#we know khajiit tell time by the moons

[bam-monsterhospital]

You would think with time being a sentient force and the meddling of daedra then clocks wouldn't exist cuz magic can bend the fuck out of it

aHAHAHA. this is a good point!

I'll argue for clocks to be present because of the wacky bullshit all the time shenanigans (which are integral to the elderscrolls universe) would pull on those things.

like oh the clock is just wildly spinning for no reasons? WELP, looks like we're in the midst of another time-break, mattieu motierre ol buddy o pal 'o mine.

the technology -non magical AND magical- is there, the assumption that they exist is there, gIB CLOCKS.

it's kinda funny that first place you can get your own crafting designs for clocks is in the dlc with the time-manipulation wizards.

[cruisingheightswithdragons]

“You know, I do know who you are.” Taliesin spoke softly as he swirled his goblet of wine, staring intently at his khajiit companion.

Dah’ni looked up from their own mug of mead. A spark of panic flashed in their eyes for a brief moment. Where had this come from? “What does this one mean?”

Setting the goblet still on the table the twosome shared, the Altmer turned to face Dah’ni. “Not using an alias and giving me your real name wasn’t the smartest thing you could have done when we first met.”

Dah’ni did not like where this was going.

Taliesin continued. “You’re the youngest of five to a pair of farmers near Rimmen. You publicly rejected the Thalmor’s claims of recovering the moons and ending the Void Nights, resulting in you being detained.”

The fur on Dah’ni’s tail began to bristle. They looked around the busy tavern, but the twosome’s conversation was drowned out by rowdy chatter and the sounds of drums.

Yet Taliesin continued. “You roused other detainees into a revolt… an incident resulting in the death of three Thalmor agents, and the execution of those that revolted. And then, just as the dust had settled, you disappeared, never to be seen again…”

“You speak dangerously, elf.” Dah’ni hissed. Their lips curled back to reveal rows of sharp teeth stained yellow from bread and mead. The tip of their fluffed up tail twitched irritably while the grip on their tankard tightened.

Taliesin raised a brow, clearly not taking this threat display seriously. “You don’t deny it, then?” He took another sip of wine, annoyingly nonchalant.

“Why say this to khajiit now, hmm?”

Dabbing his lips with a cloth, Taliesin narrowed his eyes and leaned back into his chair. He raised his goblet and smiled. “You should try the wine.”

Dah’ni growled. “Do not change the subject!” They rose from their seat and leaned over the table, palms planted firmly on the wood. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Really good wine…” Taliesin was about to take another sip when Dah’ni lunged forward and grabbed the collar of his robes, pulling him forward and causing him to drop his drink. The goblet clattered and splashed wine onto the floor.

“You know who I am, and what I did, congratulations,” They began, “but you have neglected to mention this to khajiit until now? Let alone at all?” A growl escaped their throat. “Tell me, Thalmor, what makes you think I won’t sink my claws into your throat? I could erase this lead you slimy bastards have with the stroke of a finger!”

The Altmer simply glared his yellow and green eyes into Dah’ni. “I know you won’t, though.” His mouth curved into a teasing sneer.

Dah’ni huffed. They had just about had it with this mer. “What makes you so certain?”

“You liiiiiike meeeee~”

A fire burned in Dah’ni’s chest and warmed their face. A sharp retort was caught in their throat and wouldn’t come out. The khajiit relaxed their grip and finally lifted their hand from Taliesin, simply too stunned to speak.

The Altmer in turn sat back down, reaching to pick up his fallen cup and setting it back on the table. “If you had just let me say my piece, I would have.”

Words finally made it out of Dah’ni’s mouth as they sat back down. “Then speak.”

Taliesin cleared his throat. “Before I begin, you must remember I’m not part of the Thalmor anymore,” He said, “Regardless, you saved my life when we met. Whether it was out of the goodness of your heart or you wanted to get something out of me doesn’t matter now.”

Dah’ni’s ears perked up. He was a smart mer, they figured. It didn’t come as a surprise that he realized he was being held captive at first. It took time, but Taliesin had been relieved of being a potential bargaining chip to secure Dah’ni’s own safety by now, having now become a genuine companion. Still, Dah’ni’s mind raced with feelings they weren’t quite ready to take on yet.

His voice snapped Dah’ni back to the present as Taliesin went on. “I know who you are, what you have done, and what you’re capable of, yes. I just wanted to you to know I haven’t said a word about you to anyone, and I intend to keep it that way. Believe it or not, your identity is safe with me.”

Dah’ni forced themself to relax, the fur on their tail finally lying flat. “How can khajiit be so certain you are telling the truth?”

Taliesin lowered his gaze, his eyes resting on his hands clasped together around the empty goblet. “Simply put, I value your company.” His voice was barely audible over the chatter and music playing around them. “…rather enjoy it, really…”

Dah’ni blinked. Embarrassed to admit it to themself, they realized that they, too enjoyed his companionship. Taliesin was a valuable asset in travel and combat, and became someone the Khajiit could rely on. In spite of having been with the Thalmor in the past, his presence was warm and welcoming. Taliesin’s teasing from earlier wasn’t that far from the truth. Dah’ni truly did like him.

“Hmph,” Dah’ni huffed, trying to shake away their blooming thoughts, “Khajiit will take your word for it.”

Taliesin glanced up and smiled warmly, which brought back the fire within the khajiit’s chest. The Altmer leaned forward. “With that out of the way,” He said, “why not buy me a new drink? It was your fault for making me drop my wine, kitten.”

Immediately, the fire inside them was extinguished as Dah’ni’s face dropped. Claws unsheathed, they laid a loud smack to Taliesin’s annoyingly smug face.

[kotalithealfiq]

Meeting Ko'tali

Italic text is the player's dialogue choices. Indented text is branching dialogue.

Ko’tali: Ahh, you must have gotten Ko’tali’s letter. It is nice to meet you.

[This version of the conversation will occur if the player is not a Khajiit]

Uh… Ko’tali: *laughs* You are confused, yes? Khajiit like this one are rare outside of Elsweyr. Since when do housecats talk? Ko’tali: How insulting! Ko’tali is no pet. She is as clever as any other Khajiit. Watch your words, [human/elf/lizard].

So what type of Khajiit are you?

Ko’tali: This one is an Alfiq. We do not often leave Elsweyr, except in…special cases.

What does that mean?

Ko’tali: This one would prefer to speak more later. All that matters is that Ko’tali would like to accompany you. Unwise to turn down help, no?

[This version of the conversation will occur if the player is a Khajiit.]

Oh, you’re an Alfiq!

Ko’tali: Surprised? Were you expecting someone taller?

You of all Khajiit should understand why I wasn’t expecting to see someone like you. Alfiq don’t usually leave our homeland.

Ko’tali: *laughs* True, true. But you agree to the terms in this one’s letter, yes? You would like Ko’tali to travel with you?

[Dialogue continues here regardless of player’s race]

 What sort of skills do you have?  Ko’tali: This one has been studying magic for years. Ko’tali is very good at Destruction, Illusion, Restoration, even Alteration! *mumbles* Conjuration could use some work, though… Why are you in Skyrim?  Ko’tali: That is…a very long story. This one will tell you some other time. Preferably away from so many listening ears. What determines a Khajiit’s shape? Ko’tali: It depends on what moons we are born under. Ko’tali was born when Secunda was full and Messer was waning and so she is an Alfiq. Very simple. [Player is not a Khajiit] Ko’tali: How long have you been away from home, [sister/brother]? It is based on the moons. Ko’tali was born when Secunda was full and Messer was waning and so she is an Alfiq. [Player is a Khajiit] Alright, you can come with me. Ko’tali: Fantastic! I don’t know if this is a good idea. I need to think about it. Ko’tali: Suit yourself. Just do not be surprised if this one gets tired of waiting for you. [Ends dialogue]

[If the player accepts, a quick animation will play of Ko’tali jumping up onto their shoulders.]

What are you doing?

Ko’tali: Ko’tali is rather small, yes? Do you want to wait for her to catch up to you? This will be easier for both of us. Plus this one can hit enemies easier from up here.

Fine, let’s get going. [Ends dialogue] Get off of me! Ko’tali: Hmph. If you are going to be like that, maybe this one does not wish to travel with you after all. [Animation plays of her jumping down. Ends dialogue and dismisses follower.]

Ahhhh I did not intend for this to take so long! Sorry to the small handful of followers I've gotten. However, more is soon to come. Next will probably be the aforementioned letter that she sends you before your first meeting.

[kagedbird]

TESSDE AU (+ Taliesin) Continuation from this

Allora: *hanging out with Inigo, checking out the local Khajiit traders outside Whiterun for the first time* So many cool things... I certainly wish you could set up shop inside the walls. Ri'saad: This one does as well. It would not be very enjoyable, however, to deal with the racism that follows from others inside. Allora: I am not them, but I apologize on their behalf for their behavior, for what it's worth. Perhaps I could talk to Jarl Balgruuf in your stead? Ri'saad: That is very kind of you to offer, stranger. This one will not stop such a kind heart, but do not put yourself in danger for it. We will survive regardless. Allora: *smiles and bows her head* I'll do what I can for kind souls in return. *stands up, looking at Inigo* Find anything you like? Inigo: *sniffing a container in curiousity* I am unsure what this is, but it smells good. Could you tell me? Ri'saad: That is a very interesting plant, found along the border of High Rock and Cyrodiil. It is quite lovely to smell, but is unlike such things as Moon Sugar. Allora: May I? *takes the offered container, carefully opening the cork to sniff and blinking in surprise* Oh. It's Catnip. That's funny. Ri'saad: You know of this plant? Allora: Yeah, we grew a lot of it back home, actually. It's a simple aphrodisiac to cats, but it's not something you can overdose on. It just awakens the brain in cats that signify 'playtime'. It's a type of mint. Ri'saad: You are very knowledgeable. This one thanks you for the information. Allora: No problem! Did you want it honey? Inigo: Hm... it will not effect me like Skooma? Allora: Not in the least. This is very safe. Inigo: Then yes! I would like it. How much? Ri'saad: Hmm... how much does it normally go for in your homeland? Allora: *unsure how to calculate dollars to gold* Uh... does seventy-five work for you? Normally it's very cheap, simply because it's there and ready. But you've traveled for it, no doubt. Ri'saad: *holds out his hand, taking her gold with a smile* This one accepts. Thank you for your business. Allora: No problem! Do you have any teas as well?... *** Kaidan: *walking through the front door after training with Vilkas and Farkas, watching as Inigo gave Allora a languid lick along the side of her face* What in Oblivion-?! Allora: I can explain- *pushed down onto the couch as Inigo purrs loudly* Inigo please- ack-! Taliesin: *walking through the front door behind Kaidan, blinking in surprise* Oh. Having fun are we? Allora: *smothered underneath her very high friend* He's heavy!

[Next one here]

[aladaylessecondblog]

The Birth (Faal Hah Wuld prequel)

Author's Note: tw childbirth, new mother fears, reasonable amount of symbolism.

Sadrith is born during her mother's latest trip through Morrowind with the khajiit caravan.

------------------------

Kogolanu had been feeling ill at ease for weeks now. Cramped, inclined to keep walking after they'd made camp for the night. The weight gain she blamed for that - how that had happened she wasn't sure. They were always on the road, and it wasn't as if she ate too much when they DID stop. The nix-hound jerky and ash-hopper stew surely wouldn't...

The rain started, and knowing they were going to stop anyway, knowing of a cave nearby that would suit for shelter, she told Rass Le. He seemed to agree, and looking skyward, said, "This one would rather not see the dark moons...or for the dark moons to see him."

The eclipse, yes. She'd learned a lot from them over the years they had let her travel with them, including their views on the eclipses. The Urshilaku did not waste time debating on what it meant, only that it made hunting less easy. More dangerous. Hunting in the dark--

A ripple of pain moved over her stomach and radiated into her back as she lead them into the cave, which was lined at the entrance with mushrooms. She schooled her expression, though, and looking around, was careful to place a lightning rune just inside after she had gotten everyone inside.

The pains only worsened over time as she got the stew ready and everyone began to eat. She barely finished half a bowl before needing to sit back.

"Are you unwell?" Rawla spoke now, tilting her head just slightly.

"Cramped," Kogolanu said. She lay back, breathing hard. "I think we didn't cook those mushrooms long enough yesterday. I'm..."

Another wave of pain.

It was Rawla who stayed with her, and after the fourth and fifth instances of pain, the cat finally asked, "When we stopped in Blacklight, did you...partake of the whores?"

"No. No, of course not. I don't--I never did. Why do you ask?"

Rawla didn't respond for a few minutes. Not until the next wave of pain.

"Perhaps you drank too much, and simply don't remember."

Kogolanu was sure she hadn't. She didn't generally drink to excess, and aside from a little partaking in moon sugar didn't hold with mind-altering substances either.

"Please--why do you ask?"

"Lift your skirts."

Kogolanu obeyed, and after only a moment's look Rawla looked back up, "This one is sorry she must be the one to inform you...but you are giving birth."

Her face paled.

"That's not possible," she said, "I've gone through my...my change. I've not bled for months. This--this isn't--"

A fresh wave of pained echoed through her body, as if to refute her claim.

She hadn't bedded a man in years. She'd always been moderate in her consumption of alcohol. And she'd always considered herself infertile - two hundred years of marriage and not one child had ever exited her womb. Her husband had been dead nearly a hundred years now, and she had not yet met any man who either stirred her heart or were appealing enough to join in marriage with. Who, she had wondered, would have her anyway?

Rawla had birthed several of her own children, and so was a great help. Something for her to lean back on, instructions to push. Water for her to drink, sweat, wiped from her brow.

Kogolanu's thoughts soon turned to the child itself. Welcome, yes. She had always wanted a child, a little one to coo over, to cuddle, to tell the traditions and stories of the Urshilaku as she saw other mothers do. Now her chance...

