This giant-ass wall of text is brought to you by Souliolios and myself. Apologies for the length! Lots to cover here.
Also, time skip is coming, I promise!
The night hung heavily over the city, the raging battles of the day giving will to an eerie, oppressive calm. Those inside of the sanctuary of the mosque had gradually turned in for the night when fatigue finally took them one by one, and Zaveed was no different. Turning in on a pair of sleeping mats with Reigenleif, the khajiit had tried to claim sleep while he could, but restlessness and the uneasy feeling of all the things left undone filled him as he stared up at the domed ceiling, his eyes seeing every crack, crevice, and decorum in bright detail. It was a natural part of his feline physiology, but Zaveed would have given anything to turn it off for a night and let the darkness take him. It would seem, however, all useful things came with repercussions.
After what felt like hours of nothingness with the Nord mage asleep beside him, snoring softly with an arm draped across his chest, Zaveed decided he might as well look upon the night sky instead of an old worn ceiling of a place of worship, the warm night air comforting to a man accustomed to more than one night spent sleeping on the top deck of a rocking ship with the Twin Moons’ light bathing the aged and salted wood with ethereal light. The privateer gently removed Reigenleif’s arm from his chest and rose to his feet silently, careful not to make a sound in the otherwise still mosque. Only the sounds of sleep from those more fortunate than Zaveed filled the air as he grabbed his dagger’s belt and strapped it to his back. He found the heavy wooden door and pulled it inward, cringing as the ancient hinges creaked in protest. He stepped outside to freedom and hopefully a clear mind.
Zaveed leaned against the uniform stone wall, twirling a coin between his fingers as he surveyed the horizon, letting his thoughts flow unhindered. It came as something of a surprise when a voice broke the still of the night. “Zaveed, I’ve been looking for you.” A familiar voice said. The khajiit turned to face the newcomer as his hand shot to the blade perched at his back. Rashad had both hands raised in a sign of peaceful intent. “Careful, you wouldn’t want to kill me before you hear what I have to say.” The young Redguard man said, his handsome features mysterious in the moonlight. Zaveed relaxed and crossed his arms before him.
“Trust me, of all the people I wish to kill, you don’t make the list.” Zaveed promised. “And what news do you have that couldn’t wait until morning?”
“I was, I assure you, but you clearly didn’t need much. If you’re awake and deep in thought, you might as well hear what I have to say.” Rashad said, perching himself on a barrel near Zaveed. “I haven’t been able to get back to you and the others since I brought you to Hegathe a couple days ago, largely because it seems like every safe house is compromised and the scores of dead are doing a fine job in highlighting dwemer brutality. I had to lie amongst the dead to avoid being killed myself. Fortunately, they seemed to be in a hurry since not long after, the fighting resumed in the streets and I was able to retreat.” He waved both his hands in a stop motion. “Sorry, I know you’ve had a trying day and I heard what happened to Gorzath. For that, I am truly sorry. Had any of you been at any of the other safe houses, you would have met a similar fate. But, if you can find it in you to steel your heart, I know who is responsible. A dwemer major called Kerztar Stungnthamz who works for what seems to be the dwemer equivalent of the Imperial Penitus Oculatus. He lead the raids and his men are responsible for most of the casualties at the Merchant Guild affiliated safe houses.”
Kerztar. I will remember this. Zaveed swore, saying instead. “And how did you find this out, hm?”
The Redguard grinned maliciously in reply before tossing Zaveed a satchel. “I had to ask a few people, but they eventually all seemed to agree on a single name.” he said. The khajiit opened the satchel and was confronted with several knife-shaped pale grey ears. He looked at the gruesome spectacle impassively. So Rashad wasn’t above torture and maiming. Interesting.
“So I have a name. What do I do with it?” Zaveed asked. “I cannot simply walk up to the enemy and ask them his whereabouts.”
