Dervish

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Ripples of Change

A @Dervish & @Stormflyx sexual creation

Alik’r Desert, Oasis
2am, 16th Midyear, 4E208

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Most of the company had retreated to their beds, and once again Raelynn could barely sleep. She had decided to put herself to some use by exploring the cave for any kind of flora she could harvest to replenish her stocks. Without magic, she was at a disadvantage, and should anyone require her attention she needed to have at least something. So off she went with a knife and bowl in her hand to see what she could collect from the walls and crevices of the cave. Mountain flower seemed to grow just about everywhere but she hadn’t stumbled across any yet.

She approached a rocky corner of the cave that was illuminated by some glowing mushroom that clung to the walls. There was a sickly feeling in her stomach, and she knew that her exhaustion was catching up to her. She hadn't gotten a full nights sleep since… it must have been before the fight between Gregor and Zaveed. Had it really been that long? She'd barely eaten since the 13th, despite having made Gregor eat earlier that day. Her mind just would not stop, and so maybe if she did something important then her mind might just slow down. She hoped so, there was an aggressive pinching behind her eyes. Dehydration too.

She began clambering over the rock to reach the mushroom. Even stood on such a small platform made her feel nauseous all of a sudden, and as she looked down she saw the ground below toss and turn, her head spinning with it. “Fuck,” she groaned as she clasped a hand against the wall, shutting her eyes tightly to try and regain equilibrium. The knife and bowl dropped in the scuffle and she heard them clatter against the floor. “Damnit…” she muttered again, realising she was stuck for the time being, to afraid to move her foot lest she slip and be the one to hurt herself.

“Careful; don’t move, I will assist you down.” Zaveed called from below, having come over from his own inability to sleep and a curiosity of what the Breton was up to. Her sudden lack of coordination made the privateer concerned she was fighting a sudden illness; he’d seen his share of sailors try to carry on their duties despite some sea-borne pestilence that seemed to love hot and humid cargo holds to propagate.

He climbed up a bit after her, his grip and footing confident from years of scaling rigging. He offered a hand. “Please, let me help you down. I’ll gather the… fungus for you.”

She knew it was Zaveed, even if she wouldn’t open her eyes to look at him. If her head didn’t make her feel as if she was out at sea she might have had a snarky comment, but - help was help. It had to be him.. she thought to herself, finally letting one hand go from the wall, reaching it out shakily behind her for him to take.

“Okay… easy. Stay anchored, I’m going to help you climb down. Do not fear slipping; I have you.” He promised. He scaled up to closer to her level, taking Raelynn’s offered hand. “Okay, you climb down as far as you can go, and I will catch up. Ready?” he asked.

“Al..alright,” she sighed, trying not to say anything - she feared opening her mouth before she got to solid ground might warrant an unwanted bodily response. She shifted her weight onto the Khajiit, which gave her the confidence to begin stepping down, gripping his hand as she went. This was a strange turn of events, but… As she continued to move herself back the way she came, she found that she did in fact trust him. She closed the distance and at that moment, she opened her eyes. She was far enough down now.

“There you are.” Zaveed said with a reassuring grin. “A moment, if you would.” he said, seeing her set herself down safely. He scaled up to where she was before, seeing the mushroom she was trying to obtain. After a few moments of deliberation, Zaveed freed his blade and managed to hook his wrist around one of the outcroppings that let him catch the fungus as the sharp blade freed the stem from the concealed body of the fungus, beneath the damp crevices. With care, he slipped the mushroom into one of the pouches on his bandoleer and began to climb back down, dusting his hands off when he reached the landing and retrieving Raelynn’s prize from the pouch and placing it gingerly in her bowl that she’d gathered.

“Might I inquire what you are planning on using that mushroom for?” he asked. “I am not much of a botanist; I couldn’t even tell you which ones are safe to eat, and which ones make you hallucinate, and which ones make you shit yourself uncontrollably.”

“Thank you,” she said first, an slightly embarrassed smile crept over her lips and her cheeks flushed red which she tried to hide by moving her head just so that her hair fell around her face. He had caught her off guard, and of course it had to him. Where was Jaraleet to bumble through the caves now? “I.. well, you can use it for potions - specifically I would use it to fortify health. I wouldn’t recommend eating it though, you’d probably pass a glowing… errr, movement.” That did nothing to help the uncertainty she was feeling, the thought alone brought more colour to her cheeks, only enhanced by the mushroom glowing at her side. “If only I could get some Imp Stool and Blisterwort too, I’d feel prepared for anything. Alas, haven’t stumbled across any yet.”

“Ah.” Zaveed clapped his hands together enthusiastically. “The third option then.” he said enthusiastically, finding her bashfulness much more endearing than before. A flush of guilt crossed over him and his smile faded somewhat and he looked away for a moment to compose himself; it was a surprisingly normal moment he didn’t feel like he had quite earned, but he didn’t want to squander it. “Well, you just let me know what they look like, and maybe we’ll get lucky in our travels, yes? We Khajiit have excellent night sight, wouldn’t miss a thing in the dark, I promise.” he said with a hint of a smile.

He studied her for a moment, noticing she was rather flush and her eyes seemed to come in and out of focus. “Do you need to sit down somewhere? Perhaps dip your feet into the river?” he asked kindly.

“Imp stool is short and fat, and Blisterwort is slender and grows tall. Both are similarly coloured. I suppose this is why they have the same restorative purposes…” She wasn’t sure why she was telling him, she just felt so subdued and worn out that she could not find it within herself to be anything but cordial. Something about having a conversation that was normal and completely banal was refreshing too. “I can sit here, it’s quite cool actually…” she responded softly, lowering herself down slowly until she was sitting on the ground and she leaned back against the very same rock that had been such a nuisance, tipping her head back. She could feel her balance returning, and she didn’t quite feel like she was a word away from vomiting anymore, too.

He knelt before her, relaxing his hands on his knees. Letting out a sigh, Zaveed said, “Listen, Raelynn… about the last time we spoke.” he began quietly. “I was out of line, and my presence was the last thing that you needed.”

“Can’t say I was much of a gem of a conversationalist either…” she replied with a light sigh. “I was just surprised to see you and I didn’t like that very much at the time.”

“Who could blame you? I am hardly one people are particularly enraptured by my presence after meeting in a most unfortunate manner.” Zaveed replied. “I had thought I’d never see you nor your friends again, but fate brought us back together.” he offered the slightest of smiles as he met her gaze. “I was happy to see you again, for what it’s worth. I’ve had so much time to reflect on what you’d given me, and I’d like to think I’m on a path you’d approve of. Thank you for the chance.”

“What is it that you want from me, exactly?” she asked, unlike the times before there was no anger in this - just softness and confusion as she looked him in the eye too. His stare was intense even if he did not intend it to be. “You seemed frustrated that I had stopped fighting, but I haven’t you know. I just don’t fight like you do. I fight everyday and I haven’t given up.” Raelynn stretched her legs out against the stone, relaxing her posture as she did so, a long breath followed. “I’m confused by it all, and I’m hurting because I was punished for what I did for you.”

“For what it’s worth, I’d have taken it back had I known the cost. One in my position normally isn’t confronted by his past so readily, and I don’t think I much care for what the mirror was showing after my little misadventure with your boyfriend.” Zaveed said, shaking his head and glancing back to make sure that said boyfriend wasn’t on his way to throttle him for talking with Raelynn. “I’m not sure how to answer your query, my dear; in the event of nearly losing my life and very soul, I…” he paused, groping for the words and coming up short.

“All I know is when you found me at the docks, when I was resigned to pass into some nameless husk as a part of Namiira’s legions, this brilliant light comes with the sunset and put me back together again. The following morning, another stranger comes along and without asking for anything, helps me pull myself back together again. To my surprise, I felt like everything was more vibrant, like I’d been living in a dark haze for so many years. My life on the seas was a violent one, and short for many. I’ve had to do some despicable things to survive, to end the abuse I’ve endured since my childhood. I’d gone so far down that path I forgot it had to start somewhere.” Zaveed explained, wringing his hands together. “It’s why I’m so capable of such cruelty without blinking an eye, it’s all I’ve known for so long. It’s hard for me to even acknowledge that that isn’t normal anymore, that most people aren’t like that. That it isn’t a fact of life everyone just accepts and goes along with. I guess what I’m trying to say, Raelynn, is that when you chose to spare my life, a part of me that’s been dormant and hidden for so many years begun to sprout, like a seed after a long winter. I see you, and I know I need to be better than I was, and I’m trying. I just don’t know how.”

“You talk so much sometimes, Zaveed of Senchal,” she said in a weak whisper, “today you might send me to sleep,” a choice thing to say after such a vulnerable speech he had given, but she meant no real harm by it. It was true, his words were almost relaxing to her in her current state. Her eyelids fluttered. “I don’t know what it is you must do, I only know that you must work at it everyday and never stop. Who do you want to become? What do you want to achieve in this life? Start there and expand…” Why am I helping him? Is it because I can’t get off my own arse right now?

Her brows furrowed, creasing her forehead and she rubbed at her temples gently.

“Something that my mother used to say to me when I was a girl, was that it was my responsibility in life to make tiny changes. If I could do that, eventually I might change the whole world. Bit by bit. When your heart stops beating at the end of your life, someone else's will start - a never ending cycle.” She closed her eyes as she spoke, picturing the diamond shaped face of her mother and it brought a smile to her face. She pictured the deep, emerald green of her eyes, and the way her smile could light up an entire room. “It was such a bold thing she used to say, but she made me believe that I could change the world just by doing small things... Like fixing a dislocated limb so someone can carry on without pain and go on to fulfil their own dreams. It’s like a ripple, Zaveed.”

“You will never change or undo any of the things that hurt people. You hurt me, and in my deepest despair I sent Gregor after you to kill you, Gregor was hurt, as were you. I brought you both back to life at the cost of my abilities. That was a ripple that continues to run its course and we are still affected until it comes to its end, in the movements that began after it.” She scrunched up her face, unsure if she was making sense or not in her confused and addled mind. “You can’t stop a motion once you’ve pushed. You can only start to try to make better ones in its place, to drown out the tremors it leaves behind. Do you… Do you understand?” She asked in a frustrated and slightly exasperated voice now, a headache pinching behind her eyes that continued to make her feel indeterminate over it.

“A ripple.. That is something I can understand.” Zaveed confirmed with a slow, knowing nod. “Sometimes, a stone breaks the surface and the ripples go in new directions, but the effect was still caused from a prior source.” he pondered, his face scrunching with concern for Raelynn’s evident struggle. “You have lost your ability to cast spells… do you know why?” He offered a hand to take her injured one. “Allow me to try and soothe your aches while we ponder this query. Sometimes, wounds are not all physical, other times they marr our soul. Perhaps that is what happened to you, you were forced into a position with two contradictory but equally valid decisions to make to uphold your values. You could not leave someone to die, despite your hatred, because that is not who you are. You hurt the man you love by sparing the enemy that he was sworn to kill. Is it any wonder while your soul is a maelstrom? You need to align yourself once more, Raelynn. Like any injury, it takes time and patience to heal.”

She did as he requested, and stretched out her hand towards him tentatively, before opening her mouth to speak again, “when I healed Gregor…” she almost stopped herself from continuing, but she felt safe enough to talk to him - strangely. “My whole body was golden, magicka streaming from my entire being and it was too much. I felt out of my body… I haven’t been able to use it since but I know how to get it back, I’m almost there. So yes, I am fighting, and learning along the way… About myself, about who I can be and what I’m made of...”

“And what are you made of, Raelynn? Who will you become?” he asked quietly, running his thumbs gently across her palm.

“Flesh and bone… Steel… I am made of fire and of water, greed and compassion in equal amounts. I’m just… I’m just me. I will become strong enough to make the right tiny changes.” Raelynn said, her gaze watching over at what she could make out of the camp, it was blurry and doubling and tripling… She shook her head and pulled her eyes away and onto things closer, namely, the sight of Zaveed’s thumbs moving across her hand - across the scar. She swallowed, and tensed up. It felt wrong, but he was trying. This was a different Zaveed, wasn’t it? It was too soon, and she took her hand back, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’re… we’re not there yet…” She hoped he wouldn’t kick up a fuss in offence.

He crossed his own fingers in turn, not reacting to her withdrawing her hands from his own. “It’s okay, do not worry about offending me. It is you who suffered at my expense, I’m just doing what I can to rectify that.” he explained with a polite smile. “Keep all of those parts in your mind and heart when you falter, never lose sight of who you are and what makes you strong and there is nothing you cannot come back from. Fire evaporates water, but it is also doused by it. Greed makes you wealthy, but compassion makes others wealthy at your expense. Steel cuts through flesh and bone, but it takes flesh and bone to temper and refine it into something useable. We are all made of contradictory parts that compliment one another, the key is to not be swayed to far to one side or the other, yes?”

Raelynn merely sat in silence briefly, allowing his words to sink in. The Khajiit wasn’t wrong. She felt the same way, and so she nodded. “A very wise way to look at it…” was all she could say for a while more.

“I hope for everyone’s sake that you can in fact change, Zaveed. I hope that you can start to make the right kind of ripples in the world, we need change now more than ever. And hope. We need hope.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them, her arms enveloping around so that she was in a tight ball, hair falling down the side like a waterfall of blonde. “Small steps though, okay?”

“Small steps.” Zaveed agreed with a smile, standing with ease without the use of his hands. “Thank you for your confidence, it’s given me much to consider, and maybe it’s not too late for me. I hope you get to feeling better.” He said, bowing slightly before adjusting his posture. “You take time to get better, yourself; my mushroom gathering services are always available, my dear.” he said with a wink before turning to return to the camp.

Raelynn took some time in the still silence of the night to think on what had just happened. Had she really just had a somewhat pleasant and meaningful conversation with the same Khajiit tyrant who had tortured and tormented her? Had she really just given him advice on how to be a better man? This felt stranger to her than having healed him. This made less sense. Gregor would not be happy about this development, but in a lot of ways she felt better inside. More like herself, and there was nothing left to anticipate from Zaveed now and that brought her a sense of calm that she would never have been given had this not happened. If she could find a way to communicate that to Gregor, then perhaps it would make him feel at ease too.

She felt something, a feeling of excitement - like butterflies when she thought of her Imperial and it brought a smile to her face that she couldn’t have hidden if she tried, she even giggled. She felt less heavy all of a sudden, and all she wanted was to find her way to his side and hold him. “Goodnight Zaveed,” she muttered under her breath as she watched the Khajiit fade from her view, and then she set off to make her own way to bed too.

Tonight, she was the one to wrap her arms around Gregor.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

A Fountain of Serenity

Stormy and Dervs, emotional terrorism level: Hiroshima
15th Midyear, 4E208
Oasis, Alik'r Desert
Mid-Afternoon...

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“Raelynn? I was wondering if you were willing to go for a walk with me.” Daro’Vasora said, finding Raelynn apart from the others, reading what looked like a spell tome. The Khajiit was no longer in her dress, but rather barefoot in the same trousers and sleeveless tunic she’d been wearing when she went to rescue Raelynn well over a week ago. She offered an apologetic smile. “We haven’t had much of a chance to catch up since, well… you know, and I know you’ve been upset with me since yesterday. I’d like a chance to try and make up for it.”

Raelynn looked up from her book to find Daro’Vasora stood over her, in more relaxed attire than she had been prior - she appeared rested. The Breton felt herself tense up posturing herself against the Khajiit. If she had approached earlier, before Raelynn had been quite successful in her translations - she might have had a snappy retort for her, but for now, she was rather content and calm of mind. While she did not smile up at her, she did not frown either. A neutral expression befell her features and she stood up from her rock. Her own outfit somewhat similar to Sora’s. A silken blouse cut off at the shoulder, paired with high waisted cream linen trousers with splits up each leg that trailed to her hips. The only colour on her clothing was the mottled brown and gold of the delicate tortoiseshell buttons adorning the blouse.

“Lead the way,” she sighed in as plain a voice as she could, picking up her satchel after stuffing the books in there.

The Khajiit waited until Raelynn was well and ready to go, and she waited until they were outside of the camp’s perimeter, and outside of earshot of the others. “Don’t worry, I told the others we were just going to take a quick walk in the cave, stretch our legs, clear the air. Do you remember anything from that night, in the warehouse?” she asked, frowning. “I don’t mean to dig up hard memories, but Raelynn… I really tried to save you both. I am sorry I failed.” she said with a long sigh, her gaze down towards the moss underfoot.

She thought about the question and it caused her to close her eyes as if to search through the recessed for images of what she did remember. It occurred to her that she hadn’t really thought about it since. She knew in her heart it wasn’t the fault of Daro’Vasora. “It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t fail. It was a terrible situation that we were both thrust into, and it was Roux who paid the price.” She pictured his corpse again. She felt the feeling of the hard ground on her spine from when she lay beside him, holding his hand in the darkness. “I… I’m afraid I don’t remember much. Just shadows and sounds. Roux’s gasp as Zaveed took his life. I remember that, it rings in my ears…”

Suddenly, Daro’Vasora stopped and put her arms around Raelynn in a soft embrace. “I meant it, back at the party, when I asked if we were friends. Your answer meant something to me. This is why I wanted to talk to you, to spend time with you now that we’re in a better place. Roux… used to be my lover, however briefly, until he betrayed me and stole the most valuable find in my life and he became rich and famous for it while I barely had enough coin to afford my apartment, the same one that got firebombed a year later by more rivals I have.” she laughed ruefully. “Trust and friendship are something that have come very, very hard for me, Raelynn. I want you to know that about me. The girl you met two months ago… she expected every single one of you to walk out of her life and take advantage of her, so that’s why she kept you all at arm’s length, and made snide comments to get a rise out of all of you. You cannot imagine my shock and overwhelming gratitude I felt when those very same people came back for her.”

Raelynn wrapped a half-hearted arm around the Khajiit, she was slightly uncomfortable with the hug, but then she always was averse to touch. She listened to her words, offering nods and hums of acknowledgment each time she took a breath. Daro’Vasora needed to speak, and right now, all Raelynn could was allow her to fumble through whatever thoughts were running and running around in her head. Words she had probably been holding in their own prison.

She released Raelynn, taking a step back with her arms folded, the bone jutting between her teeth. “I know everyone’s mad at Latro and I for bringing Zaveed and Sevari along, but… it’s complicated. Latro and Sevari have a history, and it’s the only reason I considered it. Sevari doesn’t go anywhere without Zaveed, and Zaveed killed Roux, tortured you, broke my arm and made me a prisoner in a gilded cage. I have so many reasons to hate every fiber of his smirking being, but they also had supplies we needed to make this journey, to survive the desert. I made a call that put my own feelings aside for everyone’s benefit, and only time will tell if it was wise or not.” she looked to meet Raelynn’s eyes, a frown crossing her features. “Raelynn, I know how it must have made you feel seeing him, and I am so sorry for the pain I caused you. Please, forgive me. For everything.”

It was her turn to speak, and there was only one thing she could say to prise open her own gate of emotion. “It made me feel like shit.” The words came out so frankly that they sliced through whatever tension had mounted from Sora. “It made me feel like actual shit,” she repeated. “I still feel like shit.” She brought her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose and pinched. Sighing. “Well, maybe I feel only like half of a turd now,” her lips curled at the grotesque imagery she conjured, and then she laughed. “I am trying to understand it. I am trying to be fair and not create a fuss or a scene over this. I just never expected to see him again. Let alone somewhat happy and doing well, when I feel so terrible. It’s a rotten kind of cruelty, and that is what sours my mood. It… It has very little to do with you, when I scratch past the surface.” She was trying to be pragmatic about it, but it was hard. It was very, very hard. She thought about the stone in the pond, her heart racing in her chest - was this what letting go felt like?

“I had been doing better, I felt strong. I felt like I was healing, and seeing him again ripped open the scars again. It feels like I have to start over once more.” Her tone was clipped, and the length at which it took her to speak made it sound like she was foraging through pictures and memories to piece the sentences together. It was painful, and that was abundantly clear.

Daro’Vasora nodded, she had feared as much. “When… Zegol passed, I felt the same way. I’d just lost my home to the Dwemer, watched people I’d seen and talked to every day I was in the city perish to guns and blades, and when I found his body, wearing his old armour he hadn’t put on since before I knew him and trying to protect two young boys, it ruined me. It took me past our time in Anvil to accept his passing, and not be besieged with grief. It still hurts me to think about what happened to him, but to give you an idea, I considered him my own flesh and blood, even though he was an Orc. It would be like if something happened to Judena.” the Khajiit sighed, squeezing her arms tighter about her waist.

