_{Featuring @Gcold and @Spoopy Scary}

---

“Arkay’s law, which we bestow upon the deceased, that their corporeal forms may not be raised to unlawful servitude.”

The priests had been droning on for gods know how long. Keegan was getting sick and tired of listening. Why did Gustav make them attend this boring and sad event? It’s not like Keegan, or any other mercenaries, actually give a damn about these four in coffins. Two of the four were closed caskets anyway, so bringing a whole bunch of people to reflect on how brutal Roze and Adaeze died seemed untasteful to Keegan. He found himself staring at the golden altars, true to the name of the conclave, and finding disgusted similarities to Tmeip’r’s golden airship. Looking behind the priests, Keegan saw the figure Arkay in stained glass, looking high and mighty, and too condescending for mortals to mere mortals to find comfort in.

What disturbed Keegan, other than guards busting their warehouse in the middle of night and flipping through everyone’s belongings, was Dumhuvud being their new commander. There was nearly no other that the Cat-Kicker picked on more often than Keegan, and in those instances Keegan did not wish to recall, Ashav’s presence had been the barrier between discipline and execution. It was now only a matter of time before Dumhuvud let himself go and Keegan would be the one in one of those coffins. There’s nothing more he hated than the image of people pressing a lettered tile to pay respect.

Well, there were other people the Cat-Kicker “accomodated”. The new (and old) Khajiit was one of them, in fact, Keegan saw the beating with his own eyes. There was also Sadri Beleth, being singled out multiple times for “disciplinary actions”. Keegan knew what people say in these situations; the enemy of my enemy is my friend. For what he had in mind, there’s no better friend than Dar’Jzo and Sadri.

Excusing himself quietly from the pews, Keegan walked through the nave to where Sadri and Dar’Jzo sat.

“Let’s talk outside for a minute,” Keegan whispered to them, “about our new commander.”

Dar’Jzo’s needle-like eyes fell on the altmer at the sound of his whisper. The old khajiit studied him for a moment, like it was a tense look of suspicion, but then he nodded and agreed, “Yes. Let’s…”

It would be fair to say that Dar’Jzo’s mind has not left the matter ever since he heard the news of Dumhuvud’s new promotion. When sight of Jehanna first came to view, all he could think about what his grandson -- this was it, this was the place where he was at. Where the Winterhold mages and students had fled to after the near destruction of the College. His long and arduous journey had at last come to an end, but when he heard the title of commander being attached before the Cat-Kicker’s name, he was all that mattered. With that awful Nord’s reputation, there was no imagining what he’d do now that he wielded more power. If he was allowed free reign throughout Jehanna, there was no imagining what would happen if he crossed paths with Saddi. Truth be told, Dar’Jzo’s imaginations have already been long at work about what to do with Dumhuvud before Keegan spoke to him. He nearly forgot on multiple occasions that he was attending a funeral.

As for Sadri, he’d put two and two together way before the funeral. He wasn’t sure as to why he’d picked the spot next to the new Khajiit – was he too afraid to look his comrades in the face, or was he latently yearning for more sugar? Better not be the case, he thought, after all that had transpired back in Solitude and aboard the Tear. He occasionally felt besieged by random things; tinnitus, the blood pumping in his veins, the temperature, but he knew he had to endure. Just as he had to endure all the loss around him. He felt guilty, too, about Solveig, about Roze, the ones whose absences he believed was his own doing. And now he had to endure other things. He had to endure his new commander, which seemed to be somewhat of a problem, given how Dumhuvud was not as willing to compromise as he was. But Sadri always prided himself on being somewhat of a problem solver, and it seemed to him that he wasn’t alone in wanting to fix this new problem.

When they walked out, Sadri shot a cursory glance at Dar’Jzo, and then looked back at Keegan for a sign of confirmation on whether the Khajiit was to be trusted or not. “I assume it is our mutual loss that has brought us here together,” he said, looking at neither of them in particular, his tone a mockery of a priest’s or a speaker’s. “Am I correct?” He asked, his suspicious glare peering straight into Dar’Jzo’s eyes. The Khajiit peered back.

“Dar’Jzo regrets not knowing the dead well enough to feel their loss.” He replied with his accented, gravelly voice. “They deserve more than this one’s apathy, yes? More than some of us.”

Sadri nodded upon hearing the Khajiit’s statement, taking it as a sign of being accomplices. His glare softened into a simple gaze of caution. “Yes, yes, I’m glad we are in agreement,” he replied, his tone still carrying on with the charade. “Those we mourn today were certainly better people than most of us. Ah, well, death is unjust, they say. Always picks the wrong people. Let’s hope the living don’t make that mistake,” he added, his gaze moving back onto Keegan.

“Very unfortunate losses indeed. I believe the martyrs would like the best of us to live a long life, and for the worst us, a swift justice.” Keegan crossed his arms, not giving the others a visible expression on his face. “Death is not solely in the hands of Arkay; we do have a say, no matter how quiet it is.”

Uncrossing his arms and glancing around, Keegan was certain that no one else was around to hear to them in this corner outside of the temple. Dumhuvud certainly wouldn’t; he didn’t even have the heart to attend the funeral.

“I find it so inauspicious that many had died to accidents. Our esteemed commander, Ashav, fell from a lighthouse.” Keegan tried to sound somber, but he was far more angry and impatient. He involuntarily fidgeted with his hands; Keegan shook his head. “What would happen if the same misfortune befalls upon the Cat-Kicker? I, for one, would not spend much time grieving.”

“With so many departing our company recently, would another death be suspicious? Or just routine?” Keegan shrugged. He felt uncomfortable about what to say next, so Keegan looked around. The area is still unoccupied beside them. Keegan swallowed a lump in throat.

“If the next death is any one of us, it would probably be because of Dumhuvud, and there’s nothing any one of us can do about.” Keegan sighed.

“But if Dumhuvud is the next to die, no one would be certain who the killer is.” Keegan cut straight to the chase. “We owe our fallen comrades a better leader, and we owe ourselves an end to abuse. All we need is to give the Cat-Kicker a little push; don’t you agree?”

“This one has already given it much thought.” Dar'Jzo admitted grimly with a slight bow of his head. “But not without help. Hmph, Dar'Jzo thinks he can adapt his strategy. It would take time, but that depends…”

“Well, Keegan said it first, not me, but I can’t help but agree with you two fellows on the matter,” Sadri chimed in after Dar’Jzo, his lower lip pouted. “We owe our living comrades a good leader as much as we owe our fallen, and as… stubborn as our beloved Dummy is, I’m not sure if he can hold up to late Ashav’s standards, Arkay bless his soul.”

He paused for a moment.

“…And considering that even his standards weren’t enough to keep him from losing his life in a tragedy, I’m not sure if our new leader has a chance. Plus, I don’t think he’s garnered enough love from anybody around him for them to search for him if he were to disappear.”

Sadri wouldn’t admit it, but it wouldn’t be the first time when he’d had a colleague of his disappear, either.

“Disappear?” Dar’Jzo repeated. The old khajiit leaned in. “Then the elves are not just interested in simple butchery? If they seek to prowl Sangiin’s hollow, Dar’Jzo can show the way… but know they must leave something valuable behind.”

Sadri’s face soured for a moment. “...Couldn’t we find a way without leaving valuables?” He asked, after a few seconds of silence. “Could just go for a quick dump in the sewers.”

The khajiit looked at him with a curious tilt of his head, but then gestured toward the lighthouse. “Think like the lighthouse. Embarking on a dark voyage, you must find your way back or become lost. We stay focused -- forget your emotions. What is your lighthouse?” A glimpse of Saddi flashed behind Dar’Jzo’s eyes. “Know why you kill before you do, and be sure it is of strong foundation. Poor ones become mudslides and are slippery.”

“Very well, gentlemen.” Keegan nodded in appreciation of the dark planning going on. “I believe the lighthouse is the most accident-prone location in this city, certainly where our new leader may repeat his predecessor’s mistake.”

“While people can disappear, we are in a foreign place where they can resurface without us knowing.” Keegan suggested. “It is better for us to act quickly, instead of worrying about the details and losing the opportunity in the end.”

“You can make poisons,” Keegan pointed towards the nodding Dar’Jzo, “and I can lure him to the lighthouse.” Then Keegan motioned to Sadri with his thumb. “You have an eye for accidents, correct?”

“...I don’t see why we don’t just gut him in an alleyway, honestly,” Sadri replied. “But I suppose I have an eye for accidents. I guess.”

Dar’Jzo added, “two deaths shortly after The Tear makes port ill for its repute. Should the sin of three make murderers of a whole crew? They should hide or mislead. Fewer guards on this one’s tail, the better, as Dar’Jzo sees it.”

“The more advantage we have, the less chance for him to struggle.” Keegan reminded Sadri. “We have to make this quick for the Cat-Kicker, because we can’t stoop to his level and make him suffer needlessly. And, you know, loud dying screams tend to attract unwanted attention.”

“Let’s not waste any time, gentlemen.” Keegan concluded. “I shall find a ‘private’ way to bring our friend to the party. While you, Sadri, clear the premise. And you, Dar’Jzo, prepare his ‘refreshments’.”

---

The warehouse was clear; no one’s there except for Keegan and Dumhuvud, and Dumhuvud didn’t know Keegan’s there. There was a desk in the office allotted to him by Gustav, and on the desk, a letter looking strangely out of place. Had it been Ashav instead, the letter would have been examined under further scrutiny. But this was the Cat-Kicker, and he hadn't the slightest patience.

You're weak. We took your puny ass shield. Come bow down to your Khajiit overlords at the lighthouse.

Dumhuvud screamed out in anger. He was about to tear up the paper when another line came into focus. How did he miss it? It couldn't have popped onto the paper.

Scared? Gonna tell mom and dad? You’re no man; you're an overgrown baby!

“I slaughtered an entire Stormcloak detachment to avenge my family!” Dumhuvud bellowed. His fist squeezed the paper tight until he was going to destroy it. Then he noticed words growing out of the backside. Dumhuvud was so mad that he didn't even notice it was not how ink worked.

Hiding behind everyone else again?

1v1 me.

Dumhuvud took his axe and slammed it straight into the desk, nearly splitting it in half and smirking when he heard the desk gasp. Then he stormed out of the warehouse, so full of anger that he didn't notice the doors opening themselves again after he had slammed them shut.

---

Ten minutes later...

Keegan never thought it could work in his wildest dreams. He almost chickened out before going through with his plan in the first place, and when he saw Dumhuvud all worked up, it took all he had to not run off in fear, and keep his excretions within his body. But it worked out splendidly. Someone believed that piece of paper he enchanted in five minutes, and the obstruction spell that hid Dumhuvud's shield shouldn't have been convincing with the way it flickered so often. Then again, the Cat-Kicker was too stupid to notice that the words weren't real; they're planted into his vision through enchantments and altered with Keegan's illusions. Finally, Dumhuvud missed Keegan hiding under the very desk (crouched tight, shaking and holding up an invisibility spell) he nearly chopped apart. It was pretty intense when the axe almost got Keegan's head. Thankfully, Gustav had a good desk, or it would have been awkward popping into plain view with a two-part skull.

As Dumhuvud stomped towards the lighthouse, Keegan tailed behind him, still invisible. Keegan made illusory crowds in Dumhuvud's vision so that he took paths not noticed by most people. Soon enough, they were in front of the lighthouse.

It was an unoccupied clearing. Keegan heard earlier that the lighthouse keeper had been arrested and fired for neglect; he had been absent for more than just last night. Someone from the city guards would be tending to the light after nightfall. But now, in bright daylight, they simply locked the lighthouse up and left it be.

“Come out and die!” Dumhuvud yelled, axe in hand and ready to chop.

Only silence replied. It would appear Keegan's co-conspirators had the wisdom to not engage this mad lad in open combat. Now, Keegan summoned a faint flicker on top of the lighthouse, and Dumhuvud turned his head upwards, sneered and approached the entrance. He saw the door was unlocked for some reason, as the lock was so flimsy that any lockpick, opening spell or a strong shove could've opened it. Thoughts of suspicion creeped into Dumhuvud, but he never expected to be climbing to his doom.

Outside, Keegan sat down on a log. The continous manipulation through illusion spells had exhausted him. He was in no shape to help Dar'Jzo and Sadri up there. Keegan only hoped they would be the ones walking back down, or it would be real awkward to explain everything to Dumhuvud.

---

From atop the lighthouse…

“The Cat-Kicker comes.” Dar’Jzo said to Sadri at this side. He grabbed the mason jar at his side and held his breath, reaching it to grab a soaking-wet rag and wringing out the excess. It was a poison that he made sure was as inconspicuous as possible if the guards had enough presence of mind to check with the local alchemists and read into their sales history. It was made mostly from your typical household ingredients -- chicken eggs, honeycomb, salt, wheat, bone meal, and small antlers, including some other things he could harvest on his own like spider eggs and skeever tails. Floating around inside the liquified and distilled mixture was a giant’s toe for good measure. He cautiously held the rag and the jar away from his face as well as Sadri’s. He had informed the Dunmer that the poison he had made was essentially a horse tranquilizer that would ensure Dumhuvud was knocked out and wouldn’t have the stamina to move even long after he wakes up. Nothing but the worst for everyone’s most hated troll.

“This one suggests leaving no evidence.” Dar’Jzo reminded. “It may only piss it off.”

"Hurm," Sadri replied nonchalantly to Dar'Jzo's warning. "I really wanted to gut the fuck, but, oh well. I think I've got an idea... You want to get the drop on him, or should I?" He asked the Khajiit, rubbing the tip of his chin. A part of him was annoyed that they wouldn’t get to torment Dumhuvud relentlessly before they sent him off to his final voyage, but a clean getaway was more important to murder than how enjoyable it was. “One of us will have to be the bait, and I’m pretty sure he hates both of us equally.”

Dar’Jzo was in the middle of carefully folding the rag into a square to be placed in the center of his hand, which was slowly beginning to feel numb, when he looked back up at Sadri with his eyes narrowed. In most people it was a sign of distrust, and though Dar’Jzo had plenty of distrust to spare, it was mostly a sign of curiosity on his part as his mind fell back to the chaos of the Sload’s attack on the Tear. “Dar’Jzo has seen the Dunmer raving mad but a few moons ago,” he said, “and he knows even the subtlest signs better than anyone. Can he trust you to not smell the drug he has made? This one is uncertain.”

Sadri raised an eyebrow, his good eye gauging the Khajiit with contempt, not for the remark about his sugar tooth, but for just how dumb he must be expecting him to be. "If I were that eager to get myself killed I'd jump off the premises right now, friend. Now's not time to tarry. Just hand that damn thing over to me or take position, I don't think he'll wait," Sadri said, pointing down the stairs with his metal thumb.

In response, the Khajiit nodded in respect of Sadri’s candor, and for a moment he almost found himself reaching to hand him the drug until he realized that he was probably the one who was better suited to hiding. Dar’Jzo knew better than most how to be subtle and minimize his presence and, despite the appearance of frailty his partner in crime gave, observations during the battle showed Sadri to be more than physically capable of holding his own in fight; perhaps even better than himself. Well, at least on a bad day.

Dar’Jzo moved to reposition himself, his leg like springs as he went from crouching on one side of the lantern room to lurking in the shadows behind the mouth of the stairwell with silent, measured paces. Though his face was as still as a statue, the fur on his back and neck began to bristle.

It didn't take long for the Cat-Kicker to pick up the pace and finally make it to the top of the lighthouse. While Sadri'd thought of just kicking him down just as he reached the end of the staircase, it would've been harder to dispose of his corpse at the bottom of the lighthouse rather than the top, where it wasn't exactly hard for someone to just disappear into the rocky waves below. That, and he wasn't sure if the Khajiit would appreciate it as much as he did. So, he just flexed his muscles as the Nord bashed the door open. Sadri didn't expect that he'd be this afraid; perhaps it was because he hadn't drawn his sword. So he did the next best thing and opened his arms wide, as if expecting a hug.

"Ah, Dummy Wood! I've longed to see-"

He was quickly interrupted by a roar celebrating a weighty swing from Dumhuvud's axe. Sadri hopped back on his feet to dodge the blade’s edge, and found himself on the edge of the platform. He'd suddenly begun taking this much more seriously.

"Cat behind you! Cat behind you!"

Dumhuvud replied by raising his axe.

Dar’Jzo suddenly appeared behind Dumhuvud, grabbing the shaft just below the axe blade as the Nord reared back, pulling his arm behind his back and causing him to spin around to face Dar’Jzo, who was already ready to shove his stanky rag into his face. Amidst Dumhuvud’s muffled roars of surprise, Dar’Jzo, between grunts from trying to keep him under control, said gravelly, “It’s nothing personal, kit.”

The Cat-Kicker's muscles were not yet ready to go to sleep, it seemed, for he managed to grasp Dar'Jzo's neck with his free hand and begin choking the old Khajiit despite the paralytic rag pressed against his face. Nonetheless, Dar'Jzo could feel the iron grip falter and weaken moment by moment. As the Dunmer watched intently, hesitating to watch, the Cat-Kicker eventually collapsed beside Dar'Jzo, one hand releasing his axe and the other releasing the Khajiit's neck.

"That's it?" Sadri asked, now finding it safe to speak or move, with the hardest part of the deed over with. "You okay?"

Dar’Jzo was still buckled over, wheezing and gasping for air, knowing full well that he’d feel the bruising by tomorrow. When he finally had enough air in his lungs for him to talk, he looked back up at Sadri with his needle-like eyes and simply nodded. He looked down spitefully at the Cat-Kicker, remembering the treatment he received from him in Solitude and realizing that things would’ve ended very differently if any of the three of them missed their beats. This was it. There was only one thing left to do, and after that, it would be safe for him to look for Saddi.

“This one does not let his personal feelings interfere with what must be done.” Dar’Jzo said. “Some deeds must simply be done. But you? Dar’Jzo understands Sadri has no lost love for the Cat-Kicker. Would he like the honors?”

"Think it'd be more appropriate for a cat to kick the Cat-Kicker to his death, but I wouldn't mind giving an encouraging nudge myself," Sadri replied, dragging the unconscious Nord to the edge facing the sea below, and not the pavement the other way around. Before he let go of his haul, Sadri couldn't help but pat the Nord on the cheek lightly as a final insult. "Off you go, sweetheart," he muttered, standing up and pushing the Nord’s legs further towards the edge with the toe of his foot, as to keep them from interrupting with a freefall.