...another pain. She cringed, and felt a sudden dampness.

"Your waters," Rawla said, "Your labor will begin in earnest soon."

"Under the dark moons," Rass Le said, from the smoldering campfire nearby, "If this child were a khajiit, we might now be--"

A stronger pain came now, worse than all the rest. Kogolanu practically screamed, interrupted Rass Le--and DID scream when the next contraction struck.

She felt weak through it all, so very, very weak, but still the time passed and Rawla kept praising her for the progress she was making. The others would bring over things to Rawla as needed, but the things they said went unnoticed. When Kogolanu wasn't pained, she was transfixed by the bob and weave of the shadows that the fire was casting. Those of the khajiit were there, and yet there was one other, too...

...one that almost seemed to turn in her direction, waiting, watchful.

Kogolanu feared for a moment that she was dying, hallucinating perhaps. She feared she would pass and leave her child alone--not that she did not trust these khajiit who had come to be her friends, but she did not want the child to have no mother to shield her from the hate she would surely face from a life among the cats.

A final wave of pain, a push, and then a cry, the beautiful sounds of her child's arrival.

(The campfire dipped low for a moment before roaring back up, and there was the sound of profanity from one of the khajiit. She would later learn that his bowl of moon-sugar had broken suddenly, scattering the precious dust all over the ground.)

"You have a daughter," Rawla said, after cleaning the babe up. She swaddled the little one and handed her over to Kogolanu.

Kogolanu kissed the little nose, counted the little fingers and toes, and smiled at the red eyes once they opened. So beautiful. This little one in her arms was so beautiful, so perfect. What joy it was to nurse the child, to marvel at the white fuzz decorating her tiny head.

A little one had finally been coaxed from her dead womb...

A name, she thought suddenly. I must think of a name.

She looked about for an idea. The fire, the cooking pot, the khajiit. Rawla...the dark moons and their dual eclipse came suddenly to mind, but she thought it might be an ill omen to name the child after the moons in any way. A Jone or Jode might not bode well - the khajiit always said those were the names of stillborns.

She was no longer of the Urshilaku - the response from the khan when she left had made that obvious, and so it would not do to give the child a name like her own. Then her eyes crossed a cluster of violet coprinus...and a strange but perhaps well-fitting name came to mind.

A dead womb, and life springing up from it...

"Sadrith," Kogolanu said, pressing another kiss to the tiny fingers of the babe's hands. "Your name is Sadrith."

She was no longer of the Urshilaku - the response from the khan when she left had made that obvious, and so it would not do to give the child a name like her own. But 'mushroom'...yes, that was fitting, fitting indeed.

But the peace that came as she held Sadrith passed on, and the fear of before returned. Kogolanu was sure she had not lain with a man, and yet from her womb had come new life. She could only pray her memory was faulty, that she was simply not remembering well.

This had happened once before, and to another Dunmer woman. She prayed to Azura that the same fate did not await her unexpected but very much welcome little one.

[late-nite-scholar]

Aug 7th (Day 3): Prompt- Starlit / Teeth

Day 3: Teeth- Azuri tells Kharjo the story of how she was taught to fight by Nerevar. I’m sure I’m way off canon with some of my ideas, but that’s just how it goes sometimes. Also, Kharjo loves to use pet names because he is the actual sweetest. 

Translations: yi daelha- my love (Dunmeris), ahziss siir- my [heavenly, holy] light (Ta’agra), serush- beautiful (Ta’agra)  

Dunmer LDB x Kharjo

Warnings- None

Wordcount- ~1600

(Description in alt text. Azuri is wearing the Seer Robes from the Skyrim Outfitters: Vestoriam Magus mod. Kharjo is wearing Khajiiti Chain Armor from the Khajiiti Armory mod.)

***

It was late when Kharjo finally trudged back up from the jarl’s house to the College. The sun had set and Jone and Jode were out, both waning. Dagi-raht moons. But at that moment he wasn’t looking at them, he was focused on getting back to the Archmage’s Quarters and his beloved. 

But the Archmage's Quarters were empty. 

“Azuri?” 

He checked all the rooms, and found the small door that led up to the roof open. He followed up the spiral staircase until he was outside once again.

She had shed her robes and wore only a soft shirt and pants. Her hair was tied up in a messy knot on top of her head, eyes narrowed in concentration. In her hand she held a staff, but she whirled and thrust it like a spear. Her style was not one he was familiar with, but she obviously well practiced. 

As she turned, she noticed him standing by the door. It startled her for a brief second, her hands tightening around the staff. But then she relaxed, and smiled. 

"You're home, yi daelha!" She ran over to hug him. "How was work?" 

"The jarl's new guards grow more skilled each day. Khajiit already plans to train them harder now, and the jarl agrees. But the day was not supposed to go on so long. Kharjo is sorry he is so late." 

As he leaned down to kiss her forehead, she chuckled. “It’s okay. How many times have I been stuck on a long job? But things are going so well! I still can hardly believe Korir came around the way he did, but I’m glad he did.”

“As is Khajiit, ahziss siir. Now, do tell Kharjo, what are you doing? You fight with that staff in a style Khajiit has never seen. Who taught you this?”

“Nerevar did.”

“You were taught by your First Era warlord?”

“Yeah. You know he’s my ancestor guardian, and while he has a hard time manifesting in our world, we talk quite often in dreams. Let me tell you the story.”

They sat together on the roof, and Azuri began. 

*** (Then) ***

"Azuri!" He greeted. They met as they always did, in a field of flowers and bright sun, though he was certain she’d never been to such a place in the waking world.  

She sobbed as she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him hard. "Nerevar! I… I need your advice. Really bad. I need someone wise to show me if I'm right or not." 

"Of course!" He pulled back, putting his hands on her shoulders. "What troubles you?" 

"Will you swear not to tell anyone else?" 

"Of course, Azuri. I will always respect your privacy." 

She dropped her head. "I want to leave." 

"Leave where?" 

"This House. Mournhold. Morrowind. If I am to escape, I have to go far away where my parents can't find me." 

He nodded. "Where do you plan to go?" 

Her head flew up again. "You aren't going to stop me? Or talk me out of it?" 

"Well I can't actually stop you, and I see no reason to talk you out of it. You've told me more than enough for me to know that going out and getting some independence would be good for you. I don't know how your parents expect you to have any kind of destiny with the way they keep you sheltered." 

Azuri was crying happy tears now, and she hugged him again. "Thank you, Nerevar! Can… can you help me plan? What should I take? What's the best way to get out? I… I think I'll start in Cyrodiil, then make my way… I'm not even sure where. Maybe Skyrim? It's more isolated there but I'm not prepared for that yet." 

"You've been thinking about this. That's good that you recognize where your weaknesses might be. I will help you as much as I can. It's been a long time since I walked the world, but some things don't change." He crossed his arms thoughtfully. “First we’re going to start with how to defend yourself.”

“I… I can use an axe. Like… like the Nerevarine did.”

He gave her a gentle smile. “Ah yes. Rilenna is uniquely skilled with an axe. But you, my dear, are more likely to carry a staff. And my first weapon was a spear. So we will start there. Tomorrow night. I will teach you to fight and we will plan your escape.”  

++

The next night they met again. This time a circle had been cleared in the grass and flowers. Nerevar held two spears, one of which he handed to Azuri. 

“Now then. Make sure you practice this when you can in the real world, too. Any stick or staff or even a curtain rod would work. Now then, hold it like this, and do what I do.”

Azuri did, but soon her shoulders sagged. She let out a frustrated cry. “I’m never going to be as good as you, Nerevar! How can I learn to fight like you?”

He gave her a sigh and a gentle smile. “Do you think I was any good when I first learned to fight?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Azura’s mercy, no! It took a long time, and a lot of dedication, to get to where I was in life. Like everything, it takes practice. And you can do this. You have the will and the strength of mind. Let’s try it again, and then we’ll talk about supplies you should start stockpiling.” 

++

It took time, but Azuri worked tirelessly and began to improve. So Nerevar started to push her harder.  

They were sparring, staves clacking and whirling, when he suddenly slipped around her. Using his greater height, he slipped his staff over her head and used it to pin her arms. He chuckled. 

“What do you do now? I’m bigger and stronger, how do you break free?”

“Magicka?” 

“That will work. How else?”

“I could kick you?”

“Okay, one more.”

“Umm… I don’t know?”

He let her go and came back around. Setting the butt of his spear on the ground, he leaned on it. “You use every tool and weapon your body has. Magicka, feet, elbows, knees, nails, teeth, whatever you can.”

“Teeth? Like, bite them?”

“If it’s you or them? You’re damn right. I’m not here to teach you to fight so it looks pretty. I’m here to teach you to fight so you’ll survive. Fight dirty, and don’t be afraid to. Even if you have to bite them.” He grinned. “But you’re coming along well. I think you’ll be ready by your birthday like you want to be. Now let’s run through that again.”

*** (Now) ***

“How long did you train with Nerevar?” Kharjo asked. 

“I’ve never stopped. We still talk about it to this day. He always seems to think of new things to tell me, new tricks to put up my sleeve. But before I left Mournhold, we trained for the better part of a year. I actually did have a curtain rod in my room I used to practice with.”

“And how many have felt the wrath of your teeth?” 

She laughed. “I’ve bitten my fair share of enemies. And what he taught me works well because fighting styles have changed so much, so it throws opponents off when I start pulling out Chimer spear tactics and gives me an advantage. And he taught me how to survive outside of fighting, like how to make a camp and how to just be in the world. I owe him everything. I never would have gotten out otherwise.”

“Then Khajiit is grateful also. Would… would you teach Khajiit your Chimer fighting style? Kharjo will teach you what he knows of the styles of his homeland in return.”

Eyeing up his plate-armored form, she raised an eyebrow. “You want me to teach you how to fight? I mean… I certainly can, but...” 

“Khajiit would rather train with no one else.” He butted her gently with his forehead and kissed her cheek. “But for now, Khajiit would like supper and a bath, preferably with his serush.”

She kissed him back. “I’d like that, too. How about we start the training tomorrow?”

“That is perfect. Khajiit looks forward to it. It will be rather exciting to spar together.” 

“Well, I hope so. But I’m also rather excited about this idea of supper and a bath.”

“Ah, then let us go now, Moonbeam.”

Hand in hand, they descended the stairs until they were back in the inviting warmth of their chamber. They went first to the bathing room, steam rising as she turned on the tap and the tub began to fill.

Smiling at Kharjo as he began to strip out of his armor, Azuri said a silent thanks to Nerevar. It had been her parents' pride and ambition that had led to the Hortator himself being her guardian. But he'd been everything to her that her parents weren't; he'd encouraged her, helped her, loved and believed in her. He'd helped her to win this freedom, this life she'd built. And that was more valuable than anything on Nirn or in any other plane of existence.

Kharjo's purr of her name brought her out of her thoughts, and before she knew it she'd been swept up into his arms and kissed. "By the Moons, you are most beautiful when lost in thought. But perhaps you will join Khajiit in the bath now?"

"Of course, my heart." She giggled, pulling off her cold, sweaty clothes and following him into the steaming tub.

And it was wonderful.

[aardvark-123]

~The Silver-Heart Chronicles Part 6: Two Go Bananas in Dawnstar~

Adelaisa Vendicci was blissfully unaware that half of Dawnstar now believed she and Yngvar were married. Yngvar was painfully aware of the misconception, painfully that the Khajiiti merchant caravan which had just pulled into town was guarded by an absolute dreamboat, and even more painfully aware that Thoring and Karita might send assasins after him if he cheated on Adelaisa.

You know, "cheated" on Adelaisa, with whom he wasn't in a relationship and probably never would be. The misconceptions some people could wrestle into their heads were truly astonishing.

"So," Adelaisa said over breakfast, "what do you feel like doing today, dearest?"

Yngvar choked on his apple pie. "D-d-d-DEAREST?!"

"Yes," Adelaisa said innocently. "Dearest honourary little brother. Do you have any big plans, or medium ones? I'm going to talk to those travelling merchants and see if they've got a way into the horker business."

"I might as well tag along," Yngvar said weakly. "In case they're selling anything."

Elsweyr had a large mercantile culture in the Baandari Pedlars, and a few caravans traded goods in and around Skyrim. Nords tended to look down on them, though, and the caravans were banned from entering most cities, because Everybody Knew the Khajiit were thieves, drug addicts, in league with the Thalmor, or whatever else was the racist slander of the week.

Yngvar didn't care about what Everybody Knew, and nor did Adelaisa. She quickly got to talking about horkers with the merchants, who told her how a vampire horker had been terrorising the northern shores until a woman with a quarterstaff beat him to death.

Yngvar looked at the Elsweyrese weapons Ahkari was selling for just long enough to seem polite, then, with his heart pounding, went to talk to the caravan guard.

Kharjo was quite a man, but as Yngvar stammered through a few rounds of polite conversation, he (Yngvar) could tell he (Kharjo) was distracted. He (Yngvar) pressed him (Kharjo) for details until he (Kharjo) explained how he (I'll give you three guesses) had lost his Amulet of the Moons to thieves.

"So another set of bandits stole another amulet?!" gasped Adelaisa, who had been listening in. "Yngvar, we have to do something!"

"Er, you're absolutely right! I was just about to say so myself!" declared Yngvar. "Tell us where you lost your amulet, Kharjo, and I'll give it to you. Th- the amulet."

Adelaisa gave him a withering look. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Yngvar. If you think this going to be a waste of time, just say so."

"What?! No, the amulet clearly means a lot to him! I want to help!" insisted Yngvar.

"Fine, then, don't come! But it'll be on your own conscience," said Adelaisa severely.

Yngvar groaned. "Don't do this, Adelaisa. I am coming! That's exactly what I plan on doing! It's happening! Don't try and talk me out of it."

