DearTrickster

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

<Snipped quote by DearTrickster>

Sure. What's Maj's fake identity?

And Wylendriel's, @Spoopy Scary?

@Gcold

Ohhh good question. Will it be #extra elaborate or s i m p l e. WIll Maj be able to resist the temptation-

find out next week

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Maj will be attending as guest using a fake identity as Ariane's plus 1. Is it okay for Maj to assume Ariane helped her out a bit for dressing correctly? c:

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Cast

Transmutation and Conjuration

Part 1

Location: Croll Corner – Lost Haven
Time: One Hour after Hound Attack

---

Several feet away, the light from the upper floor joined the streetlights. The shop below was dark and locked up for the night. The building itself was well maintained, the windows clean - the streetside free of trash, a small trough flower bed below the large windows. In the windows, bold and golden words proudly displaying Croll Corner. The open sign was dark, hours of operation printed on the door.

The alleyway beside the shop was lit up as it usually was when someone in the family wasn’t home. Typically, usually for Charlie herself.

Charlie pulled her mask down a long drawn out sigh, “Fair warning, Maddi.”

Turning to Hex, “My family means well, they care a lot and it’s because they care a lot they will want to kill me when I walk through that door. My mom especially, Gramps and Harry will probably watch. Anything you say or I say will be flipped on my head faster than I have a chance to think. She is like a train.”

“Gotta let them get it all out first then they’re way more reasonable after they vent and I may just survive to get to the alchemical formula but it’s really unlikely.” She said honestly. “Just bear with it and I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

She put on a big grin.

She led the way down the alley rounding out to the back alley and backyard of her home. A small fence line separated their property. In the driveway was a small car shelter, open walls - beneath it was a lemon of a vehicle. The backyard opened to open green grass, a shed tucked against the building and a training dummy with stuffing spilling out from it’s midsection and arms. Home to training several Croll’s, not just Harry and Charlie.

The balcony off the second floor was spilling with Nathaniel’s herbal garden, the main garden itself lined the entire fenceline. Blooming in full colour with flowers, next to it was the vegetable garden stems of tomato vines and green beans grew. Gramp’s pride and joy was his garden and it sprung from everywhere. He loved to take care of it and everyone in the family helped maintain it.

On the steps up to the backdoor stood in the imposing figure of Julianne Croll, her staff in her right hand and a left fist clenched. An angry scowl on her face, ashen blonde hair tied in a bun. Charlie froze on the spot seeing her mother. She removed her hood and goggles. Swallowing hard.

“H-Hey mom.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m okay.” Holding her staff.

“What happened to your injuries from this morning?”

Answering quickly, “Puck healed them.” She winced at her mom’s reaction.

Julianne threw her head back in a long groan, through clenched teeth she gestured to Lady Hex. “Who is that?”

Hex removed the glamour charm around her neck and stepped closer, allowing electric light to illuminate more familiar features, waving her scarlet-gloved fingers at Julianne.

”Madalena Hawthorne,” Maddi introduced herself with far more enthusiasm than either Charlie or Julianne seemed ready to receive.

”Proprietress of The Shadow of the Moon in Chinatown - I’ve seen your car pull in a few times - and employed under Robin Goodfellow of The Red Devil as Lady Hex. The secret moniker isn’t some sort of formality, more a necessity given the work I’ve been doing on Puck’s behalf . . .”

Madalena stopped herself, warmly offering her hand to Julianne.

”Anyway, you can just call me Madalena, or Maddi; no preference.”

Jules switched her staff over to her opposite hand, shaking Maddi’s. “My name is Jules, it would be very nice to meet you outside this scene I’m about to cause.” Charlie audibly groaned.

“Head on inside and introduce yourself to my dad, Nathaniel - he’ll get you a nice cup of tea.” She stepped aside letting Maddi inside turning her attention right back to Charlie.

“Staff up young lady! You and I aren’t done here.” Jules ordered.

Charlie brought up her staff obediently, “I’m okay if we just yell at eachother-”

“Not tonight, beating some sense into you seems to be the only way!”

Charlie blocked her mother’s first blow, staff bending under the unyielding weight of her mother’s tungsten staff. Knowing clacks and meeting of staffs continued, Jules snapping questions with each hit.

Nathaniel was just down the hallway ushering at Maddi to come inside, he lead her up the stairs into the kitchen. “Now don’t worry for those two, they only really fight like this over the serious stuff. Come please have a seat while we wait for them to duke it out.”

The kitchen was small but stocked, herbs hung at the window above the sink drying. The oven bubbled with the kettle on the element, mugs set aside with wire cages stuffed with loose tea leaves. It was warm, cozy and another of Nathaniel’s well kept work spaces.

With his back turned he hummed through jars of leaves, labeled accordingly. “If I heard that right you’re employed by our good deal maker Puck? He’s a slick one but honorable. A fair few of alchemists I know like to visit the Red Devil for a drink. Thought about taking Harry over there for her twenty first birthday.” He continued, his voice warm and hospitable in spite of his own itch to take out his ire on Charlie as well, making everyone worry for the second time this week.

He shuffled over to the kettle as it began to whistle. “You’ll have to excuse my rambling ways, will talk and lecture to anyone who listens.” He chuckled. “What sort of tea would you like my dear? We have the whole assortment.”

”Earl Grey,” Madalena didn’t hesitate. ”Sorry, was that too eager? I’m just really partial to earl grey; love bergamot.”

Maddi turned back to peer down the hall for a moment before taking a seat in the kitchen, placing her cane gently on the table.

”And I know how moms and daughters can be. My mom had an art studio and a kiln in our garage which, now that I think about it, that was probably a fire hazard . . . anyway, she would always make an excess of ceramics that we’d end up throwing on the floor and smashing when we got upset with each other.”

She chuckled, pulling back her hood and letting out a deep sigh, sinking into her chair.

“Earl Grey! Excellent taste.” He said knowingly reaching for the jar.

“I remember one of my sons having a passing interest in pottery when he was a teenager. He thought it’d be the easiest way to get dates but took genuine interest when he got the hang of it.” He said with a smile, remembering fondly.

He poured the water and set an egg timer for steeping, setting the saucer in front of Maddi and taking the seat across from her. “Firstly I would like to thank you for helping my granddaughter stay alive tonight. We take such actions quite seriously here, if there’s anyway we can repay you please don’t hesitate to call in a favour from me or any Croll you may meet in the future. Everyone one of my children and grandchildren are moderately skilled alchemists.”

“That being said, I truly hope this is the last of the dangerous encounters with the Hounds of Humanity. If Puck is involved I fear he has knowingly roped Charlie into whatever he has planned.” He scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “Did she sign any contracts or agree to anything officially?”

Nathaniel regarded Maddi with concern, “I know in my heart of hearts we can’t stop Charlie from helping where she feels she is needed but this family has already lost one to Lost Haven’s larger than life affairs.”

Madalena shook her head.

”Don’t worry, Charlie hasn’t signed anything or formally agreed to any of Puck’s schemes . . . but she is involved.”

Maddi leaned closer, instinctually speaking in a softer voice.

”Has she told you about the Witchfinder General and The Winter Court?”

“Briefly, after she helped clean up your shop. The name rings a bell, The Winter Court. Were they connected to the Hounds?” Nathaniel asked leaning forward as well cradling his chin in his hands.

”In a sense,” Maddi replied, pulling out the folder on the General and showing Nathan the Court’s crest on the inside cover.

”The short of it is that the Court is an old order of witch hunters with all kinds of magical weapons they used centuries ago. The General somehow found surviving records of how to make these weapons, used the Hounds resources to rebuild a small sect of the Court, and has been expanding ever since. Puck had me act as an informant to the Court to gain their trust while he worked on a plan to take him and the Court down.”

Shuffling in her seat, Madalena removed the leather-bound journal from her waist and placed it in front of Nathaniel, opening it to the section she and Charlie had reviewed earlier.

”And there might actually be a way you can pay back that favor.” Madalena smiled.

”Charlie said she recognized some of these formulas as yours. I’m not entirely sure what this journal is leading us to, but I’m assuming it’s part of Puck’s plan.”

He looked down at the journal reading it quickly, “Yes they are mine and written in my hand. Secrets only known to me to keep something important under lock and key, paid to do so actually by Puck.”

He hummed wrapping his lightly callused hands around the mug, frowning, “I would certainly like to repay you Ms Hawthorne but I crafted this formula specifically not to be cracked. I was paid to do as such by Puck himself. You understand my hesitation-”

Chuckles interrupted Nathaniel, a smile returned at the sight of Julianne and Charlene. They had their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. Harriet behind them, standing on the tips of her toes trying to see through the kitchen of their visitor.

They looked no worse for wear, clothes haphazard, grass stains, dirt on chins. Nathaniel felt instantly nostalgic picturing easily the pair of them as children once again. Charlie went straight for the kettle pouring a cup of tea for herself, Jules and Harry. Knowingly reaching for their favourite tea leaves. Her knuckles scraped and a little battered. Handing off the cups, Charlie took a seat beside Maddi with a large sigh.

She reached across the table and Nathaniel opened his hand for her to hold. “I’m sorry Gramps for making you worry. We’re in for some hard times, everything I’m doing is to protect our family.” She said, he squeezed her hands - listening. “The Hounds were wiped out tonight but it’s the Winter Court we’re looking out for now. A powerful necromancer skulking around in Lost Haven, it’s a shit show and it’s going to be on our doorstep. It’s taken me six years of university to try and figure out what the hell I want to do. I still don’t know but I know that I can protect us.”

Nathaniel gazed at Charlie, his eyes shifted up to Jules who leaned against the wall with her cup of tea. She nodded, affirming what he already knew. There was no turning Charlie away nor protecting her from the consequences. She’d surely learn all that on her own.

“Okay, Charlie.” He said after a few moments. “Okay, apology accepted.” He stood from his seat leaning across the table to kiss her on the forehead. Nothing more to be said, easily forgiven.

Charlie smiled sitting back and looking down at the journal in front of Maddi.

“I was saying to Ms Hawthorne about the journal she has, if I were to be given consent from Puck himself to give you the keys then, well then I can do just that.” He said tapping the page with his index finger, the formula glowing briefly reacting to his presence. “What gave it away, Char?”

She laughed, “Your tin and zinc! It’s like, your calling card.”

Momentarily embarrassed he leaned back with a laugh, “Ahhh, such a terrible habit.”

Madalena observed the quaint little moment, the closeness of family. She hadn’t spoken to her mother in months, much too busy. Maybe she should give her a call?

”No offense, Mr. Croll,” Maddi finally spoke up, ”but I don’t think we need Puck’s express permission, mainly because we both know he won’t give it. You know how he is. I’d argue that us even having the journal is his weird stamp of approval. Why else would he hand it over if not for us to solve?”

He pursed his lips, she had a point. He stared down at the journal and hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps I can. I’ll give you the key to solve the formula.”

Charlie pumped her fist and a resounding ‘yess’ under her breath. “So what’s the solution Gramps-”

“Ah - ah. Not so fast, kiddo.” He tutted. “I said the key, not the solution. You have to figure it out on your own.”

Her smile disappeared, “Gramps come on, this is important.”

He nodded sipping his tea. “Yes I am aware, it’s also important to challenge you Charlie. Jules and I would be poor mentors if we gave the answers to all the questions.”

She groaned leaning back in her chair, huffing stray hair off her face.

“I thought we were getting on more to ‘peers’ than student at this point.”

Gramps shrugged, “Not yet, Charlie. You’ve got a ways to go.”

“So what’s the key to the formula?” She asked, relenting quicker than usual, guilt reigning in her impulse to argue.

He stroked his beard, then grinned laying his hand flat against the journal, “You’re going to hate this Charlie.” He said in singsong, he laid his hand across the pages of formulae. The pages began to lift and change, unbeknownst to Charlie within the fibres of the pages were lined with a variety of elements - not just tin and zinc. Nathaniel took great pleasure in simpler things for his alchemy, hiding answers in plain sight. With the tip of his finger he drew it out across the top of each symbol, the overall image drew to be an actual shape of a key across the various pages. He removed his hand, the pages folded in on itself right before their eyes.

Taking shape of an antique key, sporting a bright gold sheen.

Charlie groaned, “Gramps you’re killing me here with this.”

He grinned again, big and toothy.

“So what’s there to figure out?” She asked next.

“Balance it, kiddo. That’s it.” He said, holding the key out for her to take. “When it sits perfectly on the tip of your finger, not leaning one way or another it’ll be ready to open up.”

Charlie felt confident momentarily but when she took the key, it weighed heavier than a brick. “‘That’s it’, hmph.” She said turning it over in her hands, already playing with the weight a bit accidently making it heavier before changing it back and the key increased in weight once more. “What the fuck-”

“It’s a very sensitive set up, can’t go messing with certain elements without affecting a great deal of others.” Nathaniel tutted and giving a wink. “Good luck.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Two Birds of a Feather

Evening, 7th of Midyear, 4E208
Gilane, Hammerfell
_{A @Father Hank & @DearTrickster Production}

---

While Mazrah had initially been annoyed and even offended by Nanine’s suggestion to hide her body beneath a robe during the attack on the prisoner transport where they freed Shakti, she had to admit that she appreciated the freedom she still had to walk freely throughout Gilane without having to be afraid that one of the guards would recognize her based on her description. She was, after all, extremely distinct. Her remarkable and fearsome appearance was even further exacerbated by the fierce scowl she wore on her face as she stomped through the bazaar, fists clenched and shoulders hunched. Mazrah was angry and frustrated and her total and utter inability to conceal her emotions meant that merely looking upon her was reason enough for the citizens to give her a wide berth.

She was looking for a bar with the express purpose of drowning her anger in alcohol. Daro’Vasora had been captured and much to her chagrin, there was nothing she could do about it right then and there. The Khajiit had been taken somewhere after being paraded through the streets like some kind of traitor and now she was gone. Quick to make friends and loyal to a fault, Mazrah took it personally, despite the fact that the Orsimer and the cat-lady had only been friends for, what, a week?

“That’s not the point,” Mazrah muttered to herself and shook her head. The audacity of the Dwemer and their minions had now personally affected her and if there was one thing Orcs all hate, it’s having their shit fucked with. She could only hope that someone else in the party had a good idea or a clever plan in the coming days. Coming up with that stuff had never been her forté.

At last her feet brought her to the door to a bar and she looked up in surprise to find it was the back-alley bar where she’d found the Redguard bastard that brought her to Gilane in the first place and beaten him up… with Daro’Vasora. It was where they’d met. Mazrah remembered it being a seedy, smoky den of card-players and smooka addicts. In other words, it was perfect. She needed someplace crass and dumb where she could just be herself and beat up anybody who challenged her for it.

Someone else opened the door now to look at her when she knocked. Mazrah remembered it being a Dunmer last time; now it was definitely a local Redguard. “Yes?” the man asked tersely.

“I want to get drunk.” Mazrah put her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “And I’m looking for a fat cock to fuck,” she lied and conjured the most sickly-sweet smile she could muster. The Redguard was too taken aback by that to have verbal answer and settled for opening the door and letting her through instead.

Mazrah dropped herself on one of the stools at the bar and planted her elbows on the countertop with enough force to send ripples through the drinks of the other patrons on either side of her, and it seemed like everyone in the establishment turned to look at her. She pointedly ignored them and focused on the bartender, who was a surprisingly lovely, fair-skinned woman from somewhere that was definitely not here, with big green eyes and reddish hair. She had a dagger strapped to her waist and a sharpness to her face that suggested she wasn’t just a doll, however, and Mazrah gave her a lopsided grin. “Hi. I want your biggest mug of the foulest poison you have in here,” the Orsimer purred.