"Shall we?" He asked the Khajiit, extending an arm forward with his palm open as a welcoming gesture.

Dar’Jzo nodded and calmly approached the unconscious body of Dumhuvud. It was an odd sight to see Dumhuvud so peaceful in his final moments as he slept after he nearly tried to kill the two of them, but in his defense, they had premeditated his demise. He shared a few words, “May S’rendarr grant you mercy from Merrunz’s claws and teeth… but this one doubts a single divine breath will be wasted.”

With that, a sudden kick pushed Dumhuvud from the top of the lighthouse and sent him plummeting to the jagged ocean rocks far, far below.

---

Dumhuvud's fall from grace was so much less than Keegan had pictured. He couldn't see what happened on top, and a wind picked up so that he didn't hear the confrontation either. All he saw was a still figure descending to the sea, and a blink later, it was gone. The tides were growing, and before the end of day, it would wash away all that was Dumhuvud.

The winds died down when Dar'Jzo and Sadri walked out of the lighthouse. Everything was silent, saved from the distant lapping of waves and the occasional bird chirp, as if there was a silent vigil for Dumhuvud like that at the Conclave this morning.

“So it is done; the Cat-Kicker is no more.” Keegan approached his co-conspirators stiffly. He should be breathing a sigh of relief, but Keegan felt no relief at all. “We've rid the company of hatred, and I think we're all better for it. Aren't we?”

"Well, I know I'm not having any regrets," Sadri replied. "I'd buy the whole lot of you a drink for this, but I'd argue it's better if the three of us aren't seen together for a while. Think I'll go get a shave. I look like a damn mountain man," he added, scratching his scraggly mustache. "So yeah. See you folks around."

With that, the Dunmer walked away from the two. The two walked away from each other shortly after, and then, it was over.

The deed was done and as far as Dar’Jzo was concerned, that was that. It was foul business, but there was nothing else to ruminate on.

In truth, it wasn’t the individual jobs that marked him, it was the lifestyle in and of itself – the jobs were simply one part of the larger framework. What disturbed Dar’Jzo where his memories of the life of crime he led in his youth. He remembered the anguished faces of skooma-addled sugar-paws in Senchal, knowing full well that the poison he concocted were stealing their lives and happiness away and slowly killing them. He remembered the gang violence that he took part in, conducting hits on rivaling dealers in anticipation of the very same being done to him. In his quest for the survival and nourishment of his family, he lived an immoral life kept secret from his family. Some might even say evil, and Dar’Jzo would not argue with them, for he could sleep well at night fully aware of the consequences of his actions as long as he could rationalize it as being for the good of his family, and what it took for him to finally end the lifestyle was for the consequences to turn and take his lover away from him.

It took him a long time after that to come to terms with those consequences. Perhaps he never did, at least not entirely. It was unfair for his old life to take Lalana on an early path the Sands Behind the Stars instead of him, who deserved life far less than she did. That said, it was an earth-shaking wake-up call that gave him a chance to see the error of his ways and an opportunity to change and redeem himself in the eyes of his gods, and to be there for his grandson in the capacity that he was incapable of fulfilling for his daughter. He spent several years, slowly finding peace with himself, until it was time to sacrifice that peace for the sake of his grandson. The Mane and his spymaster, Ra’gajal, took his happily ever after from him and forced him into a life of subterfuge and murder; to tread through Sangiin’s hollow. So the individual jobs couldn’t faze him, he already knew how to disassociate himself from his actions and how to rationalize them. What disturbed him was his return to the immoral lifestyle and that retirement seemed to be a far, distant dream.

That’s why, Dar’Jzo thought, it was so important to find Saddi. Once he could ensure the safety of his grandson, all deals were off. As far as he was aware, he was Ra’gajal’s only eyes in this region. If he were to disappear, no one would know the truth, and Saddi would be safe under his careful watch. Now that Dumhuvud was no longer a danger, he could search for Saddi with ease. He was supposed to have met with Edith today to inherit one of the dead’s old bow to replace the one he had, which was destroyed in the battle, but that would have to wait for now.

Sadri, on the other hand, was supposed to have been traveling here by wagon along with other College refugees. Perish the thought that he could be wounded, but that was the thought that first entered his mind as a worried grandfather. He first checked where the injured were being held, but was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to find no Saddi – not even a khajiit. No one who wore robes looked like students or academics of any sort. It raised even more questions about where Saddi could possibly be. He took very well to the Baandari culture and was a shrewd salesperson; a snakeoil salesperson, but a salesperson nonetheless. He had a knack for illusions and sleight of hand, and the last he recalled, he was learning how to be an enchanter. He may have been at a local mystic’s shop. Perhaps he was perusing magical wares since he seemed to be so interested in smoke and mirrors – kids.

But he wasn’t there either. Dar’Jzo entered the store being ran by an older Breton woman, probably around his own age, who was keeping an eye on a younger shopper perusing through her merchandise. Her eyes trailed over to meet Dar’Jzo’s cold eyes, but it did little to diffuse her own warmth. She said, “Good evening! How can I help ya, sweetheart?”

“Have you seen a young khajiit?” Dar’Jzo responded candidly. “Gray Suthay-raht with black stripes and white splotches.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied remorsefully, “no one like that has come in lately.”

“What’s their name?” Suddenly asked the man looking around the store. He was a young Imperial fellow of Nibenese descent who seemed to be eyeballing Dar’Jzo carefully, who, in turn, set his cold gaze on him. He knew something.

“Saddi. Of clan Baandari.”

“And you…?”

“He is Dar’Jzo’s…” Dar’Jzo stopped for a second and hesitated, realizing that Dar’Jzo was not the same person. “He is Dro’kil’s grandson.”

The Imperial boy’s eyes lit up with what seemed like a look of recognition, as if he was meeting a famous person for the first time, and suddenly Dar’Jzo was wondering what Saddi has been saying about him. The boy stammered, “For real? U-uh, yeah, okay. Okay. Um, yeah, Saddi’s in town. I’m Lulius. Or, uh, Lu if you’d rather.”

“Where is he?” Dar’Jzo continued, cutting through the bullshit.

“Right, uh… Saddi’s been… well, you know what happened to the College of Winterhold, right? Utterly destroyed. A lot of our friends died. Saddi is normally larger than life, but he didn’t take it very well. He’s been trying to talk to the Legion Reserves camp a lot lately. I don’t know what his plans are, but I’m worrid about him.”

Dar’Jzo didn’t stick around long enough to ask any further questions, walking out as soon as he had a location, leaving a stunned and nervous Imperial named Lu to his own devices as he went searching for the Imperial Reserves encampmet. What was Saddi thinking? That boy might not have known the true extent of the sacrifices Dar’Jzo made for him, but surely he did know – or at least figured – that he had to pull a lot of strings to get him off the hook for the draft. Now here he was, itching for a fight. What was he gonna do with that cub?

The encampment wasn’t hard to find. Keeping on the made road in town brought him to the front gates of the city, and situated outside were a series of tents and cabins.The colors of a slender Imperial flag rippled high in the air, and many soldiers seemed hard at work to keep logistics on the up and up and their skills sharp. As he stepped deeper into the encampment, he saw a few men and women who were circled around a campfire, and among them, a gray khajiit with black stripes and white splotches, wearing a blue short-sleeved robe over a burgundy shirt and a gray sash across his waist. Sitched into the fabric looked like handmade patterns which reflected Khajiiti culture, and they were tending the cooking pot that sat on what looked like an old, grated metal footstool above it – Saddi. Saddi was always crafty and loved to cook for others. The nature of Lu’s description contrasted with the sight Dar’Jzo saw before him. As he tended the cooking pot, he seemed to be entertaining the Legionaires, probably feeding them some kind of bullshit story or another in addition to the stew he was making. Dar’Jzo could smell it from here; it was one of Saddi’s favorite and iconic recipies, and he called it Saddi’s Senchal Stew, apparently shirking creativity in favor of alliteration and having his name attached to something. He always did have a penchant for desiring some kind of fame.

His staring caught the attention of some of the soldiers sitting around the campsite, who in turn stared back and muttered to one another suspiciously. One of them nudged looked at Saddi and nudged their head towards Dar’Jzo’s direction, and when Saddi turned his head in his direction, time seemed to stand still. Blessed be Alkosh, who granted Dar’Jzo what felt like an eternity to stare upon his grandson’s face within the breadth of a moment. Their eyes were locked upon each other, as if neither of them could believe that the other was standing before them. Dar’Jzo took a small step forward, and suddenly Saddi came sprinting from across the camp. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, his grandson crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around him. Dar’Jzo felt his heart swell and returned the gesture, squeezing him tight and not wanting to let go. It was as if he feared that if he did, then he would slip from his grasp and he’d never see him again. He was holding him, he was real, and he silently prayed to the Gods to finally let him have this one moment.

“Grandfather…” Saddi breathed into his his shoulder. His accent of his voice was not as heavily accented as Dar’Jzo’s, the result of growing up in a far more cosmopolitan Senchal than his grandfather did. “How?”

“This one heard of the news… so he charted a few boats to find you.” Dar’Jzo softly whispered back. This prompted a minor laugh of disbelief from Saddi.

“But you loathe water.”

“Yes,” Dar’Jzo admitted, “but he is loath to lose you even more.”

This time, the laughter from Saddi seemed more genuine. He said, “That was a pun. Really? A joke from you? Gods, the world really is ending, isn’t it?”

As if hearing his voice pulled Dar’Jzo back into reality, his frustration began to catch up with his joy and relief. The hand he kept rest on one of Saddi’s shoulder slid across his back and held the back of his head… before suddenly tightening his grip on his grandson’s scruff and pulled back on it.

“Gah!” Saddi suddenly yelped, putting himself at Dar’Jzo’s mercy as his body and limbs locked up and he stood on his toes, keeping himself still in Dar’Jzo’s grip as if the latter had complete and total control over him with one little movement. Though still, his eyes darted down toward him and he managed a sheepish grin. Dar’Jzo met it with a cold, stern glare.

“What are you thinking?” He asked. “This one goes through the effort of pulling many strings so that his ma’jor can live his best life. Then, when he crosses the oceans of Tamriel to find out if Saddi survived the Akavir, he finds him licking soldiers’ boots?”

“Pops, listen…”

“Pops? What is this pops?”

“Dro’ahnurr – listen… it’s more complicated than that.”

“Hm?” Dar’Jzo urged inquisitively, pulling him closer by the scruff, though the inflection in his grunting sounded more unconvinced than curious. As he did, though, he looked at Saddi in his eyes as a wave of remorse and grief washed over him. When this dawned on him, Dar’Jzo slowly released his grip from the back of Saddi’s neck, who was now beginning to relax. His shoulders were now slumped.

“What you heard was right. The Akavir attacked the College. Dro’ahnur, I… I lost so many friends there. I lost my future.” Saddi said as his voice slowly beginning to enter a growl. His hands were tightening into fists. “I can’t leave everyone behind me after something like that.”

“Yes you can.” Dar’Jzo said flatly as he began to turn back. “Come now, we’re going home.”

Saddi looked at Dar’Jzo indignantly, his mouth agape, and a fire beginning to stir in his eyes. “W-what? No! I can’t just go back!”

“Yes,” Dar’Jzo repeated, “you can.”

“We’re past this now.” Saddi asserted with anger rising in his voice. “I’m no cub anymore. You can’t make me leave. Look – I – you – how did you even find me? How’d you know where to even look?”

“This one found passage with the company of mercenaries. They do not matter now. We should leave before they understand that Dar’Jzo is not one of them.”

“Dar’Jzo?” Saddi repeated in bewilderment. “Who is that? And are you talking about Gustav’s company?”

Dar’Jzo paused for a moment and looked at Saddi carefully. He asked, “What do you know about Gustav?”

“He came by last night to talk to speak with the General, I think. Word had already traveled around about the ship carrying a mercenary crew that did battle with the Akavir, so we figured it had something to do with that. Are you saying those are the mercenaries you’ve been travelling with?”

Dar’Jzo said nothing in response, fearing that anything he said would only fuel his whims.

“Is it true?” Saddi pressed.

Dar’Jzo reluctantly replied, “…This one has not seen or fought with any Akavir.”

“No, that was the Golden Sload, wasn’t it?” Saddi said. “I heard the stories. You would’ve been there, wouldn’t you? Dro’ahnurr, why have I never known you could fight?”

“There is a lot you do not know about your dro’ahnurr, ma’jor. Perhaps it is for the best.” Dar’Jzo said cryptically. “But this is no place or time to discuss such things. There is no honor in being a mercenary. We must leave.”

Saddi shook his head, steeling his resolve. “I’m not going.” He said frankly. “Introduce me to the company. I’m going to join them.”

“You will certainly not.”

“And why not?”

“Why should you?”

“So I can be at peace!” Saddi raised his voice. “So that when the Akavir get what’s coming to them, I can rest easy knowing that I played my part!”

“Revenge?” Dar’Jzo hissed, leaning forward into Saddi’s face, his voice getting deeper and deeper until it became a snarl. “Does Saddi think he can stomach that sort of burden? Does he think that a few dead monsters can fill that cold little hole his friends left him with, or that he can carry that hot piece of ember without getting burned?”

Then his snarling turned to roars, “Because Dro’kil thought the same! Dro’kil thought the same when Saddi’s dra’fado, Lalana, lay dead in his arms! That pain will NEVER go away! You will not honor your friends by throwing your life away!”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them – too silent. Dar’Jzo looked around and realized that he was still in the encampment, and all of the Legion soldiers were staring the tumultuous reunion between a grandfather and his grandson. He found himself taking heavy breaths after his outburst, and his eyes darted back down at Saddi, who just looked somberly back at him with his ears flattened. Dar’Jzo made a deep and heavy sigh of defeat.

“Dro’kil was not there for Dra’datta when it mattered the most.” He resigned, as if he was admitting defeat. “He would not deserve to find warm sands if he was also not there for you.”

Dro’ahnurr…” Saddi rasped pitifully. “They destroyed my second home. They killed my friends…”

Dar’Jzo dipped his head in understanding and said, “Then truthfully? There is no way this one can convince you to walk away?”

Saddi shook his head no. Dar’Jzo sighed as he began to feel the weight being placed on his chest and shoulders once more. He looked around at the Legion soldiers around them and shook his head, before placing his hand on top of Saddi’s and said, “If Baandari is good at something, then they never do it for free. Speak to Edith. The company recently lost its leadership, so chain of command captains the quartermaster. The company will need someone to pick up her former duties. They need a new quartermaster.”

Saddi suddenly wrapped his arms around Dar’Jzo and rested his head on his grandfather’s shoulder and muttered a thanks under his breath.

“I love you.” He also said.

Dar’Jzo held him too, once again finding gratitude and relief that Saddi was safe. Still, there was an inkling of doubt in the back of his head. An air of uncertainty. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing here or not.

“Dro’kil loves you, too.” He uttered back gently, but in his mind, he was saying something very different.

‘Mother Cat, what have I done?’

Gustav bought a failing tool store.

Unfortunately, it's not the worst business decision he'd made. Looking back, Gustav found his career had been full of bad decisions, and buying up failing businesses seemed to be his favorite. There was that time when he bought a mine full of frostbite spiders, and devoid of minerals. There was that time when he sponsored a fledgling smithy, only for the smith to disappear with all of the funds the next day. Truth be told, Gustav was a mediocre businessman at best, before corresponding with his mysterious prophet. So was it really a noble and cunning financier the prophet saw in him? Or was it a gullible fool willing to throw away his hard earned money on lofty promises?

Right now, Gustav was leaning towards the latter.

He had spent way too much money souping these mercs up, and how did one of them repay him? Desertion. Fickle Do'Karth, that son of a cat who couldn't even read, just up and left. Well, at least he left before he got paid. Though he also left Sevine brokenhearted, or that's what it looked like. Sevine's not having a good time, so Gustav put her on light duties until she recovered, or pissed him off enough to fire her. Gustav was told that he used to do that in the relationships of his youth. He's not doing relationships any time soon, because he's married to money, and money didn't do divorce.

There were good news too. The trip between Jehanna and Evermore was uneventful, and could even be called pleasant. Good road, clear, warm weather and none of the dreaded Wrothgarian Reachmen; must be Jehanna putting the trade tax Gustav paid to good use. These calm days allowed injured mercenaries to heal.

The company got a new quartermaster. Gustav had concerns about logistics after promoting Edith. He could handle it by himself in the short term, but having Saddi around made things a lot easier and solved the problem in the long run. In addition, Saddi was a business-minded man like Gustav. He's related to Dar'Jzo, and through his post as quartermaster, Saddi is technically Dar'Jzo's superior as well. Their relationship would complicate things, but for now, Gustav couldn't say no to new talent.

Anyway, the reason he bought Used Sundries was how little attention it drew. Before it was a useless tool store, the place sold equally useless trinkets. Few people bothered stopping by, even though it was located just outside of the royal district. It had a dilapidated single storey main building, topped with a dusty attic, backed with an overgrown yard that contained an old tool shed, and had a large empty basement. It had been on sale for months now; the former owner disappeared last month and the real estate broker was more than eager to get it off their hands.

In short, it was the perfect place to get ready for the banquet.

Gustav didn't have his own office in Evermore like Solitude or Jehanna. He traded here before, and even visited in-person. There were no familiar faces, and fortunately, it means he's not a familiar face around here either. Not too many people looked to Used Sundries as mercenaries set up cots in the basement, stored weapons in the attic and began hanging out in the yard.

The attires bought for the mercenaries exceeded that of the tool store. At first, Gustav gave everyone an allowance to procure their own attire. But it was apparent that the demand for banquet clothing drove up the prices beyond normal in Evermore. Also, some mercenaries spent their allowances on alcohol instead of kit.

So, Gustav almost bought out a tailor too, just to outfit his company. The money got from trading in Tmeip'r's gold was gone and the down payment for this job was running low as well.

