A/N: This is a collaborative work of fanfiction between myself and johmatmarkun here on fanfiction dot net. You should definitely check out his very first work of fanfic, The Kharza Chronicles. We're kind of in the middle of a reciprocated author crush and decided that this was a project we just had to make happen. It's a slightly different approach to writing than I think either of us have taken before, and has been super fun so far. Take the warning seriously though…if you are in any way uncomfortable with violence, sex and language, we'll not hunt you down if you run away screaming now.
Places, characters and events property of or inspired by Bethesda.
What's a Dragonborn?
Riften—the Jewel of the East. A city of rich mercantile heritage, where lavish manors proudly lined its grand boulevards and a bustling marketplace attracted wealthy investors from each and all of Skyrim's nine holds. A city where a man could turn a few septims into a fortune overnight. A city where a man with a dream and a plan could build an empire.
A city of broken dreams and ruined plans. A city of squalor and decay. A center of debauchery and decadence, where thieves lurked around every corner and beggars lined the streets. A place where a man was all too keen to embrace his fellow man in friendship and stab him in the back at the same time if it meant turning a profit.
A naked J'Thaar flung open the door to his meager balcony overlooking the street and greeted the morning with a grin, standing as tall and as proud as his morning erection.
"Ah," he sighed cheerfully, "another glorious day in this pit of despair we call home."
He turned and gazed upon the equally naked Wood Elf girl in his bed. Chuckling, he padded over to her side and delivered a hearty smack to her buttock. The Bosmer yelped and bolted upright on the mattress.
"Rise and shine, my little rosebud," J'Thaar smiled.
"What in Oblivion, cat?" the girl whined, rubbing her hindquarters. "That hurt!"
The Khajiit chuckled. "Well, my dear, there's business that needs tending to," he said, rocking his hips from side to side.
The Bosmer rolled her eyes. "You fucked me six ways from Sondas last night. I'll be sore for days, and a sore cunny means no clients. You owe me, cat."
The Khajiit grumbled and gathered up a few coins from next to a pewter pitcher on the nightstand, unceremoniously tossing them at the girl one by one. The Wood Elf raised an eyebrow and stretched out her hand.
J'Thaar shook his head. "Have it your way," he said, picking up another few coins and dropping them into the girl's palm. "Now get to work. I have yet to try that pretty mouth of yours."
With a sigh, the girl took a drink of water straight from the pitcher and got on her knees. She wrapped her lips around J'Thaar's member and began to suckle in earnest.
"Good girl," J'Thaar groaned. Oh, how he loved these Wood Elf whores. He was positively beaming.
There came a knock at the door. The Bosmer was about to pull away, but J'Thaar palmed the crown of her head and pushed her back to her purpose. "Yes? What is it?"
The door opened to reveal a young Imperial man dressed in red robes. The man took a breath as if to say something, but the words went missing in his throat as his eyes trailed downward to the girl on her knees, bobbing her head back and forth on J'Thaar's turgid flesh.
"Ah, good morrow to you Carlo!" J'Thaar smiled. He tapped the Bosmer on her head. "Dear, be polite. We have company."
The girl issued a muffled grunt in greeting.
The Imperial stared for a moment with a bewildered look on his face before speaking.
"Er … is this a bad time?"
J'Thaar waved his hand. "Not at all, good Carlo, not at all! Now, what brings you to my quarters this morning?"
"Well, er … Jorik says he won't be able to attend the meeting tonight. He said something about urgent business in Shor's Stone."
J'Thaar nodded. "Another miner who has 'forgotten' to pay his taxes, no doubt. So be it. Tell Jorik I will speak to him when he returns."
A sharp twinge in his nether region made J'Thaar hiss in discomfort. He lightly slapped the Bosmer girl on the side of her head.
"By the Twin Moons, woman, I am not paying you for your teeth!"
The Wood Elf gave pause to shoot J'Thaar an angry glare before returning to her work. Apart from the sounds of the people outside and the Bosmer girl's slurping and sucking, the room was silent.
J'Thaar blinked at the Imperial. "Did you need something else, Carlo?"
The man shook his head. "No, I—"
"Splendid! I trust you know the way out?"
The door closed quietly, and the Imperial's footsteps trailed off down the hall. J'Thaar looked down at the girl servicing him.
"You know, when you put forth a little effort, you're not half bad at this."
It was getting to be a common sight to see the young Breton woman in the green scarf kicking at the dirt near the stables. It was the third time in a fortnight that she could be spotted near the path that led to the structure – and the third time in a fortnight that she'd been forgotten. Her so-called partner in crime had conveniently missed their meeting once more.
"Gods-damned Khajiit," she mumbled to herself. She leaned forward to pick up several pebbles she spied on the ground. As she rolled them around in her hand for a moment, she stared off in the direction of the gate that served as Riften's main entrance. Perhaps she just needed to give the cat a bit more time. He'd eventually come along as planned.
But the longer she waited, the more annoyed she became. She absentmindedly began to toss the pebbles at one of the smaller horses tied up outside of the shelter of the stables. The dark mane on the animal tossed back and forth as it whinnied in aggravation in response to the repeated pelting.
"Hey!" a voice called. "Stop throwing rocks at the horses!"