“There’s no need.” Rashad promised. “I know where he is, where he stays every night. There’s a private estate in the wealthy part of town near the gardens that the dwemer senior officers have claimed for their own purposes. He’s been here only a few days, but he was called in specifically to hunt your people down. The Governor sees you as a great threat to her rule.” Rashad said, sliding off the barrel and pulling out a folded parchment from his pocket that turned out to be a map of town with several hastily jotted notes and markings. A small flame emerged from Rashad’s finger to illuminate the map.
“I had no idea you were a mage.” Zaveed observed his pulse pounding. His aimless helplessness was suddenly replaced with an excited and lethal sense of purpose. “Show me where.”
Rashad did as he was instructed. “Now, I don’t know what the best way to get to him is, but if you wanted to get the others, I’m sure you could infiltrate the estate a lot easier than with a large group of rebels.” He observed. “Of course, I don’t know if Kerztar is going to remain there long, but you shouldn’t be hast-“
“I’m going. Right now.” Zaveed said, grabbing the map off of Rashad. “I may not be an assassin like Sevari or Semedar, but I’ve had to slit a few throats in the dead of night behind doors I had no business getting to.” The khajiit said, an air of dangerous conviction in his throat. “I’ll be back before sunrise. Stay here and let the others know where I have gone, I know if I told them what I was doing they’d try to stop me. I am not gambling with their lives, not this time. But should the worst come to pass, they should at least know where to start looking.”
“You can count on it.” Rashad said, looking uneasy. “I really don’t think you should be doing this.” He cautioned. Zaveed glared at him.
“Then you shouldn’t have told me anything. Remember, tell the others.” Zaveed said, stepping off into the night. Rashad watched him go until he was out of sight. Instead of stepping into the safety of the mosque, the Redguard headed in the opposite direction, another mission of his own to fulfill.
- - -
The shutters gave way easily enough, granting the khajiit access from the second story window of the mansion, the owners evicted as to give the dwemer ranking officers and visiting dignitaries a headquarters and accommodation away from the palace and the hustle and chaos that came with being the epicenter of political and military organization of not only Hegathe, but the entirety of the Rourken dwemer in Hammerfell. The quiet estate was something of a retreat for those who did not want to be bothered and enjoy the coastal climate without being within the heavy traffic of the city.
It would be this that would cost Major Kerztar his life.
As Zaveed slunk in through the now-open window, curtains flowing gently in the breeze with him, his soft leather boots muffled his footfall as he closed the shutters behind him and began to make his way through the halls, having successfully eluded the patrols outside after scaling the high privacy wall and up a ornate pillar which offered ample foot and hand holds as he ascended to not the first available window, but the next one over, via a slight enough lip to grip and swing his weight over. From there, it was a simple matter of getting the window open and inside before the three man patrol turned the corner and back towards the East side of the mansion. The bottom floor windows were visibly secured and the doors guarded by a pair of armoured dwemer, shields and swords for clearly more than show. In a city under martial law and increasing conflict, the mansion seemed to be worlds apart from the troubles the rest of Hegathe faced. While the dwemer still seemed to have a solid grasp, their grip was slipping, as they simply did not have the manpower to be everywhere at once. The amount of guards present here almost seemed generous in that respect. Given the chaos from earlier, Rashad was right; this might be the best chance anyone had to kill Major Kerztar, a ruthless officer who reported directly to Governor Razlinc and was instrumental in rooting out and slaughtering the leaders of various resistance groups with terrifying and cold efficiency. Since the Heroes of Tamriel arrived in Hegathe, the man had personally overseen the raid on two safehouses and the arrest and execution of 15 insurgents. The man commanded a very precise and terrifying power. He had to be stopped.
It was just as well that Zaveed was doing this alone; should he be caught, his friends would not be snared as well. The privateer's mind flashed briefly to Gorzath, the lumbering, powerful orc conjurer that had been a firm and trustworthy ally since Zaveed had freed him from a foul dungeon in the Rift over two years ago. More than that, he was a friend. Zaveed hated that Kerztar killed the orc like a dog, leaving his mangled body like a grim calling card in the smoldering store that was once a safe haven for the resistance. Gorzath deserved more than that; had he not already paid a steep enough price for saving Tamriel once? It was wrong. It was almost as if it were an invitation, a challenge, calling the Heroes out.