The bartender raised an eyebrow but made no comment as she drafted a pint-sized shot of Stros M’Kai rum for Mazrah. “This might actually kill you,” she said as she slid the giant mug across the countertop. “But I have a feeling you know what you’re doing, Orc, so knock yourself out.”

Mazrah grunted appreciatively and immediately downed a big gulp, smacking her lips loudly.

“Charming,” the bartender said but the amusement on her face was unmistakable.

Mazrah growled and winked. “Bite me.”

Among the rattled pints belonged to a sour-faced, dark-skinned Redguard mage only a few seats away from the new boisterous Orc joining the pity party that was the tavern. Steadying the brim of her dark stout tankard, dulled green eyes glanced to Maz. Maj Noor sat with a slight hunch over the counter, gloves and cloak removed. Long black hair fell over her shoulder, gently tied in on itself in a loose knot. Choppily cut bangs framed her face, a crooked nose pointed up at a slight angle. Twin silver hooped earrings somehow survived her tribulations. Trying and failing to ignore the permeating smell of piss coming from somewhere nearby.

Did it really matter? She looked down to her hands, fresh blisters in the palms from spending the past two days picking barnacles off the belly of a ship grounded in Gilane’s port. Needing a few septims to get a stiff drink. In so far her solutions weren’t being found at the bottom of a tankard. Everywhere she looked Dwemer roamed the streets like a bad night terror. What little sleep she had managed from passing out in exhaustion was filled with the fresh memory of the gold-plated Dwemer airship hovering above her and blocking out the sunlight. It sent a shiver down her spine.

Gripping the tankard she drank deeply from it, the brew bitter and strong. The aftertaste was disgusting. Slamming down her tankard she looked at Maz once again, making a face at the two patrons between herself and her future drinking buddy. Maj assumed misery loves company.

“Alright, move your asses!” She suddenly announced shoving an elbow at a dreary dunmer beside her, he rolled his eyes conceding to moving just to another seat cupping his own drink as he moved. Next was a bearded breton man whom she tried shoving next.

“Move,” She poked her elbow at him, “Mooooove.” Using both hands.

He grunted, “The fuck woman?” He raised his arms out of her reach as she continued to push him.

“Move, I want to sit beside someone who looks just about as miserable as I feel. Fuck off, mate.” She said with some success managed to push him out of his chair, he stumbled back spilling a little of his drink over his fingers. He looked irritated and eyed Maj deciding how much of a fight she’d be worth to put up with. She squinted back at him.

“Fuck, fine you can have the big ugly oaf.” He said with a huff turning his back. “Nobody wants to sit near a drunk orc.”

Maj settled in his seat beside Maz, she leaned holding the counter as a balance with her left hand barely able to reach her tankard with her right, her fingertips just brushing the handle. The bartender watched her struggle to reach it and moved it the inch within her reach. A good grip she dragged it in front of her with a huff, laboriously pulling herself back to sit up right.

Getting a closer look over of Maz, Maj’s eyes settled on the tattoos intricately lining her face, counting the earrings lining her long pointed ears. The scars as well, they were pitted and marked along her arms, the former Corsair not making any attempts to be subtle in her observation. She leaned into the bar, settling her cheek against the heel of her palm she said, smiling, “There ain’t a single ugly thing about you. Hi, I’m Maj.”

Mazrah decided to ignore the commotion to her right in favor of focusing on her drink until it turned out that the source of the ruckus had been a woman trying to sit next to her. Mazrah turned her head to look and once she’d fully taken in the sight of the languidly smiling Maj, the Orsimer turned her whole torso to face the Redguard. She returned the pirate’s smile with one of her own and was just about ready to fake innocent astonishment that someone would compliment her -- for Maj’s amusement, of course -- when it dawned on her what the woman had just said. Her smile turned into a confused frown.

“What in Oblivion are you saying, girl? That is my name,” she said, already slightly slurring her words. Her alcohol tolerance was prodigious but there was only so much her body could do to defend itself against half a pint of rum consumed in just a few minutes. “I am Maz. You can’t also be Maz.” She held up a wagging finger while she talked and then she pointed at her chest. “Me Maz. You... someone else. How’d you know my name, anyway?”

“What?” Maj said sitting up straight, looking to her tankard - surely she hadn’t drunk that much. “Maj, not Maz.” Enunciating her name and drawing out the j, “My name is Maj.”

She leaned up and peered into Maz’s mug and got a strong whiff of rum, she frowned herself turning to the barmaid, “She was holding out on me, I asked for something strong too and she gave me this muddy brine.” Gesturing at her tankard, half-heartedly irritated but she took another swig anyway for good measure.

“What got you drinking your sorrows away? These gods be damned Dwemer are ruining everything.” Maj complained, loudly gesturing with her tankard. The barmaid siddled back up and shushed her.

Mazrah waved the barmaid away, irritated, and nodded along enthusiastically with what Maj had to say. “They are! I’m so glad to hear you say so,” Mazrah said and gave Maj an admiring smile. Everything about the Redguard woman endeared Mazrah to her immediately. She leaned forwards conspiratorially until their faces were only a few inches apart and placed a hand on Maj’s upper arm. She could feel her heartbeat quicken. “The Dwemer captured my friend,” the Orsimer whispered, her golden eyes boring into Maj’s green gaze. “And I can’t do anything about it. I’m fucking angry. That’s why I’m here. You?”

“You don’t fucking say.” Maj said, frowning at Maz. She found her hand and gave it a tight squeeze in solidarity, “One of their flying golden piles of shit sunk my ship and crew, unprovoked.” Maj felt a wave of mischief cross her mind, Maz was a stacked wall of muscle and shared her contempt for the Dwemer. She had hoped for some company this evening but now found herself being pulled toward something else. She could smell the the strong rum on her breath overlayed with her musky body, it was unique to the orc, distinctly her.

“Now what are a pair of angry women like us to do with all this unresolved energy.” Maj said her frown inverting to a sly wicked smile. “We could do something unproductive like drinking ourselves into a sickening stupor. Or...” She continued matching Maz’s conspiratorial voice.

“There’s a few dozen ways an angry orc and angry mage could stir up some trouble for those sons of knave’s Dwemer. How about it Maz, want to get out of here?” She grinned wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Ruin their night.”

Now that was music to her ears. Maj’s grin was infectious and Mazrah found herself smirking along. She looked at her hand that Maj and taken in her own and she reached up and stroked the Redguard’s cheek with her other hand, her strong fingers gentle against Maj’s soft skin. “Aren’t you a naughty girl,” Mazrah purred. “I love it.”

In just a few seconds, Mazrah tipped the mug of rum back and gulped the rest of it down, slammed a few septims on the bar, jumped to her feet and winked at the redhead behind the counter. “If the Dwemer ask, we weren’t here,” the Orsimer said and winked. She grabbed her spear, bow and arrows and slung them around her torso before she made for the exit, making sure her hips swayed while she walked and turned her head to look at Maj. “Let’s go.”

Maj bit her lower lip watching Maz go, the bartender rolled her eyes when Maj looked back to her. She slid her own septims toward her, including a couple more, “You heard nothing nor saw us, Lassie.” Doing the same as Maz and draining her tankard. In a flash grabbed her cloak and gloves. With an impressive flourish she, unaware of who received a face full of cloak behind her, clasped it securely at her collar.

She whisked out the door after Maz hesitating on the stairs down to the street. Easily imagining Nephelle where Maz was, while the more disciplined of the two Nepelle was always the first to jump into trouble with Maj. Never asking the whys or hows just when they would get started. She shook her head pushing away the thought, convinced if their positions were switched Nephelle would be right where she was then. Who was to say she’d feel the same in the morning, tonight was for a break in the stormy waters. Carrying on to Maz’s side.

Rolling up her sleeves, she hiked her hood up over her head. Cracking her knuckles.

The two budding partners in crime made no attempt to hide their swagger or their presence as they made their way through the streets of Gilane while they looked for victims, which were steadily emptying as the curfew approached. It was still some time away but many citizens had learned that it was better to be safe than sorry these days.

“Come on, I really have to go,” the Dwemer guard said with a pleading tone to his voice. “We’ll catch up to the others later. Just watch the streets for me, alright?”

His colleague watched the rest of their patrol march onwards with a sigh and waved dismissively. “Alright, alright, just go -- that alley over there.”

Grateful, the first guard took up position just beyond the entrance to one of the city’s many alleys and the sound of liquid splattering on the sand, accompanied by a deeply satisfied groan, swiftly echoed in its walls. Meanwhile, from the shadows behind one of the closed market stalls, Maz and Maj observed them at a distance. They had decided that discretion was the better part of valor after all and did not make their presence known just yet.

“Look at him, just pissing all over as if he owns the place,” Mazrah said sidelong to Maj, her lip curled in disgust. “They look just like the pair of boys that need to be taught a lesson. Agreed?”

“Aye. I’ve got an idea.” She beckoned to squat in the sand at their hiding spot. “Maz, you’re an unstoppable woman - fearsome in your own right. But, these bastids are cocky. I’ve only been in town for a few days and that,” She pointed at the pissing Dwemer, “has been the general fucking attitude.” She shuffled her finger beneath her nose. “What I’m going to do is build up from the beautiful base.”

She took in some consideration, what could the Dwemer be afraid to see? Remembering little to nothing about them, they were engineers rooted in logic before the god’s revering races of Tamriel. That was about it. Usually she resorted to ghosts and spirits to spook superstitious sailors but would Dwemer really give two shits about seeing a ghost they clearly don’t believe in?

“Oh I know!” She snapped her fingers, it was simple. “Okay stand up, Maz.”

Clearly in her mind she imagined, what an imagination it would take to picture what exactly could scare the Dwemer. They liked their creations so much then what would possibly scare them more than to see one advancing outside their control? In spite of knowing little about the Dwemer the rendering of their Centurions face’s were just about everywhere in Gilane. Easy to find inspiration. Misty red light shimmered around her hands, the beginnings of her Fear spell, she built from the bottom up. The image overlaying Maz’s already impressive form of muscle slotted into place. Pieces of a puzzle connecting in metallic armour pieces over her body, growing taller than she naturally was. The bulky arms and large gloves, finally the huge curved armour head of a Centurion.

The shadow the illusion casted was a special detail Maj rarely forgot to add, she felt it really sold it. She tapped her chin, making adjustments with a swipe of her finger as she rounded Maz in a circle. Spurts of oil leaking down the arms, haphazardly breaking the shoulder plating, ruining the symmetry of it. Stacks of heat vents on her back flared with flames, filtering out large clouds of steam. Finally rounding off the image with a crack down the centurion’s face by showing the faintest glow of a soul gem encased behind it’s eyes. Casting the eerie glow of a purple soul gem. She clapped her hands, her work complete.

She whistled lowly, “A goddamn masterpiece if I do say so myself.”

For someone as unfamiliar with magic as Mazrah, the idea of being enveloped with an illusion was so decidedly foreign that it almost made her uncomfortable -- but she steeled herself with the idea that its purpose was to scare the Dwemer, not herself. She had never been afraid of something real, why be afraid of something fake? Hell, the idea of becoming even more fearsome to others than she already was appealed to her.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Mazrah said with a grin, unable to observe the illusion properly since she was inside of it. “So now I just run at them, yeah? Scare their balls off?”

“More or less!” Maj agreed, “But- give them just a second to see you and fully recognize what is about to fuck them up.”

“I’ll be blocking their exit.” Maj said purposefully being non specific, having not decided on how she would block them in. Her mind was already going through a few ideas. “I want to see their faces and balls drop.”

The Orsimer nodded with vigor. “Sounds good. See you on the other side.”

And with that, Mazrah was off. She put on her most menacing scowl, wondering if that would translate to the illusion that Maj had created around her body, and advanced upon the Dwemer guards. The one that had been taking a leak had just finished and was busy fastening his belt when the second guard, the one that had been keeping an eye out for trouble, hollered unintelligibly in alarm.

“What is it? What is it?” the first guard asked urgently as he reached for his rifle and tried to slip his belt through the buckle at the same time.

“Centurion! Centurion! It’s gone rogue! Run, you idiot!” the second guard yelled as he backpedaled past his companion and almost tripped over his own feet.

Mazrah had to smother a laugh with her hand as she bore down upon them. Maj had done fine work. At the other end of the alleyway Maj peeked around the corner laughing at their reactions, it was working like a charm!

Rubbing her hands she decided a classic block would work just fine, preferably before they could really escape - her buzz strong from hitting the tankard fast. It took her a few tries to get the next spell to cast. In her hands she pulled apart a small purple swirl, the beginnings of a summoning portal to Oblivion. Stepping into the mouth of the alleyway she squinted one eye shut and her tongue stuck out. Aiming between the flailing limbs of the Dwemer and Mazrah she swung her hand beneath her leg, the portal soared under Maz’s armpit, skimming over the helmet of the shouting Dwemer before landing against the wall several feet behind the fumbling Dwemer guard.

The portal spun clockwise growing larger, after a moment came a long (unnecessary) whistle from Maj. “Come on out Snowflake!”

Emerging from the dark depths of the portal was a cylindrical block of ice settling with a ominous crack against the sandy ground. Next came the unnaturally peaked head of Snowflake’s head, typical to Frost Atronachs, the hulking form emerged pulling free from its plane of Oblivion. Snowflake came to it’s full towering height, shorter than Maz’s Centurion illusion. It thrummed an alien sound in acknowledgment.

“Took your sweet time huh?” Maj cupped her hand to her mouth shouting, “Well! Go on, you’ve got one for yourself!” She pointed to the fumbling Dwemer, the closest to Snowflake cackling at the slow frost atronach raising its club of an arm. Crossing her arms satisfied the connection to Snowflake strong and unwavering, the creature’s will bending easily to hers.

Terrified the guards pressed their backs together facing different directions shakily raising their rifles to both giants. “Wh-what do we do!” one asked.

“Fire!”

Pulling the triggers, the first bullet buried deeply into Snowflake’s face - it advanced without being phased. However the second bullet breezed through the Centurion’s illusion, disappearing - leaving the image undisturbed.

It took a moment of realization, “Magic! It’s fucking magic!” He turned to his fellow guard, enraged, “An illusion!”

“And reality isn’t any better, numbnuts,” Mazrah growled as she broke into a sprint. The Dwemer were sandwiched between her and the rather impressive-looking Frost Atronach that Maj had conjured into the world. She considered taking out her spear and turning the two guards into shishkebab, but… they were just two men doing their jobs, patrolling and keeping the peace. Spilling their guts here and now would be senseless.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t give them a solid beating.

The Orsimer leapt forward and sailed through the air like a pouncing tiger before landing on top of the guard that faced her. Her rapid movement had dispelled the illusion and Mazrah burst forth from the inside of the Dwemer Centurion’s image with a look of fury on her face. The guard barely had time to yell before she was upon him, riding him into the ground and quickly jumping to her feet after a fluid, practiced somersault. Her landing had kicked up enough dust to fill the alley and she looked over her shoulder at the guard; he had the wind knocked out of him and lay crumpled in a helpless heap of pity at the end of the impact trail.

“Piss on that,” she said and spat a nice, gooey blob of phlegm right on his cuirass.

Maj pumped her fist at the sight, Snowflake doing the same mimicking her movement. Bending at the knees, Snowflake followed her movement once more the tip of its spear and the flat end of the club underneath the closest guard to it. In one swift lift and all the weight to springboard the Dwemer up into the air. His shrieks followed him up as he arked to the other side of the alleyway over Maz’s head. Crumpling to a painful landing at Maj’s feet, he grunted rolling to his side, coughing trying to catch the air that was knocked out of him. His breath caught as Maj pressed the heel of her boot down on his throat his eyes bulged looking up at her.

