Rangers into his, relatively, clean set of normal clothes, Jaraleet made his way out of the inn and to the nearby harbour close to it. There, he was surprised to find Megana Corvus who seemed lost in her thoughts as she watched the waves crash against the shore. “Something on your mind Meg?” The Argonian asked curiously as he approached the Nord woman, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned to look at the same sight she did as he waited for a reply.

Meg looked up when she heard the voice, surprised to see who it was though not startled from the break in the silence; she had heard the footsteps. “Jaraleet, nice seein’ you here!” She smiled a little before shaking her head at his question. “Y’mean, aside from the usual ‘what’m I doin’ with m’life?’ sorta thoughts? Nothin’ much.” She took in a breath, enjoying the scent of the sea air. “Just kinda enjoyin’ the peace while it’s still ‘round, y’know?”

With that said, she sat down cross legged on the ground, not too worried about dust and dirt clinging to her new clothes.

"What 'bout you, Jaraleet?" she asked curiously once she was settled, leaning back on her hands and craning her neck so that she could keep eye contact with the tall argonian. Aside from the obvious race similarities, he was as different from Judena as an oak tree from a pine. "Got any plans for the future?"

“Hmmm, any plans for the future?” Replied the Argonian, thinking for a few seconds before he spoke again. “Well, I’m planning to stick with your group if Rhea, and the rest of you of course, will have me.” He said matter of factly to Meg’s last question. “As for what I’m doing right now, well...the inn was starting to be a little suffocating so I decided to head out for a walk.” Said the assassin. “I also want to enjoy what peace there is to be found here, it’s a welcome respite after all the chaos of the Dwemer ambush and what the Dominion did.” He replied, sitting next to Meg after having noticed that she had to crane her neck if she wanted to keep eye contact with him.

He remained in silence for a few seconds, letting himself enjoy the warmth of the sun before he let out a sigh. “All that has happened seems almost surreal in the face of this peace, doesn’t it?” The Argonian chuckled humorlessly, falling silent once again. “What about you Meg? Got any plans for the future yourself?”

"Honestly?" Meg sat up straight and shrugged her shoulders. "I dunno, really. I've been all sortsa unsure even 'fore the dwemer attacked, back in Imperial City." She shifted around, still cross legged, so that she was no longer looking to the water and focusing on Jaraleet instead. "'Fore any of this happened, I used t'wander lots, head down into catacombs an' crypts... treasure huntin'. That's what got me interested in the expedition to the Jerall Mountains, y'know? I thought I'd come out rich, maybe snag some shinies t'sell on the side, return t'wanderin' 'round Skyrim. An' now? I'm wanderin' Cyrodiil with no clue what's what."

Letting out a huff of a sigh, Meg rocked back and forth before turning to face the water once more. "Pretty darn sure you're as welcome t'stay with the group as any of us, though..." Her mouth twitched, unsure how to continue. "I didn' agree with what Sora told Rhea yesterday... still, I dunno if she's got sommat planned or if the group's just waitin' to splinter off... Nothin's certain, an' that kinda gives me a weird feelin'."

She prodded her stomach with her fist before giving the argonian a sheepish smile. "Sorry 'bout that. Kinda just unloaded a shitload on ya there."

“There’s no need to apologize Meg.” Jaraleet said with a smile. “This are chaotic times, it’s only natural to feel confused and lost. I’m only glad that I could lend an ear for you to vent your worries.” He finished, tapping his chin slightly in contemplation. “I can’t speak of what’s going through Rhea’s mind, I’m not her nor I have nearly known her as long as you have, but from what I’ve seen, I’d wager that she wouldn’t want the group to separate. For better or worse, she wants you all to stay together.” The assassin spoke, pondering for a second whether to continue or not. “Though, for what is worth, I believe that the idea of remaining together is a good one. Splitting up in a situation like this one, as if nothing had happened, seems unwise to me. The chaos throughout Cyrodiil as a result of the invasion is still rampant, and one never knows what kind of person is waiting at the next turn of the road.” He said finally, shaking his head slightly before continuing. “No, it’s for the best to remain with people you already know in this kinds of times. I understand that it's not like you and the others have known each other for years, or something similar to that but it seems safer to stay together rather than scattering like leaves in the wind.”

“Though….I suppose I don’t have much room to talk, it’s not like I’ve been with you guys all that long either.” He said with a light chuckle, shaking his head slightly and smiling. “I’m not sure if it’s of much consolation what I just said but, well, hopefully it will ease some of your concerns in regards to what is to come for this group. I know at least that I offered Rhea my help if she so wished, so I’ll stay with her and those who decide to remain at her side.”

"My Pa used'ta say you can find out lots 'bout a person by travellin' with 'em, an' I think Skingrad t'here was enough of a journey t'get to know you. So I'm thinkin' I know you an' the rest well enough." Meg was momentarily quiet, eyes following the ripples in the water. "You're right though... I mean, 'bout stickin' together, for me anyway. No one I know here 'cept y'all..." She thought of yesterday afternoon, smiling a little as she recalled the bout with Brynja. "I like bein' 'round the others, you included. Feels like family... a really weird one, but still."

She rubbed at her nose, a little embarrassed by the sentiment. "I do got my own real family back in Skyrim, Pa an' his son. Wrote Pa a letter just yesterday... dunno if it'll reach but it felt nice." She nodded at Jaraleet. "What 'bout you? Anyone back home for ya?"

Jaraleet chuckled slightly as Meg mentioned that the group seemed to feel like a family, a strange family but a family nonetheless. “I know how you feel.” He said, smiling fondly as he recalled childhood memories of his fellow Haj-Eix back when they were trainees. His train of thought was interrupted when Meg asked him if he had anyone back home for him and, for a split second, Jaraleet almost told her about his fellow brothers and sisters in the Hidden Scales.

“It’s….complicated.” He began after a few seconds of silence as he processed the fact that he had almost told Meg who he truly was on an impulse driven by nostalgia. “My mother….well, she was an alchemist and was attacked by some of the beasts that dwell in Blackmarsh while gathering ingredients.” The Argonian lied, having already thought of the lie in case someone in the group asked him about his family. “A group of city guards from Helstrom, my home city, managed to find her before she expired….me and my father, we managed to say our goodbyes to her before she returned to the Hist.” The Argonian said solemnly, letting out a quiet sigh. “My father still lives in Helstrom, far as I know, but I can’t really return to Black Marsh.” He said to Meg.

“It’s….it’s been a long while since I’ve seen him.” He said to her, shaking his head slightly. “But I have some family in Anvil, managed to see them at the very least. Though I told them to return to Black Marsh, it seems more safe than staying in Anvil waiting for the Dwemer to come knocking.” He said, offering a small smile to the Nord woman.

"Heh..." Meg reached out and placed a hand on the argonian's arm, patting it slightly, sympathy clear in her green eyes. "Now's my turn t'say I know how you feel." She placed her hand in her lap once more before continuing. "My Ma was an adventurer you could say. Her an' Pa both, but 'specially her. She used t'be in the Companions, so huntin' things down was sorta her thing. She'd stopped when I was born but I guess she got itchy feet..." She let out a chuckle. "Pro'ly where I got 'em from. Anyway, she died when she was huntin' a coven of witches..."

She sighed a little. "Pa took it hard for a long time but he came to. We moved to Riften, stayed there awhile... moved to Whiterun. He's still there, with his wife an' their son." Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her tunic as she thought of the letter. What would Marne thing when it reached... if it reached?

"Whiterun's a long way from Imperial City," she muttered. "Still, kinda scary thinkin' the dwemer might get there too."

Jaraleet was surprised when he felt Meg patting his arm slightly and the sympathy displayed in her eyes made him feel guilty, for the first time in years, for having to lie to her. He nodded when she explained what had happened with her mother and how her father had taken the loss. “Yes, I understand, my father didn’t take it well either, but like yours he managed to pull through.” He said softly.

He listened as she voiced her worries about the Dwemer reaching Whiterun and, much like she had done but a few moments ago, Jaraleet placed his hand on her arm gently before patting it slightly. “I’m sure that your father will be fine.” He said softly, smiling at Meg. “I don’t know much about him, aside from what you’ve told me….but I’m sure that he’s a strong man so I think that he’ll be fine.” Jaraleet said, turning to look at the ocean.

Meg chuckled, feeling both sheepish but proud of her father. "Aye, he was a soldier for a bit there... taught me how to use m'sword once we left Riften." He had used the training to distract her from more heinous activities, probably not realizing that just like himself and his beloved wife, Meg had prowess in handling a sword.

"Hm... Y'know, you're right." She couldn't help but smile as she thought of what Jaraleet said. "My Pa taught me; only makes sense if I can survive a whole buncha shit, then he'd be able to as well."

Letting a few moments of companionable silence pass, she finally spoke once more. "Y'know, I owe you one. I feel much more... eh... what's that word..." Her face scrunched momentarily before a look of enlightenment straightened her features. "At ease. I still got my path t'find, whatever that'll be... but 'least I know one thing for sure; I'mma stay with this group 'til I'm the last one."

Meg let out an audible breath before nudging the argonian with her arm. "You hungry? How 'bout lunch's on me?" She smirked as her hand patted her money pouch. "An' then I can tell you all 'bout how I got a bunch of septims by doin' pretty much nothin'."

Jaraleet smiled at Meg’s words, glad that what he had said helped the Nord woman to be at ease. “There’s no need to thank me Meg, I’m just glad that I managed to help you.” He replied, chuckling softly when she nudged him with her arm. “Though I will accept the free lunch.” He joked, smiling again before he stood up. “Guess it’s back to the tavern for us then, unless you had another place in mind to go?”

"Eh... I'mma say the tavern, don' wanna get lost an' be hungry at the same time." She chuckled once more before standing up and stretching, arms reaching up for the sky. "I'll pro'ly go lookin' 'round after, but for now I gotta hole in here-" she patted her stomach "- that I wanna fill."

“That’d be rather annoying, I have to agree.” Jaraleet replied with a chuckle to Meg’s comment about not wanting to be lost and hungry at the same time. “Hmmm, I think I’ll do the same. It’d do me some good to stretch my legs a bit more, maybe buy a few things in case we return to the road sooner rather than latter.” He said, beginning to make his way towards the tavern.

"Aye," Meg returned, following after the argonian, a small but noticeable spring in her step. "That's a good line o' thought there."

Everything looked like it was in place, and now all that was left was to take the step that there was no coming back from. Daro’Vasora’s throat was tight with anxiety and anticipation as she stared down at the white crystals that seemed to have a red-purple tinge in the candlelight below her on the room’s nightstand. She paused, recalling after Hector left her presence and she had claimed her room that Roux had provided, she felt at a loss and conflicted about what she should do. With a heavy soul and no particular desire to do what she knew needed to be done, Daro’Vasora headed out into the night towards the merchant stalls she recalled from earlier and it did not take her long to find a Khajiiti sweets merchant that sold a number of pastries from under a red tarp with gold trim, the twin crescent pattern so popular with her kinsman prevalent in the center in golden thread.

“May J’Mazzri interest such a lovely one such as yourself in some lemon tarts or sweetrolls? It is near the end of this one’s day, so he offers his wares for half of the listed price.” The merchant, an orange-furred Tojay-raht, a man-faced breed with typical cat ears that rarely were seen outside of the Elsweyr kingdoms; they must have been born abroad.

“Actually, I need to walk the moonpath and require Khenarthi’s grace. The crystalised lifeblood of Jone and Jode. Would you be able to assist me?” Daro’Vasora asked. The merchant nodded, receiving a small folded cloth from within a bucket and sliding it into a woven handbag. “J’Mazzri includes a bit of the sugar in most of his creations, but only a small amount so it does not arouse suspicion. But for Azurah’s children, we must help each other where we can far from home.” He bowed and was surprised to see a few coins placed in front of his nose.

“I’ll take three of those lemon tarts, as well.” she had said.

Since then, one of the tarts were gone, and she’d labouriously melted the moon sugar down in a bowl over a candle flame and made sure that Jone and Jode were visible through the window above. There wasn’t an exact incantation or prayer for this, at least not something most Khajiit outside of the Lunar Priests would know, but generally this was a fairly informal affair. It just happened to be one that Daro’Vasora hated doing. When the sugar had melted into something she could take back in a quick drink, she stripped down to avoid tarnishing her new clothing, locked the door, and opened the window to let a breeze through. Having put it off long enough, the Khajiit let out a long sigh and drank from the bowl, the incredibly potent sweetness almost immediately hitting a sense of euphoria. She sat upon the floor, where she’d laid out the blankets, and stared up at the moons, her vision growing bright and unfocused to the point of discomfort that she quickly stopped feeling as her body absorbed the moon sugar. She closed her eyes and she felt weightless, barely feeling the rise and fall of her breathing.

When her eyes opened again, she stood upon a bridge that floated incomprehensibly among the stars, green auroras dancing around enticingly as the torch-lit bridge led to a long set of stairs. She was now garbed in a simple red gown that was reminiscent of the plain robes that the lunar priestesses wore. The architecture was similar to what one would find in Dune, although she’d never been there herself; it was what she’d been told by those who occupied this place, a gateway of sorts to the sands beyond the stars where her ancestors and Khajiiti spirits could meet her partway, the nexus between living and death. At first she’d wondered if it were just a drug induced hallucination that played out entirely in her mind, but the consistency of multiple visits and information relayed that she couldn’t have possibly known made he feel that the moon sugar had helped her walk the moonpath and transport her spirit across the light of the moons to this place to speak with those who came before.

She just really didn’t care to visit the extended family very often. It was seldom a warm experience.

Her bare feet began to cross the heavy and warm stones beneath her steps, feeling as if they were baking in the hot desert sun, even without the presence of a star to warm them. The stair climb was exactly forty steps, each one somehow both weathered and frozen in time, a snapshot of some ancient place that was removed from the mortal world. As she climbed, torches ignited in blue flames; Shani-Ko had a flare for the dramatic. Daro’Vasora reached the stop and stepped through an archway flanked by two Pahmar, the tiger like Khajiit laying on individual dias, their coats taking on an ethereal glow. Ahead, a crescent shaped platform stood raised up above a smaller circular one, which she walked to stand upon. Those she needed were already waiting.

Shani-Ko, a massive Senche-raht sat towering over the others, over 4 meters from toe to the top of her head, her tiger-like face and form giving her a ferocious profile that Daro’Vasora could only see as a kindly woman who loved her family and seemed to have infinite patience. Looming yellow eyes stared down at the smaller woman, who regarded the Clan Mother fondly. Daro’Vasora’s lineage came from Shani-Ko, who had existed on Tamriel long before the men arrived from Atmora. She knelt before Shani-Ko, bowing her head in respect. “Clan Mother, this one is honoured to once again be in your presence.”

“There is no need for such deference, Ma’Khajiit. It has always been a special occasion when family comes to visit an old woman such as myself.” Shani-Ko smiled, allowing herself to lay down as to not be so monolithic and spare Daro’Vasora’s neck. “You are troubled and seek advice.” she mentioned.

“She only turns to us when it is convenient to remember that she is Khajiit and not Man. She prostates herself to the same Imperials that enslaved our people and wretched Leyawiin from us. She is ashamed of who she is, and she idolized those that have taken so much from us.” a much more scornful voice came from Shani-Ko’s right, a male Cathay that was of the same breed Daro’Vasora was, his spotted grey coat was comparable to her own. “Or did these Nibanese men reward you for putting aside your people and culture to embrace their own? Have you forgotten they were the ones that slaughtered Maakro-ra when they subjugated Leyawiin?” he demanded.
A ghostly image apparated before Daro’Vasora of the same Khajiit being dragged across the floor towards a man dressed in the distinctive armour of an early Septim dynasty officer from the 2nd era, after the Three Banners War and the beginning of the unification era under the new Empire. The Khajiit starred defiantly at the officer.

“Surrender the garrison and your people will be spared.” The man requested calmly.

“Merrunz take you.” the Khajiit snarled. The defiant look quickly faded as the broad blade was thrusted into his throat, covering it with blood that spurted from his mouth. The image faded away, like sand blowing across a street. Daro’Vasora rolled her eyes.

“Ah yes, this one recalls that particular image. You must be fond of it, esteemed elder, since you show it to me each and every time Daro’Vasora comes to speak with you.” She remarked dryly. Maakro-ra snarled in response.

“And as many times as it takes, Ma’Khajiit. You continue fraternizing with these men and forgetting what your ancestors have done to ensure you have that choice! You have known nothing but peace and comfort until now, and you forget that the reason you were not born into bondage and servitude is because of the sacrifices of those who came before.” Maakro-ra replied angrily.

“Should this one hold the successors of the men who murdered you accountable of actions of those born thousands of years before, or should she appreciate the peace that the honourable ones have made in the years since?” Daro’Vasora asked. “The Empire that exists today is not the Septims, this one was not even born when Martin Septim died to save Tamriel from Merrunz. Did he not redeem the actions of his ancestors with that sacrifice? What would appease you, Maakro-ra? Submitting herself to the whims of the fucking Thalmor like Pelletine and Anequina seemed eager to do?” she stood, not wishing to show deference to this man. She crossed her arms defiantly.