And here I am, you bastard. We will share more than words.
The silent halls gave no indication of life, the residents asleep in various rooms, giving Zaveed time to think. He knew the dwemer officer often stayed awake late, partaking in small indulgences while he toiled over reports and correspondence that he did not like to do during the day. Perhaps he would be awake yet, a candle shimmering under a door, or curtain, as was the easy, flowing aesthetic of Hegathe's elite, a breezy, non-restrictive and open manner that coloured not only how they decorated their homes and bodies, but their very dispositions. Would a dwemer care for such things? It was rumoured that Kerztar enjoyed to learn about the customs and ways of the people he hunted, so what did he make of the Heroes of Tamriel?
As the thought crossed Zaveed's mind as he rounded the corner, the flap of a curtain down the hall, within the rounded corner tower he espied in his earlier surveillance. An open door revealed a dwemer man dipping a quill into an inkwell and writing on some parchment, a light smile upon his face as if he were writing to a paramour. A parrot sat perched nearby, eyes closed and head tucked as it slept, an attempt by the dwemer to make the small abode more livable.
An ill feeling filled Zaveed. Why were there no guards on this floor, and why would the man keep his door open? There were candles laid out on tables and in lamps upon the walls within the halls, to be sure, but not enough to illuminate a thief or assassin prowling the halls. Unless it was a personal quirk, or an affirmation of his trust in the guards, something did not sit well about this situation.
However, there was little time to deliberate and the risk was well worth the reward of revenge. Zaveed would never get this opportunity again.
He was still careful footed, making his way towards Kerztar, keeping his movement to slow, deliberate movements that would not immediately draw the eye. His eyes were almost locked on the dwemer officer, although he reminded himself to glance around periodically to prevent tunnel vision. After what felt like an obscene amount of time, Zaveed was finally at the threshold of the door, elven dagger in hand.
And he sprang forward, only a few short meters from the defenceless man who would soon cease to breathe.
Zaveed felt the sharp, debilitating pain of his muscles contracting as electricity flowed through his body, an agonizing and crippling sensation that ran through him well before he heard the crack of the shock rune on the floor. His mind foggy from the pain, he was dazed. He had never seen a dwemer mage before... except...
Footsteps behind him, and suddenly Zaveed felt the dagger wretched from his hands and he was forced to his knees by two pairs of armoured, none-too-gentle hands that held his arms in place. He looked up, breathing raggedly, to see Kerztar looking back at him, a thin smile upon his face. The parrot was awake and squawked loudly.
"Zaveed." Not a question- he still remembered what the Khajiit's statue looked like and this one was not a woman, nor a dark and brooding character- but a statement. He had caught their leader and Kerztar would have to send a bottle of wine to Rashad for this opportunity to finally see one of the only people truly worthy of hunting successfully caught. For a man like Zaveed, to lead an army of Nords and earn the respect and loyalty of complete cutthroats and outcasts, his capture was very easy to plan. It all centered on the Khajiit's sense of loyalty and his propensity towards violent revenge. Kerztar respected him, yes, but he recognized the Privateer was ill-suited to the world of espionage and intelligence.
"Give him a chair. He toppled an Empire and saved countless lives from having their minds taken from them," Kerztar spoke with probably surprising respect for the deeds of the Heroes, "I will at least give him the right to sit, not kneel."
With that, the two guards holding Zaveed obeyed, but it was anything but gentle. Zaveed's chair was filled and Kerztar sat down in his own, rolling the scroll back up and beginning the tedious task of putting back the quill, inkwell and parchment into their designated areas. Neat was one word one could use to describe Kerztar.
"I understand you came here to kill me. I know you came for revenge, but know this, your friend, the Orc, Gorzath," Kerztar spoke before clearing his throat and continuing, "He gave my men quite the hassle. I gave him the dignity he deserved and shot him in the chest. It was quick and relatively painless, and his likeness will be preserved for his burial, should your compatriots choose to have one for him."