She looked back at the camp, catching sight of the Cathay in question. “I have a hard time looking at him, and hearing his voice, and not feeling a sharp phantom pain up my arm, to not hear Roux’s final words, apologizing to me… accepting me. ‘May your roads lead you to warm sands.’” she said, finishing his final words far too late. Daro’Vasora closed her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re very strong, and I’ve always admired you for it. Honestly, I’ve kind of been jealous of you since day one. I just never thought I’d be in a position where I’d be hurting you so much. Can we try again, to be friends, I mean?” she asked softly.

“The things that he said to me and… What he’s done, what he did to Gregor - what happened after. Everything that I thought I was was stripped away and I think that part of me is still trapped in his room, fixed to the table. People say - he says that I am stronger now. But, if I could go back and make it so that it never happened then I would. I don’t feel stronger. I want to be myself again.” Her tone was warming, and it was less of a struggle to find the words the more that she said, her posture even relaxed and she began to walk languidly at Sora’s side.

“I know that people lose things, and people die and get hurt. That was something that had never knocked at my door. Zaveed he, he kicked the door in and intruded on my whole life. He left nothing unturned, he attacked me in every place it hurt the most all at once… You don’t hurt me, he does. I don’t know why you would find yourself jealous of me, I’m no one, always have been. Just a nomad drifting through life with no purpose or reason... Until I met Gregor, until I came here…”

Daro’Vasora reached over to turn Raelynn’s face to her. “You are someone. You are Raelynn Hawkford, someone who has saved so many lives because you took the time to learn how to be a healer and didn’t back away when they needed you most. Think back to the number of times we’ve all been hurt, and how you’ve stepped up to do the right thing. You’re a part of a powerful family, but you decided to step out and become your own person. I can appreciate that; I did the same thing.” the Khajiit smiled before it faded somewhat. “I was jealous because you’re beautiful, you’re a human, someone who could walk in any path in Imperial society and not be questioned for what she is. You know magic, I don’t, and yet you’ve also had a lot of experience in the field I made my life work. You’re very accomplished, and I spent much of my life being uncomfortable in my own skin. I wanted to look like you, talk like you. I’ve spent so long repressing who I am, I don’t even remember how my voice originally sounded. Kind of stupid, right?”

Raelynn closed her eyes, and placed both of her hands on Daro’Vasora’s wrists, wrapping gently to hold them. “I know. I know these things - I do, I do know this. I am accomplished, I am good at what I do - amazing at it, the best in fact. I know this to be true.” As she spoke, it sounded more like she was repeating a mantra she had already been repeating for some time - just out loud now. “I believe that there is more for me to do, somewhere. I don’t know what it is but I must get back on the path to finding it. I stumbled, I was pushed - I was dragged away but I’m working my way over rock, through rivers, and across deserts to get back to where I must be.” She opened her eyes and released her grip on the Khajiit’s wrists.

“You are someone too. All of those people in there risked their lives because you are someone to them. It is not stupid.”

“I know that now.” Daro’Vasora said with a slight smile. “Even found love, me, of all people. The past two months, despite everything, I am finding out who I am as if seeing myself for the first time, and knowing that I can be proud of myself for what I am while remaining who I’ve always been. I guess all I’m trying to say is I’ve walked this path with some of the best people I’ve known in my life, and I’ve accepted that they’re putting their faith in me to do the right thing. I just don’t want to do make the wrong choices, and I don’t want to be Rhea; I need people to help me when I stumble, and to tell me when I’m making mistakes. I don’t know how this journey is going to end, Raelynn, but the important thing is neither of us quit and no matter how much we lost, no matter how much it hurt, we never gave up. And Raelynn?” she said, leaning in closer. “I am never going to give up on you.”

The Breton suddenly felt awkward - had she said too much? Not enough? It was a strange sensation to say the least, “errr, thanks…” she mumbled before pulling back from Daro’Vasora - putting space between them. “Let’s just keep going, I think there might be something down here. I can feel a breeze.” It was true, from further down in the tunnel there was a cold breeze snaking through, enough to brush over the splits of her trousers and cause them to flap behind her. In the silence she could hear…. Something, was it water? “Do you hear that?” she asked the Khajiit with a puzzled expression upon her features.

“Ah.” Daro’Vasora said, feeling flushed with embarrassment. What’s wrong with you?” she rebuked herself. She was trying too hard, too fast, to make everything right again. Still, she followed along at Raelynn’s suggestion and indeed, she could hear more rushing water. “It sounds separate from the river…” she murmured, suddenly feeling the excitement and rush of potential discovery. This time, she took the lead through the wet ground, navigating a narrowing in the passageway, following the mysterious sound, until she saw light up ahead. She stepped through into the opening, and discovered the water was warm. When her eyes adjusted, she simply breathed, “Wow.”

They had discovered a natural spring, the water forced up from some underground source, and it was clearly one of the sources of the water that fed the river. However, that was not the most striking feature; the limestone walls were encrusted with quartz, and from the light ahead, a dazzling spectacle of light made the water shine brilliantly and all manners of white-hued colours dance across the walls. “I’ll be damned.” the Khajiit grinned, stepping aside for Raelynn to follow suit.

Raelynn’s eyes widened at the sight. It was beautiful - a hidden treasure in the already beautiful oasis. Better yet, the sounds of the camp were completely drowned out by the thick walls surrounding the spring. It was a perfect place. “This is… amazing,” she smiled gleefully and wasted no time in unbuttoning her shirt. She looked at Sora with narrowed eyes but - well, she was another woman, and Raelynn had stripped down in public baths before too. She wasn’t ashamed of her body, hell, she was immensely proud of it if anything. She was just too excited to get in and feel clean again. So excited was she, that she tossed her shirt with reckless abandon onto a rock - with her chest now bare she worked on the pants and slid them down her legs - kicking them away to the same rock that was now blanketed in her shirt.

The splits of her trousers had been so high to her hip, that she had foregone her usual underwear, but she simply shrugged and waded in. Sighing with delight at the warmth of the water. She turned back to face Sora with a smile - “come on, get in!”

The Khajiit laughed at the sudden shift in fortunes, how Raelynn seemingly sprung to life. She felt like a teenager again, sneaking around where she shouldn’t have been with friends. With a shrug, Daro’Vasora unbuttoned and discarded her tunic and pulled off her trousers, hopping in after Raelynn and splashing the Breton with a small wave. The sudden sensation of being immersed in water was beyond enjoyable; it felt absolutely soul cleansing.

“I think I’ll call this place Mara’s Gift.” Daro’Vasora said, laughing girlishly as she splashed Raelynn before resting on her back, allowing herself to float and bask in the sun above. It almost felt like a vacation spot that someone would spend entirely too many Septims for the privilege to enjoy. “When was the last time you’ve been swimming like this that wasn’t a crowded bath house?” she asked.

She watched the Khajiit float around, but she opted to wade over to the edge to recline, stretching her arms over the rocky surface. “Not since I was a younger woman, truthfully,” swimming for leisure was not something that she had ever really indulged in. “I like to be on land, water has always been for bathing,” she sighed as she felt the warmth of the water over her skin. “Speaking of, I have some oils in my satchel…” With a gentle push she moved over to where she had left her bag and reached in to grab three small vials. “Rose, Lavender, or Water Lily?” She asked with a smile, looking over her shoulder to Sora as she continued her gently movement on the surface.

Daro’Vasora considered for a moment before smiling. “I defer to your judgement, what do you think would suit me?” a coy expression crossed her face. “What do you think Latro would fancy?” she asked, swimming over to join Raelynn, resting her elbow over the lip of the pool. “I wonder if Shakti’s going to be pissed we’re swimming in a special spot her ancestors probably have been using for generations?” she mused, her eyes scanning the shimmer of the quartz.

“Well, we can't use Lavender. That's my scent, our men might get confused if we start smelling the same… I think Water Lily. It isn't overpowering… It's fresh… Delicate.” That was the vial she took into her hands, placing the others back in her satchel. The moment she was sharing with Sora was nice, but it was just delaying the conversation they had already been having. It was a welcome distraction. “I think she'd like this place, we should tell her about it.” Raelynn poured some of the oil into her hands and rubbed it across her palms. “Turn around…” she said with a giggle.

“We’ll keep this to ourselves for a bit longer, I think… hh, that is lovely.” Daro’Vasora said upon taking in the scent. She raised a brow at Raelynn, but ultimately submitted to the request and turned her back to Raelynn. “That better not be chloroform.” she replied dryly.

“Oh please,” she began jokingly before placing both hands on Sora's shoulders. She began to gently work the oils from her hands into her, starting at her shoulder blades and working up the Khajiit's neck, applying light pressure to the vertebrae until she reached the back of her head. Then she started to lightly scratch through the fur, the oil clinging to it, leaving the scent behind. “Whatever would they do to see us right now, I wonder…” she purred in a husky tone as she continued to massage the oil into Sora’s scalp.

“Ahh.” The Khajiit gasped, tilting her head back and tensing appreciably at the touch. “I’ve… never had someone do this for me before.” she admitted with a purr, her eyes closed as she drank in the sensation of touch and scent; it was almost as if keeping her eyes open as well would have robbed her of the full sensation. “Oh, let them watch.” Daro’Vasora giggled. “We’re just gals being pals, right? Although, Gregor’s going to have to be careful I don’t steal you away for more girl time. I might get a little too used to this.”

She smirked at her comment, “You may have to get behind Mazrah first…” Her thumb and forefingers found their way to Sora's ears, and she lightly pinched and rubbed the delicate flesh between them. “You're very tense, especially in your neck. One would think you're carrying a great burden or concern that weighs you down. What's really on your mind? Tell me?” She was unsure whether or not to probe, but she had learned that Sora really liked to talk, and she would listen to her if she was comfortable to indulge. Once more her hands ran down the Khajiit's neck, before she held each shoulder firmly, massaging away the knots with ease.

“It’s almost like you’ve done this with a Khajiit before…” Daro’Vasora murmured. “I always thought the fur must have felt lovely under someone else’s fingers.” she said. In response to Raelynn’s question, Daro’Vasora grabbed the side of her head and pulled it to the side, her neck let off a loud series of cracks. “You… might say that. Alkosh, what hasn’t been on my mind?” she asked rhetorically, leaning forwards slightly to let Raelynn do her work.

“Roux, you, Judena… Latro.” Daro’Vasora’s words came in succession, slowing to a stop on Latro’s name. “He… changed in the palace. He went wild eyed, his mannerisms and speech were like that of someone else, he… butchered those men. He became Pale-feather, what they called him in the Reach, and now I’m afraid. Would he have recognized me in that state, would he have hurt me if I got in his way?” she asked quietly, her tone shifting to something more somber. “And Judena. I think I found some medicine that could heal her mind, but it’s something I don’t understand and I’m trying to learn as much as I can about before even attempting to use it, with her consent, of course. What if I’m wrong, or fuck it up? Will I just hurt her worse?” she sighed, running her hand through her mane, pulling out the leather strip that held her ponytail in place and letting her hair down, the first time Raelynn would have ever seen it that way.

“It’s a lot. I think about Roux and Zegol often, and I wonder what Rhea felt when she was leading. How will I handle loss if we lose anyone? What if it’s my fault? Did I make a mistake by accepting the two brothers to join us? I’m just doing the best I can without any time to think things through.” she sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s been bottled up, I’m rambling.”

As she had done so with Gregor, Raelynn moved her hands quickly to sit as far as they could under Sora's shoulder blades, under the water. She applied pressure with her thumbs, forcing the Khajiit's body to bend to her will. She tugged for less than a second and let it crack, knowing that the feeling of relief would erase that discomfort it had caused initially. She hummed along as Sora emptied the contents out of herself for the Breton to see. Her hands went back to massaging, this time under the water. Gentle strokes interspersed with pinches of the spine. “It sounds like a lot…” she wasn't entirely sure of the best way to respond, of how to help her - what advice to give.

“I'm afraid I don't have the answers…” Her hands returned to Sora's head, but she pulled back to apply more oil, larger droplets this time to work through her mane, her touch softened - barely there, and yet she moved closer to Sora, their legs touched under the surface of the water.

“I just think that in times of war, we are prone to fits of passion… Something about our mortality drives us to do the unspeakable for those we love. Things that we would never do if war was not hovering over us like a cloud - always ready to begin a storm that is out of our control…” She thought of Gregor, and what her own fear and self-loathing had driven her to ask him to do. “We are not ourselves in these times, we are challenged, and all we have is passion for what we desire to protect. For some that may be their land and homes, for others it is family and friends… Lovers.”

“We do the unspeakable to ensure we make it to the other side, to the next day… and the next.” Was she justifying it to herself? She knew it was wrong, even though she had felt she must do it - even if the majority would think it was morally reprehensible. But it had been necessary. “Latro did what he deemed necessary to protect that which he loves… You are doing what is necessary to ensure the group makes it to the end of this…”

The medicine had piqued her interest, but there would be another opportunity to discuss that… She ran her fingers again through Sora's mane, admiring it in a way.

The sensation of Raelynn’s bare legs against her own almost startled Daro’Vasora; she’d never been this close and intimate with another woman before. Still, she didn’t pull away. Rather, she leaned into it a bit, finding comfort in the Breton’s touch. “I’ve always looked at the world through the lens of a historian, the big picture. I can read about how men were tortured or starved, burned to death or executed, and it never resonated with me past painting a tapestry of understanding what had happened. I have tried to do the same for the invasion, but it’s… not quite the same when it’s happening to you. There’s emotions and personal stakes, and I think you might be right.” she agreed, opening her eyes and looking upon the quartz again. “At the end of all of this, I just want to be able to recognize the ones I love and myself. I want to make sure we all have a home to return to. Your father… is he safe?” Daro’Vasora asked suddenly, realizing she hadn’t even thought about Salosioux for quite some time.

“Do you think that historians partook in that which they studied? You cannot see the big picture, because the picture is still being created. We have no control over it, save for being able to paint some strokes here and there… When history looks back on us…” She stopped.

A feeling of guilt hit her, “it's a mess… Whatever happens to us, whoever we become… Tamriel outlives us in the end, eventually we become history. I see no benefit to worrying so much now about losing yourself. You were captured and challenged and yet you are still you.” She moved around to face Sora, moving close to her, so that their foreheads almost touched. “You are still you, and so long as you are with the ones you love then you always will be.”

The mention of her father snapped her out of her poetic mood, the sage wisdom left her and emotion returned; “I believe he is, he left Gilane before the raids. I have to believe he is okay, we almost left things on unpleasant terms. It hurts me to think too long on it all…” the short, sharp edge had returned to her voice, and she brought herself to the edge of the pool and leaned against the rock once more.

The Khajiit nearly gasped at the sudden closeness, the physical sensation of Raelynn closing the distance, as if they were lovers. She felt herself flush. When Raelynn pulled away, it was like a spell was broken. Still, Daro'Vasora was left feeling like a fool without consideration. “I… I am sorry.” she said meekly, letting out a resigned sigh. “I should just keep my mouth shut; I've ruined a perfectly good time here. Do you want me for me to leave you in peace for a while? I'll make sure no one disturbs you.”

Raelynn's eyes widened and she shook her head abruptly, “no, please don't. I'm sorry, it’s just that he was so very disappointed in me. That's the truth of it. It just hurts me to think again of his face - his eyes.” She pushed herself once more from the lip of the spring. “It's not something I talk about very often, it makes me inconsiderate.” She tried to smile encouragingly in Sora's direction. Her hands slipped back under the surface of the water to find hers again, and she squeezed her fingers lightly. “Don't leave, please. You ruined nothing.”

That brought a smile to Daro'Vasora's face as she returned the embrace of fingers. “Why do you think I am so bad at this? I never had anyone to talk to before.” she giggled nervously, looking her friend in the eyes. “I still remember the look my father gave me when I became Daro'Vasora, not La'Vasora. It looked like he was proud, but disappointed, melancholic perhaps?” the Khajiit mused, losing herself to memory. “I always thought it was a mark of shame, but I think to him, it was his little girl finally growing up and having found her path. I was caught stealing from his shipments, just for the thrill of it and to see if I could get away with it.” she explained. “I think for your father, he's just going to need time to adjust to the path you’ve chosen for yourself. You never struck me as a woman who rocked the foundations of your upbringing too much.” she smiled.

She found herself moving back behind Sora once more, instinctively reaching for the strap of leather that she had removed from her hair and had placed on the rock. “It seems, Daro'Vasora, that we are very similar in many ways…” Raelynn began to separate the hair of her mane into sections, twisting and braiding them as best as she could. “He hates Gregor… When I went missing for the second time… Gregor was sick with worry and my father was not exactly helpful and I suppose things got tense and Gregor threatened him.” She didn't know why she would tell Sora this. Sora already had the wrong idea about her lover- it was of course the right idea, but Raelynn would not accept that. Not now.

“I love him, Sora. I love the parts of him that are good, the parts that aren't so good, the storm and violence that he is capable of. It's who he is, all that he is is beautiful to me.” She closed her eyes, the braid complete, and tied at the base in a bow. It was not likely how the Khajiit would style herself, in fact it was completely different. The breton wrapped her arms around Sora’s waist from behind affectionately, resting her chin on the very shoulder she had massaged earlier.

The Khajiit leaned back into the embrace, nuzzling Raelynn's head as her hand moved up to run through the woman’s hair. “The Moons all have phases, the dark and the light. It is what determines what form a Khajiit will take. People are no different; I can tell he loves you, and you love him. He is the dark of the moon, you are the light. You must be the Bright Moon that guides his steps into the light and resist the temptations to go into the dark,” Daro'Vasora said, almost sensually, her voice little more than a whisper. “Each of us walk a path, sometimes it is shrouded in darkness, other times the moon illuminates the way. Always find the light, and you will never be wrong, Ko'Raelynn.”

Raelynn nodded softly against Sora's neck, her eyes closed tightly. She listened to every word her friend said, about the moon - and of light and dark. Did she know how true it was? Did she really know? It wasn't until she finally exhaled at the end of it that she realised how long she had been holding her breath.

She had held it for so long

“All I want is to save him,” she whispered finally, arms wrapping tighter around the Khajiit, her hands fumbling desperately to find one of Sora's, to hold it tightly. There was silence, until the gentle splash of a single tear broke the surface of the still spring in the moment.

They held each other in the silence, floating together. Suddenly, Daro’Vasora broke the embrace, turning to face Raelynn, gently resting her wrists on the Breton’s collarbones and gently tracing her claws on her bare back. She nuzzled Raelynn, whispering into her ear. “We will save both of our lovers. Together.” she said, turning her head slightly to place a lingering kiss on Raelynn’s cheek.

Nothing else needed to be said. Time continued to pass in the secret spring of the oasis, and yet no time passed at all. It was just a serenity broken only by the sound of running water echoing, and the whistle of the breeze moving in.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

The Huntmaster

with Hank
15th Midyear, 4E208
Three Crowns Hotel, Gilane
Midday...

The flies, it was always the flies. None of the bodies had been collected after the slaughter, left long enough for the heat and carnage to seep into the minds of those who would oppose the Dwemeri war machine, and now Razlinc Rourken stood in front of the corpse that belonged to Derak Mashad, the Poncy Man. One of the patrons of the Merchant’s Guilds, he had gone underground shortly after the invasion and few of his counterparts would say what became of him. He was never seen in public, at least until now; no one knew who the Poncy Man was, and it had kept him safe.

Until now.

The Governor had kept an eye on the Three Crowns Hotel for some time, having agents keep an eye on the coming and going of individuals, and it didn’t take long to figure out that many of its patrons were insurgents. It was a long game, finding out patterns, who reported to who, who was responsible for what. She had planned for the attack to coincide with Daro’Vasora’s speech, maybe draw her people out to spare them, and have them in easy reach if they did something stupid.

Unfortunately, they did something very stupid. Something unforgivable. It wasn’t the attempt on her life that bothered her, it was the callous disregard for life that Gregor had shown, using her people as morbid meat puppets and his audacity to gloat to her like they weren’t people he destroyed the souls and very essence of. Him and his damned group would reap the rewards of such cruelty, just as Irranhu cell found out during their brazen attack on the palace.

