RolePlayerGuilt — Roleplayer Guild

Night, Last Seed 9
Jehanna

When Ariane brought Tmeip'r's letter to him, it was really the last thing on Gustav's mind. He had his plate full, figuratively and literally. It had been two hours since the Kyne's Tear docked. Ashav had been told to leave (with his equipment and a small bag of coin, for Gustav's mercy), Dumhuvud had been introduced to the mercenaries as their new commander, and Gustav's Jehanna warehouse was prepared for the mercenaries to reside in. Gustav was currently sitting in the Screaming Chasm, one of Jehanna's twenty-one inns and the second closest to the docks (chosen to avoid the Lucky Bird, closest tavern to the docks and where other mercenaries flocked to). On his table was a full serving of bubble-and-squeak, a type of ragout signature to northern High Rock. Normally, a warm bowl of meat and vegetable made Gustav's mouth water, but right now, with various administrative tasks on his mind and Ariane reading the letter in front of him, the bubble-and-squeak did not look appetizing in the slightest. How could he care about dinner when the company's expenditures would soon drive him bankrupt? 

"So..." Gustav scratched his head, after Ariane had recounted the letter to him.

"The Sload we encountered at the cove, Tmeip'r, is merely the pioneer of a larger plot." Ariane explained, and cut a piece off of her sausage.

"Are they the Kamal?" Gustav was still confused. He scooped up a spoonful of the ragout; it tasted bland.

"I don't think so." Ariane shook her head. "Tmeip'r mentioned an invasion about to commence, and the Kamals invaded last month."

"Look, we're here to find my prophet, not playing heroes. We'll sell this information to the king, and, wait..." Gustav pondered, and while his mind did so, his throat choked the second spoonful of food. 

"You mentioned a princess?" Gustav cleared his throat. 

"Yes," recalled Ariane, "seems like she is in league with the Sload brothers and this Wrudh."

"The Princess of Jehanna is a bit of a wack job." Gustav leaned in and whispered. "I met her at the king's ball last year. She was collecting Reachman scalps and running alchemy experiments on goats. She's the third child the royal family neglects, the little girl her brothers look down upon, and she has the cruelty in her to consort with Sloads and whatever this Wrudh is."

"So..." It was Ariane asking the question now, she forked up a patch of mashed potato and gingerly brought it to her mouth.

"We still bring this to the court tomorrow." Gustav shrugged his shoulders. "We tell them what happened, get paid for it and take whatever job they have for us. We also have a funeral tomorrow, so for now, let's-"

The inn door suddenly burst open, behind it came half a dozen fully armed guards. The shouted and shoved patrons out of their way, until they finally approached a tired looking man at the bar (whom had been complaining about his job to the bartender earlier). Two guards seized the man and a third bound his hands.

"In the name of King Frithjolf, you are hereby arrested for neglect of public safety and suspected involvement in murder." The leading guard announced.

"Wait, what?" The man shook his head.

"You tell me, lighthouse keeper." The guard grabbed his head. "Why is there no one operating the lighthouse? Why do you have a newly-arrived drunk Redguard there? How did that drunkard fall to his death?"

"Newly arrived drunk Redguard..." Gustav shared a worried look with Ariane. "Ashav..."

"Is dead." Ariane finished.

Morning, Last Seed 10

Gustav had a terrible night. He dreamed about a dancing eggplant stealing his gold bars while giving him mocking gestures. Also, the guards questioned him until early morning.

He told them everything he knew and did to Gustav. And after a thorough interrogation and an intensive search of his warehouse and Kyne's Tear (disturbing many resting mercenaries in the process), the guards finally decided that Gustav had no part in Ashav's death and let him go. However, Gustav wasn't done with the guards yet. He asked them to show him the crime scene and their predictions, arguing that he deserved to know with all the troubles they put him through. 

So the guards did. Gustav saw Ashav's body lying under the lighthouse, with a deep wound in his torso and a dagger resting beside him. Gustav heard testimony from the lighthouse keeper, about how Ashav bribed him to access the lighthouse. Gustav listened to the investigators, whom told him that Ashav most likely committed suicide, jumping off when the dagger didn't end himself fast enough. Finally, Gustav asked for Ashav's body to bury. The guards agreed; they saw no need for a magical and alchemical autopsy. 

Now Gustav stood in the Conclave of the Golden Tomb, the city's Arkay temple and their largest cemetery. Ahead on the chancel, Arkay priests performed rites on four coffins; Roze, Adaeze, Ashna and Ashav. Mercenaries that were not seriously injured were required to attend the funeral, though not all of them actually came. Gustav had ordered them here to improve their morale and discipline, but in the end, he understood that some had their own way to deal with loss.

"Lord of the spirits, protect these souls on their journey to Aetherius." The high priest began. "Let their rests be undisturbed and their sacrifices not forgotten in our hearts."