"Now though, I am Major Kerztar- I will spare you the full title- and it must be very evident why my unofficial title is the Huntsman. Like all hunters, I do respect my prey and for your deeds, you have more than surely earned mine," Kerztar folded his hands on the table, a small smile still on his lips, "But you are predictable. Although, I expect such a rushed and ill-planned attempt on my life from the other Khajiit, Sevari."
Even a Khajiit who he respected, he could toy with. And what more did the Khajiit before him deserve than knowing how his friend died with dignity? Both of them...
"Speaking of which, my sources claim that he left Rihad on a whaler's vessel, bound for Senchal. It has come back to my stack of reports that the ship carrying him was caught in the crossfire between a Dominion Navy fleet and a group of Privateer vessels," Kerztar drew his lips tight in a slight frown at that, "His ship was boarded and he was cut down."
"A shame. I would have loved to enjoy the hunt for a man so used to keeping from being seen. Vanishing from the Emperor's killers sent for him and then killing the Emperor himself. Oh, well, to the death of yet another respectable soul." Kerztar put his hand to his heart.
A mournful tone. A frown. A simple but wistful look down and away in just the right way. A half-truth. The Khajiit did depart from Rihad, but anything after that, even Kerztar did not know. There were whispers though, and whispers and rumors could be oh-so-useful. Zaveed managed to sneak into the resort to plant a dagger in him, but now Kerztar was the one to plant two emotional daggers into Zaveed.
"You have been quiet. The effects of the shock rune should be wearing off by now. Go ahead, speak freely. You will find me much more civil than the ones you associate with."
While his voice might have failed him immediately following the violent shock, Zaveed quietly wished his ears temporarily took a hiatus as well. As it turned out, today was not turning out to be one of his more fortuitous. He knew he should feel afraid, but the most he could muster was a sense of apprehension and lingering anger towards this smug dwemer. Since he could not immediately speak, he listened to what the man had to say for himself.
All he offered at the news of Sevari's apparent demise was a long, slow blink, but his face remained steeled, partially due to the fading explosion of agony in his muscles and partially because he had long ago come to terms that a man in a strong position rarely was entirely honest. Still, he thought of his friend, the last time he saw him in Anvil, before the chaos erupted. There was a pang of regret, one he suppressed quickly. His mind wandered, faces, and then names.
Sevari. Gorzath. Shavi. Ash.
Semedar.
Suddenly, Zaveed burst out laughing. "You think you have it all figured out, don't you?" Zaveed challenged, his voice regaining its strength. "You flaunt the deaths of people I know, as if it's some kind of incantation that would break me. All men die, dwemer, it is simply a matter of when and if we spent our time wisely enough. I've lost many friends, and I suspect I will see them again soon, if you're done wasting my time. I watched an entire ship with people I have known my entire life burst into flames, the crew rended asunder by the depredations of a dragon. All men die. I should have died two years ago when the auroras blanketed the land, and months before that when my crew died. I am on borrowed time." Zaveed said, staring daggers into the elf. He spat on the floor. "Civilized, you? I've seen what your interpretation of the word means in your culture; pointless slaughter, for what? To reclaim land you forsaken thousands of years ago because you were playing with something you shouldn't have?" The khajiit leaned forward. "Tell me, Kerztar, had you ever set foot in Tamriel before your people returned? This is no longer your home, and no matter how many bodies you lay in the foundation, it will never be again. I make no excuses for what I am, and yet here you are, pretending you and your people are a mighty civilization when you're little less animals than the falmer. It's pathetic, really." he grinned. "All your fancy toys did little to help preserve Chorrol. How does it feel to be brought to a knee from a ragtag group who killed an entire garrison and stole much of your war material? Get used to that feeling."