The Centurions made short work of almost all of them, their leaders and a small handful of other insurgents escaped the slaughter. Reports said they turned on Daro’Vasora’s group, which interested her greatly. However, she had other matters to attend to, as she stared into the dead, fly encrusted eyes of the Poncy Man and the pools of blackened blood that had long since dried up in the heat.

“You move quietly of one of your stature, Maulakath.” Rourken observed.

“Sharp ears for a city dweller,” the hulking Orsimer countered. He did not bother with honorifics or titles, even though he was speaking to the governor. It was beneath him. “The Breton girl and her Nord guardian are gone. The Redguard rogue has been captured. And then there’s this,” Maulakanth reported and held up the decapitated head of Mortalmo. “Refused to be taken alive. Powerful conjurer. Had to put him down.”
Rourken regarded the head impassively; it was morbid, sure, but nothing outside of what she’d expected. He had hundreds of years to get used to the death of her own people, a terrorist with cathartic, in a way. “You’ve done well, a fine instrument of my will. I have a final task for you, if you’ll have it.” she turned to look at him headlong, looking up at him with a stern gaze. “The group you had targeted has an Imperial necromancer in their midst. I believe they’ve disappeared somewhere into the desert, pursuing a quest I do not readily know.” she admitted, looking back to the Poncy Man. “You are to kill all of his companions, and bring him to me, if you can. He will be used as fuel for my own enchantments, as will his lover, Raelynn. It does not matter what condition they are in when they arrive, so long as they are alive. Is that understood?”

Maulakanth scoffed. “If you can,” he repeated in a poor imitation of Rourken’s voice. “Do you always insult your men like that? Of course I can. It will be done.” He shook his head before he remembered what he was going to ask her. The Orsimer cleared his throat and took a step closer.

“Rumor has it that one of them is an Orsimer. A woman. White tattoos, wields a spear and a bow. That true?”

Rourken did not rise to the bait; Maulakath was insolent, yes, but he always did what was asked of him. Instead, she nodded, not moving as he stepped closer. She did not fear him, nor did he fear her. It was not an even partnership, but one nevertheless.

“From accounts, an Orsimer fits that description. She arrived in the city gates not long after this Samara Cell entered the city via the ports. They joined together by coincidence, it seems, and she was a part of the force that assaulted the palace.” she paused, raising a brow. “A rather specific bit of details that coincided exactly with someone we’ve monitored. What’s the relation?”

Like the territorial growl of a sabre-cat with its hairs raised, a thrumming, guttural sound reverberated in Maulakanth’s massive chest. “Sister. Has to be. She turned her back on me years ago. It won’t be a problem, but I had to know.”

“I see.” Rourken said. She didn’t, not really, but she knew better than to pry into what the bad blood was. “Regardless, you do this for me, you will be free of your service. What is it your heart desires? I should like to have you remain a part of my service, but of your own will and with its own rewards. Land, a title, perhaps? You have been a friend to my people, let us be a friend to you.”

Maulakanth didn't hesitate for a second. “Orsinium.”

That prompted her to blink slowly. “You wish for the resources to conquer Orsinium for yourself?”

“And through me, for you.” Maulakanth tossed Mortalmo’s head aside, careless of where it landed, and slammed his fist into his open palm. “I was the Hand of Mauloch. War-chief. The king exiled me because he was afraid of what I could do. He is a coward but he believes himself to be proud. Orsinium will not bend the knee without an orc on the throne that tells them to. The only way to goltragga tarask, to take the throne, is by right of conquest,” he explained. He was usually not much of a thinker but he’d had weeks to formulate this plan. “Control Orsinium and you control the mountains.”

That gave Rourken something to consider, she thought on it, resting her chin on a finger. “And why would you turn Orsinium over to me? Why would you wish to see your people under my rule?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Are you proposing you wish to rule a client state?”

“Yes,” Maulakanth said, once again without hesitation. “The Bretons and Redguards have razed Orsinium more times than we can remember. Too much history there. Every time we prosper, they feel threatened, join together in one big club of puny cowards and swarm us like rats.” He hacked up some phlegm, spat it out on the floor and touched his collarbones with his fingers. It seemed ritualistic. “But everything is different now. They’re scattered and weak. In the world of the Dwemer, Orsinium can finally have the place it deserves.”

Something gleamed in his black eyes. And I can be king.

Ah, and there it was. Rourken smiled, extending a hand. “Orsinium is not the domain of the Dwemer, but Clan Rourken will stand by it should anyone challenge its sovereignty. I would prefer our peoples joined together as friends, not under the rule of strangers. Volenfell was never going to accept my people without hard measures, but difficult choices were made to best unify both the Redguards and ourselves. Now we are established, I would like to try a different tact. A military, cultural, and trade alliance between Volenfell and Orsinium. We will defend one another against the threats against our peoples’ existence as equals. Are these conditions agreeable?” she asked.

After a few seconds, Maulakanth shrugged. He didn’t understand why Rourken was voluntarily relinquishing the opportunity to control Orsinium herself. She was sacrificing power in return for… nothing, as far as he could see. “If that’s what you want, fine by me. Get me into the king’s longhouse and you’ll have all the trade and shocktroopers you want. Oh, and the culture too.” His lip curled up and he laughed, which sounded a little like a giant smashing two boulders together, as if she’d told the funniest joke he had heard all week. “We got a lotta that going on, for sure. You’re gonna love it.”

And with that, Maulakanth took the offered hand and shook it, restraining himself so he did not accidentally break her fingers. He may not have noticed her cast ebonyflesh upon herself prior to the gesture.

“All I wish for is my people’s ancestral homelands, and a place within Tamriel, not a sprawling empire. I do not wish to subjugate others, like the other Clans seem intent on doing. Truth be told, Maulakath, there may be a time I will have to call upon your people for help navigating this strange land and making the most of the experience yours have with mining and locating resources. I may need your warriors against other Dwemer, or the races of Men.” The Governor explained, shaking her head as she gestured to Derak Mashad’s brutalized corpse. “This is but one of the many, many leaders who have risen up against my rule since taking residence back in my family home, and hardly the last. A wise strategist never bites off more than they can chew when holding lands. Great conquerors seldom take huge swaths of land without dealing with insurgencies, agents of resistance to change. My people are powerful, but we are limited in number. The fact I chose to enlist the help of foreigners such as yourself was not a coincidence.” she said.

She met Maulakath’s gaze once more. “My people hold the greatest military power Tamriel has ever seen, but it does not mean we are infallible or infinite in number. If granting you the assistance you require to take Orsinium and formalize an alliance with my people is what it takes to solidify my control over the lands my ancestors once held, then it is a price I will gladly pay.”

Finally, Rourken stopped talking. Maulakanth had seriously begun to wonder if her speech would ever end. “That’s a lot of words to say ‘we could use the help’,” Maulakanth said and laughed again. “My people have no love for the Redguards, the Nords or the Bretons. You can always count on Orsimer if there’s a good scrap to be had. And if you need help against other Dwemer…” Maulakanth paused and shrugged again. “Same thing, really. Just as long as I can hold you to what you said about protecting our sovereignty.”

“This is where the cultural exchange could be of assistance, Maulakanth. As a king, you may be required to make long-winded speeches to your own people and emissaries.” She gestured to the head of the Altmer on the ground. “That will not be your only feasible solution, understand. Orsinium has been razed time and time again, I understand, because of the races of Men fearing your people to be savage raiders. Here’s your chance to prove me wrong, earn your mantle.” the Dwemeri Governor cautioned. Her back straightened with a nod. “My word is law. I give you it in good faith; the Orsimer will have an unshakable allegiance with Clan Rourken so long as I stay in control of my lands, and you live up to your promises.”

Maulakanth resisted the urge to say ‘whatever’, as even he realized that now was not the time for petulance. He’d gotten her to promise what he wanted, on perfectly acceptable terms. This was a great personal victory. “Good,” he growled and pressed his clenched fist to his heart. “Malacath take me if I fail. Now then. I have a necromancer to catch.”

A rare gesture of respect, Maulacanth inclined his head in something that could be construed as a bow and left.

Rourken didn’t watch the Orc march off, like a thunderstorm leaving the valley. He was crude, and perhaps a bit uncultured, but she felt him to be trustworthy as far as intent went; there would be time yet to groom him into someone worthy of the mantle he so greatly yearned for. Knowing what his prize was, and the naked ambition he shared with her, it made them unlikely but promising allies, so long as he retained her council.

The Dwemer looked upon the Poncy Man one final time before departing herself, her assistant waiting in the wings for her meeting to be concluded. It pleased her to see him staying by her side, loyal even after their shared experience. She would reward him well. “Assign four Centurion Assassins to Maulakath; make sure they are programmed to follow his orders. He is to be considered an officer of the Dwemeri forces. Additionally, see to it he is provided all of the supplies he needs for his quest. One does not hunt a boar with merely a knife.”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Remorse

With Stormy
15th Midyear, 4E208
Oasis, Alik'r Desert
Early morning...

---

It was when the camp had finally fallen to a silence that she woke from her brief and fleeting sleep. Images that were both pleasant and not had danced a vicious ballet through her mind for hours. It was just as it had been the night before when she woke up with Gregor's arm over her waist and tucked under her chest. It was the only softness to be found tonight, the ground was hard and unforgiving. It was time to get up.

Raelynn moved with great care so as not to wake him, not that she could - he was sleeping heavily. She stepped barefoot out of the tent, her hair now free from the braid cascaded in waves over her shoulders, her face had been rinsed clear with the fresh running water of the waterfall that was the only sound she could hear now.

The fire had burned down to embers, and plates were both carefully and carelessly stacked around the makeshift seats - a clue as to whom had been sitting there. Perhaps it had been Judena who left a half eaten apple sitting on a log.

There were still several torches leading the way through the cave, and so the Breton carefully took hold of one after having collected two books, a quill, and ink from her belongings. She made her way to the mouth of the cave. The stone walkway had become cold, and there was an almost refreshing dampness to it that she appreciated underfoot.

She took her seat on the red sand of the Alik'r, her back propped up by the rocky surface that was the wall of the entrance. With one forceful push she stalked the torch into the ground beside her. There was a cool breeze to be enjoyed as she stared out at the seemingly endless expanse of the desert, its similarity to the ocean brought her father to the forefront of her mind and she meditated on the thought for a while, a silent prayer for his safety across the sea to High Rock. She knew in her heart it would carry him there, but there was still a shadow of doubt that maybe this time it would not.

She picked up the tome and opened it at the first page, plucking up the quill in her left hand. She sat for some time, her concentration falling on the pages of the book and nothing else, her tongue poked out just so at the corner of her mouth as she scrawled down notes in the margins of each page.

A blanket was descended over her shoulders, followed by a soft voice. “It is cold in the desert at night.” Zaveed said, stepping away to give her space, turning to leave. “I may never get the chance again, but I wanted to say thank you. I took your words to heart.” with that, Zaveed sighed, resigned to head back into the cave and the tension that came with it.

She hadn't heard the footsteps, too engrossed in the pages, and as the soft wool was draped across her she was almost mistaken by her own mind that it was Gregor. He could be silent, especially when he knew she was working. She had almost opened her mouth to thank him until she heard the voice. Zaveed. She lurched sideways, the book fumbling from her lap, quill hitting sand, and the inkpot spilling over. She was caught off guard and she took several quick breaths. She wanted to tell him to leave, to get away from her and there was a feeling of being completely exposed. “I don't want your thanks,” was all she could muster, a chill running over her spine.

The Khajiit looked up at the stars above for a lingering moment, as if they held some answers. He glanced over and noticed the ink spill seeping towards the book, prompting him to pick up the book and correct the ink pot, setting both down away from the spill. He raised his hands, backing away slowly. “I know. And I know an apology is worthless if you do not wish to hear it, but nevertheless, you had no reason or cause to do what you did and I’ve been struggling with that since.” he sighed, crossing his arms and looking out towards the expanse of the desert, the sky seemed so impossibly clear here. Had it always been this way, he wondered.

“I know what awaits me when I die. I will cease to be, and one of Namiira’s creatures will be left in my stead. It would have almost been a mercy to have had my soul taken by Gregor before He got His hands on it, but it is the fate I am resigned to. The Dark Behind the World, the Scuttling Void. You may not wish to hear my gratitude for you giving me a few more days or years yet, and the world seems so much brighter now.” he knelt down, his knees digging into the sand as he looked to the stars. “I don’t know how to find their forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’ve been forced on this path since I was two years old. I just wanted to survive, and when I finally did… well, you see me as I am.”

His words meant nothing to her, it was only registering as noise. The same kind of noise that had been drowning her for too long. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage as if it would burst out, her lip trembled and she spat, “stop it. Can you just shut up?” Her voice trembled, and she still was instinctively moving herself away from him. “Show me where I asked for your life story…” She had not invited him to sit beside her, had she? “You don't even know what you did to me. How can you be sorry?” Raelynn still remembered his words from the docks, his story. “Do you even remember what you did to me?” she asked accusingly, her eyes staring intently at his own.

“I remember everything. You were my enemy then; you led me to find more dangerous people. It was the task I was given.” Zaveed said flatly, not meeting her gaze. “And now, things have changed and I’m forced to linger upon what I’ve done to you. You never asked to be a part of some terrorist group any more than I asked to be pressed into a secret police force at the threat of death. Before you tell me I always had a choice, the fact you sit here talking to me tells me you’ve never had your convictions tested or you made a similar choice as I.”

Finally, he looked into her eyes, his gaze unwavering. “I drove a nail into your hand. I killed your father’s guard and bashed his head off the table while threatening to start removing parts of his body unless he send you to a warehouse where you were concussed by me and watched me break your friend’s arm who tried to rescue you and I killed another man in front of you. These are the things I did to you.” he replied without hesitating. He opened his tunic and pulled it down to where the scar from his own dagger resided over his chest. “And this is what you did to me… but then you changed your mind. Despite the horrors I’ve bestowed upon you, you changed your mind and spared me instead. I imagine Gregor was not pleased with that development; It was not my intention to be a further burden.”

She wanted to interject and stop him, the Khajiit had a way of carrying on with his words, and right now it was infuriating. He wasn't listening. Her entire body tensed, and her nose scrunched in frustration, chin wavering. “Shut up.” She said through gritted teeth. “I am here because I will no longer let you have a hold over me, I was here. I will not move. I have hardly been talking, but instead listening to your words that you spill as if to shift your feelings.” She sat in silence, piecing together what she wanted to say. “I have listened. And listened. To everybody. Everybody gets their chance to talk but when it comes to me, nobody wants to listen anymore.”

The Breton ran her hand through her hair from her forehead to scalp and held it there in an angry closed fist. “You missed something, of course you would. It would never have occurred to you.” Raelynn's tone was breaking, a lump sat in her throat and she swallowed it down. “You made me…” She stopped herself, releasing her hair, placing her hands in front of her as they shook. Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath. “Your words, what you did, what you said to me… You made me believe that I am worthless.” Her eyes flashed back to him, full of rage and full of nothing at the same time. Her jaw was clenched but there across her face fell something blank, exasperation. The expression of a woman who had long since given up.

“You made me believe that I am worthless.”

“I will listen.” Zaveed said quietly. “You were never worthless, never in my eyes. I wanted to send you far away from that place to be with your family, so people like me could never harm you again.” he sighed, his temperance not matching hers. “Raelynn, you are one of the most remarkable women, nay, people I’ve ever met. I cut your bonds in that warehouse for a reason; I knew you could escape because you had the talents to do so. Ever since you escaped the first time, you’ve never been worthless. Someone worthless would have been resigned to their fate, to fall into pity but never take steps to help themselves, or others. You are not someone who has ever given up, and despite everything that’s happened to you now, you still push forward, following a path you feel is right. I have watched hardened sailors, privateers, smugglers, and pirates alike crumble at far less than you have.” he shook his head. “What I did to you was irredeemable, but it doesn’t mean that people cannot try to change. We are not beholden to our past unless we truly are worthless.”

Meeting her gaze once more, he said, “I do not want to have a hold over you, for you to fear me. Loathe and hate me all you wish, that is your right. I will never harm you again.” he begun unstrapping the dagger from his back, setting it down beside him. “That is the very blade you had begun to pierce my heart with. It is yours, if it will fill your spirit with strength and steady your hands.”

“I murdered three people that day. Three people just doing what you had asked them too. I killed them. Do you know how many people I have killed in my twenty-eight years? Three. Those men. I had to murder people because you saw fit to strap me to a chair and abuse me again. You don't know me, just as I don't know you.” Her mouth was agape, a venomous feeling taking over her entire body, she trembled yet again and tears formed in her eyes.

“I'm so thrilled that you can give your speech, to try to sway me or others to your side. To allow yourself to feel better. I don't know. I'm sure they will all soon forget what you did to me, maybe they already have. ‘Here comes that charismatic Khajiit, Zaveed, again with his lovely lady’ they'll say.” Her thumb found its way to her eye to scoop away at the tears. “I saw what you did yesterday, to Gregor.” She shook her head in disgust, biting down on her lip, “yes, I sent him to fucking kill you because I thought that if someone cared, or loved me so much to do that… Then maybe I'm not worthless after all. That I meant just enough to someone that they would fight for me...” She sniffled, and scooped up the book, moving it to her other side along with the quill and ink. “And you know what? It didn't work. Because I was the one who lost everything.” She blinked and thought about each event, it played out in her mind as fresh as if it were yesterday. They were now terrors that plagued her sleep every night, keeping the memory alive.

“I do not want your dagger. I do not want to have to hold a reminder of you in the very hands that you broke.”

“You didn’t lose everything.” Zaveed observed. “You have Gregor, your father lives and presumably is far away from Gilane by now. Your mother waits for you back in High Rock. Your hands will heal. Trust me; I am no stranger to scars. They do not take away from us; they are a story for how we survived. Raelynn,” Zaveed said, standing up to move directly across from her, sitting down far enough away to not intrude on her personal space.

“I spent my entire childhood starving and stealing food and cure disease potions just so I could hope to see adulthood. Monsters in uniforms stole my adoptive brother from me, and the Dominion took my sister, next. I spent my adolescence being physically and sexually abused by a crew of shitheel privateers because I thought I wasn’t worth anything. If that was true, I wouldn’t have survived. I killed those men, and endured weeks upon weeks of fighting for my life against those I didn’t kill. It hardened my body, and my soul, but I was determined to not only survive, but thrive.” He said, stressing the point with an intensity to his eyes.

“If you were so worthless, do you think that necromantic shitheel you call a lover would distract himself from his cursed quest to risk his life and expose himself to the world for your honour? Do you think I would have thanked you for trying to put me out of my misery after you ordered him to kill me? People die all the damned time, this entire land is filled with murderers and rapists and Gregor is hardly the worst creature I’ve run across in my travels, and you’re willing to let him do all sorts of unspeakable things but you balk at having to do anything yourself. Yes, I hurt you, I tortured you, I crushed your spirit. What are you going to do about taking your life back?” Zaveed demanded, reaching over suddenly and taking Raelynn’s hand, holding her scar for both of them to see.

Once more she flinched at him, finding it hard not to shriek out - but she couldn't. She didn’t want people to rush out, she didn’t want Gregor to come out to discover this scene. She yanked her hand back from his grip before his fingers had a chance to apply even a slight pressure, and she felt herself shutting down, defeated.

“Why have you stopped trying to fight back? I literally saw the afterlife and I didn’t let my body waste away when it healed, because I knew that my fights will never be over. I must be stronger than the next person I fight, and the one after that, and the one after that. Sometimes life doesn’t give you a fucking choice of when this happens, and people aren’t going to give you the fucking option if you’re going to have to fight for your life or not. I’m sorry I’m the first person in your entire life that’s harmed you like this, but you need to be ready for the next person to come along, the one who won’t be spending his time defying your lover’s warnings not to talk to you because I see that you are worth something. You want to feel like you aren’t worthless, Raelynn? Stand up.” Zaveed said, standing suddenly, looming over her. “Stand up and look me in the fucking eyes. Show me that I have no power over you; defy your fears, spit in its face. Tell the world that you will never stop fighting. Show me that Raelynn Hawkford is someone to be watched because there’s no telling what lengths she’ll go to to defy life’s obstacles. Do it. Now.”

“I do not spit,” she remarked coldly, and pulled her knees to her chest to stare out across the desert once again. “You should go,” she said idly without turning her head to him, her eyes pooling over with tears and her breath shaking.