She looked to its source and saw the Redguard who worked at the stables. She snarled in his direction, causing him to frown.
"Fuck off, Shadr." She took her remaining pebble and whipped it in the man's direction before stomping off towards the city.
"Divines take you…you…you half-bred bitch!" he called out after her.
She snapped her head back in his direction, looking over her shoulder sharply. The look upon her face was all business, and Shadr shrank into himself when he saw it. He'd have to be careful over the next few days – at least until the woman forgot about what he said. She was not one to be trifled with. She could tell from his expression that he knew he'd overstepped his boundaries with her. She'd be sure to take it up with him later.
A wicked smile spread across her lips as she faced forward again. She reached her hand up to brush the long dark hair off of her shoulder where it had landed when she spun her head around. Her eyes narrowed once more when she remembered that she was supposed to be very displeased with J'Thaar.
What could possibly be keeping his attention this time? Perhaps he was still drunk from the night before. Or, it could have always been a whore. She nodded to herself – she'd put money on a whore every single time where he was concerned.
As she reached the gate to the city, the guards recognized her and opened it for her, allowing her entry. After several steps inside the gate, a man wearing the easily recognizable garb of the Thieves Guild moved out from behind one of the pillars providing support to the city's walls into her path.
"If it isn't Maëlys Branoc," the man said. "When are you going to take me up on my offer for some mead at the Flagon?"
"Vipir," she groaned in response. "Come out of your vermin hole to harass the upper crust of Riften?"
The young Nord shrugged. "Practice makes perfect, eh? Can't let these hands stay idle when there are pockets ripe for the picking."
"Mmm," she responded. She stepped up to him, reaching down between his legs and squeezing. "Shame when things go unused, isn't it?"
He grunted until she released hold of him, pushing him out of her way. "So, is that a yes to the Flagon then?"
Maëlys chortled, shaking her head in disbelief as she walked away. Those Guild members were certainly persistent – likely the only reason they still felt they were relevant in the city despite all their misfortune. Whenever she did visit the Ragged Flagon, all she ever heard was whining and moaning over how bad they all had it; how much more difficult surviving as a thief had become as the days marched forward. Pathetic! If they had any smarts, they'd leave the Guild and decide to work with her and the Khajiit. Their luck had never been better.
Speaking of the cat…
She looked up from where she stood on the main street in Riften. She was directly below his balcony.
"J'Thaar! Get your furry arse down here!"
Her head swiveled, watching the occupants of the city as they passed by, eyeing her as they went. A young mother passed with her child in tow, giving Maëlys a dirty look over the yelling.
"Keep staring at me like that and I'll cut your eyes out," she growled at the woman, who immediately pulled her child by the wrist, dragging him quickly away from the Breton. She rubbed her hands in front of her, looking back up to the balcony. There was still no sign of him.
"Ugh!" she exclaimed. "Damn Khajiit!"
She stomped towards the door to the inn where he resided and forced it open. As she continued on with heavy footfalls, the innkeeper looked at her curiously, trying to get her attention.
"Can I…help you?" he called out.
"Oh no," she replied. "I know exactly where I'm going…" Annoyance tinged her words. She wasn't so much angry at J'Thaar for not showing up as she was irritated that she'd had to change her plans; and quite possibly infuriated that she'd let herself believe that this time would be different and he'd have actually met a commitment he made. She was already behind schedule for accepting delivery of smuggled goods from Windhelm that she promised herself she would get to that morning. But the cat just happened to have a very odd way about throwing a snarl in her well-laid out plans.
Though, could she blame him really? One would have thought she'd have given up on him after seven long years of the same.
When she had ascended the stairs, she stormed to the second door on the right – his door. She breathed in deeply, gritting her teeth and attempting to prepare for whatever sight awaited her. It was almost never pleasant with him.
She threw the door open. "J'Thaar, where have you—?"
Her voice cut out mid-sentence as her eyes fell upon him. She half expected to see him passed out on the floor, in a pile of vomit and mead, but not…this.
"What the fuck is this?"
J'Thaar didn't look up; he just sat there cross-legged on the floor with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Papers were strewn across the floorboards—letters, contracts, and accounts of business transactions.
"The numbers don't add up."
Maëlys raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck are you on about, J'Thaar? Where have you been? We were supposed to meet at the stables an hour ago. The shipment, remember? Do you even remember the shipment of firewine from Windhelm, or were you high when we made the arrangement?"
J'Thaar's steely blue eyes flickered up to meet the Breton's gaze. There was anger written all over his face.
"The numbers, Maëlys," he said. "The fucking numbers. They don't add up." He picked up one of the sheets on the floor, shaking it for emphasis. "Somehow, somewhere, somebody's been giving us a raw deal. Someone's been cheating us for months, and we were too stupid to see it."
The Khajiit scanned the floor for a moment and grabbed another leaf of paper. He rose to his feet and approached Maëlys. "Here, see for yourself. Remember that Colovian brandy we brought in two months back? Turns out we came up short. Same thing with the shipment of fire salts and the five barrels of moon sugar."
Maëlys shut the door behind her and snatched the paper from J'Thaar's grasp. "You sure the barrels didn't arrive a little light?" She gestured toward the Khajiit with a jerk of her chin. "You were the one handling them, after all."