Kerztar was taken aback with the sudden outburst of laughter. And then the speech. Kerztar frowned at the Khajiit. An attempt to be civil met with aggression, but Kerztar couldn't be surprised by it. The man did just lose a friend to the very mer in front of him and he brought tidings of the death of another. So, this Hero was not particularly given over to grieving. A miscalculation on Kerztar's part, one of very few. Kerztar leaned forward, "And you sit in my room in a Dwemer controlled resort, your plans foiled and me and my men to thank for it. I will not forget that you showed exceptional ability at outwitting a skeleton crew of a sparsely supplied forward base. I do however want to make this as civil as possible," Kerztar sat back, "other guests are sleeping."
"Vvarnoc does not like you. These guards will kill you if you try to run or bring me harm. I am the only one willing to talk and not kill you," all this despite the fact that he had his pistol close, "I for one am at a loss for words. Meeting a Hero of Tamriel. Especially one that has the courage to insult the entirety of my race and its claim to our home. Our cities still stand, our military facilities still litter the landscape and one of your greatest Emperors needed one of our great constructs to defeat Alinor in ages long past. But I am not given over to patriotic zeal. Only facts. And facts those are."
Kerztar spent a moment looking at the Khajiit before continuing, "I trust that as a loyal comrade to your companions that you will not give over any information regarding their whereabouts. I do have one question, perhaps the first, Khajiit," Kerztar frowned slightly, "What is your stake in this war? Your people hail from Elsweyr, yes? Farther south than the southernmost Dwemer city. Our two peoples hold no ill will, so why fight? The people were content enough to have us here and Governor Razlinc governs this state fairly. Why fight? Consider that many have died simply because you came here."
Kerztar's menace was unmistakable. Zaveed leaned back, resting his elbows on the back of the seat, giving his best Daedra-May-Care expression. Despite his intense dislike for the dwemer, entertaining his whims meant he stayed alive a bit longer, which always offered tantalizing chances for escape, and the less he was being injured, the more pleasant his existence would be. Very well.
"And so I do; planning ahead was never my strong suit, I admit, but sometimes one takes risks knowing that success is often a coin toss. This time I came up short." Zaveed shrugged his shoulders slightly. "It is of no consequence. One does not always have the luxury to be able to think things through, especially when opportunity is a candle in the dark. You either seize it when you can, or risk it extinguishing. You just so happened to be a candle I failed to snuff out in time. Pity." he glanced at the armoured guard behind him.
"Vvarnoc. A name that means little to me, I'm afraid. I tend not to remember details of people I intend to kill, at the end of the day, we all bleed the same. I've seen the inside of enough people to know that our differences really are only skin deep." He sighed. "And so, you're clearly my only friend in the entire dwarf army. Why keep me alive, why not take your strange weapon and end my life where I sit? Surely, you are not at a loss for companionship, and I doubt you care much for what I have to say. And sure. Your glorious buildings still stand. So does Windhelm. Rocks, metal, get enough of it and it'll last an eternity. Your facts fail to hold water to the mammoth in the room that you all managed to lose everything," he snapped his fingers. "Like that. Gone, presumed dead. To where, I wonder, did your people go? It must be pleasant enough that you didn't bother to return until now."
Zaveed returned the dwemer's gaze. "That much is true, yes. I'm not in the business to putting a price on people I fancy, it's bad for one's reputation, and that is more alluring than the glitter of gold, or even the fragility of one's life. A question?" Zaveed asked, raising an eye ridge. "My stake? Simple. I enjoy it, I like doing things that make people want to build big statues of me and offer their bodies and affection because I dared kill an insane old man. I do not have a people. I have a crew, and we do not share skin." Zaveed said. "Elsweyr, nor any other land, for that matter, has ever been home to me. Perhaps you do know know of many khajiit, but I do not speak like khajiit. My very existence is an insult to khajiiti sensibilities and cultures. Let's just say I fight your people because I've grown bored with the regular assortment we find in Tamriel typically, and I was rather hoping you'd have an old man I could kill to send you all home. I'm presuming not."