Adelaisa spent the afternoon in a deep sulk. She headed north, occasionally stopping to watch the horkers at play, but mostly trudging towards the shipwreck where Kharjo said he'd last seen his amulet.

It wasn't until they found the boat, snapped in half and wedged between a couple of icebergs, that Yngvar spoke again. "So. Are you still having a private disagreement with observable reality, Adelaisa, or do you want to go and shake an amulet out of some bandits?"

"Kyaaaaa!" Adelaisa jumped out of her skin. "Y- Yngvar?! Akatosh, you startled me! I- I thought you weren't coming."

"Well..." Yngvar groaned. "I changed my mind."

The bandits put up a fierce resistance, but were no match for our heroes' combined strength. Yngvar burrowed inside their stolen goods chest and emerged half an hour later with the Amulet of the Moon.

"It was a maze in there," he grumbled. "But this amulet smells just like Kharjo's perfume, so it was easy to find."

Adelaisa smiled. "I knew part of you still cared, Yngvar. You're a good man underneath all those layers of... Yngvar."

They headed back to Dawnstar, only to discover a disturbing lack of caravan.

"Um," said Adelaisa, "I'm sure they were here yesterday. Have you tried looking in those bushes, or under that log? Or... Oh, no. They didn't get buried in the snow, did they?! I- I left my shovel back in the tavern! Yngvar, come on!"

"For Mara's sake, they've clearly moved on to the next city! We'll just have to wait here until they get back, or leave the amulet with someone in the city we can trust- Aaaugh!" Yngvar was dragged towards the Windpeak Inn by Adelaisa.

Halfway across the city, Adelaisa screeched to a halt. "Um, what's that?" she said, peering up into the cloudy sky. "Another bird?"

"Adelaisa, there's something deeply, deeply wrong with you! Ysmir's sake, you can't just drag me around and pretend I've said the exact opposite of what... What..." Yngvar looked up. "Oh, that's just typical."

A hungry storm dragon had descended upon Dawnstar, looking for fresh humans or perhaps a nice, plump horker for lunch. Loath to be eaten or surrender their local walruses, the guards came out in force to watch the blacksmith get chased around.

Yngvar took out his deadliest vials of poison, dipped a dozen crossbow bolts in them and opened fire on the dragon. It opened lightning right back, blasting him into the lake. Adelaisa charged forth to take the terrible beast on, secure in the knowledge that she was flagged as protected and could only die by a player character's hand.

Eventually, after a battle that saw most of Dawnstar up in flames, the dragon was defeated.

"Where did you get the hat?" Yngvar whispered as the dragon sank beneath the waves.

"I always had it. My head was starting to get cold," whispered Adelaisa.

"It makes you look like a monkey with a tall head," whispered Yngvar. "Maybe one of the Imga they apparently have down in Valenwood."

Adelaisa grinned. "Thank you! I think it's cute as well."

Once the gawkers had left, Yngvar and Adelaisa agreed to split the dead dragon between them. There might have been a collector somewhere who'd want half a dragon skeleton, or a gullible paleontologist who could be convinced it was the bones of some ancient beast.

Before they'd dragged it very far, though, a messenger ran up to Yngvar and handed him a couple of letters.

"What's this, now?" Yngvar's eyes widened as he examined the paper. "Inheritance?!"

"Beitild and Leigelf... They're both dead. And they both had me in their wills." With heavy heart, Yngvar folded up the letters and put them in his pocket. "I don't understand it! Did-did the dragon kill them just now?!"

"I'm afraid so. It amazes me, though, how fast the hold governments can arrange these things," said Adelaisa dolefully. "There must be a courier in every jarl's longhouse, every thane's cottage, ready to head out with a letter of inheritance at the drop of a severed head!"

"I can't stay in Dawnstar," said Yngvar, gazing down at his feet. "I want a city without any dragons or a mad, lovelorn publican and his lute-happy daughter! Is that too much to ask?!"

"Probably, yes." Adelaisa nodded. "But at least in Dawnstar you've got me watching your back, right?"

[hircines-hunter]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @wildhexe thanks <3 <3

I'm supposed to be working on my Sifkni story, but inspiration hit me for my OC/ OC pair, Finnki and J'Med (who are in the same world state as Sifkni). So I will show a preview of that. I'll be working on both things at once probably. I have a lot of feels for these two. I do hope you love them as much as I do.

Finnki came around the bend in the road, past a boulder. She saw an overturned carriage. A horse lay in a pool of blood. Several bodies lay on the road. An ambush. She jogged up to the scene.

Finnki checked each of the bodies for breathing. Her heart sank, until she came to the last body. A khajiit. She took note of his black fur. The white patch over the left side of his face.

She heard his faint breathing. The slow but deep rise in his chest. He had a giant gash on his abdomen. A nasty wound to heal even if it didn’t pierce his innards. But he was alive. She grabbed a health potion from her bag. She reached for the man’s mouth only for him to grab her. He had little strength in his grip.

He took gasping breaths. The pupils in his heterochromatic eyes were only slits. He could barely focus his sight on her face. “Just leave this one to die. He does not deserve to live anymore. Let him suffer as he deserves.” He rasped. He blinked a few times in vain, hoping he could see her face.

“No one deserves this kind of death.” She pushed his hand away and forced the potion into his mouth. He coughed, not expecting the bitter medicine.

“Whiterun is close.” Finnki tore off the edges of her cloak and made a makeshift bandage around his midsection. He winced when she tightened it.

The khajiit huffed and grimaced in pain. “This one cannot walk. Surely, he will die before we reach the city. Leave him. You cannot walk and carry him.”

Finnki ignored him. She took her axe and cut the reins off the horse. She pried one of the broken boards from the carriage. She made a makeshift stretcher. She grabbed a small rug and pelts of fur and placed it on top the board. She used the reins to secure the rug and fur and made a handle for her to drag it. She walked over to the khajiit. “I will not let you suffer out here. If you want to die at least wait until you make it to the temple. The healers can handle you then. But for now, you are alive and I, in good conscience, cannot leave you to die. In the cold rain and alone.” She reached under his arms and dragged him onto the board. He groaned and gasped in pain. She secured him to the board and covered him with the remainder of her cloak. “What is your name? I am Finnki. Thane of Whiterun.”

He stared at her back. He couldn’t see her face due his blurry vision. But he could tell she wasn’t a Nord. At least not a full Nord. Due to her height. A Bosmer? Her ears had a slight point. She did have the strength of a Nord. She easily dragged him and the board. He laughed. What had the divines decided to do with him? “It’s J’Med.” He finally answered. He knew it would be a mistake.

“Well, you just hang in there J’Med. I’ll get you to the city in no time. You stay awake for me. Danica and Jenssen will take care of you for me.”

He grunted in response. Why would this stranger take care of him? What would she have done if there were more survivors? Would the guards even help her once she made it to the city? He’s heard the rumors of Nord cities. Their dislike of anyone not a Nord. He mostly stuck to the wilds or small villages. It was not worth the effort to deal with them. But she said she was a Thane. She wasn’t a full blooded Nord.

“What’s your favorite song?”

He stared at her back. He was taken aback by her question. “Why do you care?”

“If I know it, it’ll bring you comfort. You can sing along. It’ll keep you awake longer. So, what’s your favorite song?”

He thought. He thought of home. The warm sands. Sweet moon sugar antelope. The bazaar was filled with music. A musician plucked on qanun. “Dancing Among the Flowers Fine.” He answered.

[tastesoftamriel]

Comfort food is a very personal thing; varying from person to person, even within the same household, let alone country or region. Tell me about some comfort foods you've encountered in your travels, and the people who introduced you to them

Comfort food, how I love thee! Despite growing up as Nord as they come, I love experimenting with my food as you all know, and have come across some real gems in my travels over the years.

Altmer

Spending time with my lovely Vellalinwe has taught me a thing or two about Altmeri cuisine, right down to the dishes the High Elves enjoy in their own homes. One of her favourites is a creamy, dairy-free rosemary and tomato soup with rice dumplings. Rice dumplings are little fried balls of seasoned rice, and are easy to break apart in the soup. Not too filling but just hearty enough to hit the spot.

Argonians

My close friend Marries-the-Night is a connoisseur of all things Saxhleel, especially food. The dish that will make any Argonian feel cozily moist is a bit bowl of hot noodles with crunchy honeyed mealworms and chicken. The saltrice noodles are flat and wide, and are stir-fried and served dry with a delicious sweet-and-spicy sauce made from native Murkmire plants.

Bosmer

If there's one thing that my friend Berrilyn has taught me, it's that Bosmeri late-night post-jagga food may very well be the best in Tamriel. Think sausage-stuffed fried chicken wings with creamy timber mammoth cheese sauce, sweet mammoth cheese omelette with bacon, and...just plain old cups of timber mammoth cheese, served hot and gooey (and pungent). Don't forget the salami sticks and pork crackling for dipping!

Bretons

Comfort food is taken very seriously in High Rock, and it's bound to be hearty. I'm personally a big fan of what the Bretons call cob loaf: a whole loaf of fresh sourdough bread is carved out, filled with something delicious, and the remaining bread is used for dipping. The chef at Alcaire Castle fills her cob loaf with a creamy, cheesy spinach dip with lardons!

Dunmer

Crab meat and scuttle is a popular snack among Dunmer from Blacklight to Mournhold, but my friend Lisandre from the Grey Quarter introduced me to something just as moreish: ash yam balls filled with gooey scuttle and saltrice. Fried like the Imperial arancini, these delicious bite-sized balls are made from ash yam paste, and can be served sweet and savoury. Ideal when dipped in flaming hot Stonefalls-style chutney!

Imperials

My newest friend, Viatrix Maxine, hails from the cold town of Bruma in northern Cyrodiil, where comfort food is king. One of her favourite dishes is a simple potato porridge with cured ham and smoked venison sausage, cinnamon, butter, and treacle. The sweet-and-salty blend of flavours is delicious, and the thick porridge is sure to warm you up in no time.

Khajiit

One of my favourite things to eat in Elsweyr is my friend Anxious-Claws' excellent moon sugar rice pudding. Made with coconut cream, sago pearls, glutinous rice, mango mash, and lots of moon sugar, this is one dessert that will keep you coming back. It's traditionally served chilled, and is the perfect sweet treat for any time of day!

Nords

We Nords love fighting, and I have a feeling that I will cause some fights when I reveal that my favourite Nordic comfort food is not the humble boiled creme treat or a good horker stew. No, it is something quite different: I declare venison pies to be my ultimate go-to when I'm feeling gloomy or homesick. Traditionally, pies have a thick and flaky all-butter crust, and are filled with a thick venison stew that's loaded with chunks of meat, juniper berry gravy, potatoes, and carrots. It's the perfect light meal (or a full meal, if you have two).

Orcs

My close friend Herregud Jotuncrusher is the disgraced (but highly dignified) daughter of a clan chief, and grew up eating the finest Orcish cuisine. But at the end of the day, you can't keep even the poshest Orc from their favourite comfort dish: thick, smoked slices of honey-baked ham, served with fried eggs, a tangy frost mirriam sauce, and a couple of raw radishes or baked potatoes.

Redguards

When I first visited the Alik'r, I met an old man in one of the smaller taverns in Bergama, who taught me the secrets to a really, really good mutton biryani. Much like Khajiiti biryani but far less sweet, this dish is fragrant with saffron and cumin, and the spicy grilled goat meat has the perfect amount of char. Filling, tasty, and easy to whip together, this is a sure way to win over any hungry Redguard.

[evfryder]

quirezia's psa abt anti romanism w/ the khajiit

so, as we all know, the elder scrolls is a pretty racist game series. this is a well known and pretty indisputable fact, demonstrated by things like the heavy anti indigenous racism, the orientalism with the dunmer and other stuff, but something i personally haven't really seen talked about is the incredible amount of anti romanism w/ the khajiit. which, yknow, i'm not exactly upset over as the vast majority of tes fans aren't romani, but! it's still bad and it makes me so goddamn uncomfortable at the best of times! i don't deserve to have panic attacks over the amount of racism that is subjected to my eyes over cat people! so here is my public service announcement

note: i'm not like, 100% sure the writers of the elder scrolls were intending any of this or meaning to code the khajiit as romani, and i'm not going to claim that, but that doesn't change that i have seen people use real life nazi propaganda to justify why the nords are right to hate the khajiit or that most people who notice these things read the khajiit as romani lmfao so! and i'm also not an authority on this and i don't want to be treated like one. this is just my romani opinion, other romani people might have differing opinions and that's alright. gadje don't get to argue w/ me abt any of this tho ❤

note part two : gypsy is a slur. this is not debatable, do not try to debate it with me, and do not use it. remove it from your vocabulary. any uncensored use of it within this post is because i'm romani and allowed to use it lmfao

so anyways, most of the romani coding comes from skyrim, by way of introducing the khajiit caravans, full of people hailing from a south asian coded country with a history of slavery, that travel from city to city, relying on nomadicism, due to being barred from the cities because of stereotypes that paint the khajiit as thieves and drug addicts who face racism as a result of things like that.

if you know anything about the romani, this probably sounds familiar! as we're also a south asian diaspora who are traditionally nomadic and have been enslaved, who face severe racism and are heavily stereotyped to be thieves and drug addicts. i've even personally been told that i'm dirty trash who shouldn't be allowed in a city! fun.

this alone isn't a problem. i would love to have some representation, even in the form of cat people, and if this was all there was with the khajiit and romani coding i would honestly be overjoyed! but alas.

the problem is that the khajiit are actually portrayed as thieves and drug users within the games. in ESO, the baandari clan honor the bandit god and follow a code that allows thievery, and practice fucking fortune telling. in skyrim, in skyrim, ri'saad is a fence for the thieves guild who accepts the offer after being given moon sugar and ahkari is hinted to be involved with to the skooma trade. the khajiit overall are cultural drug users, and while there is absolutely nothing wrong with cultural drug use and drug use in general i hope you can see why its bad in this context.

and even with all of this, if this was where it began and end, it wouldn't be that bad. as far as i know, this is all accidental, and none of this is what keeps me up at night. what bothers me is how fans react to the romani elements of the khajiit.

i've had to see the use of the g word, something that is personally very triggering to me, almost everywhere, both casually and in a demeaning manner. i've seen the khajiit described as the scum of tamriel that live in scum infested sewers hooked on skooma and live off of imperial assistance (which is another thing that i've been told in regards to my people, that we're scum who live off of government assistance). i've seen khajiit called useless drug addicts who have no home. i've seen people say they see khajiit as dirty, filthy gypsies and tend to imagine skinning them for wall hangers.

it's tiring. it fucking hurts on a whole different level to see a slur utilized against your people and against you everywhere, hurts to know that people still view you and your people as a dirty and subhuman, and i'm honestly pretty done if we're being honest. tes has been ruined for me because of this stuff. and i'm not even asking for y'all to pay for me Ethnic Therapy Tm lol all i'm asking is that gadje learn about anti romanism and what that means, learn how they can support romani people, that they stop using the g word and perpetuating anti romani things, and that y'all don't let others get away with racism against romani people anymore

[we-are-a-dragon]

DM: Are you leaving The God and the God?