J'Thaar glared at her. "Fuck you, Maëlys," he growled. "I don't pinch from our deliveries. You know that."
"Well, there was that one time …"
"All right, that one fucking time. And as I recall, you were all too happy to join in, so don't point your witchy fucking finger at me and blame me for our shortcomings. Khajiit knows better than to stand in the way of profit."
J'Thaar turned his back to the Breton and braced his hands on the desk, scowling as his eyes bored through the windowpane. His tail twitched violently in his anger. He was cursing himself on the inside for not catching on sooner. Whoever had been scamming them knew what he was doing. Initially, everything had looked all right; nothing had given J'Thaar any reason to suspect he was being conned. Only when he looked at the papers altogether had things started to make sense—why they barely had enough to cover the weapons shipment, or the void salts consignment, or even these fucking cases of firewine from Windhelm. Sure, they still came out ahead on their smaller investments, and there were plenty of other smugglers who would be happy to shrug and look the other way if they brought in the kind of coin J'Thaar and Maëlys did … but J'Thaar was not just any smuggler. J'Thaar was proud. He wouldn't stand idly by while the money he risked his neck on a daily basis to make was being swiped right from under his nose.
Maëlys took a step forward. "Hey."
No response.
Maëlys tapped J'Thaar's shoulder hard. "Hey."
J'Thaar took a deep breath and sighed before turning to face his partner.
Maëlys looked the Khajiit in the eye. "How do we fix this?
J'Thaar knew they needed to speak with Wanders-The-Shores, but he certainly wasn't happy about it. That rat bastard Argonian knew the dirt on everybody who was anybody, and if ever there was somebody to pump for information about a dirty deal, the lizard was the man to see.
At least they wouldn't have to visit the docks; J'Thaar wasn't exactly popular there. Instead, he and Maëlys made their way to the market square. The hour was quickly approaching midday, and if J'Thaar knew Wanders-The-Shores, the scaly tit would be sitting down to lunch shortly.
It didn't take long to find him—even if the Argonian's scaly white hide didn't separate him from the Nords and Wood Elves perusing the shops and eateries, his atrocious taste in attire made him stick out like a sore thumb anywhere he went. He sat alone at a table outside one of the restaurants, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.
"Look at him," J'Thaar sneered. "The slimy dolt even sticks his pinky out when he lifts his cup."
Maëlys spoke over her shoulder as she and J'Thaar wove their way through the crowd. "You'd better behave yourself this time. If the guards haul you in again, I'm leaving you in your cell to rot."
J'Thaar grumbled as they closed in on their mark.
The Argonian looked up from his book. His puce and yellow tunic looked even worse up close.
"Well, well," Wanders-The-Shores said through a broad grin. "Hello, Maëlys. Your pretty face is certainly a welcome addition to an already fine day." The Argonian changed focus to J'Thaar. "Hello, cat," he sneered.
"Hello again, Shores," J'Thaar said, pulling out a chair and sitting promptly absent invitation. "Mind if we join you?"
The Argonian motioned toward Maëlys with his ugly snout. "Her? No. You? Definitely."
Maëlys sighed. A feeling in her gut told her that this encounter would not end well, and that it would probably be the cat's fault. Again. The fuzzy arsehole hadn't even offered her the seat he now occupied.
"We could use some information, if you have the time," J'Thaar said. "And I know for a fact you don't have anything better to do."
"Who says I have any information for you?" the lizard spat.
Maëlys fished a leather purse from her pocket and dropped it on the table. The coins inside clinked together as the little bag made contact with the wood.
"Who else but our good friend Tiber Septim?" Maëlys replied.
The Argonian's mouth twisted at the corners. "Mmmm, music to my ears."
"Do Argonians even have ears?" J'Thaar quipped. Maëlys glowered at him.
"Very funny, sand-kitten," the lizard retorted.
J'Thaar's expression turned from displeased to incensed in the blink of an eye. "What the fuck did you just say?" he growled, pushing himself backwards and rising slowly from his seat.
Maëlys clapped her hand to the Khajiit's shoulder and pushed him back down into his chair without taking her eyes off Wanders-The-Shores. The Argonian daintily lifted his cup and slurped at its contents.
"Just ignore him," Maëlys said.
J'Thaar started to express a thought. "But he just—"
"I wasn't talking to you, you idiot," Maëlys snarled, cutting her partner off mid-sentence. She refocused on the Argonian and tried her best to sound pleasant.
"Look, we need information on a buyer. You know those orders of sugar and spice that came into the docks a couple months back?" the Breton asked.
Wanders-The-Shores stared blankly at her for a moment. "You mean the fire salts and … Ohhh, yes."
"Yes," Maëlys continued. "The sugar and spice. We need to know who made the order."
The Argonian set his book down on the table and took another slurp of his tea. J'Thaar wanted badly to punch the lizard in the throat.
"Hmmm, I'm having a bit of trouble recalling the details. Perhaps if—"
Maëlys leaned forward, bracing her palms against the table. She lowered her voice, keeping her outward appearance composed.