The khajiit glanced at Kerztar. "If people were so happy under your rule, then why are people rioting in the streets and ambushing your patrols in the desert? The dissent was already occuring by the time I arrived. They simply asked me to be a celebrity spokesperson, as it were."
"Some do not know when they are subjugated, know that it is pointless to fight. Peace was almost attained in Helgathe before you came and ruined it. In turn, I came to fix it. I started with Gorzath, he was hard to track down with almost no leads until an informant told me. Now you." Kerztar said, feeling the stubble on his chin and sparing a thought to shaving soon, "I see it that you have two choices, or possibilities, as you say in the Tamrielic tongue. Governor Razlinc will put you in the arena, where you at least stand a chance at winning your freedom, but no doubt she will sentence you to an impossible number of fights. Killing an old man with a crown on his head or no, you will find the arena much more difficult."
Kerztar let the first possibility float aloft in the room before continuing, "The second will be to remain in my custody. I will not lie to you, you will have little to no freedom. These are the two things that loom largest on the path you have taken. I do not boast and I do not threaten, Zaveed, but I will give you reasons to work under me. None of them gentle. You will not have a choice, Governor Razlinc will choose for you, but points to consider. You do not seem to be the conversationalist today, but in time, you will talk," Kerztar smiled, folding his hands on his desk, "I'm sure of it."
"And here I was, thinking I did not have a choice in my fate, and am instead being offered the illusion of one. Charming." Zaveed said dryly. He was resigned to his fate, note one he could escape... but the possibility was there. Given the two, he'd much rather fight. The thought of being trapped as Kerztar's lacky was an affront to every bit of sensibility he had. It didn't surprise me the dwemer had informants in the insurgent's ranks. After all, they had tangible rewards for service, where all the insurgents had were ideals. It was no wonder they were losing.
"Me? Not talkative? And here I thought we were building such a good rapport with one another. And do I meet this Governor?" he asked.
"You will," Kerztar began, nodding, "She was as interested in meeting the Heroes as I was. Although, she was also more interested in putting you all away for a very long time or having you fight in the arena. If I had it my way, well, people with talents such as yours wouldn't be wasted in an arena for the amusement of the otherwise easily-amused citizens, or simply locked away until your expiration."
Kerztar smiled, "And we were having a nice talk, as rude and condescending as you have been to my gestures of understanding to your grief. My desire for talking to one of the most famous people I have ever hunted still does not override the Governor's need to see that I have indeed caught you. I must release you sometime, no?" He explained apologetically.
"I do love talks. I always have brief interviews with the men and women I hunt. The most memorable of my hunts was in Skyrim, Nords are not the type of people one finds it easy to spy on. But, we had finally gotten to the last bastion of Skyrim's resistance and we were forced to slaughter the garrison. You would have liked the sight of it, by the file I have put together of the facts about your history, the battle was about as bloody. With all of its blood though, it lasted for forty-five seconds, one minute at the most." Kerztar said.
"As a child, I was always afraid of confrontations, never too good at fighting with the sword like my family's instructors wanted me to be. I was of noble birth; I was supposed to be a hero for the Dwemer people. Most of that had been drilled out of me in the military academy tucked away in that place you know nothing of, Zaveed," Kerztar remembered, his eyes seeing something distant, "Hard lessons. Like 'there are none to help you when you fall.' But no matter what the endless drilling and psychological warfare the instructors put us through to put us into the mindset to do it to our enemies, no lesson was harder than the one I learned from a little girl I'd found huddled in the barracks during my tour in the taking of Skyrim with the Second Shock Infantry."
"There was a girl. Far too young to be skilled with any weapon. The first time I saw her, I asked her her name and she only shook her head, refused to speak. I took her as a slave and gave her to my commanding officer. She brought us stews and meats and this is where I gained my appreciation for learning the different cultures of Nirn, you see, with such different cuisine being brought. This girl and I, we were fast friends, and I enjoyed her company. On one day, as she served the officers our breakfast and left the room, I took my first sip of the stew, first bite of the meat. I felt wrong after." Kerztar smiled then, snapping out of his aimless trance he'd fallen into, let go of a little laugh, "I woke up in cold sweats, convulsions and constant aches. The only thing that kept me alive was our Dwemer medicine and my will. I had learned that she had killed four fifths of the garrison and my fellow officers using the same poison she used to try for my life."