“Insolence.” Maakro-ra stated, lips curling over the left side of his teeth. “The High Elves have always given the Khajiit autonomy and treated us as partners rather than servants.” he didn’t seem to have a retort for her other points.

“You died two Aldmeri Dominions ago, elder. Try to keep informed. Much like the men of today are not like the ones who came before, the High Elves of today have taken a darker path that only promises suffering for all who fall under their banner. But Daro’Vasora is not a citizen of the Kingdoms, she has much more pressing matters than what megalomaniac elves have planned for the continent.” Daro’Vasora said, turning back to Shani-Ko. “Today, the Deep Elves of the North have returned, and this one feels responsible for what they’ve done. Mighty cities have fallen, the Empire might be shattered, and this one fears the Thalmor will continue to take advantage of this chaos to press their own machinations.”

“Good. Let the Empire fall.” Maakro-ra interrupted defiantly. It was the Senche-raht that snarled, silencing the Cathay into submission, her vocals making the chamber echo, even with the open stars above.

“Continue, child.” Shani-ko assured Daro’Vasora.

“This one has tried to fight them, they killed her mentor and friend, who was family to her. The loss has split this one’s heart, and she fears for the family she has left in Leyawiin. However, she knows she cannot make it home because of this war, so she must continue along a path, but none are bright. There is an obligation to those she survived the Jerall Mountains with, and her heart feels drawn to a Breton man that had protected and saved her from the Falmer, a legacy of Dwemer cruelty. This one wants vengeance, but it has cooled after seeing their capacity of cruelty and unimaginable power. Baan Daar has guided her hands and feet, she is sure of it, but even his blessings cannot account for every action taken against Daro’Vasora.

“She has also been requested to help another Imperial in his own personal quest to save his own family while hurting the Dwemer, and a former partner has requested this one’s services again to hunt for relics belonging to civilizations that no longer exist, and she admits it has an appeal and familiarity. This one is torn between doing what she knows would be just and looking after her own interests. “ Her hands wrung together, and she had to resist fidgeting.

“She does not wish to die or dishonour Zegol by throwing her life away, but she has skills and experience that might make a difference against the Dwemer as Gregor has pointed out. Latro has been kind and affection towards this one, and has done more to help her than anyone in some time. Judena is a friend and more wise than Daro’Vasora in things of historical value, and with her corrupted memory, she may be lost to this war and Tamriel would be poorer for it.” She paused, looking up at Shani-ko pleadingly. “This one does not know which path to follow.”

Another voice apparated to the Senche-raht’s left. “If I might interject, you’ll have to forgive Maakro-ra for his distrust. His circumstances were far different than most others; I feel he would have learned to love the world you inhabit if given the chance.” The man was Darenja the Intrepid, an Ohmes who was a handsome individual with bold features and a warrior’s braid of long blonde hair trailing out behind his head while his face and temples were covered in feline-reminiscent tattoos. They were his only features that distinguished him from a Bosmer, and his cross between Khajiiti and Bosmeri fashions only led to the visual dissonance.

“I served in the Three Banner War under Queen Ayrenn, a most honourable and beloved ruler, and I had been assigned as a liaison to our Bosmeri allies to the East to promote integration and trust between our people, who had suffered from great wars in the past. What made the First Aldmeri Dominion so powerful was it was an alliance built on respect and mutual support, and Ayrenn was a champion for all of our people. She could have easily have stood for Summerset and her own people, but she moved the Dominion’s capital to Elden Root and personally oversaw the resolution of numerous internal crisis of each of our three people.” Darenja brought a fist down into a palm. “It made us powerful and unified. I was honoured when I was asked to serve alongside our Bosmeri allies, and with them, they learned how to think and fight like a Khajiit, and I like them. Together, we shared our cultures and our dreams, I even took a Bosmer to be my wife. We served on both sides of our borders, and into Cyrodiil. Where the Daggerfall Covenant was based around Breton dominance and distrust in outsiders, and the Ebonheart Pact was filled with three races who mutually hated one another and only fought towards a mutual goal out of necessity, the Dominion was a force of cohesion and respect, only made stronger by allowing ourselves to be enriched by our allies.”

Darenja smiled, looking fondly at Daro’Vasora. “That’s one thing you’ve never understood or appreciated about yourself, Daro’Vasora. Maakro-ra is right in one regard; you have been ashamed of who you are ever since you earned your honourific; you have always thought it meant thief, like a badge of shame. Daro means you are nimble of fingers and quick of your tongue; you’ve had incredible wits about you and true, while much of the title was earned from your manipulation of locks, it does not mean that you are forever branded a thief like you feared. It has turned your heart cold to others, and trust is not something that comes easy to yourself.

“It has made you reject the skin you wear in your pursuit of identifying by the Cyrodiilic culture that you were born into. Without realizing it, you honour the Khajiit you are by the curiosity and pursuit of knowledge that drives you, and the nimble lifting of artifacts without being burdened by worry of if it’s wrong. You treat your life as if there is one side to sow and cultivate while letting the other wither and die because you feel cursed by the fur and claws that people see when they gaze upon you. Without realizing it, you’ve justified your actions to anything but the Khajiit you are, and it has created a chasm in your soul that can be mended by realizing that you do not have to embrace either Imperial or Khajiit at the expense of the other; your body and your mind will be whole when you learn they are one in the same. You feel that Imperial means order while Khajiit means chaos, and to follow that path, you sacrifice everything you’ve worked for.” he shook his head, making a flippant gesture.

“Nonsense; you’ve followed our gods since the day you were born, and you never just introduced yourself as Vasora to strangers.” He swept his arm across the chamber, grinning broadly. “You remember how to come here and speak to those who came before, sometimes fondly, other times rudely, but never boringly. If you learned to accept yourself and find peace, and stopped driving others away from you, your mind with be much more decisive. You know in your heart what you must do, but it seems to me every time you’ve found yourself lost or facing failure, it’s because you rejected the obvious solutions that the cultures that define you would have created. You struggle over whether or not to accept this Roux’s offer; that is the Imperial part of you entertaining it. Listen to the feline parts of you that lead you here this evening, Daro’Vasora. Embrace the wits that define you.”

“This one… she will think of what you have told her, Darenja.There is wisdom to be heard.” Daro’Vasora said to the Ohmes, placing a balled fist into a flat hand, bowing towards him, trying to hide the tears that had begun to well up in her eyes. She didn’t want to lose her composure, not here. She had to keep a clear mind, unimpeded thoughts.

“Look to me, Ma’Khajiit.” A deep and rich feminine voice called to her. She looked towards Shani-ko, who gazed down upon her with an almost motherly gaze. “You struggled to find your place in Leyawiin, among your family. It felt confining to you because the part of you you suppress wanted to see the world and find her own identity, even though if you applied yourself, you could have found success and honour in the Imperial courts. But that is not what it means to be Daro’Vasora, is it? The lesson you took from that, after you earned your honourific and were sent by your father to live with Zegol was that something shameful existed within you that made your family ashamed.” The large Senche-raht stood and walked towards Daro’Vasora, reaching out and gently taking her face into a single large toe, a surprisingly natural gesture from someone of such a great stature.

“They have always been proud of you, and while they miss you terribly, they knew that you would find your own path. You will find a warm hearth any time you return to them, and feel the love you’ve left out of your heart for the years since, that you’ve reserved for so few. These people, these friends of yours, do not turn your back on them and discard them like so many others. Walk the path your heart tells you and you will never make a wrong step; should you choose, and should you learn to trust and embrace those around you again, you could do great things, Daro’Vasora. Great accomplishments are in your future, and you can make a difference to so many lives. Do not feel responsible for the course that history has taken, but you have allowed fear and guilt steer you; allow yourself to feel brave and compassionate.”

Her form, along with the chamber, began to lose focus and shift. “It is time for us to part ways once more, Daro’Vasora.” Shani-ko said solemnly, her great maw smiling compassionately at the young woman who was one of those in her line that still had a long journey before finding her way to the sands beyond the stars. “This one loves you, and will be with you, even if you cannot see her.”

“Maakro-ra loves you, and he knows you will find the right path.”

“As do I, I eagerly await what tales will be spoken of Daro’Vasora in the years to come.”

“Go now, Ma’Khajiit.” Shani-ko said, chuckling softly, more of her body shifting into sand like an hourglass in its final seconds. “May your roads lead you to warm sands.”

Everything shifted and blew away suddenly, and Daro’Vasora found herself staring at the stone wall and wooden frame window in front of her, the euphoric numbness that she had felt for who-knows-how-long faded with each ebbing heartbeat. The warmth and comfort she felt was replaced by a shivering cold that she felt, her naked body shaking on the floor as the moon sugar withdrawal took hold. Tears streamed down her face as she began to sob.

“She loves you.” she managed with the slightest of breaths, feeling utterly alone and lost.

---

Evening, 22nd of Last Seed, 4E2408
Anvil

Anvil in the evening was beautiful. It really was the Gold Coast. A crown jewel in all of Cyrodiil, a haven of peace. She had so far spent time exploring, restocking, and watching people. It had been a quiet and contemplative time here already, but she grew bored. The conversations she had with those she had been travelling with so far had all gone relatively well. She was closing off this chapter, ready and determined to head back to High Rock. If only she could track down Alim. She still had time for it.

She wasn’t usually one for taking in the scenery, but recently she had developed something of a sentimental side. Besides, the golden glow across a calm ocean was a sight to behold, to anyone’s eyes - sentimental or not. It gave her a sense of inner calm to see that some things would always be the same. The sun would always rise and set, no matter what conflicts existed in the world. “Miss… Are you still interested?”

The voice of the vendor snapped her back to reality, and she turned her head back around to the stall in front of her. There was all manner of flora spread across it. The impatience of the seller was apparent. Most of the other shops were closing down for the day, and Raelynn had been pouring over the items for some time. She picked up the sprigs of Lavender, Wormwood Leaves, and Aloe Vera. She handed over some coin to the girl, who in return gave her a slight smile. “Have a wonderful evening” she said to her, taking the goods and placing them into her basket. A basket that was already overflowing with other goods too. Empty bottles, Monarch Butterflies, and she had even managed to procure herself a bottle of Alto Wine.

As she took a leisurely stroll back to the inn, she moved between watching the sunset, and letting her eyes take in the crowds of people, one by one heading home for the evening - or to their other plans. Anvil slowly grew quiet, and it was then that she spotted someone familiar - perhaps also on his way back to the Inn too. It was Gregor, the mysterious ever-smiling Imperial, and in a few short moments, their paths were going to cross.

Gregor, despite a full night’s rest and a lazy day spent at rest, wasn’t sporting his usual affable smile when his dark eyes crossed with Raelynn’s bright gaze. His heart nearly skipped a beat at the sight -- her eyes looked so much like Briar’s. He hadn’t noticed before, during the raid on Elenglynn or the fireside chatter afterwards. And during their journey to Anvil Gregor hadn’t taken notice of anything. He remembered now that she had left the campfire too, just a few minutes before he had departed himself, and hadn’t seemed like she was doing all that well. He didn’t get the same impression now, however. The comforts of the big city must have done Raelynn well. Gregor understood that feeling perfectly.

In need of something pleasant to distract him and certainly not forgetful of the interested look Raelynn had give him when she first met him, Gregor approached the young Breton woman and his face lightened up -- he managed to conjure up his signature smile for her after all. “Hello again, Raelynn,” he said and offered her his hand for a traditional Imperial bow and curtsey. He figured she, of all people here, would appreciate the gesture the most.

He surprised her, with the fact that he had remembered her name - but also that he had stopped to greet her. She wasn't expecting it. Considering how silent he had been on the journey to Anvil, she wasn't expecting him to want to stop and talk to her at all, or anyone for that matter. It seemed though, that like with herself, rest had done him good. She could see colour in his cheeks, and his eyes were as warm and inviting as the first time she looked at them, if not more so now. She returned his bow and curtsey with a bow of her own head. It was nice for someone to show such respect. Little things like manners were so lost on so many.

“It's nice to see you, Gregor,” she added in response as she lifted her head back up, smiling up at him. “It looks like the Gold Coast has been treating you well, you look rested and relaxed, dare I say it…” she spoke in a playful tone, maintaining eye contact with him as she did. She liked his eyes, they seemed to be the centre of the intensity that he carried around him. A burnt umber, set against his pale skin. A delightful combination, that by her own admission, was a strange one for her to take a liking for. It was often the cooler shades of grey and green that garnered her attention in the opposite sex. But it was the simmering intensity that was drawing her in to Gregor. Like she could make out the faint aura of a mystery that she would crack sooner or later.

“What brings you out tonight then? Have you seen enough of the four walls of that Inn for today?”

“Indeed I have. Very perceptive of you,” Gregor replied in kind and added a wink for good measure. “And I could say the same thing about you, Raelynn. You look positively radiant. I love the cloak,” he continued. “Those shells? Nice touch.” He smiled again and tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind his ear. Sometimes he couldn’t help himself. “Do you have any plans for dinner tonight?” he asked impulsively.

“Why thank you, it will be a pleasant reminder of Anvil when I get back to High Rock,” Raelynn said with a smile, noticing his wink. She wondered how she should play it - act like a brainless blonde and fawn at him? Play hard to get? Or to outwardly flirt back with him? Whatever she decided to do she would make a game of it and play her cards just right in order to unravel his secrets one by one... “I have no plans as it happens, so if you are looking for company tonight I would be happy to join you. But please, no campfire stews…”

That elicited a laugh from the Imperial mage-knight and he shook his head. “No campfire stews, I promise.” He thought back on his time in Skyrim during which he would frequently go for weeks on end without a proper, civilized meal while he and the Vigilants were out in the wilds. “I’ve had enough of that myself. Last night I had dinner at a quaint tavern called the Frisky Dolphin, but it wasn’t exactly a fine dining experience. Have you found a better establishment by any chance?”

She let a chuckle slip at the name. “The Frisky Dolphin… I’ll be sure to avoid it. As for a better one, I did find a place just through the markets. The Bright Glass, nothing frisky about it, I’m afraid - but the food is rich and proper. A matter of fact, I haven’t eaten much since my last meal there.” The Tavern was back where she had just walked through, but she didn’t mind heading back that way if it meant spending time with someone - something she hadn’t really done since arriving. “Actually, I came across some Alto Wine in the markets today, I don’t suppose I would need to take this back with me. What say we share it?” As Raelynn spoke, she drew her finger across her lower lip, wondering how much of the bottle it would take to loosen up the Imperial.

Gregor’s face lit up at Raelynn’s proposal and his eyes followed her finger, lingering on the full shape of her mouth for a second before his gaze flitted back up to hers. “Share a bottle of wine with such good-looking company? I haven’t done that since I was a young man. Sounds utterly delightful.” He held out his arm for her and straightened up to his full height -- if she stepped in closer to take him by the arm she would be looking up at him if they spoke and he knew women went crazy over that sort of thing. “Shall we?”

“Ah, please. You are still a young man, your youth is not behind you just yet.” She took his arm and nodded at his question, suddenly feeling small beside him. She could smell the leather and steel of his armour, and unlike many of the men she had found herself spending time with, he had an air of nobility that made her feel powerful just by being on his arm. She was well dressed and so was he. “So Gregor, what brought you here? Who are you? I feel like I know nothing of you, and I'd really like to know who I'm going to dine with…”

They set off at a leisurely, civilized pace, Gregor letting Raelynn’s feet lead them -- she knew the way, after all. That left him free to think of how he was going to answer her question. She was right, of course, in saying that she knew nothing about him, nor did she know how loaded her question actually was. Gregor’s talk with Daro’Vasora the day before had seen him revealing too much, perhaps, and he did not want to talk about his quest again. It was a grim subject. He wanted to have fun tonight so he kept it simple.

“Very well. My full name is Gregor Sibassius. I was born thirty-eight years ago in Bravil. My father was a merchant so my family was reasonably wealthy. I apprenticed to become a jewelsmith for most of my early adulthood.” He showed her his golden wristband and the ruby-studded ring on his finger. “I forged these pieces myself. Do you like them? I haven’t plied my craft in a long time, though. I left home ten years ago to pursue a little more adventure,” he continued, lying as he did. “Hence the armor and armaments on my person. I spent most of those years in Skyrim, working together with the Vigil of Stendarr to root out vampires and necromancers and that sort of thing. Undesirables, you see. I came back to Cyrodiil because I missed my homeland and that’s when the Dwemer invasion happened. You know the rest. And what about you, Raelynn? Where are you from?”