Rounding out the long list of purchases were the means of access. Castle maps, fake identifications and even a case of lockpicks. Thankfully, Used Sundries had a few crowbars laying around. They were old, but sturdy and from the well-reputed Friedmann brand (Sagax would love these). The mercenaries would be examining every hidden face, check every locked room and search every tucked corner for suspicious activities, and they would need every advantage they have.

Under the pretense of renovation, the main floor of Used Sundries had been converted to a dressing room. Members of the company were gearing up for the roles; some adorned the elaborate suits and gowns of Breton high society, some prepared themselves to work as castle servants for the night, and some had to make sure they (and their equipment) fit inside cargo containers.

Off in a side room, where the former record room was converted to a temporary planning room, Gustav and his officers checked over their plans for the last time. He had received a message from Jehanna this morning; they found Dumhuvud's smashed up body washed up on the beach. How come these messengers were so timely delivering the news of death? Whatever the case, Gustav shared the news with his officers, and it propagated down the ranks; the entire company seemed relieved.

Well, the entire company except for Sevine. Not only did she have to deal with Do'Karth leaving, she also had to deal with Leif not being here. Due to his immense help steering Kyne's Tear out of Smuggler's Cove, Leif was offered a permenant position on-board, replacing the late Hargjorn, and he accepted. So Gustav assigned Sevine the easiest position: staying behind in Used Sundries and making sure it's available as a fallback location, in case the banquet goes south.

"Alright, everyone, show time!" Gustav clapped his hands as he walked back into the dressing room, officers in tow. He spoke with enthusiasm, because some cheerfulness was what this company needed to get back on their feet (and start making money again).

"You all know where to go and what to do." Gustav pointed to the roster sheet pinned to Used Sundries' notice board. He passed around a stack of paper (several of them enchanted) he spent much of the caravan ride making copies of. Then Ariane brought a box six lockets; they were made from a strange mix of Tmeip'r's coral and Jehannan mammoth bones, and smelled like garlic. She made those based on the communication crystals used on Bleakrock Isle. With Maj's help in Jehanna, Ariane vastly improved the device's usability.

This would be the first mission he personally led, and Gustav meticulously prepared it the only way he knew how, like that of a meeting. "This sheet has the guest list in the front, and a sketch of the castle map in the back. Edith, Ariane, Cilo and three of you will each have a locket. Press it against the back of the map will show where the other five are. When you're in danger or need assistance, break the locket; it will alert the others. Finally, retreat back here if you're injured."

"Those of you disguised as servants will go report to the staff quarter with Edith within the hour." Gustav motioned to Edith, whom was dressed as a butler. "You have two hours before guests start arriving, so check behind the scenes and make a record of the inaccessible areas before it gets busy. Try not to start any confrontation before the banquet start, so you don't give yourself away. But if you need to defend yourselves, look for meat cleavers, shovels and heavy frying pans."

"Those bringing in our equipment will be smuggled in by Cilo in East Empire Company containers. These containers are marked as personal gifts from the EEC in Skyrim; only their recipients are authorized to open them." Gustav looked to the backyard, where Cilo was in EEC emissary robes and painting company markings on empty crates. "Be sure you stay hidden, because the rest of us will only have what we carry on-person until you bring our weapons and tools in.

"Of course, the rest of you will attend the banquet three hours from now." Gustav nodded to Ariane, almost unrecognizable in a diamond-studded quilted suit and thick layers of makeup. "Memorize your identity, and don't clutter around each other too much. Security's tight, so you can't get past with anything other than the most concealable weapons. But once you get in, you should find Cilo with your gear in the eastern wine cellar."

"That's it, ladies and gentlemen; let's go catch vampires!"

---

It was the early hours of the afternoon when a sophisticated looking woman stepped out into the streets of Evermore with a calm determination about her. This cool aura was of course just a mask for something far more sinister brewing inside. A lustful greed for one thing and one thing only. Something to hold and caress. Something to be a prize for her steel blue eyes. She bit down on her lower lip at the thought, steadying her trembling chin. She felt her heart race at the thought of it.

A golden tiara beset with 12 flawless diamonds of varying shapes and cuts. The Lover’s Knot.

With purposeful strides she made her way through the city, paying little attention to anyone else in her way. Her gloved hands rubbed together, golden bangles jangling with the motion, and she took in a deep breath, taking the air right to the depths of her lungs and exhaled with a sigh. Soon.

She wore an outfit which immediately informed that she was a woman of high status, with large pockets to match. A pair of cream silken trousers that contoured to the shape of her legs, clipping off just above her ankle - a gold trim piped across the seams that traced the curved outline of her hips and thighs. Today, a simple crisp white shirt would suffice, cinched at her waist with a delicate brown leather waspie that had the same gold thread embroidered around it’s edges. Lastly, a velveteen cape hung over her shoulders and tapered into a point over her rear, a jacquard embellishment was patterned into it’s centre. The colour was a burnt umber and it finished off the cosmopolitan, haute couture look that she wore so effortlessly.

She carried herself like a woman of status too, turning her nose up at some peasantly children who ran past her. She had little time for such distractions, but where she was headed, the scruffy looking children were just the beginning. “Used Sundries,” she said aloud, reading the name of the small looking building as if it were a question - intonation rising, as did an eyebrow in curiosity. She walked in anyway. It wasn’t the first time she’d enter a shithole to hire the services of questionable mercenaries to get what she wanted, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last. This was, certainly not the worst shithole she’d been in recently. Although, the dust was a big problem.

She lifted her head to observe the whole of the room - ceiling and all. It was dark and smelt musty. She wanted to scowl at it, but it wasn't the time. There were some people sat around, and she didn't wish to appear so snobby so soon. Her heels clacked against the wooden floorboards, so many of them creaked under even her tiny weight. “Excuse me?” She called out in a soft and feminine voice, “mercenaries for hire, right?” As she waited in the doorway for a response, she half wondered if perhaps a shake of a bag of her coins would draw their attention from whatever activities they were occupied with.

Gustav was about to brief the company when he heard the telltale clickings of very delicate shoes and the voice of an even more delicate lady. This woman, looking like a misplaced doll, was not the only visitor here after he bought Used Sundries. There had been two this morning, and a couple more yesterday. Most of them were unhappy customers of the former owner, asking for refund on “unsatisfactory purchases”. Some of them had the idea that the new owners might be foolish enough to inherit old debts, while a few were busybodies checking out the latest business. Gustav told all of them to sod off; most did, and those that didn’t did when heavily armed “warehouse workers” showed up.

However, no one had openly pointed out Used Sundries as a mercenary hub. Sure, some were suspicious. But Gustav made sure members of the company kept their mouth shut. Even if someone, somehow, did know, it would take another brand of foolishness to openly walk in and announce their intention. Perhaps this woman was part of the city guard? No, she would have to be undercover to dress like that. The guards could just kick in the front door and bust the entire premise; Gustav had little clout here compared to Solitude or Jehanna.

So there Gustav was, not sure what to do with the visitor, as members of the company went about tasks that were definitely not fit for a tool store. Thankfully, he was dressed equally as slick as the woman, if not more so (and absolutely not wearing the appropriate outfit among cobwebs and dusty crates). Gustav was already trying on the formalwear for the banquet. He had on a green fine wool tunic, with a slant front opening and spice-colored swirls on the cuffs. It was fastened by a wide leather belt across his waist; the silvery buckle bare, for Gustav had no family sigil to imprint upon it. Finally, a pair of khaki pants, slightly flared at the thighs, tucked into leather boots that Dough-Boy spent hours polishing.

Still, the woman seemed to look down at him.

“Right, available for hi-” the answer slipped out of Gustav’s mouth without thinking. He quickly tensed up and shook his head. “No! I mean, we’re not mercen-”

“Ugh,” Gustav stopped himself and muttered under his breath, “stupid cat left the door unlocked again.”

“Alright, who are you?” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “And how did you even find us?”

Relyssa wasn’t one to mince around with her words, and yet when asked by the Nord in the store, she couldn’t resist but have a slight tug at his string. The woman held a pause as she looked him up and down from head to toe more than once, an eyebrow raising as her lips curled to an impressed smile. “Well, it seems rather odd for this old shop to be bought out so quickly like that - and all of a sudden there are men walking in and out - even past opening hours. A woman just puts two and two together…”

There was a playful twinkle in her steel blue eyes as they met Gustavs and she began to pace slowly around the room, dragging a finger across a dusty mantel as she walked, hips swaying. “All of the supposed hired help you have and yet nobody to clean… One would think a shop should be presentable?” The Breton once again turned her head to face the ‘Shopkeep’. “But of course, this is all just a presumption, and if you’re not… Available for hire, then I’ll be on my way...” She stood slightly slanted with one leg at an angle - the other straight, and she blew off the dust from her fingertip with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, and my name is Relyssa Deserine. How rude of me to not lead with that...” She brought a hand to her chest and moved towards Gustav once more, reaching out her other hand for him to shake. “I must say, you’re looking rather dashing in those clothes - if not out of place for an old shop like this. Going somewhere nice are you?”

“Very perceptive of you, Relyssa Deserine.” Gustav conceded. He shook Relyssa’s dainty hand, noticing the expensive looking silver ruby ring. This was no peasant, probably someone who had never done manual labor in her whole life. “And as someone so perceptive, you should know there’s a monumental event happening in town, a celebration, as many calls it.”

Holding Relyssa’s blue eyes in his own green eyes for a moment, Gustav traced the line of dust her finger traveled over. He cocked his head, mulling over what kind of opportunity Relyssa could bring them. “We are available, but there’s other obligations] we are contracted for.” A faint smile appeared on his face. “And you should know that we only provide, well, premium security services.”

“The name’s Gustav, Lady Deserine.” He introduced himself, and straightened his sleeves. At that moment, Alim Blackmoore, the Redguard rogue, walked by them in a servant’s uniform.

As Alim walked by, Relyssa broke her stare on the Nord gentleman and tracked his path, paying close attention to him with an eyebrow raised - interest piqued. She absent-mindedly responded to Gustav “yes a banquet at the castle - as a matter of fact that’s why I’m here - believe it or not.” Her eyes snapped away from Alim and back to Gustav and she smiled at him, returning her full attention to him.

“I believe we started at a bit of misunderstanding; our facility is not yet prepared for browsing.” Gustav gestured to the mess of a lobby around them. It was in poor shape, he admitted. He turned his gaze away from Relyssa (most notably her full coinpurse) and towards the door on the other side of the room. “Let’s discuss business further in my office, perhaps over a drink. That is, if you believe you can afford our expertise.”

With that, Gustav walked to his office, a room that had a polished oak desk, a set of cushioned chairs and several file cabinets. It was actually clean enough to be free from dirt and cobwebs. He took the map of Evermore Castle and a list of important guests off the desk, putting them in the closest cabinet. Then Gustav sat down on a chair behind the desk, waiting for Relyssa to come in, or leave.

As she followed him into his office, she felt more at ease in those surroundings and took her seat opposite to the gentleman, keeping an upright posture, knees together and her legs slanted to the side again. She stole a prying glance at whatever the documents were that he was folding away out of sight. If there was one thing that she knew, it’s that there was nothing in life that wasn’t important in some capacity. Those documents were important, whatever they were. She was thinking about just what they could be, when she caught the tail end of his comment - and just about scoffed at the suggestion she may not be able to afford the hired help, but it was best to hold the attitude for now. She still wanted to make a good impression.

“Well, Gustav - I imagine you’re quite perceptive yourself. This isn’t the first time I’ve… Outsourced work to companies such as yours. I’m quite aware of the price, believe me, what I’m looking for makes every coin spent on your premium security a coin well spent.” Her voice was soft and unthreatening, but there was an air of professionalism beneath it - and a tone that suggested this was but a game to her. She began to relax more into the chair, and brought one leg over the other. The Breton flashed a quick smile in Gustav’s direction. “You can name your price, and I will pay it. I just expect a job well done.” Relyssa placed an elbow on the arm of the chair, her foot swinging softly.

“Now then,” she began with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “about that drink…”

After Relyssa had seated, Gustav got up from his chair and closed the office door. When he sat back down, he leaned his elbows onto the desk, his fingers interlaced and chin rested on his hands. He carefully studied Relyssa, and found her making herself more comfortable than he’d like. He nodded when she mentioned the banquet; it was as expected. “Joyous occasion, the banquet, isn’t it? The defeat of Corsairs in Wayrest, being graced with the presence of heroes and monarchs, and simply the marvelous feast.” Gustav said plainly, not much excitement in his voice. After all, people didn’t just attend this kind of event for the fun of it. The guests on the list certainly didn’t.

“I understand a lady like yourself may wish for a bodyguard? I heard there are often, schemes, happening in Breton gatherings.” Gustav unlinked his hands and rested back on his chair. He looked up to the ceiling briefly, trying to avoid Relyssa’s eyes, which had no shortage of questionable motives. “We can assign one or two individuals per your request, nothing more. The rest of the company are needed elsewhere; we will be quite busy keeping the celebrations secure.”

Pulling his eyes back down from the ceiling, Gustav got up to search the cabinet he stuffed his documents in. “Let me get you a quote, and a good drink.” He offered. Sure enough, the contracts were exactly where he put them. On the other hand, the beverage tray only had two containers on it. One was a jug of water, the other was a thin bottle of medical ethanol Wylendriel had ordered. Gustav kept the ethanol label facing away from his guest.

“We have a variety of talents, but I recommend Alim Blackmoore, a cunning Redguard lad that you saw out there. He has an eye for danger, and other matters as well.” Gustav suggested as he placed the employment contract and a personnel roster in front of Relyssa. The drinks tray followed, with the two containers and two cups. “Now, would you like something mild or strong?”

If Gustav had chosen to look away from Relyssa, she did not look away from him - noting his brief refusal to meet her gaze. It prompted a slight half smile at the corners of her mouth. She had chosen to let him speak - truthfully she had little to say on the banquet and its guests. The fat, pampered nobles all in one room. How utterly delightful it would be to be in their company. “Heroes and monarchs indeed… I’m sure there will be many a toast to their splendorous achievements…” She began to trace the outline of her lips with her finger, watching Gustav’s every subtle move like a hawk. The bottle next to the water - she wondered if it was something important. She had seen enough medical vials to recognise it as such. Was Gustav ill? The situation was curious, and were she not in a hurry to close the contract she might have found a way to press against that nerve. But she had a job to do.

She did not move with haste to appraise the contract, and instead she flashed yet another smile at Gustav, prudently lifting it from the desk and unfolding the parchment with such a soft hand. It was expensive, and considerably more than she had been willing to budget for. Her head tilted slightly - she restrained herself from showing any other reaction to it. She examined it scrupulously for a few moments in silence, the fingers of her free hand drumming against the arm of the chair.

Finally, she released a long breath and folded the parchment once more, placing it in her lap. “I’ll take the strong drink.” In a manner which mirrored Gustav's, she placed an elbow on the arms of the chair either side of her, bringing her hands together as he had done. “At such a hefty price, Gustav, I will be expecting Alim to do a stellar job at… Protecting me.” After several blinks in quick succession, she narrowed her eyes, traces of her full smile had faded and her expression fell to something far more neutral and executive.

It was interesting that his entire company was set to attend, or was that an embellishment on his part? The detail of his colleagues keeping the celebrations secure had not slipped past her, and now was the time to pick at that. “Before we formalise anything, I must confess that my attendance at the banquet may directly contradict your assignment there… Keeping it,” she leaned forward, and lowered her voice as if to invite him to lean closer too, “secure, as you say.” Her hands separated and set down into her lap. “Not going to be a problem, is it?” She asked as a soft smile returned to her lips once more.

There was something alluring in the way Relyssa smiles, and something creepy. It was like she’s casting an illusion spell, except that she wasn’t, at least her hands weren’t glowing. Relyssa was probably sizing him up. Gustav shook his head lightly, trying to not let any hints spill from him. He sat straight as Relyssa studied the papers, his gaze darting between various items on the desk, and occasionally back to the guest herself.

“Strong drink it is.” Gustav answered. He poured a shot of ethanol into one cup, barely filling it up halfway, and probably not enough to poison the drinker. It’s not pure ethanol, and one may almost miss it if not sniffing carefully. Ashav once said a strong drink tested the customer’s conviction. Well, Gustav didn’t want to test Relyssa too much, so there’s still a customer left in the end. “Here you go, Lady Deserine.” He slid over the cup.

“Trust me, Alim is well worth the price.” Gustav returned one of Relyssa’s smiles with a cryptic one of his one. “While we went about our businesses, Alim studied the blade. Not only does he have the heart of a noble protector, he also likes to spoil his clients with little favors.”

“As for your attendance.” Gustav smirked, pouring himself some a cup of water and downing it in one gulp. “I trust a lady of your stature would wish no harm upon her peers. Even in the worst case scenario, gods forbid,” Gustav motioned for Relyssa to flip over the contract; just above the client signature space was a tiny line of fine print, “you’ll only need to provide additional monetary compensation, and we will take care of the rest.”

“If you don’t mind me asking.” Gustav shrugged, and silently pointed to Relyssa’s cup, urging her to drink it. “Is there anyone you wish to see at the banquet?”

She took the glass into her hand and allowed herself a small sip to taste first, it was definitely strong. That said, she had been expecting something other than this. Perhaps Gustav was keeping his nice whiskies elsewhere. Still, she nodded in appreciation of the refreshment, even if it was less refreshing and more dangerously flammable, both in alcoholic content and in the way it burned down her throat and brought sudden heat to her cheeks. She momentarily closed her eyes and politely cleared her throat before laughing softly. “Gustav, I’m impressed… But please don’t give up your day job to become a barkeep.” With that, she placed the glass back on the desk.

“You sure can stomach the colorful beverage, I’ll give you that.” Gustav laughed as well. He rubbed his hands together, looking quite impressed, both at how Relyssa drank it without questions, and managed to look somewhat composed afterwards. “And don’t worry, drinking the tough stuff is more of a process of discovery for us Nords.”

“Anyhow, back to the business at hand.” Gustav straightened himself.