"As it turns out, I had deduced that the day I'd found her, she'd hidden a page torn from a book that contained the recipe to a poison in her mouth and spat it out later, which is why she refused to talk. It was her mother's journal as an alchemist, thrown out of the College of Winterhold. One page was missing and I matched it to the one I found in the girl's personal belongings. As it turned out, her mother was among the dead, as so many others were, unsurprisingly. The ingredients were probably collected from her mother's stash, somewhere around the fort."
"When I recovered, I recovered a changed man, a man with purpose. Before, I had simply been the youngest heir of a noble house, not entitled to any holdings when we made our return. I took life as it came through an Officer with the Dwemer Army I was." Kerztar's eyes hardened, "I scoured the breadth of Skyrim for the girl with red hair and the scar on her cheek that had once shared smiles with me and had the audacity to use subterfuge against me."
"My men and I found her apprenticed to a Bard in a small village in the Reach. They, of course, were forced to bring her out lest we burn the entire place down and mount their heads on their fenceposts. When she came out and was placed before me, I told her our little game of Hide-and-Seek was over, 'I won,' I said. She only gave me a small smile," Kerztar chuckled distantly, "The smile told me I was the biggest fool for trusting her. I learned from her that to trust any stranger was to die. I learned from her that the foe you can not vanquish with sword, axe or pistol," Kerztar said coolly, turning his pistol this way and that in the soft light of the candle, "you kill those who are much stronger than you with patience. Most of all, and the clearest lesson I took from her is to never leave something unfinished. No mercy, no compromises. She taught me the long game. I killed the girl then, put the village to the torch and killed the entire village. Man, woman, dog, sheep, rat."
"I look at your rebellion that you've helped build back the fire behind. I look at the rioters, I looked at Gorzath. I look at every man and woman I have hunted, and I ask myself if they are like the Nord girl with red hair and the scar on her cheek. No matter how fierce any of them looked, how thick of limb or silent and deadly, none of them strike fear into me like that which the Nord girl did. Not Gorzath, Not Semedar, Not Shavi, Not Hralvar. Not Sevari, not even you, Zaveed."
"Only now do I understand why she smiled at me. She knew that she had left her mark on me, a little mark, like the scar on her cheek. She knew that she had made a difference so profound in me. So long as I suffered badly enough to where I could remember her so well that one of my last dying thoughts would be of her, then she had won. She taught an entire Dwemer garrison, iron-willed mer, the strongest our people had to offer, she looked out at the faces of these men of will and taught them what will truly was. I had killed her but she had won. The long game, Zaveed. That is what no one knows how to play."
The khajiit was quiet for a moment before responding with a slow clap and a sarcastic chuckle. "Well done. You trusted a girl whose homeland you were in the process of destroying and let her kill off an entire garrison. If you keep that up, you'll be defeating yourselves in due time, and I have the best seat from which to watch. One wonders whom else is in a position to do something equally atrocious? I should like to shake their hand." Zaveed mused. "You speak as if I should be impressed that you were pampered your entire life and you found being challenged for a change is something I should be in awe of. You're soft, and you're still the scared little boy who was told to grow up by becoming a military puppet. You're still afraid of confrontation because you hide behind walls, traps, and guards and only personally get your hands dirty if there's no risk to you. You're a damn coward who knows nothing of real hardship." Zaveed glared at the dwemer. "And I do mean nothing. One day, someone like that girl, or like me, will kill you, but only after your fragile sense of security and comfort is torn from you like a shroud. It's a shame I cannot be the one to do it, but alas, if you're not afraid of how this war will conclude for you, then you're a fool along with a coward. I've killed enough of your men to justify the cost of me. I face death gladly, but with the only regret that I may not live long enough to see you fail. Such is the way of life, I've been on borrowed time fear years. I took on a continent and won; what have you done, dwemer? I've lived more in this life than you have in yours, and I suspect will still surpass you if I were to die in this room. They built a statue of me and held a festival in my honour, what are they going to remember you by? A coward who hid in the shadows and let others do the hard work." Zaveed smiled cruelly. "You truly are pathetic."