"I'm trying to be nice here, Shores. Don't fuck around, or I'll haul you into the alleyway by your tail and turn your insides into your outsides. Do you understand me?"
Maëlys could have sworn she heard the lizard gulp. She smiled inwardly in satisfaction at seeing the Argonian squirm.
"When you put it that way, I think I remember seeing somebody sign off on the delivery."
"Good boy," the Breton said, as if speaking to a puppy that had just performed a trick. "Does this somebody have a name?"
The lizard nodded. "You'll want to speak with Alfskr Seven-Spears. If today is Tirdas, he'll likely be at an inn called the Bee and Barb for dinner and drinks. I can take you there, if you like."
The Breton straightened her back. "No, I don't believe that will be necessary. Thank you for your time."
Maëlys turned to leave. J'Thaar stood up quickly, bumping his thighs against the edge of the table. Wanders-The-Shores' teacup was knocked from its saucer and into his lap, unloading its hot contents all over the front of his trousers. The Argonian yelped; the Khajiit grinned.
"Oh my, how terribly clumsy of me," J'Thaar sighed with mock sympathy. "My apologies. Always a pleasure, Shores."
J'Thaar had to jog a few paces to catch up to Maëlys. "That went better than expected," he beamed.
Maëlys shook her head. Gods-damned Khajiit.
Ah, the Bee and Barb. The cleanest of the dirty rat hole-infested establishments in Riften. If the Ragged Flagon wasn't such a draw for its damp and stingy charm, Maëlys and J'Thaar would no doubt frequent this fine place. Though it was often difficult for them to do so; what, with J'Thaar's typical comments towards the, as he so eloquently put it, 'slimy lizard bastards' that owned the place.
Maëlys had to roll her eyes anytime he'd start to ramble on about Keerava or the lizard that drooled all over the bloody floor about her, Talen-Jei. She recalled one such instance where J'Thaar complained about the two all the way from the Bee and Barb – where he'd just been given the boot – to Shor's Stone. At the very least, it felt that was the length of time he was on about them.
As the pair entered the tavern, they noticed a few of the regulars. That uppity mage who fancied himself for hire was there – the one that J'Thaar was insistent Maëlys was hoping to bed one day. It was always the mages with her; he figured it was something to do with some sort of kink-filled bedroom game they played – setting the other on fire, or freezing integral body parts, or something to do with lightning. He didn't care much for such things; as long as his elven whores could deliver on the basics, he was left at least partially satisfied. The mead and moon sugar could take care of the rest.
A couple of the more recognizable Thieves Guild members were weaving their way through the outsiders, looking for easy marks and brimming pockets. The dark haired woman…the one named after the gemstone. And the Nord that towered over everyone in the tavern on a fairly regular basis.
It was when Maëlys spotted their potential mark that she nudged J'Thaar and motioned in the Nord's direction. He grabbed her elbow roughly.
"Must you always do that?"
"I was attempting to be quiet about it, but since you'd like announce to the whole place who we're looking for, I think that's Seven-Spears right there." At the sound of his name, the husky blond Nord at the bar with one of his front teeth missing looked around to find who called his name.
"What a typically Nord appearance," J'Thaar scoffed derisively. He looked at his partner expectantly. "Shall we?"
She nodded at him and they made their way over to the man. He looked startled as they slid on to the stools on either side of him, both paying him far too much attention.
"Keerava!" she called out. "Mead over here, eh?"
The Argonian slowly made her way over to them, bringing with her two large mugs. She had filled them with Black-Briar mead and slid them in front of the pair, waiting in anticipation for her payment.
"Ah, my good friend here will be covering our tabs tonight," J'Thaar exclaimed boisterously. He clasped the man on the shoulder for good measure. "Isn't that right, Alfskr?"
The man's head whipped towards the Khajiit next to him. "How do you know my name? I don't even know—"
"Of course you do, friend," the Breton chimed in. She reached up towards his earlobe, squeezing it tightly between her thumb and forefinger; fingernails digging into the flesh. There was no further protest. His hands immediately dug into a coin purse, extracting the required gold for the mead. "I knew you'd remember us."
"Ooow," he exclaimed. "That hurt girl!"
J'Thaar clicked his tongue behind his teeth. "Oh, now you've gone and done it."
Alfskr turned back to him again, confused. "Did what?" He suddenly felt two small fingers being driven up his nostrils, yanking his head back in the other direction. The Breton stood in front of him, pulling up on his nose.
"Nobody calls me girl."
"Oh…ow! Okay! Let go of me!" the Nord demanded, glancing back at the Khajiit. He merely shrugged. When she relinquished hold on his nose, he rubbed at it lightly. "What in Oblivion do you two want?"
"Well for starters," Maëlys began, crossing her arms in front of her, "you can stop whining."
"Get away from me, you maggots," he snarled. "I've had a bad day already, and my sword arm is sore from putting down scum like you."
She pouted at him. "Oh…that hurts. Cuts me right," – she paused, pulling the green scarf away from her neck and revealing the jagged scar that reached across her throat – "here."
Alfskr huffed out a reserved breath as he felt J'Thaar grab his arm and begin to pull him away from the bar. "Tell you what," he said. "Why don't we find a roomier corner to chat, no? Maybe with some fresh air." The Nord wasn't certain of it, but he may also have felt a dagger being pressed into the leathery skin of his back. He complied immediately, shuffling along wherever the Khajiit led him.
