[B]Volty and Dervs write stuff together like a pair of bros.[/B]

[I]The journey to Hammerfell...[/I]

Blade found himself walking next to Zaveed as he fidgeted with the chain mail that covered the leather armor and matching bracers. The khajiit had insisted that he abandon his regular equipment in the interest of subtlety. Even his dwarven greatsword and broadsword had been replaced by two orc swords, sheathed on either hip. The new motif was completed by brown cotton trousers, tucked into leather boots, and a white cloak and hood that hid his armaments from prying eyes, and his skin from the brutal sun. The weapons and cloak didn't bother him so much as the armor though. It felt ludicrously light compared to his usual orc gear, and it was just a tinny bit disconcerting.

He tugged at the mail again, as if it might fall apart in his hands, then muttered sullenly to the khajiit,
"I swear Zaveed, if I die in this, I will haunt you."

"Look at it this way, it's encouraging you to be something more than a wall." Zaveed grinned back at the argonian, seemingly comfortable in the Redguard garb he had been provided with, a cutlass at his hip. Of most of the party members, the sweltering heat and scorching sun seemed to bother him the least. After all, his people hailed from the desert, as well, and despite being surrounded by the sea for most of his life, the deck of a ship provided little reprieve from the sun. "Put it in perspective, friend. You will live longer in that than in your usual crude assortment you call equipment, since people will be less inclined to flay you on sight. I have gathered discretion was never a strong point of yours, but one is never too old to learn something new. For instance, I have learned that some argonians are rather fashion conscious and afraid of change." he teased.

Blade pulled the hood over his head. His cold blooded physiology had taken a liking to the heat of the desert heat, and he'd been sunning himself. But the yellow orb was still too intense to endure for any length of time, even for him. The air was a bit too dry for his taste as well.

Blade sniffed disdainfully,
"Yes well, I have learned that fashion doesn't stop a sword from piercing your heart quite as well as plate metal. And besides, I like being the wall."
He returned the teasing grin with one of his own, "Gods know you couldn't do it Zaveed. Not enough meat on that wiry frame of yours."

The argonian paused a moment to look the khajiit up and down, then shrugged.
"Well, maybe you could. But you wouldn't be a wall so much as a fence..." he grinned as he considered Zaveed stock in appearance, "... a picket fence.... with white washed planks and grape vines. Those are pretty right?"

The privateer shrugged in response. "One finds it simpler to not be where your foe's blade is. Much less complicated that way. Besides, being built like a horse does not agree with being on a rocking deck of a ship, slick with water and blood. Besides," he grinned. "The looks on a man's face when he's frustrated by his best efforts accounting for nothing is almost as good as the act of taking his life." he had to laugh at Blade's joke. "If you are referring to yourself as a picket fence, would that not mean you are also implying that you have no substance?"

Blade had difficulty understanding how avoiding your opponent while simultaneously trying to land a blow was a less complicated strategy -though no less valid- than just taking the hit while hitting back harder, but decided not to debate the point. And he couldn't help but nod in agreeance regarding an enemy's frustrations. He poured water into his mouth from the bladder that had hung at his side as Zaveed finished up.

"Hmm, no, I'm fairly certain I was referring to you as the picket fence. Though I find it amusing that a pirate would presume to lecture the mercenary on his character, or lack thereof. I live a simple life yes, but that does not mean I am simple. My apparent shallowness is in the interest of developing as few relationships as possible."

He realized how absurd this might sound to most people, and could only shrug before offering his explanation, "it's in ones best interest to avoid making allies when those allies tend to become foes rather quickly. If you have no stock in anyone than it's not troubling when they inevitably die. Even if it's by your own hand."

"Privateer." Zaveed corrected bemusedly. "I work on behalf of the Empire's interests doing what pirates do. A much agreeable arrangement, no?" he said, listening to the argonian fighter explain his position on his reluctance to develop relationships. It was something Zaveed understood, but didn't quite agree with. Life was far too short to be a miserable old shit who was paranoid of everyone's intentions. "And yet, here you are, marching with allies on behalf of someone else to help sort an issue that could potentially rescue the world. You, my friend, are far too grim. What is a life without laughter and companionship? A drink alone is a poor substitute without company, and a story is wasted if one cannot share it. Even friends who turn foes have value before they cross blades with you, you know. Do you know why I chose to go back to a life being a marauder at sea?" he asked rhetorically. "Because there's a value in a crew. I could have done anything I pleased after I was granted a pardon by Emperor Tactus Mede and demanded my price for my role in saving Tamriel from his father's madness. I chose a ship and a pardon for my time as a corsair, and I quickly filled the decks of the Sea Wisp with good men and women who all lost something to the Thalmor. We had a common purpose, and after seeing what happened to Anvil, I'm sure you'd agree that it's a shame I didn't have a fleet of like-minded and driven people to plunder their entire navy. What did you gain out of being an arena fighter? Some coin and a reputation for murder? What did you have outside of that?" Zaveed asked, looking off ahead at the front of the convoy.