“Little favours? My my that sounds intriguing. I only need him to follow my orders, no added extras are required and it would be preferable that way. That said, if he is as diligent as you say and can get me what I want then he can take as many liberties as he pleases.” Her eyes ran over the fine print on the back of the parchment. He was unequivocally a businessman through and through, but to Relyssa, that gave her a level of assurance and confidence that she wasn’t expecting. Not that she would let him know that. Her eyes flicked from the fine print, back to Gustav’s. “You’re really driving a hard bargain here, aren’t you?” She turned her mouth to a wry frown - but her eyes were tinged with mischief again.

“What can I say, Lady Deserine,” Gustav forwarded his quill and inkpot, letting them sit in the middle of the desk, “you and I know both know a successful operation requires every advantage possible.”

The woman lifted herself from her seat partially, to reach for the quill. With care she swirled its tip in the inkpot, letting any excess drip back down the glass edge and back into the pot. She held it in between the fingers of her left hand, once more reading over Gustav’s terms and conditions. She was backed into a corner - it was the day of the banquet and she needed help, she had no choice but to pay the premium price now.

The quill came down upon the parchment and she signed her name in full on the dotted line, finishing her signature with a delicate flourish. She pondered over his question, of course there would be many people at the banquet she would, in some capacity, know of - or have minor connections with. She didn’t think too highly of them. After placing the quill back into its inkpot she left the contract open on the desk to allow the ink to dry, as it did, she relaxed back into her seat with a gentle sigh. She peered over the desk at Gustav with a coy expression, before responding in as silken a tone as possible, “well Gustav, I do hope I’ll get to see you again.” It took every ounce of willpower not to grin smugly over at him, and she held a fixed gaze upon him with a suggestive intensity behind her eyes. After just a few silent seconds, she let go of the chain she had been playing with at last. “Really… It’s a banquet after all, I do hope to mingle and rub shoulders with everyone, that’s the point is it not?”

“Indeed it is.” Gustav agreed. He leaned forward and shook Relyssa’s hand to close out the deal. He locked glances with her for a second, feeling the satisfaction of finally working with someone of more subtlety than his company of brutes. “Pleasure doing business. Alim will be briefed over his task; you shall find him with other personal attendants.”

“And do share a dance with me, if you get the chance.” Gustav added. As he said that, his eyes followed the movement of Relyssa’s coin purse.

“Oh the pleasure will be all mine, I'm sure.” She replied as finally she stood up from the chair. She took her full coin purse and placed it down upon the desk, allowing the weight of it to hold down the signed contract.

---

Noon, Last Seed 15
Holly's Hammam, Evermore

It turned out that Sadri’s skin color was actually a touch lighter than he’d thought.

Perhaps for the first time since he’d enrolled with Gustav’s Company, Sadri had taken a proper bath. Not a quick scrub-down of the pits, hair and the nether regions with soap and cold water, or unwanted exposure to rain or seawater, but a proper, well deserved bath in a hot, steamy sauna owned by a jolly old Nord lady. While he’d added some extra Septims on top of the usual fee to get himself his own private room with flowing hot water, the extra purse he’d gotten from Gustav for the sake of outfitting had made it guilt-free. And it was there, whilst rubbing his skin with a mitten of coarse wool, that he found out that beneath the ever-present coating of grime, dirt and dried sweat, he was paler than what he’d seen the last time he’d seen his reflection.

Of course, this wasn’t the only surprise that he’d faced in the bath; he’d also realized just how accustomed he had become to his prosthetic arm. After a quick unstrapping and removal of the attachment sleeve, he’d come face to face with the stump he had in place of a lower right arm. He thought of all the time he’d spent on this mortal coil, and felt disappointed. Like a grindstone, life had whittled away bits and pieces of him; pieces not just like flesh and bone, but also hope, enthusiasm, elation. He didn’t feel any sharper. If anything, he was just coming closer to the end. He remembered a couplet from a poem he’d read years ago:

This whirling wheel is a mill yielding agony;
Beneath it, we’re the grain ground as it goes.

“And so it goes on,” Sadri thought to himself, before rubbing his stumped arm with the mitten. “And so it goes on.”

---

Sadri left the bath feeling as warm and light as steam. Physically, he’d scraped almost a pound of grime off his skin, cleared his hair thoroughly and taken a comb and proper razor to the mess his beard had become. The uneven scar tissue made it hard for him to get a clean shave, but his past occupation as a barber meant he had the skill and experience not to cut deeper than necessary. Shaving his face clean save for the thick sideburns that nearly reached his lower lips, and applying balm to give them proper shape, he found the impression he’d made on passersby had changed for the positive.

More importantly, though, he’d come to terms with yet another flaring existential crisis. His old life was gone, Solveig was gone, he wasn’t going to get what he wanted in life (perhaps there really was nothing he wanted in life), and there was nothing he could do but to accept that. As weak as that made him feel, Sadri had come to realize how denial of it would lead to nothing but further self-destruction. One freak incident with a Sload necromancer he could survive high on Skooma and booze, but he knew that even he had mortal limits; his magically mended heel was proof of that. At some point he was going to break. Break in a way that a prosthetic couldn’t fix.

So, he knew. He needed to be a new person. Because the old one was failing, fast. And what better way to celebrate a new outlook than to build yourself a new image?

---

Early Morning, Last Seed 16
Sir Groin and Co. Fine Tailoring, Evermore

“Are you sure you wish for a doublet that bright red, sir? With the slashes and color of that tunic you have chosen, it looks… awful violent, does it not? It’s rather provocative.”

“Oh, please, it is a banquet, my good man. The entire point is to tread the fine line between provocative and crass,” Sadri replied to the old, amiable tailor. “And I, Madura Dalas, deserve such a look for my first public appearance since my… gross wounding, I would say,” he added, eyeing his mechanical arm regretfully.

The tailor smiled. “It does make sense when you put it that way, sir. I remember when the Earl of Warwick wore bone tipped gloves and a hair shirt under his slashed doublet to his celebration, after he was dubbed the Wolf of Warwick for his exploits against the Brigands of Cracktusk. It had made quite a commotion in the circles.”

Sadri nodded. “That’s precisely it. The exploits of the Tamrielic Gazette deserve to be known further; what better way to remind them how we suffer in our toil to gather news, than to show them myself, rightfully, as a wounded man?”

“That’s a capital outlook, sir! I like the cut of your jib, if I may say.”

Sadri felt that his words had touched the sole surviving specks of youthful idealism he must have had as an apprentice tailor. Over time, even this quaint fellow had turned into a balding hobbit, spending his days and toiling his craft out of sheer habit, his passion extinguished. Sadri solemnly looked at his spindly fingers to try and find something occupy his mind, and to fan the cloud of sadness away… And found just what he needed. More bling.

“Thank you, my man, thank you… You’d mentioned a friend running the jewelry store one street above, hadn’t you?”

---

Noon, Last Seed 16
Used Sundries, Evermore

As expected, things were much simpler for Marcel.

While he’d been somewhat disheartened by his failure to save the Bosmer, and also his brush with hypothermia following said failure, there was really nothing to do but to move on, Marcel knew. He’d failed many things before, and suffered many things because of his failures. But he considered them naught but occasional mishaps in the bigger picture. He remembered the adage of the Torchbearers, the cult that he’d ended up as cohorts with back in Hammerfell; “Acts of good are not always wise, and acts of evil not always foolish; regardless, strive to do good.” He wouldn’t quit trying just because it’d make things easier for him. That was just not right, he was taught. And Marcel was a good pupil.

The upcoming banquet mission made the impression of an interesting change in pace for him; a situation where he actually had to disarm to proceed. As a Hunter of High Rock, Marcel was obliged to ‘bear arms against foe, mundane or magic, at all times’, and by his own admission he was somewhat conservative when it came to principles such as these. But he’d been taught how to stand by his principles while also adhering to the customs of the majority. As Master Diarmid used to say, when amongst Septims, do as the Septims do. So he did, by way of a small, decorated letter opener made of silver. While it had some lethal capability, it was about as much as a dinner knife, and guests were privy to much more than that in the banquet. He could only thank the Gods for Hunter attire being a matter of fashion and keeping him from having to try and find new clothes, although, by Gustav’s orders, he still had to get his coat tailored further.

Thankfully, Gustav had bought a tailor’s services, because of some of his comrades’ unwise investments in their clothing allowance, and Marcel knew he could cut costs there by merely buying the material necessary for a more suitable coat. While the man seemed experienced and assured Marcel that he could embroider the appropriate goldwork atop his buff coat in no time, he was rather perplexed about Marcel’s request to line chainmail into its collar until the Breton ended up unfastening his gorget and showed the man the recent and severe wounding his neck received. The transaction turned fairly quiet afterwards. There was not much more to do from that point but to wait. While he’d also spent money on a dueling doublet and also a scaled gauntlet for the banquet, these were already at hand, although the cuffs on the doublet needed trimming.

Marcel decided to spend the remainder of the money on replenishing his stock of potions, adding some more vials to his satchel, and more importantly, buying some well-made pastry. After the bloodbath that was the Smuggler’s Cove, he figured that he, and everyone else, could use some sweet sugar (no, not that kind of sugar) to take a load off their minds. Though he, being the one who’d thought of this sweet gesture, obviously deserved the lion’s share. Mentally adding up the costs of the necessities and the tailoring, he figured he only had around 40 Septims left from Gustav’s allowance. 15 Septims for his own food expenses, 10 Septims for some Sambocade, 10 Septims for a carafe of lemonade… those pesky alcoholics would not be able to appreciate the beverage on its own, though, would they? 5 Septims for a small glass of rum to be mixed into the carafe… and that was it, really. Excellent. He could proceed.

---

It turned out that, unfortunately, a whole cake of proper Sambocade cost more than 10 Septims, and Marcel had to make do with only 5 Septims’ worth of pancakes to be able to afford enough for the whole party. Okay, maybe he’d eaten 10 Septims’ worth, and instead sourced the rum from the store kitchen's stocks, but he was a member of the Company anyway, so there was no problem, was there? Plus, the bakery owners had generously let him keep the small vial of honey that they’d served alongside the pancake plate, and there was enough in it to flavor the cake further, in case his colleagues found the flavor of elderflower, rose and berry far too fleeting. Either way, there it was, on a tray: A carafe of thick glass, filled to the brim with ice and rum-reinforced lemonade, a knife, a vial of honey, a whole beautiful baked cheesecake on a plate, covered with raspberry and smelling of rose; and a bunch of wooden cups, for everyone to drink and be merry.

He grabbed the tray firmly and walked into the dressing room, hoping to make a good memory amongst the plethora of bad ones that they’d accrued over the last few weeks.

Dar’Jzo had not been so quick to lend out his bow and gutting knife this morning, and his thoughts were much harder to read than those of other people, but Wylendriel could sense there was a moment of deliberation and reflection before hesitating to hand them to her with a nod. She wanted to believe that it might had to do with her new reputation after the healing feats she performed back at the Smuggler’s Cove, but maybe he was just a generous sort. It was hard to tell. Regardless, it had been a while since she held a proper bow in her hands, remembering fondly back on the old horn longbows back in Valenwood. She was out of practice, and not just in shooting, but in hunting. The landscape of eastern High Rock was much craggier than the dense forests and jungles of her homeland, so she didn’t know where the local wildlife hunted for foraged. Her first few attempts on a deer’s life turned up nothing, and she saw nothing of its size since then.

But when she saw a fox weaving in and out of the rocks, she rested her back against a tree and harkened back to her old lessons. Feet in line with her shouders. Head turned ninety degrees away from where she’s facing. Begin aiming before you draw. Draw with the muscles in her back, not her arms – her back felt slightly numb ever since the cove, but not so much that it would distract her. Wylendriel pulled the string back toward her ear, her arms straight and rigid and the string brushing against her cheek. One eye was close while the other locked onto the fox like a hawk. Loose.

Fpt!

The arrow lodged itself in the fox’s neck, cutting its cry short before bleeding out in seconds. For a moment, Wy could almost hear the rustling of a dense forest canopy and a distant waterfall as the moment of the kill briefly made her feel at home and a slight, cool breeze passed over the field. She looked up at the sky as if that breeze was a sign. Are you still watching? She continued to stare into the blue sky with a single cloud hovering above, no thick canopy blocking her view. Then she broke out of her sense of nostalgia, and she shivered, remembering that she wasn’t in Valenwood anymore and the winds up north were much colder – though not as cold as Skyrim, all she had on her back was one of the sailors’ shirts. Her warm robes of wool, fur, and leather were irreversibly ruined, and aside from a few mementos in her bag, she had little else from home that she could still hold onto. Hunting was one of the few ways she could still hold onto her customs, and that would not be the last fox to die today.

Her sense of remorse brought on a single tear to roll down her cheek, curiously, as it was one that she did not expect to shed. Her remorse was quickly replaced by resolve, and as she brushed that single tear away, she said to herself, "Let that be the last one."

---

Two dead foxes were laid onto a kitchen table in Used Sundries. The ramshackle room was fashioned into something that resembled a kitchen more than it did a real kitchen, and the small fireplace was repurposed for cooking instead of only warmth. Dar’Jzo was grateful to have his bow back and complimented Wylendriel on her hunt. Saddi, their new quartermaster, was grateful for fresh food that no one had to pay for and as looking forward to cooking it up to keep the company’s morale high before the banquet. Those two were apparently related in one way or another, so she found it curious that they conveniently happened across Saddi in Jehanna; unless it was Dar'Jzo's plan all along to reach the boy, in which case, she didn't give the old khajiit's cunning enough credit. It was somewhat endearing to watch the two of them interact with one another while Saddi tried to figure out the logistics of stuffing his grandfather into a box, the latter's indignant reception of the prospect, and the former's insistence on trying to make it as comfortable as possible.

Wylendriel, on the other hand, was grateful that she took the opportunity for her outing to hunt. She thought at first that she might find some comfort by releasing her pent-up anger and anxiety onto something, seeking an escape from a daedra’s torment, but instead found comfort in its mundane simplicity and the nostalgia it evoked. She didn’t what it meant, but figured after some time meditating on it, she would figure it out in time.

She slipped the hook end of Dar’Jzo’s knife slipped underneath the skin of their bellies, and with a careful yank down the center, its guts spilled open onto the waxed cloth covered kitchen table, which Saddi would wrap up and carry elsewhere while Wylendriel collected the pouring blood in a bowl -- a process which had quickly bloodied her own hands, but she seemed to pay very little heed to the macabre mess.

“Don’t throw it out.” Wy called after him, still focused on carefully separating the skin from the meat. “Save it; use every part of the animal.”

“Who’s going to eat this?” Saddi ask incredulously.

“Who doesn't eat sausage?” She replied with a question of her own, rolling the last edge of skin off and flipping the fox back onto the table. “Bones for arrows and bonemeal. These hides are for a trade for wool and tanned fur. If I’m going to pretend to be a Spinner, I need to dress the part.”

Saddi sighed. “Well, I’ve never tried making fox meat before. Or Spinner robes.”

“Brine the meat in salt water overnight with some kind of acid.” She said, scraping the leftover particles of fat and flesh still attached to the skin. “They won’t be traditional Spinner robes, but the Bretons won’t know that. Those who might would know Spinner robes are all leather, bone, and antler. They’re not banquet attire, so they could figure I might have simply redressed to fit in better.”

"You should allow me to do the trading, priestess!" Saddi insisted, dramatically gesticulating toward himself with a particular flair of confidence. "I mean no offense, but what is a, ah, priestess of naturalistic sensibilities to a Baandari vis-à-vis the art of the deal?"

"...Vis-a-vis?" Wylendriel repeated. She felt like she was supposed to be slighted, but was caught too off guard by the pleasantries of his voice, the content of his speech, and usage of his vocabulary to really decipher the meaning behind his words.

"It's a Breton phrase." Saddi explained dismissively with a wave of his hand. "But is that not the point? The business-khajiit must know his customer, yes? Shrewd Bretons would steal the clothes from your back with but words and coin, but I could steal the clothes from theirs instead. Trade is simply the métier of the Baandari! That was, ah, another Breton word, by the way."

"You sound very proud of your lineage." Wy noted.

"Should I not be? There has never been a finer clan to grace Tamriel, and our history goes back several eras!" Saddi beamed, looking to Dar'Jzo for approval. He simply grunted and seemed to give a critical glance that gave the proud and enthused Khajiit pause. Saddi's disposition shifted slightly before recomposing himself. This did not go unnoticed by Wy, who now found herself wondering the nature of their relationship and more about Dar'Jzo's past. Was he a Baandari too, then? The quiet and serious Khajiit didn't seem like a typical trader at all unlike Saddi, who was far more sociable and animated. Still, she felt that Saddi's presence was able to shed some of the mystery surrounding him, though she figured there would be many more mystery to be solved. More importantly, if Saddi was as capable as he was confident, then perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea for him to go in her stead.

"Very well, then..." She said, finding a slight smile sneaking onto her face. Saddi's pride in his family reminded her of her own. She felt a bit a worried that masquerading as a Spinner would be sacrilegious, but on another hand, she felt that it was a good way to honor them and show that she hasn't forgotten her roots. She had been reflecting on her own culture for a while now in preparation for this, and she felt more at ease because of it. Life and death was a cycle and the natural order of things. Though she regretted her inability to save the lives of those at the Smuggler's Cove, she was reminded that it wasn't the end. For the first time in a while, the mundane was able to bring her some semblance of peace. The terrors and horrors from a few fortnights ago seemed so far away in light of everything that has happened since then, but it also brought memory of why she has come so far to begin with -- her pilgrimage. She took a deep breath in and stared into the bowl of fox blood, observing her reflection in its red, shimmering surface. She wasn't the same person as she was before. The Bosmer who began this journey was afraid and uncertain.

Soon, she'll have to start over.

"Give this one your lunch money!"

Keegan sighed upon hearing the voice. It was a familiar one, and one he wish he'd never hear again. The right (and obvious) course of action was to keep his head down and walk away. He got drunk last night and was still shaking off the hangover. Keegan hadn't drank since the induction party at Daggerfall Theatre, where he woke up aching in spots that weren't suppose to ache in that kind of way, and obscene shapes painted on his face. Well, he meant to drink tea instead of alcohol last night. But someone, probably the overly-excited tea seller, spiked his tea with a generous dose of liquor. Thankfully, Keegan didn't wake up with any invasive leftover on him (as far as he could tell). He also didn't wake up to deal with the debt collector that almost killed him in Dawnstar. There was also the fact that Keegan was carrying a armful of fresh peaches just bought from the market.