She listened with purpose as he spoke, painting the image in her head - trying to lock each detail down so that she wouldn’t forget any of it. It was when he mentioned that he had been a jewelsmith that her interest was piqued, she had to restrain from letting a gasp slip out of her mouth, her lips curled into a smile though, now that reaction she couldn’t stop. As he held out his wrist, her eyes snapped to the ruby on his finger, widening in awe of it. It gave her a nice chill up her spine to see it. “It is rather beautiful” she purred, watching it glimmer against the setting sun. She conjured up an image of how such a stone would look in a crown or headpiece. Red always did look wonderful against her hair.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m from High Rock of course. Similar to yourself, my parents were wealthy and traded in antiquities. Much like your ring there. I’ve been surrounded by such jewels and delicate pieces my whole life…” her voice trailed off as she finally drew her eyes away from Gregor’s ring, and she tilted her head to meet his eyes again, with a smile, “but really I wanted adventure and to see the world for myself. So I studied in Restoration at Winterhold, and since leaving there I travelled across Skyrim too… I grew tired of the cold, and having never visited Cyrodiil, I took a break and came to the Imperial City.” She led Gregor around a corner, towards The Bright Glass. She could already smell the food being prepared inside, and better yet - it was a classy establishment which would mean they would remain undisturbed by drunkards and riff raff.

The Breton continued as they approached the door of the Tavern, “which is where I got dragged, rather literally, into this mess and into Rhea’s group of misfits. I suppose I should be thankful for it really… But it’s not over yet, is it?”

He could see in Raelynn’s eyes as her gaze met his again that the examples of his craftsmanship had a profound effect on her state of attraction to him, and Gregor internally delighted in that fact. A particular kind of hunger that had lain dormant for many years inside of him slowly began to stir back to life. He had missed this kind of game and thought back to the girls and women of his youth -- but only briefly. Raelynn was here and now.

“No, I should think not,” Gregor admitted with a sad smile. He thought of how gore-dripped he had been when they arrived in Anvil and his eye twitched slightly. “The Deep Elves appear to be quite the vengeful lot. But let’s not think of such matters tonight. I think you and I would both benefit from a pleasant evening without worries.” He looked her in the eyes as he talked and briefly took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Gregor then glanced aside at the door they had stopped outside of. “Oh, where are my manners? Forgive me.” He inclined his head and opened the door for her.

She could sense that already, the Imperial was loosening up. It wasn’t unusual. It only took a smile at the right moments to make men drop their guard. It wasn’t over yet though, she would have to think on her feet if she was to complete her mission. She made sure to take the lead in heading to a table, and she swayed her hips calculatingly as she moved. She knew he would be looking, and she took the opportunity while his eyes were otherwise occupied to smirk to herself. She had been holding it in the whole time, after all. “You’re right, it is time for a pleasant evening.” She took a seat near a fireplace, the chairs were pushed quite closely together. It was almost too perfect a spot to pass up.

She relaxed herself into the chair, taking from the basket her bottle of wine and placing it on the table in front of her. “I wonder, Gregor my dear, if you would indulge me in a game of sorts?” She ran her fingers up and down the neck of the bottle slowly, locking her eyes onto his again. “Of course, it’s quite a silly game and I would understand if it’s not for you. But I very much enjoyed hearing your story and I’m rather excited to hear some more,” she flicked a playful smile at him this time, waiting for him to sit beside her and take the bait.

And look he did. Gregor’s gaze tracked Raelynn’s hips like a sabercat would its prey and he bit his lower lip while she wasn’t looking. He felt seventeen again. Ridiculous. Gregor made sure to keep his face inscrutable when she sat down and looked up at him. Her suggestion made him raise an eyebrow in mock bemusement. “I shall have to think about that. First things first: I believe I am a little overdressed for the occasion,” Gregor said. If Raelynn was going to tease him then he was going to tease her right back. He beckoned over one of the servers and unclasped his cloak, undid his studded leather jacket, removed his chainmail (over his head; his tunic lifted up just far enough to give her a good look at his abdomen) and unfastened his pauldrons. He handed the aforementioned gear over to the server, a waspish young man whose arms nearly buckled under the weight of that leather and steel as he made his way back to the bar, and only then did Gregor sit down next to Raelynn, placing his swords beneath the table like he had done in the Frisky Dolphin last night. He was only dressed in his high-collared, well-made black tunic, equally black breeches and steel boots now, and rolled up his sleeves up to his elbows to reveal a pair of powerful forearms, tattooed with the image of a raven-haired woman seen from behind and a series of tally marks (seven, to be precise). He laid one leg over the other, put his hands on his knee and looked at Raelynn with a small smirk, as if to say ‘there, do you like that?’.

“You were saying? Ah yes, a game,” he said and tilted his head slightly to one side, drinking in Raelynn’s eyes -- they were even more beautiful in the light of the hearthfire. “I can’t know if it’s too silly for me if I don’t know what it is.” Gregor glanced at her fingers as they caressed the smooth glass surface of the bottle of wine. “What do you propose?”

She had narrowed her eyes to watch the way that Gregor undressed himself. Bringing in a common servant to help him, she hadn't been expecting him to do such a thing so soon, and so brazenly, but it did leave her a little flustered. She let it show, a little taste of vulnerability might make him feel more powerful in the situation.

“It's a game of truth,” she began, the same server brought over glasses for the two of them and she stopped him before he began to pour. She wanted to do it. She leaned in closer to Gregor as she filled his glass to just below the rim. She looked at his arms, admiring the details of the tattoos. Definitely noticing the woman there. “It's a game of statements. We take it in turns to make statements, and must take a drink if the statement is to be true.”

She poured her own glass next. Taking a small sip already, just to taste. “No need to elaborate or explain, simply drink. Maybe you can make the first statement - to get you warmed up…” She leaned back in her chair, holding her glass in one hand, twirling a strand of hair around her finger with the other, the anticipation tingling through her.

Gregor cracked a grin and ran his right hand through his beard. “That sounds a little like something I used to play with the local girls when I was a young lad. You’re really making me feel young again, Raelynn. I like it. Alright then, let me think.” He continued to stroke his beard thoughtfully but refrained from breaking eye contact with Raelynn. He wanted to see her every reaction to him. When she leaned in to pour him a glass of wine he’d conveniently taken a deep breath right at that moment, and her fragrance -- something flowery and sweet -- had sent goosebumps down his spine. He was enthralled.

“First statement: you and I both have no other plans for the rest of the night,” he said slyly, and took a sip. He knew it wasn’t the point of the game to make a statement like that but he wanted to establish some expectations for… later.

“I’ve already told you, you're not old just yet,” she moved closer to him, resting her elbow on the arm of the chair to his side and her brow raised at his question. She understood his need to make that one. Nobody ever went into the nitty gritty statements straight off the bat. She took a coy sip from the glass, watching him as she did so, and saying nothing for a moment. She wanted to say something that would finish the job. He was hers for the night regardless at this point, he’d made that abundantly clear already.

And so, as they worked their way through the bottle, time passed. Sips were taken, and sips were not. The two drew ever closer to each other. Gregor becoming more intense each time Raelynn took a sip, and Raelynn working harder to seduce the Imperial when he did not. The last two glasses were poured, that last drop of Alto Wine landing in Gregor's glass.

“My turn,” she said with a devilish grin, “perhaps you and I have been waiting for this opportunity since the moment we first met.” Raelynn made sure to say it clearly, she hung over some of the words, tracing her finger across his forearm this time as she made her statement. She boldly took a large sip from the glass, not caring if he did the same, she just wanted him to picture her longing to be near him for weeks on end more than anything.

Gregor began to lift his glass to his mouth but stopped and forced himself to seriously think about the statement. Was that true for him? He had definitely noticed how Raelynn had looked at him when they first met, and he had definitely remembered. Usually he was so preoccupied with himself and his quest that he didn’t stop to think about these things, but now that he did… yes, perhaps it was true. Perhaps he had been intrigued by this Breton woman and her piercing eyes all along. Gregor look a large swig of wine, his eyes darting between her finger and her face.

He leaned in closer as well and cupped her cheek with his free hand, feeling the softness of her skin, his thumb brushing over her lips -- it was obvious from the thrilling, intense look in his eyes and the tightness in his jaw that he was restraining himself from picking her up and carrying her off to a bed there and then. “Come on then,” he purred. “Let’s go.”

When it came to the point of him being all too ready to commit - the point of no return, Raelynn placed a finger playfully on his chest and leaned into him, as if she were about to kiss him at last. But she didn't, she pushed him back gently into his seat, shaking her head with a smile on her face. “Now now now Gregor…” she began, taking another sip of the wine. “You don't expect me to just up and go without knowing something else about the man I'm about to bed? I think not.” She pulled away completely from him now, relaxing back into her own chair, crossing one leg comfortably across the other.

“I won't draw out this game of mine any longer, but if you want this to go any further then I want you to tell me a secret… Something that you haven't, and wouldn't tell anyone else. If you can do that for me, then we can continue our evening.” There she placed her last game piece, her last card, and she finished drinking her glass, waiting to see what Gregor would play, knowing that he couldn't resist.

The small voice in the back of Gregor’s mind that piped up to warn him -- he had no idea who this woman was, precisely, he shouldn’t disclose anything compromising -- was silenced by the overwhelming desire Gregor felt for Raelynn in that moment. The way she had taken charge of the situation and pushed him back in his place had riled him up like nothing else and he was even more determined to get what he wanted now. This night wouldn’t end without her at his mercy. He gripped the seat of his chair with both hands while a certain darkness fell over his features.

For a split second, it seemed as if something crimson flashed in his eyes.

Gregor suddenly leaned forward and firmly grabbed Raelynn by the nape of her neck, bringing their faces an inch away from each other, and while now it seemed like Gregor was going to kiss her, like Raelynn, he didn’t. Instead he moved past her until his mouth was right by her ear. Her scent was driving him wild.

“The gods hate me for the things I’ve done,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a growl.

Raelynn bit down on her lip and let out a soft whimper in response. This was better than she had first thought. The man was carrying some demons with him and all of a sudden she was drawn more to him. Maybe he thought that such words would scare her - but they only seduced her towards him. She may have won at her little game, but he had won too. She felt his entire composure change and tense up, the air grew thick around him. He did well to hide such the storm he had buried within himself from the others. The feeling of his breath against her ear shot shivers down her spine and she about melted into him there and then.

She was expecting her attraction to slip away some once she learned more about him but it only grew after his confession. He had so many secrets in him, and his darkness - there was power there too and it made her hungry. She turned and placed her lips against his neck, kissing upwards to his ear now. “Now we can go. I want to know what the Gods hate so much…” Her words escaped like a soft moan, and she could feel the electricity between them soaring. Would Gregor have expected her to draw to him like that even now? Like a moth to a flame…

Gregor did not need to be told twice. He was beyond words now, the animal that lived inside of him having completely taken over once Raelynn’s lips touched his skin, and he pulled her out of her chair with one hand and gathered his swords with his other hand -- even in this state, Gregor would not leave his weapons behind. A single glance at the proprietor behind the bar as he led Raelynn upstairs towards the inn’s rooms was enough to convey Gregor’s need for a room for the night and the portly Imperial nodded understandingly.

Once upstairs, Gregor ushered Raelynn inside and closed the door behind them with enough force to shake the floorboards.

Early morning, 23rd of Last Seed, 4E08
The Bright Glass, Anvil

The first thing Gregor became aware of when he woke up was Raelynn’s soft breathing. He opened his eyes slowly and found himself only inches away from her face. The night before came back to him when he saw that her cheeks were still red and her throat was still bruised. “Shit,” Gregor whispered to himself and rolled over onto his back which promptly caused him to wince; he had momentarily forgotten the long, raw scratches that Raelynn’s nails had left down his spine. He buried his face in his hands. Half a bottle of wine? What had he been thinking? Gregor never drank that much, and while he was resilient in many other areas, he was a bit of a lightweight when it came to alcohol. And he hadn’t eaten anything yesterday. That only made matters worse. He remembered what he’d whispered in Raelynn’s ear and sighed. It was vague, fortunately, to say that the gods hated him, and he and Raelynn had been far too busy with each other’s bodies after that to talk. His secrets were safe, but the risk he had taken was unacceptable. Still… he looked over at Raelynn and watched her face for a bit. She really was beautiful, and it had been immensely enjoyable. Gregor had been a tender lover before he left home but he had changed a lot since then, so it had felt beyond satisfying to let his dark side come out to play like this. And Raelynn hadn’t recoiled when he told her he wasn’t exactly a saint. Hell, that had been an aphrodisiac, if anything.

As quietly as he could, Gregor slipped out of bed. He was stark naked -- his clothes were scattered around the room, as were Raelynn’s -- so he took a moment to check himself for any other injuries and saw that his chest was scratched up too. He felt his own throat with his fingers and frowned. Were those… bite marks? Either way, nothing a little Restoration magic wouldn’t fix. He paused. Curiosity got the better of him as Gregor tiptoed over to Raelynn’s side of the bed and gingerly lifted up the covers to admire his own handiwork. “Oof,” he mumbled. You animal, he thought to himself, only half-admonishingly. His gaze lingered on Raelynn’s body far too long for modesty and he resisted the temptation to wake her up and continue where they left off. He had to stay focused; this kind of dynamic wasn’t healthy. Gregor put the covers back and set about to getting dressed. He had to retrieve his breeches from beneath a pile of wooden slats that he recognized as having been one of the two chairs in the room.

After he was dressed he looked at Raelynn one more time. Asleep beneath the covers like this she strongly reminded him of Briar and a familiar pang of guilt shot through his heart. This wasn’t the first time he had been unfaithful since he had left. It seemed that the scene of his departure, him looking down at her sleeping form, was doomed to repeat itself with another woman every so often, though he had to admit that all the injuries and destroyed furniture were new. Gregor grabbed his swords and silently made his way downstairs, boots in hand, and retrieved his belongings from the same server he had handed them to the night before -- the boy looked spectacularly awkward, and Gregor gave him a few extra coins for the trouble. He paid for the room at the Imperial proprietor and asked him in a low tone if he would kindly avoid waking up the woman in the room for now, and he agreed. Having slipped into his armor and refastened his armaments, Gregor straightened up, squared his shoulders and left.

Afternoon, 22nd of Last Seed, 4E2408
The Flowing Bowl, Anvil

“Good,” Hector Sibassius said. Gregor, merely a child, smiled at the compliment. “But mind your footwork.”

Marcus smirked.

They were training in the yard. It was summer and the air smelled of flowers. Gregor looked down to find a wooden sword in his hands. He ran a finger across the edge and thought he could feel the rough, blunt material -- it always used to leave splinters in his fingers. Marcus stood opposite him, much younger and shorter but always more determined, more dedicated. Gregor did not always win their sparring bouts. He had no real talent for swordfighting, nor the motivation to excel.

He looked up and saw his mother looking down on them from the master bedroom’s window. She waved at him.

“What did you do?” a breathless voice asked.

Hector had disappeared and Hannibal stood in his place. A large claymore protruded from his chest and blood as black as the night pooled beneath his feet. Gregor opened his mouth to speak, to protest; he had done nothing wrong! His footwork needed improvement, but that wasn’t so bad, was it? But no sound came and his jaw worked uselessly.

“I’m scared,” Marcus whispered, half his face missing and the other half rotting with decay.

Gregor looked up at the bedroom window again. Inside he saw Briar swaying from a noose.

He gasped for breath and jolted upright -- suddenly and without warning he found himself inside an unfamiliar bedroom, the bed sheets soaked with cold sweat. He was old now. His vision swam and his fingers trembled as he slowly came back to his senses. It had been another nightmare. He was in Anvil, he remembered now. He shivered and coughed as he climbed out of bed, peeking through the curtains with squinting eyes. It was late. He had slept through most of the day. Anvil appeared to still be in one piece, so the Dwemer hadn’t caught up to them yet. Relieved, Gregor freshened up and got dressed. Despite being inside the walls of the city, he could not shake his old habits and found himself dressed in full battle attire when he was finished. He laughed at himself and shook his head.

He descended the stairs and entered the Flowing Bowl’s common room to find it mostly deserted. It was an odd time of day, between lunch and dinnertime, and most of the establishment’s regulars would be at work or otherwise preoccupied. That meant that Gregor’s eyes immediately fell on the most interesting thing left inside the place: Jaraleet, the Argonian, eating by himself. Gregor hadn’t seen him since they arrived at Anvil and he had been too obsessed with his own thoughts during their travels to have talked to him, but the Imperial figured he owed him a heartfelt gesture of gratitude -- it had been Jaraleet who had fought back-to-back with him during their escape from the accursed Dwemer. When the situation had been especially dire and Gregor had almost resorted to necromancy to save himself, the Argonian had appeared, seemingly from thin air, and the two had been able to slice their way out the old-fashioned way.

Gregor approached and placed a hand on Jaraleet’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you,” he said and smiled -- it was a sincere, emphatic smile that lit up his whole face, for while the experience had left a sour taste in Gregor’s mouth, that had most definitely not been Jaraleet’s fault. Even Gregor’s eyes exuded warmth. “I never got to thank you for what you did back there. So… thanks, Jaraleet. You saved my life.”

“Ah, Gregor, it is good to see you as well.” Jaraleet said when the Imperial man talked to him, turning his head to look at the man and smiled back at him. “It is I who should thank you, my friend,” the Haj-Eix said, motioning for Gregor to take a seat in front of him. “If it hadn’t been for you, I doubt I’d have made it out of that ambush alive either.” The Argonian replied honestly once Gregor had taken a seat.

