Warning - contains female slash.
This story is set in the Twist of Fate universe, several years before that tale begins.
The air, dry and gritty, whipped against the buildings, continuing its work of whittling away the angles and corners until they resembled round dunes, simply another part of the northern deserts. Remnants of the late evening sun, flaring a brilliant red on the horizon, shone on the dwellings, turning the dark brown bricks—same colour as the sand they were fashioned from—a beautiful garnet.
It would be a spectacular sight, were there any other colours to contrast it. However, in every direction Lilia saw nothing but sand, sand, and more sand. No matter the shade, after shaking a small mountain out of her clothing on a daily basis, she doubted she'd ever truly enjoy looking at it again.
Nodding her thanks to the caravan leader as she took her pack from the wagon, she quickly surveyed the village. Ein Miervale wasn't much more than a waypoint and trading post, nothing but unrelenting desert for leagues around, nobody but determined merchants and lost travellers winding up in its boundaries.
What a perfect place to get lost in.
Shouldering her pack, she lowered the fabric in front of her lips briefly to spit out a mouthful of grit, before putting it back over her nose, ducking her head, and walking into the wind. Despite the layers of cloth wrapped around it, her face felt raw and angry, unhappy with the long hours of brilliant sun and biting breezes. It would be nice to get indoors for a change.
Assuming she'd be staying inside—perhaps the trainer she sought lived in a shelter carved out of sand...
Heading towards the largest building, the music of an Elswyeran doub suggesting it functioned as the town's tavern, she wondered what sort of lessons she'd end up getting this time. Her arm still ached at the thought of the master swordsmer she'd reluctantly left behind in Skyrim—she never did find out what an Altmer was doing living in a mining community smack dab in the middle of a village full of Nords. And she still had so much she felt she might have learnt.
Ah well, surely she'd learnt enough. She could only—and frequently did—pray to the Gods that it was enough...
Pushing open the door, she blinked the sand from her eyes as she adjusted to the cool gloom inside. The scent hit her first—sweet, sickly sweet, like she'd plunged her nose in a basin of honey. Dragon's breath, all the way out here in the middle of nowhere...now she knew she'd come to the right place.
Enchanted lamps provided the barest pale blue illumination, surely as cool a hue as the proprietor could make it. The haze of smoke from the twisted glass pipes curled lazily over the patrons' heads, glowing like spectral mist with the reflected icy light. While the low conversations continued, nobody pausing to overtly glance at the new arrival, she knew nonetheless every eye in the place inspected the stranger in their midst.
Lilia surreptitiously looked them over in return, making her way at a purposefully slow pace to the bar. She left the wrappings over her face, wondering how much to reveal, and to what purpose. Perhaps the one she sought wasn't here. As it stood, most of the patrons were Khajiit, the majority Cathay-Raht. She scrutinized them carefully as she quietly ordered a glass of water from the bored-looking bartender, paying the woman with only gestures of thanks, not wanting to speak too much until she knew more about who she spoke to. Leaning back against the bar, Lilia pondered her next move. Somewhere she'd find the elusive Ahziza, but it wouldn't do to go asking questions about her. She surely wouldn't appreciate it.
Bright laughter from the shadowy corner table, the lamp above it for some reason unlit, made Lilia watch the merry company from the corner of her eye. She couldn't catch all of their words, but quickly surmised they spoke of her, and in less than flattering terms. About to dismiss them, she suddenly felt her heart skip a beat when she noticed the woman seated in the very back corner.
She couldn't be anything other than Ohmes, the race distinctly different, yet so markedly similar, to the Imperials. The luxurious waves of dark brown hair, firm tilt of her chin, and slender arms might fool someone unfamiliar with the unique Khajiit, but there was a feline grace to her movements, a predatory nature to her smile, that marked her as something other than one born in the heart of the Empire. That, and the skillfully applied tattoos said to represent whiskers, fanciful swirls of dark blue curling around her eyes, curving down to highlight the pout of her mouth, plainly spoke of her Khajiiti parentage.