"I don't have any money on me!" The accosted individual sounded like a young woman. She was trapped in a narrow back alley, with the debt collector between them, his back towards Keegan. "Perhaps I can-"

"Money or knuckles to the face!"

The debt collector was a big and ugly Khajiit, a Cathay, as Do'Karth told Keegan. He was a brute, decked out in steel armor and brass knuckles, and fought by completely flattening his opponents. His name was Muh'ali the Champ, the second part of which was self-given. As far as Keegan was concerned, Muh'ali was not really a debt collector, but a bully that picked on the convenient and the vulnerable. Keegan hated him, more so than the long list of other people he hated. Scapegoating was deplorable, robbery was criminal, and combining the two was the absolute worst Nirn had to offer. So no matter how much Keegan didn't want to fight, he needed to put an end to Muh'ali, because otherwise, the Champ would eventually put an end to him.

Enough monologue, Keegan budged in with a barrage of magic. First came the paralysis, then the sparks from his staff, the conjured familiar, bound dagger, fear, and even a soul trap for his Soultrap Go!™ collection. When he exhausted his magic, Keegan threw his batch of peaches.

In his excitement and anger, Keegan completely forgot how Muh'ali was wearing armor enchanted with magicka-nullifying defenses. None of Keegan's spell did what they intended, but the sheer volume of them (and the splashing of peaches) knocked Muh'ali onto his back. Keegan was now standing over Muh'ali, the blades of staff pointed at the Khajiit's throat.

"You!" Muh'ali took in the interloper with a snarl, and then recognition. "You shouldn't-"

"Shut up!" Keegan yelled, his voice cracking.

"Ha, all grown up, have the cub?" Muh'ali smirked, he arced his head up from the ground, taunting Keegan as he pressed his neck against the blade tip. "You can't kill a fly, so Muh'ali will give you five seconds to run away, before he adds you to the meat cart as well."

"I said, shut up!" Keegan's voice was now more annoyed than intimidating. Could he really kill another person? He had never done so in the seven decades of his life. Keegan had joined a mercenary company, for Auriel's sake, where his peers slaughtered dozens in the blink of an eye. But he's not one of them, he never had been and likely never will. When Keegan attempted to push the staff blades in, he felt his palms become sweaty, his knees weakening and his arms heavy as lead. The spaghetti he had eaten last night was floating back up; Keegan was going to vomit on the new sweater he had gotten from Gustav's tailor.

Keegan blinked several times, clenched his jaw tight as a vice, and willed his arms to go forward. He had to do this, not for the company, not for the accosted young woman, not against Muh'ali, but to prove to himself that he had the courage to confront what he was afraid of the most.

"Ha!" Muh'ali's sudden laughter broke Keegan's concentration. All of a sudden, his grip on his staff loosened, and Muh'ali easily swatted it away from his throat. "Hahaha-"

Swoosh!

Flash!

Splat!

It all happened too fast for Keegan to comprehend. A orichalcum dagger flew out of the young woman's sleeve, it was immediately steered into Muh'ali's throat and buried deep with a sickening twist. The Khajiit hardly managed a single set of gurgles before he became deathly still. The young woman was now kneeling over Muh'ali's corpse, extracting the dagger with the precision of a hunter.

"My goodness, that's quite a handful of peaches! But how shall I ever repay you?" The young woman stood up and took a sultry step towards Keegan, her hip swaying suggestively. Her face was obstructed by a hood and the shadows of the buildings beside her. "But don't fret, my delicate flower. I'll satisfy your cravings later."

"Because we have plenty of time, my sweet." She took another step forward to stroke Keegan's cheeks. Now, he could see the woman's face; it was one he had seen before, despite the heavy makeup. Her next line came out halfway before the realization of who Keegan was stopped her. "Plenty of..."

This was not a helpless damsel as Keegan had expected. This was an experienced hunter with a crossdressing hobby. He's an Imperial named Lucex Venatorii, and Keegan fought alongside him in the Reach.

"Time." Keegan finished for a stunned Lucex.

"Keegan?" Lucex sputtered, his previously feminine voice shifting to masculine. He quickly backed away from Keegan's personal space. "I didn't- I mean, thanks for the help."

"What, what are you doing here, Lucex?" Keegan's mouth hung open. "Aren't you, uh, hunting around Whiterun?"

"You know, traveling, visiting places, new, I mean, news." Lucex tripped over his own words. For once, Keegan's not the most awkward speaker in a conversation. This meant that Keegan could press his luck a little further than he normally would.

"Horseshit." Keegan imitated the way Jorwen used to call out liars. The hand that wasn't gripping his staff now emanated blue illusory lights. "Tell me the truth."

The spell seeped into Lucex's mind, making his speech forced and his eyes droopy. "Gunnbjorn, Frieda, Elberond and I left the Hunting Guild because rebels are attacking Whiterun. We came to Bangkorai to hunt giant bats. They found out I was wearing dresses and seducing city lads at night, so they kicked me out. I had to prostitute myself to eat. Some nobles hired to me for the banquet, to service their-"

"Alright, that's enough." Keegan put his palm into face.

"What in Oblivion?" Lucex shook himself out of his daze once Keegan released the verity spell. The Imperial's grip tightened around his dagger. "Why did I just say all that? What did you do?"

"I didn't, you didn't-ow!" Keegan shuffled away, only to bang his head against a low hanging thatch. The situation was once again extremely disconcerting; Keegan just remembered his palms were drenched in sweat. "Look, we should just, just-"

"We should just forget this ever happened," Lucex suggested, "right?"

"Right." Keegan nodded. He pressed his back tightly against the wall as Lucex scooched by, both of their gazes trying to avoid each other, but somehow met in accident. Keegan hung his head embarrassingly, while Lucex sprinted away as fast as possible.

"Right." Keegan repeated to himself. He looked down at Muh'ali, blood clogging around the dead Khajiit's throat and peach juice splayed across his armor. Keegan kicked the corpse towards a corner, so that it wouldn't stick out, in case anyone looked in from the street. As he did so, all Keegan could think about was Dumhuvud.

"Right, champ." Keegan spared Muh'ali one final glance before walking away. "We live in a strange world."

---

Morning, 15th of Last Seed

The Singing Shrew, Evermore

Sagax had turned the corner, about to head up the stairs to the second floor of the inn he and his sister were staying at for the duration of the company's time in Evermore. He was stopped, however, by a dazed young man tumbling down the steps, his body thumping and crashing all the way down. Above, Sagax could see the door closest to the top of the flight slam shut, and he was able to pick up some disgruntled grumbling. The Imperial knew, of course, that that was Piper's room. It took no great effort to deduce why the fellow had been sent headfirst to the bottom of the staircase. Why would it? Piper had already chased this man away twice before; it seemed he had not yet quite learned his lesson.

"I told you not to go up there, friend. I warned you of the consequences, didn't I?"

The bruised man simply groaned in response and let his head hit the floor one last time. Perhaps now he would leave well enough alone. No guarantee, of course, if the other two times this exact scenario played out were any indication.

Piper must have been listening for footsteps, because as Sagax drew near the door, it suddenly flung open. Out came Piper, wrapped in a large bathrobe and brandishing her dirk.

"Listen you motherfucker, if you don't fuck off back to whatever Gods-forsaken hole in the ground you came from, I'm gonna-"

Sagax had jumped back a good distance. He understood perfectly just how well his sister could use a blade, and he wasn't about to get stuck by her because some Prince Charming couldn't take a hint. After clearing a patch of damp hair out of her eyes with a flick of her head, Piper put the knife away and sighed with relief.

"Fuck's sake, it's just you, Sagax..."

"Yep, just checking in...saw your handiwork down there. I uh, don't think he's going to be up a while."

"Shit, fine by me. He could stay on that floor for all I care. After what he just pulled though I've got half a fucking mind to cut something off of him!"

Sagax responded with a puzzled look. " 'After what he just pulled'? What, did he propose to you or something?" Piper just smiled and laughed, the kind of laugh where you could tell someone was only laughing because they were trying to hold back some serious anger.

"Oh, no, you'll love this. So, these doors lock, right? Shitty locks, but they're locks." He could agree to that. He had poked and prodded at the lock to his own door just for fun, and they were honestly nothing too special. Enough to keep out the faintly curious and not much else. "This son of a bitch...picks the fucking lock, opens the door just a little so he can see inside-"

"Please don't tell me he was..."

"That's exactly what the shithead was doing! Thought he was the fucking Gray Fox himself, thinking I wouldn't see him! He got more of a look than I would have liked."

The thought alone disgusted Sagax. He knew of people, both in Evermore and back home, that had tried to gain his sister's affection. Some read poems, some gave her gifts. She rejected them all, of course, and the reactions were varied. But to go so far as to outright invade her privacy like that? At least the fool got what was coming to him.

"Well, I think he's learned his lesson now...Mara's sake I certainly hope so. If not...well, I'll just say I didn't see anything."

"If he hasn't learned by, by Talos I'll make him learn soon! Ruined my damn bath, haven't even really gotten to scrub down yet..." Just then, Piper seemed to pick up a smell that made her face scrunch. "Eurgh..."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Ugh...you! Gods above, when was the last time you actually bathed, Sagax? Your recent high-dive doesn't count!"

"I...well..." Exactly how long had it been, anyway? He certainly hoped it wasn't before leaving for Skyrim...but he just couldn't remember.

"Your room's got water too, right? Should have some soap and rags and stuff...blegh, seriously, go and take a bath you...fucking wildman. I gotta finish my own anyway, so take your time." Before shutting the door, Piper looked back. "No really. Take your time with it. You honestly look like you just came out of a coal mine that went up in flames."

He didn't look that bad, did he? Well, shock of all shocks, yes. Yes he did. The mirror in his room showed a very different man from the one that just left the Imperial City for the Reach of Skyrim. His hair was longer, his eyes had begun to sink in, and he was actually starting to show the signs of a beard! But then there was the dirt. Oh, so much dirt! Sagax knew his current state simply would not do for the banquet, especially not for someone who was supposed to be serving food and drinks. Piper was right to order a bath, he'd be thrown out of any higher establishment at first glance.

The rooms at the Singing Shrew were more expensive than most inns Sagax had been to, but they were certainly worth it. Just like his sister said, there was hot water, an assortment of soaps, and even a nice comb and brush set. It reminded him of home, when he was a child. They had all these same luxuries in their magnificent two story manor. His room overlooked some of the public gardens. Sometimes he could even see his father performing his duties in the streets below, commanding his men and logging reports from wronged citizens that wished for justice. He was so far away now, though. So far away from home, and from family. Right now Piper was all he had, and he was all she had. They would make it work, though. They just had to hold on to hope that they would all be united again...what else would they be fighting for?

As Sagax washed up, he traced along the large burn scar on his chest. It still ached slightly to the touch as he ran the rag over it. It was there he noticed something...different. There were some muscles building around his abdomen and on his arms, ones he was sure were not there last time he was able to get a good look at himself. Well, at least mercenary work had some upsides. One being that, if you survive long enough, you might get a little buff! Maybe he'd be able to match Piper one day...nah, probably not. She was built like a horse. Somehow, though, also as graceful as a dancer.

After drying off and neatly combing his hair back, Sagax took another look at his mirror. In its reflection he found, finally, a decent excuse for a man. But he felt like there was something missing, something small. Looking down at the vanity, he spied some hairties, about five or six of them. He decided on the green one and used it to tie his now fairly long hair back into a slight ponytail. Now he almost looked a little bit noble! Certainly much neater. Upon meeting Piper outside the inn, her own hair now slightly curled from the washing, voiced her approval.

"Oh hello, handsome gentleman, have you seen my mangy brother? I seem to have lost him somewhere!"

---

It was almost show time. Sagax made his way to the changing area in Gustav's ramshackle toolshop, or whatever it was, and began preparing himself for the banquet. He had visited a nearby tailor and spent the rest of his allowance on some decent clothing that would fit his role. Something fancy but not extravagant; he wasn't a guest but a mere server. He eventually settled on a nice overcoat along with a doublet and pair of trousers that complemented its colors. On the side he bought a new pair of gloves, as the ones he usually wore had odd, dark stains on them that simply would not come off. The navy blue coat was trimmed at the collar and along the buttons with bronze, while the buttons themselves were of a silver make. Under it, Sagax would wear the dark-green doublet and black cotton trousers. The gloves were very sturdy, and would serve him well if the situation required the Imperial to get...dirty.

He could not bring his blade, but Sagax did decide to smuggle in his dagger inside of the coat's many inside pockets as an emergency weapon. He decided to leave his hair tied, as it seemed to be a fashion trend amongst the aristocracy. Sagax even created a new name for himself, though as a servant he most likely would not need to give it. He had decided on Shay Cormac. He wasn't sure exactly why he chose it, but the name seemed to have a nice ring to it.

Piper would be arriving in a shipping container of all things to help some of the others bring in the rest of the company's weapons and tools. She wasn't pleased with her travel conditions, but she also knew it was the best chance they had of smuggling in any serious utilities. They joined the rest in listening to Gustav's briefing and studied the map until they knew the place like the back of their hands. The two looked at eachother uneasily at Gustav's mention of vampires. Normally it would be because...well, it's vampires. But recent news of their father left them very paranoid and anxious. All they could do now, however, was wait and see.

Until then, they had their jobs to do, and they would see that they were tended to.

It was an hour before main reception of the banquet opened. Beyond the busy final preparations were two wood carts strolling through the rear entrance. Two wooden crates rested on each cart, all painted with the East Empire Company logo on the side. Two people pushed them towards the rear entrance of Evermore Castle; Cilo and Saddi.

The crates clinked each time the carts hit a bump, which caused their contents and occupants to collide sharply into each other (and illiciting muffled curses). The average adult person had to be contorted in highly uncomfortable positions inside, and once the lids were sealed, breathing became somewhat difficult.

However, all Cilo and Saddi could see was a narrow secluded path from the back of the castle. The ground was roughly paved with cobblestones, the sides were tall castle walls and few of the lush vegetation that dotted the garden grew back here. This was the place for goods to be shipped, out from to the public eye and devoid of any decorations. They had already cleared the gatehouse at the outer wall, all that stood before the Khajiit and Imperial was the guarded entrance to the castle cellar.

"Halt!" One of two guards there stopped the mercenaries. "No more deliveries until the banquet ends."

The guard wore heavy metal plates of the Evermore Royal Guard, and his face indistinguishable under his fully covered helmet. He didn't sound happy to be here in the slightest, shooing away packages instead of watching the festivities (and maybe even sneak in some snacks).

"This is the EEC's gift to the duchess." Cilo said.

"That already came in yesterday." The second guard grunted. As she said so, a second pair of guards emerged from the cellar.

"Took you two long enough." The first guard shook his head. "We're just about to show these lost EEC folks the way out."

Saddi and Cilo glanced at one another with some sense of apprehension -- this was not entirely unexpected, though certainly unfortunate and less preferred than a straight shot into the palace. Cilo, being more of the punching and kicking type anyway, had his eyes bouncing between Saddi and the guards with an expectant look. Saddi coughed and straightened his back, and with a smile, he turned the charm dial to five out of seven.

“My friends, this is no mistake!” Saddi declared emphatically. “This is Bi’Lamayz here with a special EEC offer! We are liaisons from the company itself to deliver its thanks and acknowledgement of your business with us over the many years. As part of that thanks, we have sent you free -- yes, free -- free shipment of goods after buying one already! For only nineteen septims, you can have this free shipment of cheeses, furs, and wines! Have I mentioned that it’s free? Because it is, for only nineteen septims. But wait, there’s more! Redeeming this special and exclusive EEC offer within the next two minutes, and we will also throw in…”

Saddi reached into his back pocket to reveal a small vial of a clear liquid.

“...A special, patented, and free male enhancement formula! Simply dab the liquid on the affected area and you’ll be pleasing your lover of thus-far indeterminate gender in no time! For only nineteen septims, you can become the hero of the palace banquet and save your marriage and/or scandalous affair with FREE products, as thanks for your continued business with the East Empire Company!”

“Tis true, good sirs! Very potent! Although, if I may,” Cilo added, seemingly going with Saddi's charade, as he leaned forward to whisper something to the guards. “You do not wish to use too much of it; I had a friend who used an entire bottle of it before meeting with his lover; we had to rush him to a surgeon for a quick amputation.” His candor about the possible hazards of the formula were not well-received, it seemed, for one of the guards raised his eyebrows in fear and disapproval. Not the sort of impression you want to make when you are trying to get your products in. Saddi shot him a similarly disapproving glance.

Cilo pouted sadly upon the realization. “Oh, please, they cut it from our salary if these extra shipments are not accepted. Normally it'd be just a single wheel of cheese or a bottle of brandy, but the new superintendent's a total ass kisser; he decided to send the entire luxury stock when he heard 'banquet'. He'll take it out on us if we bring these back... Hmm…”

He raised a finger. “Tell you what, you folks must be missing out on all the snacks and drinks over here in the rear entrance. Why don't you just take it and, uh, 'disappear' it?”

“Reserve it.” Saddi corrected.

“That way, everyone wins. We say they loved the package, you folks have your cake and eat it too. What do you say?"

“Well I do like free stuff…” One muttered to himself. The other cast his eyes around the front of the palace -- they were early enough that there weren’t so many people gathered around the entrance, before shooting a thumb off to the side. “Bring it to the back. We’ll make sure that these supplies are, uh… stockpiled with the rest of our reserves.”

“Thank you most kindly!” Saddi said, clapping his hands together and bowing his head. The pair continued to pull their wagons of crates past the gate, without the extra pocket money that Saddi had been trying to fish, he noticed, causing him to shoot a disapproving glance toward Cilo. He could’ve bought himself a fancy wine while the rest of the company was partying! He could’ve bought both of them a fancy wine! He hoped Cilo remembered that while they sit in Used Sundries later tonight feeling thirsty and sober.

“We really must work on your sales pitch.” He grumbled.

“Sure, but it's my sincerity that got them,” Cilo replied back. “And they'd be scouring through the city looking for you had I not warned them about your, uh, formula.”