“You fuckers made the mistake of leaving a single member of the Scarlet Harpy alive. If it isn’t clear right now, then let me make it crystal.” Maj said, her lip curling up in a snarl. “We’re angry and your Dwemer bullshit isn’t going to last.”

His eyes began to flutter and she released her boot. Satisfied at the fear and relief flooding over his features, her smile returned, “I think we’re done here.”

She beckoned to Maz, holding up her arm, “Thirsty work, methinks.”

Seeing Maj lord over the Dwemer and find a healthy, aggressive outlet for her emotions was truly a sight for sore eyes and Mazrah eyed the Redguard up and down with a grin. “Oh, I’m thirsty alright,” she purred and sauntered over to Maj before taking the offered arm. The height difference between them made her laugh and she playfully disheveled Maj’s hair. “You’re cute when you’re angry, did you know that?”

With a laugh Maj dodged out of Maz’s mussing hand, “You should see how adorable I am when at the bow of a ship.” She said mock-indignant, hooking her arm on Maz’s, shooting a flirtatious smirk - not missing a beat, “I pegged you to be thirsty for more than just rum.”

Together they laughed, high off the cathartic release of anger - arm in arm stumbling in through the door of the Silver Skull. The innkeep frowning at the pair, they slapped down some septims enough to have a room and a bottle of whatever was behind the counter to share. The innkeep blinked at the septims, pausing as he looked at the pair - not needing to think twice saying no to them wasn’t an option. He pointed and shuffled out of the way while Maz took the liberty to pluck the bottle free from underneath the counter. Huffing a sigh he watched them go stomping up the stairs, giggles following as they did.

Maj opened the way through the door leading them in, she tugged her cloak free carefully laying it across the chest at the foot of the single double bed. Collapsing back with a thud, her giggles petering out with a sigh. “I haven’t laughed like this in ages it feels like.” Propping herself up on her elbows, the image of the Dwemer guard’s reactions made her laugh once again. “Did you see their faces?”

She made a face herself imitating their shock, “‘It’s gone rogue! AH!’ Haha, I’ll never get tired of that.” She looked up to Maz smiling unabashed, eyes ignited with light and a distinct sparkle of mischief, this lightness being sorely missed the past several days since washing ashore. She had the lucky coincidence of meeting Mazrah to thank for that.

“You’re really somethin’ Mazrah.” She said sincerely, she pulled off her boots shuffling them away, getting comfortable. “Something I really needed.” The languid smile returned.

Mazrah enjoyed towering over Maj for a bit after the Redguard had made herself comfortable on the bed, but laid herself down next to her after cocking her head and giving Maj a toothy smile and a wink. Even like this, lying next to each other, Mazrah was so much bigger than Maj. She rolled on her side and rested her head on her hand, using her other hand to draw circles on the skin of Maj's arm with her index finger.

“Please, call me Maz,” she said and leaned over to give Maj a peck on the cheek. “And I'm glad to be of service. Gilane has been hard on everybody that's come to this damned place, it seems. It's a good thing I found you.” She reached for the bottle of whatever-the-fuck-it-was and took a deep swig before offering it to the erstwhile pirate.

Maj grasped the bottle taking her own generous sip, “I found you,” She insisted. “Tell me about your friend, the one that is missing. Are you close with them?”

Maj was curious, maybe they had more in common than she thought at first glance. Her mind was in a light haze, a particular coil was pulled tight in her gut. Goosebumps trailed down from her cheek to her neck.

Mazrah thought about that for a moment. “I've only known her for a short time but it feels like we're close, yeah. She is the leader of a bunch of rag-tag misfits that are fighting the Dwemer as part of the resistance. They're all foreigners, like me. I was welcomed with open arms, which… well,” she said and laughed, “doesn't happen often. I'm a freak in these lands and I didn't have a lot of friends.”

Maj smiled at that, the appeal to such a group of people instantly recognized. Not unlike the crew of the Scarlet Harpy. “She sounds great, inspiring. Reminds me of my Captain, she lead a similar effort and group of diverse skins and culture.” Removing her gloves next, Maj in turn reached out to Maz. Callused hands and fingertips brushing down the length of her neck, following the trail of a tattoo. “I hope she returns, if not by your effort then by everyone who chooses to follow her. There’s something to be said about strong leadership, it’s rare and whether she knows it or not has a gravity of its own.”

Maj passed the bottle back, heavy lidded, inched closer.

“She's learning as she goes, I think, but she does a good job. I'm confident a plan will be made to get her back.” Mazrah bit her lip at the touch of Maj's fingers and looked down to see what she was doing. “You like my tattoos? They're part of my culture. My mother and her mother before her and so on, for as long as we can remember, were among the finest hunters and warriors of Orsinium. The tattoos and the scars represent creatures that I've slain, challenges that I've overcome, skills that I've learned, stuff like that. As you can see, it covers all of me,” Mazrah said, her voice low and sultry, while she positioned herself in such a way that Maj could get a good eyefull of her body, “which means I am very dangerous.”

Suddenly and without warning, Mazrah rolled over and on top of Maj, straddling her, and interlocked her fingers with Maj's, pressing her hands gently but firmly against the bed on either side of her head. Their faces were only an inch apart. “So be warned,” she whispered, her eyes alive with mischief, “I'm a wild one.”

A grin spread across Maj’s face, a knee pressing up against Maz, her weight against her hips and the immediate attention had sent an all too familiar thrill through her.

“Aye, I like your tattoos and I want to see more.” Against Maz’s restraint Maj closed the short distance pressing her lips against the huntress, eyes closed, brow furrowed. Her hands squeezed at Maz’s. Pulling back for only a second to taunt her, “So what the fuck are you waiting for, wild one?”

Mazrah returned the kiss with passion and the hue in her eyes had changed from mischief to unadulterated desire. “Temper, temper, little one,” she chided playfully and kissed Maj again. “I was already mostly undressed when we walked in here. You're still wearing an awful lot of clothes.”

Grinning like a maniac, the Orsimer rolled aside and propped herself up on her elbow again. “Take them off.” Her tone was firm and commanding and she bit her lip in anticipation.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” Maj whispered into her ear, leaving a kiss just under her earlobe, proceeding to do just as she asked slowly, testing Maz’s patience. It wasn’t long after the last piece of clothing fell to the ground where another moment apart couldn’t be tolerated. Affectionate, wild, without pause their night blazed forward into the dawn.

---

The next morning

Exhaustive night coupled with drink did the insomniac of a former corsair well, managing the best sleep she had in days. Fairly, it was Maz’s extreme snoring that woke her from deep sleep. Pushing up she dug the heel of her hand into her eye freeing the grit, the heat of the day already bearing down on Gilane. Maj hugged her knees, eyes on Maz. The quiet only interrupted by her snore. Lifting herself slowly up from the bed, she circled around finding her white tunic and slipping it back over her head making her way to the desk. Pulling free her hair from the collar and shaking it loose. There was a bit of parchment and a small bit of charcoal left, just enough to sketch something quick out. Wanting to thank the orc huntress for successfully taking her mind off her troubles - if only for the night. She sat then jolted back to standing, the sting fresh. Resolving the need for light to properly examine herself later.

Starting with a quiet scritch scritch, her tongue sticking out as lines curved as she sketched. Her foot wiggling about in thought.

“Mauloch take me,” Mazrah groaned as she woke up, the sound of the charcoal on paper enough to rouse her from her slumber. “What the fuck happened? I feel like I was in a fight with a sabercat.” She sat up straight, looking around the room with a healthy dose of skepticism, before her eyes found Maj and it all came back to her. “Oh, that's right, I did,” she said and smirked, approving of the sight of the Redguard woman in nothing but a tunic. “Hey you.”

Concentrating on her sketch Maj replied, “A fight with a sabrecat? Tell that to my ass.” Smiling, she continued drawing. “Hi Maz.”

Even behind her own hangover, Maj felt sentiment bubble up. One night companion was still one more companion she had before last night, not looking forward to forging on alone. Considering what she had to do to return back to Wayrest or searching for information on the fate of the Scarlet Harpy, the tasks seemed monumentous. In spite of all that sneaking a look at Maz dissipated the clutch of worry around her stomach. “Just hold still while I finish this little something to remember me by, lassie.” Maj knew how things went and assumed this was the first and last time with the beautiful orc.

“Last night was great.” She said instead of what she really wanted to say, can we do this again?

Remember me by? Mazrah rubbed her eyes and frowned. Did Maj intend to let this simply be a one night stand? That disappointed the Orsimer -- she had figured that the ex-pirate, who had plenty of reasons to hate the Dwemer and nobody by her side, would have wanted to join up with her and the others. Maj’s magical skills were impressive and powerful and Mazrah knew that they would very much come in handy when the party staged their inevitable rescue attempt.

But most importantly, she wasn’t about to let that beautiful, firm booty walk out of her life. There was much more to be plundered.

“Oh no you don’t,” Mazrah growled, slipped out of bed -- still naked -- and swept up Maj in a big bearhug from behind. “You weren’t thinking of leaving me so soon, were you? Last night was great, sugar, and mama wants more,” she cooed in Maj’s ear and nibbled her earlobe playfully. “Not just of your skills in the sheets, but your grit in the streets, too. We’re not done taking the fight to the Dwemer. You should come with us, be a hero, kick some ass. What do you say?”

Lifted off her feet, she supposed would be something she’d have to get used to, her frown of concentration slowly turned to a grin especially at the nibble below her earlobe. Swinging her arm around her neck Maj hummed in thought at the offer, “Got to admit, it’s a lonely life without a crew.”

Maz’s sincerity was unmistakable, Maj was confident she could sell herself to impress others in this group. Maybe they could be the perfect springboard, really, what other choice did she have right now?

“How could I refuse an offer like that?” Maj said, agreeing. Turning about in her arms to face Maz properly, arms looped around her neck and her weight easily supported. “Dwemer won’t know what hit ‘em.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Tipping Point

12th of Midyear - 4E208
Three Crowns Hotel - Gilane

---

The news of Daro’Vasora and Latro’s capture was in no small sense of the word a blow to Judena. A long scratch of a line ran down the length of her page as she began to record, squeezing the writing utensil in her hand visibly trembling. Flipping to a new page she wrote down taking up an entire page their names and underlining CAPTURED and the date.

Meg had brought the news to them, the Dwemer were actively targeting their group for the past few days and captured Sora and Latro after public humiliation. She felt truly blind for not being aware of how much danger they were in, how perilously close Sora and Latro were to death.

She was sick of it.

“I am tired of this.” She said quietly, with everyone gathered the new faces and familiar, they had all worked hard to survive and adapt to the new reality that was in front of them - threatening them. They had done so together first with Rhea and then Sora.

“I am tired!” She said, louder, slamming the butt of her staff on the ground. “I am tired of being at the mercy of the Dwemer!”

She beat the ground again, having the attention of her friends and allies. “Being at the mercy of their armed forces in Imperial City, the mercy of their technology that slaughtered innocent civilians creating rivers of blood across the already blood-soaked cobblestone streets of my home.” Her beard expanded as she grew angrier. “Now we have been at the mercy of their damned hospitality here in Gilane. I am sick of my friends being threatened when all we have been trying to do was survive!”

Both hands gripped her staff, tilting her head down, “When they should have thanked us instead. It is our fault.” Words she never imagined saying out loud, words that were scrawled across her pages in the logbook Something she had realized after Imperial City was sacked, something everyone who had survived Jerall Mountains had known since. When she looked up the mixed expressions of confusion, guilt, anger and realization. A truth that those here feared would drive others away.

Gingerly releasing her staff she opened her logbook, there was no turning back now. Pain revisiting her scaley features once more. “It is our fault the Dwemer were able to return.”

“15 of Rain’s Hand. The day Rhea Valerius lead a small team of various experts down into the heart of Jerall Mountain’s dwemer ruins. A team that consisted of Daro’Vasora, Latro, Brynja, Megana, Anifaire, Alim, and myself. There were others, but have since passed on or left.” Her eyes met with each of them seeing the guilt she held reflected in their individual eyes, impossible to mistake their names as they are written. “The expedition into unknown parts of the ruin was met with disaster, our escape route crumpled in on itself forcing us to find a new way out. We encountered Falmer and Dwemer technology that threatened our lives. We reached an inner sanctum where we had found an ancient piece of technology among the bones of a well preserved Dwemer. In their gnarled hands… was a lexicon.” She said, patting her chest. “A discovery of such bones would have made the expedition a monumental success.” She took a deep breath in pressing on. “We were given a choice, suffer the same fate of being trapped or activate the Dwemer construct. Some of us had reservations, Daro’Vasora voiced hers. Given a choice of survival Rhea activated the device and it tore apart the mountain with force unseen. We escaped through an underground river while the expedition site was completely destroyed behind us.” Water welled in her eyes, reading the same line of thought she had read Gregor at the party. “‘The green menacing shaft of light seemed to reach far and high into the night sky. The disaster wrought on the expedition hung over our heads like that of a hundred souls lost to the mountain side’s collapse.’” It painted a ghastly picture for Judena’s imagination.

Silence hung on the edge of her words before anyone could comment she turned a page, “We arrived at Imperial City, Rhea leading the way to safety on 26 of Rain’s Hand. Nobody knew the true implications of what we had just done... not until we escaped Imperial City’s sacking did it become clear.”

Pausing a moment to swipe her sleeve across her eyes. “The device in Jerall Mountain opened the door for the Dwemer to return. It is our fault.”

Judena inhaled holding the breath but tears spilled and openly she began to weep, it was a relief to share the truth but every day she came to terms with what they had done. It was all such a mess. Grappling with the tragedy of loss and pain, did they deserve it? To be forgiven for suffering under the consequences of their own actions? Questions she had asked herself, no doubt others that were present held inside their hearts as well.

“Please,” She said, “Please forgive us. Understand what we have done for survival.” She bowed her head pressing her logbook to her chest. “We have been brought together by a horrible chain of events that began in Jerall Mountains,” Her eyes gazed following who came into their lives as each city they had visited, “Imperial City, Skingrad, Anvil and now Gilane.”

In a few deep breaths she composed herself, “Now you all know. Each and every one of us has gained something from this… this thing we have together as a group. Whether that is safety,” She looked to Calen, Nanine, Rhona, Shakti. “Friendship,” Her gaze passed over Alim, Anifaire, Bryjna, and Mazrah, “... Love.” She turned to Meg, Raelynn and Gregor not present, “We have gained it together. We are not whole as we stand without Latro and Daro’Vasora.”

“Whatever you may or may not owe them individually does not matter, what we owe them and ourselves is their safe return.” Her voice became intense with emotion, fire slowly began to blaze in her golden eyes. “There is nothing else to be gained, no games nor political stakes.We rescue them for them. We cannot and will not fail them.”

Anifaire looked down at her hands, toying with her clothes, nerves in her stomach. She knew she wouldn’t be much help in a rescue mission, yet she also knew she had to try. The news of their capture was jarring; it was like she’d been hearing, about people who dissent being taken off the street and away from those they care about. And it was right in front of her, in the group or people who had cared for her and who she wanted to care for in return. She had mixed feelings about Daro’Vasora, yet after everything she had done, she felt a resolve build to do anything she could to help.

Meg wiped at her eyes in vain, unable to quell her tears. Hearing about the start of their adventures, about Rhea, thinking about the bonds that had unknowingly been formed in that fateful adventure... it was too much to take dry-eyed.

