Group One

Nevena didn't know why the imperial battlemage was insisting on talking to her when all of Nevena's body language clearly said 'just pretend I'm not here', but none of her usual courses of action were available to her.

You have faced worse than this, she reminded herself. In her mind's eye, she saw a stingered tail, she saw rose petals falling like rain, she saw eyes beyond time. If this is a villain, it's not one that should concern you.

She raised her chin and met Vyktoria's eyes. 'I had heard, yes. I'm Nevena Veloth.' She left a gap where her trade would normally go. 'And I suppose we will be working together in future.'

The other khajiit woman hissed her impatience, calling them all fools, but Nevena ignored her. Before her nerve failed her, she said to Ja'Rikki, 'Memory loss? Are you a mage, perhaps?' Or cursed? she wondered, not wishing that fate on anyone else. 'I have some experience with magic-induced memory loss. I might perhaps be able to --' What? Quote some useful passages from books at you? Comment on what could be done, and then do nothing?

'-- I suppose I don't even know if that's the problem.' Her nerve failed her completely; she looked at the floor, wringing her hands. 'I just wanted you to -- nevermind.'

After a moment, without looking up, she added, 'And although I realise some might be impatient to leave, might I suggest that dwemer ruins can be dangerous. We might do better to fully supply ourselves and prepare for the journey ahead -- and perhaps gain some understanding of each other's strengths.' And weaknesses, she thought. Some of us are mostly weakness, now.

She looked to Caius. 'Perhaps the Empire could provide?'

Not fools, then, Vyktoria thought, glaring between the two younger women. But from all appearances, both of them completely spineless. She dug her nails savagely into the palms of her hands, did her best to hide the unstable magick arcing between her fingertips. Their half-finished sentences, the constant slumping of the shoulders and staring at the ground while speaking...how could either of them tolerate such open, unabashed displays of weakness? But then, would she have been any different in Ja'Rikki's position? Would all of her willpower, all her resolve, have been washed away along with her memories?

No. I know who I am, and even without my memories, I would not become some simpering yew, the object of pity and disgust. Not like these two. She clenched her eyes shut, struggling to keep her temper under control. And why should I bother!? Better that I should kill them both now, than have them endanger the rest of us later with their worthless timidity!

Vyktoria turned in place, breathing heavily through her nose. 'If you've truly any experience with magic and memories, Nevena,' she hissed under her breath, 'then perhaps one day you'll spare me the burden of having ever witnessed this contemptible display.' She turned her head back at them, her pale blue eyes smoldering, her body trembling with rage. 'I desperately hope the two of you show more mettle in combat than you have here. I won't allow myself to be killed because of your lack of resolve.' The nails digging into her right palm broke skin, and blood dribbled from her hand. She turned violently away and began marching back towards the city's gates.

'I've had enough of this worthless debating,' she announced to the others, not bothering to look back at them. 'If you've a mind to talk, then do so on the road. Otherwise, just keep out of my way. I'll do this myself, if that's what's required.'

Group One:

Sinclaire observed everything that transpired before him. Vyktoria made a few enemies, as he had suspected she would. Her attitude towards even Caius was nothing short of insufferable. In fact, her behavior caused a pang of rage to throb in his chest; even her expression brought back old memories that he had once thought were left behind him. Before he could say anything, Ja'Rikki had brushed his sleeve from behind him. Caught off guard, Sinclaire turned to her, managing not to show any signs of his feelings.

"Do you know where I could get a bath after this? I.. I feel horrid." she had asked, the noble not hearing her trying to begin a different sentence beforehand.

Sinclaire shook his head in answer. "No...I'll soon find out." Was all he said, his eyes staring off into the distance. His mind was elsewhere for the moment, but as the others began to speak some more he lost his hold on that particular thought. He turned as the Blades agent made a prod at Vyktoria in answer to her challenge.

In response, the battlemage sought to make a complete fool of him with her jest. However, the noble was not impressed; all he saw was the same sort of intellectual hauteur he was used to in High Rock. That resemblance was actually so uncanny, so similar that he could almost feel the stinging spasm of rage once again. This time, he held himself rigid; the best course of action right now would be to listen. Watch and see what unfolds as this group of strangers begins to attempt to assimilate into a group. The Dunmer girl seemed very quiet, quite austerely so. Looking at her for just a moment gave him a grave feeling as quiet as herself. "The girl from the guild. If I may attempt a guess, I would say her mind is elsewhere; something has her bothered."

Subtly, the noble's gaze touched upon each member of the group. As he got a better look at Larry, Sinclaire caught an air of relief in the fact that Caius has not deigned to put the crown of leadership upon the man, his own agent. (And for that matter, the Imperial Battlemage) He had the look of the drug addict, through and through. Something about his eyes...the size of his pupils, perhaps? "He looks hungry, exhausted even. Like he's been up for days. But you can tell he's got musculature."

Once Caius has addressed one of the other two Khajiit, the male one, he casually turned to look upon him and his female companion. He had the appearance of a beggar, and carried himself modestly. Eyl'Yti, to this noble, also had the demeanor of somebody who had a reason why he wanted to appear unassuming in those beggar rags. From him, Sinclaire felt danger; from his companion, mystery. Yuu'Ko, speaking in the more common dialect and vernacular that was the staple of her people. The Breton lord had never once dealt with her kind, and he found her manner of speaking intriguing. Ja'Rikki spoke differently, more straightforward; yet in an odd manner. He guessed that perhaps she was a native of Elsweyr.

Finding Yuu'Ko to be a bit more difficult to read at this time, he then fell upon the bearded Nord. He appeared rather aloof of the others; surely he thought their bickering to be trivial. His beard had begun to grey, and he seemed like he had worked long and hard in his lifetime. "Perhaps this man is the only normal one of them all...including myself." Sinclaire thought, taking a couple of glances around to ensure he didn't miss anybody.

Of course, Ja'Rikki is an unexpected arrival for sure. He knew that firsthand. "Why was she floating in the river like that? What had gotten her so dazed? Why is she dressed in Hammerfell garb I've never seen the like of? I know the Redguard style, it's indisputable. Yet there's something different. She seems like she does not belong here whatsoever..."

Suddenly, Sinclaire's thoughts were interrupted once again by that foolhardy battlemage. He turned just in time to see her spit insults at both Nevena and Ja'Rikki. Vyktoria seemed abnormally furious, and as she practically threw herself away from the pair, Sinclaire gave her a look of pure poison. The rage began to thrash inside of him, and it would not be quelled so easily. That fool of a battlemage may have made a few enemies in the group, yet not one of them could have had the feeling that her entire being radiated exactly the kind of force they had been opposed to all their lives. She, Vyktoria, was the folly of excessive intellect. Nothing in the world could ever seem more putrid than those types of people.

Resisting the urge to challenge her now, he remained silent for a moment.

Instead of remaining silent, however, he said something else entirely. Sinclaire first turned to the others, as if he had ignored the walking mage. The look on his face was different, his eyes flashed jade and his demeanor very direct. When he began to speak, his voice reached out at the group in an honest baritone.