Kjell (half-elf barbarian): One more thing, do you remember we once left an aspect of Demogorgon here?

DM: One of the gods says, "In a way. It was inside another creature."

Kjell: Yes. What happened to him?

DM: "He stayed a time, and then bought something from us and left."

Billie (gnome ardent): Did you get a name?

DM: "We did not."

Kjell: Well, what did he buy?

DM: They say, "We don't make a habit of discussing the purchases of other patrons."

Una (genasi artificer): Look… We’re in the middle of a whole broiling pot of shit. That person, and that aspect of Demogorgon, who is your natural enemy, are fucking a lot of shit up. We are trying to stop him.

DM: The gods turn and look at each other, and seem to have a silent discussion. They turn back. “While the lives of beings in the mortal realm are of no concern to us, it is possible that a being of such power gaining strength could spill over into the Feywild. We will tell you what we can of this one, for the last thing that any of us want is for the prince of demons to grow stronger. All we know is that he was a prisoner here in our tavern for a time. Many, many moons passed in your realm before he escaped. He purchased 'an exit', and what he paid for it was 'his sanity'.”

Una: That’s what I was afraid you were going to say.

DM: “We took his ability to be calm, to be rational, to be compassionate.”

Seraph (siren sorcerer): *dread* That sounds an awful lot like J.

Kjell: *angry* You chose to do that for someone containing the aspect of Demogorgon?

Thaddeus (khajiit paladin): Why did you keep him here so long?

DM: They say, "We did not. He was kept here by some other force, perhaps the aspect inside of him. The cunning head – we will not say its names – has many plans that are hidden to others. We showed him the door and told him how to use it many times."

Thaddeus: Well, thank you.

Kjell: Don’t thank them!

Thaddeus: For the information.

DM: Alwel says, “That’s probably the best we’ll get out of them. Most fey, especially fey gods, act only in their own interests.”

Kjell: *bitter* I’ll keep that in mind, your Highness.

DM: If it’s possible to sneer and wince at the same time, he does.

[mazurah]

Fear and Loneliness in Seyda Neen

Seyda Neen reminded Ma’zurah a little bit of home. The tall trees, the smell of water and vegetation, the guar--gods, Ma’zurah had not seen guar since she left Elsweyr--it all conspired to be both painful and comforting.

Her first few steps of freedom after completing the paperwork they made her sign for her release revealed that there was not actually all that much to the town. She could easily see from one end to the other. There were the docks, bordered by the Census and Excise office and a few small warehouses, with a handful of other houses and buildings beyond that. They looked new. Beyond the docks and warehouses on the shore, nestled into the edge of town stood a cluster of older wooden shacks that looked out of place next to the stone and thatch of the new Imperial buildings, like a fishing village that had gotten lost.

Scanning the surrounding area, Ma'zurah saw trees and swamp in one direction, and the sea in the other. She spotted a lighthouse perched at the end of a small peninsula past the last wooden shack; not exactly part of town, but not far enough away to be isolated either. Across a stretch of water, down the uneven coast, Ma'zurah thought she could see something floating like a small moon on the horizon, with buildings standing beneath, but they were much too far to make out any detail.

A cursory search for someplace resembling a shop or an inn revealed the tradehouse, located halfway between the new and old parts of town. Her attempts at conversation resulted in an informative exchange with a Redguard scout who was happy to give her an overview of the local geography.

It was approaching evening by the time Ma'zurah reluctantly turned her mind to what to do next. The tradehouse had no rooms available, and she had her orders: go to Balmora, deliver a package, and receive her next set of instructions. She had been given enough money to afford a fare on the strange, tall insect whose echoing call reverberated like something that should by all rights have been underwater. The ride was exciting, like riding a walking tree while the sun set in fabulous shades of pink and red around her. It was long past dark by the time the insect brought her to her destination.

Balmora did not remind Ma’zurah of home, and she was not sure if she should be disappointed or relieved that not all of this new strange land plucked at her emotions the same way the swamp did. Though the hour was late, there were still people about, mostly Dark Elves who gave her sidelong looks that she did not know how to interpret. She moved past them quickly, too aware of how visible her white fur was in the dark.

Finding Caius Cosades proved more difficult than she had anticipated, and sent her through parts of town she would otherwise have avoided, especially at night. She found him in what had to be the smallest house in the dirtiest alleyway in Balmora. He opened the door bleary-eyed and shirtless, and Ma’zurah immediately smelled moon sugar. It would have been a welcome scent if she had been in Elsweyr, if he had not been Imperial. Instead, it irked her. She had seen what happened to non-Khajiit who used the stuff in the Imperial City, and she did not like it. There was a good reason it was sacred to the Khajiit but denied to all else.

Tight-lipped, she proffered the package. Cosades read the label. His gaze sharpened and he waved her inside, all hint of the effects of the sugar gone from his stance as soon as the door was shut. He bolted it behind him, and Ma'zurah's heart sped up. Her fingers felt the familiar, comforting gestures of an invisibility spell, but she did not put any magicka into it. This man was supposed to be her "superior and patron" in Morrowind? The tip of her tail twitched in nervousness as Cosades read in silence.

Her waiting was rewarded with something that might have resembled an explanation if it had not been so absurd. The Emperor wanted her to become a Blade.

She dismissed the "Emperor" part immediately. She could safely assume he did not mean the literal Emperor. That was how these official types liked to talk; any action taken on behalf of the Empire was always the work of the Emperor. She knew about the Blades of course; they were supposed to be the Emperor's spies and personal guard. She was not exactly sure how she was expected to go directly from imprisonment to becoming a Blade entrusted with state secrets and the Emperor's life, but it seemed suspect at best.

"There must be some mistake," she told him.

He gave her a piercing stare, looked pointedly at the document he was holding, and asked, "You are Ma'zurah, correct? No surname, formerly of the state of Pellitine?"

Ma'zurah nodded mutely.

"No mistake. You are to become a Novice in the Blades, and that means you'll be following my orders. Are you prepared to follow my orders, Ma'zurah?"

Her fingers itched for the invisibility spell, but he was standing between her and the door, which was locked. "What happens if Ma'zurah says no?" she asked weakly.

"Then I will have to put you back on a boat for the mainland and return you to prison." His tone was dismissive, but Ma'zurah could tell he was watching her closely.

There was a long pause as Ma'zurah digested this information.

"Indefinitely," he added as the silence stretched.

The fur on the back of her neck stood up, and she felt a flash of anger for a brief moment before her anxiety subsumed it. She could not afford to lash out. She had to consider her options rationally.

She could probably get past him if she really tried, but if he really was a high ranking member of the Blades, and she could not see any way that he was not, then he would probably just put out a warrant for her arrest. In a strange province with no friends, or clan, or even allies, no real knowledge of the land, and with her distinctive appearance, it was doubtful she would be able to hide for long.

No friends or clan; she had not realized how vulnerable that made her. She was all alone. Her anxiety curdled suddenly into an icy spike of true fear. This had to be illegal, right? This was coercion. But there was no authority she could appeal to that would be willing to stand up to the Blades. Would anyone even believe her?

No running then. Maybe it would not be so bad. It was not her ideal job, and she had no loyalty to the Empire, but maybe she could get something out of it--some money and a place to sleep at the very least--even if the whole thing still rubbed her fur the wrong way.

"May Ma'zurah ask why she has been chosen for this honor?" she finally asked, her tone careful.

The man raised one brow at her. "No, Ma'zurah may not. Now will you take the oath, or am I going to have to send you back to Cyrodiil?"

Ma'zurah took the oath.

The next few days were a whirl of instructions and introductions. She did indeed get some money, and was told to get her bearings in Balmora, and get some equipment and training. To that end, Cosades sent her to three Blades agents in Balmora who would be able to provide the necessary training--for a fee, of course--and assistance in an emergency. When she had returned from introducing herself to them, three small gifts and much advice richer, Cosades gave her the names and locations of four more around Vvardenfell she should introduce herself to at some point. He suggested she start with the Redguard scout in Seyda Neen. Elone would be able to help her get the lay of the land, he said. Ma'zurah did not know how to feel when she realized she had probably met the woman already.

Finally, Cosades told her to establish a cover identity, and instructed her to check in with him next month to discuss its progress. "I don't care what it is, so long as it doesn't point back to us," he told her. "Go back to prostitution for all I care. The point is to establish a history for yourself here."

Ma'zurah scowled and went to sign up with the local Mages Guild instead. When she asked for work, she received an assignment from a distracted, but friendly Suthay alchemist to gather mushrooms from the swamp.

Happy to have such a solid excuse to return to the swamp that reminded her even a little of the jungles of her homeland, Ma'zurah procured a herbalist's bag and a book of local plants in a language she could actually read, and set off the next day, walking instead of riding, taking in the landscape at her own pace. It was beautiful, but lonely. She wished she had someone to share it with.

At least she had direction. She was not sure what she would have done with herself without direction. She had a task, and it distracted her minutely from the horrible anxiety of being so completely alone in a foreign land full of strangers who did not care about her. She wished she had a friend. Just one person who cared would be enough. Maybe then she would not feel as though she was climbing a narrow tree branch over the head of a hungry tiger. She had no one to steady her if she started to lose her balance. The utter lack of social connection was a new experience for her, and not one she liked. She felt vulnerable.

She missed her friends back in the Imperial City. She had not felt so alone since she had found out she would never be allowed to return to Elsweyr, and even then she had still had Dra'nassa. She had gone from a tribe of many to a tribe of two in a single day--a day she had previously considered to be the worst in her life. It had been hard building up connections after that, to replace the support of the tribe she had grown up in with one of her own making, but she had done it. When Dra'nassa had died, she had made enough friends to see her through her grief without despair.

This was worse. Now she had no one. Cosades had made it clear she could not go back to her old life. She would have to start over from nothing again, this time without Dra'nassa's help.

It was enough to make her want to cry. She saw a mushroom and distracted herself with the task at hand. If the fur of her cheeks was wet, the mushrooms certainly did not care.

She had already filled the bag halfway by the time she got back to Seyda Neen. She presented herself to the scout Elone--again--and tried not to feel horrible and ridiculous when she introduced herself as the Blades' newest novice.

The woman seemed friendly enough, and gave her a copy of "Guide to Vvardenfell" with accompanying maps. Ma'zurah was grateful. Maps were expensive. Ma'zurah asked if there was anything she could do to help her in return. Elone pursed her lips and sent her to check on a friend of hers who lived a short way outside of town.

"She was supposed to come see me after she got back from her scouting," Elone told her. "She's late. I'd check on her myself, but I have work I have to finish. It's probably nothing, Jasmine can take care of herself, but it's not like her to stay out for so long. Just check at her house and tell me if she's there. She might just be sick or something."

Ma'zurah agreed and went to check.

The house was locked and appeared empty. There was no answer to her knock, so Ma’zurah peeked through the window, and saw no lights lit. Frowning, she checked the muddy path for tracks, trying to determine if Elone's friend had been home recently enough to leave evidence. Ma'zurah was not the greatest tracker, but she knew enough to hunt animals in deep jungle, and enough to discover a faint set of prints leading up to the house, and another of the same size heading down the path in the direction of the town. Perhaps she had just missed the woman? But no, neither set seemed fresh enough.

She followed the path and the footprints back in the direction of Seyda Neen, resolving to tell Elone of her discovery. She was most of the way back to town when she came across several more sets of footprints--at least three, all overlapping--intercepting the first set of footprints. The trail became smudged and some of the prints scattered and came back, and the next trail Ma’zurah could find led into the underbrush at an angle, away from town. Whoever they were, they had taken Elone's friend with them for reasons inscrutable to Ma'zurah. Kidnapping was not typical behavior for bandits, and surely if the woman had come across friends on the path, they would not have trampled the ground quite so much. Each subsequent scenario Ma'zurah thought of was more worrying than the last.

She followed the tracks to a cave, thanking Azurah for the wet ground. Trampled plants stuck to the mud, making the trail easy to follow all the way to the stone of the cave mouth. It was hidden against a hillside at the edge of the swamp, behind a set of boulders that blocked line of sight from the path. Ma’zurah cautiously poked her head inside, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness, and saw the glow of a fire.

She followed the cave a few paces deeper into the hillside until she found the source of the light: a campfire, with a Dark Elf woman tending it. An overturned rowboat had been pulled into the shelter of the cave as well, and the back wall was blocked off by a fence. There was something wrong here, something obvious Ma'zurah was missing, but she could not pinpoint what.

And she would not find out what was going on by standing here like a lump.