"Yer righ'," she murmured, a shaky breath escaping the Nord as she reached out and placed a hand on the elderly argonian's arm. "There ain' no other way 'round it. Sora an' Latro would do the same if any of us were stuck an' needed savin', I just know it."

She looked around at the others gathered. "Won't be easy though," she continued. "Gettin' in tha' place? One wrong step…”

The creaking of doors interrupted the scene. There stood Hassan and a couple guards, masked in keffiyehs and armed with spears. Hassan stood, grim-faced and armoured. He looked over those gathered, his face not betraying any feelings strong or otherwise, “We have a messenger.”

Latro stepped up from behind them, neck still bruised from his run-in with the rogue insurgents. He made his way to the center of the room and stood before all of them, a look of pure fury only restrained by sheer will. His axe and knife were upon his belt. The knife was not the one that could be explained away for cutting meat or herbs, no. It was the other one.

For killing.

Another stepped up beside him, a hulking man of indeterminate race that moved equally as quietly despite his bulk, equally frowning. Latro sniffed, looking over his friends. His family, “Well? Here we are. Let’s plan.”

Mazrah’s mouth fell open at the sight of Latro and the large stranger entering the room. She had listened attentively to Judena’s story and felt that her tears and her guilt were unfair -- how could they have known what activating the device would do? But those thoughts were brushed aside like autumn leaves in a storm now that the Reachman had somehow, miraculously, returned.

Calen, who had been sitting his own, now free of his bandages and back in his normal clothes, but still rubbing at his sore and tense muscles in midst of Judena’s sobering news, became immediately animated as Latro appeared in the doorway. His eyes were bright and vibrant with joy and relief, even if Latro’s were cold and steeled and his body battered. Calen was just overwhelmed to see him alive. He barely had time to call out to him before the orc woman made a scene.

Practically leaping out of her seat, Mazrah enveloped the diminutive Latro in a ferocious hug, squeezing him so hard she shamelessly (but accidentally) pressed his face against her breasts. They had barely spoken a word to each other before but she was well aware of his relationship with Sora, and that alone was reason enough to be overjoyed that he was back. “Call me Urdanok gro-Ashagravan and fuck me sideways,” Mazrah grinned and stepped back to look at him, her hands on Latro’s shoulders. “You’re back! You escaped! How? And who’s this?” She turned her head to look at the stranger and raised an eyebrow at his odd appearance. She found it hard to place his race. Still, it wasn’t enough to wipe the grin off her face and she bounced on her feet with excitement.

“That is Sevari,” Jaraleet replied to Mazrah’s question, entering after both Latro and Sevari had done so. “He is a friend to our cause. It’s thanks to him that Latro stands here right now.” The Argonian said, moving further into the room and taking a seat. The ride to and back from Al-Aqqiya had been exhausting, but there were more pressing matters than his own exhaustion at present and so the Haj-Eix pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. “We have a rescue mission to plan right now. Any further questions can wait until later.” He said calmly, looking around the people who had gathered in the room.

Well, the questions wouldn't be leaving Meg’s mind even if she didn't ask them, that was for sure. She couldn't keep her eyes off Latro and Sevari, wondering how in Talos' name they were here. Latro looked so... different that what she last remembered. As for the man next to him, Sevari… he still looked as intimidating and as grumpy as the other night.

All of that was put to the side though; she felt a pit in her stomach as she realized this meant Sora was all alone in the enemy's grasp. Who knew the thoughts going through her mind? Jaraleet was right, they needed to focus.

Sevari did not exactly look inviting, but anyone that was responsible for freeing Latro was a friend too. Mazrah embraced him in a hug as well and pinched his cheek. “Thank you. And lighten up, big guy.”

“Jaraleet’s right. Whoever Sevari is, his help is welcome, and the confession, while appreciated, is irrelevant right now.” Nanine spoke up from her own seat. Her own mind was a whirl of questions, curiosity, and subtle anger. She pushed it all aside for now. Answers would have to wait. “We need to free Sora from the Governor’s Palace, which has become much more well guarded since the dwemer official’s death, our assault on the prisoner caravan, and the attempted infiltration into the prison. Even if we had the manpower to just charge in and free her by force, it wouldn’t be pretty. The only things we have to our advantage is that they still don’t know who we are, likely don’t expect someone to be foolish enough to attempt to free her, and those guard uniforms that were stolen.”

She looked around at the group at large. “Do we have anything else that could be of use? Maps of the Palace, weak points that could be used to get in, knowledge of guards who like to sleep on watch, anything?”

Sevari produced a badge from inside his coat, holding it out for all to see. Secret Police, Ministry of Order, Counterintelligence and Counterinsurgency Division, though it was just a symbol of oppression to most. Although, it was a valuable asset to him so far, “This is a key to anywhere in Dwemer lands. I could scout the city archives, look for blueprints of the Palace. It will take me some time and I have the simple fact of me being here to worry about.” He said, “I’ve no doubts that none of you trust me because I have this. Just know that I have been in service far longer to the Empire than the Dwemer.”

He tucked the badge away, folding his arms about his chest and casting an annoyed glance at Mazrah. His cheek was still sore. Latro spoke after him, “This Khajiit saved my life. He’s the biggest hope we have of getting Sora out.”

Judena approached Latro, setting her spear aside. A gentle hand found his shoulder and she said, “You are alive.” A lump of emotion built in the back of her throat, “You are alive.”

She turned next to Sevari, her eyes scanned from the badge and up to his face, a moment of contemplation seemed to pass as she decided how she felt. Her ‘beard’ flattened against her neck, “Thank you Sevari, for your help.” Deciding then and there she was simply grateful to see Latro once again, it relieved a fraction of her worry.

Removing her hand from his shoulder she held her hands stepping away, hunching her shoulders - apologetically nodding to Latro, “I told them about what happened in Jerall Mountains. They know the truth now.”

“How was Daro’Vasora the last you saw her? Is she okay… present circumstances withstanding of course.” She asked.

Shakti considered what Jude had said gravely. It meant a few things for her. It meant Daro’Vasora had lied to her. Or at least played dumb when they had talked about the origin of the Deep Elf invasion. She couldn’t lie to herself, she saw the party in a much different light, knowing what the nucleus had done. Normally, Shakti would have something upbeat or positive to say at a time like this. But she was having trouble ‘seeing the side of the dunes that the Sun touched’ as the old Alik’r saying went. Instead, she sat, in the centre of the room, feeling very isolated for someone who was in a crowded room. Her mood was darkened further by the entrance of a man she recognized. She had fought a duel with him some nights ago. Her ribs were still sore and cut up from where the point of his sword had sliced. She felt her side for the sore spot. No one else knew about her midnight mission and no one else knew why she had tried to take the knight captive.

Shakti looked away from the man, whom she now knew was named Sevari. She traced her finger along patterns in the wall to try and distract herself from the moment and her thoughts.

“She’s okay.” Latro said, “It felt more like a vacation almost, our imprisonment. Our cell, so to speak, was one of the royal guest rooms. They made it clear at the start of our stay there that they would be courteous to us and they were.”

His head hung low for a moment and his brows unfurrowed. He sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair, “But, I won’t let them keep her comfortably imprisoned. I refuse to leave without her, I refuse to let her stay in their clutches a single minute more than I absolutely must.”

From across the way, Calen pushed himself to his feet and made his way across the room to properly greet Latro and express relief for his safe return. With his own recovery and Latro’s return, things were beginning to feel like they were starting to resemble some form of normalcy -- whatever that was for this group, being the magnet for trouble that they are -- and gave him a warm hug. Not overwhelming like Mazrah’s, but softer, yet firm, as if Calen was cradling him upright in his arms. The Nord pecked the top of his head and took a step back. His smile was still warm, his cheeks rosy.

“You had us scared, asshole. Welcome back.” He said cheekily. Then he turned to Sevari. He saw the Ohmes pull out his Dwemer badge earlier, but now, he thought nothing of it. He never really hated the Dwemer. He didn't understand their methods, why they decided such measures were necessary. It made him feel angry and frustrated sometimes. But he didn't hate them. And seeing Sevari with them now, by Latro’s side, he couldn't hate him either. He extended an open hand to him.

“Thank you,” he said, “for bringing him back home.”

Latro smiled sheepishly, not being able to match that greeting from Calen to the first interaction they’d ever had, where he’d spurned the man for not wanting to condone the violence against Nblec. That only made his heart hang heavier, Calen was the things he wanted to be. The things he might never be. “It’s good to be back, I’m home again. With you lot.”

Sevari looked at Calen’s hand, letting it hang there on it’s lonesome for a bit before he took it in his own. “He brought me here, not the other way.” He said, throwing a glance Latro’s way, “Kept talking about having to go to his family.”

Anifaire watched the reunion fondly, glad to see their return, and yet an empty feeling built inside her. She watched quietly, feeling like a strange visitor watching a close family enjoy dinner together.

Meg looked to Latro, managing a smile, though it was a little shaky. She was happy to see him there, there was no doubting that, but it made her want Sora back now, more than ever. She cast a glance at the others before eyeing Jaraleet and raising an eyebrow. He had mentioned they had a rescue mission to plan; perhaps it was time to get back to that?

Jaraleet nodded in Meg’s direction, easily understanding what the Nord woman was trying to convey with her gaze. He cleared his throat loud enough to get everyone’s attention to focus on himself. “As much as we are glad for Latro’s return, this isn’t the time to be distracted.” The Argonian began calmly. “We can exchange pleasantries and have a happy little reunion later on, but I think it’s too early to do that just yet. Sora is still a captive to the Dwemer and no matter how pleasant or accommodating her captors might be, that doesn’t change the fact that she is their prisoner.” He continued on, turning to look at Sevari and then to the rest of the group. “I know some of you might have reservations towards Sevari given his past allegiances, but his help would be invaluable in out attempt to rescue Sora.” The assassin said, turning to look at the Ohmes-Raht again.

“If you could scout the city archives for a blueprint of the palace that’d be a great help. We could infiltrate a team if there were any hidden accesses that we could take advantage on. Maybe slip in when there are fewer guards and break Sora out.” He mused out loud, shaking his head slightly. “Maybe we could use those suits of armor we liberated?”

“Well, theoretically…” Calen began, the soothing calmness of his voice giving way to uncertainty, “I wouldn’t need blueprints, I think. What little bit of magic tricks I know helps me navigate the countryside without maps. I owe a lot of what little success my carriage business’ had to that minor skill in clairvoyance, but…”

The bard’s confidence was beginning to wane. He subconsciously began clutching at the site of his recovered injury. He finally said, “But I… I don’t know if I can go back into that mess. I’m, uh… I’m afraid that I’m not cut out for it. The violence, the blood—I’d only slow everyone down.”

“Be glad you’re not cut out for it, my friend. Good men detest violence, but doing nothing is worse.” Latro said and cracked a grin at Calen, “Anything you do to help us would be appreciated.”

“Hmmmm, your clairvoyance skills would be useful in guiding us through the sewers, I won’t lie.” The Argonian said, pausing for a moment as he thought. “But, perhaps, we won’t have need of them if Sevari can get us the blueprints to the palace.” He continued on, an idea coming to his mind. “In fact, you might be able to help us without having to fight at all Calen.” The assassin said. “Maybe we could disguise a team using the suits of armour we stole and you could guide them using your clairvoyance skills towards where they are holding Daro’Vasora?”

Judena rubbed at her chin, looking to Calen, “Drawing a path on the blueprints to create a covert map for those us who feel comfortable entering the fray would be very useful. We can utilize the blueprints as a base of a map, guided by Calen’s clairvoyance - I can certainly provide insight for where guards and other enemies may be. I am quite proficient using Detect Life for long bouts of time. We can move safely, quickly through, without being molested. The same applies to removing Daro’Vasora away from danger as quickly as possible. I simply need a spotter to keep me focused, I do not want to make any mistakes.” Judena said offering what little insight she could provide - not tactically inclined but committed to helping in some form.

“Can that badge grant you access to Daro’Vasora, and convince people that someone above you wanted her moved?” Nanine asked Sevari, a thoughtful hand on her chin. “We won’t need you two to risk yourselves,” She nodded at Calen and Judena respectively, “if Sevari can just take a small group straight to her under the pretenses of some high ranking official wanted her. Then we could just meet in the alleys of Gilane and Sevari could claim we ambushed him and killed the guards he brought.”

“Listen, whatever you guys are gonna be doing, I want to make sure we spill some blood,” Mazrah said and leaned forwards, resting her elbows on her knees. “These gray-skinned shits have been getting away with too much without some proper… what’s the word? Casualties, on their side. And I don’t like the idea of sending anybody in there with an excuse or a disguise or something but not the steel to back them up if things go tits-up. I propose that myself and whoever is willing and able,” the Orsimer continued, her eyes going around the room, “sneak into the palace at the same time, through a different entry point if we can find one, and cause a distraction. Wreak havoc, kill Dwemer, lead them on a wild goose chase through their own halls. I’m a huntress and a killer and nothing but, so that’s my contribution.”

“I have to concur with Mazrah.” Jaraleet spoke after the Orsimer huntress. “As ideal as it would be for us to be able to waltz into the Governor’s Palace and get her out with Sevari’s help, I don’t feel comfortable with relying solely on one idea. There’s a number of things that could go wrong with the idea you propose Nanine, so I think it’d be best if we caused a distraction.” The Argonian continued on, turning to look at Mazrah. “I will go with you. Hopefully we can cause enough of a distraction for the others to get Sora out.”

Mazrah grinned. “Now that’s what I like to hear. Glad to have you with me, dark-scales.”

Meg had been quiet for quite a while, simply listening as she didn't feel knowledgeable enough to contribute, especially after her night 'mission', but she cleared her throat and looked at both Mazrah and Jaraleet. "If that's a plan, coun' me in. I can sneak, an' I'm good with a sword." If her causing a little nuisance on purpose could help save Sora from the dwemer, she was very happy to deliver.

“The guards are going to be very strict with prisoners from now on after the attacks that saw my team dead and Latro and I forced to take refuge in some inn.” He shook his head and sighed, “Any transfer of prisoners, even from individual rooms in the Palace, are going to be under very strict supervision and must be approved by higher-ups. Kerztar isn’t going to take any chances.”

“We will have to go at this cloak-and-dagger if we want to do it at all.” Latro said, folding his arms and finally taking a seat, “Blood may very well be spilled. But everything will be for naught if it’s ours.”

“I would not be rearing for a fight in a situation where we are not the ones picking the field of battle. It’s never been my way.” Latro said, frowning. “The blueprints in the archives are our best chance. Waltzing up to the gates in stolen armour is a gambit, at best. We’d be better off disguising ourselves as servants, rather than soldiers, I doubt they’d brush it off if somebody didn’t know the name of some officer if asked. Nobody bats an eye at somebody dressed the part and walking with surety in their task, though, and servants are everywhere. Too many to commit every face to memory.”

“A well-placed frenzy spell on a few guards might cause a distraction. Another commotion at the opposite end of the Palace will have the garrison split and confused enough for us to slip in.” Sevari sucked his teeth, “Even so, we will have to be resolute and quick in our task. It won’t be long until they’re rallied proper and ready to fend off the real threat.”

“The violent distraction would have to be timed perfectly. There’s only two reasons an attack like that would happen, either it's an attempt to assassinate the Governor or an attempt to free the prisoner. It won’t take long for the garrison to figure out which it is, and even less to muster some defense for both goals with the number of troops they have there now. Ideally, whoever goes inside would be close to Sora so that when the commotion starts they can take advantage of the few moments of surprise to subdue any guards and start getting her out.” Nanine drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I can go with Jaraleet and Mazrah. My magic will be able to delay and cause even more confusion if we need some distance between us and the guards and I’ve no skill in stealth.” She looked over to Sevari and Latro. “How many of the servants aren’t Redguards? The idea of sneaking in with them is a good one, but nearly all of us would stick out and almost surely be noted if we suddenly appeared among a purely native servant crew.”