"If any of you all require funds to purchase some items or equipment before we head out, I can lend out some gold to those in need of it. My name is Sinclaire Lettreux, for those that wish to know me. We could let that battlemage's brazen attitude get the better of her, but I'll convince her to stay with me at the city gates if some of you are not yet prepared. Personally, I recommend haste as well, as our time spent here hasn't succeeded in making the day any younger. There are enough of us to handle a Dwemer ruin, surely; danger will be present, but our diverse skillsets, as Caius called them, are the reason why we were chosen for this. We all have our own motives for coming here in the first place, correct? Power lies not only in the sword arm, or the carefully orchestrated spell. It also lies in the will, the motive, the goal. The pen, the paper, and the ink." Sinclaire's stoic gaze briefly fell upon Nevena and Ja'Rikki, before shifting back to the others as a whole.

"Let us at least walk toward the city gates, and if anybody has need of anything, let me know, and I'll help out. There's no point in fighting or arguing when we've already cast our lots with this twist of fate." With that, he turned to follow Vyktoria, not even affording her a brisk walk in pursuit, with no second thought about the fact he almost gave a speech to the strangers around him.

--

Caius had been stoic, a rigid statue of a man. As the group bickered, he shook his head. He also gave the same response to Nevena, who had asked him if the Empire planned on giving them a stipend for sundries. As Vyktoria stormed away, the shirtless man watched as Sinclaire turned to the others, and out of nowhere, spoke; it was as if nothing hindered him from doing so. Once Sinclaire had finished speaking and began to walk off, the Spymaster said nothing at all for a moment. Then, he gestured toward the Breton, urging those remaining to follow. "We will meet again once the box is retrieved." Caius stated simply, and without waiting for an answer, he entered the home that rested in the shade of the tree above them.

Group 2: Outside Molag Mar


As she’d reached the top of the last hill before Molag Mar with the canton spread out before her she realised something was wrong. Even through the weak sandstorm she could see Ordinators at every entrance and gatherings of people around the bridge.


She had been away from any civilization for such a long time; honestly it could have been a year ago or maybe the year before. Something dark was happening. She didn’t feel any real concern though, despite the sight in front of her she primarily felt curious to see what was going on.



Blaze had drifted away and was staring in the direction of Red Mountain. The atronach had been even quieter than usual as they approached Molag Mar, as if deep in thought. Inzlaalurith wasn’t sure that was possible for atronaches; they were after all magical elemental constructs summoned to serve a mage. That is... most of them were but Blaze had always been different. Blaze had a name, a sense of self and a defined gender.


Without giving any verbal warning to Blaze Inzlaalurith made the hand gesture to dismiss the atronach. With a fizzle like a candle being splashed with water Blaze was gone. But the base of her skull now burned and she could feel a headache appearing.


The weatherworn elf made her way down the slope towards the city, as she drew closer one of the Ordinators pointed at her before making his way over. Ordinators were intimidating to most with the helms covering their faces and the crest of their headgear adding an extra half a foot to their height, but even with the extra height Inzlaalurith stood taller.


“You will be inspected before you enter the city.” He spoke from behind the helm in a monotonous tone.

This must be a long standing event.... he sounds bored.

“What happens if I say no?”

“You will be forcibly inspected or you must go elsewhere. It is for everyone’s protection Muthsera the number of cases of Blight disease has risen to a dangerous level we must test everyone for the disease before they allowed access to our city.”
Hmm.... interesting....

Looking around her there was indeed a lot of sickness. Tired looking healers moved around, almost asleep on their feet, attending to patients either magically or with herbal remedies. Handfuls of Ordinators and healers escorted people away to a quarantined area. There were a lot of emotions flying around with the majority of those emotions being crying or despair. She wanted nothing more than to get out of this place as fast as possible.


“I needed to have my shoulder looked at anyway.” She said

“Come with me Muthsera, Nathala will be free in a few minutes.”


She expected the Ordinator to take her over and then leave, but he didn’t. He stood next to her silently with his masks metal eyes staring glassily dead ahead.
Hopefully he’ll leave while I’m being checked over

The healer called Nathala wore what was once a blue robe but was now so sand ridden it had become an interested shade of light brown. The elf herself looked equally sand worn; the skin around her eyes tinged with red and purple betraying a desperate lack of sleep and personal care.

As her current patient was declared disease free she turned to look at Inzlaalurith.

“By the three, what’s happened to you?” Nathala asked taking note of the state of Inzlaalurith’s attire plus the ripped sleeve, bandaged shoulder and casual bruising that covered her neck and arms.

“Nothing I couldn’t get myself out of.” She lied. “Just look at my shoulder and whatever else it is you have to check for.”

“I’m going to take a look at that shoulder first.”

Inzlaalurith sat on the cot looking around her with Nathala gently unwrapped Blazes handiwork. The Ordinator was still present behind her. No one else was being guarded. Did they suspect her of something?


“This is a nasty wound. What happened?” Nathala asked as she peeled the last of the bandage off and took in the full extent of the damage.

“It doesn’t matter, can you heal it?”

“In order to heal it I need to know how this occurred.” She replied, with the edge of exasperation creeping into her voice.

Inzlaalurith gritted her teeth; she didn’t want to admit this while the Ordintor was still stood listening.

“Stabbed through the shoulder with a sword from the daedric realm.”

The Ordinator hadn’t moved but she could sense him listening more keenly.

“How – No.... I wont ask I don’t need to know anything more. I can heal you but this will take a while.”

Nathala sat down on the cot next to her, closed her eyes for a few moments before muttering under her breath to herself.

“I need to knit the tissue back together... but should I start with the muscle fibres first or the bone damage? ....” Drawing her hands together, still muttering to herself, she placed her hands palms down above the wound. She moved her fingers as a tailor or weaver would and beneath her hands Inzallaurith saw her injury literally being sewed back together. The sensations from it were mostly tingling until there was a twinge and then nearly blinding pain. Suddenly she was sideways on the cot... she’d almost passed out.

“By Vivec... I’m sorry.” Nathala gasped. “There’s magic in there... preventing it from healing. I should have realised... I’m so tired. I need to cleanse it. Sorry.”

Pushing herself up one handed Inzlaalurith realised she was about to receive a blessing of the Tribunal, something she desperately wanted to avoid. But she didn’t have much choice if she wanted to be healed. As she played out the dilemma in her head she noticed the Ordinator had moved and was looking through her pack.


“What in Oblivion do you think you’re doing!” Inzlaalurith snarled, suddenly standing up taking Nathala by surprise. “I said you could physically inspect me not check through all my things!”

The Ordinator stood slowly. Unfazed.

“I must keep the people of the city safe and I have a bad feeling about you. We’ll be watching you Outlander.” He spat the last word with venom.

“Get away from me and my possessions. I just need healing, I wouldn’t stay in this god forsaken place any longer than I had to.”

The Ordinator went to retort by Nathala held up her hand. “Please leave this for now Vel. Let me heal her then she can be gone.”


Even after that outburst the Ordinator remained. His disconnected silence reminding her keenly of the way the dremora stood on guard, regardless of what was happening in front of them. Those feelings were beginning to come back, she suddenly felt surrounded by all these people, every cough, every wail, every sound so unbearably loud to her she felt like she was going mad. Inzlaalurith closed her eyes retreating into herself. Her mind clutched onto the familiar heat that was Blaze who responded likewise clutching back at her.
We have to get out of this place.

I know


Nathala was whispering the words of a blessing, She felt the magic land in her wound with a warm but cleansing sensation, then the healer sat down with a determined look of concentration of her face as she continued weaving the wound back whole.

