…and Tamriel saw many cycles of the great moons Secunda and Masser, Jone and Jode in the tongue of the Aldmeri; yet the passage of time delivered not the solace ought to still his turbulent soul. The boy grown to man now understood the transgressions done by his hand and greatly did he weep for those he sent to roam eternally amongst the glowing white fields of Aetherius. With lament came the hope of redemption, long undelivered to one so tormented by the cruelty of others and now by guilt.

- Excerpt from The Reachman -

Gottlesfront Priory, Cyrodiil

Roe was careful pouring the last remaining drops of his latest potion. Exactly 4 fluid ounces he reminded himself. Taking too much of a potion could have adverse effects so measuring the proper amount of the final product was just as crucial as how much raw ingredient was used in making it. Potions whose effects were longer lasting required fewer raw ingredients than those which were instantaneous. Roe's specialty was making the longer lasting powerful potions and sometimes fast acting poisons. Poisons were difficult in the production phase because they could be abrasive to the skin and the fumes toxic to the eyes and lungs. Special facilities were needed to prevent any mishaps from occurring, though working outside was just as safe. If the poison's intended use required subtlety such as poisoning food or drink, that presented its own set of challenges. Roe spent months determining the correct proportions of raw chemicals for a fast-acting poison, much to the dismay of the Priory Sisters who viewed that aspect of alchemy as perverse. He must've explained a hundred times that his products were only used in hunting to bring down larger prey like a moose or bear.

Roe arched back and ran his fingers through his hair. Since the incident in Argonia two years earlier, he had changed his appearance lest he be recognized by some Imperial Wanted poster. The culprits behind the Massacre at Atronach Excavations Site 11 were still at large as the Black Horse Courier reported. One evening behind the Imperial City Arena, he offered to teach a young fighter some combat maneuvers in exchange for a haircut and shave. He could pass for Nord although he was never shy to let everyone know he was only half. His father was a son of Skyrim, his mother a native Redguard from Hammerfell. Roe capped the potion bottle in his hand, labeled it and placed it on a shelf.

"Good evening to you Roe." The elderly Priory Sister greeted politely with a smile.

"Good evening Sister Angrond."

The Sisters of Gottlesfront Priory had been more than accommodating since he stumbled upon their quaint wilderness home almost two years ago. Without Sasha or Dayan to take care of him, Roe was a lost soul on the run. He could not speak Cyrodilic, could not take a job and so retreated to the familiarity of the Great Forest. Roe discovered the Priory while tracking a family of deer on a hunt. For days he observed the Sisters go about their business, captivated by their tamed existence but far too timid to make his presence known. He often would sneak into their house at night, stealing food and alchemical ingredients to survive. Unfortunately Sister Angrond was smarter than she appeared and caught Roe in the act. Instead of reporting him to the nearest Legion outpost, the Bosmer took Roe in and sheltered him as a member of the Priory. Under her tutelage Roe practiced his speech, reading and writing. How he wished he could speak with Sasha and impress her.

"How is your shoulder?" Sister Angrond placed a gentle hand on the white bandages soaked with dry blood.

Roe nodded and faked a smile.

"You are upset with what you have done?"

Silence.

"Phebe and I are grateful. You protected us from those marauders."

"They were going to do…bad things to you."

"And you stopped them from doing that! I am very proud." Angrond hugged Roe; her smaller arms could not reach around his large torso.

"I've killed…again. After I swore to you I wouldn't. I hurt so many people."

"There is great evil in this world Roe, those who have committed worse than what you have done. Sometimes doing a little evil to stop a greater one is justified. You needn't feel apologetic."

"That's just it, I'm not sorry. I am glad they're dead. What does that mean? What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you!" Angrond comforted like a mother to a child.

"I don't want to keep doing this but I'm afraid it's all I'm good at, like I was born to hurt people."

"If you are feeling guilty or confused, you can always join me and Phebe in the Chapel. The Divines hear our prayers and may grant you peace."

"You know I won't."

Angrond became visibly disappointed.

"I shall pray for you Roe. Thank you again for what you have done."

Angrond exited through the old wooden door of the Priory house. It took Roe several moments to muster the energy to come to his feet. His head was telling him to move, to walk outside and pick ingredients for the Sisters as was his job. His feet were reluctant to comply. Images of the dead marauders, dead Legionnaires, dead civilians; a reflection of his blood-stained face in a lake, the sobbing of women and children, the Sisters in the Chapel praying for him. Roe fought back tears. Never show pain! Never show emotion! The words were deafening, reverberating inside his skull from years ago. So much pain had befallen him that it seemed only just that he should inflict it upon others. Roe rubbed his ear, a deformed mess of skin. It was a constant reminder of how cruel the world could be. He was now a part of that cycle, a criminal, a murderer and a thief. No amount of good deeds would suffice as retribution and still he felt not remorse. Roe missed listening to Dayan and smiling at Sasha. He remembered how happy Toji and Elgamil had been together, the compassion Jayred showed him in Valenwood. Outside of the Priory, the only kindness he knew came from Dayan's Riders - mercenaries wanted across the southern provinces for committing terrible crimes. Sinners and murderers all. My family.

His gaze turned towards his sword and bow tossed aside like unwanted garbage in a corner of the room. He did not want to touch the vile tools but it was pointless to resist temptation, like an addict desperately fighting to break free from a drug. Roe understood that he would never be anything other than what he was born to be, what he was raised to become. Shamefully he stormed across the room and collected his weapons. Tonight he would pay another visit to the Waterfront.