Maëlys leaned over the bar and pointed at Keerava. "Watch these, lizard. We'll be right back." She took another gulp of the mead before slamming the mug down and following J'Thaar, who was already dragging the Nord outside of the tavern. Not a soul paid any mind to the two with the sniveling man between them.
Lines of worry crossed the Nord's face as the nimble Khajiit pulled him around the corner and slammed his back against the wall. "See, here's the problem, Alfskr. There's a rumor going around the city that you might have signed off on a very important delivery of…baking ingredients."
He scrunched up his face, confused. "Baking ingredients? What are you—?"
The Breton slunk in front of J'Thaar, running her fingertip – or rather fingernail – down the line of the man's jaw. "Oh, you know. Sugar…spice…everything nice…" J'Thaar groaned and shook his head, which prompted her to shoot a glare in his direction.
"I don't know what you're talking about," the man protested, backing into the wall as far away from the two as he could get.
"Really?" J'Thaar prompted, cocking his head to the side. "Because I think you do." The man looked between the two and saw the Breton nodding her head in agreement.
Her eyes widened as she pulled a small dagger from her belt. "Someone else thinks you do too," she said, her singsong lilt carrying into the alley. Alfskr's nerves had taken control of his body and he was unable to move for fear of the two absolutely crazy individuals that seemed to be all around him at once, despite merely standing in front of him. His back to the wall of the tavern didn't help in the least.
"Look, just tell us where the extra goods went," J'Thaar said, "and I promise to give you a head start when—"
"If," she interrupted.
"—we let you go."
The appearance of the dagger at his neck must have done the trick, because despite his clearly superior size in comparison to the two in front of him, Alfskr's lip began to tremble. He sniffed loudly in an attempt to hold back the weeping he was wont to display.
"Come now, Alfskr," Maëlys demanded, the flat of the blade now pressing against his throat. "Use your words."
Within seconds, details came spilling out of his mouth: names of those involved and most importantly, the warehouse where the 'overages' were being kept. The Khajiit picked at his clawed fingers. "Now, that was really simple, wasn't it 'Lys?"
"Sure was," she agreed. She popped a fingertip up on to the Nord's nose and he flinched. "Hmm…head start time?" She looked over at J'Thaar who nodded back. "Best start running then Alfskr. The Khajiit aren't known for being sluggish, now are they?"
The two never thought they'd see the large man move so fast, but he ran with a renewed sense of purpose and never looked back.
"Today has gone far too smoothly," she said, skepticism in the undertone of her voice.
"Just accept it for once," he growled back. "Now don't we still have some mead inside waiting for us?"
"You and your bloody mead," she said, shaking her head.
"Could be worse," he shrugged.
"Yeah," she agreed. "Could be your damned whores."
The warehouse Seven-Spears mentioned was out on the docks. J'Thaar and Maëlys were tough, but it was a bad idea to go wandering into Argonian gang territory after dark no matter who you were. J'Thaar thought it better to find somewhere better than the stupid Bee and Barb to celebrate their good fortune, some not-so-quiet corner for some roast chicken and a bottle or five of the strongest mead in town.
"Not the Canal," Maëlys said flatly. "I'm not going to the Canal with you again."
J'Thaar blinked. "How did you know I was going to suggest the Canal?"
"Because you always suggest the bloody Canal," she groaned. "Every time I come with you to the Canal, it's the same thing—you talk about how it's been too long since you and I have spent time together to spend some of this money we're making, then you get drunk and wander off. I end up drinking by myself and having to teach a Canal regular or two some manners, and when I've had my fill of that and come to find you, you're already on the sugar and ears deep in some whore's tits."
"Well of course I wander off," J'Thaar said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You never want to get chicken."
Maëlys rolled her eyes.
Always with the eyes, he grumbled to himself. Any time he wanted to grab a drink and a bite with her, the petulant little manmer would always find something to gripe about. Why couldn't she put her negativity on hold for one bloody evening and at least sample what he was selling? If she'd only stop being so Gods-damned narrow-minded she might actually enjoy herself.
J'Thaar placed his hand on his heart and looked to the night sky. "On my honor, I will not forsake you this fine evening."
Maëlys snorted. "Your 'honor,' huh?"
The Khajiit rolled his eyes now. "Yes, my honor. I will not abandon you for even my most favored harlots. Not even if they are offering a two-for-one bargain."
"Fine," the Breton sighed. "But if you do run off, when I find you I'll set your ears on fire."
A toothy grin stretched across J'Thaar's face. "Ha! Marvelous. To the canals, then. First round's on me."
"Damned right, it is," Maëlys muttered.
The lower walkway of Riften's Grand Canal used to be a thriving center of commerce that rivaled the city's bustling marketplace. Nowadays, however, it was mostly avoided by the more well-to-do members of society for fear they might end up beaten senseless and thrown into the murky channel by disgruntled drunkards. What once were shops had mostly become saloons whose regular patrons were a mix of ill-tempered gamblers, malicious loan sharks, swindlers, gangsters and prostitutes.