After he was done talking, it suddenly dawned on the Argonian that he had been eating when Gregor talked to him something which caused him to let out a soft chuckle. “Pardon my bad manners, would you like something to eat? It seems rude that I be the only one eating.” He asked the Imperial man. “Or at least let me buy you a drink, if you don’t wish to eat anything.” The assassin added after a few seconds of thought.

“I’m not hungry just yet, but I’ll take a drink, thank you,” Gregor said and sat down opposite the Argonian. “Something non-alcoholic though, I just woke up.” As if to emphasize the point, Gregor yawned behind his fist and rubbed his eyes. He stared into the middle distance for a few seconds before is gaze shifted back into focus and he looked inquisitively at Jaraleet. “Where did you learn how to fight like that?”

The Argonian nodded, motioning for the barmaid to come before Gregor’s words shifted the Argonian’s gaze towards the Imperial yet again. “Ah, that's a complicated answer.” He began to speak, chuckling softly. “I'd have to say that my first instructions, as it were, came from my father, he was a hunter for a living in my childhood and, well, the plan was for me to follow in his footsteps. So he taught me mostly about tracking prey, a skill that would come most useful in the future.” The Argonian lied easily enough, taking a second to allow Gregor to order what he wanted when the barmaid came to the table they were sitting on.

“Do you have… apple juice?” Gregor asked, looking up at the maid. She nodded with a smile. “Only the finest, sir.” He nodded and returned her smile, and off she went.

“But, as to my training proper,” he began once again once Gregor had made his order. “Well, that comes from my time in Argonia’s armies. I admittedly started as a mere town guard, but I was drafted into the army proper due to skirmishes with the Dunmer of Morrowind. That's where I cut my teeth, so to speak.”

“It’s always our fathers, isn’t it,” Gregor said and chuckled. “I learned from him too. He was a Legionnaire before he became a merchant. But the Dunmer of Morrowind, eh? They’re quite a foe, as I understand it. What brings you all the way out here?”

“The answer to that is less complicated.” Jaraleet began, taking a sip of his own drink before he continued. “I was fighting against the Dunmer for quite some time and...well, the pressure of the situation kept mounting up,” He began explaining, shaking his head slightly. “Eventually I couldn't take it anymore. I reached my breaking point when, in my last battle, most of the unit I was part of was decimated.” The Argonian continued, letting out a sigh.

“Our commander had walked us straight into an ambush, the arrogant fool. Only he and I survived and I….well, I broke.” He admitted, looking down for a brief second. “I murdered him in my rage and then fled to Helstrom once I came to my senses.” Jaraleet said, pausing for a second to let Gregor absorb what he had just said. “After that, I realized that I would be tried as a traitor, and justly so, and so I fled to here where I plied my trade as a mercenary.” He finished, letting out a sigh. “I'm not proud of what I did, but it's the reason as to why I'm here.”

The Imperial was surprised that Jaraleet had been so honest and forward about his past. Gregor took a big swig of juice (the maid had returned with his beverage while Jaraleet had been talking) and shrugged. “I won’t judge you for your past,” he said. “Bad things happen to good people. You already proved to me that you’re one of the good ones. How…” He paused, unsure of how to phrase his next question. He decided not to beat around the bush and be direct. Jaraleet seemed like the kind of person that could handle that. “Are you happy here?”

“Do you mean if I'm happy living here, in Cyrodiil?” Jaraleet asked, taking a few seconds to think before he spoke again. “I won't lie, there are times where I miss Argonia...or where I miss my family.” He started, shaking his head slightly. “But, I'm happy enough living here. Aside from the current situation with the Dwemer, I've led a good enough life here in Cyrodiil.” The Haj-Eix said, smiling slightly. “Why do you ask, Gregor?”

“Curiosity,” Gregor said before he smiled sheepishly. “And because I want to know if my homeland has been treating you well,” he admitted. “I spent a long time away from home but I always loved it here. The people, the food, the culture, the architecture, even the forests and the fields… it’s idyllic, isn’t it? They call Cyrodiil the Starry Heart of Nirn and I’m inclined to agree with them. There’s a reason that history has always centered directly around White-Gold Tower, and the… Imperial City…” He trailed off and sighed, melancholy suddenly writ upon his face, and Gregor pushed his glass of juice aside with his fingers.

“They destroyed it, didn’t they?” Gregor asked softly. There was genuine sadness in his eyes.

“They did.” Jaraleet replied solemnly, unable to meet Gregor’s gaze. “It was a sudden attack, the Dwemer didn’t make any demands nor any proclamations of any sort. They just….dropped their troops into the city and started butchering everyone.” He said quietly, the memories of the invasion, and subsequent conquest, of the Imperial City still all too fresh in the Argonian’s memory.

“It...it was a travesty. Such carnage, and for what?” The assassin continued, surprised that he felt real sorrow for the fall of the Imperial City now. “I can’t say that I was always treated right, not many look upon us Argonians as anything more than mere beasts who learned to walk upright and talk, but I have fond memories of Cyrodiil as well, and I had acquaintances that I lost during the sacking.” He said mournfully, shaking his head slightly. “All that is left for us now is to make the bastards pay, I guess.”

That was more like it. Daro’Vasora had been frustratingly pragmatic about her role in the war to come and the conversation that had ensued to try and convince her to keep fighting the Dwemer had seen Gregor reveal more about himself than he would have liked. Jaraleet, on the other hand, was evidently intrinsically motivated and needed no further convincing. Gregor wasn’t surprised -- the Argonian had been a soldier before, after all. It was good to see that he cared. In a brief moment of self-awareness, Gregor felt like a horrible hypocrite. The feeling passed almost immediately. His preoccupation with his own goals was justified.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Gregor said and smiled. “Not everyone from our party is so determined to see the Dwemer being taken down a notch, much to my disappointment. I want to keep fighting them but we need to be smarter about it and for that we’re going to need all the capable folks we can get. Can I count on you, Jaraleet?” The Imperial leaned forward to emphasize his words and looked Jaraleet in the eyes, mahogany against amber, neither knowing the truth about the other.

Jaraleet nodded alongside to Gregor’s words. The sudden change in the Imperial man’s mood hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Haj-Eix and instincts honed throughout years working in the shadows, both of Argonia and Cyrodiil, told him that Gregor was a dangerous man, more so than what his considerable skills in fighting showed. The gaze with which the man regarded him with was the main clue for the assassin, it was a gaze that he had seen in his comrades and it made the Argonian wary of Gregor to a certain extent. “Of course you might, I am ready to fight to the bitter end if needed be.” He replied after a second, smiling towards his Imperial comrade.

“Excellent,” Gregor said with a grin and downed the rest of his apple juice. “You’re a good man.” His stomach growled and Gregor winced -- now that he was awake, his hunger had caught up to him. “Time for me to find some dinner. I know you offered, and I mean no offense, but I’m looking for something different today.” He got to his feet, shook Jaraleet’s hand and gave him a comradely nod. “See you around, Jaraleet.”

And with that, he was off.

A Collab by @LadyTabris & @MacabreFox

Anvil, Sometime after the duel with Meg

Brynja had worked up an appetite by the time she finished her last duel with Megana. She didn’t quite feel like eating tavern food, and decided to wander the streets of Anvil, a chance on her end because there was the likelihood of her getting lost. She had told Marius to tell the spectators that the next duel would be in two hours, it would give her time to rest her weary bones and replenish her energy. She rounded a corner, slowing her pace. She didn’t recognize the area, but she did - hold on…

She caught the sight of two city guards holding a rather ragged woman between them, and if she weren’t mistaken, it was Anifaire. Puzzled and concerned, she approached the guards, hand resting on the pommel of her longsword.

“What seems to be the problem here?” She asked, her auburn brows knitting together in annoyance.

“Found a-” the first guard began, turning to face the newcomer. He stopped, glancing at the woman and her sword, then his partner interrupted his thought.

“Nothing at all,” he said, moving to continue their patrols. He shoved his friend, who hadn’t begun to move yet. Reluctantly, the other guard followed.

“Coward,” he muttered to his companion as they left.

“Not worth the effort,” the other insisted.

Anifaire, eyes wide, watched the guards leave. Her gaze turned to Brynja, thankful to no longer be alone both in the city and with those guards. She wasn’t sure what they would have done, but she was glad she never found out - the opportunity was gone now that she wasn’t alone.

“Thank you,” the Altmer muttered, still a bit confused. “I’m not sure what they thought…”

“Aye, doesn’t matter now. Good thing I came along when I did. What happened?” She asked.

“The bank wouldn’t let me access my father’s funds. He told me I would always be able to.” She frowned. “It’s never happened before.”

A frown turned into a sympathetic smile as Brynja realized the source of her mistreatment, “Where are you staying?”

Anifaire sighed. “Nowhere,” she replied. “I was relying on that money.” .. to get on the first ship out of here, she finished mentally.

She nodded, as much as she suspected. Brynja shifted from one leg to another, before deciding on what to say, “Well… I don’t mean any offense. Folks probably think you’re common riff raff with the way you’re… well, you get my point. I’ve got a room over at the Flowing Bowl. Why don’t you take it?”

With a frown, Anifaire glances briefly at her dirty clothes, but she knew it was the truth. She only wished it wasn’t. “Really? I-“ She hesitated. She’d been getting so much kindness from this group of people. It was completely unlike anything she was used to back home. Even her mother had a certain firmness. Yet, here, in this unfamiliar place she’d somehow found people so willing to give up what they had when she was struggling. It occurred to her that she had never considered what poor people did before. “Thank you,” was all she mustered.

“Don’t mention it. I know a hot bath, and a good night's rest will do you some good. C’mon, I’ll walk with you so no one bothers you again, eh?” Brynja started off for the inn when she asked Anifaire.

“How have you been? I see you keeping to yourself… but it never hurts to ask.”

“Well, it’s just,” Anifaire paused, considering how to put her feelings into words. “It’s a lot to handle. I’ve never been around anything like this before, and I’m not really.. used to strangers, either. I don’t know how all of you seem to just… handle this.”

“No? It comes… easy for me. Served as a House Carl for damn near eight years. Served as a healer in the Legion too. You’ve… got to work together with your companions whether you like them or not if you want to make it through alive.” She paused, thinking on what Anifaire had just told her, “Where do you come from anyways? I mean, what was life like for you before you signed on with the company?”

“I’m from Auridon,” Anifaire replied. She hesitated. “My father is prominent in the government there. Life’s been… easy, in retrospect. I was free to pursue my studies at leisure. I only left my parent’s home a few years ago, to go to the University. This is… very different.”

It all made sense now to Brynja, she could understand why Anifaire acted so reserved and rather prim and proper, “And that’s how you found the company? So… what now? Are you going to head home?”

“That’s what I was thinking. I came here to go deeper into my research, get hands-on with Dwemer ruins and I just didn’t intend for it to be quite this hands on.” She shrugged. “I was trying to get the funds for the journey home, but now it seems I may need to find another option.”
“I’m certain you’ll find a way. Gods know I have. I’ve just convinced the innkeeper at this tavern to let me host a duel for free board and all the ale I can drink. Works out good, as long as I win. Granted, I’d rather heal people than put on a show to earn some coin, but what can you do?” Brynja paused, trying to recall the last time she saw Anifaire fight, so to say, back in the Jerall mountains. “So, remind me again, what can you do? Any magic?”

“I, um, study Alteration magic. I know, not really the most useful thing when Falmer are swinging swords at you.” She had been wondering if destruction would’ve been a more useful study. In what she’d begun to think of as her life before, alteration had been one of the few things she was good at, but now it made her feel useless.

“Mm. Not quite. How skilled are you in Alteration?” The sight of The Flowing Bowl came into view. Brynja wracked her brain, trying not to confuse Alteration with Illusion, and attempting to find an idea on how Anifaire could raise money for a ship home.

“I’m not bad,” she replied, not certain of herself. She had never been confident or passionate about her magic the way she was with Dwemer research.

“Hm. Seems like you’ve got yourself in quite a pickle. But come on, we’ll get you cleaned up right and proper then.”

Together they entered The Flowing Bowl, many of which glanced first at Brynja and then to Anifaire. Their expressions were mixed, some intrigued and others disgusted. Nevertheless, Brynja guided Anifaire up the flight of stairs to the room Marius had given her on agreement.

“Right. Here we are.” She opened the door, and checked inside before holding out her hand as a gesture for Anifaire to head inside. “When you’re finished washing, come and see me downstairs, aye?”

“Thank you,” she replied. She stepped inside the room. When she closed the door behind her, it felt wonderful just to be completely alone.

She took the time to clean herself up, even scrubbing her hair and stripping completely to rub her skin until it was raw and dirt free. In her bag she had only the cloak Alim gave her, along with the two pairs of clothes. The dress she was wearing when she fled the Imperial City was cleaner, if torn up, but it was preferable to muddy clothes. She put it back on and set the dirty clothing aside.

When she finished, she remembered that Brynja had asked her to return downstairs, so she left the room, hair still wet - something which would have been unspeakable once - and made her way down the stairs towards the main tavern area, looking for the other woman. Brynja had taken a seat at a table near a window overlooking the exterior of the tavern, a plate of food before her. She looked tired with bags under her eyes. Nonetheless, Brynja happened to look up in Anifaire’s general direction and waved at her.

Anifaire made her way over and pulled out the seat across from Brynja. As she sat, delicately folding her skirts as though she was still wearing a fine gown, she eyed Brynja’s plate a bit jealously.

“Thank you, truly. I feel much better, even just after washing up.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Brynja caught Anifaire’s longing gaze and a soft smile danced across her lips.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat, the barmaid will be back over after she’s done making her rounds,when she comes, order what you want, it’s on me.” She explained, “I’ve been thinking about what you can do to get passage back home, if you care to hear.”

Anifaire couldn’t help but glance around to see how far away the barmaid was, but she tried to hide it. Still, Brynja’s idea intrigued her. “What were you thinking?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong… I’ve never studied Alteration, but… do you know how to lessen the weight of an item? Make it easier to carry?”

“Yes,” Anifaire replied. A bit of relief flooded into her - it was something she could do. “I can do that.”

“Good good. That’ll help you,” She fell silent, trying her best to collect her thoughts, “so here’s what I’m thinking… head down to the harbor, and ask the ship captains if they’ll grant you passage to the next port or wherever their destination. But offer them to help unload or load the ship. You would make the process easier on the sailors and the help would be appreciated.” By then the barmaid returned to the table, her attention shifting to Anifaire.

“What’ll it be?”

“I -” Anifaire stopped, a bit surprised. She hadn’t considered what it was she wanted. “Do you have any… fish? Some kind of fish would be lovely.”

“Rice, or potatoes?” the barmaid asked.

“Rice,” Anifaire answered with more certainty. The barmaid turned to walk away, and remembering a bit late, Anifaire blurted out “thank you!” a bit too loudly. A bit embarrassed, she turned back to Brynja.

“Do you think it would work?” she asked. “It sounds possible.” She’d never thought of her abilities as particularly useful before. After some sleep… maybe she would try.

The barmaid returned quickly with a hot plate of fish and rice. She couldn’t tell what type of fish it was - something local, probably - but it was of little consequence to her. Her manners were ingrained into her life; despite how hard her stomach growled, she sat straight in her seat and ate delicately without the idea of eating faster even crossing her mind.

“It couldn’t hurt to try, I’m sure they would need the help. Maybe check with one of the trading ships, they’re bound to have a large amount of cargo.” Brynja watched Anifaire, taking note of the way she ate her food. Very prim and proper. Something her own mother tried her hardest to instill in her.

Pausing in her eating, Anifaire looked up at Brynja, trying to look her directly in the eyes to emit sincerity; however, she felt nervous, and cast her eyes down to her food as she began to speak. “Thank you for helping me. Being here has been very…” she recalled the guards who had tried to accost her outside the bank, the thieves in the alleyway, and, finally, the dwemer, “frightening. But you have all been so kind to me.” She continued to pick at her food. Even while eating politely, the food was disappearing quickly. Where at home she would’ve paused and enjoyed the meal, setting down her utensils and holding conversations, now the only thing in her mind was the bed she had seen in the room upstairs and how nice it would be to lay there. Still, one couldn’t simply abandon propriety.

It was odd, hearing such words come from Anifaire. Brynja tried to think back on when she had last spoke to the Altmer woman before her but she couldn’t recall, not since the Jerall Mountains. Brynja shook her head after considering the nature of her words.

“It’s tough when you’re alone out here… sometimes it helps having someone looking over your shoulder. Your food is paid for, you should get some rest too.” Brynja rose up out of her chair, and made to head off, when she stopped, something nagging at her core on the inside. She could do more to help Anifaire…

“Here, it’s not much, but it’ll help.” Brynja pulled out the other coinpurse Marius had given to her after the first duel of the day, and set before Anifaire. “Alright then, I’ve got more septims to rake in.”

Anifaire looked down at the purse - something she may have considered to be very little coin once. Speechlessly, she sat as Brynja moved on, until, the surprise wearing off, she finished scraping the last crumbs of food from her plate. A nap was calling her name.