“We can have Shakti go with some others.” Latro suggested.

Shakti’s ears pricked up at the mention of her name and she looked at Latro. “Disguised as a servant girl?!” The idea of dressing as a lowly servant prickled the Redguard’s sense of honour. She might be a tatterdemalion teenage girl, but she was still a proud Alik’r Warrior.

Meg looked over at Shakti curiously. "Tha' shouldn' be a problem, should it? If it's the best way t'get Sora outta there, then shouln' matter what we're disguisin' ourselves as."

That was enough to make Mazrah chuckle. “I know how you feel, Shakti, I really do, but Nanine made me wear robes when you bust you out of your carriage,” she said and her eyes flitted between the Breton battlemage and the Redguard warrior. “Now it’s your turn to wear a disguise to save Sora. Okay?”

“I have to agree with Mazrah. I know you might not like the idea Shakti, but it is for the good of Daro’Vasora.” Jaraleet said, looking at the Redguard girl. “Surely it’d be worse to do nothing, right?” He asked, hoping that with that light prodding Shakti would be more on board with the whole idea.

Diligently as ever Judena wrote the points in the conversation, following along pausing to note expression and other details, she stepped up over to Anifaire. Replying to the youthful conjuration mage - Nanine, the tiniest bit of indignation at the suggestion of keeping her away from helping. “I am not going to stand idly by, Nadine.”

“I am going to help with splitting the forces, if there is anyone I want to be my spotter I would very much like it to be Anifaire,” Judena said gesturing to her fellow Alteration mage. “In a magickal assault, you would be sore to miss both of us.”

Holding her hands Judena whispered to Anifaire, “If only you are up for it.”

Anifaire’s mouth widened, her eyebrows raised, completely shocked to be relied on. She quickly nodded, pink tinging her cheeks. “I’m coming,” she said. She wouldn’t let Judena down.

Nanine held up her hands placatingly. She ignored the name mistake. It wasn’t going to go away and trying to correct her was a futile effort. “No one was suggesting that you stay behind Judena. Your magic will doubtlessly be extremely useful when we attempt to split their forces.” She looked back over at Mazrah smiling lightly. “You’re going to be wearing robes again when we’re running through the Palace. Jaraleet, Meg, and I as well. I’d rather not have our descriptions be readily distributed throughout the city after we save Sora.”

“Who all else is going with Judena to make one distraction? As potent of a mage, as she is, she’s going to need help.”

Mazrah snorted derisively. “I don't think so. If we're sneaking in through the sewers and killing everyone we see once we're inside, why should I disguise myself? And even if we leave a witness, fine. It's high time the Dwemer learn who to fear.”

Nanine resisted the urge to facepalm in exasperation. Of course, Mazrah would advise Shakti to swallow her pride then immediately ignore her own advice. “Several reasons. One, our goal isn’t to kill everyone we see. Our goal is to cause a commotion and convince as many of the guards as possible to come for us rather than guarding Sora, so whoever is inside can grab her and get out in the chaos. That’s going to leave a lot of living witnesses to describe who exactly attacked the Palace. Two, when we get Sora out we’re going to be wanted by the Dwemer. Badly. They’ll be searching for us, and I’m sure that you don’t want to spend nearly all of your time hiding. Three, the only advantages we have against them is that they don’t know who we are or how to find us. If you go into that Palace without a disguise, you’ll be practically handing at least yourself over to them. You’re so distinct and easily describable that even the greenest and most absent-minded guard could spot you as the female orc with golden eyes and white tattoos on almost every inch of her body.” Nanine continued her voice matter of fact. She was frustrated with the orc woman, but not surprised. Mazrah was who she was, and losing her temper would do nothing to help convince her.

“Best case scenario would be that you don’t leave wherever we’re hiding out until missions. Best case scenario that is likely? They spot you and only take you. Worst case, they spot you and they follow you to the rest of us to recapture Sora and crush another cell of the resistance. Our goal is to free Sora and survive to continue this fight. The only way to do that is to keep them from knowing who and where we are as much as possible.”

Shakti furrowed her brow and bit her lip. She knew the others were right, but damn if every fiber in her body told her to disagree. “I… I know it’s for Daro’Vasora. I will do this thing you ask.” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she’d get a new change of clothes out of it. One that was not ripped and covered in blood. “Will I at least get to keep my sword with me?”

Meg couldn't help it- she was beginning to get frustrated, and she could barely keep her attention on one person when the other started to speak. It was very clear to her now that they were missing their leader, and it was also very true that despite the khajiit's doubts, Daro'Vasora was good at what she had been forced to take over.

"Uhm," she started, looking between the orc and the mage, pausing when she heard Shakti speak. Well, that was a bit of a relief; at least she agreed to a disguise. She then glanced in Sevari's direction. "Yer the one who knows the palace best. Is there any poin' in concealin' ourselves if we’re gonna be causin’ a commotion?"

“We are a small force infiltrating a very secure bastion of Dwemer power. The louder our distractions are, the more time we’ll have to move. If they’re being attacked by you, they could care less about what you’re wearing.” He said, “Shakti, it’s a pleasure to finally know your name. Just as well, how many servants with Alik’r blades do you know?”

“In my humble opinion as a man who has been carrying out clandestine operations in the name of the Empire for the past 20 years, we need disguises. We need quiet feet. We need as little bloodshed within the Palace proper as possible.” He frowned, “I have connections that can help. We carry the plan out at sundown, the changing of the guards and the next shift of servants relieving the last will be a lot of motion.”

“One small team slips in- Latro, Shakti, a few others perhaps- during that time with the blueprints and hopefully someone who could guide them magically. One contingent of us to the west, another to the east, we split the garrison in two. We aren’t assaulting them, you draw them out, stay just long enough for them to pursue and you disappear, scatter to the winds.” He said, his fingers wiggling as he cast his hand about, “At approximately half an hour beforehand, all things gone to plan and hopefully not all for naught, my contact and I will… make a show of things.”

A little relieved now that Sevari had taken some control over the matter, Meg couldn't help but think over her previous decision. With her quiet feet and sneaky ways, it made much more sense that she headed forward with Latro and Shakti. She chewed on her lip for a moment before clearing her throat. "I'mma go with Latro then." And hopefully not end up getting someone shot in the gut.

Shakti hmph’d and scrunched her nose up in annoyance. This plan was getting worse all the time. Sneaking in with no sword? What would she do when they inevitably got caught? And the nerve of this ‘Sevari’! She could practically hear the sarcasm in his voice! How disrespectful!

The sounds of footsteps against wooden floorboards came echoing from the stairwell, slowly yet deliberately paced. Smaller of size and frame as Hassan blocked sight of them as they stood in the doorway, until stepping out of the way revealed a Breton with red hair and sharp, Nibenese features, layered in robes of Hammerfell silks and cottons, indicative of someone who was perhaps of a middle class, yet brought their finest wares with them to a formal event. A droning whistle of indeterminate origin could be heard through the room, but those next to Calen would’ve known exactly where it came from. She scanned the room carefully with her hands behind her back for a brief second before addressing Sevari, “I have spoken with the Poncy Man and the arrangements for Irranhu cell have been made. I am leaving him to deal with the logistics. How goes the affairs on your end?”

Meg blinked, eyes moving away from Sevari to looked at the woman who had just entered the room. A fancy pancy sort, in her opinion. But... "Who're you?" she asked, unable to stop herself. At least the Ohmes-Raht had been a familiar if somewhat intimidating face. The woman stared back at Meg, maintaining her professional demeanour, before looking past her and at the rest of the company. A few she looked at a bit longer, as though she were assessing them, though her gaze lingered longest on Jaraleet. Finally, although her eyes flicked back to Meg for a moment, she began speaking to the group as a whole.

“My name is Janelle.” She said, introducing herself as she bowed her head. When her head lifted back up, her stoic expression was replaced by a sly, little smile. “I am a benefactor for Samara cell, but I hope you all will come to see me as your new best friend. From what I could hear from the stairwell, I understand that you need a distraction? I’ve already made an arrangement with our mutual friend. Irranhu cell will be conducting a strike on a weapons depot, which should draw their forces away from the palace. I have… personally funded the operation.”

At the tail-end of her explanation, she stared at Sevari from the corner of her eyes. They were grave and intense as if to show him how far she was willing to go. With a slight turn of her head, she faced everyone again and asked, “Any other questions?”

It clicked for Nanine where she had seen the new comer before when ‘Janelle’ gave her name. Years and years ago, back in Daggerfall. A rich, intense, noble girl. Aries, back then. They had never interacted, class being almost everything in Breton society, but it was interesting that she was either lying or chose to change her name. Now wasn’t the time to mention such things, though, and Nanine kept quiet, watching the following back and forth.

“We’ve settled on a plan. I’ll strike out with you to oversee Irranhu cell,” Sevari turned to Aries, “It’d be best to keep you out of the thick of it.”

“You suggest that seeing over the diversion would keep me out of ‘the thick of it?’” Aries asked rhetorically.

Sevari frowned and sighed, “We’re advisors. We advise. Hassan will go among Irranhu cell. You and I both know their penchant for taking liberties with our help. You pushed an arrow of theirs through my lung last time we offered a hand to them.” He said, still remembering the gods-awful pain of it, “Unless you’re going to strap a breastplate on yourself, Poncy Man’s spies have designated an area we may overlook the raid from a distance.”

Aries listened intently to what Sevari had to say and ruminated on the its wisdom, but she found her eyes wandering over remaining members of the Samara cell. They were all standing there, watching the two of them discuss this in front of them. Her eyes fell back on the Khajiit, critical and uncompromising. Though he stood a full head and shoulders over her, she stared back up at him, thinking back on the time he had made his intentions and allegiances clear in the escape tunnel a few days ago.

“I appreciate your concern.” She said. “Perhaps on a more auspicious day I would have accepted, but we’re short on victories, Sevari, and clean hands do not beget dirty work. Do you want to know what the burden of duty is? Watch from the shadows while I set the example.”

Mazrah watched the exchange between the two newcomers passively, not really understanding the intricacies of what they were talking about. She liked the redheaded woman’s attitude, however, and looked at her with approval. “That’s right, no more hiding,” Mazrah said and flashed Aries a smile.

“Zealotry and recklessness it is, then.” He shrugged, “You act like a foreign dignitary wasn’t attacked and then a prisoner transfer convoy ambushed with all hands dead never occurred days ago. But, so be it, be Hassan’s burden.”

“You act as though you’re still on my side, but you’ve already made your feelings about that abundantly clear.” She remarked dryly, her gaze transferring over to Hassan. “Hassan, take point on Irranhu; I will accompany Samara.”

He unfolded his arms, “If we are all in agreement of the plan, then I will take my leave. I have things that need doing.” He placed a hand on Latro’s shoulder, “Good luck.”

Jaraleet watched Aries’ entrance into the room in silence. It didn’t escape the Argonian assassin the way that the woman’s gaze carefully scanned the room, nor the way that her eyes had seemed to linger on him the longest out of everyone she had set her sight on. “Sevari, if you would wait a moment longer.” He said to the Khajiit before he left the room. “I think I’ll join the others who are infiltrating the palace. I’m not the best in a stand up fight, so I’m not sure how useful I’d be in helping with either of the distractions. That is all.” The Argonian said, deciding to hold back on asking the Ohmes-Raht about who was their newest benefactor. There were far too many questions in his mind for him not to be, somewhat, wary about ‘Janelle’ and her intentions.

Having resigned herself to sulking after Nanine had laid out exactly why she was going to have to dress up like a fucking child’s doll, after all, Mazrah suddenly realized she’d almost forgot something -- or rather, someone. While the conversation continued, she got up from her seat and squeezed her way behind the chairs of the others towards the door. She stepped outside for a few seconds and returned holding the hand of a rather surprised looking Redguard woman.

“You wanted mages, right? Here you go. She can help. Her name is Maj and we’re friends,” Mazrah said bluntly and gave Maj’s hand a little squeeze.

Maj was indeed surprised. Brought in while she was trying to eavesdrop through the heavy doors, ear pressed up against it. Several staff trying to shoo her away from what she was obviously doing. Unprepared for the attention of a large group of people that Maz rightfully had grown to respect and care about. A huge mix of faces as her eyes swept over.

Clearing her throat, squeezing Mazrah’s hand back before stepping forward. “Maj, Maj Noor at your service.” Sweeping bow, a flourish of her deep green cloak, the small stature of Maj bent back up at the waist wearing a full toothy grin. Dark black hair loosely tied to the side, uneven bangs falling over her eyes. “Aye, I’m a mage. A master of crafting the perfect distraction with a penchant for wanting to fuck with the Dwemer, properly. Frenzy, fury, you name it and I can cast it. When my imagination isn’t enough I back it up with conjuring real nightmares.” Selling herself, her voice loud and entirely confident.

“I’ll help get your friend back,” Maj promised, “If you’ll have me.”

“Glad to have another mage. We’ll need all the help we can get, so welcome aboard Maj. Before we disperse to prepare for all our roles, is there anyone else hiding in or around the building, waiting for dramatic entrances?” Nanine asked, dryly. “I’d prefer if we knew all that we had at our disposal before we got underway with preparations.”

“You can be honest, I’m the best surprise so far tonight,” Maj replied.

Meg couldn't help but crack a smile at the newcomer's words; if anything, she seemed like the cheerful sort, what with her words and smile. She was, however, ready to leave, seeing their plans for rescuing Sora were finally determined.

"I'mma head off then. See y'all in the mornin'." Lifting a hand in small wave, she waited only a moment before taking her leave, needing some fresh air... and perhaps a bottle to accompany her.

Judena looked between the two new women, writing as she did. “Thank you all, every bit of effort will go toward the safe return of Daro’Vasora. Latro, I am very pleased to see you alive and by our side once more.” She spoke with a firm resolve more so than how she felt prior to her confession. “There will be time. We will make time and a sanctuary for ourselves once we are whole. I-”

A rise in emotion in the back of her throat shuttered the elder Argonian to stutter, she swallowed patting at her chest feeling the wedding band in its usual place, the lump dissipated. “I will be found continuing lessons with Anifaire, use this time to collect resources, faculties and prepare. Please remember even if I may struggle to remember this conversation, I believe in each of you and I believe in us.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Log it!

Mid morning, 6th of Midyear, 4E208
Gilane Coast, Hammerfell
@LadyTabris & @DearTrickster

---

The sun shone through a few clouds, rolling in off the coast were dark clouds but they were thankfully hours away at the very least. The waves lapped against the coast, no more energetic than what they usually saw. It was peaceful, the illusion and mask of peace was held even to the likes of a labelled pair of terrorists like the alteration mages that stood at the cliff wayside.

Much to Judena’s surprise, Anifaire approached her, always knowing the shy altmer mage to be kindly and polite. Rarely did she ever approach the Argonian for much of anything, it was not a matter of dislike but Judena fairly believed there was a level of discomfort underlying their relations. Jude felt she could never say as to why but Altmer prejudice was not far from her thoughts.

“This seems to be a reasonable space, nobody around,” Judena announced, it was a reasonable space to do what Anifaire asked.

Magicka lessons!

“I am truly quite surprised when you approached me, my dear.” Honest as per usual, “It pleases me greatly that you would ask for lessons! It is a wonderful honour to teach and mentor. It is not very often when someone will ask.” She grinned happily, scaly lips pressed a low hum.

