When High Elves tell you not to play with fire
They really want you to not play with fire
This is generally lost on Dark Elves
Things went back to normal for a few days. Bann-Je took to cleaning around the cathedral. The brooms in the various supply closets were arranged in sets of threes, as well as bars of soaps. Rags were viciously folded and voraciously organized. Maybe it was his way of coping with the offering plates being constantly in a state of disarray since it was getting towards a holy day and visitors were being extra generous. A diligently kept cathedral was probably better than one with a reputation of a priest snapping the necks of the pious just because they did not have the sense of organization he had.
With the cathedral being busy, Claudia found herself too tied up with managing the details that she had little time for other things. Papers had to be sorted, manifests had to be reviewed and approved. She felt like she was just rushing from one event to the next. She quietly counted it a blessing. Everyone was too busy to get in trouble, that included the people on her team. If for some reason they were causing havoc, well, it must not have been terrible enough for anyone to get a hold of her.
Do'Ravier was busy too. He still was not given free reign to experiment with the alchemy ingredients like he used to, the cathedral was nonetheless getting an influx of orders. Busy season meant more of everything, and whether they were healing potions or poultices of various sorts, the Khajiit was called upon to concoct them. Granted, he was only able to under the stern gaze of another priest. If he was not doing that, he was sent to conduct more research in the library. The priests were getting more questions with all the visitors and some needed help on their sermons.
Sibylla was taking it the worst.
When she wasn't dealing with inane questions of the petty sort, she really did NOT care about the visitor's courtship lives nor did she care to give advice on them, she had to handle questions of the theological sort. They were often hard questions. Sibylla was not exactly diligent in her textbook studying so she often winged it. She rationalized it away by blaming the Archon for not assigning Do'Ravier or some other bookish priest at her post instead.
After a long day of listening to questions, both stupid and terrifying, Sibylla found herself frequenting the local tavern at increasing levels. Honestly, she just could not understand why people could be worried about petty things, such as two people getting all torn up just because someone else worships one Divine differently while other people were soul searching and angry at the Divines because their parents abandoned them as a child or their entire family was butchered alive by roving bandits.
Thank Stendarr for Mead.
The Nord woman kept her unseeing gaze straight forward, staring at nothing in particular while her half closed eyes radiated an exhausted patience. She had had her fill of people for today. The mead did little to sooth her mood, in fact, she was wondering if it was only making her more ill-tempered. She was halfway through this tankard. Now was time to contemplate if she was going to need another one.
"Fancy seeing you here. A drink of mead as usual?" a slightly accented voice asked.
Sibylla glanced over to see a tired if content looking Do'Ravier helping himself up on the stool next to her.
"Hmm." Sibylla only grunted in response, taking another sip of the liquor.
"That's number three, huh? Must have been a busy day." Do'Ravier observed, waving to the Breton bartender to show he wanted to order something.
Sibylla glanced down and saw that the bartender had left the two empty mugs she had finished. The woman grumbled disapprovingly. She was not keeping count so why should he? She started leaning more towards getting a fourth now.
"This one would like a mug of Elsweyr Cactus tea, please." Do'Ravier ordered while laying the proper payment on the table before glancing back over at his friend.
Claudia still did not directly look at him.
"Bad day, huh?" Do'Ravier commented.
"Mhmm." Sibylla replied. After you hear three stories of people struggling because they lost a loved one, the last thing you want to hear is the story of a young child asking why her parents abused her, or hearing that she still missed them after they passed and left her orphaned. All those just went down in the morning.
"Still, you think you should slow down on the amber stuff?" the Khajiit offered cautiously, pointing at the empty tankards.
"I'm fine, Do'Ravier." Sibylla grumbled, brows furrowing in annoyance.
"Okay, okay." the Khajiit defended, paws in the air.
"Bartender, I'll have another." Sibylla called, placing the empty tankard in front of her.
The Breton, a shrewd looking man with discerning eyes, paused a moment before resuming his duties, presumably taking care of each order at a time.
Do'Ravier let out a soothed sigh as he sipped the warm, aromatic tea. It reminded him the Elsweyr sands and the smell of the saltrice patties. For a moment, he missed home. There was nothing quite like the feeling of the warm sand under bare paws during sunset after a long day.
The Khajiit's reminiscing came to a crashing halt when he heard Sibylla talking irritably next to him. Do'Ravier perked his ears up a bit, unashamedly swiveling towards her. Sure, they said eavesdropping was rude but it wasn't like anyone was going to notice in this busy tavern.