“It’s not completely healed” Nathala said after about an hour had passed “But I have attended to the worst of it. Keep it bandaged and change the bandage at least once a day. I Nathala, healer of the Trbinual temple declare you disease free, you are free to enter the city at this time. You will need to be inspected again if you leave and come back.”


“Thank you.” Inzlaalurith said coldly, standing up and slinging her pack over her shoulder whilst shooting the Ordinator a deathstare.

Group One

Ja'Rikki's ears set another nigh-imperceptible fraction backward at every word Vyktoria spoke. The more violent the woman's voice got, the more her heart began to stir with an unkind warmth. By the time she spun on heel and began to huff away, Rikki's brows had narrowed and a quiet growl stirred in the depths of her throat. The arrogance, senseless cruelty and sheer self-righteousness ground on her at a base level.

"I've had enough of this worthless debating," Vyktoria announced as though she held authority.

'How stupid you must be to think that was a debate, you puffed-up son of a--'

"If you've a mind to talk, then do so on the road. Otherwise, just keep out of my way. I'll do this myself, if that's what's required."

The young woman fumed all through Sinclaire's speech, her ears tilting this way and that, an occasion small snort or chirp of irritation escaping her. When Sinclaire moved, she moved automatically with him, though her eyes stayed on the Imperial woman. Every motion of the woman's body annoyed her. The way her feet moved, the sway of her hips as she walked, the sound of her boots.


The smell of her even drove her mad, and that burning bitter taste in the back of her throat.


Some baser part of Rikki cracked without warning. Her mouth opened and she shouted despite herself.


"Don't just walk away, you sheggori jekosiit!" the Khajiit growled in indignation. Her feet carried her forward after Vyktoria of their own volition. Rikki was beyond herself at this point, given over to some strange impulse in her depths. She never got very near the mage, but the volume of her did not require her to.

"If you get killed, it'll be your own damn fault! You'll surely be too busy complaining of our incompetence to notice the blade in your own back! The fact that your fellow mages managed not to incinerate you out of sheer exhaustion at your incessant petulance should qualify them as saints!"

Ja'Rikki was roaring at this point, her voice having deepened somewhat in her rage.

"No one should listen to you! Or be around you! You're likely too far up your own ass to be bothered to help us anyway, so go! Get! Go do everything yourself if you're so damn far beyond us! I can feel our life-expectancies improving already!"

Ja'Ri's body was numb at this point. In the few lucid thoughts she could spare between seething, she wondered exactly where this response had come from, but conscious decision eluded her. She merely stood there and panted, a grimace on her face and something bordering hatred behind her eyes, waiting for the woman to give her another reason to shout at her.

Larry Wall - Balmora

Larry rolled his eyes while he faced Alan, letting him onto the big secret while he pretended to ignore the battlemage as she stomped towards the gate. He'd met mages before, scholars and students of their respective schools and while they all had an air of innocence covered by arrogance - Vyktoria was different. He couldn't tell if her arrogance and impatience hid an element of paranoia or a deep fear. Either way she wasn't holding herself together.

The Breton, a man he hadn't paid any attention to, suddenly spoke with a passionate, calm and reserved tone. Larry nodded and smirked to himself as the man continued, genuinely impressed by his speech as his opinion of the Breton skyrocketed. He was so impressed, that Larry didn't realise, until he was heading towards his house to get his travel coat that he wasn't going to get any time to rest. His head sagged and he sighed loudly and childishly as he looked towards the man he would pin as the group leader, "Hey Sinclare - Let me just grab my travel coat and I'll meet you there."

He rushed off, his energy draining with every step as his body realised his dream of sleeping wouldn't happen, instead he was going to walk into a dwemer mine, probably get stabbed by Vyktoria and then left for dead. Great.

Group One

Nevena took Vyktoria's rage with her head cocked on one side. When Vyktoria was a looming threat, an unknown quantity with madness in her eye, she had been a lot more intimidating. Now she just seemed ... kind of pathetic. Dangerous, surely, and Nevena would give her a wide berth until presumably either Caius got rid of her or in her madness she blew herself up. But she wasn't ... scary, anymore.

I have looked into the eyes of a God, Nevena thought. You are not it. If you need to spit and hiss at me when I've barely ever spoken to you, then you have more problems than me.

Nevena had seen the unstable magic growing at her fingertips. How a woman like that had ever survived among military folk, Nevena had no idea, but her respect for the woman couldn't be lower. Nevena was always 100% in control of her magic. She might not be great at talking to mortals, but then she had very little experience in that. But her magic had always been impeccably cast. She had never, ever been a danger to herself or those around her. That it was she who had been cursed and not Vyktoria was an injustice so sharp that Nevena felt it like a physical pain.

But then, Vyktoria never met Tempest, or felt the thorns of the Rose.

She was quick to follow Sinclaire's advice, since she had no resources and no desire to follow Vyktoria to gods-only-knew where her rage-cooked brain was taking her. She fell into step with Sinclaire. 'Well spoken,' she said, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her robes. 'If ... if it would not be too much trouble, I require ingredients for potions and ideally some basic metal work tools.' Her cheeks burned, dark against her ash-coloured skin. She had always been able to provide for herself, and was humiliated to be in this position. 'There is a knack with dwemer ruins and mines, which I have some experience of ... but unfortunately, the Empire recruited me abruptly and without giving me the chance to properly equip myself.' She couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice. She had never felt so betrayed. But SInclaire had nothing to do with that. She schooled herself to politeness and offered a small smile. 'Thank you for your patience. This ... this has not been my best day.'

The door to the bedchamber opened, and Vyktoria turned quickly away, her face burning with shame. Tall, long of limb, the Altmer who stepped through was garbed in a vestment of red silk that shimmered in the candlelight.

"I've known for some time that you had a fire in you, my dear." The sound of her lover's laughter stung her, and Vyk hugged herself more tightly. "I daresay Tauryon wasn't suspecting it, however. None have spoken to him quite like that since...Vyktoria? Are you quite alright?"

Choking back tears, she looked at her trembling hand, at the arcs of light jumping between her fingers. "I can't control it," she whispered, then bit her lip. "All those years of study, all my practice and I...I still can't control it."

She could not bring herself to look him in the eyes, even as he embraced her from behind with his strong, delicate arms.

Nearly twenty years later, Vyktoria stormed through the streets of Balmora, that same wild, unbound magic coursing through her, the air shimmering in her wake. Tears burned in her eyes, set her face aflame as they rolled down her cheeks. Unceremoniously, she pulled the pins away from her hair, letting the long, dark red strands unravel and fall to her hips, used her bangs to hide her face from the Dunmer she passed.

'Why?' she whispered, looking down at her hands, feeling a dozen different half-formed spells trying to break loose. 'Why can't I control it? Why can't-'


"Don't just walk away, you sheggori jekosiit!" came a familiar voice, closing fast from behind her.

'Damn it,' Vyk growled, angrily wiping the tears from her face. She clenched her hands into tight, closed balls, kept her back towards Ja'Rikki as the Khajiit roared at her, feeling the other woman's anger washing over her. I'm a fire, she thought as the other woman raved. And people don't like being burned.

'Go do everything yourself if you're so damn far beyond us!' Ja'Rikki screamed. 'I can feel our life-expectancies improving already!'