Afternoon, 21st of Last Seed, 4E208
Docks Marketplace, Anvil
_{@Mortarion & @DearTrickster Collab}

---

Jaraleet had been wandering throughout the streets of Anvil when a commotion at what seemed to be a nearby marketplace drew him in. The main reason that the commotion had caught the attention of the assassin had been because he had heard mutters about the Imperial City and its fall at the hands of the Dwemer. Pushing his way past the crowd of onlookers that had gathered, Jaraleet was surprised to find that Judena Callisar was at the center of the heated discussion. Without so much as a word, the Haj-Eix made his way towards where the elder Argonian was and placed a hand on one of her shoulder.

“What’s the matter Judena?” He asked after a split second, turning his face to look at the man in front of his companion. “I heard some mutterings about the Imperial City and the raid amongst the crowd that gathered so I came to check what was going on, but I didn’t imagine you’d be at the center.”

Judena’s argument with Brant had escalated, more yelling more insults thrown around. Her focus was on him still, the fake dwemer remains of a mace being tugged back and forth between them. She hardly paid Jaraleet’s arrival much attention.

“Horrible! You should feel horrible for tricking people!” She shouted at Brant, she pulled harder on the mace.

Brant snarled, “Fine! Then you can have the piece of junk! Get out of my sight you swamp heathen!” He abruptly let it go watching Judena stumble backwards directly into Jaraleet. He caught and balanced her.

She threw the mace to the ground, “Call me swamp anything again, sir, and I will-”

Jaraleet had watched as the argument between Judena and Brant, his words to the elder Argonian seemingly unheard by the latter as her focus seemed entirely turned towards her discussion with the merchant. As the argument continued to grow in intensity, Jaraleet’s anger began to grow in tandem with Jude’s own temper and the hands of the Haj-Eix quietly hovered towards the pommel of his sword.

However, when Judena stumbled backwards any thought of his weapons were gone as Jaraleet reacted instinctively and catched the other Saxhleel before she could fall to the ground. He held Judena until he was sure that she wouldn’t fall and then let go of her, his eyes turning to the merchant. “I’d recommend that you apologize to her.” The assassin said in a low, cold, tone of voice to the Imperial man in front of him, taking a step away from Judena and towards Brant. “And in case you thought anything else, that’s not really a suggestion…”

Brant crossed his arms and sniffed, “No.” Conveying a deeply troubling amount of condescension in a singular word. Had Judena not been as angry as she was, it’s a quirk she would have admired. It was an impressive feat.

However, taking the extra beat to acknowledge Jaraleet. Her fellow argonian travelling companion was taking this far more seriously than she expected. He was a proud and far more traditionally minded argonian warrior than Judena ever considered herself, warrior or not. They had spent time a little time relishing the chance to converse in Jel. She spoke Jel to him now, “He is selling fake dwemer pieces he claims he salvaged from the Imperial City! It’s absolutely horrendous, I hate how he’s muddied the market and when everyone is in certain need to understand the dwemer now more than ever. This garbage is slowing down genuine examination of our foes!” She threw a hand at Brant who scowled, Jude’s ‘beard’ had begun to deflate some, speaking with Jaraleet.

“Speak the common tongue you beast!”

Her ‘beard’ expanded again, darkening as she grew angry once more, she hissed in Brant’s face. “Quiet! I am not leaving until you pack up your shop and leave!”

“You and the other lizard are going to make me do nothing!”

“I am sure the guards would love to hear of your extortion!” She declared. The crowd of shoppers rumbled in agreement. The merchants scoffed.

Jaraleet nodded in response to what Jude had said to him in Jel before turning to look at Brant once again. “I wouldn’t call us beasts again, unless you want to see me truly angry merchant.” The Haj-Eix said, his tone venomous, as he took yet another step towards the merchant.

He fell silent as Jude began talking to the merchant once again, but let out a smirk when his fellow Argonian mentioned the guards. “Oh yes, I’m quite certain that the guards would be happy to hear all about where you got these.” The assassin said, gesturing towards the stand where Brant was peddling his Dwemer ‘artifacts’. “Think about it, what do you think will happen if the guards hear about this? They’ll either want to hear where, and how, you got all of your so-called artifacts. After all, I think the guards, and indeed the Imperial Legions themselves, would love to be able to get their hands on dwemeri artifacts.” He continued on, taking yet another step towards the merchant.

“And what do you think will happen once they learn that you are just a two-bit charlatan peddling junk, huh? Give you a pat in the back and let you go after a night in the prison cells? Now that the Empire is at war with the Dwemer?” The assassin asked again, crossing his arms and glaring at Brant. “Tell me merchant, what do you think will happen?”

“They won’t believe your word over mine, lizard. I’ve been selling in these markets for years, like they’ll believe some filthy refugees over good ole Brant. I dare you.” He pointed to the guards. “I’ll do you one better for making these threats, I’ll call them over myself and get the pair of you hauled right out the front gates!”

The crowd around them quieted even the shoppers looked nervous, some dispersing at the first hearsay of guards being brought in. The merchants around Brant patted him on the back. Judena deflated a bit at that.

Brant smugly aware of how the mood shifted so easily.

“It is wrong.” She said, patting Jaraleet a silent signal to take a step back. Her ‘beard’ deflated further - as upset as she was. “If you are willing to get us kicked out of the city instead of seeing reason then… this will be where this ends.” Rolling over the words a small measure of bitterness.

“Word of mouth, regardless of reputation will see to the end of your terrible business.” She warned solemnly. “Mark my words.” Judena no longer saw logic in escalating further at risk of getting booted out of the city over something of this nature. While the Empire aimed to fairly rule and peacefully coexist with other Tamrielic provinces, Argonians often fought a losing battle to be taken seriously in the eyes of the Imperial Legion. Evidence apparent or not.

In Jel she said, “A firm reminder our voices don’t matter outside Argonia, whatever the case may be. I don’t want to gamble.”

Jaraleet did as Jude signaled when she patted his back, falling silent as the elder Argonian spoke. He let out a soft sigh when she said that this would be were their discussion would end. “You are right Jude. There’s no sense in continuing this discussion, hopefully your words will come true and this pig will get his comeuppance eventually.” The Haj-Eix replied in their native tongue, glaring at Brant before he turned back to Judena. “Let's leave this place.” He said softly, switching back to Cyrodiilic, and began walking out of the marketplace, sure that Jude would follow him.

She shot one nasty glare over her shoulder at Brant then left, she trudged behind him. Feeling drained now more than ever. The journey truly had taken it’s toll on her, so rarely did she lose her temper over anything. Would she have gained more had she been reasonable instead of lashing out? Could she have quietly gone to the guards and made her case? Oh, it was such a regrettable choice to make. Nothing came of it.

In Jel she lamented. Her ‘beard’ now flat against her neck. “Oh Jaraleet, I have truly made a fool of myself with that display. I can’t remember what I was thinking, what drove me to pick a fight like that. Please don’t think less of me for such a terrible decision.”

“I can debate with the worst of the closed minded mages and historians but never have I lost my temper like that. Not for a very long time.” She shook her head, “Thank you for supporting my stance, as ridiculous as it was.”

“There’s no need to apologize, nor lament, for what you did Jude.” Jaraleet responded softly in response to the elder Argonian’s words, turning to face her as he spoke. “You did the right thing by calling attention to that….that rat’s attempt at profiting from this crisis. Mark my words, he will eventually pay for his crime, be it at the hands of the populace or at the hands of the drykillers he was so sure would side with him..” The assassin said, shaking his head before letting a soft sigh.

“Why are the humans like this….” The younger Argonian said, shaking his head slightly. “I know not all humans are like this merchant, but I can’t help but bristle at the sight of such behavior. Things like these wouldn’t happen in our home.”

Judena regarded him, rubbing the receding paint between her fingers. It pushed her own thoughts into something more substantial, larger. In a way, Jude - like so many Argonians before her, including Jaraleet - had a difficult time understand what others saw in them as a people, as a species. “Ah, my youthful companion. You are letting your homesickness colour your bias. We might have a voice in Argonia but we aren’t that different from men and mer.” She gently chided. “Which is why the divide is frustrating. We are seen as ‘lesser’ but culture and history shows we have far more in common.”

“I suppose that is the truth, we are more alike to them than they’d like to admit.” Jaraleet replied with a sigh. “And yet, I can’t help but feel that behavior such as that one wouldn’t happen in our homeland. During a crisis such as this one the Hist would have united us against our common foe, as it did during the Oblivion Crisis. I doubt that one of our own would be making a fortune off of the rest of us in a situation like this one, but maybe I’m just being an idealistic fool.” He said, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle at his last remark.

Gently squeezing his shoulder Judena said, trying to comfort, “It’s never foolish to hope for better, to have expectations for better. We as a people will face these challenges well past the time you and I have lived and died. We must deal with these conflicts as the water does. Change and move past these obstacles whether it be a tree or a rock.” She swept a hand past the horizon, mimicking the flow of water. The sunlight reflecting in her golden eyes, warming the dullness of her ruby scales. “We change as is the nature of which we are born, Jaraleet. From the pools at the base of the Hist we are born and destined to return to.”

That thought alone helped ground the likes of Judena, center her perspective in the grander scheme of their situation. They simply had to move. “Unlike so many others, we know where we stand.”

“Please, for me, do not lose that foolish hope. This is only one day of many.” She came to a stop standing in front of Jaraleet, hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eye.

“Your words carry great wisdom Judena, it is easy to forget that we know where we stand while the other races of Tamriel do not.” The assassin said, feeling guilt welling up in his chest as Jude asked him to not lose his foolish hope and his throat tightening with it. “I...I won’t, I promise Jude.” He replied after a few seconds of silence, taking Judena’s hands and giving them a light squeeze so as to reassure her.

Giving him a big gum smile, she felt the sourness of the argument earlier begin to dissipate. She switched knowingly back to Cyrodilic, “If I do not remember then this will.” She patted her shirt where her logbook sat, snug and secure. “It is wisdom that I need to remind myself of. It is easy to believe you are the rock when really we are just apart of the stream.”

Taking a deep breath in through her nose, puffing up her chest, she held it for a few seconds before exhaling.

“Once again, your words carry great wisdom Judena.” Jaraleet said, bowing his head slightly in deference to the older Argonian. “It is all too easy to believe oneself the center of things when we are merely just another part of a great whole.” He continued on, smiling back towards Jude. “Thank you for reminding me of that.” The assassin said.

“Come, let us leave this place, what do you say?” Jaraleet asked, motioning for them to continue walking away from the marketplace.

Late Afternoon, 23rd of Last Seed, 4E08

It was over. It was finally over.

Looking out over the harbour and the ships upon the waves, Rhea had lost track of the time since arriving in Anvil, and the crushing weight of responsibility had gone down with each desperate gulp of cheap wine. Anger, fear, and indignation clashed with guilt, sorrow, and regret as she tried, oftentimes failing, to come to terms with what she’d endured, and what she’d done. In her attempts to save those she felt responsible for, she paid a heavy toll and wondered exactly how many other lives had been the currency.

The room she was residing in was the very same one the Valerius family used to rent for yearly trips to the Gold Coast since she was a young girl. It was nearly two decades of some of the most pure and wonderful memories she had in her life, even though they were partially tainted by the realization years later that her mother and father financed a lot of their capital in illegitimate ways, and try as she might, she never was able to free herself from their shadow and become a better person.

Skingrad was proof of that.

A mirror on the wall showed a much more gaunt and pale face than she was used to seeing looking back, helped no small in part to the sickness she brought to herself from a bottle. Drink to remember. Drink to forget. Smash a bottle in anger because of Daro’Vasora, cry herself to sleep, cry in happiness and relief at the others when they found moments of happiness. Her gut was empty, even the thought of water was sickening at this moment even if her mouth tasted of bile. Her head throbbed, and her coordination seemed to suffer, but she felt much more in control of herself.

Rhea walked out to the balcony to sit on one of the two chairs that sat facing the harbour, and she felt invigorated by the sound of crashing waves, the cry of gulls, the scent of the bay. It brought her back to a simpler time when her entire world wasn’t turned upside down, where her choices didn’t have such heavy consequences. As angry as she was a Daro’Vasora, she knew that the other woman wasn’t entirely wrong to feel the way she did. It was Rhea who ultimately activated the device that the Khajiit warned her against, and she’d have reason enough to be furious about the subsequent explosion that killed the entire camp. And while no one could have predicted that would have led to the return of the Dwemer, or that they’d be so callously murderous, Daro’Vasora lost someone very close to her, so Rhea was a prime target.

Her instincts knew that Rhea had a hand in the events at Skingrad. It was infuriating and terrifying all at once; the blade that did the deed was long gone, but its weight still carried with her. She could see the writing on the wall, and soon starvation and disease would have found everyone, including those she’d spent weeks trying to keep motivated and alive. It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Her parents acted selfishly when the needs of the people were dire, but she wasn’t them. She had to do right to prove her name wasn’t cursed.

The only thing was that none of it felt right. Every decision she’d made seemed to make things worse in the end, and people had to pay for it with their blood. There wouldn’t have been a refugee crisis or a war if she’d just accepted her fate in that cave, but she couldn’t let the others die, and she didn’t want to go, either. There just was no way of knowing what would have happened; she hoped for an escape route or a defensive device to keep the Falmer contained; it was, after all, an internment camp and the Dwemer had ways of keeping their Snow Elf captives secure. It was a risk, and she knew there’d be consequences.

Consequences that would see that the Divines knew that her hand had personally led to the deaths of thousands of people. Surely they had to know that she did not intend for that to happen, nor was she responsible for what people did with their freedom? She just wanted to save the people who entrusted their lives to her, and now they were safe, with various levels of gratitude. She could rest, atone for what she’d done, but what was left to be done? She didn’t trust her hands anymore, or her will. As her group disappeared into Anvil’s streets, she felt her duty was completed. They were safe, and everything she did was to ensure that.

The world was still in a worse place because of Rhea’s actions, however. She knew that, and hoped that Stendarr would take mercy upon her.

---

Early afternoon, 23rd of Last Seed, 4E08
Anvil

The Breton rolled over across the bed in The Bright Glass. Unaware of the time. It must have been late because the sun was shining aggressively through the window. She just felt tired and sore throughout her body. As she lay quietly, looking at the empty half of the bed, small flashbacks crept back to her, bringing a smile to her face. She wondered where Gregor had gone, but she knew that he may have felt some shame or awkwardness about it all. She had undressed his polite facade and unleashed his monster. She had the bruises to prove it. She lay back with a smug expression, replaying the events in her mind. Their two bodies entwined, limbs tangled beneath sheets.

After a moment, she summoned up her Magicka and ran healing hands over herself to lessen the appearance of the various bruises, marks, bites… She bathed herself in the golden light, enjoying it's warmth. If she walked out into the streets with a bruised throat, she might have the City Guards asking her questions… She did however, choose to leave two hand-like bruises that were burnt into her hips from where Gregor had held her down at one point. She wanted to hold onto at least one pleasurably painful reminder of their night for as long as possible...

This afternoon wasn’t a day for dressing in her good garments, besides, her new cloak was torn. She would have to have it taken to a seamstress. So she slipped on her trousers, her boots, and a simple tunic undershirt, folding the cloak across her arms. She pulled up her hair, which was knotted and tangled upon her head, and pinned it in place. She felt fresh, and ready to explore Anvil again, happy that tomorrow she would soon be setting sail for High Rock, leaving this dastardly mess behind her. Part of her was scared, anxious even at the thought. Part of her was torn by the idea of staying with the group. They had proven themselves capable in the battle against the Dwemer so far. They also had some semblance of an idea of what was happening. Although she wouldn’t admit it, she had grown fond of a few of them.

During her walk back to The Flowing Bowl, she managed to catch a glimpse of the instantly recognisable Argonian, Jaraleet, in the distance. His colouring was distinct. With a smile, she made her way over, wondering if without her torn, blood spattered cloaks and ornate jewels he would recognise her at all. She could be a common townswoman right now. Presented clean and simply.

“Good afternoon Jaraleet,” she called out to him in a friendly manner to grab his attention. She could use this meeting as an opportunity to check up on his wounds. It had been a while since it had happened, but perhaps if she showed him some kind aftercare, she might be able to squeeze a septim or two from his claws.

“Ah, Raelynn, good afternoon.” Jaraleet said in response to Raelynn’s words. He had to admit, she looked much different now than the last time that he had seen here but, even with the change in clothes, Jaraleet was good at remembering faces and, as such, he was able to identify the Breton woman easily enough. “It is good to see you.” He added once he had closed the distance between himself and her. “How have you been holding up? You were with the Rangers too when the Dwemer ambushed us.” He asked, a note of concern on his voice.

He hadn’t been able to talk much with Raelynn, aside from their small talk in the aftermath of the raid in Elenglynn, but he had noticed that the Breton woman hadn’t seemed to be too well in the last couple of weeks. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to talk with her once they had gotten to Anvil until now but the fact that she seemed to be in a much better mood seemed like a good indication to Jaraleet that Raelynn was feeling better.