Clapping her hands decisively, “Now. You are going to perform what you can do and I will decide what we can work on from there. Show me your most powerful spell.”

Anifaire, nervous after having asked the Argonian for help, but knowing she had skill in Alteration, was warmed by her words. After experiencing the mission in past days, she thought there must be some way she can better help the group she found herself with but didn’t feel her spells were practical. She considered what she has in her skillset.

“Well,” she paused. She didn’t think a demonstration would be polite. “I can paralyze. Or- breathe underwater!” But demonstrating that would entail a dip in the sea. She raised her hand and through telekinesis, raised a nearby rock into the air, about the size of a fist. “Or move things.”

Judena observed the rock and her telekinesis. “All very useful spells, excellent choice. Telekinesis, in particular, is an advanced spell, so - bravo! We can work on improving each of those spells, practical and consistent use will see your skills increase. That I can promise, Anifaire.” She said warmly. “Do you know any mage armour spells, something to protect your person directly. I simply cannot remember all the times a hardy armour has saved my life from falling debris, accidents or unavoidable combat.”

She demonstrated in the palm of her hand the blue diamond crystalline spell of Ironskin.

Anifaire watched in surprise as Judena channelled her magic. She shook her head. “No, I don’t know anything like that. It sounds useful.” Now that I don’t spend all my time behind a desk, she finished in her head. She never would have thought to learn something like that before.

“This is the perfect opportunity to learn then. Anifaire I say this next not to scare you nor to make you uncomfortable.” Judena said releasing the spell and the diamond disappeared in a blink. “You and I have been a part of this group for a long time now and to each new place we move onto the danger seems to increase. Now more than ever do we need to take time to learn how to defend not only ourselves but be prepared to defend each other. Alternation has always been seen… as a lesser school of magic compared to the likes of Destruction or Restoration.”

Judena certainly did not see it that way even when her magicka had always been applied in a more utility sense before offensive. It wasn’t in her nature to seek out ways to use it offensively but it was becoming clear creativity would be needed to protect themselves.

“Which is simply untrue, would you not agree? There is a great spectrum of use to be found in Alteration, we have the ability to change reality to how we see fit. Whether that is removing centuries worth of rust or being able to breathe water without gills.” Judena said. “I hope to inspire not only faith in our chosen school of magic but in your own abilities.”

Anifaire was surprised at Judena’s words. In the past, her mother had always seemed disappointed that her aptitude lied with such a useless school of magic, and how hard she struggled to learn others. The way of thinking had stuck with her.

“Do you really think it’s useful?” Anifaire asked quietly, urging the words out before considering them. Her words betrayed her insecurity; she cast her eyes downward, hands fidgeting with the fabric of her flowy, Redguard-style pants. “I didn’t really choose it. I’m not very good at anything else.”

Jude noticed the slight shift in Anifaire’s body language, the disbelief in her words. Judena stepped up to Anifaire, behind the kind and polite Mer was a young woman lacking in confidence. Alteration may not have been her chosen field but the elder Argonian felt a swell of determination in her belly. “I truly think so!”

“Anifaire you have a very long life ahead of you and so you have that much more time to decide and learn new things. There is no race.” Jude replied sincerity ringing through and true. “I sometimes can only dream of returning to my days of a student where each new lesson was an adventure when I was able to absorb new things like that of a coastal sea sponge.” She sighed through her nose, nostalgia nearly overtaking her.

“I believe in you, my dear.” Bright gold reptilian eyes met the golden hue of Anifaire’s. “Let us get to lifting larger and heavier objects with your mind, you never know when some debris will block your path or a rock will fall onto your companion’s leg trapping them. A well placed mammoth bone to distract your assailant or gently lift an ancient piece of pottery. You simply must open your mind to opportunity, your environment is yours to discover.”

Standing at her side Judena peered across the cliffside seeing an abandoned large piece of driftwood hanging over near precariously close to the edge. “There, that is perfect. Much larger than a pebble but not as large as a full tree.”

“I want you to use your magicka to lift that a few inches above the ground. You can try as much as you like, take a breath to center yourself if you need to. But-”

She raised a clawed finger, “You must concentrate. Focus. Use the sound of the lapping waves, the salty sea breeze.”

Such words of comfort took Anifaire completely by surprise. They were kinder and more honest words than she had ever heard from an instructor growing up. Even her mother’s teaching had been strict and professional, disappointed each time Anifaire didn’t learn as quickly as her siblings or the other children. The Argonian spoke with a kindness and an intelligence that had surprised her each time since meeting her, though this was perhaps the most shocking time. Judena was confident in her abilities; she didn’t spend her time doubting if she would be of help to the group. She chose Alteration on her own. Anifaire decided to focus on learning what she could in this time.

The sounds of the waves reminded Anifaire of home. Her favourite memories were of time spent by the sea. Instead of losing herself in them, she focused her attention on the driftwood log. It didn’t look difficult to move. She could do this much, she resolved. The branch twitched, one end lifting an inch off the ground hesitantly before she reoriented herself and decisively pulled the log into the air by about two feet. Concentrating, she began twisting it about, raising it a bit higher, trying to flip it in different directions with precision. Her results were adequate.

“Excellent! Good job. Now, do not drop it instead, I want you to propel it straight up into the air. Work against gravity. Give it a mental ‘kick’. When it comes back down, you are to catch it.” Judena instructed. “If you do not succeed on the first time we will keep trying. There is much to learn in mistakes as there are in success. Remember that.” She spoke clearly, eyes on the driftwood.

Anifaire was surprised at the physical aspect of training, but she decided not to comment. It was different in every aspect to how she’d learned growing up, from the teacher to the lessons, but it was what she had signed up for, and perhaps, it would make her useful.

Nervous, she hefted the log into the air, and it went. Farther than expected. Soaring up, the log spun, and Anifaire squeaked, stepping out of the way instead of attempting to catch it.

Judena quickly employed her own telekinesis to stop the log dead in its tracks, stopping it a few feet before it hit the ground. “That was close!” Judena laughed heartily. “That was a strong ‘kick’ if I had ever seen one, wonderful! Let us try again.”

She smiled guiding the log back to the ground. “You are ready to go yes? Or do you need a quick break to catch your breath?” She patted at her chest.

“I’m ready,” Anifaire decided. She took a step away from the log, focusing instead on slowing the toss down. This time, she threw it up gently, barely gaining any air above her arms, but it flicked up into her arms and she fumbled to catch it, nearly dropping it. She stood victorious with the log in her arms, disappointed she hadn’t given it a better throw. She sighed.

Judena blinked tapping her chin in thought moving around the log and gently tapping the side of her head, “Oh! I do apologize Anifaire. I meant for you to catch it with telekinesis. But! You showed impressive control, you slowed the trajectory and made it safer for you to catch. Well done, well done!” She said happily patting her student on the back.

“I… oh,” Anifaire muttered. Pink lit up her cheeks and she tossed the log to the ground. She ran her hand through her hair, turning back to the log. She’d misunderstood entirely. “I think I can do that,” she said, on the bright side.

The log zipped into the air again. If she wasn’t to catch it with her hands, she could put more of a spin on it. Jerkily, she tossed the log up again. It tumbled down towards the ground in front of her, slowing a bit late, but stopping about a foot from the ground.

“Good, try again. We are going to keep tossing it and catching it. Until you can catch it right in its tracks.” Spreading a hand out before them, “Consistency and practice!”

And again, Anifaire practiced. Guided each time as she tossed the poor, an abused bit of driftwood high into the air, occasionally missing, improving her reaction speed with each throw. Her magicka reservoir was impressively large, Judena knew she personally would have needed a break earlier.

Anifaire finally let the roughly beaten branch drop to the ground. Her magical reserves were low, but not depleted, though she couldn’t remember depleting them in their entirety since some more reckless things she had done when first learning magic.

Without thinking about it, she turned to Judena with an open, hopeful expression, looking for feedback on her progress. Her respect for the Argonian’s wisdom and skill had grown throughout the morning, to her surprise, as she had never expected a lizard to show such a disposition. Judena smiled proudly, pleased with the improvement.

The branch came slowly to the ground with a bare minimum of guidance from Judena’s hand and she nodded with affirmation. “Time for a break I think, give your mind a moment to catch up and breathe. It is essential to know your limits. You never want to lose consciousness when performing high profile spells such as these.”

She said and let out a small laugh, “I am sure you were taught as much. I would like a moment to write down what we have gone over.” She tracked over to her small pack then beckoned the Altmer to join her by the cliffside to sit and eat, gently laying out a cloth bound of some bread and cheese she had sliced earlier along with a skin of water. Judena removed her logbook and began to diligently note what they worked on and the results. She spoke while she wrote, multitasking. “Your reaction timing has improved even after the short while we have been practicing. Aiming for these spells to come to as a second nature, an…”

Judena thought, searching for the correct word - translating what she knew what it was in Jel. “Extension of self. As natural as it is to blink without a thought.”

Anifaire sat, feeling a comfortable tiredness in her limbs as she relaxed on the blanket. The practice had given her an appetite that says of travel in Cyrodiil could have contended with, and she readily ate the bread picnic. She listened intently as Judena spoke, feeling an unfamiliar warmth of satisfaction with herself inside. Patiently, she waited, eating several slices of bread before stopping herself in case the Argonian would like some as well. She wondered if Argonians ate bread. Did they eat bugs?

Judena instead pulled free a jar of pickled slices of fish.

“With your increased reflex and timing, your ‘grip’ upon the object has increased as well. You are fast to learn and have a large reservoir of magicka. Mental stamina, as it were. I feel like with more practice you will see visible improvement, Anifaire.” Judena said spearing a slice of fish and eating it vigorously. Beaming she continued to write her notes, “We will work on more than just telekinesis, we will work on paralyze and water breathing! Perhaps you can teach me in turn how to use those spells. Breathing underwater is a natural talent for my people.”

She gestured to the sea, “I quite like diving and swimming. Feels the most natural place compared to landstriders. I take comfort in the dark depths of a lakebed or the ferocious speed of a rushing river. Strange as it may be.” Her writing slowed as she stared out across the horizon and bay. “I am glad you came to ask for help from me. Nothing inspires the mind as a student to share your experience with.”

“Truly.”

“I always loved the water in Alinor. That’s why I wanted to learn that spell. I worked very hard on it when my mother taught me,” Anifaire said. “And thank you for helping me, Judena. I want to be more of use to the group.”

Judena nodded solemnly, “You will find your purpose, Anifaire.”

Jude bumped her elbow against Anifaire’s, “You have time.”

“That is true,” Anifaire replied. She had many years left in her life to figure out what she wanted. “Thank you.”

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

just stopping by to let you guys know that I'm still working on that arc idea i had, so expect something in your pm's shortly, also I see Trickster has gotten bitten by the Ava's Demon bug.

@Liseran Thistle

Oh yeah lmao I’ve been a fan of reading it for years now. Good comic c:

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

---

Time: Afternoon - Day after leaving Salem
Location: Central Park/Adirondack Park- NY

Deep within Adirondack Park, at the edges of a forest glade that had not seen much disturbance for many years, a small and withered spruce tree's trunk seemed to fly apart with a mighty crack. With dust and splinters sprayed backwards into the forest, the tree fell into the glade. Birds would have fled the area on hurried wings if they hadn't fled already.

"Yes! Nailed it!" Mandate cheered, enthusiastically squeezing her hand into a fist and pulverizing the stone she'd been about to throw. A polite clap came from Mara behind her as she shook the fragments off of her hand, bending down to scoop up another stone from the impressive pile she'd made.

She'd been launching stones into the forest for an hour now, attempting to hit trees at the edge of the sunny glade they'd chosen to wait within. It was just something to do to pass the time until the portal came, but it made Mandate happy to test her sloppy marksmanship against the defenseless flora.

Tilting her head back, Mandate stared up into the lazy afternoon sun. It was clear in the sky above them, not yet dipping into the evening, and no longer obscured by the dense trees in the clearing they'd chosen for their wait. The rock tumbled idly in her hand as her thoughts reached back to her dear companion. She liked to think that feeling could reach the Ambassador somehow, perhaps riding the sunlight that glinted off of her freshly-cleaned mercury surface, but she knew it was unlikely.

It didn't matter, though, did it? "When are they gonna get here, miss Mara?" she called back, head tilted for her cyclopean eye to catch the goblin's expression. The little woman in question had sat very clear from Mandate's escapades, but watched with a tired smile. A strange little pocket watch sat open in her lap, beside the remnants of an improvised lunch.

"Won't be long now, Mandate. You'll know when it comes."

"I know I'll know." Mandate whined, impatient despite her amusing distraction. The rock disappeared from her hand, faster than the average speed of her throw would suggest; it was a curious property of her strength, from what she could tell by observing others that were 'strong'- by their own measure, anyway. Maybe there was more that could be learned from it.

The golem frowned at the echoing crack of it impacting a distant tree, as none of the spruces at the edge of the glade shattered. Huffing, she bent down for another projectile. Maybe I'll hit a pine next.

All she could do was wait restlessly, and hopefully release some of her anticipatory energy with some reckless destruction.

Inside the width of a minute little stones inside Mara’s pocket began to glow warming against the goblin’s leg, signalling The Ambassador’s call.

A handful of minutes passed and slowly forming from the ground up near Mara a sliver of light seemingly split the air before them. Forming from within the light, slowly a familiar door began to form, rosy wood panelling followed by bright golden hinges - light escaping through the seams around the frame. Finishing off with a polished golden knob. It twisted and swung inward, appearing in the door frame was none other than The Ambassador herself. She stepped through past the threshold leaving it open behind her.

“Bonjour, Mara.” She greeted the goblin, turning knowingly to Mandate nearby she genuinely had a big smile for the mercurial golem removing her sunglasses and placing them on the brim of her hat. “Mandate, my friend.” Eyes crinkling, moving to close the space between them.

Mandate was frozen in place, the stone clenched in her hand in preparation to throw as the door had arisen from the earth, her singular eye fixated upon it. And then, just as she had been anticipating, out from the door came her dearest friend. Though the separation had only lasted a few days, the golem felt her nonexistent heart swell, the knot of nervous anticipation giving way to joy. Finally!

It hadn’t even been that long, she knew. Perhaps she was a bit dependent.

”Miss Ambassador!” she all but chirped, her harmonic voice high with delight as she tossed the stone gently over her shoulder, into the distant trees. She didn’t wait for the ambassador to reach her; rather, the construct came bounding up towards the ambassador herself, delighted and eager. Her arms spread wide as she stooped down, mindful of her power as she invited her friend into a hug.

”Hello!” she announced belatedly, joyful and fidgeting with anticipation. She’d missed hugging her friend, but she didn’t want to accidentally squeeze her too hard. Soft things were so fragile. So, she patiently waited for her hug. Then she would squeeze!

Odette’s smile grew wider as she hopped a little to wrap her arms around Mandate’s head, “Bonjour my friend. I have missed you.” She said, sweetly. “I have so much to tell you, I have been rather busy the past few days. I am so pleased we could reunite.”

Squeezing what she could against the hard surface that Mandate was, no give but Odette hoped a little pressure could be felt in her affection. “You were always in my thoughts.”

Mandate giggled delightedly, pleased with the Ambassador’s hug and kind words. With a moment’s thought, her massive arms were around the human, one of them lowering to wrap under her legs as the golem straightened to her full height. She took the ambassador with her, seated neatly upon her arm and supported by a gentle hand on her back. ”I missed you too, miss Ambassador! You were in mine all the time!” she replied giddily before her thoughts interrupted her moment. Oh, right, her self-imposed task. For a moment, Mandate visibly sank, shoulders hunching and her ‘v’ of a smiling mouth inverting.