Vyktoria gasped, stumbled forward as if someone had struck her. A familiar ache entered her briast, one far older than Ja'Rikki, or Nevena, or perhaps any of her would-be "comrades." She clutched at her chest, choking back her tears and struggling to remain upright. When she had regained some sense of composure, she turned to face the Khajiit.

'You're right, of course,' she said, her voice raw and filled with bitter amusemant. 'It's not like I've ever managed to help anybody with my magic. All I've ever been good for is killing.' She made no effort of hiding the tears in her eyes or the magicka that had only now begun to dim in her hands. 'I thought...thought that maybe the Shadow Legion had fixed me. But I'm still broken. One of you will say the wrong thing, or look at me the wrong way, and I'll...I won't be able to control it.'

She spotted Sinclaire further back and sighed. 'Just let me go. By the time the rest of you catch up with me, I'll have either cleared out the ruin or...not.'

Group One:

Walking steadily forward, Sinclaire could sense the others as they began to follow him. But before he could have any time to think on what to do next, Rikki shot past him in a rage. Once she began to yell at Vyktoria, it took a great deal of willpower not to attempt to calm her. Instead, Sinclaire merely took a moment to observe her. Ja'Rikki went from awkward and muddled to a state of furor. Either she didn't like being talked down to that way, or Vyktoria struck a sensitive cord somewhere within her. Something told the Breton that it was likely that she didn't know what caused the outburst either; yet the fact that it even happened made Sinclaire question just what sort of person Ja'Rikki really is, or was.

As he picked his pace up to catch up to Rikki and Vyktoria, Larry had passed by him and said he was off to grab his travel coat before leaving. Sinclaire nodded in response to him, about to say a few words to him as well, but the man was already dashing off. Just as this happened, the Dunmer girl fell into step with him as he approached Rikki, who stood in a pained state.

"Well spoken," she began, before her body language denoted her nervousness. "If ... if it would not be too much trouble, I require ingredients for potions and ideally some basic metal work tools. There is a knack with dwemer ruins and mines, which I have some experience of ... but unfortunately, the Empire recruited me abruptly and without giving me the chance to properly equip myself," she continued, sounding bitter with her hands still hiding in her pockets. Her raw tone was obviously directed toward something else, yet she had the courtesy to push it back within her for the time being. A smile touched her lips; weak, yet genuine. "Thank you for your patience. This ... this has not been my best day."

At this, Sinclaire gave her a warm grin. "Oh, it's quite alright. Nevena, is it? I'm beginning to learn that my patience may be sorely needed with comrades such as Vyktoria. Yet you are the one acting as if you were the burden. Now why is that?" He asked, scanning her eyes with his own. Breaking his gaze after a short time, he reached inside his pocket, fiddling around a bit before producing a small mound of septims. Eying the mound briefly, he stuck the pile into her hand. "That looks to be about 150 septims, give or take. Would that be enough for your materials? Potions would be invaluable, I'm certain, yet I'm interested in the purpose of the metal work tools. Once you've gotten all you need, I should like to hear of your plans for them. I hear the ruins of the Dwemer oft contain ancient traps that still function to this day." He told her, in an easy, firm voice. "For now, however, I must make sure these two ahead of us don't kill each other. All I ask is that you expedite your browsing."

The next moment, Sinclaire took off in a jog, but not without a silent hand sign of farewell toward Nevena. As he pressed on more quickly, he soon caught up with Rikki and Vyktoria. Once he approached them, whatever it was that Vyktoria had said was finished already. Normally the Breton would have reveled in not hearing her icy tone, but as he neared her he was taken aback.

The high and mighty battlemage was crying. The look on her face reminded Sinclaire of a mixture between anguish and capitulation. Tears streamed down her face but the look in her eyes was still as sharp as a blade, yet softened by something deep and unknown. As he approached, he passed Rikki and stood within a few paces of Vyktoria. Noticing her magicka flowing freely, as if from a reservoir, he made no sign of acknowledgment of the phenomenon. Instead, he stared into her eyes, an indomitable gaze of jade. "It would be best if we simply call this a misunderstanding. What good will come out of tearing our own throats out?" He asked, shifting his look between the pair. Then, he slowly extended a hand toward Vyktoria, and despite everything, softened his look. An amiable smile complimented his gaze. "I accept you as a comrade. I also trust you." He stated, offering a handshake.

"Only those with good somewhere inside of them could find themselves capable of shedding a tear."

Group One

Nevena looked at the septims in her hands and transferred them carefully into her satchel. Though she had never been that excited about money, being more concerned with knowledge than wealth, they held a greater weight for her. Sinclaire had spoken to her kindly and gently, which was more than she'd expected -- more, that was twice today. Truthfully, he was the first person to give her a kind word in weeks. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pushing down the sudden rush of relief and emotion that threatened to over-whelm her.

Not everyone here wants to kill me. Maybe not everyone here will think I'm useless.

He'd been interested in her need for tools, afterall. Maybe this would be all right.

Ja'Rikki stormed after Vyktoria and Nevena knew a moment of blind panic. She reached out, her hands beginning to form the shape of a calming spell, but that wasn't right, it wasn't right, and she dropped her hand to her side and instead casually slid into a stronger stance with her staff, as if that would help at all.

Then Ja'Rikki was screaming and Vyktoria was crying. Nevena watched, feeling punched in the gut at Vyktoria's admission 'I'm still broken.' It was like her own thoughts were being echoed back at her. There was only one thing worse than losing control of your magic.

No ... think clearly. Think back. She remembered the cruel excitement from Vyktoria as she planned to murder a man in front of a crowd. There had been no lack of control then, no rush of anger. She had been playing, enjoying herself.

Once again, her threats to Ja'Rikki and Nevena hadn't been preceeded by anything but politeness. There had been no trigger, no warning, before she told them she'd rather kill them than work with them.

Maybe she didn't have control of her magic, but she had control of her actions. And hearing the coldness in her voice as she spoke, Nevena became less convinced than ever. Either she was acting or she was as mentally unstable as was her magic -- she even admitted that she wouldn't control her magic if they 'said the wrong thing'.

The wrong thing? Like 'I suppose we will be working together in future?' Apparently a shameful display worthy of a knife in the back.

She kept all of this inside. She looked to Ja'Rikki and Sinclaire for their responses, but was not best pleased with what she saw.

Sinclaire. He was too kind for his own good. She saw how he was immediately moved by her tears, no doubt a chivalry-induced flaw from his noble upbringing. An understanding smile spread across his face. 'I accept you as a comrade. I also trust you.' He offered her his hand, all sincerity, and Nevena kept her expression stone-blank.

No, Sinclaire. Be wise. Be careful. Not everyone is worthy of trust!

He continued: 'Only those with good somewhere inside of them could find themselves capable of shedding a tear.'

Nevena took this in, looking between the three of them. No doubt Ja'Rikki -- who appeared to be going through some kind of episode herself -- would be equally moved.

Nevena, though, would be careful. Maybe Sinclaire wanted to see the best in people -- and that was admirable and surely the only reason he saw fit to be kind to Nevena at all. But mortals had been hard on Nevena. She had always been an outsider, wherever she went -- and consequently, had always seen the worst mortals had to offer.

If Sinclaire's kindness clouded his judgement -- if he and the others could be so easily swayed -- then he and the others would need someone to watch, listen, and think.