“I am very well, thank you,” she answered with a smile. He had instantly brought up the Dwemer ambush. Maybe he still had it on his mind - whereas she was pushing it as far back as possible. “I have been taking some time to relax, and as a matter of fact I'm leaving tomorrow evening to go back to High Rock, so you could say I'm… saying my goodbyes to my friends.” She gave him a smile, hoping it would distract Jaraleet from thinking too much about all of the interaction and friendship building that hadn't really occurred between the two of them at all. “Maybe I could take one last look at your injuries too before I leave. I would very much like that.”

“I am glad to hear that my friend.” Jaraleet replied with an easy-going smile when Raelynn mentioned that she was well. The smile fell off of his face somewhat when she mentioned that she was leaving on the evening of the next day to return to her native home of High Rock. “It is a shame that you will leave this company so soon but, nonetheless, if you think it’s the best course of action for you, I wish you the best Raelynn.” He said, smiling once more to the Breton woman.

“It’d be a good idea to have my wounds checked, it’s not like there was much of a chance for me to treat them too much in the frantic trip towards here.” The Argonian said, nodding slightly at Raelynn’s last suggestion. “Shall we head back to the inn then? I’d wager that’d be more comfortable than you checking my wounds in the middle of the street.” He said with a light chuckle, waiting for Raelynn’s confirmation before he began walking back towards The Flowing Bowl. “You know, it really is a shame that you are leaving. Here I was hoping you’d treat me to one of those infusions of yours like you had promised.” The assassin joked as they made their way back towards the inn, letting out a soft chuckle.

“I don't know, I do feel an unfamiliar pull to stay a while longer…” she spoke quietly and contemplatively. Thinking of the dangers she had already been exposed to. “Maybe you can convince me to stick around Jaraleet. Let's see to your wounds.” Raelynn smiled and walked with him to the Inn, hoping she wouldn't run into Gregor there. At least not while she was heading to the Argonian’s room. It would be frightfully awkward.

She returned a chuckle as he mentioned the tea. She did have some florals she could easily brew for him if he was being serious, she couldn't quite tell. Her concentrated mind was elsewhere. “How have you been keeping yourself busy in Anvil then?”

Jaraleet couldn’t help but smile slightly when Raelynn mentioned that she fell a strange pull to remain for a while longer. He didn’t gave voice to his thoughts, but part of him was genuinely glad that the Breton healer was considering staying while the other, more pragmatic and mission-oriented, part of him was merely glad that such a skilled healer wouldn’t be leaving the group. “Indeed, let us do so.” He replied to her comment about seeing to his wounds, guiding her towards his room in The Flowing Bowl.

“Hmm, well, I’ve wandered a bit around the city, there were a few acquaintances of mine here in Anvil that I took the chance to visit while we were here. I also took the opportunity to buy some basic necessities in case we had to return to the road sooner rather than latter.” The argonian began to say in response to Raelynn’s question. “Hmmmm, aside from that I’ve not done much. I’ve encountered a few members of our group, such as Alim and Judena, and chatted with them for a bit. What about you Raelynn?”

“Much of the same, rest, relaxation and just some general… stress relief,” she sighed happily. “I think about all of us are staying here. It's a wonder I haven't seen more of you.” Her eyes flickered across the scene inside the Inn. It was relatively quiet again, “I'm surprised they had room for us all. I take it you're staying with the group too then Jaraleet? I'm afraid I never got to find out much about you when we met. Colour me interested, tell me about yourself.”

“Hmmm, that is good to hear. In times such as this one, it is imperative to be able to find time, not to mention ways, to relieve stress.” The Argonian commented, chuckling softly. He could guess what Raelynn meant by the way she sighed happily. “Though it is rather surprising that we didn’t run into each other sooner. One would think that we would have plenty of opportunities to cross into each other given the fact we are staying at the same inn.” He added, laughing slightly as they made their way throughout the inn.

“Hmmm, it doesn’t seems that surprising to me. I doubt that many of the people of Anvil wish to stay for the night at the tavern and of the refugees that arrived with us, well, I doubt that they have enough coin to spare to waste on a prolonged stay in the inn, or to rent a room at all.” He answered with a light shrug. It wasn’t a pretty answer by any means, but it was most likely the truth. “As for an answer to your second question, yes, I am staying with the group as long as they will have me.” Jaraleet said while walking up the stairs towards the room that he had rented.

“I’m afraid my life isn’t that interesting.” He replied to her final question after a few seconds. “My father was a hunter and mother was an alchemist, both lucrative trades back in Helstrom so life wasn’t too bad,” Jaraleet continued with his tale, pausing for a few seconds. “Well, at first. Mother died during when I was but….10, or 12, I want to say? I don’t remember much from that time. Father turned to the bottle, a dangerous thing to do when you are a hunter as I’m sure you can imagine. I tried to help him but, well, it was only a matter of time until his reckless drinking cost him...and it did, he lost an arm during a hunt.”

“After that...well, let’s just say I saw myself in the employ of Argonia’s armies but things didn’t turn out for the best. I was forced to flee home and ply my trade here in Cyrodiil as a mercenary.” The Haj-Eix said, pausing for a second as they reached the room he had rented and he began searching for the key to the door in his pockets. “I was thinking about retiring, had even bought a home in the Waterfront district, but, well, the sacking changed those plans.” He finished with his tale as he swung the door open. “After you.”

One thing that she had noticed in Jaraleet so far, was that he had a clever knack of just getting straight to the point. She liked it. He didn't dance around the point, or flower up his stories. He spoke of things how they were. A trait she often trusted in people, for she was similar. She let him tell her his story and she listened with interest. “It's quite a life you have led, I think there is still mystery to you, but where would the fun be if I didn't just allow myself to learn over time?”

“I'm sorry to hear about your father, truly.” She walked into his room first, and allowed him time to enter and get comfortable. “I will need you to remove your upper clothing,” she said in an obvious tone once the door was closed.

“Indeed. Life would be pretty boring if it didn’t have mysteries in it, wouldn’t it?” Jaraleet said, letting out a soft chuckle in response to her comment about his life. “Thank you Raelynn, I appreciate the sentiment.” He said, smiling softly due to her comment. He followed into his room shortly after she had entered and closed the door, nodding when she mentioned that he needed to remove his upper clothing.

Without hesitation, Jaraleet took off his shirt and threw it in the bed. His chest came into view, scarred almost in its entirety due to years and years of work as an assassin and due to the training he had underwent in his childhood; the only thing that interrupted the mass of scars were a pair of bandages haphazardly put together over the wounds that he had received during the Dwemer ambush and in the ensuing combat to escape from it.

She moved closer to the Argonian and began to carefully peel away the bandages. Not that it took much to do so, they were falling off, and it was a wonder they were still on in the first place. She gasped softly as she looked at the wound, smirking to herself before she began to speak, “it appears I lied to you about having a scar Jaraleet. This skin looks about as good as new. In fact I'm quite amazed at myself…” It really was something, she wasn't too surprised, her healing skills were exceptional. “Good healing hands are worth their weight in gold,” she commented sweetly, scrunching up the bandages in her hands.

She did take the time to start running her fingers across his other scars. “I wonder if we could patch these up too… Although I recall you telling me that you enjoy them. It would be an experiment I would be interested in one day… Argonian skin remains something of a mystery to me,” she let her voice trail off, a slightly unnerving tone to it while she spoke her last words. She quickly snapped out of it and returned to look at Jaraleet with her usual smile. “I think that’s about it.”

“They are reminders of what I’ve been through….of what I’ve lived, if you will. I suppose that, in that sense, I do enjoy them.” Jaraleet replied to Raelynn’s comment, the shift in tone that her voice took having not gone unnoticed by the assassin. It didn’t phase him too much, albeit the change in demeanor, no matter how brief, had certainly been surprising and it did only increase the Haj-Eix’s suspicions that there was more to the Breton healer than the image that she liked to present. “Though it seems that, thanks to your skills, I won’t be adding another scar quite yet, your skills in Restoration are truly impressive Raelynn.” He added as a response to her earlier words about there not being any scarring due to the procedure that she had done to cure the wound from the Dwemer’s mysterious weapon.

“And you were correct in saying that good healing hands are worth their weight in gold.” The assassin continued, deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to stay on the Breton’s good side. “Please, give me a second.” He said, turning his back from Raelynn and towards the rest of the room. A few moments passed in silence as the Argonian rummaged through his room until he found his backpack, and yet a few more moments passed as he searched through it’s contents. “Here,” He said as he deposited a small bag on Raelynn’s hands, of about 50 septims or so, before continuing to speak. “Normally I’d invite you to a drink, or even to a meal if that’s your preference, but I must admit I am a bit short on septims as of late but, regardless of that, your work deserves compensation of some sort, I merely hope that what I’ve given is enough.” The assassin finished, offering the Breton healer a smile.

She took the bag and smiled at him, slipping it into her pockets. “Well, I should probably be leaving. I have a few errands to run my friend. I hope our paths cross again…” She gave him a friendly touch on the arm before making her way out of his room, and back across to her own. She felt the familiar jingling of the coins in her pocket, and an arrogant smile crossed her lips. All in a afternoon's work… she thought to herself as she entered her room and immediately approached her table. She wanted to stay in the Argonian’s good graces still, and she set about brewing him some tea that he had fancied.



Later that day, she had a pot and cup of Lavender and floral tea sent to the Argonian’s room, with a note attached; “Liquid Vigour - as promised”.

A Shaft and Dervs production
Anvil Habour, 22st Second Seed, sunrise…

Sleep had not come easily that night, despite how bone tired Daro’Vasora felt from the travel. Paradoxically, the comfortable and clean room had felt strange and uneasy compared to her far more improvised sleeping arrangements the past several weeks, pitching tents and sleeping on bedrolls on uneven ground. It probably also didn’t help that Roux, one of her more persistent rivals and two-time paramour, had found her and covered her room expenses for three nights in exchange for ripping her off on the second occasion by stealing King Greklith’s scepter from under her nose while she slept. It wasn’t exactly a fond reunion, but it was a part of the game with people in their trade; trust nobody, but use them when you can. You win some, you lose some, but the losses lingered like bruises on your reputation and pride, and she vowed to never let herself be screwed over like that again. The only reason she even listened to him the night before was that she couldn’t afford not to, she simply didn’t have the money.

The light of Magnus began to creep across the city behind her, illuminating the far reaches of the Abecean Sea before creeping ever closer to the harbour itself, the masts of great ships catching the light like tree trunks competing for energy. She sighed, both caught up in the romantic imagery of a good sunrise, and thinking that maybe her ruthless ability to cut attachments was in fact a bit of a character flaw. She didn’t even say anything to Latro; she had been so angry and caustic towards Rhea, wanting to cut as deep as she could, that she lost herself in the moment of triumph and never looked back. A wave of guilt washed over her. Daro’Vasora never meant to abandon him, especially after reuniting with him at Elenglynn, but life wasn’t the typical light-hearted adventures she typically enjoyed, and she was at a loss for herself and what to do.

Some gulls squaked overhead, looking like their biggest problem was fighting over fishermen’s scraps, and she considered how lucky they were that that was the only problem they faced in any particular day. For someone with such a rigid and twisted heart, it was beginning to get so wound up that it was beginning to hurt.

“You wouldn’t have even said goodbye, would you have?” Latro stood behind her, fist shaking under its own tension. His view of her on the docks stood blurry and black against the spreading fire that was sunrise. To think that she had made him think he was as important to her as she was to him made him feel like the lowest fool to walk the streets. The same fool braying and bleating to every passerby about the friend he’d lost, how she was this tall, the color of her eyes, the shades of her fur, her name. All parts of her that he missed with each stranger’s utterance of no or a disinterested shrug, each a boulder on his chest. “I looked for you last night.”

He stepped closer, “I looked for you in the Imperial City. When I came to among the Rangers, the first thing I asked about was you.” Now he stood next to her, not knowing whether to grab her by the shoulder and ask her not to leave or to yell his blessings to her flight in her face and trudge back from where he came. “Say something to me.”

As if he were an apparition that could will himself into existence by thinking about him, Latro was suddenly upon Daro’Vasora, startling her. She turned to his voice, the angst and despair etched across his face, his tense body language, she couldn’t bare to look upon him without shame filling her. “Latro, I…” her words faltered. Her arms wrapped about her waist, her teeth ground against each other. “You didn’t deserve that. You deserved better than what I did, who I am. I’m not a good person, I’m selfish, I’m grieving, I don’t know what’s real anymore, and after everything, all I can think about is how it’s all because of Rhea. I never meant to walk away, I guess I thought either you’d be there still, or we’d find one another again. I’m so used to people coming and going out of my life, or betraying me, I never saw myself becoming that person.” The words just came out, like a dam breaking. She leaned back against the rope-bearing post and slid down, not trusting her legs to support her. She felt small, wanted to be small. She expected tears, but everything was happening too fast, her body simply didn’t know what to do. “I guess sorry is meaningless, yeah?”

“What were you even going to do?” He threw his arms at his side and shrugged, “Wander alone forever? Find another group to abandon? Or were you just going to walk fast and hope I could catch up?” He added in under a growling breath, “Or that I’d fucking want to after that?”

He wiped the first of the tears of anger and resentment away with a sleeve. Sniffling, he looked out beyond the coast and shook his head at the audacity of the woman before him. How dare you, he wanted to ask, how dare you treat my trust and kindness like a leisure trip to end whenever you fancied it. “What happened to all those good, good words about the cave? About the lute?”

“I meant it all.” She replied, her voice sincere. She looked up to meet his scornful gaze, letting it burrow into her soul. He deserved at least that much. “I don’t know what the plan was, I suppose trying to find something familiar and comfortable. I just had to get away from the others, the constant death that follows it. Zegol would still be alive had Rhea not fucked around with Dwemer technology, I’d still have a home, and I wouldn’t have been dragged into this bloody war that was started because our fearless, stupid leader decided that she knew better than everyone else. I appreciate you, above all else, and I genuinely care about you. I just… I don’t know how to reciprocate that. I just ran into a man I used to run jobs with, he paid for my inn room. We had a thing I thought might have been romantic. As soon as we found something valuable, and I mean you could buy a nice lakeside house valuable, he got me drunk enough to pass out and when I woke up, him and the artifact were gone. Weeks of research and setting up an expedition, gone. He gave me a pity charity because the asshole now owns a ship and had some semblance of a soul, I suppose.”

She sighed, her gaze returning to the cobblestone street she sat upon. “Look, I’m only telling you this because I’ve been where you’re standing, and I want you to know I never meant to be like him. I never think far ahead, I get focused on a singular thing and pursue it at the expense of everything else. I don’t know how to really process someone actually giving a shit about me that wasn’t Zegol or my family, I set out to hurt the person I thought deserved it, and didn’t stop to think how it would hurt you, too. I’m not a good person.”

He couldn’t help but bite his lip to stifle the shuddering little breath at the mention of Vasora running off on a half-cocked romantic tryst without even a word to him. A reflex, like yelping when you’re cut. “All I fucking hear is that this is all Rhea’s fault. Maybe. Maybe you’d still have a home and Zegol would still be alive and there wouldn’t be that fucking light in the sky. If we didn’t do something, who’d be still alive to go to that home?” Latro frowned, letting himself lean on the ropes, “I’m glad I’m alive. I’m glad I saw you and the others when I was with the Rangers. And I’m at least a little glad you’re alive too, even if you decided to fuck off with somebody else at the slightest coaxing.”

“People might be pieces of shit in the places you go, Sora, but don’t you ever go insulting me like that. Zegol and your family might be the only ones you feel you can trust, but...” Latro gritted his teeth, “To some of us, this right here is the only gods damned family they have left in this shit world.” He looked at her with something softer and more vulnerable than hate or resentment then, “You can’t possibly fathom a world where someone could trust you with their life and hold to that. Look at me.” He whimpered, arms out at his side as if trying to convince her he wasn’t a hallucination, “Just start. Fucking. Trying.”

“Nothing happened. I didn’t run off with anyone; he cornered me and shoved money at me, that’s it. You think I’m going to run off with the same asshole who gave me the same trust issues we’re talking about right now?” she shot back. “You misunderstand me.” Daro’Vasora grunted, getting back to her feet. She was still quite a bit shorter than Latro, but at least this was more even footing.

“I never meant to leave you, and I wasn’t going to. I meant what I said, I just… it was a lapse of judgement in the moment until I could gather myself. You’re with the same people for weeks and weeks, you don’t just feel like you cut ties immediately when you leave. I guess a part of me always thought we’d find each other pretty quickly, and I wasn’t wrong. And that’s what I am to you, family?” she asked quietly.

Latro may have gotten caught up in his emotions, but he wouldn’t show it when Sora stood before him, lending a dose of reality to his words. He swallowed when she finished, mind racing towards almost anything to say in the moment, but it dragged. Almost too long, when he slowly bridged the gap between them with a hand at a cautious pace, a finger hooking around one of hers, “The others, maybe. I...” He trailed off, only meeting her eyes in glances, “I’m fond of you, Sora. I have been since the lute, and it hurt me when you disappeared.”