Gustav lowered his head. As much as he disagreed with Ashav, the Redguard really deserved better than to fall off a lighthouse. Ashav fully deserved the peaceful retirement he clamored for, and a part of Gustav felt guilty for denying him that. However, Gustav was not someone to dwell on the past. He had a lot to do this day, and it was just getting started; the 10th was going to be a long day.

Jehanna, Kingdom of Jehanna, High Rock

2000, Last Seed 9, 4E 205

The assistant cook on Kyne's Tear was a young Redguard woman called Turpen. She joined the crew less than a week ago in Solitude. She came from Dragon Gate. She had a brother named Farid.

Almost a month ago, Turpen was apprenticed to the chef at Dragon Gate Inn. She had taken to cooking and provisioning at a young age, providing meals for her three siblings, something her wasteful and neglectful single mother never cared to do. She enjoyed cooking food, mixing drinks and scouring the wild for ingredients. It was her calling and her way to contribute to their barely functioning family. Her eldest sibling, her elder brother, Farid, was the first to leave home in order to find work. Farid drifted until he found a mercenary company in Skyrim, where the pay was so good that he could send most of it home. The second sibling, her sister, Haraas, would leave home in Farid's footsteps a season later. Haraas would labor in claustrophobic mines until her luck ran out in the eighth dig, when her crew dug into an ogre den and ended in bloodbath. Of course, Turpen never told Farid about Haraas' death in their letters; he had enough to worry about fighting Forsworns and snow demons. 

Her youngest sibling, the savant boy, Abujah, studied magic under the town's sorcerer. He was the brightest of the siblings, and the only one with the possibility to transcend their miserable lot. Turpen worked twelve hours each day to finance Abujah's studies. She ran errands for that old hag of a chef, whom treated her like a dog instead of a skilled cook. For months, Turpen endured, hoping that one day the old chef would die, and Abujah would become a renowned spellcaster. 

None of her hopes mattered when the Orcs came last month; they killed everyone in Dragon Gate.

As if the gods had a cruel sense of humor, Turpen had only survived because the chef sent her out to gather ingredients late at night, far away from the town itself. A discouraging and meaningless task saved her life. Turpen watched Dragon Gate burn, she listened to the cries of the innocents and the savage roars of the Orcs. She only hoped her mother and her mentor got what they deserved.

Turpen had to find Farid, her only kin left on Nirn. She started the long trek toward Skyrim, but all she had on her person was what she carried for a short gathering trip. The roads were rough and barren; Turpen was alone, cold, starving and vulnerable. That was, until a mercenary company found her.

The mercenaries, calling themselves the Vanguards, were led by a Redguard swordsman named Mehm Zoar. They were traveling from the Reach to Evermore, where they have secured a new job after Skyrim's government canceled their previous contract. This was not the company Turpen looked for; when she asked them about her brother, Mehm produced letters between Farid and himself, and a report from someone inside the company. They were evidence for bad news.

"Farid's dead. His commander, Ashav, killed him."

Turpen broke down. There was nothing left in the world for her. 

"No, you still have a purpose." Mehm counseled her. "Revenge."

Mehm slipped her a vial; it was poison designed to addle one's mind. A lethal poison would cause too much suspicion, but gradual doses of this poison would steadily weaken the target, allowing for him to make mistakes and disguise his murder as an accident. "Use your skills as a cook to infiltrate Ashav's company," Mehm told her, "then slip the poison in the drinks that Ashav drowns himself in." She should find them in Solitude.

"How do you know they'll be there?" Turpen asked.

"A young and inspiring warrior, trapped under Ashav's heels, has been communicating with me." Explained Mehm. "This is Dough-Boy's test, should he understand subtlety, I will teach him what Ashav denied him."

"And what will you teach him?"

"Pride."

And so Turpen went, satisfied that Mehm and herself had a common enemy, and she would eliminate this enemy for all the woe in her life. Mehm seemed trustworthy, or at the very least, not someone to do her harm. He sent her away with consumables, clothing adequate for the north and an iron dagger. A Khajiiti Vanguard going by the name of Moraya was assigned to escort Turpen, until she reached a caravan. Apparently, Moraya originally intended to join Ashav's company, but she came late and signed on with Mehm instead.

"This one was disappointed at first, because Ashav had quite the reputation." Moraya said as she and Turpen chatted. "But misfortune ended up as fortune; Mehm is a professional warrior, and Ashav is a drunkard."