Sibylla started sounding more irate, the man she was talking to seemed oblivious, even encouraged by her growing temper.
Do'Ravier was having a hard time figuring out what was going on. Truthfully, it had more to do with the fact that he wanted to pay more attention to his tea. This was the only place he could find it, it was not cheap and he enjoyed savoring the various flavors and spices in it. He came here to relax, not deal with whatever petty disturbances that might occur with his friends.
His ears clearly picked out the sound of bone colliding under the sound of tearing flesh when Sibylla drove her fist into the man's face.
"I'm a priestess, not a common street wench!" Sibylla shouted way too loudly.
"Divines confound it." Do'Ravier groaned, draining the tea as fast as he could since he feared he would not be able to savor it in the next few minutes.
"Sibylla, calm down!" the bartender scolded.
"This man makes advances on me, says things no woman should hear and you're telling me to calm down?" Sibylla snarled, turning red.
"I'm telling you to calm down because you beat him to the floor!" The bartender shouted.
Sibylla was too busy cooking up a response to notice the man she just punch pick himself up and was equally unprepared for him to return the favor.
Sibylla landed literally in Do'Ravier's arms which were resting on the counter. He was doing his best to remain still in the hope he would go unnoticed. This plan clearly failed. Sibylla's eyes rolled around in her head for a moment before she looked up at him, anger dangerously flashing on her countenance.
"You better help me, flea bag." Sibylla snarled before standing up again and launching herself at the lecherous man, fists flying.
"Why...?" Do'Ravier groaned, face pawing as the tavern drowned in the roar of the growing brawl.
Whatever hope he had of avoiding it crashed when someone stepped on his tail and then yanked him off the stool. Perhaps it was one of the idiot's friends, maybe it was a drunk patron, it could have been anyone. Either way, the attacker found out why Khajiit have a natural advantage in hand to hand combat that day.
Khajiit have very strong, sharp, retractable claws.
They actually weren't doing bad for awhile. Sure, it was brutal and chaotic but for a brief moment, Sibylla and Do'Ravier were actually in the moment, back to back, fighting off any who came at them. Sibylla giving blow for blow with the plain, old, balled fist. They were well calloused and hardened after years of fighting. Do'Ravier struck away with the traditional Khajiiti hand to hand technique, open palmed with claws at the ready. Through the spray of blood, beer, spit, sweat, alcohol and broken objects, anyone could see the two were actually smiling in the midst of the storm.
That came to a shattering halt when the Ork bouncer, having just arrived to start his shift, snatched the both of them up and promptly tossed them out the door without so much of a warning. It happened too quick that it actually took a moment for Do'Ravier to register what happened, longer for Sibylla because of her mead addled brain.
Standing up and trying to gather whatever dignity he had left, Do'Ravier dusted himself off before looking down at Sibylla who was still trying to gather her bearings. Sitting in a mess on the cobblestone, the Khajiit was not quite sure if Sibylla had registered what had happened at all.
"You owe me a cup of Elsweyr cactus tea." the Khajiit grumbled, helping the woman up.
"Sure, sure, after you help me take a walk around the block first. Claudia will have a fit if she sees me sauntering into the cathedral like this." Sibylla murmured before she hiccuped.
"The things I do for my friends." Do'Ravier grumbled, taking her arm over his shoulder.
Ask him to assassinate a target, name any method, and he could do it. He could sneak into a high profile compound unarmed and inconspicuous, a thousand guards could see him and not think him a threat. The very target could see him approach and would not know his murderous intents until it was too late. He was an Argonian, the races of men and elves tended to underestimate them. He could work unarmed, because he believed an assassin that depended too much on a blade was no assassin at all. Whatever the target, whatever the situation, he knew he could accomplish the mission without hesitation.
Ask him to watch a infant, however; and things started to get a little fuzzy.
Bann-Je had the infant they found a couple days ago safely secured in a special seat that literally strapped the human baby to his front. The Argonian found it very uncomfortable but he had little choice in the arrangement. Most of the cathedral staff were busy and were needed elsewhere, that included Claudia who explained she had a meeting with the inquisition agents. He was going to be around to clean up the cathedral so the task fell to him.
The child seemed comfortable enough, but Bann-Je found himself altogether preplexed about the whole situation.
"Hmph, what do I call you? You need a name and not one of these other priests and acolytes have reached a consensus. You need a name. How am I to address you?" Bann-Je murmured, barely above a growl. His compulsion demanded a name for the child.
He vented his frustration into dusting an urn a little more forcefully than usual.
"Skib, you will be called Skib." Bann-Je murmured.