Despite everything, the Khajiit smiled at that. “I don’t give gifts easily. For me, it was the dashing Breton who whisked me out of danger when we were neck-deep in a Falmer infested cavern, and maybe even a bit before that when I first saw you playing the music. I knew I couldn’t let that stand, the world is poorer without music, and it would be without you.” she chanced reaching out to touch his arm, hoping he wouldn’t recoil, despite the initial physical contact. “Latro, I don’t mean to do the things I do, and I meant what I said. I want to be better, to learn to trust again. Will you help me do that, to be the person who’s actually worthy of those things you said? It’s nice to know that someone who isn’t a greedy treasure hunter’s taken a fancy to me, and I’ve gone so long without anyone I can trust, I’m not sure if I remember how.”

“I would like that very much.” Latro smiled. He spared a thought to sitting back on the hard cobblestone but thought better, “As much as I appreciate the beauty of an ocean sunrise, I would like to sit on something that isn’t rocks. I won’t drag you back to the others. A stroll, then?”

“I’d like that.” She admitted, adding, “And maybe something to eat. I’d like something that wasn’t pulled out of the bush.”

The two of them continued along the boardwalk, the city starting to wake up around them with the rising sun, which now illuminated the majority of the harbour and brought a bit of warmth. “I really am sorry, you know.” she admitted, looking over to him. “I just need to make my own decisions for a while, not tag along with a group that’s just trying to survive under the guidance of someone I don’t think is qualified for the job. I want to regain some semblance of the life I had, you know?”

“I do.” He said, scratching at his chin, “And I’m sorry for attacking you from the first word. We’re all a bit tense with everything. The Dominion, The Dwemer, the world’s closing in on us and… Well, I’m trying to clutch onto whatever normalcy I had before this too. So much that I lost sight of how this is making even you feel.”

Admittedly, highly emotional outbursts like these left one drained and hungry, Latro was no exception. When they passed by a vendor in the town square just setting up shop, Latro handed over all the coin needed for two meat and vegetable skewers. As he and Sora waited for the meat to cook, all the while stomachs growling ever more intensely from the smell of the seasoned meat, he couldn’t help but appreciate the port city once again after it had been so long since his last visit. It remained to be said that some of the wonder at seeing a city so full of grandeur had dulled after his first visit to the White-Gold City, but after everything, he breathed in this little moment peace and serenity as readily and with as much pleasure as the smell of the food. “It’s been some time since I’ve walked these streets. The last time I was here was with my mentor. He planned to duel the local fencing master in a contest of longswords but it turned out the woman had taken to the road for the same reason, albeit with the fencing master Cheydinhaal.” He smiled, remembering a time when things were so different from this, “We spent our time here instead with one of his many far-flung friends, a graduate of the Bard’s College all the way from Skyrim. These skewers have called my name ever since, I think.” He chuckled. “Did you and Zegol ever visit?”

She managed a quick few bites while Latro spoke, chewing quickly and swallowing before speaking herself. “Mostly me, but I came alone about a half dozen times, a lot of it because I enjoy the climate, but expeditions and research brought me out this way. Port cities are the best place to network and get leads. Zegol and I came here when I first moved in with him, he thought the experience would be a good one for me and he had to pick up supplies from a shipment, it cost him a lot less to go there himself to pick it up than to hire a courier, his shop was just really getting its footing around that time.” She smiled. “It’s always been a good memory for me. You know, I’ve heard about those fencing competitions happening a couple times when I was in town. It’s strange to think if I bothered to watch, I might have recognized you when we met.”

She was quiet for a moment, considering her words. “So, what’s next? For us, I mean.”

“I’m not quite sure. We are in a port town, we could be anyplace in a few days’ time.” Latro shrugged. To be honest, leaving the others would lay a guilt on his shoulders he couldn’t take two steps under.

Stopping in her tracks, she took Latro by the arm. “Look, there’s something I need to say. Roux, the former partner I ran into, offered a job. I don’t trust him at all, but maybe it’s a chance for me to show you my world and get away from all of this insanity for a while. Go to Hammerfell, start fresh.” She sighed, putting her hands behind her head. “On the other hand? I’ve had my fill of ancient elves in my life for some time, and I still want to do something that can make a difference, but I don’t know if I can or not. Part of me wants to go back to Leyawiin to see my family, warn them about the Dominion and the Dwemer, the other part of me feels like I’d never make it. All I know is whatever I do, I want to make sure you’re with me, and if you think something’s wrong, no questions asked. I’m with you.”

“That means a lot to me.” Latro smiled, letting go a small chuckle, “We could go to Stros M’kai and hide for some time. Wait for the world to settle. If you can’t shake the urge to go back south, I’m with you.” Latro nodded.

A not small amount of relief washed over her as she met Latro’s gaze. “I suppose we’ll have to find ourselves a ship, then. I had a chat with my ancestors last night; they seem to think that I still have some role to play in the weeks ahead. I suppose we’ll have to see. We could pretend to accept Roux’s offer and ditch him as soon as we get across?”

Latro shrugged, “He doesn’t weigh heavy on my conscience. I’ve no qualms with doing that.” He bit his lip and sighed, looking off to nowhere in particular but thinking of the others, “The others do, though. Does our plan accommodate them or…”

As much as he wanted to be by Sora’s side, he couldn’t help but feel guilt slowly tighten its grip on his mind with every word. He didn’t want to seem ensnared by the bonds he’d made with the others, but they were just that- bonds. He looked to his friend, his eyes not telling of anxiousness or eagerness.

Her gaze shifted, the memory of the previous night’s events still fresh. Her mind raced over what they had told her, and a mixture of unfamiliar emotions flooded her.

These people, these friends of yours, do not turn your back on them and discard them like so many others. Walk the path your heart tells you and you will never make a wrong step; should you choose, and should you learn to trust and embrace those around you again, you could do great things, Daro’Vasora.

Shani-ko’s words materialized in Daro’Vasora’s mind like a starburst. Maybe it was time to walk a different path, or at least try to find it. “Well, at the very least, we should find them again and hear that they have to say. The goal was to get to safety, and that’s been achieved. Maybe it’s time to part ways, maybe it’s time for something new. I’ve kind of found that life doesn’t want me to do things in a tidy little box, so one step at a time. However,” the impish grin found her way across her features as she winked at Latro. “I’m glad you agree about Roux. There’s something rather poetic about gaining his trust and then stabbing him in the back when he’s most vulnerable. He’s a real piece of work, and no amount of coin or bauble is going to make amends for what he did to me. So how about this; we agree to his conditions to charter the ship and tell him that we’re taking his offer and turn that around and let others know that we’re leaving and they’re welcome to come along if that’s what they want, and part ways amicably with them if that’s what they choose. Everyone wins, everyone’s happy.” She proposed chipperly.

“I hope that’s how it turns out.” Latro muttered just loud enough. He gripped his own arm and sighed, managing to at least take a bite of his skewered meat and chew with his thoughts, “I’m with you. Let’s go and do just that, soon. It’ll be better for everyone if we propose it sooner rather than later. We both disappeared without warning.”

“It’s part of my charm, really.” Daro’Vasora said, her own attempt at light hearted banter coming up short. She let out a heavy sigh. “I need to work on that, I’m not used to being invested in people.”

“Well, we’ll get there.” Latro chuckled. He took another bite of his skewer, gesturing to a nearby bench, “For now, we can sit. I’m not quite ready to take on the load of this daring escape yet.”

Taking his cue, Daro’Vasora made her way to the bench and took a seat, realizing how much her legs felt like weights. She’d probably walked more the past month than she had in a year, and now she wasn’t constantly in danger, it was beginning to weigh down on her after rest. “Well, tomorrow we can become sick of ships and former partners. It feels like we’ve been doing this for a lifetime now, I never could have imagined that this all would have happened when I took what was going to be an easy and probably boring contract with abnormally high pay. I need to start reading the contracts better.” she remarked dryly, sighing. “I’m sorry I made you worry, like I didn’t care how you felt. It wasn’t it, it’s just a reflex at this point. I’m not used to sticking around when things get heavy, learning how to handle the problems of the living were always so much more tedious than stealing from the long dead. They tended not to come back and murder me in earlier gigs.”

“I know how easy running can be, truth be told. Not everything easy is right.” Latro shrugged with his smile, “But, damn it, easy always sounds better. I never got on well with my father and after some of the deeds I’ve done, my mother lost hope in me. I’m glad I found Francis, and I’m glad I found you. So, if there’s one thing you won’t be able to run away from it’s my companionship.”

“If anything, we can all run together. I mean,” Latro chuckled, “it’s what we’re about to do, anyways. I’ve fought for lost causes before and the Dwemer first, then the Dominion? As much as I hate to say it, the cause seems lost. The Gods rest Kylian’s soul, but I don’t know what hope there is in the Rangers. I only ever joined them to avenge you.” Latro smiled, “By your presence here now, I’d say you don’t need that yet.”

That made her heart skip a beat, wrapping her arms around her waist, she looked away to conceal the bashful expression that surely dominated her face right now. “Well, I don’t think I ever had a dashing hero care enough about me to put his life at stupid risk because he thought I died. That’s definitely a first.” she looked over at him, blinking quickly as if trying to see Latro for the first time. “Do you really mean that? Why? I’m just some sharp-tongued cat with incredibly flexible ethics and a profound love of history. I’m not the kind of lady they write stories about.” she added quietly.

“When you find him, let me meet him. I’m not a hero, I’m just someone who fell in with this outfit. I did everything I did because it’s just the right thing.” Latro laughed, “But, I appreciate the sentiment, Sora. I mean everything I say, lying to you or anyone would be…” he trailed off as the irony of his own words touched him. She or anyone else he traveled with- even Francis- knew nothing of where he really came from, the things he really did. “It would be heartbreaking for me.”

Oh, look at that. My heart still works. she thought, feeling like a young girl again before letting a sheepish smile break through. “I’ll hold you to that, and I guess since we’re sticking together, we’ll have time to figure each other out along the way, dents and all.” Taking a chance, she leaned over, grabbing Latro by the chin and kissing him softly on the cheek once more. “Not all heroes wear shiny armour or refuse to curse, you know.”

Latro brushed his fingers along the cheek Sora kissed, nervously clearing his throat of nothing and placing his hand under Sora’s, “I suppose that’s true.” Latro nodded, “Do you think the heroes knew they were going to be heroes at the beginning of it all?”

“Gods, no. Anyone who seems to think that ends up becoming a tyrant or a serial killer, or die an early death. There’s a reason we only remember their names after they succeed. How many do you suppose died along the way trying to be better than they were?” She put forth, wrapping her fingers around his own. “I’ve read enough stories and heard enough tales to wonder why there were so few people worth remembering in all those who ever lived; takes quite a miracle to become someone worth committing to paper, it seems. Being uniquely chosen by the Divines also helps, and that certainly rules me out.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that just yet,” Latro shrugged, a small smile upon his lips as Sora’s hand gripped his own, “Someone needs to be their entertainment, and here we are.”

That prompted a rueful laugh. “So, I can win back the others’ affection with the power of music, huh? I burnt the bridges with Rhea more thoroughly than any siege weapon ever could. Besides, what’s really keeping us all together?” she asked.

Latro chewed his lip for a moment before he spoke, “Camaraderie?” Latro shrugged, “I just never thought to strike out on my own. It’d certainly be more dangerous that way. It helps I like the lot of you.” He smiled.

“What made you join the expedition? I never got around to asking before everything fell apart.” Daro’Vasora asked suddenly. “You always seemed like it was an odd pairing for you to work a job like that.”

“Money.” Latro answered simply, “Easy money. Or I thought. Until we almost drowned, what, twice? And blew up a mountain.”

“Stick with me, and I’ll become a monthly occurrence. It’s never a dull moment.” She replied with a wink.

“Honestly, since meeting you, it hasn’t been a dull moment even when you weren’t around.” Latro chuckled, “But good songs a boring time never makes.”

She leaned over, whispering into his ear, “Find me at the Frisky Dolphin later tonight and I’ll show you a good time.” She said in a sultry tone. Standing up, she stretched like nothing happened, staring off at the horizon with a grin on her face. “Now, what do you say we find our wayward flock of misfits and see if they feel like swindling my ex?”

“That sounds delightful.” Latro said, before standing with Sora, “Finding our band of merry misfits, I mean.” After a moment of walking, he turned to Sora, “Is the Frisky Dolphin even real?”

“One way to find out,” she purred, flicking her tail in front of his nose before heading back the way they came. “Now, if you were a bunch of well-intentioned idiots with poor life choices, where would you go in a city that isn’t on fire?”

---

Morning of the 22nd of Seed
Anvil

Of all the members of the company she had seemed to have fallen in with, Alim had been the one who she had made plans to see. She wasn’t sure what he’d been up to, but she wanted to see him before she would leave on the 24th. She packed herself a bag filled with oils and flowers, and today she brought her staff. She had noticed him suffering from some kind of back ache - and could think of no better way to bid him farewell than to put that right for him. She hoped it was early enough that he would still be in his room. She had already asked the Innkeeper where he was staying.

She made her way up the flight of stairs, and across the corridor to where Alim was supposed to be staying, and she knocked gently against the hard wood door; “Alim? Are you here?”

Within the room, Alim let out a soft groan as the knocks and the voice sent signals through his mind that his sleep was over. He had always been alert. He would have been killed in the hot streets of Skaven back in Hammerfell if he did not have that quality. But last night, he had stayed up far too late and it left him groggy. “Yes?” He asked aloud, before his mind caught up with him and he recognized the voice. It was sultry and lovely, much like the owner. “Ah, hold on one moment!”

Shifting his weight, he slid out of bed. He wore trousers to bed, but his toned torso and caramel upper body was bare. As he sat up, he felt his back was stiff. He didn’t really have time to do his morning stretches. He’d do them after Raelynn and he were finished with...he wasn’t actually sure why she was here. He grabbed a linen shirt, to cover up the scars along his chest if nothing else, and smoothed his thick mane of black hair before he opened the door. He still look somewhat rakishly disheveled and out of it, but he smiled and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Raelynn?” His voice was smooth, as always.

Raelynn couldn't help but look him up and down slowly. She felt like being bold about it, “did I interrupt your sleep? I would say I'm sorry for it… But you're quite a sight right now.” She laughed a little and motioned to the satchel at her side before leaning against the door frame, tilting her head to one side; “you've been withholding something from me, Alim, and I'd like to put it right before I leave…”

For once in his life, Alim was speechless for a moment. Though he smiled that wide, playful smile. “Coming from someone as beautiful as you, I take that as a huge compliment.” He said, and it wasn’t flattery. He seemed to be speaking as if it was plain, scientific fact. “But I’m a bit confused. I didn’t steal something that was yours... did I?” As he asked, he stepped aside and allowed her into the room. He didn’t have many supplies, though there were some precious stones on the table, no doubt stolen. Along with his chainmail and his sword, along with the princely cloak he bore atop the chair.

“Ah, but you compliment me!” She wanted to keep up the flirting, and to brush under the rug how serious her feelings were, but she couldn't. It was her chance to speak to Alim properly. “You didn't steal from me, I doubt I have much that would interest…” Her blue eyes scanned the room as she entered, and she dragged a finger across the cloak set upon the chair. She leaned back against the table. Silent for a moment or two, unsure of how to say the words. She took in a deep breath and began, “I wanted to get off my chest… I, wanted to say thank you, for saving my life.”

Alim had leaned casually against the wall, but when she thanked him he regarded him. Gone was his smile, and he wondered if she was ok. “You’re very welcome.” He replied honestly.

It was possibly the most sincere she had been in her life, and she looked into Alim’s eyes as she spoke, feeling a strange tension build in the form of silence. She breathed out again, a smile across her lips “but yes, withholding… you've had a terrible back haven't you?”

And with that, Alim’s eyes widened considerably. He laughed guilty and ran a hand through his hair. “Uuhm...I wouldn’t call it terrible.” he began, and then halted himself. He sighed and moved to sit on his bed, caught. The mixed breed grimaced a bit and felt his lower back. “It’s an old wound from back in my early days of being a no-good rogue, you could say. I fell off a three story building and hit a fence with my lower back. My father’s riches still couldn’t find someone who could heal it permanently, but they healed what they could and gave my stretches to do in the morning and night to keep myself nimble. Are you...saying you can help me?” His look wasn’t suspicious, but he still thought of the idea being a bit too good to be true.

She listened intently, taking a mental note when Alim alluded to his family wealth, she shouldn’t have been surprised - the cloak was a dead giveaway. She nodded in acknowledgement of the story, as he explained the origins of the injury. Raelynn stood up from the table and walked towards Alim, holding out her hands to indicate that she would begin touching him. Gently she placed her hands on his shoulders, channelling Magicka through her palms. “I can’t promise you that it will be fixed, but I am very good at what I do…” she smirked at him in a somewhat arrogant way. She pushed down on his shoulders, and he would feel the stream of healing energy curl around his spine.

She removed her hands, and rolled up her sleeves. “Alright then, shirt off and lie down please,” she spoke in a commanding and serious tone, pointing to his bed before reaching for her satchel as she waited for him to do as he was told.