“Fine.” Zaveed said, stepping back with a shrug, the intensity faded. “But you’re never going to overcome your fears if you refuse to face them. If you don’t want me to have power over you, do not let me. It is simple as that.” he looked over at her tear-soaked face and shook his head. “And that starts with you learning how to stand up for yourself.”

With that, he begun to walk away, swallowed up by the mouth of the cave.

The last droplet that had slipped from her eye rolled down her cheek. It fell through the empty space with little control until it reached the silk of her blouse and came to rest there against her still-thundering heart. He had left her to her peace at last, and she would hold it for a while longer.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

The Eye of the Storm

Hank and I wrote stuff

---

Late afternoon, 14th of Midyear, 4E208
The oasis, Alik’r desert, Hammerfell

At least the Khajiit had managed to scrape together the decency to make himself comfortable some distance away from the others, close to the entrance of the cave. Gregor, devoid of his black battledress and his weapons, looked far less menacing than the last time the two of them had met and as he approached and sank down on his haunches in front of Zaveed, he seemed almost harmless. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to expose the tattoos on his forearms, the raven-haired woman and the tally marks, and his hair was rough and disheveled from the day’s fighting and the sweat that had dried up in it.

A few seconds of tense silence passed while Gregor studied Zaveed intently, taking in the sight of him from tip to toe; the earrings, the mohawk, the eyes, the claws on his fingers. His face did not show the distaste he felt for the Khajiit, firmly set into an impassive mask, but Gregor’s eyes betrayed him. They were not soft and warm anymore. They were black as coal and hard as steel and the lines beneath them were deep.

“You look well,” Gregor said matter-of-factly, speaking at last, his voice cutting through the silence like a hot knife through butter.

“I cannot say the same for you. You look like shit.” Zaveed replied. He was sitting with his wrists resting on his knees, his armour, shirt and weapons stayed neatly laid out by his bed roll nearby, save for a pistol and his dagger that sat on either side of him; he had silently elected to keep watch. Across his torso many scars were visible, especially the ones Gregor and his beast had added to the tally. The Khajiit had met Gregor’s stare unflinchingly with an air of indifference.

“Too bad when you tried to rob me of my vitality, my naturally handsome looks didn't go with it, yes?” Zaveed said, rolling his jaw. “Get to the point; I tire of games, Gregor.”

The Imperial narrowed his eyes at Zaveed’s demanding tone, but he did not bite. “I do. The Redguard’s dagger was poisoned.” His tone hovered between sharp and conversational and he looked away, towards the exit and across the dunes of the Alik’r that stretched to the horizon. “Took a while before I received the… appropriate medical attention.” Gregor’s jaw worked, as if he was mulling something over.

“Look,” he said abruptly and returned his gaze to Zaveed while he held up his hands for him to inspect. His fingers trembled slightly. “Nerve damage. Funnily enough, it goes away when I’m about to fight. Or fuck, for that matter.” Gregor smiled faintly and dropped his hands again. “I was wondering if your brush with… well, you know, would leave any lasting effects. It seems you’ve made a full recovery, haven’t you? Very fortunate.” The smile had left Gregor’s face. “Very fortunate indeed,” he repeated, emphasizing every word.

Zaveed didn't balk at the unspoken accusation. “Ah, yes, I forgot to thank dear Nadeen for unintentionally saving my life. I fear I won't get another chance at it; she just happened to hate you slightly more than I.” the privateer grinned at the Imperial. “And yes, it was rather fortunate that Raelynn took pity on me and decided to save my life instead. She is quite a talented healer; an art that is not common enough, I'm afraid. I'm no worse for wear, save for a few sleepless nights or feeling Namiira's tendrils trying to close about my throat.” Zaveed admitted.

Unlike the simmering anger and loathing Gregor kept behind a mask, Zaveed's tone, while terse, was still conversational and rather unperturbed. He would not show fear to this man; there was nothing to fear. Gregor had already played his hand, there would be no more surprises.

“For what it's worth, I hope you regain full sensation in your hands. Hard to shit out horrors when you lack fine motor control.” Zaveed said, catching an almost imperceptible shift in the man's gaze. “The others have no clue what you are, do they?”

“No,” Gregor said flatly, without hesitation. There was no point in denying it. His reason for approaching Zaveed hinged entirely on that fact. “Well, that’s not entirely true. Jaraleet knows. Raelynn knows. But the others don’t.”

The hard edge that fell across his features made it evident that he meant what was about to come next with absolute conviction. “It is better if it stays that way for the time being,” Gregor said. “I have my reasons for what I do. Good reasons. But they are not easy to explain. Considering your outstanding debt to me, I trust that I can count on your silence,” he added and cocked his head slightly. “Say, are you familiar with a clean-shaven Dwemer officer that worked in the palace? Quite close with the governor, as I understand it.”

The Khajiit nodded. “I owe you nothing, Gregor, but your business with the others is not my concern. You may not think it, but to me, you are not my enemy. While I find your tactics…” Zaveed clucked his tongue, searching for an appropriate word. “In poor taste, I do not begrudge you for having used them. You are not the first person to try to kill me, you will not be the last. Just do not presume that because you failed in taking my soul to fuel your disgusting crusade that I have my life indebted to you. Your girlfriend was the one who saw to my salvation, and I will honour that act if nothing else.” he said with an air of finality.

Zaveed leaned back, stretching out on the soft ground with with his jaw opened wide before propping himself up on his elbow. He looked about at the camp and the people milling about, and he caught sight of Sevari having a rather animated discussion with that Janelle woman. He rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to Gregor. “I do know him. Major Kerztar, he was my… employer for my duration in the Dwemeri hospitality. Not an unreasonable man, for a Deep Elf who forced me to serve his little task force at gunpoint. I take you encountered him, then?”

“Your boss? Fancy that. I did. Would you like to meet him again? He’s in the bottom of my backpack right now,” Gregor said and smiled. “Here’s the thing. If you remain true to your word and you do not involve yourself in my business with the others, then I shall find within my heart to agree with you. There is no debt. You were just a lowly pawn and a brute who was put into an impossible position by the Dwemer. The things you did… well, that was really your master’s fault, wasn’t it? The sword is not responsible for the wounds it inflicts. As its stands right now, my lover is safe and sound after all, while Rourken’s lover will be sacrificed to the maw behind the stars. Looks like I won, and that settles our quarrel.” His voice was condescending, like he was explaining something to a child, and his eyes were depthless in their malice.

“Does that sound like an interpretation of the events that you can agree with?” Gregor asked.

Zaveed rolled his eyes, laying back down again with his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. “Must you always be so grim? It is tiresome. Yes, yes, you rob people of a proper afterlife because you’re following the whims of some arcane quest I don’t care much to guess what the end goal must be. If you consider that a victory, hooray, good for you. Go enjoy the spoils.” Zaveed replied with mock enthusiasm before letting out a drawn out sigh, a single eye opening to take in the gloating Imperial. “I did what I did because I am very good at it, you see. Several decades on a ship, raiding fat merchants and putting smugglers to the blade, you see and do things that you don’t quite imagine yourself doing when you are a young cub looking at those tall masts like freedom. And they are… but freedom comes at a cost, and that often is blood.

“Who am I to question that a group of terrorists who tortured an innocent administrator to death need to be dealt with? Raelynn wasn’t the first person I’ve interrogated, and for what it’s worth? I take no pleasure in that particular deed. I just wanted to do my job to work off my sentence and hopefully get back to sea where I belong. You were all once my enemy, now you are not. I do not see why you have yourself so worked up over my presence here.” Zaveed asked conversationally. “We didn’t have to wait, but we did because we have a common cause with you lot. Don’t flatter yourself that I give a single shit about your megalomaniacal impulses, Gregor. You’re rather insufferable when you’re gloating, and if you decided to pick up where we left off again… you won’t have fingers to wave your little horrors into existence. You know I tell the truth of the matter.”

Satisfied, Gregor rose to his full height and looked down on Zaveed. “You talk a lot of shit for a cat that I’ve seen tremble with fear at my feet,” he said frankly, having dropped all pretense and venom from his voice. He’d gotten what he wanted, which meant that any energy spent on further trying to intimidate the Khajiit was a waste. “Our business is finished.” He turned to leave but stopped himself. “Oh, one more thing. Stay away from Raelynn. She hates your guts.”

“For a man who is so weak he has to have puppets do his dirty work, you’re one to talk. I saw the fear in your eyes, when my axe dug closer and closer to your heart. That was me who did that, not some monster that you were gifted by prostrating yourself to some Daedric master. I am a free man, and you are a slave. You have no power over me, and you can’t do anything to stop me without revealing your grotesque nature to everyone. Do you think they’re really going to accept you after that? Stand by you?” Zaveed kicked out his legs and was suddenly on his feet, staring Gregor in the eyes.

“I can deal with being hated because I am alive, you slavering cretin. Did Raelynn tell you I tried to help her drive my own dagger into my heart? I don’t fear death, Gregor. But you do.” He said, jabbing a claw into the man’s chest and leaning in close, their foreheads almost touching. “Remember that the next time you wish to try to have a quaint little chat with yours truly; if you try to fuck with me again, you will receive a shot between your eyes faster than you can pull whichever little toy your own masters gifted you out from your tightly wound sphincter. If anything happens to me, do you honestly think Sevari or Sirine will hesitate to drive a dagger into Raelynn’s throat?” he stepped away, gazing distastefully at his claw before wiping it off on his trousers.

“You can either stop being a dullard shitheel and get over yourself, or we can pick up where we left off. Just ask yourself if you’re willing to live with the consequences if you’re wrong.”

That did it. Gregor laughed and shook his head in disbelief, his anger bubbling over into cruelty. “That’s what finally got you all riled up and ready to go for another round? Raelynn? You fancy her or something? Face it, Zaveed. She saved your life because it was the most powerful way to distance herself from you and everything that you are that she could think of. She has nothing but loathing for you in her heart. You can insult me and my methods all you want, but at the end of the day I’ll be walking back to her side and you’ll be here, alone. You don’t know me at all,” he spat and jabbed an accusatory finger in Zaveed’s direction. “I do what I do to save my fucking family from a fate worse than just death! Meanwhile, even the man you call brother thinks you had it coming. You have no godsdamned right to judge me.”

Zaveed sighed, the flames in his eyes subduing into embers. “Excuse my anger; it is unbecoming. You are not my enemy; I should stop treating you as such. Normally, I would treat bygones as bygones, but… I can’t say I appreciated the sensation and knowledge I was going to be trapped in a gemstone and consumed like some raw meat. It’s new to me, and I hope to never endure that again.” Zaveed replied, looking over to where Sevari and Aries were having their chat.

“I don’t think you understand, though; Raelynn’s choices are her own, I was but one of them. You are another. Why would I begrudge that?” he asked quizzically, raising a brow. “I do not intend to win her over with words or charm, but rather demonstrate that her choice was actually a worthy one.” he crooked his head at Gregor. “Why, do you think I am infatuated with her?” he grinned, although not cruelly. “I assure you, I have no interest in robbing that from you. She seems rather… transfixed to you, regardless. If it gives you a shred of humanity, then I’m all for it.”

Zaveed sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But yes, Sevari would think that. We’ve had a difficult time catching up the past three decades of time apart, and we are trying to figure out how to fit two non matching puzzles together and wonder what image it creates. I do not apologize for who or what I am, Gregor; I hold no animosity towards you, just your bloody temperament.”

The fact that Zaveed backed down from their argument was unexpected and disarming. Gregor’s anger still simmered beneath the surface, but there hardly seemed a purpose to it now. “She does,” he said at length, sounding more sincere than he had done at any point in their conversation before. Gregor took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose while he rubbed his eyes, and he visibly appeared to deflate. Anger and hatred were exhausting and he’d carried so much of it with him. Now that he had been confronted with its source and they had traded their insults, it was spent, and he realized that it left only questions in its wake: things he had wanted to know about Zaveed the whole time but had been too enraged to think about.

Gregor opened his eyes, stared at Zaveed and something, some overwhelming urge, made him open his mouth and continue speaking. “I find it hard to forgive you. It’s… not in my nature. I woke up every day for a week wishing that you had simply died. Every time I saw what you had wrought…” He looked over his shoulder at where Raelynn was sleeping and felt his anger flare up again. It wasn’t spent after all.

“Forget it,” he muttered and cast one final glance at Zaveed. “We’re not enemies, you’ll keep your mouth shut, everything will be great.” Gregor turned away from Zaveed and began to walk back to where he came from.

“That’s fair.” Zaveed called after him, his hands resting on his hips where his axes normally were perched. “So don’t. You owe me nothing, and I owe you nothing. Simply coexisting without going through an exhausting argument each and every time we are in each other’s company and staying our blades is enough for me, I think. You’ll learn our predicament is all too common in this world one day.” he said, offering a slight wave as he turned to his own devices, still feeling his own embers catching wind.

Stopping in his tracks, Gregor tilted his head to listen to what Zaveed had to say. He clenched and unclenched his fists and almost turned back around -- enough, a sharp voice in his head chided, and Gregor kept putting one heavy foot in front of the other.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Zaveed

Race: Khajiit, Cathay
Sex: Male
Age: 38
Family Origins: Senchal, Pelletine
Birthsign: The Lady
Appearance:

Standing at 5’08” and weighing in about 185 pounds, the Khajiit is a powerful figure with a lean but muscular figure that lends itself to explosive bursts of energy and endurance. His fur is a granite-grey colour with black stripes, with a pale grey down his muzzle and belly, and dark markings about his eyes, giving him a much more severe appearance as his ice-blue eyes peer out from the darkness like the twin moons above, narrow feline slits as the pupils. He is a handsome figure, with pronounced cheekbones, a long and powerful jaw and a broad chin with a set of finely cared for teeth.

Moving up his forehead and nestled atop the lattice of stripes and dark fur is a black mane, styled up into a distinctive Mohawk that gives him a youthful and brash appearance, along with two long and black-tipped ears that contain a number of piercings along its length; each one is from a new place he travelled, giving him a menagerie of gold, silver, and copper hues along the length.

Being of the Cathay breed, Zaveed has a very human or elf-like posture, walking flat-footed on the ground with a relaxed but measured strut, giving the Khajiit a certain measure of swagger that conveys confidence and no small amount of commanding presence as his hands rest upon his twin axes, Jone and Jode, that seem as much a part of him as the piercings in his ears.

Zaveed is a Khajiit who enjoys the finer things in life, and his manner of dress lends credit to that. Wearing primarily dark colours that are often accentuated with vibrant sashes and masculine jewellery, Zaveed prefers thigh-height leather boots, loose trousers, and front lacing tunics that he often leaves loose to leave his chest exposed. In combat, he wears sleeveless grey leather armour that is reinforced with interlocking steel scales buried within the layers that gives him an almost ghostly appearance when in his armour.

Equipment:

Twin Dwemeri Axes, Masser and Secunda
Elven dagger with Sapphire Pommel
Sleeveless grey leather vest with steel plating woven in the fabric
Leather bandoleer and vest with storage pouches
Twin Dwemeri pistols (20 rounds of shot)

Misc. Possessions:

Misc. coins and gemstones
Dwemeri Ministry of Order agent badge
Whetstone and oil
3x Lesser soul gems

Family and Associations:

Sevari (Alive)
Marassa (Alive)

Favoured Skills:
Highly Proficient

One-Handed Axe
Athletics

Moderately Proficient

Marksmanship
Speech

Slightly Proficient

Provisioning

History:

Born in 4E170CE, Zaveed hails from Senchal, the major port city of the Kingdom of Pelletine and a major cultural and trade hub of the Aldmeri Dominion where people from across Tamriel just happened to end up like it was a continental gutter. For the young Khajiit, it perfectly encapsulated his entire upbringing.

Born alongside his twin sister, Marassa, to a prostitute mother they never knew the name of, they were both forced to be abandoned at an extremely young age and forced to fend for themselves on Senchal’s lawless streets, only surviving from the charity of those who took enough pity to feed and clothe them, but not enough to shelter them for any length of time. Because of this, both spent most of their childhood as malnourished thieves and sometimes robbers that knew the streets well enough to know how and where to slip past guards that might have stopped them; being two of countless kids on the streets made keeping track of any of them an impossible order for the city watch, and as such, few of them actually made an effort to track down the small thieves that only made it off with a handful of produce or loaves of bread. It was only by chance that the first time they’d been caught at the ripe age of 4, they were rescued by chance by a young Ohmes-raht boy named Sevari, who helped them escape the city guard and using his talents as a cut purse helped provide them with a meal of lamb that day. He became the closest thing the twins had to family in their life, and an immediate bond was formed.

For the next four years, Zaveed, Marassa, and Sevari were all inseparable, surviving in the streets by stealing and scavenging whenever possible. They slept in gutters and under overhangs, the mouths of sewers, on the beach, wherever they felt was safe for the night. It was a miserable life, but they had found family when they needed it, even if many of them were sick often and forced to steal and beg for cure disease potions quite often to wash down the scraps of food and tropical fevers they contracted. They dreamed of being rich enough to afford food all of the time, to be loved by the people, to be heroes like they had heard about so many times in plays performed in the streets. One day, the three of them would escape from the poverty and toil they endured and make a life for themselves.

It all changed when one morning, Sevari was gone, his bedroll empty and gone without a word. The betrayal had stung, and the twins grew restless and angry, growing more brash as their bodies and mind matured, deciding they’d waited long enough in the slums to deserve a better future. With all of the care and caution they’d practiced for years suddenly being tossed in the wind; it was only a matter of time before they ran into a situation that would change their lives forever.

Marassa was one day caught by Dominion guards mugging a merchant a month after Sevari’s departure, and she fought like a demon to ward off being apprehended. For over an hour she fought, trying to get away and not allowing herself to be taken until she eventually tired and was forced to submit to Dominion forces, whose commander took notice of her fighting spirit. She was offered a choice; enlist as a cadet in the war academy or languish behind bars. With her brother nowhere to be seen, she made her choice and agreed to the terms. She would not see Zaveed again for many years.

Now alone and lost, Zaveed spent much of his time at the docks, dreaming of an escape that would never come. He watched the ships come and go, the crews with full bellies and impressive looking weapons strapped to their hips with a certain amount of awe and envy. Perhaps it was desperation or boldness that prompted him to approach one captain, Dar’Narra, and ask to be taken on his ship, The Serpent’s Gale. To his surprise, the captain said yes, and soon began a life of living hell for a nine year old Zaveed.
Forced into a life of menial labour, Zaveed was tasked with keeping the ship clean and helping the cook, and only when he grew a bit older was he tasked with stowing weapons and armour, and doing menial labour. Dar’Narra’s crew were privateers, tasked with the Dominion to raid her enemies and attacking unauthorized vessels in their seas. For every good day, there were three more that were a waking nightmare; when Zaveed became of age, crew members took advantage of him, and Dar’Narra himself used him to pay off brothel tabs. It was a brutal and degrading life that left Zaveed cold and bitter, but he knew he could either die or overcome it. One night, during his 16th year, Zaveed buried an axe in the chests of six of the crew members who had abused him while they slept and while still bloodied, he fell asleep soundly for the first time in many years. Instead of being butchered while he slept, Zaveed woke up to Dar’Narra starring down at him with a wicked grin.

“Took you long enough to grow a spine. Come; this one will teach you how to properly fight.” The older Khajiit said. And so, Zaveed was forced to run a gauntlet of fights with the entirety of the crew for weeks on end, missing out on most meals for losses and beatings for his failures and the murder of the six crew members. While he was still forced to do menial labour, Zaveed became stronger and more capable of fighting, his determination pushing him further and further past his limits, his tolerance for pain and discomfort growing as his body was constantly in a state of injury and healing. Perhaps it was his memory of the time on the streets that kept him from submitting, or defiance at his abusers, but Zaveed remained under Dar’Narra’s watchful gaze, fights called off when one party or the other went too far. Still, he became a talented fighter over the next several months and a privateer in earnest as he earned the respect of those on the ship. Some taught him how to read and write, others how to rig the ship and read the stars. What was once a nightmare he could not escape from became a family of sorts, one where one lived and died by the blade.