"Hello?" Ma'zurah called.

The woman by the fire whirled, knife drawn. Ma'zurah gasped and cast invisibility on herself and dove for the shadows.

"Ku’or havag?" the woman called, stalking toward the cave entrance.

Ma'zurah could have kicked herself. Why would a woman sitting in a cave at the edge of a swamp respond positively to an unexpected stranger, no matter what reason she had for being there? She should have predicted this kind of a reaction instead of calling out and making it that much harder to sneak past an alert person. And of course a Dark Elf would be speaking the Dark Elven language in Morrowind. Somehow, Ma'zurah had not yet run into the language barrier in any significant way. She was going to have to learn the language.

"Ku’or edur diru?" The woman passed Ma'zurah's hidden form and stared out into the swamp, frowning.

There was a moment's pause, and Ma'zurah huddled against the wall of the cave, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

The woman turned abruptly on her heel and approached the wooden fence set into the back of the cave, muttering something incomprehensible under her breath.

Ma'zurah followed as closely behind her as she dared, practically holding her breath. Her heart was pounding. There was definitely something wrong here. She was sure of it now, even if she could not say why. It was a subtle thing, told in the set of the woman's jaw, or the hardness of her expression. It made the fur on the back of Ma'zurah's neck stand up.

If she could only figure out what was going on, or even just confirm that Elone's friend was here, she would not have to report back to Elone with so little news. She wished she had asked Elone for a description of her friend Jasmine.

The Dark Elf opened the gate and Ma'zurah slipped in behind her. Beyond the gate, the cave split into two paths, the leftmost branch leading up to another fence with a gate in it, and the rightmost branch leading down a slope and out of sight. Ma'zurah thought she could hear running water somewhere below.

The Dark Elf woman took the rickety wooden ramp down the uneven stone slope to the right. Ma'zurah started to follow when the woman called something ahead of herself. Two more Dark Elves appeared at the bottom of the ramp, and the woman spoke urgently to them. Their faces turned grim, and both stalked toward Ma'zurah's position.

Ma'zurah nearly panicked, trying to scramble out of their way without making any noise. She darted up the ramp to the left until she was almost backed up against the fence at the top. Oblivious to Ma'zurah's presence, the two Elves exited toward the mouth of the cave, leaving the woman at the bottom to retreat further down and out of Ma'zurah's sight.

Heart racing, Ma'zurah slumped against the fence, and the invisibility spell broke.

"Hey," a low feminine voice hissed urgently through the fence behind her, making Ma'zurah jump. "Do you have the key?"

Ma'zurah's fingers froze in the process of reapplying her invisibility spell as she registered the words. She peered between the slats of the fence and discovered a brown oval face with wide dark eyes and long black hair.

"Are you Jasmine?" Ma'zurah whispered back.

The face hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Please, you have to get us out of here." There was the faintest edge of desperation in her whispered tones. Ma'zurah's hackles rose again.

"Us?" Ma'zurah asked numbly.

Jasmine stepped back, allowing Ma'zurah to see through the narrow gaps in the fence. Huddled at the back of the small enclosure were two Argonians and a Suthay-raht, all wearing only the barest scraps of clothing. The Argonians both had a greenish tint to their scales, but one of them was shorter with a long row of spikes protruding from forehead to back of the neck, while the other had a pair of spikes on either side of the head. The Khajiit was orange-furred, with black markings around his eyes and nose, and had long mustaches which hung down on either side of his mouth. He was also topless, Ma'zurah observed, feeling faintly scandalized by the display of torso fur. And she could see his ribs beneath his fur, she realized with a different kind of shock. She did not know much about Argonian anatomy, but they did not look too good either.

The pieces slotted into place suddenly, along with the memory of half-heard rumors from Cyrodiil. This was slavery. Those Dark Elves out there meant to sell these people. She had heard the Dark Elves kept slaves, but she had not realized what that meant before. Sudden tears of horror and sympathy pricked at her eyes.

"What should Ma’zurah do?" she asked Jasmine urgently. Jasmine was, she noticed, by far the healthiest looking of the group. "She can… She can run and get help?"

"There's no time,” Jasmine whispered back. “I overheard them say they were going to move us. We have to get out of here before that happens or you'll never be able to find us again. You've got to get the key to the gate, and maybe the keys to our shackles. If I had a weapon, I could fight, but I don't think the others could."

Ma'zurah nodded firmly. "Ma'zurah will be back."

She stalked invisibly down into the depths of the cave, past a branch of tunnel filled with water, and up a wooden deck covered with crates. Fury had eclipsed her fear. Her hands shook with how angry she felt. It was not right. How could anyone hold people captive like this and disregard their suffering? How could they use people's suffering for profit? How could they live with themselves?

The Dark Elf woman was not in sight, so Ma'zurah began searching crates. She had searched two, finding nothing but alcohol and cheap imported clothing before her head caught up to her and she cast a spell, willing her magicka to show her keys.

She saw the glow of something small atop a crate when her time ran out, and the Dark Elf woman walked into view.

Ma'zurah panicked, but instead of fleeing again, she dove for the woman, claws extended, spurred on by the anger that mixed oddly with her fear. The woman only had time to shriek "N'wah!" before Ma'zurah's hands wrapped around her throat, claws tearing.

The next thing she knew, the woman was motionless on the ground, and Ma'zurah's hands were slick with blood. She felt like she could not breathe properly, like someone had punched her in the gut. She had never hurt anyone before in her life, and now…

She scooped up the key and the woman's dagger and retreated up the ramp to free the others before her thoughts could catch up with her and render her useless. Her hands shook as she fitted the key in the lock, and the key nearly slipped between her blood-slick fingers.

The door came open, and Ma'zurah thrust the dagger into Jasmine's hands. "Here. Ma'zurah did not find the shackle keys. Can we leave without them?"

"Keep looking," one of the Argonians advised in a half-cracked voice. "We will not find many willing to remove slave bracers. We will draw too much attention wearing them."

"There are at least two more people around here," Ma'zurah warned, mentally beating her emotions into submission. Her hands were still shaking. "We will have to hurry before they come back."

They filed down into the lower recesses of the cave, Ma’zurah at the front, Jasmine bringing up the rear with the knife. The Suthay-raht looked sidelong at the body of the fallen Dark Elf as they passed, eyes flicking from the claw gouges on her neck to Ma’zurah’s bloody hands. There was something like approval in his eyes.

Ma’zurah cast the spell of finding again, looking for something that might unlock the magic suppressing bracers on the wrists of her companions. The spell revealed another key on the body of the Elf, but it was too big to fit into any of the shackles.

They proceeded further into the cave, uncovering more crates, more clothing, more alcohol, a small stack of coins, and a pile of pillows with what Ma'zurah's nose told her was moon sugar smuggled inside. She dumped one out, frowning at the little purple vials that fell along with the paper envelopes of white crystals. Confused, she sniffed one of the vials and got the overpowering scent of moon sugar and alchemy for her trouble.

"Skooma," the Suthay-raht rasped behind her in explanation.

Ma'zurah dropped the thing hastily. The Clan Mothers always taught that moon sugar was a blessing from Azurah, but skooma was a perversion created by Imperials.

It was also not a key. She searched the crates again for the telltale glow of the spell, but found nothing.

"There are no keys here," she told the group. They would have to keep moving.

They twisted around a narrow gap at the back of the cavern, only to find another wooden fence, and beyond it, a flooded tunnel descending down even further.

"We could dive for it," one of the Argonians offered, and distractedly Ma’zurah realized from her voice that the Argonian was probably female, though Ma'zurah was hardly in a position to judge someone's gender based on their physical attributes.

"I doubt they hid the keys underwater though," the second Argonian concluded.

There was a sudden shout from back the way they had come and Ma’zurah’s breath caught in her throat. The overwhelming emotions she had been suppressing threatened to overtake her again. In her peripheral vision, she saw Jasmine raise her knife and start back toward the noise, and Ma'zurah realized she had also committed herself to protecting these people. She frantically tried to remember everything she had learned about Destruction magic at the Arcane University and ran past Jasmine, readying a blast of frost.

She had just enough time to register that the two Dark Elves who had left had returned with three others in tow, and that they had just stumbled on the dead body of their compatriot, before she loosed the spell in her hands with as much force as she could muster.

There was a reverberating crack and a hair-raising rumble as the telekinetic blast propelling her spell forward connected not just with her foes, but with the far wall of the cave and a low hanging portion of the ceiling. Stone cracked, the ground shook, and before anyone had time to do anything more than scream, the roof caved in, burying the group of Dark Elves and the exit.

A deafening silence followed. Nobody moved.

“Well,” Jasmine began, lowering her dagger.

The mountainous pile of rock and gravel that covered the exit shifted slightly, and a scattering of scree clattered down the heap. One of the torches illuminating the cave flickered and died.

Ma’zurah sat down on the ground and promptly burst into tears.

“Oh no…” moaned the Suthay-raht. “Oh nooo…”

“Let’s not panic,” Jasmine said, with a kind of calm Ma’zurah could not imagine she actually felt. They were stuck here, and it was all Ma’zurah’s fault. She felt herself begin to hyperventilate.

“Be right back,” one of the Argonians said in a matter-of-fact tone. There was the sound of retreating footsteps, then a ripple of water and a splash.

A flicker of hope cut through Ma'zurah's panic at the sound. There might be another way out! She scrubbed at her face with her hands, trying to quiet her emotions. The scent of blood assaulted her nose like a warhammer and she recoiled, trying not to begin hyperventilating again for a different reason.

“Alright,” a deep reptilian voice said from just behind Ma’zurah, and Ma’zurah felt hands under her armpits, lifting her to her feet. “Come on, get up.”

The remaining Argonian clasped his hand around her upper arm and led her through the back of the cave to the flooded tunnel. He stopped at the water’s edge. “Clean yourself up a bit. You'll feel better.”

Ma’zurah nodded gratefully and knelt to wash her hands and face.

“Sorry,” she said guiltily once she had finished scrubbing. The cold water had grounded her flying emotions into a hard but manageable lump, and her newly regained clear-headedness brought with it an awful awareness. These people had been literal slaves, and here she was the only one crying like a newborn kitten.

The Argonian looked at her with an indecipherable expression. Heat blossomed in her face despite the chilly dampness of her fur. Her emotions still felt like a tangle, and she could not find the words to adequately explain why she was apologizing. “Thanks,” she finally said instead.

The Argonian turned his head away. “Don’t mention it.”

Jasmine appeared behind her with the Suthay-raht just as the water rippled and the other Argonian surfaced.

“It’s a bit of a climb,” she told them in her odd rasping accent, “but it looks like there is a way out.

Jasmine nodded firmly. “Alright, gather what you want to take from here, and let’s go.”

Ma’zurah simply sat at the water’s edge and waited for the others. The roiling tangle of emotion in her gut made the prospect of looting the remaining crates totally unappealing, and besides, the others probably needed the things more. They could get new clothes at least.

The Argonian was right. It was a bit of a climb. Once they surfaced on the other side of the flooded tunnel, they had to climb a tall bank to get out of the water, and then up a steep tunnel that opened suddenly behind a cluster of stalactites into the cavern wall above and to the right of the fence that led to the freed slaves’ erstwhile cell. Once they made the drop down, they had only to walk over and open the gate that led to the cave entrance.

“Wait,” Ma’zurah said suddenly, remembering. “Your shackles--”

“We know,” said Jasmine quietly.

“The keys were probably buried,” one of the Argonians explained. Guilt shot through Ma'zurah. No one had cast any blame, but she still felt it.

“We’ll figure something out once we get out of here.” Jasmine gestured them through the gate. “We can go to my house. It’s not far.”

They went to Jasmine’s house. She retrieved a key from a flower pot and let them inside, and the five of them collapsed onto the plush rug in the middle of Jasmine’s floor, relieved and emotionally drained after their ordeal. There was a long moment of silence.

Jasmine got up abruptly and rummaged through her cupboards. She returned with half a loaf of bread and a knife, and served each of them slices.

Ma’zurah chewed hers in silence. As soon as Jasmine’s door had closed between her and the outside world, she had felt her grasp on her emotions slipping. She could feel the tears coming. She could not let the others see her cry again. She did not know what would be worse, having them ignore her or try to comfort her.

She stood up. “Ma’zurah needs to-- Ma’zurah has got to-- Be back.” She fled out the front door and into the little outhouse at the side of Jasmine’s house. She closed the door behind her and took one shaky breath before the tears came in full force and she was sobbing and shuddering. She sat down on the wooden outhouse seat, still in her damp clothing, and rode the wave of her emotions.

She felt bad. And once she felt bad about one thing, more reasons to feel bad flooded her. She could have died! She had not cast invisibility, and instead she had fought, and she could have died. She had never hurt anyone before, but this time she had fought and killed someone. Several someones, actually, but the rest were not nearly as personal as the first someone. They could have killed her, but instead she had their blood on her hands, figuratively and literally, though she did not think she felt nearly as bad about them being dead as she did about having to be the one to commit the act. That also made her feel bad. What was wrong with her that she was more upset about having clawed a woman’s throat out than about the woman being dead? She was no stranger to blood, but killing animals was nothing like killing people. And still, she felt less upset about having dropped a cave on top of a group of people than she did about the memory of warm blood beneath her claws. She should not feel like this!

And then there was the slavery. She had not thought about what slavery was really like before. It had always been an abstract concept that was far away and never affected her personally. To be confronted by the reality of it so suddenly was a shock, though she probably should have seen it coming. She just had not connected the Morrowind of Imperial rumor and speculation with the Morrowind she had been sent to. Was she in danger of being captured and sold? She supposed she was, especially since that seemed to be what had happened to Jasmine, and Jasmine was not even Khajiit! This province was dangerous. She did not feel safe!