Kerztar stared at Zaveed as he spouted off insults to his upbringing and assuming things one would have rightly assumed of a man in his position. A few things rang true, Kerztar was a fool back then, a fool of noble stock, but a fool. He had to thank that little girl for showing him why each day he enjoyed his position as the leader of Southern Volenfell's Ministry of Order Cohort, "You speak truth on some things, but you may or may not be projecting yourself onto others, Zaveed. I was a boy back then, before the poison. I hardly knew how to command an army, let alone the small contingent I had under me and I may have been pathetic then," Kerztar leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on his stomach, his mouth curving in a small smile, "But now, I fought tooth and nail to be where I am now. Here, in this room, a worthy quarry in front of me. It took me weeks, Zaveed, but I play the long game."
"I let you know a secret of mine, that I was once outwitted by a girl, using my naive sense of relationships. I am what I am now because of what happened, though. I may not know life as it showed itself to you, but the way it showed itself to me, in fever dreams, in bouts of babbling insanity laying in the infirmary," Kerztar smiled, nodding, he shook a finger at Zaveed, "A coward's mind knows fear and hurt. Pain. Cowards make good torturers. Though, I may know fear still, I know how to use it. I know the mind of the coward because I have walked its maze before; I know the turns, the pitfalls, trapdoors, and every chamber. I respect my quarry because I was once quarry. As it turns out, Zaveed, you and your companions have made me quarry once more. By the end of this, we will know who is the better hunter and I am debating whether to take my victory now and tell Governor Razlinc that we were forced to shoot you or to simply let you go and give you another chance, but she would not tolerate my failure, even if it were a lie."
Kerztar smiled, letting out a small laugh, looking at one of the guards and then to Zaveed, "I must thank you, after all, the hunt for you and your companions will make my career. I can retire, knowing that I caught some of the greatest to walk Tamriel or I could die by their hand," Kerztar shook his head, "I respect you, Zaveed. I really do. Though, you are an angry, misguided Khajiit who grew up on a ship and raided in the name of gold. You were a puppet once, but you saw the strings and now you hold them. I admire that about you. But just like me, you will die by the sword because you have lived by the sword."
"I have so much enjoyed this conversation. Hopefully it will not be our last, my friend. I do enjoy picking you apart and finding out just who you are." Kerztar smiled.
With his final bit of musing, the dwemer made a gesture to the two guards who grabbed Zaveed by the arms, lifting him out of the chair and forcing him towards the exit. As he was leaving, Zaveed caught sight of a face he had not expected to see again, the dwemer mage from Chorrol. His glance was fleeting and the khajiit was forced down the hall to what was to be his holding cell for the evening. As the khajiit left the room, Vvarnoc stepped away from the shadows where he had been standing, watching the exchange and paying attention to the spot where his shock rune had detonated, immobilizing Zaveed with efficiency. "That takes care of one problem. I wonder if like a snake, the rest of them will wither and die without the head?" he mused, picking up the seat Zaveed had been sitting in and moving it across the desk from Kerztar. "What's our next steps?"
"We'd be fools to think so, Vvarnoc. A victory today, a small one, but let us revel in it despite." Kerztar said, pulling out two cups and a bottle of alto wine from the cabinet behind him, he began pouring as he continued, "The Heroes are not to be taken lightly. We may have machinery and a vast army at our disposal, but they have discretion. An army can not slip past guards and into heavily guarded officer's resorts to take lives, sir."
"Our next steps are to sit and wait. Let the soldiers in the streets do their soldiering. We'll watch the waters for ripples made while they do. The long game, Vvarnoc, all we must do is be more patient than they."