Moraya wished Turpen good luck and told her to find the Vanguards at Evermore when her quest was complete. Truth be told, Turpen never thought about what she would do after Ashav's dead. She was expecting herself to die in the process, but now, when Moraya said she had the heart of a warrior, Turpen began to consider enlisting with the Vanguards. However, she did not entertain such thought on the wagon ride to Solitude. She was already brimming was fear, since this was her first time leaving her home town (and its immediate vicinity). Her frustration overpowered her fear, though it started to dissipate as she rode through the devastated landscapes of the Reach. She had to put doubts and questions aside, just like what she had done under the apprenticeship. Turpen trusted her instinct, and not much her thoughts.

Getting into Ashav's company was too easy. These mercenaries and sailors had suffered so many defeats that most believed they were cursed. Unsurprisingly, Turpen did not face any competition when she applied as a kitchen hand. The Kyne's Tear needed someone to feed the hungry men and women, elves and beastfolks that sailed for Jehanna.

Even though she was skilled in the culinary arts, adjusting to the cramped ship galley and its limited ingredients proved a challenge to Turpen. If she wasn't here to kill Ashav, she would be delighted to take on this challenge as a learning opportunity. But for what mattered, Turpen simply followed the head cook's orders, as difficult as it was at times. The sea was not kind to her, and she almost threw up in the food. When others offered help, she refused. She suffered silently and alone, in fear of being exposed for who she was and also scared of making friends with her enemies.

Eventually, Turpen more or less got her sea legs. She also discovered a hidden door behind the pantry, where barrels of expensive alcohol sat. She recognized some of the brands, though all of them seemed extremely expensive. No doubt the rich brat Gustav owned them, however, it was Ashav that sneaked down there at night to "sample" them. She found herself face to face with the man she swore to kill on the second night. Ashav looked like a dead man walking, his appearance was poorly kept, he stumbled and slurred like his mind no longer functioned. Turpen had yet to administer the poison, but it felt almost unnecessary at that point. The battles did what the poison was suppose to do. If Turpen wanted, she could stab Ashav in the back right there, and no one would see her. But then again, she would become prime suspect afterwards. She could be fed to the sharks by angry sailors. She had to wait until they reach land, so that she has the chance to escape back to Mehm. It was no longer a suicide mission; Turpen had something to live for. So she stood aside and let Ashav drink himself stupid. Then, when the old man scurried back to bed, she dumped the poison in the half-finished wine barrel.

Several hours later, the sky came crashing down. According to the sailors and mercenaries, they faced undead, dreughs, and a Sload's airship. For Turpen, she cowered under a table as a golden anchor smashed into the galley and killed the other cooks there. She was not a hero at that moment; she cried. 

When the danger passed and the ship back on track to Jehanna, Turpen suddenly found herself as the favorite person on the ship. Wet, cold and miserable, the mercenaries and sailors wanted something warm to eat, and she was the only one left to provide them. Even with much of stock and equipment destroyed, and her cooking not suited for their environment, people cheered as Turpen brought them their (poorly made) food. They were just happy and relieved to be alive. Some hugged her, some clasped her on the shoulder, some sung praise of her and some simply nodded their appreciation. Everyone was friendly to Turpen.

The overwhelmingly positive reception stung Turpen. She excused herself from the celebration, and ducked back to the galley to cry again. She felt sorry to deprive these poor souls, whom did not seem like murderers in slightest, of their leader. But then, Turpen convinced herself that they were better off without Ashav, or even better, if Mehm could take over some day. This had to be the truth, as Ashav was already drinking the poisoned wine; she's gone too far to reverse her course of action.

Ashav never appeared after the fight in Smugglers' Cove. On the third night, Turpen found his cabin dimly lit. Ashav locked himself inside. As Turpen pressed her ear against the door, she heard him droning on incomprehensibly and smashing himself into the bulkhead over and over. That didn't seem like the reaction from a intelligence-draining poison, but then again, what did Turpen know? She mixed drinks, not poisons.

On the fourth night of their voyage, the Kyne's Tear finally docked in Jehanna. The crew and passengers wasted no time disembarking, likely eager to replenish their supplies, and sleep on real beds for a change. Some might have gone to sight see, which was what Turpen would have done if she's here on leisure. Instead, she sat on the broken deck by herself, keeping an eye at Ashav's cabin. Even the captain herself had gone ashore, and only a single sailor (half-heartily) guarded the ship from the docks. With cold sea breeze came loneliness; how Turpen wished she could enjoy a night with friends.

But then, the cabin door opened. Ashav fell out of it. 

The old man did not even bother to spare a glance at Turpen. He hobbled, teetered and shoved his way through the docks and into the streets of Jehanna. Scent of filth and alcohol swarmed the air around Ashav. She followed, far enough to not draw suspicion, but not so far as to lose sight of Ashav. There didn't seem to be a clear destination for him, but after wandering back and forth for an hour, he arrived at the lighthouse overlooking Jehanna harbor. 

"Go home, Redguard, you're drunk." The lighthouse keeper stepped in front of Ashav.