And so, when the Serpent’s Gale came upon a smuggler’s vessel two months after the murder of his crewmates, Zaveed was sent as the vanguard to see exactly how much he progressed and if he was worth the lives of those he wasted; it was a slaughter. Smugglers who spent years avoiding conflict and fighting were out of practice or just plain untalented warriors and with twin axes in hand, Zaveed personally felled four of the 20 man ship’s crew, even fighting through a dagger that had been driven into his back by a man who would soon be lacking a jaw. Dar’Narra had fought alongside Zaveed, quietly assessing if his protégé had potential and found himself pleased. His ship needed strong men who were capable and ruthless; trimming the fat hardly bothered him. Many of the Serpent’s Gale were men and women who came from nothing and signed on for similarly desperate reasons as Zaveed had, and many had turned into the same sorts of abusive degenerates that he’d slaughtered. It was a matter of letting the strong consume the weak, and seeing which was which. Seeing Zaveed drenched in blood and laughing for the duration of the slaughter, Dar’Narra knew he’d been in the right to cultivate the young Khajiit rather than end his miserable existence. He would be molded into quite a capable crewmember.

After a year of serving as an equal on the ship to most of the crew and growing only more exceptional with each encounter, Dar’Narra presented Zaveed with an elven dagger with a sapphire pommel, a badge of office he called it. Zaveed took it with gravity and pride, keeping it strapped to the small of his back above his tail so it was out of the way of his twin axes that he’d grown rather fond of and proficient with, using them to seemingly effortlessly parry and deflect blows from another weapon while immediately being able to exploit openings. Inexperienced fighters died like children, and because of his conditioning, Zaveed’s stamina and pain tolerance were among the most impressive Dar’Narra had ever seen. So long as Zaveed could outlast his opponent, they more than likely were going to die as soon as they slipped. It became a game for him; taunting and flourishes became a part of his fighting style and he was very agile on his feet, having long learned that if you don’t let yourself become anchored to a spot, the enemy cannot force you into a disadvantage. Other crew members taught him how to use a bow, even going so far as to bait sharks and fell them with arrows when they breached the surface. For many months, he could barely aim such a weapon on the rocking of a ship, but Zaveed certainly had sea legs and learned how to anticipate and feel the motion of the ship; he became an impressive shot, and overly confident sailors on enemy vessels learned too late exactly what would happen if they left a torso exposed for too long. As a privateer, he was a far cry of the scared young boy he used to be, and the innocence he once had had long died when it had been robbed from him. The man who emerged was much harder and ruthless and morally flexible.

For a decade, Zaveed served, working his way up to being quartermaster of the Serpent’s Gale, managing the ship’s inventory and acting as Dar’Narra’s right hand man. His portion of cuts grew exponentially over the years, and those who spoke out against him found out that Zaveed was rather impatient with those who defied him or wasted his time and examples were made. However, he was quite generous with those who did their duties and showed promise, using his own personal cut to buy sailors rounds at the bar and nights at the brothels on shore leave. Being fond of gifts, he often rewarded the crew for acts of bravery or talent, and some of the crew became close to him; Felicia Harding, a talented and extremely sadistic pyromancer that had a lot of ambition but had been risen out of the same abuse that Zaveed had endured and tried to put an end to that had become his best friend who shared in a lustful attraction with one another whenever they needed to “scratch an itch”, the other principle friend Zaveed made was an older Orsimer named Grogash that was the master at arms for the ship that had provided all of the weapons and armour maintenance to the entire crew. The Orc was always polite and good for a talk, and had been a comforting figure in Zaveed’s early years on the ship, someone who cultivated a softer and more humane side and an appreciation for weapons and their application. Through him, Zaveed learned how to maintain his axes and customize them to his liking; he trimmed off excess materials to make them lighter and swifter, wrapped them with leather strips in a manner to ensure a positive grip when wet, and replace the wooden handles when they grew damaged beyond use. As such, the more Zaveed worked on his own weapons, the more they became extensions of himself.

Everything came to a head when Zaveed was 27 years old and Dar’Narra’s advancing age had him searching for easier marks and coin. While initially welcoming of less dangerous assignments, a line was crossed for Zaveed and much of the crew when Dar’Narra took on a job to smuggle a shipment of slaves to a wealthy Dunmer client that had business interests in Senchal; the Argonian aggression had severely hurt his family plantation and as such, profits and manpower suffered. Given that it had been several years since Dar’Narra had preyed on the poor to fill his ranks, the old Khajiit likely had forgotten that most of his loyal crew had come from nothing and endured conditions not at all dissimilar to slavery. A rift formed between Zaveed and Dar’Narra, and the crew avoided the tempest that was brewing the best they could until it was evident Dar’Narra wasn’t going to listen to protest. Zaveed stepped in, demanding Dar’Narra step down as captain as he was no longer fit to lead. The two fought, spear verses axe, mentor verses student. If one were expecting a drawn out and climatic battle, they would have been disappointed; Dar’Narra’s advanced age had rendered him slower and weaker than he used to be, and he relied on the length of his weapon to keep Zaveed at bay.

However, Zaveed’s customization to his axes and his attempts to shave off weight gave them a particular balance that made them well suited for throwing; dodging a thrust, the younger Khajiit threw his dominant axe at Dar’Narra, burying itself in his shoulder and rendering his weapon useless, and with a feral yell and both hands behind the strength of one axe, Zaveed drove his blade into Dar’Narra’s gut like he was felling a tree. His mentor fell and died, guts spilling from the curved blade’s incision. It had been over in an instant. With a man he had once admired crumpled into a wasted heap on the deck, Zaveed impassively ordered the remains to be tossed overboard. A funeral was simply a waste of shore leave and would raise far too many questions, and keeping a corpse on deck for weeks would have been repugnant.

And so, Zaveed took charge of the Serpent’s Gale, and with the support of much of the veterans of the crew, his ascent to captain was largely unchallenged. He rechristened the vessel Merrunz’s Wrath, and Zaveed of Senchal had begun to call himself Greywake, a name that would become infamous in the following years for the daring exploits of the young captain and his crew, who Zaveed spent considerable time and effort in consulting and eradicating the abuse that had been rampant under Dar’Narra. He wanted loyalty, and he did not want more children to be pressed into an abusive and cruel upbringing under his watch. He shared portions generously with his crew, and often acquiesced to reasonable requests.

While he did recruit from orphans like himself, he dealt with any who would abuse their trust harshly, often clawing violators across the face, leading it to becoming something of a mark of shame that would make them harder to hire on more reputable crews. Many tried to fight Zaveed, but the result was always the same; more food for sharks. Captain Greywake became something of a darling among Dominion nautical circles, and even the Thalmor had come to appreciate his talents; Zaveed frequently made trips to Auridon and made his services indispensable towards those who needed services of his considerable talent. All in all, Zaveed was finally contented with his station in life, and while infamously cruel to those who resisted him, he was a man of his word and due to his seafaring ways, he became very worldly and culturally aware very quickly. His influence was considerable, and outside of wartime, privateers such as himself could do things that Dominion Navy vessels could not.

It was this this reputation that would one day bring a face from the shadows and his past to confront him over a decade later, and reluctantly, Zaveed took the job from the ghost that was once his brother and would have everything he’d worked so hard for ripped away from him in a single fateful storm that would see him enthralled to the service of the Deep Elves and their secretive Ministry of Order. And entirely different sort of people now had a high demand for his talent, and seeing perhaps chance of reclaiming his former glory, Zaveed of Senchal has become one of their most dangerous instruments.

Personality:

Roguish and charismatic, Zaveed has endured more hardships in his life than most and instead of being broken by his experiences, he has turned out being a hardened and ruthless man with an extremely flexible moral compass. Unflinching towards acts of violence and cruelty on one hand, he is a tender lover and a steadfast friend to those he feels have earned his respect. One of his strengths is that Zaveed doesn’t dwell on slights committed, but he will act upon them if he is feeling vindictive or would serve a purpose. Having fought with most members of his former crew and been constantly beaten in skirmishes, he had learned quickly that simply surviving is a reward in itself, and an enemy today may be a friend tomorrow, it simply does not do to dwell on pointless concepts such as revenge or vengeance. As such, he harbours very little ill will towards those who best them, instead preferring to learn lessons from his losses and honouring their resourcefulness.

It isn’t to say that Zaveed is entirely forgiving; he often feels that it is up to those who earn his ire to endure his efforts to rectify their mistakes, often to fatal ends. He does not shy away from torture, as it is simply a tool to obtain information he wishes. However, his patience isn’t infinite, and if intimidation and pain doesn’t divulge anything of use, he will not hesitate to execute his hostage as it is simply another liability to deal with. His harsh upbringing has given him a somewhat opposed personality of being charming and amicable on one hand, and manic and savage on the other. Quick to taunt and insult, fighting is a joy for him, and he uses others’ emotional vulnerabilities to lure them into a situation that favours his desired outcome. He firmly believes that anything he sets his mind towards is guaranteed, so long as he doesn’t give up that path. There’s been very little instances where Zaveed does not get what he desires in the end; he will pursue a goal for years with the same determination as if he decided to set upon that course.

He has a complicated view towards his former family and current friends; he is a man capable of great affection and tolerance, but he views relationships as fleeting and temporary and in many ways, he is very lonely and emotionally stunted. Never having had a proper relationship or role models to know what that looks like, he has developed affections he cannot readily explain or justify, and while he can cut people from his life easily, those who remain in it remain objects of his affection and attention and he can be lavish with gifts and favours, a habit likely formed from his mother being a brothel whore and his own experiences in such establishments. His presence is often chaotic and while he is a planner and a thinker, much of what Zaveed does is decided on a whim, and it can make him somewhat chaotic and unpredictable.

However, despite all of his shortcomings, once Zaveed decides someone is worth his time and effort, he becomes steadfast and devoted to making their ends meet and proving his unique worth. As of now, it is the Dwemer overlords that had forced him into their service, but should he see a path to freedom, he is quite keen on finding a way to reclaim the life he worked so hard to obtain. Now, having reunited with his brother and seeing a light to follow, he carries on into a brave new world, uncertain of his place within it.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Dance Around the Fire that We Once Believed in

14th Midyear 4E208, mid-morning, the Three Crowns Hotel...

“We need to talk.”

Daro’Vasora stood in the door frame of the hotel room where Latro was gathering his things; the Khajiit had found her stuff had already been tidily packed up by one of her companions. She approached him tepidly, her arms wrapped about her waist, her gait short and lacking confidence.

“Is that what Pale-Feather means? Is… is Latro still there?” she asked quietly.

Latro almost flinched as he heard Sora’s voice. He was just getting the last few things of his into his pack. He closed the flap and buckled it securely, grabbing up the lute she’d gifted him all those days ago. The bloody hands gripping the neck of it felt like charlatan's hands.

“I hope he is.” Latro replied lamely, quietly, “You’re talking to him.” He looked at Sora and how afraid or disappointed or… whatever it was, but it was anything but loving. And that was what hurt him the most. He asked her, voice a meek whisper, “Are you afraid of me now?”

“No, of course… I don’t know.” Daro’Vasora replied meekly, not daring to cross the distance, as much as her heart yearned to. She looked him over, not seeing the crazed expression that had dominated him during the rescue. “You weren’t yourself, you were feral, you took joy slaughtering those men. I couldn’t reach you; it’s like I wasn’t there.” Tears welled up in her eyes, the trials of the day and this encounter weighing heavy on her.

She was quiet for a pregnant moment. “If I’d tried to stop you, would you have hurt me?” her words came out barely more than a whisper.

Latro swallowed hard when he saw the tears at the edges of Sora’s eyes. When she asked him that question he never wanted to cross her mind, he near choked on a sob. He took a breath, his head hung low, “I…” the silence stretched on for an eternity, his lack of words letting the answer go even if he couldn’t form it on his own tongue, “Sora, I never wanted this. There’s a reason why I have no choice but to detest violence.”

He lay a hand on a post of his bed, and rubbed at his eyes, his hand stayed there as he spoke, “It’s like I was watching myself and there was nothing I could do.” He said, voice straining to keep steady, “That’s what Pale-Feather is. It’s been like that since I can remember in the redoubt. The first time it happened I remember my friend and I were arguing. I came to with my hands around his neck. I drug him to the river and said that he drowned, I fucking said words over his grave like I wasn’t his murderer. And they all believed me, Sora. I lied and they hugged me and said it was going to be alright that I lost a friend.”

He looked to Sora, “We talked of wolves and sheep some time ago.” He said, “To Pale-Feather, all the world is sheep and he is the wolf. But I’m not Pale-Feather, Sora. Please.” He yanked the axe and the knife from his belt, tossing them at Sora’s feet. “Don’t ever let me touch these unless I have absolutely no other option.”

She did not reach down to pick up the weapons, as if they were cursed. “But you are, aren’t you?” she asked, not sure what to do with her body. A part of her, the part that had dominated her life for so long, demanded she leave and never look back. He was dangerous, he was going to hurt her and others. He allowed himself to lose control and become a savage beast…

“You did it for me.” she remarked quietly, walls coming down around her. “I was the one who put you in that position. If I wasn’t so careless, if I’d just told you where I was going that night, none of this would have happened.” she said, looking up to meet his gaze.

“But Latro, Pale-Feather… I don’t know what is going to stop you from having another episode, and I am so afraid that if it happens again, I’ll lose you forever. I can’t, not like this.” her voice said, choking. Her arms tightened.

“Please.” He begged, “Please. Or I’ll leave them here, I don’t need them, you don’t need Pale-Feather. So don’t call me that.”

“I love you, Sora,” he said, voice finally breaking as he held back a sob, a tear ran down and tinged his tongue salty, “I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me. I’m not a monster. I don’t know what I can do to make you believe me but please don’t forsake me.”

She looked at him, a resolve somewhere in her emerald eyes. “I will never give up on you, do you understand? I may not understand what’s happening, or this side of you, and yes, I’m scared of it… but I’m not going to give up on you. I know everything you’ve done for me, and everything you are to me. Just… give me some time to process all of this, okay?” she asked, wiping her eye.

Latro nodded a bit, sniffled, and said, “Okay.” He looked to the weapons on the floor and took a step closer to them and another until he was close enough to grasp them up, the steel head of his axe scraping along the ground before it was in its loop, his knife in its sheath, “I’m afraid of it, too. Do you think that… that stuff, you got for Gregor and Jude, could it help?”

He looked down at his hands, still bloody. He tried to wipe them on his pants but it wouldn’t come off. He sighed, “I never wanted for you to see me like that.” He said, looking at her, “I promise I’ll do anything to keep you safe. From anyone.” He let go a shuddering breath, “Even me.”

Daro’Vasora reached out and gently placed her hand on Latro’s cheek. “Loving someone means accepting them for who they are, even if it’s difficult sometimes, and it means standing by them when it’s hard, when life seems impossible. You looked at me and saw a person, not an animal worthy of scorn and distrust. I see the man you want to be, and knowing you do not wish to be ruled by this aspect of who you are is enough for me to know what’s in your heart, Latro.” She cooed, bringing her forehead against his own. “Maybe there’s a medical solution for this, maybe it’s spiritual. I know a thing or two about reconciling two halves of a fractured soul. Do you trust me?” she asked.

“With my life,” Latro raised his hands with a great trepidation, but finally his arms were around Sora’s waist, “Always, love. I just…” he frowned but dragged it up to try at his easy smile, “I’m glad knowing you’re by my side, always, past anything.”

They shared a gaze into each other’s eyes, Latro’s were warm and amber and held all the love he had to give instead of the yellow wolf’s eyes they were at the Palace, with none to spare for the world. He took in all of Sora, so glad to be able to touch her again after all this terrifying time. He kissed her softly, naught but a peck, for he couldn’t bring himself to let his lips linger any longer after what he knew she saw of him. But he didn’t let any of those thoughts show as he smiled, “We should meet back with the others.”

The sensation of his lips lingered on her own, and her heart swelled at the connection renewed. Daro'Vasora knew it in her soul that this was Latro. This was her lover, and someone she had decided long ago was someone she would stand beside, no matter what would come. His embrace, his warmth, it was soothing. The feral Reachman aspect of him was subdued, for now.

“I will need to walk the Moonpath once more, when it is safe, and I will teach you to do the same… after a fashion.” Daro’Vasora said, nodding as he reminded her of the urgency of the situation. It almost felt wrong to steal so much time for themselves, but after everything…

Damn the consequences. She needed this.

“I love you, Latro. I will help you heal your wounded soul, no matter how much it hurts.” she smiled, heading back to the door. “This one is no stranger to pain.”

---

14th Midyear 4E208, mid-morning, Outside of the Gilane Northern Gates.…

“We’re here.” Zaveed said to Sirine, gesturing to the tavern with flowing canvas overhangs and an open floor plan to allow for airflow that was desperately needed in the stifling heat. The duo had managed to leave the city without much incident as Zaveed was still officially a secret police agent and the fallout from Sevari’s detainment had yet to come and bite him personally in the ass. However, his brother’s escape wouldn’t take long to discover, and it would have immediately drawn suspicion to him; he aimed to be gone and far away before the Dwemer could catch up to him, and that involved finding his brother first.

Looking ahead the Crooked-Tooth Inn, Zaveed knew it was where his brother would likely be.

It was a shady run down place that was meant for weary travellers, and being outside of the city proper, it was open outside of the guards’ usual patrol routes and subsequently had a reputation for attracting all sorts of outlaws and other unpleasant sorts in a neutral meeting ground where no one took overtly illegal actions, and while a patron was inside of the walls they were promised safety from retaliation as an unspoken rule. It led to an uneasy, but stable relationship, with the law; the authorities knew several wanted felons could be within the Crooked-Tooth Inn at any given time, but they also weren’t up to anything particularly vile while staying within the confines of the inn and it would be easier to keep tabs on people in one spot rather than them spreading out within the city. The Redguards understood this, and so did the Dwemer; however, the latter took it a step further and recruited many of their foreign fighters from this very establishment in the early weeks, usually to surprising effect.

Even a mere glance at the tavern was enough to show Sirine this establishment was probably in better condition than where she used to work. Giving her companion a slight nod, her eyes narrowed as she peered past the canvas, looking for the distinctive form of the Ohmes-Raht. Truth be told, she hadn't expected to have been able to leave so easily from the governor's palace, not that she wasn't grateful for a quick leave. She had also been curious as to how exactly Sevari had managed to escape, but such questions were for times when haste wasn't necessary. Following after Zaveed without a fuss suited her just fine for the time being.

"No point simply lingering out here." Her dark eyes turned away from the tavern long enough to look at the khajiiti man. "I'm heading in."

Sevari just then was descending some steps down from the rooms, tugging on his coat. A Redguard woman stepped down after him, adjusting the straps of her bra and laid a hand on his shoulder that he shrugged off. He finally caught sight of Sirine and nodded to her, gesturing to the bar before sitting down himself. The bartender set a drink down in front of him without asking what he’d have and he downed it immediately.

“I take it you just knew where I’d be?” He said, not looking at the pair.

Zaveed saddled up to the counter, not bothering to sit just yet. “No, I’m fucking magic. You forget I track people down for a living… how much of an idiot would I have to be if I spent an entire month working with you and coming to this piss-hole of a tavern frequently and not think to look here?” he tapped on the counter, and the bartender, an Imperial named Larius, brought the Khajiit a bottle of wine, the same kind he’d brought Zaveed every single time he came for a visit. The exact change was already waiting on the counter. He pulled out the cork with a claw and drank from the bottle before sliding it over to Sirine. He looked over at the Redguard prostitute almost guiltily, considering his present company. Had she been forced into that line of work, like Sirine had? Zaveed had never thought to ask, and he knew they’d probably lie if he did. He’d contributed to a lot of unhappy, broken lives without realizing it over the years. He grunted.

“We can’t stay here long.” he observed.

Sirine looked to the bottle and considered simply rejecting the offer. Despite working in a tavern, she had managed to keep her intake of alcohol to the barest minimum, normally watering it down if forced with having to drink. At present though, given the khajiit's mood, she didn't quite think that saying nay to an act of generosity would be ideal. Steeling herself against the taste, she took a humble sip, barely a mouthful before setting it back down close to Zaveed.

Looking between him and Sevari, she tapped her fingers against the countertop. There was tension brewing here, that was for sure.

“We aren’t.” Sevari said, fishing a cigar out of his coat pocket and lighting it in his usual casual use of magic, “Outside. Or not. Either way, I’m doing something about my situation.”

He took a step outside, leaving Zaveed and Sirine behind at the bar. He took a drag from his cigar and stared off into the desert beyond. As much as he liked the views of Hammerfell’s rolling dunes like great waves of sea stretching countless miles into the distance, he was looking for something in particular. He took another drag, puffing on it slightly. He’d heard of something that would be invaluable to their flight from Hammerfell, and he’d done a lot of thinking while waiting for Zaveed and Sirine to catch up with him. Perhaps it would be good to just stick to his own, live out his life getting into any manner of mischief with his brother and his new girl, at least he suspected she was such.