”I didn’t really find what I needed.” she confessed, admittedly pouting more than anything. It was hard to be truly sad with the ambassador on her arm. And that was right, the ambassador! Perking up a bit more, the golem gave her friend a small squeeze and delighted in the feeling of her, careful though she was. Alive and well, and as happy to embrace her as ever.

”But it’s okay! I’m really glad you’ve got something to tell me, because it means you did, right?” she continued, sincere and curious as her wide singular eye looked down upon her companion. Her smile had returned quickly, as it often did in the ambassador’s presence.

Odette nodded, one hand bracing on Mandate’s shoulder - at ease. “Perhaps I can help find what you need when you are ready to. You do me a service by being my vigilant protector.” She said with a level of seriousness, watching Mandate’s body language. “It would not be a favour but a gesture of goodwill.”

“Only when you are ready to.” She promised.

While the pair spoke, Bach watched on as well, leaning on the door frame of the portal. His face neutral as he watched, he looked to Mara then back.

He spoke in Common Fey, addressing her, “Nothing at all, huh? No rock left unturned, no cavern left unexplored. Really, I am not surprised.”

“How are you, Mara?”

Mara watched the ongoing reunion with a lazy air from the ground beside the door. Mandate had returned to squeezing the ambassador in a hug, cooing about the ambassador’s pleasant sentiment. Apparently, the promise from the human meant a lot to the massive golem and seemed to reinvigorate her. That seemed strange to the goblin, with how powerful Mandate herself was, but someone with greater potency would probably be a better help than her.

Sighing, Mara’s eyes drifted to Bach, seemingly massive from behind her large glasses. The Common Fey tongue flowed easily from her as she looked her fellow fey up and down. He remained as… Well, Bach, as ever. ”Nothing. It’s a large world, Bach. Hard to find what you’re looking for, sometimes.” the fey dialect flowed more easily from her than human dialects, and she found sophistication a bit easier within their own tongue.

She did not bother naming what Mandate had been searching for; that was between the two of them. Talking was better than sitting in silence, though. ”I’m well. The woodland isn’t my dwelling of choice, but I can manage.”

Avoiding the humans sprinkled throughout the Park had been harder than thriving in it, certainly. Mandate was self-sufficient, in that she required nothing at all from the environment anyway. That left Mara with only some minor concerns, and she wouldn’t have considered herself a proper goblin if she couldn’t scrounge and scavenge.

”It’ll be good to get back to Paris.” she confessed wistfully, leaning back against the door.

“I imagine so for you. We certainly won’t trouble you for your chaperoning services again very soon. I understand dealing with the intellectual equivalent of a toddler is a burden. Believe me, I know.” He flashed a grin at the goblin. “At any rate, you’ll be paid well for your services as always.”

He pushed off from the frame going through the portal leaving them to their reunion, not waiting for Mara’s reply either.

Mara, perturbed, had simply returned Bach’s smile with an awkward, toothy smile of her own as she watched him retreat through the portal, feeling somewhat insulted by proxy. The implications of her fellow fey’s words were plainly obvious, but had he also meant what she believed he meant? Mara glanced nervously towards the ambassador, puffing out a sigh and adjusting her glasses.

She busied herself with sitting up and organizing her pack, and decided not to think about it. Bach’s business was none of her own, and the ambassador’s business was only hers for as long as she was compensated by the sly human. It was better to just not think about it, wasn’t it?

Mandate, humming happily, turned her dimly glowing eye towards the portal as she caught Bach’s movement. ”I’m really excited to hear about what you’ve been up to, but where are we going now, miss Ambassador? I’m ready for whatever you need!” Home would be ideal, but adventure by the ambassador’s side had been exciting every time.

… Although, ”Will I be breaking anything for you? That’s a lot nicer than trying to search through a park that’s- uh- really huge!”

Odette tapped her chin in thought, grinning, “One can certainly hope, my dear. For now, we are returning to Central Park, New York. Where we first met to be precise.” She patted Mandate’s arm, signalling her time to return to her feet. Gracefully sliding off her arm and adjusting her dress.

She beckoned for her to follow, heading to the portal. “Very productive. Met with the White Witch, we travelled to her childhood home meeting her parents and learning her true identity. We found one Gwyneth’s items there, learning of the strange pact her parents had with Gwyneth herself. It’s truly fascinating Mandate, we have learned so much. Then we moved onto Salem meeting with the witch covens there gaining more clues on the former Summer Court Queen Mab.” She named them off, proudly noting the accomplishments. “I convinced the White Witch, Marie, to trust me. I want you to be kind to her, Mandate. For me.” She asked, turning on her heel in the doorway reaching for Mandate’s hand.

“Marie no longer needs to be intimidated.”

”Oooh. It sounds delightful, Miss Ambassador!” Mandate breathed wondrously, curious about the delightful adventures she had seemingly missed in her own fruitless pursuit. Miss Ambassador was, indeed, as productive as she’d ever been! She’d have to ask for more detail later, although definitely not from that jerk Bach.

Following sedately after the ambassador, the golem hummed as she thought aloud about the request. She’d do it for the ambassador anyway, of course, but would she like it? ”Hmmm. Well, I didn’t dislike miss Marie when we met! She seemed nice, and I’d like to know more about her and her magic and this miss Gwyneth… Of course, I’ll do it, miss Ambassador!” she affirmed, reaching out.

Her silvery hand slowly and gently engulfed the human’s own. ”For you!” she added, giggling.

She smiled nodding. “Oh merci, Mandate. Gwyneth… is an increasing mystery to both of us. The more we learn the more questions we ask.” She said with a hum stepping through the portal arriving at the other side holding the door open for Mandate to squeeze through. “One thing is for sure is her connection to the former faerie Queen Mab. Whom I fully intend to meet with, we believe she is a powerful ally that can only be found in the forbidden kingdom of Tir na nOg.”

Odette glanced to Mara seeing the goblin, no doubt hearing what she had said she raised a finger to her lips, “Plans that will remain only those present to know. Can I count on your ability to keep a secret Mara? Keeping my secrets in particular.”

Mara didn’t even blink under the combined gazes of the ambassador and her golem friend. What was one more secret to a pile? Smiling tiredly, the goblin raised a spindly finger to her lips, standing up from her seat against the door. “Consider ‘em kept. All I heard was the wind, y’see.” she promised slyly, burying the awkward feeling that Bach’s words had left. Yes, she was good at keeping her mouth very shut.

Giggling, Mandate squeezed the ambassador’s hand. ”A forbidden kingdom? I like breaking rules that should be broken!” she noted happily, recalling the event in which she had punched a great construct of stone until it was a great pile of debris. ”You’re good at figuring things out, miss Ambassador. I’m sure she won’t be a mystery for too long.”

Bach added, “Remember we can always match the price for information and double it, Mara.” He nodded, unnecessary addition to their understanding but a reminder couldn’t hurt as far as he was concerned. No faerie in Paris could deny the Ambassador’s resources. “Yes the forbidden kingdom of Tir na nOg, where our gods and ancestors dwell. Only the most privileged and highest ranks of nobility may enter. It will be a first in a long time for mortal humans to enter.”

Mandate gasped delightedly as the little goblin gave an awkward nod to her fellow fey, noting the twitch of a grimace. Perhaps Mara didn’t like her word being called into question? Well, more importantly, ”Congratulations then, miss Ambassador!” It was a given to her that the human would be able to enter. How couldn’t she, with her resources and wit? Then, yet another important thought struck the golem. Cupping her own chin with her free hand, the construct hummed. ”Has there ever been a golem whose entered?” she wondered.

The question caught Odette, she really never heard of a golem entering Tir na nOg. Letting out a giggle herself, hiding it behind a hand, “No, not that I can remember. You will be a first as you have always been.”

Odette was pleased, allies at her back and a plan. Whatever Puck conjured stood no chance.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Maj Noor - Corsair Mage Extrodinaire

Nickname: Maj the Sleepless
Age: 30
Gender: Female
Race: Redguard
Birthsign: The Apprentice

Playlist
The Truth is Easy to See Spotify Link

---

Family Origins

Born the 29th of Sun’s Height in the year 178 4E in Sentinel, Hammerfell. Born of Iman Noor who died shortly after Maj's birth due to complications. Raised primarily by her father, Kinstel Noor with one older brother Abdul Noor. Their family was later joined by Annalise, marrying Kinstel. Briefly married into the Cox family.

• Mother - Iman Noor, died during childbirth.
• Step Mother - Annalise Noor, alive and well.
• Father - Kinstel Noor, alive and well.
• Older Brother - Abdul Noor, alive and well - married with children.
• Ex Husband & Childhood Best Friend - Quyon Cox, alive and well.
• Paramour & Conjuration Mentor - Nephelle Avalone, captured and whereabouts unknown.
• Captain of the Scarlet Harpy & Illusion Mentor - Lily Sette, captured and whereabouts unknown.

---

Appearance

Maj stands back straight at 5'4”. Wavy, often unruly long black hair that reaches a length below her shoulders, short uneven bangs falling around her face. She often ties it off to the side of her head. Often seen grinning wryly with a pair of full but often chapped lips.

Her dark skin steeply contrasts her wickedly bright green eyes, deep purple circles line her under eye from lack of proper sleep. Rounded out cheeks, slimmed jaw with a naturally crooked nose. Two scars are visible on her face, one at her brow and another on her lower lip from a stray soul gem fragment bursting after an experiment. Bright silver earrings twinkle in the sunlight at her ears, enchanted to fortify her conjuration.

Maj has narrow hips, strong sea legs and a small torso. She likes to make a strong first impression, taught by her Corsair crew mates the importance of reputation and presentation. She carries her small stature with the confidence of a man twice her size, as a result. Determined to fill the room with her presence, whether that succeeds or fails she tries regardless.

She has never been one built for the cold, as such she dresses in layers. High leather boots sealed against water or snow. Dark leggings, long white tunic, with a dark maroon jacket made of cotton, long soft leather gloves that stretch up her forearm. When removed any curious eyes can see all the tiny light nicks and scars along her hands and fingers from soul gem experimentation. Rough calluses have hardened in her palms from years working at sea. Carries a dark green enchanted cloak with a hood to protect from rain and snow, enchanted to resist magicka, it provides some protection against magickal assailants. Around her waist is a belt holding up a two-part pouch at the small of her back where she keeps her money and some spare food.

Clothing

_{Credit Link}

Equipment

• Leather Boots & Gloves
• Enchanted Resist Magicka Cloak
• Woolly long skirted jacket
• Belted leather pouches at her back
• A pair of silver earrings enchanted to fortify her conjuration - A gift from Nephelle.

Misc. Possessions:

• Only arriving to Gilane with nothing but the clothes on her back
  
  **** When she resupplies ****
• x1 Sewing Kit
• x1 Charcoal Pencil
• x1 Small knife to sharpen a pencil
• x1 Spare set of leggings and white tunic.
• x1 Brand New Leather bound Sketchbook
• x3 Apples
• x1 sack of dried tree nuts
• x1 Water Skin
• x1 Wine Skin
• x1 Sachel

Skills

Highly Proficient
Conjuration
Maj took an early interest and nurtured education in Conjuration through her stepmother, Annalise. An iron will over her summons from Oblivion she relies on the actions of her atronachs for offensive and defensive tactics, however, her time under the direct tutelage of a master conjurer like Nephelle taught Maj the importance of creativity especially when you were at sea. Releasing her atronachs upon the environment whether that was to open a summoning portal for Snowflake to crash through a mast or send Furgur Blitzcloud storming across the bow of a ship tearing through defences. Setting barrels of tar and oil ablaze with Cinders, while there is always a time and place for blunt force - Maj enjoys employing her will in support rather than a battering ram. While she wills summons like Ice, Flames and Storm atronachs she is also quite excellent at expelling them back to the depths of oblivion. She refuses to learn how to raise zombies, ingrained fear and prejudice toward necromancy keep Maj from ever considering it.

Illusion
Maj's conjuration is complimented only by her ability to craft illusions. Tricking enemies into seeing what she wills them to see, from ghosts to rocky beaches to run aground. Building monsters directly from their nightmares. The majority of her practice of illusions was born of pranking her fellow crewmates, naturally, a sense of humour belies her magic use. While she is capable of building large and small illusions her expertise in illusion is all about the big picture, subtler mind games are not her prerogative.

Moderately Proficient
Language - Dunmeris
Maj picked up and learned how to speak Dunmeris from her paramour, Nephelle. Learning to speak, read and write in the language she is fluent with a weird nasally accent.

Somewhat Proficient
Tailoring - Sewing
Maj had two jobs onboard the Scarlet Harpy, raid and cripple ships and when her mind was behind a foggy haze of sleeplessness mend the sails and the crew's clothing. Never allowed near food prep even on her good days.

Athletics
Maj can scamper, climb and has little fear of heights. Where her spells fail her and enemies close in she runs. Once upon a time she was quite the swimmer but has since then she is completely unaware of the panic that awaits her when she finds herself in open water.

Spell List:
Conjuration - Summon Frost, Flames, and Storm Atronach, Expel Daedra
Illusion - Fear, Frenzy, Invisibility, Calm

History

A painful birth and short farewell, Maj Noor was born the 29th of Sun’s Height in the year 178 4E and Iman Noor died shortly thereafter, at the very least able to greet her newborn daughter before passing on. Months of complications leading to her birth only stood as a testament to Iman’s strength to carry Maj to term. Leaving behind Kinstel and Abdul to mourn her death and raise Maj.

Abdul at the age of seven held a resentment toward Maj, blaming her for the death of their mother. Try as Kinstel did to teach his son otherwise. Maj being a fussy baby did not improve her worth in young Abdul’s eyes. Kinstel himself was a successful market merchant, silver-tongued and able to sell someone their own shirt. Born in Hammerfell to a Forebears family lineage, he carries belief and stories of The Nine Divines, passing on his beliefs to his children. Carrying extreme prejudice toward necromancy and conjuration. Kinstel taught them their letters and numbers, Abdul took to the lessons of mercantile while Maj decidedly checked out of them only pacified with a book in her hands.

Kinstel felt he could pursue greener pastures in High Rock, for years the trade had slowed to a crawl any resources were being funnelled to the recovery of Hammerfell’s southern shores after the Great War. Piracy was seeing a surge in activity choking what little was already getting through to Sentinel. Quietly with Iman’s passing, he felt his heart could truly heal disconnecting from Sentinel.

He packed up what he could, shuffling the children from their home to set new roots in Wayrest, High Rock. Seeing a bright future for his family there. He was proved to be correct, healing from the passing of his wife to meet and marry new love Annalise, a Kynareth priestess, leaving her priesthood behind to marry Kinstel but not leaving all of her secrets behind. She was gentle, with the patience of a true saint to help raise Abdul and Maj. Abdul didn’t take to his new mother well but Maj grew to respect her kindness and patience, likening her to a willow tree bending with a gale force winds as opposed to resisting it. She didn’t give in to Maj’s bratty demands but negotiated with her, it proved to be an effective form of parenting.

Annalise helped shape Maj’s budding aptitude in magicka, what she hadn’t expected was Maj’s keen nose for trouble. At the age of 8 4E 188, Maj rifled through some of Annalise’s old belongings looking for a new book in the home she hadn’t read yet stumbling upon a stack of conjuration spell books and research notes. Recognizing the symbol of the taboo school of magic, she was disgusted at first with the secret. As taboos go, Maj really wanted to know why it was as taboo as it was, fascinated to learn more. She stole them away finding her own hiding place to read them more. With her new magicka lessons, Maj spent the afternoon trying to learn some basic spells. As children are ones for carelessness Annalise soon discovered her belongings had been rifled through fearing the worst she went searching for where the books may have been taken only to catch Maj red-handed.