"Guh, glug, grr, glooo..." Ashav shook back and forth. Then out of some place Turpen did not wish to know, Ashav presented a purse full of coins. "You go...take a break."

The lighthouse keeper accepted the coin purse and began walking away to the direction of Jehanna. Ashav stepped inside the lighthouse. Turpen ran after Ashav.

"I have to get my father!" Turpen shouted as she brushed by the keeper. "Mother's worried sick about him!"

The lighthouse keeper bought into her lie without question, or was simply too eager to spend some time in the tavern instead watching the same harbor every night. How Turpen wished she was speaking the truth. Her father was an opportunist that took her mother's wealth and left a daughter there to rot. Turpen didn't even know his name, let alone see his face. If she did, she would...kill him? Ask him why? Would she forgive him if she knew his own struggles?

As Turpen's thoughts betrayed her, she was climbing the lighthouse stairs. Ashav was up there, mumbling to himself.

"It's over." Ashav said to himself. his tone was angry on the surface, yet beneath that thin surface was a sea of regret. "I can't take it, I didn't know, I don't want too...I'm sorry!"

"What the fuck!?" Ashav spun around. Turpen had just tip-toed onto the top platform, yet Ashav was there to face her. 

"Who are you?"

Turpen said nothing. She reached inside her jacket and pulled out the dagger.

"What..." Ashav's eyes, already bloodshot and tear-filled, popped open at the dull shine of iron. His sagging and beaten face straightened. "Why?"

"You killed Farid." Turpen's hand bit tightly into the dagger handle. Her voice came as a quiver, but then she tightened every muscle in her being, and it transformed into a shout. "You killed my brother! Murderer!"

"He got himself killed!" Ashav shouted back. "Your, brother, bought into-"

"Mehm sent you, did he? And the poison-"

"Mehm told me the truth." Turpen gritted her teeth. She pointed the dagger towards Ashav and took a step forward. "You and your Orc conspired against him; after he voiced opinion about Dragon Gate. I was there, I've seen the massacre; everyone's dead!"

"He manipulated Farid!" Ashav stepped back and raised his hands. There was no railing on top of the lighthouse; a few more steps back and it would be a deadly fall. "His 'Redguard honor' killed a comrade."

"My brother slayed an Orc, a savage!"

"Is that what Mehm told you too?" Ashav held Turpen's eyes in his own. The drunkenness was gone at that moment, replaced by an intense gaze that made Turpen question herself. "He was my lieutenant once. We split because I was willing to rescue innocents, while he would have held them for ransom. Mehm labeled someone he had never seen as a savage, even though he employs Orcs in his company."

"They have denounced their backward ways..." Turpen recalled, not sure what she defended all of a sudden.

"Yet Mehm never denounced his own." Ashav shot back. "Isn't poisoning a helpless man savage? If I'm a murderer for killing your brother, then what does killing me make you? It won't bring Farid back. They fired me!"

"I, I-" Turpen sighed. She lowered her dagger.

Seeing Turpen balk, Ashav made his move towards the stairs. However, as he took steps forward, Turpen did not budge. She stood in the way, cast in the shadow of the giant lantern and feet firmly planted on the wooden floor.

"Let me go." Ashav said.

"I can't just..."

"I said-"

Ashav leaned forward to push Turpen aside. At the same time, she raised her dagger in the defense. The combined result was something both of them did not expect; the dagger slid into Ashav's chest, instantly puncturing a lung. Turpen yelped at the splashy impact of iron against flesh, and though she had butchered animals without squirming, doing the same to another human being was terrifying. She yanked back the dagger on instinct, as if trying to undo the damage. However, it only created another exit wound and Ashav collapsed backwards in recoil. Her hands trembled, her heart froze in place. There was the fear that she feared. No, she had nothing to fear other than fear itself. Concentrating on the thought of revenge, as Mehm instructed her, Turpen felt her heart rapidly accelerating; the fear-induced trembling transformed into rage-fueled shaking.

"No, don't, please..." Ashav implored. He clenched the hole in his chest, breathing jagged and blood coughing out of his mouth. He scooted away from Turpen, but he found himself cornered on the edge. The lantern in front of him blinded him, and stepping through the light was Turpen, beaming with anger. Wind blew around them, their frigid reach clawed at exposed skin, and their howl cheered for a murder.

Ashav held his hands in front of him, pleading for something; not mercy, maybe a swift end.

Turpen shook her head, steeled her resolve and slammed her boot into Ashav's chest.

Ashav fell.

Turpen ran. 

She threw the dagger near Ashav's corpse and made for Evermore. She could not look back now; she killed a man, she's a murderer now. Ashav's men wouldn't recognize her, though she couldn't even recognize herself. What did she accomplish? Turpen didn't have the answer, but Mehm would; Mehm must have the answer.

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