“Do not underestimate the power of placebo, my friend!” Saddi said confidently and with a humored smile. “If the man thinks he’s potent, then surely he’ll behave as such, yes? Grandfather taught me that one, didn’t he?”

Mid-stride, with a hop and kick into the side of the crate, the cheeky khajiit marched with pleasure at the sound of a hissing and grumbling old khajiit inside one of the crates he was hauling around the castle.

“Besides,” Saddi continued, mimicking Dar’Jzo’s thick accent since there was nothing his elder could do about it at the moment, “this one now gets paid more than the others because of such, ah… privilege of executive decisions.”

Cilo seemed nonplussed when Saddi mentioned the power of placebo, although the Khajiit's next remark got some cogs in his head running. A slightly questioning expression took shape on his face. “...You mean it's not the real deal? Gods be damned,” he replied in well-contained amazement. “Damned alchemy, I tell you. I had this friend by the name of Priapus Magnus back when I was in the Legion. One day he came in with a vial just the same as yours, said he got it from a merchant who sold oils from Akavir. My lad told me it was dragon's seed; apparently you rub it on your pecker and then it's diamonds afterwards. He had this Dunmer girl, insatiable, I tell you. Anyhow, the two rent a room, and hours later the innkeeper breaks in because of screaming. The bed's broken in half, the lass is rubbing her nethers in pain, and our lad has gone unconscious with his tool standing this tall!” Cilo held up both his hands with about a gladius' worth of space in between them. “We rushed him to this magic woman, she did her, uh, magic, yet it's growing worse. We had to rush him to a surgeon to burst some veins; in the end it took the garrison executioner's axe to separate him from the thing. Can you believe that?”

Cilo began chuckling. “Damn bastard sold the thing to the Temple of Dibella afterwards, where they pickled it; got enough money to live the rest of his life a rich man. I wonder if it was worth the price, though. I wouldn't give up on mine for any amount of money, I tell you.”

“Baan Dar, you weren’t joking back there.” Saddi muttered to himself, looking at Cilo with mild horror. He looked straight ahead and pressed on.

As the pair followed the road they were eventually led to a backdoor where servants and kitchen staff were either in a hurry as they performed chores like taking out garbage or cleaning old pots and pan, or taking a tobacco break rom the preparation. The smok, hickory smell of a mouth-watering roast wafted through the air, mingled with spice and a plethora of other dishes. As they approached, the servants’ eyes went crestfallen as Cilo and Saddi brought even more crates to them.

“Hello, all!” Saddi greeted cheerily. “Bring these to your cellar, would you? These are live animals for maximum freshness, so don’t go sticking your face and fingers into them, alright? We've had enough people lose fingers today.”

“Oh, yes,” Cilo added. “We've got giant snapping turtles in some of these boys. Makes for great soup, but, well... not the sort of beast you want to mess with!”

“Who eats snapping turtles?” Saddi whispered to him with an incredulous and confounded expression on his face as he shook his head. He looked to the equally confused staff of servants, and put his hands out in a calm demeanor, “He jokes, he jokes! You know how roosters can be, always such assholes. Should’ve heard the ruckus they were making in these crates before we hired an illusion mage to muffle them. Anyway, the payments have already been sorted out! Have a wonderful day!”

To Saddi’s credit, he seemed like every ounce the successful bargain-hunter he boasted himself to be. Sent yesterday as an intermediary between Wylendriel and the town’s leatherworker, the Khajiit brought two untanned fox hides. While not a true leatherworker, Wylendriel knew well enough how to properly skin an animal as many Bosmer do, so the desirable fur was in pristine condition, and apparently Saddi was able to run with that well enough with the help of a few coins and other goods to sucker the trader into an awfully raw deal that resulted in the peddlar leaving with arms full of wool, furs, some scraps of leather, and even some feathers and, somehow and for some reason, a knitted white tablecloth. He insisted that they would find a use for it.

In the meantime, the fox meat was stewing in a pot over the fireplace, prepared by Saddi, and in junction with Marcel’s surprise treats and sweets, would prove to be a quite satisfying supper for those not attending the banquet or those too suspicious of what would be served. Though the meat was gamey, its toughness was reduced overnight and was as tender as butter, and the smell of the pot was enough to overcome the musty scent of the old building. It took some convincing from Gustav and Edith for him to not throw in a pinch of moon sugar while he was at it.

He also made sure that she understood the message that while he could make clothing, it wasn’t really his profession and that it wouldn’t be a perfect article of clothing -- but as confident as he was, he still assured her that it would still be pretty good, so honestly, who knows how it was going to turn out? But with only a day ahead of them to finish it, the pressure was on, and an apprentice plus a novice would be hard pressed to finish it on time even if the clothing was relatively simple and one had an in depth knowledge of the inspiring culture. That was, of course, until more help had arrived, and Wylendriel recognized her immediately as the crew member who she worked with to save others while on board the Tear at the Smuggler’s Cove.

Carrying lengths of measuring string, a sharp knife, and a few spools of black thread in her arms while under her arm was cloth sack with her own dress. Hair pinned away, dressed moderately light without gloves or cloak Maj entered Used Sundries. Complaining half heartedly, “It’s one fucking thing to mend a few holes but another to be fancy feast ready when you couldn’t give another shit about what a bunch of rich nobles pat themselves on the back-” She stopped herself seeing Wylendriel, “Oh, hello.”

“Didn’t realize you were needing help too, Wylendriel.” She said somewhat sheepishly.

Placing her tools down on the nearest table, “I can work pretty fast but this deadline is bullshit.”

Before the priestess could even get a breath out, Saddi had already picked up where Maj had left off with a burdened tone, “Ah, yes, the priestess needs lots of help apparently, but nothing that I am not thrilled to accompany her with -- damned Tree Pact--”

“Green Pact--”

“--keeping us from simply buying the clothes -- but I digress! Prima-- ah, naturalistic clothing shan’t be so hard, yes? And you, pirate? You say you work fast? Come, come! Help our chaplain look as ravishing as, well, furs and wools shall allow.”

Wylendriel sighed, shaking her head and trying to stifle a somewhat amused smirk before looking up at the redguard from her position sitting on the floorboards. In her hands as a rather long length of brown fur that would make up the lining of the dress, being punched through by a needle threaded with sinew. Despite her exasperation at Saddi’s eccentricities, she aimed her eyes to Maj with a humbled and inviting smile. While part of her wanted to ask her to pardon their new quartermaster, she opted for the more diplomatic approach of ignoring his forwardness.

“Maj,” she pleasantly greeted, “it has been a short while, hasn’t it? Join us, I don’t believe we’ve had the opportunity to appropriately introduce ourselves. I’m Wylendriel, the company’s chaplain. You can come to me for anything if there’s something troubling you.”

“Hi, yes.” She said a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth in spite of her sour complaints. “Yes, I’m Maj Noor. Apparently now a surviving member of the Corsair Republic.” Maj’s expression was pained, but she jogged on. “Meeting amidst a disaster is about as appropriate a place to meet new faces as it can get while at sea.”

Elbowing Saddi she said, “Complaining about working with leathers instead of silk? Let me tell you just how ravishing a set of leathers can be, my former Captain would adorn herself in feathers, bits of gold, and polished steel. Striking out against the backdrop of the sea.”

“Wearing metal out at sea?” Saddi questioned. “Little wonder then why she-- ow!”

The khajiit was quickly silenced as a wooden and stew-covered soup ladle came flying across the room and hit him in the chin, stopping Wylendriel from nearly punching him in his arm herself, and a quick look around the corner showed Dar’Jzo standing in front of the pot and facing the others with his arms crossed and needle-like eyes glaring into Saddi. A quick rub on his chin to massage away the sting, and Saddi instead finished with, “...I’m a fan of cotton, myself.”

With a sigh, Wylendriel attempted to move on. “The idea here is that I will be attending as a Spinner to act as a mediator by Gustav’s invitation. I know all of the traditional designs and I don’t intend on it being complicated, but I’m not a particularly skilled tailor, so Saddi has been doing most of the ornamentation and complicated stitches.”

“. . .I am a fan of cotton as well.” Maj said, not missing what Saddi had meant to say originally. “You got it, need some of the basics done to bring the pieces together.”

While the thought of missing Captain Sette hung onto Maj’s mood, she couldn’t help but continue her line of thought. “I used to help the Captain make those alterations, lots of details.” She scooped up the leather running a hand through the fur. “She was - er well, is a master illusionist, never missing a detail in whatever she crafted whether that was creating a intimidating pose of a cut-throat pirate, a speech to inspire fear in the target, or telling a ghost story. . . She always looked good while doing any of those things.” Maj said rolling up her sleeves.

Clearing space she laid out the pieces preparing a thicker needle for the leather, “We’re pulling off an illusion by dressing nicely, painting our faces and drinking to the defeat of those savage pirates.” She said through gritted teeth as her hands methodically began to thread the needle. “That’s how I see it.”

“Folks hide a lot with tiny illusions all the time.” She glanced to Wylendriel, “Clothing, the way the hold themselves, what they carry. I could go down a list that’s as long as a coastline.”

“That’s quite insightful of you.” Wylendriel commented, Maj’s words causing her to reflect upon herself for a moment. She’s been hiding quite a lot, but she wasn’t sure if she was so suave at it that she’d call it an illusion. It then made her question if the woman had noticed that and would begin prying, so she made the decision to turn the conversation around.

“It sounds as though you’re rather smitten by this captain of yours.” She said. “You must miss her quite a bit.”

Maj paused momentarily to laugh, “I was at first! Whether you fancy lads or lassies, you could be swept away as easily as the tide by Captain Sette.” She clarified. “She offered me a new life, mentored me. I miss her, I miss the crew but I’ve got this deep…” Her hand clenched around her stomach, “Deep as the marrow of my bones ache for Nephelle.”

Brow furrowing then softening as her thoughts shifted to her. Digging out from her pouch she quite proudly showed Wylendriel her sketchbook sketches of Nephelle’s profile, the narrow nose and cheeks, tall peaked ears signalling her Dunmer heritage. Written in Dunmeris below it was Nephelle’s name.

“I could go on for days about the Capn’ but Nephelle would take me an eternity.” Maj said as she resumed, needle prepared now and ready to begin piecing together the leather.

Wy listened and nodded on as Maj told her story, accepting a finished portion of the piece Saddi was working on and overlapped it with the fur, lining up the edges where it was appropriate, and pulled it over for Maj to work on while Wy got started on the other end. She found herself smiling fondly at the picture the redguard had drawn over her dunmer lover, and at the tenderness in voice as she said her name. She tried to think back if she, herself, ever had the fortune of being so close to someone -- then quickly retreated from such thoughts, knowing that only dismay had awaited her there. It sounded as though Maj was missing them sorely, and from the sounds of things, lost them in some tragic accident. Whether or not they were dead was yet to be determined, but there had to have been some turmoil there.

“There never is a true end to life.” Wy softly said as she worked at the stitches. “We simply change form. Us Bosmer believe we return to the Earth Bones -- the Ehlnofey, and our spirits are returned to Green, the land around us. Death, to us, is seen more as… a transition to a different phase of life, as it were, where we’re no longer bound by convention. Likewise, her spirit is kept alive through your art and love.”

The priestess huffed a sigh as she thought of her parents, then added, “Two wise Spinners told me once that your eyes are where the world begins. I’ve no doubt that there is a world beyond this one where Nephelle is waiting patiently for you and is eager to hear the exciting stories you have to tell.”

Kinder words than Maj expected and words she hardly felt she deserved to hear. “Th-thank you, Wylendriel, that is kind of you to say so.” Setting to work on the new pieces, sniffling under her nose she said, “Anyway I’ll try to finish this up quickly.”

“Thank you too.” Wy said again. The three of them worked together to finish the handcrafted robes just in time. Green-dyed wool was layered over the brown fur, Saddi taking care of the embroidery, and minimal stitching was used in favor of wrapping both ends around her torso and securing it to her waist with a stylized leather belt, accented by tuffs of strings and fur -- somehow Saddi figured out how to actually incorporate a tablecloth and some feathers into the dress while making look like it belonged there. Finishing up the dress, they scraped together some leather to turn some ordinary looking sandals into something slightly more fanciful by extending the straps to crawl halfway up to her knees. They'd then help Maj with the finishing touches of her own clothes.

Wearing non-traditional robes and masquerading as a Spinner sort of felt like sacrilege, and it didn’t have the same sentimental value to Wy as her old robes did -- but after hours of working with pleasant company, it had value all the same, and it still reminded her of home. With a new set of replacement robes, it was like she rediscovered her identity.

And she sort of felt pretty.

---

"Real smooth, Runner Boy."

He could hear Roze's voice as clear as day; she'd no doubt find the Imperial's amateur infiltration amusing. For whatever reason he honestly didn't expect the guards to find the dagger, but then again, he only had experience with robbing small shops. Even at that he was a little rusty, however. Disregarding Sagax's skill, or lack thereof, he was still smart enough to surrender the weapon without protest, verbal and nonverbal. He didn't bother trying to offer excuses to the guards, a waste of breath honestly, but he was offered a convenient out by the aged Breton. Sagax gladly accepted his invitation, giving a courteous bow to the guards before leaving.

The man's office was not sizeable, but it was very clean and well organized. Short stacks of papers were placed symmetrically on one end of the desk, with an hourglass and bust of the Duchess on the other, the bust angled perfectly to be facing directly toward whoever may be sitting at the desk. A set of cabinets on the back wall were lined with plates and vases painted with landscapes and historical figures. There were pieces with more abstract artwork, but curiously there seemed to only ever be one at a time, placed between the other articles on the shelves as if to separate them. A few paintings varying in size and content filled the wall next to the door, and a circular window took up the wall at the other end of the room, letting in more than enough light to fill the space.

While he was looking around the room, Sagax saw the Breton place his dagger in a small trunk. It was clear he would not be getting that back any time soon, and he hoped Piper and the others would come through and get him his sword back. Until then, he would just need to make do with whatever he could find if something happened. Things seemed calm at this point though, so Sagax didn't worry too much.

"Now, son, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

Time to see if you can still work your magic, Sagax.

The Imperial stood straight, placing himself perfectly in the middle of the room in front of the desk. "As you have already deduced, my lord, I am Shay Cormac." He said with a bow. "I am quite far away from home, you see...I hail from Anvil, in Cyrodiil."

The Breton perked up a curious eyebrow. "Anvil? My word, yes are are far from home, boy. Why in the world are you here?" he asked, placing his clasped hands together on the desk.

Spin it Sagax, spin it...

The Imperial looked to the ground and let out a small sigh. "That, my lord, is a long story...." Sagax cleared his throat and folded his hands behind him, standing "at ease".

"You see, my lord, I am a wanderer. I come and go frequently and take jobs wherever I can find them. That is why I have so suddenly appeared on your list of servants."

His expression reflecting growing curiosity, the administrator continued his questioning. "I see...yes, I suppose that makes sense. But why? Surely, I would think that if one could find a steady line of work, they would stay put. Unless..." He pondered, leaning forward slightly. "Are you on the run, boy?"

"On the run...? Oh, no my lord, not at all!" Sagax responded, with an air of both shock and offense. "No no no, not on the run. In fact, I..." He paused for a mere moment, conjuring up further details of his fable in his head before putting them to word. "...I would actually be the one giving chase."

"You see, my lord, the reason why I find myself always on the move is because I am searching for my family."

"Your family, hm?" The man's voice maintained its tone of curiosity. It reminded Sagax of how his father would interview citizens. Impartial, but still wishing to get to the bottom of things. "What happened to your family, my boy?"

"Truth be told, my lord, I have no idea. That is why I am searching for them."

"You...don't know?"

"No, my lord. I was very young when they disappeared, my mother, father and young cousin. I woke up one day, and they were simply...gone. That very next day I was in an orphanage, the only thing to my name being that selfsame knife you found on me." Sagax explained, gesturing to the storage trunk. "Oh, and my lord, please accept my apologies for bringing it with me...I knew full well it would not be allowed, but it's all I have. It has always been so hard to leave behind. Truth be told, this has happened before." He added sheepishly.

"I see..." he finally said after several moments of pondering. "So you hope to find them by exploring the world? I doubt you have or will have much luck...I have never heard the name 'Cormac' before."

"Yes, such has been my dilemma, my lord. Everywhere I go, it is as if the name 'Cormac' does not exist. I searched all over Cyrodiil, across the mountains of Skyrim, and I have even trekked through the grand cities of Morrowind. I have found nothing, however."

"My my, you have had quite the journey, my boy." The administrator said as his eyes widened slightly in surprise. "I don't believe I would be able to help you myself, but I wish you luck...and I hope you are not planning on leaving us soon. As I said, we have been in need of extra hands..."

Sagax smiled and bowed. "I thank you for you kind words, my lord. And do not worry, I am no lout. When I am privileged enough to find work during my search, I stay and perform my duties faithfully. Some may receive their first lot of pay and leave, but I am not one of them.

"Most excellent." the Breton said while glancing at the hourglass next to him. The lower section had accumulated several inches of sand during their conversation. "Mmh, yes, about what I expected...well I believe I've kept you long enough, son. We should be receiving the majority of the guests soon, and I am certain they will be famished."

"Aha...aren't they always, my lord?"

"Indeed, and the Duchess knows it full well. Hm...there is still a little bit of time before the festivities start proper. The Duchess has ordered a bountiful stock of liqueurs and brews, and I would suggest you familiarize yourself with the catalogue, for I am certain some guests will have special orders."

"Of course, my lord, it would not do to disappoint the Duchess' esteemed guests. I will see to it immediately." Sagax said with another bow. "Oh, and my lord...I do know it is a tad improper for a servant to ask a favor of the higher members of the estate, but please, see that my dagger is safe. It truly is all I have left."

The administrator waved his hand. "I would not worry too much about it, as it will be perfectly safe here. Thieves do not last long unnoticed in our castle.

"Thank you, my lord. My greatest gratitude to you!" He bowed again...Sagax hoped he wasn't overdoing it. "I shall see to my duties; whatever the guests wish for, they shall have it post-haste."

"Very good, see that they do. This is quite the important little get-together and the Duchess would hate for anyone to leave dissatisfied." The administrator then took out a small book from his breast pocket and began scribbling on its pages.