Why had they sent her here? She did not want to be here! She did not know anything about this place. She did not even speak the language! She wanted to be back in the Imperial City studying magic and laughing with her friends. She was alone here. She did not have any friends in this strange land--no clan, not even the self-made clan she had gathered around herself after she had been exiled from Elsweyr, and after Dra’nassa had died. She had never been so alone in her life. It was terrifying.

The tears came harder. She felt so bad! The mental refrain felt like a wail.

And she could not leave! She could not leave after swearing an oath to the Blades, or she would be branded a traitor and hunted down and imprisoned for the rest of her life! It was a kind of slavery itself, whether she stayed or tried to leave. She had not done anything to deserve this kind of treatment! Whoever had picked her to join the Blades obviously did not know anything about her. She was the worst pick for that kind of job. They should have asked instead of forcing her to join. She did not want it! She just wanted to leave. But she could not, because they were coercing her, and she was scared. She was scared of being branded a traitor and hunted, she was scared of the Blades, and she was scared of Caius Cosades. Caius Cosades was not a nice man. She wished she never had to speak to him again. She wished she never had to speak to any of the Blades again, even Elone, who seemed nice, but could not be trusted because she was a Blade, and the Blades were not nice people.

She felt so bad. She felt so bad! She was alone in this province, no friends, no clan, no one who cared if she felt bad, and she could not leave, and she was angry and scared, and she felt so bad!

There was a knock on the outhouse door. “Ma’zurah?” Jasmine’s voice was muffled, but recognizable.

Ma’zurah sniffled and scrubbed at her face with the heel of her hand. The fur of her cheeks, already damp from the swim through the flooded tunnel, was soaked again. “Sorry, Ma’zurah will be out soon,” she managed to croak out. Her nose was stuffed up, and her eyes were sore and puffy.

“I brought you a change of clothes. I thought you might want something dry.”

Ma’zurah opened the door. Jasmine’s face fell at the sight of her. “Oh dear…”

Ma’zurah shook her head violently. “No no, Ma’zurah does not want to hear it. Jasmine has been through much worse.”

Jasmine drew her brows together. “It’s not a competition. What's wrong?"

Ma'zurah shook her head mutely. There was no way she was going to lay her troubles on someone who still wore the shackles of slavery. The Clan Mothers had not raised her to be a burden.

Jasmine clicked her tongue. "Well, it looks like a change of clothes isn't going to be enough. Come inside and I'll get you a towel. Baadargo is using my washtub right now, but you're welcome to bathe after him."

With guilt, Ma'zurah realized she had not asked for the names of any of the others. How self absorbed was she? Her emotions felt like they had been scraped raw, and tears welled in her eyes again.

Jasmine's eyes went wide. "Whoa, hey, it's alright! You're alright, okay?" Her hands fluttered around Ma'zurah's shoulders, but did not quite touch her.

Ma'zurah nodded agreement, but the tears would not go away. She contemplated retreating into the outhouse again, but she had already alarmed Jasmine enough. She needed a distraction.

"Tell Ma'zurah--" Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat and tried again. "Tell Ma'zurah how Jasmine got in that cave?"

Jasmine's shoulders slumped and she let out a long sigh. Alarmed at her suddenly morose expression, Ma'zurah made a placating gesture. "You do not have to--"

"No, it's-- You deserve to hear it after everything you did for me. Actually, I was meaning to thank you. If you hadn't come along…" Jasmine paused, eyes distant. "I was just trying not to think about it yet."

"Ma'zurah is sorry--"

Jasmine shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry about." Her shoulders straightened again. "In any case, there's no point standing around out here when we could be sitting inside. I'll find you a towel, and then I'll tell you the whole thing if you want."

Ma'zurah followed Jasmine inside, reluctant to show her face to the others, but unwilling to be rude to the woman who was trying to be nice to her.

As soon as they got inside, the pair of Argonians approached them. Ma'zurah tried to hide behind Jasmine without looking like she was doing so.

"You have been a most generous to host us," the deeper-voiced of the Argonians told Jasmine, making a complicated hand gesture.

“And a kind rescuer,” the second interjected, pointedly looking at Ma’zurah and making the same gesture. Ma'zurah's face felt too warm.

“And we wish to show our gratitude."

The pair of them exchanged glances, and the second one took up where the first had left off. "We have nothing we could offer as thanks, so we were thinking--"

The first one made eye contact with Jasmine. "If you are willing to lend us the use of your cooking fire--"

"And you are willing to wait for us to catch the fish before we cook them…" The second Argonian shoved an admonishing hand against the first's shoulder with a look that might have contained amusement, though Ma'zurah was no expert at reading Argonian expressions.

Jasmine blinked at the pair. "By all means, feel free," she told them, sounding surprised.

"Then we will be back with a feast!" the first Argonian declared, and the pair of them exited the house.

"At least they're happy," Jasmine said with a shake of her head. She crossed the room and searched her cabinets for a towel.

Ma’zurah stood in the doorway and took in the room for the first time. The house was small, probably only two rooms large; modest by Imperial standards, but clean. The room she was in held a kitchen in the Imperial style, a table, a fireplace, a writing desk, and a large bookshelf, but no bed, and no washtub. Ma’zurah could hear the sounds of splashing from the next room. She could even hear the Suthay-raht, Baadargo singing muffled snatches of song in what must have been the Dark Elf language, because it certainly was not Ta'agra. With a pang of loneliness, Ma’zurah realized she had not heard anyone speak Ta’agra since she got to Morrowind. She hugged her arms around her chest.

Jasmine returned with a fluffy towel, which she draped gently across Ma'zurah's shoulders, and led her out of the doorway. Ma’zurah followed her with a painful hope in her chest. Jasmine was being nice, friendly even, and Ma’zurah had been so alone. She desperately needed a friend. She felt like they had the spark of connection; maybe Jasmine could be the friend she needed.

Once Ma’zurah was dry and clothed in Jasmine's loaned dress, she found herself sitting next to Jasmine at the table as the woman began the story of how she had gotten caught.

"I've been working with my friend Elone to track the activity of smugglers along this section of the Bitter Coast--"

Ma'zurah had to interrupt. "Is Jasmine a Blade too?" she blurted out, dreading the answer. Blades could not be trusted, no matter how nice they were. She cringed, realizing what she had just said.

Jasmine gave her a puzzled and vaguely alarmed look. "No, I'm technically an independent contractor. Elone commissions me to help her when she gets assignments too big for one person or she's too busy to go out herself. But now I'd like to know how you know Elone is a Blade. Not many people know that."

Ma'zurah bit her lip. She had probably given away too much already. She had been raised by the Clan Mothers; she was supposed to know the value of keeping secrets. She knew it was expected of her as a Blade, but she just was not cut out for weaving the kind of elaborate subterfuge required of a spy. They should have asked her before dragging her into this mess. She felt bitter about the whole thing, and not a little rebellious. She was tired and lonely. She wanted to tell Jasmine. Besides, if Jasmine knew the truth about Elone, Cosades probably would not punish her for telling the truth about herself as well. Especially if he never found out.

"Ma'zurah is a Blade too now," she mumbled. She felt absurdly like she was telling a dirty secret, though she was not sure she could articulate why.

Jasmine opened her mouth, stopped, and closed it again. "I see," she said finally. Something in her expression became ever so slightly more closed off, as though she was watching her words in a way she had not been before. Maybe she was worried about getting Elone in trouble, or maybe she did not trust the Blades either. Maybe she thought Ma'zurah was like Cosades. The thought made Ma'zurah feel as though she could not breathe. She was filled with the sudden, desperate need to tell Jasmine the whole story; to distance herself from the Blades and prove she was not one of them, not really. She wanted to regain that small measure of trust that she had just lost. She was already so isolated, she did not want to lose this connection. She needed a friend so badly.

"You asked why Ma'zurah was upset," she began urgently, leaning closer to Jasmine.

"Yes?" Jasmine looked surprised at the change of subject.

"It is related."

The story came torrenting out: the illegal prostitution charges, the prison sentence, the inexplicable deportation, the package for Caius Cosades, the extortion. She told her about how she did not want to be a Blade, how she did not feel safe in Morrowind, and how she could not leave. She started crying again in the middle of it, and Jasmine put a hand on her knee. Ma'zurah hid her face in her damp towel, but kept talking until she got it all out.

"I'm sorry, that sounds awful," was Jasmine's quietly horrified response. Ma'zurah's gaze flicked to the magic suppressing slave bracer still locked around Jasmine's wrist and remembered her resolution not to be a burden. She could not bring herself to regret telling Jasmine though, because there was genuine sympathy in her eyes now instead of that quiet wariness. And Ma’zurah would not be a burden if this was a mutual exchange.

"Your turn," she said, sniffling. "You just got captured by slavers. Do you want to talk about it?"

Jasmine closed her eyes. "No, but I should."

She told Ma’zurah about how she had been scouting, and been caught snooping too close to the smugglers' cave. She had made a hasty retreat, and thought she had avoided being pursued, so she had gone home. She was on her way into town to report to Elone when she had been ambushed. She could have fought them off if one of them had not snuck up on her from behind.

"I was so scared…" Jasmine's voice was so small it was nearly a whisper. “They were going to sell me. Who knows what would have happened to me after that. They said I would be… valuable. Because of my looks. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life. Not even when--not ever.” She closed her eyes, and the tears that had been slowly welling in them finally spilled over. She swiped at them with her fingertips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“It is fine." Ma'zurah put a hand on Jasmine's knee. "It seems like a reasonable reaction.”

Jasmine shook her head and covered her face with her hands.

Baadargo chose that moment to open the door to the next room. He looked much better. His orange fur had been combed, and he was dressed in more than just rags. He took in the scene and his eyes gained a quality similar to those of a frozen deer. Ma’zurah tried to offer him a tremulous smile, but he retreated, closing the door behind him quietly.

“Sorry,” Jasmine repeated once her shoulders stopped shaking. She tried to wipe her face with her hands, and Ma’zurah offered a corner of her towel. Jasmine looked at it skeptically, and went to retrieve a washcloth instead.

“In the cave,” Jasmine continued after she had wiped her face and steadied her breath, “you asked me if I was Jasmine. How did you know who I was, and where to find me?”

“Elone asked Ma’zurah to check at Jasmine’s house to see if she was there. Ma’zurah found footprints leading from Jasmine’s house, and she followed them.”

“I see. Thank you. I can’t imagine what would have happened to me if you hadn’t done that.”

Ma’zurah nodded and opened her mouth to reply, but Jasmine had closed her eyes and was sitting very still. She looked like she was waiting, Ma’zurah thought, or listening.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s over.”

“It is,” Ma’zurah assured her. “They cannot sell you, or anyone now.”

Jasmine just shook her head. "The thought of going back out, scouting the Bitter Coast like before…" Jasmine took a shuddering breath. "I don't think I can do it. Not--not yet. Not for a while, maybe, and not by myself."

Ma'zurah nodded sympathetically.

"What are you doing after this?" Jasmine asked, turning her focus back to Ma'zurah with a suddenness that startled her.

"Er, Ma'zurah is doing jobs for the Balmora Mages Guild, she thinks. Why?"

"Do you think--" She stopped and tried a new tack. "You seem like you can take care of yourself."

Ma'zurah nodded slowly. She usually took care of herself by turning invisible when things became dangerous, but she supposed today's events proved she could take care of herself in other ways too. She was not sure where Jasmine was going with this.

"Do you think I could… travel with you for a while? Help you with jobs?" Jasmine's voice sounded hopeful, and her words tumbled out in a rush. "Only if you want the company. I wouldn't be a burden. I have a strong sword arm, and I'm good with a bow. I couldn't ask Elone for something like this, she can't leave the Bitter Coast right now, and I don't know anyone else well enough to be able to ask--"

"Yes!" Ma'zurah felt like she would burst. She would not be alone anymore! She threw her arms around Jasmine's shoulders. "Yes, of course! Ma'zurah would be glad to have your company."

Jasmine stiffened in surprise, then released a breath and returned Ma'zurah's embrace, smiling ruefully. "It will be good to get back on the road again."

Ma'zurah sat back and beamed at her.

"First things first. We have to take care of these." Jasmine tapped the bracer on her wrist. "I don't think it would be safe to ask a blacksmith or a locksmith for help, but I was thinking maybe we could get some scrolls. They might be expensive, but maybe Elone knows someone who--"

"Hold on." Ma'zurah's brow furrowed. The idea of scrolls pinged something in her recollection. "Ma'zurah has a thought. In theory, Ma'zurah knows a spell. She has never used it, but before Jasmine speaks of buying expensive scrolls, perhaps she would like Ma'zurah to try."

"Is it dangerous?"

Ma'zurah pursed her lips. "Not really. Definitely not if it is cast correctly."

Jasmine gave her a searching look and hesitantly proffered her arm.

It took two tries. The first time it failed outright, and Ma'zurah wished she had access to her notes far away at the Arcane University. The second time the lock came open with a muffled click.

“Thank you,” Jasmine breathed, rubbing her wrist and sounding supremely relieved. “I should--we should let the others know.” She rose and knocked on the door to the next room. “Baadargo?”

There was no answer.

Frowning, Jasmine opened the door.

The orange Khajiit was asleep on the floor, curled into a tight ball in the corner of the room.

He peeked an eye open at their approach. “This one can come out now?”

"Why are you on the floor?" Jasmine asked, bemused.

"Where else should this one be?"

"The bed?"

Baadargo looked over at the bed and Ma'zurah followed his gaze. It was a nice bed, with soft, clean blankets smoothed over the top, and not a wrinkle in sight.

"That is the bed of muthsera Jasmine, not Baadargo." The Khajiit's voice was plaintive. "This one did not want to mess it up."

Jasmine tisked, but let it drop.

“Show Ma’zurah Baadargo’s bracer please?” Ma'zurah asked, helping the Suthay-raht to his feet.