That would have to be her. Though what she would do when Vyktoria showed her true colours, Nevena had no idea.

ooc: The second half of this underwent so many revisions it's silly. Please forgive it if it seems.. broken. And long. Ugh. If this kind of thing happens again, I'm rewriting the whole post.

ic:

As Ja'Rikki finished her onslaught, Vyktoria staggered as though the force of her anger had physically harmed her. She stilled and stayed like that for a moment, her hand coming to her chest.



A rational shred of Rikki's enraged mind offered up a thought.


'Oh, crap. What's going on?'



The moment continued for a surreal eternity. The mage seemed to sway as though she could topple any second, though she eventually steadied enough to turn to Rikki.



The state of her doused the Khajiit's anger like ice water and left her feeling cold. Vyk's visage, red hair draqed over despairing, tear-stained eyes plucked at something in Rikki's depths. Then, the woman did perhaps the last thing the young Khajiit expected: in a broken voice, she agreed with her accusations.



"It's not like I've ever managed to help anybody with my magic. All I've ever been good for is killing." Vyktoria fixed on her with those soul-gazing eyes, once so intimidating but now filled with hurt. Primal magicka coursed between her fingers, broken spells sparking and dying like the ghosts of half-recalled nightmares.



Ja'Rikki was more terrified of her now than she'd ever thought possible. The feline froze, the cogs of her mind wheeling away at fever pace, anolyzing her every option and realizing that if this injured being before her so chose, she would be scattered to the wind in a blink of the eye and there would have been naught she could have done to stop it.



Despite the dire horror of her situation, some wounded part of Rikki's mind awoke, sparked by the sight before her. The ruined remnants of all she once had been stirred despite her attempts to focus on the problem at hand as it clawed desperately to make sense of itself against the dark. For a moment, it stole her consciousness away, leaving her, she realized, helpless to the outside world as a fragment of memory tried to assert itself.

A woman entirely unlike, yet somehow startlingly similar to the one before her materialized in her mind's eye, sobbing into another beside her, red hair in her face she she wept. She spoke, and Rikki knew the sharp, accented voice immediately, but infuriatingly couldn't make out the words, nor place who specifically she was. Family, certainly, but beyond that she couldn't tell. The one beside her seemed familiar as well, but Rikki could make nothing out of them.



Reality snapped back as quickly as it had fled and Ja'Ri blinked. She felt oddly numb.


"I thought.. thought that maybe the Shadow Legion had fixed me," Vyktoria continued, "But I'm still broken. One of you will say the wrong thing, or look at me the wrong way, and I'll.. I won't be able to control it. Just let me go. By the time the rest of you catch up with me, I'll have either cleared out the ruin or.. not."

'That's not right. None of this is right! What does she mean, 'broken'? Control what, exactly? Her temper? No.. the way she referred to it, whatever it is. She speaks like it isn't truly part of her..'

Questions assailed Rikki's mind. Before she could ask but a one, Sinclaire caught up, suggesting this whole sordid affair be marked up to a misunderstanding. Ja'Ri agreed it would likely be wise, but couldn't shake the feeling that it was a monstrous understatement. He then offered his trust and his hand in camaraderie. Rikki thought he was insane, but she appreciated what he was trying to do, as well as his following statement.

"Only those with good somewhere inside of them could find themselves capable of shedding a tear."

Some darker part in her mind tried to condemn this statement as naive and trite, but she told it to shut it and sit in the corner. Kindness and tact was working here, and Sinclaire seemed entirely in his element offering them. Rikki decided, against her better judgement, to pipe up with her own contribution.

"Look, Vyktoria.. I know you've got some issues to work through, but.. you can't let that blind you to the rest of the world," licking the tips of her fingers absently, Rikki reached up and began rubbing the end of her left ear between them. She turned her head away and gave a derisive laugh.

"I know, I know, serious words coming from the girl who just exploded in your face and called you.. well, I dearly hope you don't know Ta'agra, but.. just give it some sincere thought, okay? We're both broken, me probably in ways I've yet to discover, but.. the point if I've got one here is that, well.. We're not your enemy, but neither do we want you to run off and get yourself murdered by animunculi. At least, I don't. S'pose I can't fairly speak for everyone."

Rikki paused a moment to consider what she'd said and sighed, dropping her hand from her ear.


"I.. er, I'm going to shut up now before I end up making this worse.."

Larry Wall - Balmora

I'm just not ready yet. Larry grumbled as he pushed open the door to his apartment, he never bothered to lock the door - It wasn't worth it, he was in the part of Balmora that no one walked through unless you knew everyone else. It was dangerous, not aggressively but this part of Balmora was so oppressive and downtrodden it forced you to second guess everyone. It was that sort of attitude that got you killed. His apartment was unremarkable, messy and as the door swung open he was hit with the recognizable stench of stale food and vomit. No wonder no one robs me.

He lurched onto his bed and noticed the familiar sound of fragile wood creak and almost gasp as the air was forced out of it. Home. He smirked to himself as he put his feet up onto the bed and wondered how long he could sleep before they reached the mine. He had a horse in one of the local stables and while he wasn't keen on people watching him ride out of town, he desperately needed sleep. As he usually did, Larry gave into what was easiest and closed his eyes, the breeze from the open door smoothing over the harsh reality of the last few days.

Without warning, a knock at the door interrupted his conscious nap. His eyes darted to the door where a shadow stood with the light behind him, "Vile." A womans voice mumbled and Larry sighed.

"God damnit Lara. What the hell are you doing?" He waved his hand to dismiss the woman and rolled onto the other side of the bed and covered his eyes, "Can't you see I'm trying to sleep."

He heard the woman step into his apartment, her hard leather boots clanked against the naked floor. Memories flooded to him of a time when Lara and himself had taken skooma and watched the night come to Balmora within his bed. "Makes a change, hmm?" She sat on the edge of his bed, Larry heard the agitation in her voice.

"What's going on? You never visit me anymore." He was sitting up now, a pain beginning to throb within his head and instinctively he licked his lips and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Lara looked him up and down, her eyes taking inspecting every nuance, she sighed and ran her hand through his hair. She pulled her head closer to his and smiled.

"You really are an idiot, huh?" She laughed to herself and sat straight. Larry almost fell forward as her hands left his scalp - Their icy touch was soothing and he needed comfort, something to take his mind off of their return. The little niggles that come after a while.

The niggles. Cute. Larry's current mental situation was a dangerous and violent civil war surrounded by a cold war of addiction, each one vying for power while tearing him up from the inside. There were days when he wasn't too sure what his body wanted, skooma, sugar or booze? Tobacco and spice? Which heavenly pleasure was he being pulled to next? He often felt like a boat, sailing into an unstoppable wind, he couldn't set the sail and there was no chance of him changing course - He was stuck, relying upon everyone else to sort move him from one square to the next or in the hope he'd turn up on someone's coast and the boat would finally crack.

"I've got orders for you." Larry's episode cleared at her words, Caius, the image of the stoic spymaster rushed into his mind and his eyes glanced over the fragile and concerned Bosmer.

"I've already got orders, Caius has got a job for me." He gloated, proud and hopeful. His best moments were working.

"New ones, or secondary - I'm not sure but Caius gave me this not too long ago." She pulled out a brown letter with Caius' stamp. "Like I said, I don't know what it is but he seemed in a hurry to get it to you. What's the other job?"