"Spoke with one Shay Cormac...approximately fiteen minutes...keepsake confiscated and locked in storage..." He muttered to himself before stowing the book away and looking back up to Sagax. "You are dismissed, Cormac. I also must see to my duties. So many lists, so many names, so little time..."

Sagax bowed and took his leave while the administrator rejoined the guards. "Master Delacourt." One spoke, handing him a list of servants that had yet to check in.

---

---

The amicable Shay Cormac made his way through the crowds, plate of beverages balanced expertly on the flat of his palm. Of all the servants on the grounds, he was confident that he was the swiftest; he even had to refill his tray twice. Shay first delivered drinks to his compatriots, but sadly he had no news other than the Duchess' varied selections of wines in the castle cellar to deliver to Gustav. Of course, he also served the other guests in hopes of overhearing any juicy gossip. He was ever friendly, but he also made sure to not be intrusive; the only thing worse than a thirsty noble was an annoyed one. Shay spoke his niceties and compliments, and then went on his way. Eavesdropping, unfortunately, did not bring light to anything interesting. Mostly comments on the entertainment of the party and politics from their homelands. There was certainly conspiratorial talk, but none that pertained to the threat he and the others were hired to intervene against.

Shay could see no omens of an attack, and all seemed to be calm. However, the night was young, and anything could happen. It was hard to speak for Shay, but if any proved foolish enough to assault anyone within the castle, Sagax was going to be ready. They would be eliminated...through deadly force if necessary.

_{Featuring @Gcold}

Afternoon, Last Seed 16
Royal Garden, Evermore Castle

---

Upon seeing Gustav's anxiety flare upon talking to the two Nords, and noticing the duo's attention turned towards him, Sadri decided the only viable tactic right now would be to deflect the attention. “Go with the flow,” Sadri thought to himself as he relaxed his muscles to help with his game - that being, playing dumb. The glass of brandy in his hand began shaking, and his feet became dizzier with every step; by the time he was alongside Gustav and the dynamic duo, he might as well have been drunk, mentally impaired, or merely very dumb.

He put his iron hand on Gustav's shoulder as he began speaking. “Oh Gustav, friend,” he asked with a slurry monotone voice that reeked of brain damage, “who are these people?”

For all Gustav cared, Sadri might as well have brain damage for real. Gustav frowned; instead of trying to talk his way out, Sadri had chosen to play dumb. It was dumb, because there’s no way the Dunmer could be drunk after only one sip of brandy. Rather than turning the Swiftsong twins away, Sadri’s bout only drew more of their attention.

“Well, as you all know,” Gustav mused, trying to pull Sadri into standing straight, “I have many friends here.”

“You do?” Janne quipped.

“I do, thank you very much.” Gustav shot back.

“So, then-” Jens began.

“Then I think you should recognize each other.” Gustav looked to Sadri for help, but to no avail.

“We should?” Said Janne.

Gustav was about to sigh, but he caught his breath midway and turned it into an awkward chuckle. If the twins weren’t curious before, they certainly were now. They flanked Gustav like vultures, and with likewise fascination.

“Heh, you folks, heh.” Gustav chuckled again, nervously. He looked to Sadri one last time, and decided that if the Dunmer could fool him at Dawnstar, then there’s a decent chance he’d do it again here. “How could you two not recognize Madura Dalas here? And Madura, wow, remind me not to drink that, couldn’t even remember your old editors! Ha, forgot all those articles the Swiftsongs published for you for a cup of brandy!”

“Madura?” One of the twin stopped in confusion.

“Dalas?” The other one followed.

“Yes-” Gustav nodded.

“I swear you were a lot shorter,” Jens circled in front of Sadri and leaned in to examine, “and much smoother on the face.”

“And could hold your drinks a lot better.” Janne added. “You downed half a keg during the New Life festival back in 203, and barely batted an eye.”

“And, by Stendarr, what happened to your hand?” Jens pointed to the metal piece resting on Gustav’s shoulder. “Haven’t seen this year and-”

“Look, friends, Madura and I had a bit of,” Gustav searched for the best word, “adventures, this year. You know, the kind that-” That sounded absolutely not right.

“Why don’t you tell our old friends yourself, Madura?” Gustav clapped Sadri’s back so hard, that it was basically a slap. Then Gustav gave Sadri a stern look of get your (bull)shit together. “Or should we take you to the lavatory?”

After almost falling face-down thanks to Gustav's encouraging pat on the back, Sadri shut his mouth with his hand as he looked over to the Swiftsong twins, before coming eye to eye with Gustav. For a moment one could've thought that he'd lost his cognitive abilities for real, but from there, he jutted his head back with sudden realization, and offered his iron hand for a handshake. “I apologize, friends,” he began speaking slowly, “it is not the drink but, as my friend here says, adventures. I, uh,” Sadri rubbed his chin, “had the misfortune of getting shot at…”

After shaking the Dunmer’s metal hand apprehensively, the duo seemed nonplussed, and Sadri himself realized that 'getting shot at' did not exactly cover the extent of the scarring he bore, so he played his trump card, which bore the virtue of being not exactly untrue.

“...by artillery. Still recovering, thanks to Gustav here. He paid for the arm, the healers... It only does so much, though. I'm sure you understand.” He lightly tapped one of the scars on his forehead, one earned years ago in the Abecean Sea. “Memory issues. It's, it's…” He rubbed his eyes as if he were holding tears back, pinching open the often-swollen vein that Mora helped empty for extra dramatic flare. To an unaware onlooker, he'd seem as if he were crying blood from his right eye.

”Better get a raise for this,” Sadri thought as he wiped bloody tears away from his eye and put on his most hapless and sadness-inducing expression. “...It's horrible... I keep forgetting. My past, my writing... I could not recognize my very brother.”

“Indeed.” Gustav immediately followed up. “The battles were harrowing; Madura sacrificed his own limb to chronicle the heroism of our brave warriors. The rest of the world wouldn’t be able to comprehend the horror at Windhelm and Dawnstar if not for him risking his life on the frontlines. I used to admire my friend for his candidness, and now I admire his courage on top of that.”

“And it’s no exaggeration; the Kamals do have ironclad ships shooting giant ice spikes.” Gustav gestured with his arm. “We’ve ran into one of them, right after Madura encountered his brother leading a band of Ashlander warriors in the name of the Nerevarine.”

“After?” One of the Swiftsongs perked up.

“Uh, after Madura was hit initially, and after encountering the Ashlanders.” Gustav corrected, taking a gulp of his own brandy. “Heh, lots of ‘afters’.”

Being the journalists they were, the Swiftsongs were no less apprehensive than they were initially. However, their focus shifted to something other than “Madura’s” identity. Jens grabbed a cup of cocktail from a passing servant, sipping it while appraising the Dunmer’s story. Janne, on the other hand, began sketching in her notepad.

“Windhelm; what was it like?” Jens asked. “Did the city actually fall because of the Jarl’s son’s foolishness? Were there truly thousands of bodies being dumped into the sea?”

“Why do you think your brother decided to fight for the Nerevarine?” Janne didn’t even give Gustav and Sadri a moment to breath before her own questions came out. “You hardly spoke of him before.”

“Look, I think-” Gustav tried to excuse Sadri and himself.

“Did you see the Kamals riding eight-legged bears?”

“Were the Ashlanders wearing crab shells? Did they practice sanitation like you propostulated?” The questions flooded out.

“How about we give Madura a moment to answer, and breath, eh?” Gustav suggested. He urged the group to continue walking forward along the garden, and enter the main courtyard. At this point, nothing Sadri could cook up would be less suspicious than walking away. “He’s a bit slower than he used to be.”

“A moment, yes, yes…” Sadri muttered in agreement with Gustav as the group moved further into the courtyard. He took another sip of his brandy before spotting an empty bench aside a circular pool, in which he noticed two colorful carps with immensely long barbels, swimming in perfect circles. He feigned fixation with the pool and the fish, which allowed him to walk over to the bench and make himself comfortable in answering the questions. Sitting down, he rested his good arm on his thigh and began scratching his chin as he watched the fish, in an attempt to imitate fool's wisdom and come up with answers to the twins' questions.

After an awkward minute of silence in which Sadri played contemplative monk while the others immersed themselves in the absurdity of the scene, he raised his head up as if awoken from a trance and turned his head to face the twins.

“Hmm, good questions, good questions... I shall tell you what I can remember… Windhelm... I do not remember the fall, but the corpses, I do... Bloated, burst, floating away into the night sea…”

Sadri shook his head in horror. “...And yes, I remember, I remember the beasts... The demons atop them, hounding after us, constant…”

He reached out suddenly and grabbed Janne's arm. “You are writing all these down, yes? Write it all, before I forget. Before I…”

Janne jumped when Sadri grabbed her arm. “What in Oblivion!?” She pushed the metal hand away, dropping her notepad in the process.

Jens also jumped in surprise. Though he held on to his own pages and recovered Janne's pad. “You didn't give us anything to write about.” Jens shook his head, as he gave back Janne's notepad.

Gustav didn't jump, though he finally cracked a genuinely amused smile. “Oh, his stories are more than just words.” Gustav changed to a serious facade. “It's in the eyes; the words won't be clear unless you gaze deep, and bare your soul to the pits.”

“That makes absolutely no sense!” Janne did look into the Dunmer's eyes, but she found only a blood-fouled mess in one of them. Throwing up her arms in frustration, Janne tucked her notepad securely away, and herself well beyond Sadri’s reach.

“His mind is beyond repair.” Jens pointed out for his twin. He looked at the fish pond, then back to the Dunmer sitting by it, as if drawing similarities. “Madura, we told you this ‘embedded journalism’ was reckless; now the Gazette lost one of its finest journalists because of it!”

“Now, now, friends,” Gustav stepped in without thinking, “Sadri expected to be thanked for his service, not this slandering.”

“Sadri?”

“Oh shit!” Gustav muttered under his breath. He immediately switched to self-righteousness in attempt to recover. “That's right, bet you don’t know that word; it's Dunmeris for ‘selfless hero’, bestowed upon the few comparable to Madura Dalas.”

“Yes, yes, hearty hero, selfless… it’s in… Ashlander? I used to remember…” Sadri rubbed his chin. “It’s all in my journals, you see, my journals… What happened to them?” He asked, looking at Gustav with a quite convincing, inquisitive expression on his face.

“I heard Sadri was the name of a whaler.” Jens narrowed his eyes.

“Indeed, our associates in Morrowind ran a story on that a couple of years back.” Janne quipped.

Seeing the situation going absolutely nowhere, Gustav balled his fists and decided to do something drastic in order to end it here. “That's fake news, just like the entire Gazette nowadays. Deception, misinformation, dishonoring heroes; I'm withdrawing my sponsorship, and my subscription!”

“How dare you!?” Janne began raising her voice.

“Forget it.” Jens suggested, pushing gently nudging Janne away. He wrote a few lines with hard and sharp strokes, no doubt condescending comments. “You'll find your name in the editorials, instead of advertisements.”

“Good night, sir.” The Swiftsongs said in unison, and one pair of dirty looks later, they're gone.

Gustav sucked in a deep breath, only to choke and cough. He drank from the liquor cup next, only to find the brandy suddenly poor tasting, and quickly pour the remaining sip into the pond. He looked around the garden, the only movement greeting him was a peacock displaying its plumage and chirping like it's mocking him. Finally, Gustav sat down beside Sadri, a humorless snort escaped from his mouth.

“Wasn't as bad as I expected.” Gustav stared straight ahead. He stretched his legs and looked at Sadri appraisingly. “Though definitely could be a lot better. Anyone ever said anything about your penchant for acting? Well, you should sign up for drama courses at the Bards College.”

“Well, boss,” Sadri began his reply with a somewhat wary but candid tone, “I’ve had some experiences in that line of work, now that you’ve mentioned… But I’m not exactly sure if now’s the time for such stories. Could be a lot better, like you said, but it got the job done… I think. Who knows, maybe if I survive all this and have the money, I may take up on your advice, give it a shot.”

Sadri himself turned to take a look at the impressively smug peacock and spent a moment in silence, as if its vividly colored plumage was a gateway to a higher degree of contemplation. “Haven’t had many moments to appreciate such things in life lately,” he thought to himself; “fine brandy, fine clothes, fine scenery…” He let out a quiet sigh and turned his attention back to Gustav.

“It couldn’t be much worse than this line of work, could it?” He asked, with a hint of a chuckle.

“Well, if you live the finer life long enough, you’ll start craving adventures again.” Gustav replied, scratching his cheek and watching the peacock stroll away. “But I suppose there’s hardly ever a rest for us wicked people, and I can certainly think of worse places to be right now.”

“Not much worse than where we were a few days back,” Sadri shot back. “As for the future, It doesn’t look all that good to me…”

He paused for a few seconds.

“I guess the only thing left is to enjoy the moment.”

with the ever wonderful POO

Evermore Castle

---

How incredibly nice it was to have reason to wear a gown. Legitimate reason, too. Just walking up the winding path to the entrance of Evermore Castle, through the Royal Garden. She felt well and truly like a piece of the grandiose of it all, and so she took in a deep breath with a smile, closing her eyes to really enjoy it. The scents of the flowers, food wafting across the air. It was truly something.

There she waited by the fountain expectantly for her hired servant, Alim.

The man was, at present, very unused to wearing commoners clothes without chainmail underneath at least. He had been traveling for many years and had worn his share of rags, having been a sailor and a thief. But a waiter or servant at a ball, without being invited? He at least wished he could wear something that was flattering. Instead it was a handsome vest and trousers, though he did have his cloak coiled up within his pack to be placed on at a moments notice.

Gustav had given him the information for the rendezvous, awaiting the shapely blonde woman he had seen earlier in the shop to escort her and follow her around. He hoped this would be a pleasant experience rather than a taxing one, but that remained to be seen. At least she’s very easy on the eyes he thought as he saw her approach. The curve of her leg flashed through the slits of her dress as she sashayed across the courtyard.

Relyssa made out the features of the Redguard who had passed her in Gustav’s shop quite easily, he looked different without his armour, she imagined she also looked different now that she was dressed for the event - even her posture suggested nobility - and impatience. She was nervous, but she hid it very well behind lipstick, make-up, and well coiffed hair. Nothing was out of place. Her hands were placed across her stomach, fingers interlaced with each other, and she offered Alim an easy-smile as he approached, she was eyeing him up from head to toe. His lithe, yet clearly muscular shape suggested he was going to be easily capable of the things she would request of him.

As he drew nearer, she raised an eyebrow playfully, her lips curling into a smirk at one side of her mouth. “Good evening to you,” she said quietly, waiting for him to formally introduce himself. She hoped that as well as being in the correct physical condition for the job, he would know enough about manners and formalities at such events to slip through as a servant…

Alim held a cloth upon his arm, and held the arm out as if she was to slip hers within his own. Though of course, as a servant he was simply presenting her the implied gesture before he gave a deep bow. “You are looking quite lovely this evening, Lady Deserine. I am but your humble servant and await you to enter the hall so that I may be of service.” he said, his voice as smooth as honey sliding over silk.

Talk about stating the obvious… she thought to herself, yet addressed his comment with another smile, letting her arm curl around his elbow. She cleared her throat quietly, as if to command him to start walking. She could feel in the layers of her skirt the replica tiara, and it made her nervous to have it there. Time was now precious, and Alim had been expensive so she wasted no time in getting straight to the point…”So, Alim,” she began in a whispering purr as her eyes looked out over the other guests, flashing a toothy smile - keeping up the appearance. “I assume that you are of the understanding that you are more than my servant this evening, I don’t know what exactly Gustav has told you, but I will be requiring… Quite a lot of you tonight.”

“I assure you, I have quite the endurance.” He replied, in step as she began to walk. He made sure to flank her slightly, to appear subservient as well as engaging her in a conversation at her behest. “Nimble fingers as well,” he replied, presenting his left hand to her. At the tip of his fingers was a small ring with a curious insignia, and though it was gone in a flourish, Relyssa would be able to tell it was a ring of the local nobility, something he assuredly was not.

Her icy blue eyes followed the flash of the jewelry as it danced over Alim's fingers, and her face twitched in surprise. He was going to be perfect for her secret mission. “There is something that I want in this castle,” she whispered quietly, her face still held in a happy expression. “And I am a woman who always gets what she wants… Your nimble fingers will come in quite handy…” She closed her mouth, letting the rest of the words sit momentarily. Her head tilting to the side as they breezed past another couple, she curtseyed in step, so smoothly and gracefully that they did not even need to stop walking.

“It's a… piece of jewellery,” she continued now that the couple were out of earshot. Just as it had happened earlier, she felt her breath be taken away at the very thought of the diamonds set into the golden frame. “Mmmmm, it once belonged, in a way, to my family… I want it back. You're going to ensure that this happens…” There was a clear look of greed and lust in her eyes now, and her arm curled tighter around Alim's own, as if she was trying hard to compose herself. Either that or it was a strangely threatening gesture, as if she were some kind of snake constricting her prey…

Fortunately, Alim was a very odd young man. He felt a rise in his chest and had a subtle intake of breath as her arm coiled tighter around his in anticipation at what seemed to be a high stakes heist. He then had realization that this woman was probably the most devious thing at this gathering of scheming nobility.

Hot.

“You’ll find my aid in this endeavor pleasing, I predict.” he chuckled, and they entered the grand ballroom where lavish tapestries hung above great pillars of stone. It was much like the gatherings he had seen back in daggerfall. Men and women flaunting their wealth and influence in a game of chess that destroyed and ascended the lives of their lessers and peers.

“I paid enough for your aid, I expect to be more than pleased…” she replied coolly as the two entered the main ballroom now. Her eyes swept the crowds of High Rock's elite, and she groaned. “Look at them all… I both love and loathe them…” Relyssa said with a sigh, looking out for the esteemed leader of the company, Gustav. She had spotted him earlier but now he was nowhere to be found.

She released her arm from Alim, brushing down her skirt daintily with her hands, before placing them in front of her stomach again, fingers interlaced once more. “Now, be a dear and fetch me a drink, wine - white. Dry too, preferably.” The Breton said it absent-mindedly as she continued to glance around, most would think her to be admiring the formalwear of the ladies at the ball, but she was actually noting the location of each exit, staircase, and guard.