Or maybe he’d gone so long without actual intimacy that he’d crossed the threshold at which point one may never be able to distinguish politeness with flirting. He sighed, Zaveed was right, no more dallying on the shit choices and shit luck he’d had in life. It was time to show his finger to the Gods and pry some semblance of happiness from their clutches. Once he’d heard Zaveed and Sirine behind him, he spoke, eyes still on the horizon beyond, “Pretty soon, there’s going to be a supply coach coming to Gilane through this road.” He cleared his throat, taking a few puffs, “There’s a few lads in there that are a shade of green I never thought I’d see again in this fucking desert country fixing to rob it.”

“We’re going to let them.” He nodded, “Then, they’re going to fall on sudden hard luck when Savian Kastav, Captain Greywake, and…”

His voice trailed off as he looked at Sirine, “Sirine… take the burden of all that weaponry, food, armor and payroll from them.”

“We redress the coach somehow, make ourselves look like travelers down on their luck, and we go wherever it is that’s farthest away from this shit.” He spat off to his side, not having once shifted his gaze from his dutiful watch for the Gilane Supply Coach. “Then we can do whatever the hells we want.”

“It’s more of a plan than we had five minutes ago.” Zaveed said, arms crossed over his chest as he looked down the road to where the supply wagon presumably was coming from. “So, what, we just wait here for it, in the eyes of all these outlaws and low lives that would be itching for a fight outside of the city gates? I’d rather not immediately get a bounty on my head. Could we not do this further away from town?”

“Trust me, it’s not that bad.” Sevari smiled at Zaveed and then went back to his watch, “But no, we’re waiting for the first gang to leave. We follow them. We’re three people, there’s seven of them. We let them hold up the coach, kill the guards or whatever they do, get away from town and take them at their backs while they’re heading to their hideout.”

He looked at Zaveed, “You have fat merchant ships in the sea and shore raids, Zaveed, I have caravan robberies and ransoms.” He looked back out at the desert, taking a long draw from his cigar, “This isn’t the first time I’ve done this.”

The privateer pouted. “We’ve got guns, Sevari. They’d be dead before they had a chance to harm a pretty hair in my mane. You’re putting far too much thought into this.”

Clearing her throat, Sirine crossed her arms over her chest. While she could understand Zaveed's point of view of not waiting in plain sight for too long, it was true at least on her part that Sevari had more experience on this sort of terrain than she did. She was used to 'fat merchant ships' as the Ohmes-Raht called them, and frankly the desert dunes were probably as familiar to her as the snows of Skyrim.

"For the time being, I think it might be better to keep the guns for later." She eyed Zaveed before looking to Sevari. "If it comes to your pretty hair, don't worry, I'll do my best to keep it safe. For now though, I have to think Sevari's plan may be the best way to go about it."

“Thank you.” Sevari said, then looked to Zaveed, “For a man whose been raiding and being a criminal for the last entirety of his life, you seem to like being reckless. Do you have my guns?”

“I’m reckless, says the man who tried to single-handedly take on an entire Dominion ship to assassinate the Thalmor emissary and then not skip town when he didn’t follow through with the deed.” Zaveed spat back. “Speed and aggression, surprise and intimidation. That’s how you take your enemies, and I’ve fought far worse odds than a measly seven brigands.” he grunted. “I just want to get the fuck away from this city in an expedient manner.”

“You sister was there!” He raised his voice, hand raised in Zaveed’s face with his cigar clenched between two fingers. He took a breath and a step back, looking around at the other patrons who thankfully couldn’t give a shit about yelling, “You criticize me for almost ruining your fucking sister’s career then criticize me for not doing it right. You two are fucking twins, alright, because I can’t win shit with you.”

He clenched his jaw, “Speed and aggression without a plan is a dead sprint towards shackles and the noose. I’ve done this shit for twenty years now, Zaveed, so please,” he stepped forward with theatrically pleading eyes, “Have some fucking faith in me for once, listen to my plan, and please tell me you have my godsdamned carbine and pistol.”

Zaveed tossed a sack on the ground in front of Sevari, not flinching from his outburst. He stared at his brother with cold blue eyes. “Point is, dear brother, you’re fortunate my sister was there because even you are no match for an entire crew of Dominion veterans. One yelled, sounded an alarm, you would have died and we wouldn’t be having this charming conversation.

“Only an idiot would go into a wolf’s den to kill the pack leader, and that eve, you were that idiot. At least the fucking terrorists had half a wit to try and murder dear old Erincaro in the middle of a street away from reinforcements, but their failure reflects poorly on the caliber of people this insurgency attracts.” his face contorted into a snarl. “Like your friends, for instance. The same ones I single handedly stopped a number of, imagine what we could have done if you’d helped me instead of prostrating yourself in front of them.” He spat back, stepping away before his limbs decided to do something on their own accord.

“We’ll follow your damned plan, but don’t you dare lecture me about being reckless or somehow beneath you when you’re the one who got shackled and nearly sent off to an executioner’s block because of your foolish assassination plot and requiring Marassa to save you from that fate.” Zaveed said, spitting into the dirt, his hands gripping his axes like vice grips.

“Fine, Zaveed, you’re the only man in Tamriel to have ever faced shit odds and done the impossible and I’m a big fucking idiot who tried to do something he’d done more times than I can count on my damned fingers if fate hadn’t put Erincaro’s cock in your sister.” He seethed through gritted teeth and snatched up his bag, pulling free a bundle of cloth a little longer than his arm and tucking the pistol in his belt, “I’m sure the only reason you aren’t King of a unified Elsweyr is because you just don’t feel like it yet. If given the chance, Zaveed, you should find a nice, warm place to settle down and fuck yourself in it. I love you, but you’re a fucking asshole.”

"Boys." Letting out a deep breath, Sirine tried to control the twitch on her forehead from showing as she finally broke her silence. "Clearly there's a lot of pent up aggression here, years worth in fact, but a little calm and control never hurt anyone. Yes, there's next to little I know about either of you or your pasts or your connections to anyone in Gilane, but right at this moment none of this anger is helpful in the slightest." Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the khajiiti men. "I am fucking trusting both of you to help me find my brother. So perhaps lowering the aggression around here would be a start." Her eyes shifted away from the two to the patrons of the tavern, eyeing the drunk men as well as the women. "And maybe not speak so freely. Trust me, whores know how to listen when you least expect it."

Zaveed nodded curtly before letting out an annoyed, but controlled huff. “You’re correct, Sirine. Forgive me for my insolence. It has been a trying time the past while. Being nearly killed and soul trapped tends to make one’s disposition a bit less agreeable than usual.” he ground his toe in the sand above where he’d spat, as if concealing it. “I’m not too worried about so and so overhearing us at this point, we’ll be gone soon. Hopefully from Hammerfell where we can put all of this behind us and start fresh. There aren’t many bloody ships in the desert.”

He looked up at Sirine. “I gave you my word, I’ll help you find him and free him, if I am able. Did you locate him, Sevari?” he asked.

Sevari clenched and unclenched his jaw repeatedly, then nodded to Sirine while she spoke. He looked to Zaveed and gave him a once over, the anger on his face fading. He didn’t need this, he didn’t want this, so why were they so set on fighting all the fucking time?

“Yes.” He answered Zaveed and turned to Sirine, “He’s being kept in a secure prison the Dwemer are running. I don’t know it, I’ve never been there with the Ministry but I know where it is, so all we can really do is cross our fingers and hope Zaveed still has enough pull to secure your brother.”

"I see," she replied. Her hand clenched momentarily before she forced it open. This was good news, this meant he was alive. She was also inwardly relieved to see that the two brothers had begrudgingly decided to stop their arguing. "My thanks, both of you. A location is better than none." If Zaveed didn't have enough pull as Sevari called it, that would not change the fact that Sirine would still find some way to get her brother out of there. It would just be delaying the inevitable.

Zaveed shook his head. “Chances are, I’m a wanted man now. Sevari’s disappearance from the cells wouldn’t last long, if they aren’t already looking for me in suspicion, then it won’t be long. I’ve no idea if the Dwemer can communicate between forces long distance or not outside of traditional means, but it’s all the more reason we need to act fast. We get this wagon, we find this prison, we live up to our end of the bargain, yes?”

“A coach robbery and a prison break.” Sevari huffed, amused, “It’s a good thing you have two men who’ve done the impossible on their own. Imagine what we could do together.”

Sirine allowed herself a small smirk. "Now, now," she started, raising a hand, "perhaps my name isn't as grand as Captain Greywake here, but I've done my share of plundering as well." She looked from Sevari to Zaveed, her gaze pausig on the latter as she recalled his words when he had apologized. Soul trapped. Who? Why? Was that what had happened before he had collapsed on the docks? How evil was the person who not only tried to kill but steal a person’s actual soul? The very thought sent chills down her spine, causing the amusement on her face to disappear. If such a thing had happened, he wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t be here…

It hadn't. She turned her gaze away, though she was unable to rid herself of the darkness that had overtaken her eyes.

Zaveed caught the shift in Sirine’s expression, but he chalked it up to nerves. “Well, with any luck, this job of ours will be bountiful and give us something to get into the prison. Shall we get started?” he asked.

Replying with a silent nod, Sirine held on to her medallion for a moment longer than necessary before sliding it under her tunic. She was more than ready to leave Gilane behind, even if it was in favour of the desert. Lucky for her, it wasn’t as if she had a choice- Bakih was out there.

Sevari turned to the door at a loud gaggle of young men and women, seven in number. Sevari didn’t have to gesture towards them, their demeanor was a huge, shining banner to Zaveed and Sirine. He looked back at the pair, “Let’s.”

---

For a couple of adventurers down on their luck, they did a great job of robbing this caravan. Folki was lost, caught by a bullet in the head and Carleon was cut pretty back across her back. He’d seen her endure more though, so he wasn’t worried. All in all, Folki might be gone and Carleon might be resting in the back of the coach, but the rest of them were still kicking. They’d left the Dwemer in the sun and taken their things, now it was only a matter of time until Faddhi promoted him to second-in-command of their little band of brigands once they rolled into the hideout with this.

“Khawaddi,” Bjorn rode up to him as he sat beside the wagon’s driver, “I’m glad I threw in with you lot. Not much else to do in Skyrim since…”

“Yes, I know, but you’ll always have a home with me.” Khawaddi said.

“Thank you. I owe you my life.” Bjorn said.

Khawaddi turned to Zara, the Dunmer who was driving the coach. She had been a steadfast ally since Khawaddi could remember. He didn’t know what he’d do without her as his second. “You know-“

It was as if somebody torched fire salts inside Zara’s head as it exploded violently, leaving chunks of brain in his lap and hot blood spraying in his face. He could feel chunks of Zara’s skull clip his cheek as he put his arm up. Once it came down and he saw the stump of Zara’s neck he sat there for a moment, hearing the crack of a Dwemer rifle in the distance only after the carnage.

“Attack! There’s an attack!” Bjorn reared his horse as it cried to the sky, kicking its forelegs before it too caught a bullet and collapsed right over Bjorn. “My leg!”

Khawaddi looked on in horror as his plan was coming to pieces. They hadn’t scouted any outriders or other patrols bringing up the rear. Who were these attackers?

---

The carbine jolted against Sevari’s shoulder, letting out a loud bang and throwing up a plume of dust as he lay prone amongst the sand. They’d been riding alongside the bandits and their coach for some time until Sevari tired of the hunt and decided to set up then and there. It turned out to be a good choice, as a bend in the road slowed the coach down to a crawl as far as Sevari and his carbine were concerned. He had a millennia to adjust his aim and steady himself, and it paid off when he caught the driver in the head and then the second shot put a hole through the horse’s heart.

“Alright, let’s meet our new friends.” Sevari got up to his feet from the sand, “I’ve been itching for it. Mount up.”

Sirine didn't need any more instructions to do so, quickly mounting her horse and urging it forward. Personally she didn't quite like horseback riding- it was uncomfortable, it chafed, and she didn't quite feel in control as she would on her own two feet. It also reminded her a little too much of the lumbering fools she would have to service. Lucky for her that despite her dislike she had been taught how to ride during her years away from the sea in Gilane. She was no expert, but the former pirate did know how to get her mount from one point to the other.

Her eyes scanned the caravan, ignoring the man currently struggling beneath the horse. Chances were he'd already hurt himself enough from the weight of the dead beast that he wouldn't be a bother, and fairly easy to get rid of at that. It was the three uninjured men she had to worry about now. Well, that made things simple enough. Urging her mount forward yet again, she pulled her dagger from its sheath. It was a shame her weapon wasn't long range or longer in general for that matter, but for the time being it would have to do.

Zaveed wasn’t far behind her; he wasn’t the most comfortable on horseback, having found the sensation of a large bucking animal beneath his balls uncomfortable and rather uninviting for any duration of time, so he stood in the stirrups, urging the brown beast on until it was upon the wagon. As the horse slowed down to avoid a collision, he adjusted his feet so only his toes were in the stirrups, and he kicked off, shoving with his hands over the horse’s hind end to clear its body and he landed in a crouch, absorbing the impact with the shift in his posture. He stood erect once more, pulling an axe free in one hand and a pistol in the other.

“O, my lass upon the sea
How my heart has yearned for thee
Show your countenance upon the gales
Let your smile fill my sails…” he sang, clanging his axe against the side of the wagon, looking for his foes when suddenly a sword tore through the canvas in front of him prompting Zaveed to lean back to avoid the blow and he opened fire slightly right of where the blade had popped through. A scream filled the desert morning and Zaveed carried on towards the mouth of the wagon.

“It’s been seven long years away from home
O my love how my heart has grown
To see how much you’ve meant to me
When I was gone out to sea…” he sang, readying another shot as he pulled the rupture-headed driver from the seat and climbed aboard, aiming into the canvas.

“Come out where we can see you, especially you; I know that wasn’t a kill shot because you’d be quiet as a mouse.” He called.

A laugh filled the air, sounding almost sweet and serene, yet in the current setting it was anything but. It took a moment for Sirine to realize it was coming from her own lips, and she didn’t even attempt to temper her show of mirth. She could feel it once more, the intoxicating power of being in control, of knowing the person on the other side of her blade feared her, knowing she was in charge of who lived and who died. Zaveed's singing only spurred her further, and despite the sand and the dust and no sight of water nearby, she felt alive

Her leap off the horse wasn't as graceful as the khajiit's, but she landed easily enough on her feet, free hand momentarily pressing down against the ground before she practically jumped to a stand. This was much better. A grin on her lips and a shine in her eyes, she approached the wagon from the back, ready to stop anyone from thinking of escaping. "Hurry now, we haven't all day."

“I’ll kill you!” The Nord pinned under the horse thrashed about, though his grimacing could’ve been for his broken leg or his anger at them, Sevari couldn’t tell, “I’ll kill the lot of you!”

“Uh-huh.” Sevari said, slipping down from his heavy draft’s saddle, casually pulling free his pistol and blowing a hole through the man’s head, letting the thirsty sand drink up. His walk to Zaveed and Sirine was uninterrupted by the exchange, holding his pistol out from his waist at the ready.

“We don’t want to kill you in there!” Sevari called out to whoever was in the coach, “I can’t speak for my friends, though. Just come out, walk away from this. There’ll be a thousand other-“

“Fuck you!” A shrill scream from inside the coach, “Why?”

“Why?” Sevari threw back.

“They’re dead!” The voice answered.

“Happens.” Sevari shrugged, looking from Zaveed to Sirine then back to the coach, “Dangerous life you chose.”

Nothing from the coach. He looked to Zaveed and Sirine, nodding to the coach, “We’re going to drag you out of there if we have to! After that, you’ll decide what we’ll have to do, if you catch my meaning.”

“I do.” The voice said, “Just let me and Carleon go.”

“We want this coach, not you or Carleon.” Sevari spoke back, “Just step out when it opens. Keep your hands up, nothing funny. Slow-like, snails in winter, aye?”

“Alright, aye!” The voice said, desperation and panic apparent in the quivering of it.

Shapes moved in the canvas cover and a Bosmer clutched her side from where Zaveed’s bullet had entered her body, the owner of the voice, he presumed, and a Breton man with shaggy black hair that had to belong to Carleon. “Nice and slow. Show your hands.” Zaveed ordered calmly, his pistol trained on the two bandits who filed out of the wagon slowly, not wanting to die this day after the rest of their companions met such a fate. The Bosmer’s eyes lingered on the dead Nord and horse, and she sucked in pained air between her teeth, and soon both were standing in the sand. Zaveed made sure his companions had the pair covered, before calling out. “I’m checking inside the wagon. Sirine, go pick yourself a weapon. You look under dressed with that dagger.” he said, disappearing into the wagon.

"Normally I would be offended," she replied to his disappearing back, "but you do have a point." Her dagger was good for the close combat she had engaged in when boarding ships, but it was quite clear to her that she needed something else to accompany her orcish dagger, something with more reach. Looking away from the Bosmer and the Breton, her eyes shifted instead to the dead Nord beneath the horse, the morning sun glinting off of what she presumed was a blade. Curiosity getting the better of her, she made her way to the dead duo to see if her presumptions were true.

There was no moving the horse away, but she didn't have to. Pushing at the Nord with her boot, she was able to grab the hilt of the sword and pull it away from the dead man. At first glance she could tell it was neither a blade from Hammerfell or even Cyrodiil. Perhaps a sword from Skyrim? The style and make looked familiar to the other Nordish blades she had previously seen. Perhaps Zaveed or Sevari would be able to enlighten her as to its particulars. It was certain heavier that the dagger she was used to carrying- the latter always felt like an extension of her arm, but this was different. She could feel the weight, but it wasn't uncomfortable- it felt good in her hand.

Wiping it clean on the Nord man's clothes, the Imperial Redguard lingered there only long enough to see if there was a scabbard along with the blade, but alas, she returned with the sword alone.

Sevari had an eye on the Bosmer and Carleon. They shared a stare, each not knowing exactly what to do with the other now that they were apparently and suddenly not being killed or killing. Sevari frowned, he wasn’t sure what to do. These were young men and women, probably their first robbery, even. He sighed, his shoulders dropping as he nodded back down the road they were headed down until this all happened.

Carleon nodded, looking at the Bosmer girl and the two limped off. Sevari wasn’t sure if that was a good deed, if it was stupidity or kindness. But it felt good, almost. Maybe Marassa was right, he didn’t have to be such a damned murderous bastard all the time. Mercy was a joy of its own. But, then he got thinking about how much of a murderous bastard he used to be when he was leader of his own gang.

He’d probably truss up Carleon and the Bosmer and burn them alive or hang them like treasoners for letting themselves get crossed like this. He’d probably hunt those who did this border to border, north to south, east to west until he found them. The more he thought on it, the more he knew that he didn’t need a murderous bastard looking for them in every tavern from here to Hegathe and every city nearby.

He raised his carbine, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. It jolted against his shoulder and the bullet caught the Bosmer just where her neck and head met. She dropped like a brick wall and Carleon just stood for a second. As Sevari looked away to focus on working the lever of his carbine and slipping another round into the chamber, he heard Carleon’s wailing cry of, “NOOOOO!”

He sighted up again at Carleon on his knees over the Bosmer, the front sight looking to just poke Carleon’s earlobe from Sevari’s perspective. Another squeeze, another jolt, another corpse. It was quicker than whatever punishment awaited them. That’s what Sevari told himself. He hooked his thumb in his belt as he held his carbine at his side just past the trigger guard, barrel still smoking. He spat off to the side and lit the cigar he fished from his coat pocket, not looking at Sirine but instead looking at what he’d done as he spoke, “You found a blade?”

"That's right," Sirine replied with a nod, looking dispassionately at the now dead bandits. Truth be told, she'd had her doubts about Sevari letting them go, and a part of her had been itching to simply finish them off even if it was against the Ohmes-Raht’s wishes. Maybe she was paranoid, but being cautious was better than being an optimistic fool, so there was a hint of relief seeing they would no longer be heading anywhere.

“Perhaps it’s a sign that it’s what I should try, too.”

From the recesses of her mind, a memory from the previous night's conversation had forced itself to the front. Sirine let out the smallest tch under her breath; of all times to remember such words. There had been a time when she would simply loot and plunder- she had thought herself still good then, holding on to vestiges of honour. It wasn’t long before opposition from her victims lead to bloodier ends than she had wished to give them.