Larry ignored her question and for the time being, pushed it aside as the imperial spy took over, the imperial agent loyal through and through. Some in the legion said that Larry was fanatical - A boy raised by a family of assassins and liars. He hadn't known his own family well but that didn't matter when he had the blades. They needed him. Follow Vyktoria, learn about her - I want to know everything. Evaluate and report ~ Caius. Larry read the words and he almost cried. His head fell back onto his bed and the letter became a ball within his fist.

"Akatosh save me..." Larry grumbled.

"Huh?" Lara asked, she shook her head and stood up, her eyes were full of contempt but secretly hid a urge to nurture the poor boy before her. "Listen, Larry - Clean yourself up will you? I'm tired of seeing you like this." Her eyes moved towards his satchel and noticed the bags of sugar. Her face dropped and her boots carried her back towards the door. She turned back to Larry before she left, he was mumbling to himself, almost hysterically.

Larry didn't even notice her leave, his mind raced over the battlemage, Shadow Legion, it was a stupid name anyway - Why was she so important? Why was he to spy on her? Finally, he understood his place within the mission, Larry was an expert at infiltrating underground circles; there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for money or sugar. An adventure? That was for the other agents.

He groaned loudly as the itches began to return, the mental twitches that signified his side was beginning to lose the battle. He opened one of the pouches of sugar and felt instant satisfaction as the drug coursed through his veins and teared through his mind. He grabbed his coat, took a few pouches of gold and began to pack his travel bag with a map, journal, water and the three apples that weren't moldy.

The journey to the stable wasn't as long as he thought it would be, the sugar still messing with his mind. It would take a few hours for that last batch to wear off, but how long would he last? He downed a bottle of water and threw it into a nearby crate. Not long.

He entered the stable and nodded to the stablehand, "My horse please."

"Sure Larry, sure." The boy nodded, he might've been young but he'd been working with people for long enough to know when someone wasn't in the mood for casual conversation. "It'll be out front."

Hyaril, Larry's sturdy chestnut courser was walked towards him saddle and all. Larry smiled and tossed the young Dunmer a few septims. As the boy stepped back inside Larry took out one of his apples and fed them to the stallion while stroking his mane. Larry loved Hyaril, it was his price possession. Larry lived two lives, his life as a blades agent had made him incredibly wealthy but his roles demanded he stay poor. Having a horse was the only way he was able to spend his fortune. He mounted Hyaril and spurred him into action, heading briskly towards the gate Vyktoria had stormed off towards, "Come on boy, let's go catch up eh?"

Vyktoria listened to both Sinclaire and Ja'Rikki without comment, offering only a small, sad smile as they spoke. They've such gentle hearts, she thought, envious of the understanding, the forgiveness they offered so readily. Certainly, she deserved neither; she remembered every word she'd spat at them, the sneering contempt in her voice. It was like a nightmare, half-remembered through somebody else's eyes, but remember it she did.

As if I should spare a second thought to the hurt feelings of these mewling wretches.

No, Vyk thought, bracing herself against the stabbing pain in her head. Please, not again! She tried reeling herself back, but her mind had already touched those of the Others; like cold, groping hands from the shadows, the Daedra took hold of her, and she felt herself being stretched to the darkest recesses of Oblivion.

"Weak. Contemptible. These mortals are nothing but..."

"They should be bowing! Kneeling before you! You're the strongest of them, you..."

"You could raze that pathetic city to its foundations! Leave nothing but ash and bones in your wake! Who among them could stop you!?"

'No!' Vyktoria screamed, clutching the sides of her head. Half a dozen different, half-completed Conjuration spells all pulsed simultaneously around her. Her magic echoed across the Void, and she felt the Others pull away from her, the dozens upon dozens of other hungry, domineering wills withdrawing from the edge of her consciousness. But they'll come back. They always do. She looked up at Sinclaire, hand offered in...friendship? Reconciliation? For a moment she thought to take it, then looked down at her hand, still trembling with unrestricted magic.

'No, Sinclaire,' she said, clutching at her briast and pulling away, as if terrified. 'You can't trust me. You shouldn't trust me. Wicked hearts can cry just as easily as the gentle ones. They're only more cunning about how they let you see it.' Her voice was shaking, and her hand came to rest over the stone set into her amulet.

'I can't be your comrade. Or your ally.' She looked to her feet as the tears came more freely, the stone in her hand screaming as too much magical energy was forced upon it. 'Because a fire doesn't understand loyalty. Or love. Or friendship. All it can do is burn.'

She looked up at Nevena, the Dunmer girl, and saw no gentle understanding there, only scepticism and a quiet strength. 'You know, don't you? You've seen what I am. What I'm capable of being.' Vyk's breath caught in her throat. 'I'd have killed you, Nevena,' she admitted, miserable and disgusted. 'You. That man, his friend, everyone who dared get too close. I'd have killed you all. I'd have stood over your corpses, and I'd have mocked you!'

Shaking her head, she looked back at the Khajiit. 'No, Rikki. The fault here is mine. All of it. I let them-' She cut herself off abruptly. '-I let myself believe I could do this. That I was strong enough to keep myself under control. But as you can all see, I'm not. I never have been.'

The magic enveloping her calmed slightly, and she sighed. 'I can help you clear out whatever is in the Dwemer ruins. I'm good for that, at least. But when we return to Balmora, I'm going to request that Spymaster Cosades discharge me from this mission, and assign a proper battlemage to help the rest of you. I know of several talented ones that should be of more use on this sort of mission than I am.'

She looked over at Nevena again. 'Please,' she pleaded. 'If you see me...the way I was? Don't let the others near me. Don't let them try to stop me, don't even let them talk to me. You'll be alright, that way.'

Turning away from them, she looked down at her hand. The rings on her fingers were beginning to alight chaotically as the enchantments were pushed to their absolute limits; flimsy, broken doors meant to hold back a deluge that would never end. Vyktoria struggled to breathe; the air surrounding her felt thick and heavy, saturated with magic.

'If it's alright with the rest of you, I'd really like to hurry. It's getting worse.'

Group One:

Sinclaire stood gracefully, hand extended to Vyktoria for a few moments. Suddenly, the mage stumbled back from him, a piercing scream of "No!" cutting through the air with the motion. As this happened, the air about Vyktoria was heavy with magickal energies. As she clutched her head, the Breton could recognize the multitude of spells around her as half opened portals to the realms of Oblivion, a cascade of light and energy swirling about her. Instantly, Sinclaire almost began the movements of his own spell to in an attempt to counter whatever it was she was doing, but stopped himself once he realized that she had absolutely no control over her power. Instead he just stood there, in the same stance, hand extended. "I can't back down now. I will show her I am unafraid of her and her kind. No mage will ever hold power over me; not ever again." He thought, expression changing from warm to cold as Vyktoria attempted to regain control. "But she is different...why can't she keep control of herself? I have never seen this particular problem, not even in an apprentice of magic. And even then, such power is astronomical. I would have counted at least six differing portals about her; either her skill in Conjuration is unprecedented, or she has made some sort of grave mistake in a bid for power."

"No, Sinclaire," she said, pausing his thought process. "You can't trust me. You shouldn't trust me. Wicked hearts can cry just as easily as the gentle ones. They're only more cunning about how they let you see it. I can't be your comrade. Or your ally." As she said this, her head hung low, tears pouring from her eyes to fall upon the ground below her. "Because a fire doesn't understand loyalty. Or love. Or friendship. All it can do is burn." Sinclaire lowered his hand, just as slowly as he had extended it.