J'Thaar loved the Canal. On top of everything else, the food was spectacular.
The Khajiit's pace slowed as he took a moment to size up the three buxom Wood Elf beauties waving to him and motioning for him to come do business. Ah, how those big brown eyes and pointy ears made his loins stir every time …
A sharp jab in his ribs brought him back to Nirn. Maëlys and her bloody pointy elbows.
"Don't even think about it, you lecherous boob. You swore to me on your honor that you wouldn't go gallivanting off into the night with your whores."
J'Thaar rubbed the sore spot in his ribs. "What?" he asked innocently. "I never said I wouldn't look."
Maëlys shook her head as he took the lead once more, guiding her further down the walkway. For as long as the cat drew breath, he would think with his prick. Sheogorath must have pulled some special lever in her head all those years ago to make her stick with this wanton pile of flea bait.
J'Thaar cleared a path through the drunken rabble to a nearby saloon and plopped himself down at the bar with a satisfied smile, bidding her to sit next to him. A fight had broken out on the far side of the saloon floor. Apart from some cheers of encouragement, nobody paid it any mind. He ordered two meads while Maëlys shouted at the brawlers.
"I've seen newborns swing harder, you lazy milk drinkers! Give it some effort!"
J'Thaar chuckled.
Quickly losing interest in the sad excuse for a brawl, Maëlys turned back to the bar. She paused halfway through the motion; the tankard in front of her was enormous, and it was filled nearly to the brim. Now she knew why the Khajiit was drunk so many nights.
He hoisted his drink. "To our continued success."
Maëlys cautiously slowly reached for her tankard, looking almost as though she thought the thing would come to life and eat her. J'Thaar suppressed an outward chortle, but on the inside he was howling with laughter. He fully intended to get the Breton out-of-her-mind drunk tonight.
The Khajiit spotted a familiar Redguard man at a nearby table.
"Hail, Rajeed!"
The Redguard set his glass down and swiveled his head to face the source of the call. As he turned, Maëlys could see a lump of scar tissue where the upper part of his ear ought to have been.
"What do you want, J'Thaar?" the man asked sourly.
"Come now, Rajeed," he replied, "that's no way to greet a friend! How about a game of cards with myself and my associate here?" He clapped the Breton on the back, causing her to nearly choke on her sip of mead.
"Oh no," the Redguard said with a wave of his hand. "No more. Not with you. Not after the last time."
"You're not still sore about that ear, are you? Look, the whore was drunk and—"
"I said no, J'Thaar."
The Khajiit shrugged. "Suit yourself, your mirthless killjoy." He put his tankard to his lips and took a long pull, finishing off a good third of his mead before setting the drink down with a burp and a sigh of contentment. He reached into his pocket and produced a small metal bottle.
Maëlys cast a sidelong glance at his moon sugar vessel as the Khajiit wiggled it back and forth.
"How about it, friend?" J'Thaar smiled, eyebrow raised. "You know you want to."
"All right, all right … fine."
J'Thaar twisted the cap off the little bottle as Maëlys held her hand out. He tapped a small amount into her palm and watched with glee as the Breton licked it all up in one.
"Good on you, 'Lys," he chuckled as he followed suit.
The powder only took moments to kick in. J'Thaar developed a nice buzz but remained mostly himself. Maëlys, who was neither Khajiit nor a regular user of the stuff, was a different story. Her whole demeanor changed; she was smiling and laughing and guzzling her drink with reckless abandon, patting him on his leg and telling him she was glad she came with him tonight. She said she hoped they got in a fight tonight so he could show the two mouth-breathing milk drinkers in the corner how to throw a proper uppercut. J'Thaar laughed a hearty laugh and tousled the hair on the top of the Breton's head. She was a lot more fun when she got sugared up.
The drinks wore down after a little bit. He dropped the required coin on the counter, plus a hefty tip, and ordered two more. Mere moments after he and Maëlys toasted, the attitude in the saloon suddenly shifted.
Wanders-The-Shores stood just inside the doorway with three burly, disheveled Nords standing next to him. Two of them carried daggers; one of them had an axe.
J'Thaar didn't care. He was too focused on the Argonian, for the scaly twit was in rare form tonight. Wanders-The-Shores had on an absurd orange cap with the feather that looked longer than its wearer's tail. An oversized pendant dangled from a thick, poorly-crafted gold chain around the lizard's neck. The trousers, which looked two sizes too small, were the same wretched puce as the tunic the Argonian had worn earlier. To top it all off, the silly sod was wearing boots that were furrier than the Khajiit was.
He didn't even try to hold back the fit of raucous laughter that tore him. It wasn't long before the whole saloon joined in, clapping and whistling as the fuming Argonian and his entourage made for the intoxicated pair.
J'Thaar had to wipe away the tears before he could look at the Argonian at all. He was smiling so hard it almost hurt; it took every bit of strength he had not to burst into laughter again when the lizard halted in front of him and put hands on hips like a frustrated grandmother.
"Well now, if it isn't our old friend Wanders-The-Shores!" the Khajiit grinned, hoisting his flagon and taking a giant gulp. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "What brings you here among the rabble of the lower walkway? Surely such a place does not befit a gentleman with such … refined tastes."
Maëlys snorted into her drink.