Furious and terrified of her secret becoming known to her husband, Annalise made it their shared secret promising in exchange to teach Maj how to safely practice Conjuration without summoning unbound daedra. Not trusting Maj to simply detach from her new found fascination. Annalise saw the sense in teaching Maj at least that much.

That summer the family decided it was time for Maj to learn some proper skills, Abdul followed his father to work the markets while Maj had stayed inside to read her days away. Magicka lessons weren’t enough. Annalise and Kinstel were hoping to start negotiating an arranged marriage with some other merchant families in Wayrest, Kinstel was keen on sending his daughter to join the Kynareth priesthood and learn restoration like her stepmother but Annalise knew Maj did not have the patience for healing. Instead, she suggested speaking with some of the families in Wayrest who had a ship. A few character-building months at sea matched up with a son could prove a good investment.

The Cox were a seafaring family, having made a successful business in shipment with reliable cargo protection, and more importantly, had a son around Maj’s age. The Cox’s reluctantly agreed to take on Maj pairing her up with their youngest son, Quyon. They weren’t initially convinced a bookish child could handle being away from home for the first time and at sea. To their surprise Maj stepped in line, the structure and busy days aboard their ship were what she needed. Quyon and Maj became fast friends, he guided her aboard the ship and they completed chores together. When they returned at the end of the summer, she was sea brushed - beaming and full of stories to tell her family. The Cox agreed to arrange a marriage between Quyon and Maj when they became of age.

In the year 188 4E, the piracy was at its peak and the Invasion of Wayrest was quick and decisive. Merchant families and other ship owning individuals were to submit to the Corsair Republic and cooperate or die. Sharing percentages of trade and safe passage through Iliac Bay. Some gave up and moved onto trading caravans while others submitted to the Republic, able to absorb the percentage to pay to continue their trade. The Cox were among the families that were able to continue sailing - begrudgingly cooperating with the Corsair Republic. There was a fair amount of distrust for the pirates but nobody trusted the Wayrest ruling nobility either after the betrayal. The Corsair’s true target was routing The Dark Brotherhood.

For the next 7 years, she spent every summer at sea with Quyon, always looking forward to her time with her best friend and their voyages. Learning more with the places they travelled to, growing up and out of her brattiness. As they grew older it was apparent they had been matched off, neither objecting but neither of them harboured romantic feelings for the other. Far as arranged marriages went they knew they could be matched with far worse. Secretly gaining more lessons about conjuration from Annalise, they bonded as they delved into her stepmother’s previous life as a conjurer. They quietly rejected her father’s prejudiced views.

In the year of 192 4E Quyon and Maj were wed and held the sacred duty as husband and wife to consummate their marriage and provide the next generation. Quyon was patient with Maj as she was with him, neither holding true for a spark of love or lust, in spite of that they wanted to do right by their families. They tried repeatedly to conceive children, only for Maj never showing signs of being with child. Annalise and a host of restoration mages tried potions and prayer for Maj, unfortunately, nothing stuck. A problem that the best healer in Wayrest wouldn’t be able to fix. Maj was pronounced barren. Both the Cox and Noor’s attempted to comfort Maj but there was an underline of disappointment. Their first year of marriage was akin to spending more time with each other than ever before, they took comfort in their strong bonds.

Unfortunately the borrowed time Annalise and Maj had with practicing conjuration finally ran out, as they headed to their usual private spot to practice using the usual excuse of shopping for dinner. Abdul went looking for them in the markets only for some having seen them wander off, they pointed him their way. Abdul found them midway practicing soul trap, conjuration spell book at their feet. A damning scene to see and before Maj or Annalise could say a word he immediately ran to his father.

Kinstel flew into a rage, disgusted by his wife and daughter for practicing the vilest school of magic. Kinstel in his fit of rage blamed the fruitless marriage on Maj and the Divines visiting their consequences upon her by making her barren. Maj naturally fought back defending conjuration but it pushed Kinstel over the edge. Annalise - shocked and terrified of his rage, she held strong at Maj’s side unable to summon the same courage to argue.

Kinstel tore Maj from Annalise, with his teenage daughter in hand he marched her to the Cox household roughly pulling the wedding band from Maj’s finger he threw it before Quyon’s father, forcing her to break off the marriage for the sake of their reputation. He repeatedly berated Maj. Quyon attempted to defend his wife but the shame came crashing down on Maj’s head vocally consenting to her father’s order. Quyon silenced by his own father, he separated the enraged Kinstel from the teens trying to talk sense to him. Ashamed Maj took off at a run from both of them, tear-faced and disgraced. Kinstel shouted after her, peppering the exit with more curses.

Maj spent the night at the docks, crying - cold and feeling like her life was being burned up before her. The next morning she was worse for wear - shouts of enthusiastic Corsair hiring booths had pulled her from her reverie. Dry-eyed and in the best place to make bad decisions Maj went wandering down the booths looking for work. If she were to be disgraced and without family she felt her only option for work would still be at sea. Passing a booth by until it’s captain called out to her, Captain Lily Sette. Surrounded by her crew, calling out to join the Scarlet Harpy. The Captain saw in Maj as she saw in all her crew members. She saw the loss as clear as one would see reading a book.

Captain Sette briefly explained her crew was looking for women with sailing experience and welcomed apprenticeships for mages. A rare vessel crewed completely by women of all creeds and backgrounds, a gathering of widows, ex-slaves, and the disenfranchised women looking for purpose backed by a terrifyingly strong force of mages aboard. They held a philosophy of rescuing those fallen victims to shipwrecks and contracted to hunt slave ships when they made their odd appearance. They operated under the Corsair Republic so they participated in raiding fat and slow merchant ships for resources and gold to pay their tribute to the Republic but operated with good intentions. Maj signed up seeing no real reason not to.

Given a big and warm welcome aboard Maj was set to work and with her interest in conjuration was apprenticed by their master of conjuration, the dunmer Nephelle Avalone. Tall and willowy she regarded her new apprentice with kind red eyes, impossibly white silvery hair framed her angular features. Nephelle was 30 years Maj’s senior. Maj felt a fire ignite in the pit of her belly. At the young age of 16, she joined the crew of the Scarlet Harpy. It took some easing and adjustment to piracy for Maj, most prominently with killing others. While she was abhorrent to the thought of necromancy the pirates around her helped her adjust. She moved past her hesitation but never grew to like it, taking life was a natural part of raiding. As such - the pirate’s life was hers now. She enjoyed having a new family and purpose most of all, she reasoned the work was a fair trade. In her later years, she realized she would owe the crew of the Scarlet Harpy more than just loyalty.

Maj fit in quickly, many of the women empathizing with her story and Maj doing the same as she learned each of their own stories. Mages and warriors fought alongside each other with ferocity, the crew and her ship acted as one singular force united by the charismatic Captain Sette, a master of illusion. Over the next few years as Maj grew from a teenager into an adult so too did her feelings for her mentor, maturing with her. Nephelle was aware of Maj’s attraction, initially uncomfortable but doing little to rebuff her interest. Soon, in three years time, Nephelle reciprocated. They eased into their relationship as one did try on new boots. It was awkward to start, they faced a lot of adjustment. Once they settled - able to draw a line between their lessons from their relationship Nephelle and Maj became inseparable. They were a fearsome pair of conjurers coordinating their attacks. Their love fueled their nights as it did their attacks.

As Maj’s expertise grew in conjuration she branched out, always admiring her Captain's mastery of the mind. She took on learning Illusion from her Captain, it complimented her conjuration adding more versatility. Maj took to it to like a fish to water. While she apprenticed as a mage she proved to be quite dexterous with her hands, she became one of the crew's tailors. Sewing holes in sails, mending clothing. Any one crew member took on multiple jobs but Maj held some curiosity of soul gems and enchantment but one too many failed experiments (with scars marring her face) Maj dropped it.

For 14 years Maj remained aboard the Scarlet Harpy, happy and at home. The crew changed faces as some died and some left to pursue other goals. She wrote letters consistently to Quyon and her family, Annalise and Quyon were the only replies she received. She developed a distaste for meat, after eating nearly rotten meat one too many times while at sea. She switched decidedly to eating nuts, vegetables and occasionally fish if she saw it freshly caught. The only reliable food source she could provide for herself, nearly useless otherwise in food prep.

They sailed along the western coast of Hammerfell and as far south as Cyrodiil, running from Dominion fleets and playing cat and mouse with Hammerfell’s. It was exciting, thrilling and ultimately not without consequences. In the spring of 208 4E, a strange ship caught Captain Sette's eye as did the watch in the Crow's Nest they did not scan the horizon but they saw it flying amongst the clouds above. At sea, they were blissfully ignorant of the newly installed rulers of Hammerfell. Unknowingly crossing new territorial lines drawn off of Hammerfell's coast near Stros M'Kai the Dwemer airship began to pursue the trespassing Corsair crew. Wisely Captain Sette steered the Scarlet Harpy to retreat, neither prepared nor interested in engaging with the likes of it. The airship easily caught up, plated armour deflected the mage's elemental attacks, ballista's penetrated the upper decks of the Scarlet Harpy, Dwemer spheres came crashing aboard from above attacking the crew directly - eliminating witnesses.

The attack was vicious. The crew fought and lost, overwhelmed. Maj was separated from Nephelle and fell below decks fighting for her life as their enemies blew holes in the Scarlet Harpy’s hull, she quickly took on water trapping Maj below decks with cargo blocking her exit. As the claustrophobic walls closed in and the ship began to sink, panic gripped Maj’s heart. She lost consciousness, waking several hours later vomiting seawater on a rocky beach. The fate of the Scarlet Harpy unknown and her own survival a mystery.

Determined to find out the fate of the Scarlet Harpy Maj travelled to the closest city - Gilane, without coin or a plan. She was stuck. She burned to know what happened to Nephelle. Her eyes confirmed what she presumed was pure insanity of the attack, the Dwemer had returned and they were in control of Gilane and Hammerfell.

Without a plan, a crew, nor a proper leg to stand on she entered the city, at the end of Second Seed 4E 208 looking for refuge. Quietly nursing a grudge against the newly returned Dwemer for destroying her family and life in a single swoop.

Personality

As a young child, she was bratty as they came, bookish and demanding. Undoubtedly filled to the brim with an insufferable amount of attitude - enough to rival an adult. She proved to be a handful for both her father and her begrudging older brother. She had a true penchant for trouble; getting stuck while exploring or finding a way to break anything she got her hands on. She eventually grew out of her bratty ways but remains a demanding personality, entirely willful and managing to stick her nose where trouble surely brews. Completely unaware of how much she enjoys instant gratification, a result of her father and brother giving into her tantrums just so they could find some peace.

She learned some patience from her stepmother, learned discipline when first aboard a ship. It strengthened her iron will, it lent well to controlling the chaotic beings of Oblivion. Her ability to focus on a task or spell is difficult to break, sleep deprivation remains her concentration’s greatest enemy. She greatly respects staying true to character in face of adversity - the strength of mind, heart or body. Years spent with Captain Sette she learned to see holes in the heart as Captain Sette had once seen in her. An illusionist’s eyes accustomed to seeing past the illusions of others. However, that is where her emotional intelligence starts and ends. Maj has no patience for dealing with her own emotional or physical pain and even less for strangers. She can empathize and understand why someone is in pain but doesn't have enough empathy to help them deal with it. What she lacks she makes up for in her actions, feeling bullied? Maj happily stands between you and your assailant. Feeling lonely, she may not have the words to heal or soothe but she will sit with you. The crew of the Scarlet Harpy showed her how to act as a pirate but they showed her what it means to be present, just as they were they there for her Maj hopes to pay that compassion forward.

Maj has a strange and muddied view of the Nine Divines and her own soul. She believes in the divine pantheon protecting their realm of Nirn from Oblivion, particularly how important a figure Kynareth is to sailors and pirates alike. Her positive views of the Divines stem directly from her step mother's influence, but to say she avidly prays or seeks guidance from the gods would be untrue. It's largely a nostalgic kick now that she is grown woman having seen her fair share of how the world operates outside the quiet sanctum of a temple. Fuelling a bit of cynicism. The nature of her own soul in relation to her body had been a hotly debated notion with other mages and scholars aboard the Harpy. Especially with a master of conjuration, Nephelle purported to be, she often argued with her paramour over the use of spells like Soul Trap. Struggling with what she was taught as a child and the very stark reality she would never reach master levels of conjuration with her ingrained prejudice. At the heart of it, she fears the loss of her soul.

She enjoys creating and acting out her pirate front, putting forth an act of bravado and confidence. She was taught well by charismatic corsairs. Past those first impressions, Maj enjoys the quiet ambiance of waves lapping, boots marching, or the ramble of marketplaces. She is pulled toward activity. Genuinely enjoys the harsh life at sea, working like a well-oiled cog in the mechanism. Craves that support, stability, and familiarity of knowing where she fits and her purpose at the hands of someone she truly respected.

Quietly hopes to regain the approval of her father, blazing the trail to her own success regardless of what that success may look like. If only she could sort out the mess that is her life currently, then maybe someday she could go back to Wayrest.

Miscellaneous

• Navigation & Map Reading: Years at sea, Maj has a great sense of direction and navigation. She can read the stars, a map and a compass.
• Knot tying: Great with knots, with a large portion of her life at sea she is quite handy with a rope.
• Sketch Artist: Maj takes pride in her ability to sketch, has an almost embarrassingly large amount of sketches of Nephelle in her sketchbook. They are fairly new and they help to fill the ache of missing her paramour. Caution to the Curious: Do not flip past page 10, the sketches continue but on a far more private level.
• Name that Daedra!: Maj has a streak for silly names as pirates traditionally go, she, of course, named her atronachs. They are as such - Flames: Cinders (Cindy), Frost: Snowflake, Storm: Furgur Blitzcloud.
• Vegetarian: Maj is vegetarian, she'll only eat meat when she sees it's freshly caught or cut. Plays it safe without eating meat.
• Fear of Swimming: After the sinking of the Scarlet Harpy being trapped below decks, nearly drowning - Maj has developed a fear for swimming and drowning. Completely unaware of this certain fear, it is new and the panic that awaits her in open water.
• Insomniac: Battling with insomnia ever since she was a teenager, she finds herself able to have a peaceful sleep at sea with the gentle rocking of the waves, salty air, and a slight twinge of mildew and tar. On dry land, she has fitful sleep at best. Used to the fluctuating sleep schedule she is happy to take up guard postings, keeping herself busy. However, some terribly long bouts of sleeplessness will hit her with the full effects of sleep deprivation. Poor judgement, hallucinations, irritability, slow reflexes and of course low energy. However, menial tasks like sewing can be trusted with her, her hands know what to do even if her mind is gone. Stress, anxiety and sleeping on hard ground exasperate her condition, making it difficult to fall asleep.
• Born at the Wrong Time: Being born under The Apprentice constellation gave Maj early advantages in magicka and an above average reservoir - it also made her sensitive to magicka. She attempts to compensate with enchanted clothing but mages have proven to cause devastating damage to her person directly. She avoids directly engaging with other mages in a fight, traps and illusions have similarly intensified effects on her.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

I know I was a part of season 1. Lol Correction. Was gonna be. Could never figure out how to get my character in.

@Draku69

Now there’s a plenty of shenanigans to poke your nose into.