She then began to address Nevena, in an anguished, shaky voice. At first, Sinclaire was unsure what she could have been referencing when speaking of the 'man and his friend', but his thoughts briefly took him back to the Mage's Guild, where he had first spotted Nevena. At that time, she looked as if she had just seen a ghost. Unsure if the two instances were related, he listened on.

Vyktoria turned to Ja'Rikki, in an admission that everything was her fault. That she couldn't keep control of her magic despite her initial beliefs. "A bid for power it was, then..?" He thought, listening carefully to her. The battlemage went on to say that she would help them clear out the Dwemer ruin, but for their own good, should break away from them at the earliest convenience. While the thought sounded ideal to Sinclaire, his heart told him that while that may be best for the group as a whole, it will do nothing to help Vyktoria herself. "What a fool I am to think of her well being." The noble thought, yet he immediately caught himself. "Only a fool would attempt to move a fire, rather than quench it..."

She was then pleading for the Dunmer girl to stop anyone who would approach her once she began to act violent. "She is a fire," Sinclaire thought, a tinge of melancholy touching him at her shaky, distressed tone. "She burns, wild and uncontrollably. However, it is her power that burns her and the rest of us. There is something wrong with her, and obviously she is a victim, not the villain. Could this be the work of Daedra? What has she done..?"

Vyktoria turned away from the three of them, unable to even stand still without great effort. She paused, then asked if they could all just get moving. "If it's alright with the rest of you, I'd really like to hurry. It's getting worse," she said.

This was the moment. She sounded as if she were a completely different person; yet her power could be felt among the whole of them.

Sinclaire was unflinching.

"Despite whatever it is you have done to gain such unbridled, dark power..." he began, severe in tone and substance, a firm, leveled heat in his eyes. "I pledge to you, that if you prove to me that you are deserving of reprieve, I will do everything in my power to absolve you of this unnatural hold upon you. I take it that you have come to feel the consequences of seeking a power greater than, or transcendent of, what was meant to be within the reach of mortal kind. Your worth is obvious, your skill undoubtable. But know this: If I find that your true self is the persona we've come to meet prior to now..." Sinclaire's eyes began to coruscate a hard, bright viridian as he swung his arms about in a precise motion; mystical heliotrope energies began bending the air around him in unnatural angles, as if seen through a large prism which glittered and shifted about him. The man's eyes appeared an even deeper, richer green as they gleamed from behind the translucent barrier of violet. The jade globes of moments past could had never appeared more jovial in comparison.

"I will protect the interests of us all and oust you from this group myself."

Any apprentice was taught, the lord knew, that this one of the most dangerous spells any mage could ever encounter in any duel or mage to mage combat situation possible. The mystic's gambit. An obviously competent, yet not overly powerful spell of reflection surrounded the lord. While Mysticism was not Sinclaire's favored school, it was clear that his magic training was not ignored in his rigorous, lavishly expensive teachings.

'You are right. We only know some details about the disease but none of the true causes.' Zethan nodded in agreement. 'The ash storms, the blight and the corprus disease appeared at the same time. As the ash storms rose more often so did the blight and the disease. Maybe we'll find answers down in the sewers.' he went on pondering. 'Our first subjects were armigers, some of whom were raving and crazed, severed their own limbs in their delusions.' His tone changed to that of minor enthusiasm. There obviously was something more. 'There is a reason for using strong poisons and acids without restorative ingredients.' Zethan smiled mysteriously. 'When the disease grew more severe, their fingers, arms and wounds began healing rapidly. Think what would happen, if we managed to isolate and negate the downsides.' As he was talking, he took a runed notebook from a separate pile and handed it to Eyra.

'Study that. It's all the information about our more advanced experiments.' Withat Zethan looked to see the ordinators follow the imperial as well. As he noticed, the nord woman wasn't about to follow them, Zethan thought it was good to leave someone of healing expertise behind, because they couldn't risk two people who had knowledge about the disease.

Zethan had observed the woman as she studied the notes with him. In his eyes, she seemed like a smarter person than most, for someone in the temple that was. 'I'll be sure to bring enough samples for the two of us.' Zethan said and went outside to see the ordinators and the imperial with a map.

OOC: Editted this a day later because I missed out something crucial...

Group 2: Molag Mar


Inzlaalurith hurried away from the sickness, crying and Ordinators into the lower sections of the canton. Taking a few moments to catch her breath she made a shopping list in her head planning it all out precisely so she could spend as little time here as possible.

Get in. Get out.


- Alchemy supplies

- Food and Healing supplies

- New travel clothes plus a fine robe

- Get a new pack made

- Visit the Vaults


While she was thinking and taking in her surroundings; the dark cream floor and walls lined with tapestries of the Almsivi faith, she became aware of voices jabbering away to each other in a foreign language.

With no idea where the voices were coming from she slowed her brisk walk and tried to discern individual words or syllables, but it was impossible. The voices spoke too quickly and it was a language she had never come across before.


The sounds continued on her way around the canton, halting abruptly as she entered the alchemist and herbalists. Behind her eyes she could keenly feel Blaxe’s presence as the atronach looked through her eyes. Blaze had always been nervous in alchemy stores for reasons Inzlaalurith had never been able to work out until she’d forced a confession from her.


“Well how would you feel!” She’d demanded; flaming sparks flying off her body at every joint. “If you were made to walk around where the souls and energy of your brethren had been reduced to nothing but salts and then bartered over.”

Without pausing or giving the elf a chance to answer she continued.

“And why are we worth less than our cousins of frost of storm? We are valued on the quality of our bodily residue rather than the quality of our souls.

What does this say about our lives, I know that to mortals they might not seem like much but if I am ever free how am I supposed to look my brethren in the eye.... knowing what I know.”


At the time Inzlaalurith had had no answer but had made special care ever since never to buy fire salts. She had never been able to quell or address the insecurities about Blaze’s self worth that had arisen, and ever since the atronach had seemed less sure of herself... and less confident.


Having purchased everything she needed from the Alchemist and Herbalists she left as quickly as she could. Upon leaving the shop, the jabbering voices resumed.

The Vaults


It was called a bank but it was more of a dropbox or vault. The majority of things stored here were possessions rather than large sums of money. Guards stood against every windowless wall of the room for a combination of the protection of the public and to intervene if they saw anything illegal. But you could always pay them not to intervene.



Inzlaalurith was careful though, having developed a careful was of concealing all her goods within discrete non specific bags and labelling them with a system that only she understood. She’d made sure not to write it down anywhere.


A thick iron cage attatched to the counter separated the Vault keeper on duty from the rest of the room. A colossal collection of keys on his belt allowed him control of who and what went where.


She dropped a bag on the counter.

“This one is for you.” She smiled, sliding the bag towards the dunmer.

He paused with whatever it was he was chewing on, opened the bag and then tightened it again.

“Thank you for your generous payment.” He said kindly in his raspy voice. There was no authentic kindness there, it was a fabricated response to receiving payment, she noted.


“I’d like you to place these in my vault, but I want bags 3, 7 and 12.” She places several more numerically labelled bags on the counter. Wordlessly he took them away to the back high security vaults and came back a few minutes later with her request plus a folded piece of parchment and a sealed scroll

"These have been left for you." He said simply as he placed them on the counter.