Holding onto her glass of water, Lilia strode directly over to the table, looking only at the woman in the far corner. The Ohmes stared back, boredom displayed on her face as she sucked up a puff of dragon's breath, a gleam of curiosity dancing in her eyes.
In her flattest accent, trying hard to sound Cyrodiilic—or failing that, at least like a Nord—Lilia pointed to an empty chair. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
A round of jeers rang out in scathing Ta'agra, given by the chorus of Cathay-Raht sitting around the table. Lilia ignored them, not removing her eyes from her quarry. Slowly the noise about her died, the others waiting impatiently for the Ohmes' response.
"The prey speaks," the woman finally stated, streams of pale purple smoke issuing from her nostrils as she exhaled. "Leave, little Imperial, before I tell my friends to unleash their claws." With a languid wave of her hand, she dismissed Lilia before relaxing further back into her chair.
Lilia spoke over the catcalls and insults, voice calm and smooth as glass as she slipped in the Aldmeris words. "I seek the Ceyemero av ghartok."
For the briefest moment surprise flared in the woman's face, before she managed to master herself again. She sliced her hand through the air with a blindingly fast flick of the wrist, instantly silencing those about her. Coolly, and more than a little warily, she stared up at Lilia. "So, the prey thinks it's the predator." With a derisive chortle, she gave her head the merest shake. "You are lost, ja'imga. Lha'jiito, before the dro-m'Athra swallow your tiny soul."
"Q'zi no vano thzina ualizz," Lilia retorted in Ta'agra, letting the words purr off her tongue, startling gasps from a few of the Khajiit nearby. Despite what the woman demanded, she wasn't going anywhere. "When I contradict myself, I am telling the truth," she repeated, this time in Common. "Need I translate my earlier words?"
The woman glared sullenly, before tilting her head up in the tiniest nod. At her motion the table emptied, confused Khajiit moving to the bar, quietly discussing the strange Imperial who spoke their tongue.
Lilia sat down, setting her drink onto the table's surface, instantly creating a ring of water from the condensation dripping off the glass. She waited patiently for the Ohmes to speak, watching as the woman puffed languidly away at her pipe, seemingly contemplating the ceiling.
"Show yourself," she finally commanded, sending a ring of smoke to drift over Lilia's shoulder. "I want to see the ja'imga who so freely steals ta'agra'iss."
"One who is not a half-witted ape of the Empire," Lilia answered calmly, unwrapping the scarves from her head, "can't be said to steal the language of her own people."
Ja'imga—that was one she hadn't heard in a long time, and was certainly never called before. The disdainful nickname for the Imperials—Imga being the violent, dumb ape people of the eastern forests, while in this instance ja implied the feeble mind of a child—had been much in use during the aggressive takeover of Leyawiin. She certainly never expected to be insulted as one, especially since she used to spit along with her great-great-grandfather, Faldan, whenever he uttered the curse. The term didn't hurt, though—if anything, she felt mildly amused at being mistaken for a heartland Imperial.
"You are no ja'imga," the woman declared, staring at Lilia's uncovered head, "but you are no ja'khajiit." With a long sigh she melted further down into her chair, heavy lids half-lowering over her large, dark eyes. Her relaxation went far beyond the natural, her body seemingly boneless due to the influence of the dragon's breath. "You bore me. Go." A lazy wave accompanied the muttered pronouncement.
Seeing she wouldn't get much further with the woman in such a state, Lilia leaned across the table, keeping her movements calm and smooth. "As you wish, Ceyemero Ahziza," she whispered as faintly as she could, sure by the way the woman's eyes snapped open at the name she'd managed to make both her words—and her message—clear.
Feeling an intense stare boring holes into her back, Lilia moved back over to the bartender, trying very hard to ignore all of the suspicious looks the Cathay-Raht gave her as they returned to their table. As she arranged for a room she made sure not to turn around, despite her burning curiosity to see the look on Ahziza's face.
After all, predators shouldn't be worried about turning their backs on the prey...