"I've been looking for you," the Argonian sneered. "Wasn't hard to track you down. Wherever there's Bosmer cunny to be bought, there's a certain drink-addled cat looking to stick his nose in it."
Wanders-The-Shores was seething. J'Thaar thanked the Gods for inspiring him to come here tonight; the scene was simply priceless.
He took another swig of mead. "You know Shores, it's funny—I think you're the only person I've ever met who stays ugly after I've been drinking."
Out of nowhere, the Nord with the axe spoke. It caught J'Thaar off guard a little; he'd forgotten the man was there.
"Now's the time for us to talk and you to listen, furball, so shut your fucking mouth or—"
"Or what?" the Khajiit interjected. "Your employer here will beat me over the head with that gilded dinner plate he's wearing around his neck?"
The Nord stepped forward, as if to grab him. The Khajiit put his foot in the man's hip and kicked him back, sending him staggering into the table behind him. The women sitting there voiced their displeasure as their drinks spilled onto the floor.
"Come near me again and I'll tear your fucking face off your head," J'Thaar growled.
Maëlys hadn't spoken a word. She didn't need to speak. She had her right hand up; blue sparks crackled between her fingers.
The big Nord roared and took his axe in hand. He didn't take two steps before J'Thaar's dagger was out and slashing across his neck. The man's throat split open like an old rope, spraying blood onto the Khajiit's shirt. Many of the saloon's patrons shouted angrily; some of the whores screamed in fear.
The two other Nords, enraged by the dispatching of their comrade, rushed him with daggers drawn. J'Thaar grabbed his tankard and flung its contents into one man's face. He sidestepped the other Nord, quickly switching his grip on his dagger and plunging it into the man's upper back. The fur on the back of his neck was made to stand on end by a bolt of electricity surging past his face; the Nord he'd doused in mead dropped to floor with eyes wide open, a smoldering crater in his cheek.
J'Thaar slowly lifted his eyes to meet those of Wanders-The-Shores. The terrified Argonian stood frozen in shock and disbelief. When he took an angry step toward the lizard with ears flattened and teeth bared, he spun on his heel and made a break for the door. The Redguard Rajeed stuck out his foot; the lizard tripped and smashed through an empty chair on his way to the stone floor.
J'Thaar grabbed the bleeding and wheezing Wanders-The-Shores by the back of his shirt and dragged him outside without saying a word. He brought the lizard over to a nearby chicken vendor's cart and turned him onto his back. He balled up the lizard's collar in his fist and punched the struggling Argonian across the snout until his arms dropped to the ground. He stomped on the Argonian's shoulder until bone crunched underneath his foot; the lizard shrieked as J'Thaar ground down with his heel. Everyone on the walkway had his eyes trained on the scene unfolding before him.
Maëlys showed up at her partner's side with his dagger in hand, blood still dripping from its blade.
"Teach him a lesson," she said coldly.
He almost snatched the dagger out of Maëlys's hand. He looked down at the glassy-eyed Argonian and slowly licked the blood off the flat of his blade. The lizard half-whimpered, half-moaned in response.
J'Thaar grabbed the wrist belonging to the badly-damaged arm and used it to wrench Wanders-The-Shores back onto his belly; the lizard screamed in agony. He lowered himself, putting his knee in the small of the Argonian's back. He looked to Maëlys.
"Grab him under the chin and hold his head up so he can't get away."
Whatever music had been playing before had now stopped. Everybody stood still and watched as J'Thaar gripped the Argonian's tail and started to saw through it at the base.
Slipping through Riften in the darkness was old hat to J'Thaar and Maëlys. Navigating the winding canals and sewers of the underworld was all but second nature to the pair, having made so many escapes from precarious situations in their tenure together. They knew where it was safe to hide, where to emerge to the surface streets, the best places to…hide certain large things you didn't need any longer.
Covered in blood though, was another story. She was not so much covered as smattered by some errant spray, likely from one of J'Thaar's sweeping swings of his blade. But the Khajiit was drenched. If she hadn't known him any better, she'd have been worried that some of it was his own. But she did know him and it wasn't his.
The pair hastily decided that making their way home past the guards would be much easier if their clothing was soaking wet and clean, rather than dry and blood soaked. A quick rinse in Lake Honrich would solve the problem; despite the fact that with the sun down, the water would be cold as a witch's tit. Still, it was better than having to worry about getting into trouble with the guards.
Not that either of the two would have a problem with dispatching anyone else that night.
As they neared the end of the canal where it emptied into the lake, they both stood on the walkway above the water, surveying it for slaughterfish or other undesirable sea life. The twin moons reflected on the glassy surface of the calm lake, surrounded by faint auroras that characterized the night sky. If the two were the sort to care about that kind of thing, it would have been a perfect night for watching the skies.