"Thank you you." Inzlaalurith said cautiously; who in Tamriel would be leaving messages for her? Stowed everything away safely in her pack and turned to leave.


She remembered opening a vault here when she’d first come to Vvardenfel. This one was good but not as secure as the ones in Sadrith Mora which allowed a mage to apply their own security to their vault locker. In Molag Mar she’d cornered this Dunmer in the unlit under corridors of the lower canton. His face had been a picture when he’d seen her; a back lit silhouette with magic sparkling off her finger tips. She’d held him in a ‘gentle’ paralysis spell and strode towards him. The sheer surprise of it all seemed to have rendered him unable to think or function.

“I’m going to be opening a vault here in this city tomorrow.” She’d spoken in a low confident voice “And though I hear your security is pretty tight I need to apply some of my own protection. Firstly I will pay you well enough to never question or look at the property I choose to store in my vault. I will also pay you well enough to never tell anyone else anything about me, my property or this interaction. And secondly.... just to make sure...” She held up a black soul gem “If you decide to be lax, greedy or your tongue slips, this will be your new home.”


She paused, watching his bloodshot eyes staring back at her.


“Do we understand?” She detected consent, turned instantly on her heel and strode purposefully down on the corridor, not releasing the paralysis spell until she’d turned the corner.

True to both their words, she had opened a vault the next day and he had never mentioned, brought up or even acknowledged the interaction to her or anyone else.


Back in the present day, this transaction ran as smoothly as ever. Inzlaalurith left the vault having reorganized her property, Blaze’s satisfaction glowing in her mind.

"I will protect the interests of us all and oust you from this group myself."

Vyktoria sighed, turned around to look at the Breton behind his barrier, eyes alight with magickal energy. His look was imperious, commanding, but Vyktoria met his eyes regardless, her own expression weary.

'Is that Shalidor's Mirror?' she asked, stepping forward. 'Some weaker, derivative spell? I suppose it doesn't matter. I'd like to tell you a story, Sinclaire.

'In the years following the Imperial Simulacrum, the son of a minor Jarl in Skyrim sought me out, asked me to teach him that very spell, or one just like it, for a duel he was preparing for. I was a young woman at the time - a little younger than you are now, actually - and sorely needed the coin he was offering. I saw no reason not to teach him; that sort of reflection spell was a trifle, the sort of thing my friends and I used when we played together. So I accepted.

'He took to Mysticism naturally, his technique flawless. He practiced until the movements required for the spell were second nature, and when we had finished, he thanked me and we parted ways. When the time for the duel came, he executed the spell exactly as I had showed him; an ideal student in the classroom, but untested on the battlefield. His opponent, an Altmer warmage, had placed an elemental rune in the ring before the fight, and as you might know, such magick, without trajectory, is not affected by standard reflection spells. The Jarl's son had failed to notice the rune, and they say that when it detonated, the young man's corpse was so disfigured, his mother wept, for she could not see her son's face in that broken, charred wreck.'

Vyktoria closed until the tendrils of her wild, unkempt magic brushed the edges of Sinclaire's barrier, cracking and sparking without direction. 'You are incapable of absolving me, Sinclaire Lettreux, and so I shall endeavour to prove to you nothing. I have committed crimes, performed rites so vulgar, that only the gods may judge me now.' She inspected the young man's barrier. 'And if this mastery of piddling schoolyard magic is the basis of your confidence, then I beg of you: leave Vvardenfell now, return to whatever life you had, or find for yourself a new one. For the Empire has sent you here to die, and should you encounter a mage of any worth, your last lesson will be how meagre a display this has been.'

She turned and walked away then, paying little heed to the others as she left. She walked towards the gate leading out of the city and the makeshift stable where she had left her guar, and thought she heard galloping approaching from deeper in the city.

With the Telvanni mage and Redoran Arminger arriving shortly after, Verlon had already looked at the details on the map, and the reports given to him by the watch. "given the reports that my fellow ordinators have provided, there is a concentrated amount of activity of the vicinity of the south eastern side of the city canton." Verlon said as he pointed to the northern part of the port. "This was where the victims unable to recall the reasoning behind their late night walks into the sewers had been seen entering from inside the lower cantons, where they were found afflicted with blight some time after. which leads me to believe that whoever is responsible for these attacks has been entering through one side of the city sewers and released the rats and have already reached at the very least half of the sewer systems themselves." Looking up to the part members that have gathered and then up to Avarys and the ordinators he contemplated the plan of attack.

"Now as my experience with blight and sixth house is limited to what i am given in reports, i do not know the places that would be the cause of all of this, however if the citizens that have been entering the sewers has been any indication, that my search will begin where those victims have been located. If i am to learn more about why hey have been doing this that is the course of action to take. As like the Vivec sewer systems, this will take much less time if we are to split up and expand our search, though the south eastern sewer entrance may hold more clues as to how the rats may be entering the sewers." signalling to a couple of ordinators to his side he spoke to his fellow men. "We have enough watchmen to be spread between the other members so that we will all have suitable numbers for this endeavour. May the three bless us and bring us victory to cleanse this blight from this holy city of Molag Mar"

Not waiting to hear anything else from the other group members, Verlon turned on his heels to begin his journey to the northern part of the city. If what the Nord woman had said about the victims was true.. what Molag Mar is facing, may be more dire than first thought.. but until there was proof he could see in person, it is still but a rumor.

"No!"

As Vyktoria screamed and clutched her head, the skin of the world split in six places for the briefest of moments and Rikki smelled and tasted ozone and ash. A sharp pain lanced through her head, her fur stood on end and her skin tingled from the wild magic pouring off of the Imperial woman. Ja'Rikki clutched the pained spot on her temple and hissed softly.

Vyktoria begged them not to trust her, for she could only hurt them if they did, comparing herself to fire. She said she couldn't be an ally, or a friend or even loved as fire only burned what it touched. She'd kill them all.

The depth of how far over her head all of this was that she'd stumbled into wasn't lost on her. Rikki wondered for a brief moment whether or not she'd had to deal with things like this before. Somehow, she highly doubted it and thought she was handling herself rather well, considering; she'd been here for roughly an hour or so and these people already seemed likely to kill each other before whatever eldritch terrors outside had a chance and here she was. She'd even yelled at one of them.

'Gods, I'm as insane as the rest of them..'

As though hearing her thoughts and taking them as a challenge, Sinclaire proceeded to do perhaps the most insane thing yet; he threatened Vyktoria and, in doing so, tipped his hand to what he was capable of doing to counter her. She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned.

Vyktoria, in response, told them a tale of a young son of a Jarl in Skyrim who met an awful fate at the hands of a more experienced mage. The boy's folly was relying on book-learned spellcasting techniques without having ever used them in combat. As senseless as all of this seemed to Ja'Rikki, she saw the point of the story.

Frowning, she looked from one person to another. Vyktoria's retreating form, Sinclaire, Nevena, the two other Khajiit and Alan. Except Alan, they all seemed.. off. There was something wrong with the lot of them, herself included.

"Let's just get going before one of us manages to get ourselves killed," Rikki suggested, sighing. She turned and began to walk toward the city's gate. Maybe, she hoped, the walking would allow her to gather herself and the others to get a grip on what really mattered.