There is a time and place for everything, she reminded herself. Maybe Zaveed had spoken true, but she very much doubted even he would be able to shed his colours with a few silver words. Besides... She looked to Sevari at last. It could very well be that ending their lives is an act of compassion itself.

"It's a Nordish blade from the looks of it," she finally continued, inspecting her newly procured blade. It didn't seem to have been taken care of as well as it should have been, but it would work well in a pinch.

Zaveed appeared from the wagon’s opening, hopping off and onto the sand below. He’d heard the shots, but knew who the shooter was and instead opted to check the inventory. Looking down the road, he saw the two bodies lying prone and still. It appeared like Sevari wasn’t keen on loose ends. “That’s why you don’t speak of your illicit plans in public taverns.” He observed, immediately forgetting about the corpses. “Food, camp supplies, clothing, and a lot of water. If I were to wager, there’s been an increased demand for that sort of thing since the occupation; people don’t like strange elves lording over them, I cannot imagine why.” he said in a pithy tone.

"Yes, it's really quite baffling," Sirine muttered, her voice once more as dry as the desert sand. It was hard to hide the look of distaste on her face even if she knew very well that heading further into Hammerfell was currently a better refuge than her beloved sea. "Who wouldn't wish to live amongst ship scuttling, land grabbing, murderous bastards?" Only a deaf person would be able to miss the sarcastic tone in which she spoke. And perhaps the hypocrisy as well, seeing the three standing there were murderous bastards as well.

“That’s good.” Sevari said, turning on his heel and walking back to the coach where Zaveed stood. He chewed his lip for a bit, “There was supposed to be payroll in this thing, I’d like to feel what it’s like to have some money to my name again.”

He squinted his eyes and looked down the road at something, pointing with his chin so Zaveed could turn too, “What the fuck…”

There it was, shapes down the road obscured by the waves of heat radiating off of the sand. He couldn’t tell how many, just that they were moving. He shouldered the stock of his carbine and readied himself, “Could be some riders bringing up the rear. There weren’t any outriders, but I’m not keen on giving this up just when we got it fairly.” He looked to Zaveed, “What’s to do?”.

Zaveed gestured for Sevari to take position in his sniper’s perch. “You get somewhere high, where their numbers won’t matter much. I’ll take position here… Sirine, stay back and support me if they turn out to be hostile. I’m in armour and am quite comfortable in the middle of several adversaries, so let’s minimize the risk to you, yes?” he said, looking at the Redguard, his face a mask of determination. “It is not that I do not trust your capacity, but this is no time for ego. You’ve been out of practice for some time and I have guns and decades of experience facing shit odds, so please support me until you find your footing once more.”

"No need to worry, I don't plan on dying today." Sirine acknowledged his orders with a nod. She could understand his concerns and would have probably mentioned the same to a new recruit on her ship. Pride was secondary when the matter of survival was at hand. Her grip tightened around the hilt of her new sword, leaving her free hand weapon less for the time being. "Or any time soon for that matter."

Taking a few steps back, she lowered her weapon so that it wouldn't look threatening, though every fiber of her was feeling an itch, ready to spring forward and deal a strike on a foe. She had no trust for strangers, and even if they were innocents passing by, there was no telling what they might do when they saw the dead bandits around the caravan and came to the right conclusion.

---

The day was quick, gritty, bloody. They had left the city behind and hoped to wash their hands of it. What was supposed to be a place for them to seek refuge with Roux in had turned out to be a pit of snakes, each with their own motives and goals. It was something the Reachman had no taste for and it left him scowling to remember it, like rotted meat on his tongue.

He opted to ride ahead of the rest, Sora being the only one to go with him, and only after some prodding. Even if he had missed her so much it sundered his heart to dust, almost, he wanted to be alone. If he couldn’t have that, he’d at least have some quiet. The trip was wordless until Latro heard the loud echoes of Dwemer guns carried on the breeze and looked to Sora. “Let’s ride on,” he said, not that Sora had much of a choice in the matter, being sat behind him in the saddle of his horse, whom he’d taken to calling Faolan, “See what that was about and warn the others if there’s a patrol ahead.”

He kicked into Faolan’s flanks and they were off at a gallop. What greeted the pair was a foreboding sight, but Latro was intent on seeing what it was about. He could see from the distance they were at that a horse lay in its own blood, two other shapes farther down the road too. A coach that looked to be laden with supplies and two people yet standing.

As they got closer, Latro pulled back on the reins some and slowed to a trot, bringing his horse to a stop some distance away. An armored Cathay and a Redguard woman holding a bare sword in a fist. “We come in peace…”

The last word from Latro’s mouth seemed to gutter out of him as recognition set in his gaze, hardening his eyes and he pulled free his stolen pistol. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, not to speak on his marksmanship with it thus far, or lack of it. “How fucking nice to see you again,” Latro spat but otherwise kept the pistol clutched tight in his lap and ready to be raised, “They send you to head us off, you fucking whoreson?”

Zaveed’s pistol was out in a flash, his dagger in the other hand. The Cathay scowled at Latro; of all the people who had to stumble across him, it had to be the one Sevari had a soft spot for. “Cruel choice of words, but accurate. My mother was a whore, and her lifestyle is the reason I’m here pointing a gun at those pretty dimples of yours.” The glow of soul gem energy radiated behind the projectile, something Latro would be able to clearly see down the barrel of the weapon. “I was just leaving town, and sure as the moons rise and fall in the morning and night skies, you happened to stumble across me leaving this wretched city behind. Turn back; I’ve no taste for a fight right now. My threat to you is ended.”

Daro’Vasora peered around Latro, seeing who it was. Her heart filled with a hot anger as she quickly dismounted, pulling her mace from her belt. “Oh, if it isn’t the piece of shit who broke my arm and murdered Roux in cold blood. I’m surprised you haven’t decided to start shooting yet on principle, or did you feel like torturing Raelynn or I some more?” she snarled, her hand clenched around the Dwemeri mace that now sat on her hip, a ‘gift’ from the Ministry agents her and her friends had fought.

“And what purpose would that serve, my dear? You’re here, much to my displeasure. I don’t much care what happens to you terrorists, but my brother does, so in honour of his new found…” Zaveed scoffed as his visage morphed into a sneer. “Affections for the lot of you, I’ll spare your lives if you turn the other way and forget that I exist. It was fun, but I’ve no intentions of having to spill any blood today.” he gestured at the bodies. “Believe it or not, that was half bandits, half my brother. I’m doing rather well today, thank you and fuck off.”

“Put that pistol down, boy.” Sevari’s low growl came from nowhere until he got to a knee on top of the coach, his carbine’s buttstock nestled in the crook of his hip. “No one’s keen on shooting no one.”

“Don’t ‘boy’ me. I take it your loyalty tired out after I helped you kill your brother and his friends?” Latro growled, jaw set. “I shouldn’t have trusted you past stabbing me in the back when I was the one asking favors.”

“That’s not how it was, Latro.” Sevari said, but left it at that, only adding a tired, “I’ve lost a lot the past few days.”

“I’ve lost plenty.” Latro growled as if to disperse the weighty words from the Ohmes, arm aching to raise his pistol, but smarter thoughts staying his hand, “I still stand by those that stand by me.”

Latro’s frowning eyes swept over to the Redguard woman, “I know these two foul shits, who’re you?”

Sirine had a myriad of questions fighting one another in her mind, and she didn't quite know which one to ask first, so perhaps it was a good thing the... man Sevari called Latro had addressed her. Then again, she didn't quite like the way he and his partner had just come and interrupted their voyage. Clearly there had been more than an altercation between the newcomers and the brothers- it sounded like her two companions had been busy. Her eyes narrowed for a moment before loosening her grip on the sword. It didn't seem as if Zaveed or Sevari had any desire to kill these two, despite the former's clear hatred. Were these the friends mentioned when they were still standing by the tavern?

"Not that it's any of your fucking business, but I'm called Sirine." She decided there was no real reason not to give her name. She looked between the four before sliding her sword under her belt. If need be, she'll keep to her dagger, but for now, it seemed the only cutting that would take place were with words. Returning her gaze to Latro, she addressed Zaveed instead, voice rather icy in the desert heat.

"Are they the ones who nearly killed you?" And tried to trap your soul?

“Friends… acquaintances of the one who did? It’s complicated.” Zaveed replied.

“What’s complicated about parading me through the streets and forcing Latro into captivity in exchange for not splattering my fucking brains across the streets?” Daro’Vasora challenged, stepping forward, her grip on the mace as tight as a mudcrab claw. “I’m surprised you have friends, you degenerate pile of shit. So what was it? You nearly died and decided to quit because you can’t stand the thought of someone being better than you, that you’re a coward who preys on people who thinks as easy marks?” Her emerald gaze was piercing; there was no fear towards Zaveed shown, despite what he’d done to her. “If I do nothing else here today, I’m going to make sure you feel everything you did to us, you fucking slave. Who willingly serves the Dwemer to be their knife in the dark, huh? Are you psychotic?”

“You need to work on your threats, my dear; they tend to land when they aren’t accompanied by so much filler.” Zaveed replied dryly. “For instance, I’ll gut shot Latro here and let him bleed out with a ruptured intestine before driving my dagger through your throat so he can slowly die as he watches you suffocate on the blood that’s filling your lungs through your severed airway. Does that hit close to home? Because you know what I can do. What can you do?”

“Everybody shut the fuck up.” Sevari raised his voice and leapt down from the coach’s roof, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and showing his hands in peace. “Just don’t do this, Latro, Sora. We’ve all lost something to the damned city over there. Let’s not lose our lives.”

“Fine.” Latro said to Sevari, but gaze kept on Zaveed. He’d had a mage armor spell on himself shortly after he and Sora exchanged words, the Khajiit’s mere presence compelling him to don one. He looked to Sevari, “But your damned brother even looks at Sora a tick too long for my liking…” he rested a hand on the steel axe looped on his belt.

Sevari sighed, nodding his head at what was left unsaid and put his hands at his side, “Okay.” Sevari said, “Okay. What’s to do, then?”

Latro looked at Sora, chewing his lip and shook his head as he looked back to Sevari, “I don’t know.” He looked at Sora, searching for an answer.

Sirine looked to Sevari, ignoring the newcomers for the time being. "There's no need to ask," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "Whatever shit you brothers have with these two and their group has no bearing on our plans. We have to do as we set out to."

She turned her gaze away from the Ohmes-Raht and looked instead at the man named Latro and the khajiit woman next by his side. "I don't know what happened, and frankly, I don't give a shit. What I do care is if your animosity costs me my plans, and that includes hurting this one." She motioned towards Zaveed with a nod. "The only reason I haven't attempted killing you two yet is because they clearly don't want to shed your blood. But I'm my own person, so if I do see something I find upsetting, please don't say I didn't warn you if my dagger finds its way through your guts."

With that said, she uncrossed her arms and stepped back, looking rather placid though there was a clear burning in her eyes.

“Alkosh, assholes breed assholes…” Daro’Vasora muttered to her breath, relaxing her mace. She didn’t know what was to come next, but she wasn’t sure if she liked the implications of what was coming next.

“Our friends are going to be here shortly,” she said, staring at Zaveed. “That also means Gregor. So the way I see it, you three leave us this wagon to transfer our infirm, and you can get three of the horses to do with whatever you please, as long as it’s not the same direction we’re going. Nobody has to die, but it doesn’t mean I want to tolerate your existence any longer than I have to.”

Zaveed raised the barrel of his pistol, but he didn’t break his stare at the woman, as if challenging Latro to make good on his threats. “Unnegotiable. This wagon is our prize and we need the supplies. You lot can bugger off and die in the desert.”

"Aye," Sirine agreed, her eyes narrowing as her hands slipped down to rest upon both of her blades. "I see absolutely no reason why you would fathom thinking you're entitled to any of this."

Latro frowned, they had reached an impasse from the first moment that Latro saw Zaveed. There weren’t going to be any easy options for anybody here. Latro took a breath, looking from Sevari to Sirine, “What even are your plans? They’ve got to be right fucking wicked if you absolutely need this sack of shit alive.” Latro said, nodding to Zaveed, he turned to Sevari, “What are you three doing? If your brother’s fleeing the city, then you’re not beholden to the Dwemer.”

“Enemy of my enemy…” Sevari muttered. Latro nodded, but Sevari frowned, “Problem is, the entire world is that man’s enemy.”

Sevari turned to Zaveed and Sirine, “I told you we need friends. Especially for the stunt we have to pull next. I’m not doing this insane shit with just three people.”

“Asking favors again?” Latro frowned, “Shit on your fucking favor. Me and mine are leaving this fucking country.”

“So are we.” Sevari said.

“Alright, then, good luck.” Latro said, offering his hand to Sora, “Let’s go. We have our friends and we outnumber these assholes.”

Sirine let out small but frustrated sigh, her passive expression breaking for the time being. Was Sevari right? Probably. And if that were true, then it meant her brother would be stuck in a prison in the desert because of her bloody pride. Her hand left the pommel of her sword and curled around the coin hidden beneath her tunic. She had given up her pride when she let men use her for pleasure- surely this was better than that, if the pretty boy was somewhat placated.

"My plans, surprisingly, aren't wicked in the slightest," she finally replied. The fire in her eyes had quelled, replaced with resigned darkness. "The dwemer have my brother, and this 'sack of shit' as you so eloquently call him offered his help for no recompense." Her grip tightened around the medallion. "If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even be here, I’d-” She stopped herself before she could say anything more about that. “I owe him- my brother owes him." She looked to Latro, another frustrated breath escaping her. How she hated her emotions getting the better of her. "Gilane, Hammerfell, Oblivion can take them. I don't care. All I want is my brother back and to then return to the sea."

And then she looked away, jaw clenched tightly. "Even if it's me alone, I will do what I have to."

Zaveed's expression softened into a frown; he had his deal with Sirine to honour and that wouldn't be able to happen if everyone started butchering one another. His thoughts drifted momentarily, Raelynn came to mind. She would be with the rest of them, and he owed her his literal life. “Compassion is her strength.” he muttered to himself. Suddenly, his weapons were put away.

“Raelynn is with you, isn't she?” he asked quietly, looking down into the sand. “She spared me when she had every right to kill me. I tried to help her in that endeavor, but she had a change of heart and healed me instead of helping drive my dagger into my heart. She implored me to earn this second chance, and it's an obligation I take seriously.” he looked back to Sirine before turning to Daro'Vasora and Latro.

“What's it to you?” Daro'Vasora asked cautiously, her eyes narrowing. Zaveed simply nodded, resigned, as his hands went to rest on his axes.

“Your lot has every reason to hate me; the feeling actually isn't mutual. The way I see it, I owe two people debts of gratitude, Raelynn being one, Sirine the other. Sevari and I abandoned our forced service to the Dwemer, and Sirine helped me recover and find my sister. I need to help her for a change, and this wagon was going to be how we do it.” he drawed a long breath. “So we're going to that prison in the sands, that ruin, and we're getting her brother back. This cannot change, and Raelynn wanted me to be a better man. This is the first step down that path. Let us do this.” Zaveed asked, not forcefully.

Daro'Vasora was taken aback at the admission; someone had nearly killed him, and Raelynn saved him? What on Nirn was going on? She decided to leave that for another time as she looked towards Latro, and then to Sirine. She thought of everything she was willing to do to keep La'Shuni safe, and this stranger was no different, she suspected. “We're actually headed that way, for unrelated reasons.” she looked to Latro once more. “What do you think? Do we have mutual cause? You said you trusted Sevari.”

Latro took his moment, letting his gaze drift over the trio before him and Sora. “Trusted.” Latro said, watching Sevari sigh and look away from him, “But I stand by the people that stand with me. I helped you do a lot, and I’m sorry you had to do those things. Earn my trust back, asshole.”

Latro laid a hand on Sora’s own as he stepped down from his stirrup, walking up to stand square with Zaveed, “You trying to be a better man?” Latro didn’t wait for an answer, instead taking a step closer to Zaveed with the same eyes blazing with malice he had upon their first meeting, “Then earn my damned trust. If you aren’t here when we come back with the rest, I’ll kill you next time we meet. If you so much as frown at Sora, I’ll cut that frown from your fucking face. I give you my word as Finnen Pale-Feather of the Crow-Wife Clan.”

He walked away and again sat in his saddle, looking at the trio, “I give you the same word that you’ll have my axe with you if you really are telling the truth. But to tell my truth, your word doesn’t mean Faolan’s shit to me yet.”

And he and Sora were off, Faolan kicking up a trail of dust as they shrank back to the distance.

“Fancy fucking title.” Zaveed muttered, tapping his foot in the sand. He turned to his companions and shrugged. “I'm in no hurry. Let's get those bodies to the side of the road; you only get one chance to make a second impression, after all.”

Sirine's hand had been gripped tightly around her dagger's hilt when Latro had stood before Zaveed; if the man had done anything more than threaten, she wouldn't have stopped herself from striking. Now that he and the Khajiit woman were gone though, she could no longer hold her cool. She yanked her dagger from her belt and fell to a knee, slamming it into the ground. "Fuck them," she hissed under her breath, hand shaking even as she held onto the hilt "Maybe we need them... but fuck them."

Letting out a loud huff, she composed herself enough to pull her dagger from the ground and stand up once more. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes momentarily and nodded. "Let me help," she muttered to Zaveed, opening her eyes and shoving her blade back in its place.

Zaveed smiled at Sirine, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “They have reason to be testy, Beautiful Sirine. But I'm willing to put aside my differences with sworn enemies if they could possibly help you. I know what actually matters, so accept my apology for making such enemies that could make keeping my promise to you needlessly harder.”

Sirine glanced at the khajiiti man, biting at her lip to keep herself calm, focusing instead on his fingers against her cheek, as silly as that may be. "It was never going to be easy," she finally replied, relenting a little. "You don't need to apologize, Zaveed. You don't- you and Sevari don't have to do any of this- I know that. The fact that you're both going out of your way to help- I don't know if you realize what that actually means to someone like me."

She looked down, feeling ashamed of her show of anger. "I should not be losing my composure like this. My apologies."

Zaveed's thoughts wandered to how he first met the girl, how she had agreed to help him without reservation when all others had turned away from the sight of him. He lifted her chin with a finger so she need not look ashamed. “I know what it means. You showed me the way yourself.” he said softly, before stepping back and surveying the bodies. “At least our problems aren't the worst suffered here today.” he said with a grin.

"Yes... life is quite pleasant to have." Sirine surprised herself by letting out a small laugh before she too made her way to the closest corpse, ready to rectify impressions.

Sevari stood cradling his carbine, watching Latro go with Sora. It did hurt to have his loyalty to someone he was starting to call his friend called into question after everything already. He couldn’t join Zaveed or Sirine in saying ‘fuck them’. Latro, he felt unlike his two companions, was one he called his friend and a friend he was called in turn. ‘Life is quite pleasant to have.’

Sevari let a lone bark of a chuckle go, “Ain’t it sometimes.”

---

“Fucking. Zaveed.” Daro’Vasora said after a spell, when her and Latro were on the final approach coming up to Calen. “There’s no way they’re still there when we get back, is there?” she asked tersely.

“I don’t know.” Latro said, “I don’t trust Zaveed not to have had those fucking kitten eyes be a damned lie. And that Sirine? Who’s to say he isn’t stringing her along too just so he can get as far away from here as he can?”

He growled, “Sevari is the only one out of them I trust. Even then, I’d like to kick a hole through his guts for abandoning us when we needed him.”

Daro’Vasora thought on that for a few moments. “Before he abandoned you, was he reliable, did he ever give you a reason to distrust him?” she asked, adjusting in the saddle. “Those two claimed they left the Dwemer’s service, maybe the two factors aren’t coincidental. He seemed pretty crestfallen when you confronted him.”

“You’re right. Past the whole thing about our friendship based on the fact we started it by brutalizing each other in a warehouse, he saved my life.” Latro nodded, “He did say he was going to pretty much do the impossible to help us get you out of there. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too harsh.”

“It would be an easier thing to swallow if his brother wasn’t there…” the Khajiit muttered.

“Wouldn’t it?” He grumbled back, pulling up on his reins just as Faolan got them to the stables at the inn.