"Nothing," Blade replied flatly. "No family. No skills. No purpose. I had nothing when I entered the arena each day and I had nothing when I left."
He was quiet for a minute as he realized what he said wasn't entirely true.
"Well, there was the occasional companion. Lovers. But the companions were fighters like myself. And so they inevitably fell before my blade. The lovers were brief affairs. Driven by more by lust than anything else. I'm not in the right state of mind to be someones partner."
The argonian shrugged as he continued, "eventually I grew tired of trying to claim what I thought was a normal life and accepted what I had become. A killer. There is no other alternative for me. I have no loved ones to return to. So I sell my sword day in and day out waiting for someone better to come along and best me. To end this brief and pointless existence so that I can finally rest. You misunderstand my presence here Zaveed. You are allies yes, and I wouldn't turn my sword on any of you. But I'm not here to save the world as we know it or to claim glory. I don't give a shit who rules Tamriel. The dwemer just sacked the only home I had, and that pisses me off, among other things. This is vengeance."

Blade suddenly broke out laughing, wiping a single jovial tear from his eye when he finished.
"I guess you're right. I am quite grim aren't I?"

Zaveed grinned at the argonian, finding his jovial outburst a welcome change from the scowling reptile Wets-His-Blade typically was. "Quite so. Normally, I'd suggest a trip to the brothel to sort yourself out, but it's clear you've expended that avenue of release." Zaveed mused. "Just because you've set yourself to be a miserable sod doesn't mean you can't find another path. I'd much rather you not find some way to violently die because you think that's a solution, take it from someone who's very nearly experienced the Void. While you still breathe, you can still act. No man is set to one fate, despite what the damn priests may tell you about Divine plans and other such nonsense. Think of this as a soul searching experience, since you aren't exactly on some announcer's schedule. Surely this," the khajiit said, rolling his arm at the scenery around them. "Is a welcome change to the same boring blood stained pit you called home. I, too, thought I was too far beyond redemption to find love, but find me, it did. Quite a scary and foreign concept to a man whose primary liaisons and understanding of women came exclusively from brothels, plunder victims, and the women in the crew. Seeing a husband and wife was as alien of a concept to me as the Daedra." he raised an eye ridge at the argonian. "It was vengeance that drove me to kill the Emperor, and look where it got me. I wasn't content to let some bastard mages cultivate me like an overripe fruit, and I didn't much feel like running and hiding from them because I was immune to their Emperor's little trick with the sky. You never quite know where the path leads, so long as you put one foot ahead of another. Who knows? Maybe after this, they'll make an arena and name it after you and bronze plate a statue the size of that Azura shrine in Skyrim." Zaveed laughed. "I don't think it's just vengeance that's kept you around. You could have wandered off at any point, why stay?"

Blade's eyes scanned the flat, sweltering, waterless plains with a raised brow of his own as the khajiit gestured to them, muttering quietly, "yes... quite the improvement."

He took another sip from the bladder then chuckled as he stoppered it. "As confident as I am -and I'm sure you are- that I could rip these dwemer pricks a new collective asshole single handedly, even I realize that it will be much easier if I have someone around to pull me out of the pile of corpses at the end of a battle. Besides, I had a feeling when I met your little group that excitement would be waiting for you wherever you went. I was not mistaken..."

The argonian rolled his eyes with mock exasperation after the pregnant pause, a loud sigh escaping his muzzle before continuing, "...and I suppose I've taken a liking to the members of your little posse. They're good fighters. Reliable. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Zaveed laughed. "Easy now, one does not lay everything out on the table at once. I might start thinking you have real feelings and aren't just some reptilian artonach. And you are rather right... we do find no small amount of excitement, it's part of the reason they made those rather lovely statues of us in Imperial City." he caught Blade's eyes. "One way or another, we'll get that city back. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the seemingly impossible always has a work around. You just have to be stubborn and clever enough to find it. Now, who in particular has warmed your cold blood, while we're being social?"

"Oh gods," Blade grumbled as Zaveed pressed him for answers, "you're relentless aren't you? I said they're reliable, not that they make me all warm and fuzzy inside. Besides, one does not lay everything out on the table at once remember?" The argonian was quiet for a moment. Not wanting to end on a sour note, he added, "Thank you for the conversation. You have given me much to consider."

"Relentless, stubborn, charming. I'm quite complex, you see." the khajiit smiled, quickly sensing he'd overstayed his welcome with the gruff, anti-social argonian. "You have time to consider it, and then come. We're still a few hours off from what I hear. Try not to spend it all with the voices in your head. Until next time." Zaveed said, moving ahead to keep pace with the wagon, whistling an unfamiliar tune as he went to talk with Elayna and Thyra, who were taking a much-needed break from the long, broiling walk.