“I live to serve,” he said, a hint of sardonic wit in his voice as he bowed and backed away. The Redguard turned, his eyes zoning in on the refreshments and did a gliding march over to the table, reflexively scooping up a bottle of white wine, making it just as she had instructed. That is, until he was interrupted.

“Erm, excuse me. Red wine please.” an older nobleman said, plump and decked out in resplendent satin matched with furs of an animal he no doubt killed in his youth. Alim complied with an incline of his head, and within a minute and three other people wishing refreshments, he made it back to Relyssa, giving her a guilty smile. “Had to play the part.” he said with a wink.

She took the glass from him, and allowed herself a slow sip as she once more let her eyes traverse the room. “We need to get upstairs,” she said bluntly, her blue eyes not yet meeting Alim’s as she began to walk the outskirts of the ballroom at a calm pace, smiling outwardly - but inwardly scheming. She ran a jewelled finger around the rim of her glass, a dastardly smile growing - she’d had an exciting thought. “In approximately one hour I’m going to be feeling rather unwell and require a lie down upstairs. You see the seafood over there? It looks a little off doesn’t it?” She raised the glass to her lips again, and nodded in the direction of the canapes. “Fetch me some.”

Alim would love to be in on the plot, but he decided it would be best to intervene later, if at all. For now, he would be the dutiful servant and give a bow. “As my lady wishes.” He said, and made his way over to the seafood. He chuckled when he saw it was cod. He recalled when he was little and one of his brothers had slapped his older brother with a cod fish. As he was bade, he served himself some on a plate with a few appetizers to make it seem less suspicious, and then obediently gave it to Relyssa.

---

The Breton let a reasonable amount of time pass. During that time she feigned a few quiet coughs, and performed a more wobbly walk as she paced the room, Alim not too far away at any time. It was after around an hour, as she had suggested, that she took her act to the next level. The lady brought the back of her hand to her forehead as she spoke to some of the other guests, exhaling a long breath. “Oh my… I seem to have taken a turn of sorts.... Do you think you would excuse me for now?” she asked in a dainty, wavering voice, her other hand moving calculatingly to rest on her stomach.

She hobbled to the nearest wall, and snapped her fingers impatiently. “You boy…” she gasped, beckoning him with the index finger of a trembling hand. “I think I should take a lie down, help me please…” Relyssa was nothing if not entirely convincing, and the small group of gentleman with whom she had been mingling seemed to think so, with one of them removing a handkerchief for the lady to take.

Even in her sickly state, many of the men seemed somewhat jealous that a mere servant would get to escort her to a more private chamber, even if it was likely holding her hair rather than holding her breasts. Then again, Alim had the distinct feeling her perceived wealth was as attractive to them as her lovely face, and he didn’t doubt some of them would like to have her ‘owe’ them in some way.

The Redguard had to nearly elbow his way through her suitors. “Gentleman, please.” he said, taking Relyssa’s hand in his and placing his other on the small of her back to help her stand. “She seems very ill, if you’ll excuse us...” There was a deep, command to his voice that even those who looked far above his station would listen to, and hiding a smirk, he escorted her up the stairs gracefully and elegantly.

---

Once they had reached the next floor of the manor, with Relyssa holding Alim tightly she made her way across the carpeted floors. They passed only a handful of people admiring artwork on the wall. She knew that soon they would come upon the room she was looking for, it was the seventh on the left of the first floor hallway. That’s what she had been told. There it was, she reached out a hand for the brass handle and clumsily opened it, upholding the charade until she was inside - until they were both inside.

The woman rose back up to proper posture, closing the door lightly. She used the handkerchief given to her to wipe her brow where a very light sweat had been sitting. “So Alim,” she asked, straight back into the mission at hand. “I need you to get under my skirt - I assume you have a knife, yes?” she asked, not paying any mind to the request she had made. It was as if she had asked him to go get her another drink, or some more food. She could sense the finish line of the mission now, and thus her impatience grew.

Needless to say, Alim had the dagger at the ready. He also grabbed the Knife she asked for, though he was curious on what this had to do with a time constrained mission. “My Lady...not that I wouldn’t enjoy that but, I have a feeling you’re speaking about something else entirely?” He gave an easy smile, brows raising. He wouldn’t exactly say no, but he needed a more clear explanation.

“Oh Gods,” she rolled her eyes and sauntered to him, pulling at a thin fabric belt that sat around her waist, holding the heavy layered skirt in place. “I had a piece of jewelry sewn into the lining of the skirt. I need you to get it out. And don’t be getting any ideas, I’ve got more than simple drawers on under there…” The way she spoke, it was as if it was the most normal thing to have done. “Just cut it out, but don’t go too deep with the end of that…” Then, Relyssa plucked at the skirt with dainty fingers, lifting it up from the ground. “It’s at the front.”

“I live to serve,” he replied sardonically and in good humor, and with a nimble cut he sliced through the small fabric that kept the jewelry within the skirt, taking it out and presenting it to her between his thumb and forefinger. “You know, I think we need to work on our communication skills.” he said with a smirk, and handed her the jewel. There was a glint in his eye that spoke volumes of how he felt about precious metals.

“Now,” with a flourish, the knife was flipped into the air, caught on the blade and slid into his coat sleeves. He unbuttoned his collar, allowing his neck and shoulders to breath. “Where to? Usually someone points me toward a target and I infiltrate, but you seem to know your business here, so I’ll follow your lead.”

She smiled back at him, now that they were behind closed doors so to speak there was more room for fun to be had indeed. An eyebrow raised as she took the tiara from him. “We're going up - or shall I say, you're going up.” The devious Breton made her way to a set of floor to ceiling doors that led out onto a balcony at the other side of the room. As she moved she pulled from her coiffed hair what appeared to be a small lockpick. She looked over her shoulder and winked at Alim, before slotting it into the keyhole of the door. Alim couldn’t help but smile.

“You're going up to the next floor where the real tiara is kept, of course. Then you're going to bring it right back down to me…” She was wiggling the metal prong in its spot as she spoke, an almost malicious undertone to her voice that matched a greedy and mischievous glint in her eyes. “You'll bring it back and then we'll go back downstairs and perhaps enjoy a nice supper…” CLICK!

The lock was defeated, and with a gentle push she let it swing open and out onto the balcony. It was shaded enough to avoid them being seen by any of the few guests who were meandering through the small garden it overlooked. Lo and behold, there was a ladder already there, as well as some tools. “Shame about those broken tiles… Looks like whoever was sent to fix them left their things behind…” she commented knowingly, suggesting that she may have had something to do with that... Of course, the ladder would only help Alim halfway to the next balcony up. He'd have to improvise the rest.

The pretend servant took off his jacket, and casually draped it across Relyssa’s delicate shoulders. “Do wait here, I have a feeling you have a knack for getting in trouble.” he joked, and without a second look back, he grabbed the tools and climbed up the ladder, moving swiftly but near silently as he ascended. For a brief moment he squinted, when he realized that she had gotten him to do the stealing for her.

“When will you learn?” he said aloud, speaking to himself.

He opened the trap door above him with a small ‘click’ and peeked out. The room was not empty, as a couple sat by the fire. The soft groans and the mass of limbs told Alim all he wanted to know, and while he would love to stay and chat, he was also loathe to interrupt. Using a deftness that only a trained thief could accomplish, he opened the door and let it to the ground softly, placing his hands on the floor and pulling his legs up.

The woman in the embrace giggled, Alim using the noise to slowly close the hatch and glide out of the room without notice to step onto the balcony. “Can’t go back through the trap door, I suppose.” he whispered, stepping atop the balcony railing and hoisting his fit, caramel body to the next cleft in the architecture, climbing up with practiced ease to make it onto the remaining balcony.

He didn’t know what to expect. Barred doors? Twelve armed guards? Traps that would eviscerate you in a single tug of a string? Talos smiled on him when he looked within to see two sentries engrossed in a card game, sitting beside the most beautifully gem encrusted tiara he had ever laid eyes on. Alim flipped the hammer in his hands, and snuck behind them…

Within minutes, he dropped back onto the balcony Relyssa lounged upon. “No such luck,” he said with a dramatic flair, presenting the Tiara. “All I could procure was this priceless headpiece.”

Relyssa audibly gasped and a shuddered breath left her trembling lips as she looked upon it. The way that each individual stone shimmered and glittered under the light of the moon… It was almost too much to handle. Said glimmers lit up the high points of her face - and in turn emphasised a darkness in the hollows of her cheeks, and under her eyes. It made her expression appear almost sinister in the brief second before she placed a shaking finger on the gold frame of the tiara - a moan escaped her and she bit down hard on her lip. “Oh my…” she sighed, taking it swiftly from Alim’s hands.

“You’re a good little thief indeed…” she continued as she paced the balcony with the piece in her grasp, her grip tightening around it, her eyes lost in the carats of the jewels. She hummed, ooohed, and aaahed at it. If one were to hear the sounds without the context, they may have expected the woman to have been in as much of a knot as the couple upstairs… “Oh Alim… Thank you…” She got a hold of herself, long enough to be able to hand the piece back to him. Her grip still on it, she didn’t want to let it go. “There’s another pocket under my skirt,” she wasn’t looking at the mercenary, she was barely able to focus on her words. “I assume you put the replica in its place, yes? Let’s get this one stowed away and get back to the party now…”

The entire spectacle was probably the most arousing thing Alim could watch without it being explicitly sexual. A beautiful woman with terrible ambition and a priceless artifact. He did his best to try to make it seem like it didn’t affect him, but that bit of theater probably caused him about as much pleasure as she had when she held the tiara.

“I did...put it in it’s place I mean.” He assured her breathlessly, taking the tiara gingerly in his hands. Though he would stop, remembering what she first said. “Little?”

“Offended?” she asked with an almost coy smirk in his direction, she could see that he was getting flustered over something. “Now now, you did a good job for me. I shall have to sing your praises to your esteemed company owner… That said…” Relyssa paced to the edge of the balcony, placing her hands on the railings - the weight of her golden rings clunked against the metal frame. “I still need you to help me smuggle that piece out so I'm not quite done with you for the evening. I feel that you've been running along at my whims for a while now,” she placed a finger on her lip as she peered down at the peacocks in the garden below. “There's still an awful lot of evening left… It won't be any trouble for you to keep up the act now, will it?”

She did alleviate his concerns, though he couldn’t help but give smirk at her manner. He could tell she was used to being a patron of dangerous outings. And he also wouldn’t put it past her to ‘cut’ the line on her employees every now and then if they didn’t quite meet the standard. Not that he minded. It was only business. Exciting business. What was life without danger? It was one reason he was a spellsword and a sellsword.

“I think you can credit me now to being a man of many talents.” he assured her, a dramatic air to his voice to add some humor. “Acting, thievery, acrobatics, along with other skills I shall keep to myself.” However, soon his dark and mysterious theatrics were replaced with candor, and he gave a simple smile, satisfied after a well done night of thieving. “Truthfully, yes. I am content to play the servant boy for a bit longer. Until the party is over, I am yours. That was the deal.”

She moved away from the edge again, her eyes immediately falling towards the tiara in Alim's hand. She was just about over the initial excitement, and instead she looked at it with a somewhat doleful gaze. There was indeed much of the banquet left, it did seem like a fun affair too. “Well then, that's good to know.” She responded with a small smile. “Let's head back the way we came, of course we should hide the prize…”

In the moments as they made their way back inside and off the balcony, she did begin to wonder just what Gustav was up to here, with the rest of his employees and mercenaries. She traced a finger over her lip and hummed, realising that the evening's excitement was probably not over just yet. “So come on then, back under you go,” she said with an airy chuckle as she once again lifted her skirt from the floor.

Alim pulled the tiara away a bit, grinning. “Actually,” he said, letting the weight of as of yet unseen offer carry. “I think that it might be better for me to keep it for a short while. Just in case.” He carefully pocketed it into a small sack that hung at the back of his rump, supposedly to be filled with handkerchiefs and whatever else his patron desired to fit the wardrobe of servant. No one would think to steal from there.

“You’ll be the one enjoying the ball, who’s attention everyone will have. I’m merely the servant.” he explained, brows raising. “Besides, at the end of the night the treasure will go to you and my employer, as it should.”

The Breton raised an eyebrow, her fingers twitching. There was logic in what he had said, but when it came to diamonds and jewellery - Relyssa would rarely see the logic. She let his words ruminate for a while before her eyes narrowed, almost threateningly in his direction, “fine,” she began in a clipped tone - before realising that perhaps indignance was not the way forward. She closed her sapphirine eyes and swallowed back the angrier thoughts that were brewing, vulnerability might be the correct step now. “Just don’t lose it, Alim, despite it’s beauty and obvious worth - that piece is… Priceless to my family. I will collect it from you when the night is done, though I don’t quite know how I’m to relax now…” she almost laughed, she felt a little more on edge now than she had before they’d done the deed.

Alim crossed his toned arms, unable to help but smile knowingly at the woman. His smile spoke of years of mischief, both doling it out as well as being on the receiving end. He usually had a very fun and amusing time with someone who shared similar traits, particularly with this woman. She seemed to have a lust for jewels even more than he did, at least when he felt like being generous about it. With his sleeves rolled up, he had the look of a handsome young servant who had dropped this piece of shit job for something better.

“Hmmm,” she purred, trying to shake the feeling off as she headed back towards the corridor, she flashed Alim another roguish look over her shoulder as she pulled at some strands of her hair, pulling them loose from her chignon. “How do I look?” she asked with a slight grin, “like I’ve been terribly ill I hope.” Then, she stuck out her elbow as she had done earlier in the evening for Alim to take, and walk her back to the ballroom.

Alim’s smile disappeared. Oh, nice try he thought to himself, completely aware at what she was doing, yet completely unaware of the fact that it affected him just as she expected all the same. He felt the blood rush through his chest and the inexorable switch was pulled in his head. The switch only a man would have, where his anatomy overtook his brain. It was an odd thing. Even as he took her arm in his and told her she gave off a sickly vibe, her eyes and subtle movements of her body were stuck in his imagination. He always had been more susceptible of such things after a successful score. Some things never did change, no matter how wiley one got. If Akatosh watched the exchange, the Dragon God would be facepalming at the moment.

As the two made their way back across the corridor to the stairs, Relyssa couldn’t help but continue to feel a little tense over the outcome. She could think of nothing else but the jewel in Alim’s satchel. Still, she kept a graceful pace as they descended the steps together, and as a show of faith and gratitude, she clung a little tighter to his arm - even letting the fingers of her free hand lead down his arm in a gentle stroke. “Thank you for taking such good care of me,” she said in a hushed, honeyed tone - tilting her head to be closer to his ear. “Maybe once this evening is done and I’m fully satisfied there may be a tip of sorts in it for you...” Alim would have responded with something witty but they were already in public when the words sunk in.

At the bottom of the stairs, she uncurled her arm from his and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, while in earshot of the guards she once again began to speak in a deliberate, calculating manner, “well, I feel much better now after a brief repose and some air. Thank you Alim. Now, if you wouldn’t mind - I’m going to find my seat, and I believe that a gentleman had promised me a dance. As a matter of fact, I think you’ve earned yourself a nice moment of reprieve from my whims, but my dear, don’t stray too far…” With all things said, she sashayed once more into the crowds - putting the onus on Alim to take care of the prize. Throwing the young man a bit of trust might work well for her, afterall.

“As you wish,” he told her, bowing low with a practice sweep of his hand. The crowd mingled and the guards paid him no mind, only following the lady with their eyes for but a moment. It looked like his idea of keeping the Tiara worked after all. You know, if he was in a different mood, and if he hadn’t given an oath to follow Gustav, he would take the Tiara for himself. But he was beholden, and he wasn’t without honor.

That, and he very much looked forward to working with that intriguing woman again.

---

The children taunted him, though he didn't move an inch as they berated him with racial slurs and pitiless names. He didn't say a word, and even his chest rose and fell so slowly that it almost seemed as if he was a statue. The children stopped after a few moments, suddenly convinced that perhaps they had been taunting a very life-like sculpture, one of the kids even leaning in to examine Daixanos.

Until his entire body shook from the low rumble that reverberated from his body, and a growl that might come from a beast twice his already considerable muscled size escaped his mouth. The kids screamed in fright and leaped back, before running away and looking back horrified every few moments until they were out of sight, some now crying. Dax's growl had been a warning, but he hadn't expected them to be fearful for their life.

"Landstriders," he muttered, and decided if mere children could find him on the ground, he would take a vantage point elsewhere above the garden. Within minutes, he had scaled the manor walls and found a nearby three story building with an archway that hung near the edge of the manor gardens. Dax found a spot to crouch and watch, comfort the furthest thing from his mind as he watched. Like a crocidilian basking in the sun, he didn't move once more, and waited as long as Gustav would deem he wait to overwatch the operation.

Fortune it seems, was fickle, because he did not need to wait long. He thought to reach for his bow, seeing the guards slump and the cloaked figures moved past them. He waited until the opportune moment, just as the cloaked figures stepped into the doorway. He slung himself downwards and slid into the garden with practiced ease.

Swiftly, the Argonian Hunter strode his way as silent as death to the downed guards. Luckily, the true death had not reached these men. Fast asleep, and their breathing showcased it was real sleep, not unconsciousness. He hissed, feeling the stench of foul sorcery. If there was one thing he loathed, it was wizardry and magicka. His tail lashed with barely suppressed disgust. He nocked an arrow to his bow, leaving the guards to their slumber before pacing within the halls.

Around various bends and more slumbering guards, Dax found his way to a small antechamber under the Manor. A basement the surface dwellers would call it, he remembered. Raised voices, human he believed. It had always been hard for him to tell the difference between man and mer in looks, much less voices. But he could see the glint of weapons from his crouching form, hidden within the shadows beyond the room.

They were not guards. Mercenaries by the look of them. Hardened soldiers, paid to work for the highest bidder at any given moment. He knew they couldn't be trusted. Slowly, ever so slowly, he drew the bowstring back, moving the weapon inexorably to a position where he might aim. Whoever these men or mer were, he would not allow them to disrupt the party. He had been given orders, and as long as his loyalty was to the party...

He would hunt and kill to follow them. It was what he did.

It was what he was.