The group gathered around, having kept a low profile at the Crooked-Tooth Inn, and with the return of their three companions after a far shorter time than they’d expected, they were soon off, leaving Gilane behind before Governor Razlinc Rourken had a chance to regroup and scour the desert for them. Hopefully, with any luck, she still thought they were in the city, or her Centurions found them first.

Much to Daro’Vasora’s surprise, the wagon was still there, along with a neatly lined row of corpses in a very modest burial cairn. Zaveed, Sevari, and Sirine stood watching them approach, stone-faced. She turned in the saddle to face the others behind her.

“Okay, I held off saying any of this until now because if we decided to have a big fuck-off argument, I’d rather do it away from the city where our troubles would find us and kill us immediately. We ran into some… friends of ours. I’m sure some of you know about Zaveed and Sevari, and they have a friend with them.” she said, before letting off a heavy and irritable sigh. “We’re going to be travelling with them for a while. Latro and I don’t trust them, but they don’t appear to be in league with the Dwemer any more and they’re going where we’re going; that prison outside of Gilane where no one ever returns. More importantly, they have a wagon full of supplies we need to survive the desert.

“If we’re going to stop this damned invasion, we need to get I presume the prison has; a functional lexicon programmed with coordinates to where the Dwemer were exiled to, as well as maybe freeing the people who are there as potential allies in the fight ahead. I don’t like this any more than any of you do, but the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and right now it seems like our enemies are far more concerned about their family than they are with hunting us.” she said, her teeth grinding in irritation.

“Before any of you pipe up with objections, Zaveed broke my fucking arm and Raelynn spared his life after he tortured her and murdered Roux. I hate him to my core, but I’m willing to take a stupid risk on a truce if it means accomplishing our real mission and having a better chance at surviving.” Daro’Vasora said darkly, looking each of her companions in the eyes. “I’m going forward with this, and if I have to do it alone, so be it. I will see it done; stealing valuable treasures from ruins is pretty much my life’s work, and we outnumber these assholes considerably.” she adjusted back in her saddle to face forward towards the approach. “Let’s see how this plays out.”

Sevari was the first to greet them, carbine still cradled in his arms as he raised his hand to them. He was thankful that he could immediately spot Latro and Jaraleet as the first of their large group to arrive. And that one girl, with her sword that was too much like his. He focused on the first two as he stepped up to speak, “Latro, Jaraleet, these two know me. They’ve helped me more than you could ever know, friends almost.” He nodded to Aries, nervousness stealing his tongue as the events of Al-Aqqiya came back to him, “Janelle. We’ve much to talk about.”

“We’ve got a stagecoach full of supplies, more than we need.” He nodded, “We’ve also got the same destination. Far as I see it, we’re all allies here.”

Latro hocked something up, making sure it was loud enough for everybody to hear it, and spat it just short of Sevari’s boot. “Uh huh.”

Sevari threw his arms out and shook his head at him, his face the very picture of exasperation, Latro chuckled, “All allies here, friend.”

Zaveed’s eyes met with Gregor’s, and the Cathay offered a sly wink before turning away from the new arrivals. “Well, this is bound to end well.” He said aloud, rapping on the side of the wagon with his knuckles. “Should any of you wish for a more comfortable ride in the shade, climb aboard. My back will be to you, so you need not worry. I’m at the disadvantage here.” He nodded to Sirine, and the two climbed aboard the bench.

And then, the group was off into the Alik’r Desert. Hours passed, with frequent stops to water the horses, and the companions, many of whom were not accustomed to the deadly desert heat, and Shakti and Mazrah both acted as able guides across what seemed like a wasteland intent on killing them all; a number of sun-bleached bones that had once belonged to some wildlife or unfortunate traveller appeared once in a while, a grim reminder of what awaited them if they were guided wrong.

As it turned out, Shakti’s memory and knowledge of her homeland was unwavering. She guided them into a rocky crevice that opened up into a tunnel, barely tall enough to have the covered wagon fit through but wide enough for three horses to ride abreast, and soon the sound of flowing water filled their ears, ringing off of the rock walls. Soon, the tunnel opened up into a cavern, and they stepped into a self-contained world of lush vegetation and an underground river that nourished it all, above an opening showed the blue sky that rained down a radiance of sunlight onto the group, the ground covered in soft mosses and lichen on sandy ground.

Spirits lifted and weary from the travel and the heat, the group began to unpack the wagon and before long had a comfortable camp set up, a number of tents and bedrolls available, should anyone command their own privacy.

Mass Effect: Sinless

Ardan

Race: Turian
Gender: Male
Class: Soldier
Age: 42
Homeworld: Oma Ker

---

Appearance:

Ardan is a powerfully built and burly turian who has been conditioned by a lifetime of military conditioning and his own drive to strive for peak physical fitness. Standing at 6’05” (182cm) and weighing around 208 pounds (94 kilograms), he maintains a strict military-style fitness regimen, situation permitting, and a mostly regulated diet that permits few luxuries. His carapace is indented and marked from scars from years of combat experience and entirely too many close calls with shrapnel, he’s fortunate to still possess all of his limbs and digits and both of his eyes.

His face is covered by one of the Oma Ker colony markings, a dark blue that sometimes gets lost in the pale grey tone of his carapace when in darkened conditions, a constant condition on Omega. The entirety of his fringes are coloured, and a singular symmetrical line runs down his face, just under his pronounced cheek plates and across the bottom of his chin, and the left and right sides of his rectangular, serrated nose are similarly coloured. Much like his personality, it can be subtle until you begin to notice it, then it becomes very difficult to ignore.

His eyes seem to compromise between his tone and markings in that they are a pleasant blue-grey that are narrow and skeptical, if not outright distrustful, of people outside of what little close circle of friends and acquaintances he has left. Were it not for his perpetual predisposition to sneering and otherwise being dour of disposition, he could possibly be poster material for the Hierarchy recruiting vids, but those days are long behind him.

---

Psychological Profile:

Ardan Parvius is a classic example of a man whose entire life and beliefs were shaken to the core and responding in a less than ideal manner. Where he was once assured of the Hierarchy's supremacy and how it was a turian’s duty to fight until the enemy could no longer do so or there were no more turians left to fight, the fact that the humans breached galactic law and had put the turian military to shame during the Relay 314 Incident and the subsequent coddling the Council gave humans eroded the once ironclad faith Ardan carried in the Hierarchy. Now aimless and unsure of where his place is in the galaxy after coming from a strictly regimented society where all facets of life are assured, Ardan has had a degree of difficulty adapting to his new circumstances as a gun for hire on Omega. As a result, he is a bitter, sarcastic, and largely apathetic individual who lacks the direction or purpose that once defined him.

This has led to several career changes, an ill-advised and doomed marriage and little, if any, friends. While he is still boastful and confident to people he meets, several aspects of Ardan's personality are like a puzzle that has been dropped; several pieces don't fit where they should and the whole package isn't quite coming together. Nonetheless, he is still an extremely capable individual with several decades of combined military and mercenary experience and a talent for getting the job done. While his personality might put him at odds with his comrades, having some form of structure and leadership in his life may be exactly what he needs to get himself back on track and reclaim some sense of the purpose he had once had.

Adran is also a compulsive snacker, and a bag of nuts or other salted treats are never long away from his person. He enjoys collecting handguns and military paraphernalia as they remind him of a simpler, much happier time. A childhood toy, a stuffed volus, is one of his most cherished and sentimental belongings that now sits on a shelf in his apartment along with several other personal effects.

He possesses a degree of animosity and resentment towards Citadel Space and he harbours a lingering prejudice towards humans for being unwelcome newcomers to the galactic stage that demand far more than their station would permit, krogan for being warmongering savages that would try to conquer the galaxy the moment the genophage is lifted, quarians for being nomadic freeloaders who were more than capable of finding a new homeworld or colony in their 300 years of exile, and batarians for being utterly hostile to innocent lives and their practices in slavery and torture. However, as an operative, Ardan is capable of looking past his prejudices and working with members of most species in the galaxy and he has an easier time seeing individuals as exceptions to the rather unfortunate rule.

Despite his more self-centered approach to life and apathetic nature, Ardan still believes in order and the duties a turian must perform, and a lot of that means sticking up for people who cannot stick up for themselves and to preserve innocent lives. He has on numerous occasions risked his life to protect a non-combatant, regardless of species. While he is very much a typical product of Omega, he still adheres to a personal code of conduct.

---

Equipment:

• Elanus Risk Control Services M-100 Grenade Launcher
  
• Kassa Fabrication M37 Falcon
  
  *Omni-blade attachment, improved heat sink, optical sight
• Elanus Risk Control Services M-3 Predator
  
  *Hammerhead rounds, improved heat sink
• Elanus Risk Control Services Medium Guardian Armour
  
  

Abilities:

• First Aid
• Fortification
• Proximity Mine
• Adrenaline Rush
• Concussive Shot
• Fragmentation Grenade

---

Bio:

Born on the turian colony of Oma Ker in 2138CE, Ardan Parvius was the second born son to Varvius and Octaana Parvius, a turian artillery officer with the 78th Artillery Regiment and a fighter pilot with the 16th Flotilla respectively, giving the Parvius family a rather distinguished military pedigree and yet another cemented piece in a storied family mosaic. From a young age, Ardan learned of his family’s legacy and place in turian society on both his parents’ knees and grew up knowing that his parents could perish any day answering the call of duty. Because their service often took them across Citadel Space, Ardan was constantly on the move and all but assured to follow in his parents’ footsteps in becoming a career military man.

While his older brother Casius would enter his mandatory 15 year public service position as a police officer on Palaven, Ardan joined the military in 2153CE and after basic training he was enlisted in the 105th Combat Engineering Corps due to his high scores in mathematics and sciences. Keeping in touch with his parents’ units via Extranet packets on an allotted biweekly basis, Ardan’s career took him across Citadel space, joining in larger military exercises on turian colony worlds and joint exercises with allied asari and salarian units, leading to friendly rivalries with the 10th’s counterparts from the other Council militaries.

While most of his career was training and rising up the rank structure, reaching Corporal after 2 years of service, Ardan did see combat on remote worlds, engaging with pirates, turian separatists, and others operating outside of galactic law. His unit, being a combat engineer regiment, was largely responsible for establishing base camps, building defenses, and laying area denial weapons like landmines and turrets to deter the enemy. At the earliest opportunity, Ardan took Sapper and underwater demolitions training, wishing for an opportunity to bring the fight to the enemy.

These skills brought Ardan into specialized strike teams that acted in support of the infantry regiments and were used to destroy bunkers, breach buildings, and sabotage enemy infrastructure and vehicles. For his role in destroying an enemy artillery emplacement ahead of the main assault, Ardan was given the Banner of the 105th to carry on parade for the next month and several commendations from his superior officers. This would be the height of his career, as the next year was relatively peaceful without any major combat deployments until word came of an unknown alien race activating the dormant Relay 314. Soon, Ardan Parvius two months after his 19th birthday, would be deployed to Shanxi in what would be the largest military deployment of his career.

Ardan’s first meeting with humans ultimately ended up being a long-range firefight where him, his fellow sappers, and the infantry they were attached to spent hours shooting at distant muzzle flashes. The first time he saw a human up close was the corpses of the line they had overrun, and he found the humans to be unnervingly similar in appearance to asari. Thinking they were some distant cousin of the asari, Ardan spent most of the conflict paranoid about the humans having powerful biotic capabilities which they seemed to be holding back as some kind of strategic gambit to hit the turian forces should they overextend their supply lines. The human forces were quickly overrun and the planet was soon under turian control. A month long occupation followed, luring the turian garrisons into a false sense of security.

When the 2nd Fleet broke through and hit the turian positions, the once dominant turians found themselves on the defense and constantly losing ground to the fresh and vengeful human forces. Ardan fought hard and scored kills against human armour, including two Grizzly and three Mako tanks, before being ordered to retreat. Very nearly defying orders, Ardan and his unit reluctantly left the planet to regroup with the fleet.

When they found out that turian casualties at that point were higher than the humans, Ardan demanded his commanding officer convince his superiors to organize a strike force against the human supply lines and disorganize their forces before they could regroup and dig in to prepare for another invasion. Although rebuked for his insubordination, Captain Orodis nonetheless began to coordinate and organize an advance strike force with the Fleet with the blessing of high command. However, before the turians could counter-attack, a ceasefire was called and it came known that the Council was negotiating with the humans, the asari leading the efforts, further lending credence to Ardan’s suspicion that humans might be their distant cousins. Furious with the resolution of the conflict and how the turians, the most powerful military force in the galaxy, was forced into a treaty with the humans after suffering heavier losses was a scar that was, in Ardan’s eyes, an unforgivable embarrassment.

For the first time in the sapper’s career, Ardan started to think that maybe the turian Hierarchy had grown soft and would not be prepared to meet its peacekeeping mandate if its response to future threats was equally flaccid and spineless. Were the turians not the ones who had single handed stopped the krogans during the Krogan Rebellions? Ardan asked the Spirits for guidance, the spirit of the Hierarchy, of his Regiment, of his family, and he found no answers or comfort. Finding out his mother had lost a leg after being shot down in the conflict did little to steel Ardan’s resolve, and after watching the televised treaty being signed between human and turian representatives, most insultingly of all the Hierarchy agreeing to pay war reparations, was too much for Ardan. After 4 years of service, well short of the mandatory 15 years of public service turian culture demands of all citizens, Ardan deserted from the military, disappearing from the public eye for some time.

The next time anyone from the Parvius family heard from Ardan was when his brother Casius received an Extranet packet from an unknown source that turned out to be Ardan letting him know he was safe and in the Terminus Systems some three years later, putting as much space between him, humanity, and the Hierarchy as possible. Ardan managed to get a few more messages back and forth with Casius, who was now serving as a hastatim, and now acting as an emissary between Ardan and his parents. The former soldier disappeared for quite some time, only trying to contact his family once every few months. Before long, Ardan came to Omega, hoping to make a new life for himself far from what her perceived was a corrupt and ineffectual galactic government.

The next three years had not treated Ardan kindly, as trying to adjust to life on the largely lawless station was far outside of the orderly and lawful existence he had lead up until his departure from the military. He took up work with a building firm that needed someone with expertise in blasting rock, or tearing down old buildings, and for a while, Ardan found a humble calling that brought in enough pay to support a small one bedroom apartment in a mostly turian district, a mostly out of the way place with few amenities and beneath the notice of the gang warfare that seemed to sweep across the asteroid colony like clockwork. And so for years, Ardan somehow avoided making any meaningful social connections as his life was a routine and regimented cycle of work, exercise and training, and preparing to do it over again.

He had a few belongings to his name, including a small crate of things he’d managed to grab from Oma Ker before his defection, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that he needed more than his old service pistol for defense. Coming from a society where violent separatist groups were an expected part of life, living somewhere that was owned and run by street gangs was enough to make the turian realize that the quiet times wouldn’t last forever. His fears were validated when his company began to mine a new section of rock to expand a commercial district and discovered a strain of rare metals.

Knowing that it wouldn’t be quiet for long, Ardan quickly answered the call for a citizen militia to form by one of the more proactive members of the community, Regalus Vendaris, one of the community’s security officers, and immediately the community banded together and began running drills and training in anticipation for what came next. Within the week, a gang called the Crimson Fist arrived with a force of 30 men, who upon arrival declared that they were there to provide security for the new discovery. Anyone who had been on Omega for longer than a week know what that particular amount of double speak amounted to.

The gang was allowed into the community, uncontested, and unaware of the trap that was lying in wait for them. When the Crimson Fist arrived at the gates to the dig site, they were held up at the security gates and that’s when a firestorm erupted around them from the concealed militia; a section’s worth of ordinance was unleashed from the capable hands of military-trained turians who made short work of the Crimson Fist group, and from their bodies pried military-grade weaponry and technology to supplement their civilian and surplus arms, and the more pragmatic in the militia made arrangements with ethically-flexible doctors who needed the bodies for organs and testing purposes.

Ardan found a spark he’d been missing in his life for a few years; he’d missed the combat, the fighting alongside a fireteam. It felt good, he fight the pride and dignity seep back into his bones.

He blasted rocks for three more years.

Granted, he trained constantly with the militia and with the new influx of credits from the mining operation and the growing population of their humble community he could afford new weapons and arms that could even make gangs with mechs and armoured support hesitate to press their luck, but a few of the dumber or more risk-loving ones took their shots, and the results weren’t much better than the Crimson Fists three years prior. Ardan found himself away from the community more and more, taking side jobs as a gun for hire or to pick up needed supplies, and it was on these excursions that Ardan began to frequent a strip club at neighbouring Rhytheia District, the Blue Oasis, and it was there he met his first, and only, wife.

In a whirlwind romance, if one could call it that, Veetsha D’alyt, an asari, and Ardan got married a week after they met in a sketchy registration office and moved into a new apartment in Rhytheia District shortly after Ardan left his job with the company and the militia behind. His quality of life was better, and he found a more martial application for his skills, and they were happy for about three months when Veetsha up and left with most of their meager belongings and left Ardan little more than a recliner, the coffee table (sans seat), the built in vidscreen in the living room wall, and his collection of sidearms and the stuffed Volus plush toy he’d deemed worth saving as a memento of his home and life back on Oma Ker. Ardan, not being one to flex his convictions, was back as a regular of the Blue Oasis a week later. This time, he tipped a bit less.

Without much else in the way of options, Ardan became a freelancer, often taking jobs that involved taking down smaller gangs and criminals with outfits that required a replacement set of hands, Ardan spent decades building up a name for himself as a man who could get things done to the point where he could start commanding a price. From clearing vorcha out from undercities to smuggling jobs to commando-style raids that called upon his expertise with explosives, Ardan was contented with his corner of Omega and more often than not, the turian wasn’t hard pressed to find someone who wanted to buy him a drink and offer him a side gig. When news came of his old community being overrun and Regalus dying heroically in a last stand, Ardan simply raised a glass for an old fallen comrade.

Such was life on Omega.

---

Strengths:

• Ardan is a very disciplined fighter, as is drilled into most turians from youth. He does not lose his cool in a firefight, and he will stand his ground until victory or death, or a sound tactical retreat.
• Courage and Ardan go hand in hand, and he is not afraid to stand up for his convictions on and off the battlefield. While some may see him as uncompromising, one could count on him to be unwavering in his commitments and see things through to the end.
• Demolitions expert, Ardan is professionally and has a hobbyist proficiency in all manner of explosive devices and has an intuitive knack for yield sizes and how to properly rig together an IED out of spare components, and his throwing arm is impressive; if a grenade can fit somewhere, he can almost certainly toss it in, and he has an uncanny knack for being able to range the trajectory of a grenade or rocket launcher.

Weaknesses:

• Ardan is very prejudiced, if not outright racist, towards humans, krogan, quarians and batarians. He is very slow to trust, let alone like, anyone from these species for a number of reasons. While he’s not petty enough to let it get in the way of getting a job done, on a personal level it is an uphill battle to earn his respect and admiration.
• Still largely a military man at heart, Ardan has had a difficult time adjusting to the lawless Terminus Systems’ way of life. He has a strict personal code of ethics he is very reluctant to cross, Ardan remains determined to succeed and forge his own path free of the Hierarchy’s regulations and treaties. The turian simply does not understand the finer points of life on the street and he often is frustrated at the lack of clean, simple military-like solutions in this region of space.
• Ardan is a very competitive individual whose pride will not let him back down from a challenge, often leading himself into dangerous situations what he handles recklessly. He believes himself to be one of the best, and while he does have the skills to back up his hubris, he does not take well to losing.

Misc:

• Right mandible twitches when Ardan is irritated or annoyed
• Ardan will often idly fiddle with whatever he is holding, he enjoys keeping his hands busy, and it is a coping mechanism when he’s nervous
• Ardan is a guarded personality type that will often cross his arms when he is in disagreement, if he is unsure of someone’s intentions, or if he remains unconvinced about decisions or course of action.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Hey gang! While we're waiting for our big honking collab to finish up, I figured it would be fun to have an optional writing prompt.

So here's the idea; writing as if your character is recording in a journal or in an interview, have them recount their personal journey over the course of the RP as if they're looking back, sharing their thoughts and opinions on events, people, and places and how it's all affected and changed them over time. I thought it would be interesting for people to consider how much has happened to their characters so far and this stemmed from a chat over how a character sheet is more like a snapshot of who a character is at the start of an RP vs. How they develop and change to experiences they have.

It can be any length, it's just for fun!

Mass Effect: Sinless

@Burger We write novels because we need something to read in the bathroom.