Instead, Maëlys – in her still partially intoxicated state, heavily influenced by the moon sugar she gave into earlier that night – found herself teetering on the edge of the dock, fascinated by the colors reflecting on the water. She wasn't paying attention to J'Thaar as he took off his soiled clothes. He crouched low to submerge the bloodied shirt and trousers, grumbling the whole time about how he'd barely even had enough to drink to haze his vision. While it had started out to be an entertaining evening for the two, the appearance of the Argonian and his Nord thugs put a damper on the mood quickly. Still, it was satisfying to know that if the lizard hadn't bled out from the removal of his tail, he'd be able to see the tailless bastard around the city when he'd recovered. Some things were even worth more than a good night of drinking and sex. Not many things, he considered internally, but this? Definitely…
He glanced sideways at Maëlys – still standing on the edge of the wooden planking, and now reaching for the lights in the water.
"For fuck's sakes, woman," he growled. "Stop dancing with the imaginary fish and get yourself cleaned up. When I'm finished here, I'm going home and I will not be waiting for your crazy arse as I sit here in cold, wet clothing." He smacked her on the ass, not thinking that she would even be affected by the contact. But her balance was neither steady nor reliable and was sent face first into the cold water below.
When she surfaced, a screech was ripped from her mouth. "Gods-damned Khajiit!" The freezing water had immediately sobered her thoughts, and while her vision was still not at its best, she could see J'Thaar well enough to aim a palm at him; one that was suddenly covered in a ball of flame.
He dropped the clothes in his hands, facing the palms towards her in feigned innocence. "Easy there, 'Lys. I wasn't trying to toss you in the drink. But look at the bright side – now you won't have to worry about the blood on you."
"Fuck you, J'Thaar."
"You offering?" He snarled his lip over his tooth momentarily. She narrowed her eyes at him and growled, extinguishing the flame in her hand. He moved out of his crouch and sat on the dock cross-legged and picked up the shirt from where he dropped it.
The water wasn't particularly deep where she stood, which made it easier for her to make her way to the dock. She unwrapped the wet green scarf from her neck and tossed it on the dock angrily. With shivering fingers, she peeled the soaked shirt up and over her head and focused on rubbing the fabric against itself to remove the blood that was splattered across the front of it. When she returned her attention to the Khajiit, he was blatantly staring at her as she stood halfway out of the water…halfway bare.
"Stop staring at me," she demanded. "I'm not one of your Bosmer whores."
He chuckled as his eyes lingered for a few more moments before he focused back on getting the blood out of his clothes once more. She certainly wasn't a Bosmer…mere wisp that she was. But, a naked woman was a naked woman and J'Thaar wasn't picky.
When she was satisfied that she managed to get enough of the blood out, she carefully hung the shirt off the end of the dock to dry and pulled herself up to sit on the planks beside him.
"Phew!" she exclaimed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to get her blood back to flowing through them. "I don't know what's worse. Falling in there, or sitting up here when the winds hit me. It's really cold."
His eyes quite obviously travelled down to her breasts again. "I noticed."
"I am going to rip your—"
"Settle down, Maëlys," he interrupted.
She muttered something under her breath that he couldn't hear and stared off across the lake towards the docks. Something caught her eye, and she leaned across in front of J'Thaar to get a better view. Her tangled wet hair fell across his shoulder.
"You know, if you just lowered your head a little bit…"
She spun her head around to face him, recognizing how her head hovered above his lap and drove an elbow into his side.
"If you'd take your mind off of your cock for once, maybe you'd realize just how close we are to that warehouse," she said with a frown. "I'm going over there."
She sat up and pushed herself back into the water, slightly more adjusted to the temperature than the first time she was in. She quietly moved her arms under the water, breaking the surface only minimally.
"Maëlys!" he whispered gruffly. "Just…wait!" Tossing aside his now partially bloodied shirt, he braced himself for the temperature of the water and slid off the dock.
He wouldn't have caught up to her without attracting attention to them both, and so slowly made his way towards the warehouse that Alfskr told them about as he near pissed himself outside the tavern. He continued to glide across the water and could see that she had stopped, putting up her hand to signal for him to slow down. When he reached where she was treading water silently, she nodded her head towards the door of the warehouse. His eyes turned in that direction and he caught sight of what she had seen – a Dunmer, unlocking the door to the warehouse. The dark elf looked around; J'Thaar could only assume he didn't wish to be followed. When he was satisfied that no one was watching him, he entered the warehouse and shut the door behind him.
"Recognize the Dunmer?" he asked.
"Not at all," she replied. "And I think between the two of us, we know all of them in the city. And most that travel here regularly. Not to mention, the Argonians let him through the docks to begin with." She looked back at him, concern on her face. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
He continued to keep himself afloat. "So what then? First thing in the morning we head down here? See if we can't put an end to all this?"
She pursed her lips. "You've already forgotten about me one time too many this week. I'll just drop by your room when I'm ready," she suggested. "Try not to be throat deep in a Bosmer for once?"
"Can't promise anything," he said, licking his lips.
She expelled a harsh breath in annoyance and began the long swim back to the dock. The next day was going to bring trouble for them both – she was certain of it. Though J'Thaar didn't seem to be nearly as worried as she was, so perhaps she was overreacting. Either way, it was going to be a long night.
Especially with her inability to remember bits and pieces of the night after she succumbed to the pressure over the moon sugar. She wasn't about to let on that she didn't to him either – J'Thaar would never have let her live that down. Her only hope was that she didn't do anything too stupid.
Maëlys hated when he had something to hold over her head like that.
Gods-damned Khajiit…