He held out his wrist and Ma’zurah opened the lock.

“Fantastic! Can this one learn to do such things?” Baadargo’s tone was wondering, as though Ma'zurah had handed him a precious gift and he could hardly believe it.

Jasmine laughed along with the joy on the Suthay-raht's face, but Ma’zurah gave his question serious consideration. “Does Baadargo have a talent for magic?”

Baadargo’s face fell slightly, though the joy remained. “This one does not know. This one has never had the bracer off long enough to find out before.”

“Never?” Jasmine asked, horrified.

“This one was born with it.”

Ma’zurah gaped at the Suthay-raht. Her mind boggled at the thought of being born into slavery. She could not imagine a life like that.

A look of concern had affixed itself to Jasmine’s face. “If you've never been free, do you have anywhere to go? Or anywhere you want to go?”

Baadargo nodded. “This one has heard rumors. They say the scaled ones in Ebonheart will help those who want to leave. Baadargo was going there.”

“Alright.” Jasmine glanced at Ma’zurah. “I guess that will be our first stop.”

Ma’zurah nodded.

Jasmine spent the next hour packing and preparing her house for her imminent absence. Ma’zurah laid the things in her bag out to dry, lamenting the water damage to her new maps, and then proceeded to sit at the kitchen table and attempt to teach Baadargo how to access his own well of magicka.

At some point the pair of Argonians returned with three large fish and a mudcrab, which they gleefully cooked. Ma’zurah demonstrated again the spell of opening, which prompted the Argonians to speak animatedly of their plans to return to the marshes of their homeland. Jasmine suggested they travel with Baadargo to look for assistance first, and to that end, the five of them hired two fishing boats from the outskirts of Seyda Neen to take them to Ebonheart directly, avoiding the main roads. Jasmine and Ma’zurah stopped to assure Elone that Jasmine was fine before they departed.

When they arrived at the fort, Jasmine had only to ask for “the Argonians” to be directed to the Argonian Embassy. They had barely taken two steps inside before they encountered a tall Argonian in an elegant robe, who quickly divined the situation and whisked the three former slaves away to a safe place.

Then it was just Ma’zurah and Jasmine. Ma’zurah gave Jasmine the details of her job for the Balmora Mages Guild, and the pair of them set off in the direction of Balmora. There was a lightness to Ma’zurah’s step that she had not felt since before she had been imprisoned in Cyrodiil.

Ma’zurah looked over at the Redguard walking beside her. She still missed the life she had lost, the life she could not go back to, but at least now she was not completely alone. Now she had a friend.

[talldarkandroguesome]

21st of Hearthfire, Tirdas

What a satisfying day it has been. 

My task for Naryu, stealing certain Redoran records could not have been more easy. A new recruit could have done it with their eyes closed. any thief with even half their wits about them could take everything from the building without being noticed.

Really, are the Redoran so comfortable in Balmora they do not know how to secure their own people’s private information? Is their reputation as the House of the strongest fighters really enough that no one else has made a single attempt? It is all rather shameful. I almost felt guilty doing it. It was too easy.

I understand why Naryu sent me though. There are major ramifications for working outside of the prescribed activities, particularly when they are illegal, personal, and involve the Houses.  If a writ was involved, it would be a different story. This was something else entirely.

It felt good to have Naryu owe me a favor though. It has been a while since she has, actually. Usually it is more the other way round. 

I met Naryu down in her safehouse and delivered the registry, as promised, before the moons were even turned to sink in the sky.

Of course, I also snuck a look into the registry myself. Never hurts to gather information that might prove useful later on. Naryu asked if I had read it and I just smiled. There was no need to lie.

She just laughed, her hair falling back from her face. It was good to see her laugh. She deserves far more genuine happiness than ever she seems to find. 

Naryu asked me if I learned anything interesting in the files and I told her that it was not much, just information about the son of a councilor Eris who had been exiled. That made her brows furrow and she said that could not possibly be right, since the son, Ulran, was apparently an exemplary officer in the House guard. She said she needed to learn more about everything.

I told her I would usually offer my help, but that I had my own House obligations to head to Ald’ruhn. She seemed a little disappointed and joked that maybe I had grown up if I was no longer chasing her across the provinces for the honor of working by her side.

We laughed. I asked if there was anything more I could do on my way or before I headed out. She said she needed to learn more, but asked if I would not find the exiled guard’s sister to let her know what I had found.

I said I would at first light and before the sky had brightened, I headed out towards where Naryu had directed me. It was not too far from where I was going to be heading anyway, only about an hour or so west of Ald’ruhn, and besides, any more I can do for Naryu, I would like to.

If my brother had disappeared and it turned out he was exiled by my own House under mysterious circumstances that were unknown, apparently even when my father, a councilmer knew of them, I would be scraping for any information I could. I understood how difficult that place of a parent being on the House Council and not letting you know what was happening to your family can be. I have been there myself far too many times.

So I headed out and ran into a Redoran captain barking orders at Khajiit soldiers, though not of the House. I stopped and asked him about what was going on in the area, since I was a simple traveler and did not want to risk too much danger.

The mer looked me up and down and then told me I should wait in the city until things were cleared. Something about a Councilmer’s daughter being returned home after her implied kidnapping. Something felt off about it though. Why were there non-House soldier involved? How bad was the truth if he was willing to imply that House Redoran had made enough mistakes to let one of their own councilor’s daughters be kidnapped?

I played the role of the concerned citizen and told him I would head back right away and rushed back down the road. Once I was out of sight, I drew my shadows to me and head out across the swamp. I heard a couple of the soldiers talking to one another. My Ta’agra is abhorrent, but I still heard something about the brother killing one of his own for someone else. Perhaps that is why Naryu was involved. Maybe he had joined, or had applied to join the Morag Tong. Then was set to kill someone in his House and things did not work out properly?

I did not stay to try and learn more. Instead I continued until I had passed where they seemed to be searching. It was not long before I happened upon a young mer, crouched down behind a large rock. I came and squatted down, asking her if there was danger ahead.

She startled and turned to me in surprise, pulling out a dagger. Then seeing I was not in a threatening position told me not to sneak up on a person and asked if I was with the Warclaws.

I told her I had no idea who the Warclaws were, then asked if she had a brother named Ulran. Her eyes brightened with recognition. She said I must be the one Naryu had been working with. I laughed and told her, yes, Naryu and I were old friends.

She told me she wanted to hear everything I had to say, but that with the swamp teeming with mercenaries, we should go to her hideout to talk, but that the mercenaries were sniffing around by where the entrance was and she could not get inside. We got a bit closer and I looked to see that, sure enough, there were three of them wandering around, almost guarding the area.

I told her that I would take care of them and that as soon as she saw they were down, to run to the cave and I would follow her. She raised and eyebrow as she looked me up and down and told me that a merchant thief trying to play chivalrous was likely to wind up dead.

With a laugh I bowed my head and told her that stealing was a side part to my occupation and that Naryu and I had far more in common than she might think. Then I teleported away and behind the mercenary who was furthest from the other two. I shoved a paralyizing needle into the soft, unprotected area in the neck between helm and gorget. She did not make a sound as she fell into my arms, solid as a rock. I grabbed her head and gave a might twist, hearing the crack that let me know her life was over. I dropped her to the ground, just as one of the others turned.

I gathered the shadows to me once more, feeling that rush of my youth once more. I was seventy again, wild and free and sending souls to my Prince in service of a goal. Hoping that, if I did well enough, Naryu and I would soon meet up for a nice drink.

The mercenaries shouted as they ran to their fallen friend, trying to determine what had befallen her. The one in the back, an archer was the right height that I could easily give myself a moment to line up just before I swung my sword at his throat. He gasped, a long hiss of air as he groped at his neck. His companion finally catching a glimpse of me.

I teleported behind her and got my dagger in her side as she started to turn, an elbow just grazing my cheek as I pulled back quickly. Then I teleported a distance away and decided to try out some of my less practiced magicka. I had an audience after all, and I thought it would be jolly fun to make a bit of an impression.

I shot out a gout of flame and made it continue to roll along the ground in the warrior’s direction. She cried as she held up her shield and rushed forward, though it was obvious the heat was burning her skin. She charged and thrust her polearm forward. By that time, however, I had already gotten inside of her weapon’s range, knowing the weakness of her weapon as well as she did.

There was a look of comprehension at her own failure just before I brought my sword clean through her eye and into the back of her head. Her body twitched a moment before I pulled back and if crumpled to the ground.

I turned where the mer was behind the rock and motioned for her to run, while I checked we were not being followed.

But we were. I spotted the two others at a distance and saw the bow raised. I teleported behind a rock, then forward again. I ripped the bow from the mercenary’s hand and thanked Mephala for giving me such knowledge of killing techniques. For the man, unarmed, was able to strike out at me with his fists. I formed a ball of fire around him and collapsed it onto him, just in time for his companion to level their axe at my head.

I slid down to my knees as the axe came clean across the other mercenary’s chest. I slashed at the back of the ankles as I rolled to the side, watching the massive, muscular form of my assailant go suddenly to their knees. Then I thrust both blades down underneath of the arm pits, and the body slumped forward.

I could hear the groans and struggle of people who would not live much longer, but I needed them to be silenced and I cast my webs around all their faces. If they suffocated, all the faster a release from their pain.

Entering the cave, I saw the mer had made herself a fire and was warming her hands. She asked me, sarcastically about her luxury accommodations and I told her that certainly I had worse myself out in the field. She introduced herself as Veya Releth and asked me about where I had learned all my fighting techniques and if I was a mage.

I told her it was a complicated sort of story and that she no doubt needed to hear more about her family than some old mer’s life story. Her disappointment evident, I told her I would tell her later or she could ask Naryu about how we met and that seemed to suffice.

I explained what I had read in the registry and that Naryu had been trying to find out more information. I even mentioned overhearing that he killed one of his own, but that I had not heard exactly what had happened or who he had killed the person for.

She seemed as incredulous as Naryu about the whole affair, talking through it aloud to try and make sense of it all. I wished that I had had some sort of answers for her, but I knew so little of the situation, I am afraid that I was of little help.

It was not much longer before Naryu appeared. She told Veya to pack up quick, the House guard and the mercenaries were marching on the cave and would be there any moment.

As Veya gathered her precious few things, I turned to Naryu and asked her what our plan of egress was. She said we would take the back tunnels, I should go with Veya and keep her safe while Naryu made sure to slow them down as much as possible. Then we would meet at a particular hill to plan our next moves.

I nodded and told her not to make a repeat of the incident in Hei Halai. She shot me a look of warning and told me I had promised never to bring that incident up. I laughed and blew her a kiss before heading off after Veya.

The tunnels were long and winding and had more than a couple of dreugh that we had to hack our way through.

When at last we came out, we looked down to see a group of House Redoran’s soldiers, their captain, and several of the mercenaries, alongside a clear councilmer of House Redoran.

Veya cursed her luck and said her father was going to ruin everything before she even had a chance to learn the truth. I told her not to worry, I could handle this with a distraction enough to let her escape.

She seemed surprised I would do such a thing, but also doubted that I would be able to do anything, no matter how good I was earlier, when there were so many soldiers there.

I told her that I could be so very persuasive if I wished to be and that no matter what happened, she should not worry about me, but make her escape as she had planned to do with Naryu as a contingency before. I would keep her secret.

She looked skeptical, but agreed.

I went up to the ledge and shrieked. Which got everyone’s attention. I made such a racket I do not think anyone even in Balmora might have missed it.

The captain yelled up at me about what I was doing up there.

I told him I had been chased by strange warriors and that I had run when they tried to attack me. There was an exchange of looks between the captain and that councilor. 

Working myself up to a greater fury, I announced myself as part of House Indoril, making a pilgrimage to the Temples of Vvardenfell as part of my year of spiritual enlightenment and demanded that someone help me to get down.

The councilor demanded my name and rank and I provided it in the true Dunmeri fashion going back eighteen generations and was promptly cut off as two of the House soldiers were bade to go and collect me.

I had a brief talk with the Councilor where he apologized and said that they had been looking for his daughter who had run away.

I played the part of someone very sympathetic and offered to help in any way that I could, since our Houses were so closely aligned. He thanked me.

The captain began to demand answers about why I had not disclosed my identity when I saw him. I turned to the councilor as though this was a breech of propriety and I was aghast that he had addressed me so informally.

The councilmer apologized and said that their soldiers were more straightforward than most and stood on less ceremony than perhaps I was used to, but asked if I would not answer the captain’s questions. I drew my robes closer around me and said that I had said nothing because the mer had a brutish look about him and I did not want to risk being attacked by bandits.

Oh, that sure got a stir of emotions from the captain, who was about to say more. But I turned back to the councilmer and asked if there was anything to be done. He replied that there was a report of his daughter being spotted out here and asked if I had seen anything.

I told him I had seen a young woman with silver hair running south east while I was in the swamp, not twenty minutes before I was accosted by the savages out in the swamp.

It hurts to play into the horrible things that my people call the other races, but I had to sell my role regardless, so I did what I had to.

In the end, the majority of the forces headed off in the direction I pointed and the councilor invited me back for a meal as an apology. It was an awkward sort of affair, but I did not let my emotions show. I played up myself as one deeply spiritual and deeply committed to the traditions, the very picture of Indoril sensibilities.

It was awful. But I play a good part when I must.

In the end I excused myself before I overstayed my welcome and headed off to the next shrine, given many dire warnings about the dangers of the barbaric Ashlanders along the road north. It was clear from the description that these were a Zainab group and I made note that they must have moved south west from their usual camp in the area near Vos. I figured that meeting them would be my next step, since I was charged to meet with any Velothi group I could.

With great effort, I held my tongue and cheerfully thanked Council Eris for his wisdom and help. And I promised him a return of hospitality next time he came to Mournhold. 

I am finishing up a tall bottle of wine before I go to meet them up. Killing works up such a thirst.