Alim had to admit initially he believed she was doing something else until he sensed the magicka, and then he felt his spine tingle somewhat. In respect to her, he didn’t make any playful comments. “Thank you,” was all he managed. Instead, he did as he was told and took his shirt off. Raelynn would see faded scars along his abdominals and his back, though, with one curving onto a shoulder. His skin in the dim light was almost chocolate, though his breton features stood out. He turned around and lay on his stomach, trying to calm his breathing. He closed his eyes, and tried to not think of any thoughts that might give him ideas.

While he lay down, Raelynn worked her oils into her palms and made her way over, sitting across his body in a comfortable way that wasn't overly intrusive to him. She looked across his back, noticing the scars creeping over his shoulder. She said nothing as she began working the oil against the small of his back, kneading his flesh, using her Magicka alongside it, trying to feel out where the problem was. “So, what have you been doing in Anvil? I haven't seen you since we arrived…” she pinched tightly at individual vertebrae in Alim’s spine, knowing that it would cause him discomfort, her chatter would hopefully take his mind off it.

He felt the pinch and grunted, his next words breathless. “Having drinks with a few of the newer members of the group. I think I stayed up-” he grunted again, and shuddered. “-a bit too late last night doing so. Other than that I mostly won some money in knife throwing. Bets and the like.” He arched his upper back a tad, his head tilting back as she worked. Alim’s dark mane covering the nape of his neck for a second until he head went back down again. “And what have you been up to since we made it here?” he asked. “Actually, I have another following question. Why seek me out now?” He sounded as if he was more confused than stand-offish. “I’m grateful and I’ve wanted to speak more but, you know me. I’m a curious guy.”

He closed his mouth and pressed his face into the cushion, silencing himself to listen.

She applied more pressure to his spine, stopping the Magicka for a while. She didn't want to deplete it entirely. She paid close attention, still unable to find the problem spot on his back. She was listening to him talk, and even gave a soft chuckle in response to his activities. As he arched his back, she nipped hard where his skull met his neck. “I'm sorry if it's uncomfortable…” to ease the discomfort, she began working her palms across his shoulders - knowing it would be far more relaxing for him. “Me? Not a great deal… I’ve rested, and have been to the markets…”

She brought the Magicka back to both palms again, pressing down flat on the centre of Alim’s back. Finally able to feel something wrong. “There you are…” she muttered under her breath. She didn't quite know how to answer his second question. “Well… I guess really I… wanted to thank you and do something for you. I'm leaving for High Rock on the 24th…” her voice trailed off. She had said too much, she went back to work on his back, pouring her Magicka into him, feeling herself grow more tired as she concentrated her efforts on the bad spot, feeling it ease up. “I’m not good with… emotions and being truthful. It would just weigh heavy on me to leave without squaring up with you and saying goodbye.” She sighed, almost annoyed that she was honest with him, and dropped her wall just that little bit towards him.

He felt a knot in his back loosening, like a rope that had been tied for years that was finally being unraveled. He didn’t know how to feel other than strange, at the moment. Though he chuckled in disbelief and weakness. He felt nearly as tired as she did. The work on his back somehow taxed him slightly, and that along with the discomfort made his movements weak. “You seem to be doing just fine with it, now.” he said with a friendly grin, though he didn’t know if she could see it past his hair. He shuddered one final time, and felt something slip from within his lower back. He let go of the bed covers he didn’t even realize he had been gripping, and his body grew lax.

“Why are you leaving?” he asked. “You don’t have to answer, but…” His voice trailed off. It seemed to indicate that he felt like he would be losing something with Raelynn leaving the company. He’d not talked to her, or seen her much since after he, Raelynn, and Jude had bonded. But he was endeared to Raelynn, and after doing this for him. It seemed bad poetry or an anticlimactic story, a friend leaving like that without giving reasoning.

“I… I guess because it's wartime. I'm scared, I want to be somewhere familiar.” The words flowed so quickly, she surprised herself by saying them and being so honest. She gently shifted herself from her position on Alim, getting back to her feet. “I hope it feels better. I'm sure if I took another shot another day you'd feel brand new.” Raelynn smiled at him, looking at him laying on the bed, relaxed and pain free. It did bring her pleasure to do her work. It wasn't often that she allowed herself a moment to appreciate her gift and feel proud of it, but this was one of those times.

She walked back over to the table and began gathering her things, before she playfully retorted back to Alim; “want me to stay with you and your friends, do you?”

Alim sat up, lifting a leg up to lay his angle across his knee, and resting his hands on his legs. His back felt...incredible honestly. He did not know if it would stay that way, but he sincerely hoped it did. “I do,” he replied. His tone playful yet ringing with an honesty that spoke volumes. “Mostly because I consider you a friend.”

He grabbed his shirt and slipped it over himself, whipping his hair back and forth to frame his face, and he stood up and strode over to her. He stopped just as he got to her however, parting his lips as if to say something. He hesitated for a moment, and the words flowed out of him. “I haven’t been home in many years. To High Rock I mean. I would love to see it again sometime…” He took a deep breath, and he took Raelynn’s hand in his, gently. If she pulled away he wouldn’t stop her. “I have a lot of problems with my family, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect them, or the place I grew up in. And this, that’s happening now…” Alim shook his head and looked into her eyes. “This war won’t go away if we ignore it. You’re not a soldier. Hell, neither am I. But…” Alim had a way of talking, shifting tones in his voice to bring out a certain charisma. “This is what tales are made of. This is how riches are found and legends are born. But most of all, if we don’t stop this here, I fear that the war will reach Highrock and destroy both of our homes. Plus, I kind of have a knack for saving pretty women and if you were gone, I couldn’t catch you.” He grinned.

Alim let go of her hand, and held himself to his full height. “You’ve shown me right here that you’re not only a friend, but a valued member of the team. Can you stick around a bit longer? We, and High Rock, needs all the help it can get right now.”

I never did achieve knighthood, but here I go. Alim bended down on a knee, looking downward. “I humbly request that you stay. Please.” He wanted to pledge that he would protect her, but he felt that was 1, going without saying, and 2, a bit too far to say vocally. But still, there it was.

She listened to Alim’s words again. He was kind, and an optimist. She had been joking when she initially asked the question, she hadn't expected such a big show. She didn't know why he cared so much about what she did. They were squared now after all. She furrowed her brow and sighed, leaving it all too long in an awkward silence before saying anything to him, “I guess I’ll have to think about it…” was about all she could muster up to say. She had blown it, shown him too much sincerity and she felt worse for it. She didn't like to have ties to people, she didn't like to be held down for too long. He did happen to speak of riches - and that was something she couldn't deny she would have access too.

Suddenly the thought of being alone without those who could protect her on the way back to High Rock filled her with fear too. She would be putting herself in danger if she got on a passenger ship right now. Maybe it was best to stay with the group, and hope - no, convince them to travel to High Rock with her. She had no idea of their plans, but veering from them now may end up being a mistake. Alim was a capable fighter and so were his friends. They had numbers too. Yes, strength came in numbers.

She felt all too uneasy having been so soft with Alim. Yet she couldn't bring herself to say something twisted to him. “Thank you Alim, I hope you'll enjoy the day. Please excuse me now… I should rest and get ready.” The way she left was awkward and hurried. She felt angry at herself, still, it was how she had been feeling at the time. Her debt to Alim was squared, and that was the end of it. She had the rest of the day to shake off the feelings, perhaps a trip to the markets was in order. Maybe a bottle of wine. She just wanted to be alone and stop herself from finding more trouble, and tripping into emotional territory again….

As Raelynn left the room, Alim lifted his head up. “Was that a yes?” he thought aloud. Realizing he’d get no answer, he began to think. He enjoyed Raelynn because she was so...conniving wasn’t the right word, but as a rogue he could appreciate the lust for treasures and the planning. But her she showed genuine sincerity and when returned she went back to how she was. To say he was confused was an understatement. Maybe he’d blown it out of proportion. Usually he was far more flirty and laconic in wit, but he guessed lack of sleep and a miraculous healing of his back opened up his heart a bit. This was already turning out to be a weird day. But as he twisted his torso back and forth and realized Raelynn just might stick around, he felt that sometimes weird was needed.

“Oh, I’m good.” he joked.

---

A Collab by @Rtron and @Spoopy Scary

Nanine and Calen, Afternoon, 22nd of Last Seed, 4E208

Nanine wandered the city of Anvil, looking for something to do, or at the very least draw. This was the first time she had felt a modicum of safety, and not a constant fear that the dwemer were about to attack, and she planned to enjoy it while it lasted. Things weren’t going to stay like this forever, or very long. Either the Dominion was going to grow bored faking kindness, the dwemer were going to make their move, or the Empire was going to retaliate. Either way, war was going to sweep Tamriel again, and it was doubtless that she was going to be swept up in it. She wanted to enjoy this time while she could.

She saw a great many shops, none interesting her, as she wandered. Anvil was a thriving city, unruffled by the influx of refugees and certain in its safety behind the iron will of the Legion. Its shops were numerous, and the things they sold even more so. While idly staring at shops as she passed, she spotted someone from her caravan into the city. The Nord driver, Calen. With nothing better to do and always happy to see a familiar face, Nanine made her way over.

Calen was carrying some instruments in his arms and had a satchel of some kind around his shoulder, but he didn’t look comfortable, apparently unused to Anvil’s heat and the sight brought a small grin to Nanine’s face. ”Never been this far down south have you? You look like you’re fit to collapse.”

Calen looked up and forced a smile at her, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. His face was flush and rosy, but he still seemed to chipper up at the sight of a familiar face. “Oh! Hey!” He chimed. He shifted the weight of the instruments around to get a better hold of them. “Ah, yeah well, you know… a small price to pay for getting to see such a beautiful place! Isn't Anvil an incredible sight?”

Nanine looked around, taking in the architecture and beauty of the city. He was right, it was an incredible sight. But her home still held her heart. She smiled softly, remembering its sweeping towers and carefully kept gardens. “Anvil is beautiful, yes, but it is still surpassed by the Jewel of Starfall Bay. Perhaps it’s just, my bias because I was born there, but Wayrest will always be the most beautiful in my mind.” She paused, giving a small shrug. “Well, it was, before the invasion.” Shaking her head, as if to dispel the bad memories, she turned her attention back to him.

Noticing that the Nord seemed to be struggling, she held out an arm. “Here, let me take some of that off your hands. No sense in you being hot and exhausted.” Relieving himself of his burdens and muttering a quick thanks, he gave her a drum and a violin, and Nanine examined it all with an arched brow. “Planning on starting a band are we? I hope you weren’t going to invite me to join. I have no talent in the musical arts.” She gestured with the violin for him to lead the way, following behind. “Or is there another reason for collecting so many instruments?”

Calen laughed awkwardly in response as he led her through the market square. He replied, “Oh, I was just hoping to spend the rest of the day performing in one or two of the taverns here. Entertain, share stories, learn what I can about the locals -- the College taught me that different instruments can oft help with that; and should anyone wish to play with me, I’ll have a spare.”

”An actual student from the College of Bards? I’d thought you were just one of those carriage drivers who were good with instruments.” Nanine commented, her interest piqued. She knew next to nothing about the College, and having someone who had graduated from it themselves right in front of her was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

”What’s it like, learning at and graduating from the College? I’ve only heard tidbits and snippets of rumors during my time in Skyrim, and never had a chance to ask any of the bards I came across during my time there. I’m going to assume that you don’t summon Daedra to seduce them so that they will bless you with magical musical ability and powers.”

“Ah, well…” Calen began, looking deep in thought as if to find the right words. “The College is not what anyone thinks, really. Of course there’s music, but that’s just the format of… or the boat which carries the actual meat, if you would. While you can learn all you like about music and song, there is also no better place to learn about history! They’re all historians and chroniclers and preservers -- it’s would’ve been great pipeline to politics, if I had been so inclined, but Skyrim politics… uh, no, I’ll pass on that.”

Nanine was slightly surprised. Evidently, the bard college was more in depth than she had originally thought it was. ”Really? I thought they remembered tales, rather than pure history. You never hear a Bard singing about the laws that an emperor made to help keep order, or how the Redguard’s came across the sea, after all. I must confess, the idea that the College of Bards is filled with historians and preservers doesn’t mesh with my image of bards.”

She snorted. ”What, you don’t want to engage in the duels for honor, the constant cold, and the ever ready possibility that your subjects might not see you as warrior like enough and leave you or dispose of you? Why ever not, Calen? That sounds like the dream!”

The bard laughed, hearty and from the chest, and the wide smile on his face he bore afterward seemed to slightly impede his ability to speak pristinely, “No, no. But you see, who’s to say that history is boring? The story of the Yokudans migrating across the great blue has probably been immortalized in song over a dozen times over! Yes, much of history gets run through the cloth and is filtered by how memorable the event, or how tasteful the story might be, but I’m willing to bet my wagon that there is a song for damn near everything.”

Nanine grinned back at him. Calen’s smile was infectious, and it felt good to laugh and smile without the shadow of danger over her head. ”Very confident I see. I’ll have to take your word for it, Master Bard. Listing off ‘damn near everything’ would take far too long, and I would feel bad taking away your beloved wagon if you were proven to be wrong. You’ll have to tell me the histories and stories you know of sometime. I’d love to be able to add them to my own collection.” She looked ahead, checking to see where they were going and to make sure they weren't going anywhere that would bring trouble. As safe as Anvil felt, it was still a bustling port city, with its own dangers.

”You know, I think I might hang around after to see you perform. It’s been a while since I could fully relax. If you’d like, I could even add small harmless magical effects during your songs and tales. She winked at him. ” Won’t even charge you.”

Calen bowed his head gratefully and said, “That would be marvelous.”

However, it swiveled back around to the last place he remembered the front gates of Anvil being and sighed. Thoughts of the deemed came back to him, along with the worry and doubt they brought with them. Finally, he said, “I wonder how this will all end - the dwemer, I mean; and perhaps more selfishly, I wonder what kind of mark I would make. Being the first to record their second coming in history… heralding a new chapter in the book… I'm sure there's someone already working on it.”

Nanine paused for a moment, thoughtful. She’d often thought about the very same subjects herself in the past weeks. The future of Tamriel with their arrival, and her own future now that they have thrown much of the north into chaos. If history was any indication.. ”The Dwemer will fall. Their return was unexpected, and their new weapons powerful, but judging from how they’ve only taken Imperial city and not lain siege to anything else, or if they have I haven’t heard of it, and their reliance on their technology, I’d guess that they don’t have a large population.

They’re using their new and somewhat superior weaponry to give themselves an edge. Eventually, however, it will spread to the other nations they are actively trying to suppress. Such is the way of war. Unless they align themselves with someone, they will eventually lose due to sheer attrition. Or so military history dictates. They might have some ultimate plan that I don’t know about or some way to rapidly replenish their population, but even if they win and take over what they want to take over, they’ll eventually be overthrown. The Empire was able to keep its control for so long by being fair and just. That had faded by the time of the Oblivion crisis, and the Dominion and Argonia used their dislike of the Empire and its weakness afterwards to seize the independence and lands they have now. The Dwemer strike me as the kind of people to actively oppress and keep their conquered under their heel. That’ll breed rage and defiance, and it will eventually boil over.”

She looked over at Calen. ”As for your mark, well, you’ll just have to write a better account, no? Someone is already working on it, sure, but not someone with your way with words and flair. Anyone can write a dry account of what happened. Takes talent to bring it to life in your reader’s mind. Talent I believe you possess.”

“You’ve tactical mind!” Calen commented, sounding impressed. “Using history to such ends. Applied knowledge is something I think this war will benefit from. We’ve had years to study them, their culture, and their constructs, yes? From what I can tell, they know nothing of us, only that they expected someone to fill the void they left behind.”

”Not many of us did, though.”

As they followed the bend of the city streets, they shortly found their way in front of The Frisky Dolphin. The sound of music and rambunctious spirit emanating from within almost spurred Calen from his conversation from Nanine, but he still found himself wanted to share a few words with her.

“I appreciate your sentiments, ma’am. I think you need worry not about me. It takes more than a few intrusive thoughts to bring my spirits down! We’ve all got our place in the world and I know where mine is...”

Nanine snorted quietly. Ma’am. She wasn’t an officer nor an old woman yet. Sounded something more appropriate for Judena.

Calen gestured with the instruments he had in hand.

“The question isn’t whether I can do it or not, it’s how it will be remembered! I’ve no misconception that my name will be remembered -- my role is to record history and to be a witness, by Talos, not to become it -- but I do hope that the stories I tell will survive this era for sake of posterity. If not...”

The bard shifted his weight so that his back partially moved the tavern door ajar, and moving both instruments into one arm to gingerly accept the instrument he had lended to Nanine earlier.

“...Then I might as well appreciate the company I have, aye?”

”Indeed.” Nanine replied, carefully handing over the instrument. It wouldn’t do to make it this far only to drop it. ”We cannot control how history will view us or our work, only the now. And for now, I believe you promised entertainment for this fine inn and I promised to give magical effects on your cues. Let's go dazzle the locals, shall we?”