[the-hoarse-bard]

 As I was prepping myself for the climb ahead with some meditation, I overheard some local villagers talking about a man named Klimmek. It seems he usually helps provide food to the Greybeards, but had been unable to do so lately due to a knee injury. Thinking it would probably be bad for me if my new instructors were to starve, I found Klimmek and offered to take the supplies up for him. He was very grateful, and told me to just leave the bag in the chest outside the door of the monastery.

I stood before the first step, Klimmek’s supplies in hand, paralyzed. Could I really do this? I took a few deep breaths and remembered the words of my mentor when I was leaving Elsweyr for Skyrim, “the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”. I could still feel the warmth of his fur as he embraced me, and the smell of the skooma on him. He was sober that day, but that smell doesn’t come out. I know that too well. With renewed resolve, I started the steep climb.

I noticed a small shrine at the top of the first set of stairs, and curious I decided to check it closer. Then I noticed writing on a small plaque set into the stone. These shrines seem to tell the tale of dragons and their relationship towards men. I decided to keep an eye out along the trail for any more. They seem like an interesting read at the very least.

As I came toward the second stone, I caught sight of a man. I asked what he was doing here, and he claimed he was a hunter. He liked to make the pilgrimage up the seven-thousand steps every now and then, as is the Nord tradition. I told him that I respected him for it. I was already beginning to get exhausted by the climb. We shared a laugh, and parted shortly after, headed in opposite directions.

The second emblem told of the beginnings of men on Mundus. The wording suggests that the dragons protected them at that time, because they were weak. What could that last part mean though? About having no voice. Hm.

The sky began to cloud and snow began to fall as I approached the third emblem. It told of men beginning to war with the dragons over land, and dragons being impossible for the men to beat without a voice, and so the dragons broke their hearts. I felt a tear roll down my cheek. The last part reminded me of my mother, and how she had given me up to the Two-Moons temple when I was young. Of course, how could a Senche-Tiger hope to raise a child? Had that been an example of not having a voice? I dried my eyes, and headed onward.

I encountered another Nord walking the steps at the next emblem, a woman this time. She seemed to be meditating in front of the emblem. I didn’t want to disturb her, but she spoke to me as I tried to walk by. She greeted me warmly, and introduced herself as Karita. I asked what she was doing up here. She said she preferred to leave it as being just another pilgrim, as she takes the trip up the mountain every few years. She asked me what I was up to, and I couldn’t help but lie that I was also on a pilgrimage. She gave me a wry smile. I could feel like she knew I was fibbing, but she didn’t pry and wished me luck on the trip, and went back to her meditation.

The fourth tablet told of Khenarthi seeing her people suffering and calling on the dragon Paarthunax, who pitied them, to give them a voice. This incited the first dragon war, as men could now hope to best their draconic masters. This time I was reminded of my time at the temple. The monks were as loving as their limited attachment would allow, they taught me most of what I know. They were like family to me. However, once I came of age, I realized I could never be one of them. I was too attached. They would die long before me, and that was a sorrow I could never bear. So I set off into the world alone. They did their best, but I was not prepared, and fell in with a bad crowd, where I learned to pickpocket and steal to fuel my new skooma habits. I became a shameful addict. Of course, that’s where I had met my master, an old sugar-tooth of Cathay-Raht furstock named Dro’Khrassa. Fate has strange ways of leading us. His sorry state made me give up the skooma out of pity, but also because he believed I could be better. The monks had refused to teach me their martial arts. Something about spoiling my innocence. A cold wind shook me from my reminiscence, and I hurried on before I fell back into it.

The snow stopped as I approached the next tablet. the clouds remained, and the wind was still biting, but not having it fling ice into my face made it less so.

I pulled my cloak tighter around me as I read the emblem. It told of how men triumphed over the dragons with their newfound voice, shouting Alduin out of the world, and of the many sacrifices it took to achieve this. I recalled the first lessons from my master. The way to recover from the skooma’s influence. A brew of moon sugar and luna moth wings to slowly ebb away from it. Almost as sickeningly sweet as the taste of skooma, but with much less damaging effects, as long as one doesn’t mind turning invisible with the inevitable hiccups it brings. He called it the Moon Dance tea, and claims he heard of it through the nomads of Elsweyr. Despite the constant skooma shakes, he was a great teacher. He may not have had his once-honed body any longer, but his mind remained sharp through all his years.

The next tablet was among a small stand of trees, providing much-needed shelter from the wind as I read.

This one told of men founding their first empire, and the dragons withdrawing from the world. It reminded me of why I had come to Skyrim. My master, amidst his skooma-fits had seen a vision. A great shadow threatening to swallow the world. He claimed that he had seen me in his vision too, fighting back the shadow alongside great heroes of the past. Heroes who had achieved great deeds. The Hero of Kvatch, the Nerevarine, and the one who had halted the Warp in the West. He said he had never had such a clear vision in his life. Of course, the both of us not having much money, and not being daring enough to steal enough money to travel, I had to go alone on the back of a stolen horse. I rode right through Cyrodiil, from Lleyawiin to Bruma. I was forced to kill the horse and use its body to keep me warm as I passed into Skyrim. I hope that old so and so was safe after my flight from Elsweyr. We were both known by the local law enforcement as accomplices, so I pray that they didn’t pin the horse theft on him.

The seventh tablet told of Jurgen Windcaller, who had been the one to defeat the dragons at Red Mountain, and how he meditated for seven years on how the strong voices of the dragons could fail to the fledgling voices of men. I suppose that’s why these are the seven thousand steps. One thousand for every year he meditated. I wonder if he ever found his answer?

The next emblem told of Jurgen choosing silence and returning to civilization. Seventeen men tried to shout him down, but none could. He then built his home upon the Throat of the World. I suppose this must be how High Hrothgar began. I’ve read in history books that the land of Skyrim was warmer then. I suppose these heights might have even been pleasant then. Reading of his isolation did remind me of my father though, I never knew him. My mother could never tell me anything about him, as the Senche cannot speak. I assume he must have been of a similar shape to her own. Then I had the rather unusual image of an Alfiq bedding a Senche enter my head, and I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. Surely such a thing would be ridiculous.... But who can be afraid of looking ridiculous when they’re in love?

The monastery was in sight of the next shrine, which told of the Greybeards calling Tiber Septim, the first Dragonborn to High Hrothgar, as they had now with me. I felt anxiety enter my mind. What if I wasn’t what they had expected? What if I came all this way for nothing? I shook my head, I had to do this. If not for my master, then for myself.

The final emblem had but a short stanza upon it. “The voice is worship, follow the inner path, speak only in True Need.” Strange. It almost sounds like how the monks in Elsweyr had spoken to me about their claws. As well as being useful, they were dangerous. A great blessing, as well as a great responsibility. They had told me all of us Khajiit were creatures of duality. “Just as moon sugar brings us closer to the gods, it can debase us. As the moon chases the sun, as the deserts meet the jungles, we are always both the light and the dark, for our mother is Azurah. The spirit of the twilight between the dusk and dawn.” For a moment I regretted not heeding this advice when I was young, but then I had a revelation. They did not mean it as a negative. Just as my darkness had damned me to thievery in a skooma den, it had also led me to my master, who had given me purpose and given me a brighter light. With renewed resolve, I faced the monastery.

I dropped Klimmek’s package into the chest as he had asked. Clearly, the Greybeards are well provided for, but I was still glad to have a hand in this gift. I walked up the final steps to the door, and headed inside, eager to meet with my new teachers.

[daedricprincessorigin]

Oops I did it again.

Dad!Raz

It took him a few days to realize she was following him. Raz was secretly very proud of his kitten, but there was no way he would admit it to her.

He found out in a marketplace. Razum-dar had just been buying a snack of some fresh bread when he saw a flash of bright red hair, so familiar in his mirror, behind a shed.

All his training and instincts kicked into gear. He pretended nothing was off, as if he hadn't seen anything, and didn't look or walk in the direction of the shed.

Instead, the khajiit walked back to the inn he was staying at for this mission, casually eating the roll, keeping an eye out for the tail not attached to his body.

He walked into the inn, ordered a drink, and sat at a table in a corner, his back carefully to the door.

Raz waited a moment. His drink arrived. He pretended to drink it as he waited.

A mistake- a sniffle-

Raz reached behind and grabbed an arm, pulling the tracker into the chair next to him. "Now why don't you tell Raz--"

His eyes narrowed as he got a better look st the culprit.

"M'hira. Why are you here?"

The little khajiit girl wrung her tail in her chubby hands and looked down. "Please don't be mad, Prr."

Raz leaned to the side, tilting his head to look her in the eye. "Aw, come now. You know your father better than that, little moon sugar."

The corners of her mouth turned up and she raised her head. Raz smiled back.

Familiar red hair indeed. Both of Razum-dar's children had inherited his vibrant red hair, rather than their mother's soft brown. What they had inherited from their mother was the dark tiger stripes across their tawny fur.

"So how long have you been following this one?"

"Four days."

Raz choked on his drink. He frowned down at her. "Where did you sleep at night?"

"First night this one slept on top of a really wide horse." M'hira held out her arms in an effort to show just how big. "Second night she slept in a hay bale." Raz eyes the piece of straw still stuck to the bottom of her shirt. "Aand third night M'hira slept on a box." She sat up straighter at her proud recollection of events.

Her father blew out a long breath. "What did you eat?"

"Uhhhhh...." M'hira squirmed a bit. "Yesterday a nice lady gave this one an apple."

Raz sat frozen for a moment. Then he reached to the side to get a serving maid's attention. "This one would like a large bowl of soup, a piece of the roast, and half a loaf of bread, please." The woman nodded and went back to the kitchen.

His daughter was looking at her swinging feet again. "Sorry." She whispered.

Raz sighed again. "Why are you here?" He asked.

M'hira shrugged. "Cause this one didn't want you to go. We don't get to see you very often and M'hira missed you." She looked back up to stare into his eyes. "This one wanted to help you! She can, she can help!"

Raz shook his head. "Kitten, Prr loves you very much. That is why you cannot help him. Trust this one, he does not like being away from you, M'horo or your Mao either. But he has to. Your Aunt Ayrenn and Entle Hyndael need Prr to go and do important things. They need your Mao to go and do those things too, remember?"

M'hira shrugged.

The maid set down all the food Raz had ordered. "Thank you." He put the bowl and meat in front of M'hira. "Eat, kitten."

M'hira scooted closer to the table and grabbed the bowl of soup in both hands, drinking it up.

Raz thought as she ate. This mission was important, and too time-sensitive for him to take M'hira all the way back home himself. Things would change too much in that time. Ra'jaheeri was busy, she couldn't leave M'horo alone to come get her. No other agents of the Queen or anyone else trustworthy enough for Raz to trust them with his little girl were close enough to help.

Raz sighed to himself. She would have to stay with him as he did his job.

*But what about the fighting? The blood and death?*

*Then this one will have to make sure this is a peaceful mission.*

Razum-dar set his jaw and took another sip of his drink as his young daughter ate.

[uesp]

Just out of curiosity, Tamriel used to have three moons, correct? The third came hurtling from the heavens due to some sort of cataclysm/drama, and Vivek stopped it. So seeing as the Khajiit are so tightly bound to the lunar cycle, how did the loss of the third moon effect them?

The number of moons depend on who you ask. Most people in Tamriel will tell you there are only two, but the Khajiit, as is often the case, know the truth of the matter. There are truly three moons, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

To answer your question on Baar Dau, Baar Dau isn’t a real moon. Vivec himself describes it as a “stupid stone”, “lie rock”, or a “comet”. We also know many origins for what exactly this idiotic pebble was, and none of the presented theories are as grand as one of Tamriel’s own moons. Vivec’s explanation, in his own words:

“Lie Rock was born of Vivec's Second Aperture and was thrown out of the Pomegranate Banquet by a member of the Sweeps, another forgotten guild. The Sweep did not take it for the monster that it was and so he did not expect it to fly from his hand and into the heavens.”

--36 Lessons of Vivec: Sermon 33

So that explains it. Other people had other ideas, though.

The most “popular” explanation for how it found its way to above Vivec City is the Tribunal’s version, which claims it was Sheogorath’s fault.

“When Sheogorath rebelled against the Tribunal, he tricked the moon Baar Dau into forsaking its appointed path through Oblivion. The Mad Star inspired the moon to hurl itself upon Vivec's new city, which Sheogorath claimed was built in mockery of the heavens. When Vivec learned of Sheogorath's scheme, he froze the rogue moon in the sky with a single gesture and the grace of his countenance. Overwhelmed by the courage and daring of Vivec, the moon Baar Dau swore itself to eternal service of the Tribunal and all its works. Thus the moon now stands guard over the palace, and serves as a citadel for the Temple's Ordinators.“

--The Pilgrim’s Path

I wouldn’t exactly trust that account, however. Mostly because Baar Dau defied Vivec’s will during the Second Era when it continued its descent for a short period of time. A Tale of Baar Dau makes this situation EVEN WORSE by claiming that Vivec City was not built yet, and he chose the site because of Baar Dau.

There are countless other stories or opinions on the nature of Baar Dau, which you can read in Testominals on Baar Dau. 

As to the question on the number of moons, there are Three. Jone and Jode govern the fate of the Khajiit, but the Dark Moon deals with the fate of the dro-m'Athra, the souls of fallen Khajiit who are condemned on death to serve the Heart of Lorkhaj "until their tails are straight". The Dark Moon, the Den of Lorkhaj, only appears during the above alignment of Jone and Jode, which is also the alignment that allows for a new Mane to be born, and is also a required pilgrimage for them to make.

Lastly, the consequences of any major changes to the Nirn’s satellites would be absolutely catastrophic for the Khajiit. After all, Khajiit are the best climbers so they can set them the moons back into orbit if they were to ever fail.