The child did not protest.
Bann-Je meanwhile set his eyes on the offering plates. The priests had not come to collect them yet so Bann-Je decided to set about organizing what was in the receptacles. It was not in his place to collect but while he maintained the appearance of the sanctuary but by the Divines, those offerings were going to fit into his organization of reality.
"Coins to the right, gems to the upper left because they are the smallest portion but just as, if not more, valuable than the gold. Miscellaneous offerings to the bottom left. Other things go to the center, that which I am unsure of." Bann-Je murmured to Skib, explaining the inexplicable reasoning in his head.
Skib only burbled in reply.
"Must not have dust on them." Bann-Je muttered in concentration, dusting off the valuables.
Skib seemed to let out an agreeing coo.
"Good, sensible human you are." Bann-Je muttered, deciding to dust off the pews as well.
"Da, da, da!" Skib started to call.
"No, not dad. This one is an Argonian. Argonian." Bann-Je explained, his eyes still focused on his cleaning work.
"Ar'ga, Ar'ga!" Skib repeated.
"Keep practicing." Bann-Je murmured.
"What are you doing?" Claudia asked unannounced.
Bann-Je looked up to find her trying her hardest to stifle a giggle.
"Cleaning. And keeping an eye on Skib, as requested." Bann-Je shrugged, finding her inquiry ridiculous.
"Here, let me take him. Divines know, he'll be just as batty as you if he spends too much time with you." Claudia jibbed, taking the baby from the Argonian.
"And I'm sure it's a relief for both of us. Good evening, there are railings to polish." Bann-Je announced, stepping off.
"Haha, well, lets get you off to bed, little one." Claudia said to the child, carrying him off to the nursery.
"Ar'ga, Ar'ga." the baby blathered.
"And what kind of name is Skib? We're really going to have to settle on a name for you." Claudia scoffed.
Skib started fussing grumpily.
"Oh come on, you can't possibly like the name 'Skib.'" Claudia chided.
Skib giggled approvingly.
"Between Bann-Je, Sibylla and Do'Ravier, this whole city will start becoming a mad house." Claudia muttered.
Skib laughed.
The next morning, Claudia had called the whole team into Do'Ravier's study room up in the library. All the information had been collected and synthesized by the inquisition team that handled the whole mess after their most recent mission. She was obligated to inform the rest of her team on the aftermath.
"I don't see the reason for this, Claudia. We offed him, kept him from killing a whole bunch of people and prevented some sort of Daedric ritual. Couldn't we just put it behind us?" Sibylla shrugged, slouching in her chair.
"If only, but it turns out, the mission is not quite complete." Claudia informed.
Bann-Je's eye was twitching. The utterly chaotic manner in which Do'Ravier left his research was driving him mad. Still, the Argonian forced himself not to interfere with Do'Ravier's stuff. He felt like he was going to burst a vein.
"Pay attention to me." Claudia started, talking in Bann-Je's direction.
The Argonian stuck his head at her.
Claudia let out a sigh of relief and then started.
"Okay, this is what we've learned. The noble committed suicide and the inquisition believes they cannot pursue any further leads from any of the people there. The servants who delivered the poison and two mages were the only conspirators with our dead noble. Beyond that, everyone else at the party and the household were innocent, or at least we don't have enough evidence to continue holding them." Claudia explained.
"I take it we're still unsure that the case ends here?" Do'Ravier asked.
"No. The mages are adherents of Boethiah but that does not explain why a Peryite cult mage was also there. His name was Furaldur. I managed to get a confession out of him but I lost him in the scuffle. He was not detained by the guards so that man is still out there." Claudia emphasized.
"Now, I don't mean to be rude but...what can we do about that?" Sibylla asked skeptically.
"We keep our eyes open. I don't believe this particular incident is completely laid to rest. The inquisition is still investigating but chances are we're going to be at the forefront of any sinister activity here. When we're out on missions, keep an eye out for this Furaldur or any Boethiah or Peryite cultists. They could be related." Claudia warned, her eyes meeting each of theirs.
"Understand?" Claudia demanded.
All three of them nodded.
"Very well, you're all dismissed." Claudia waved them off.
All three of them got up to resume their duties, quite relieved they could get back to the familiar.
"Oh, and Sibylla?" Claudia asked, her eyes boring into the back of Sibylla's head.
"Yes, ma'am?" Sibylla returned, her eyes meeting hers.
"Be a better representative of the Eight. No one is telling you to stop frequenting the tavern but for the love of the Divines, get your act together." Claudia scolded.
"Yes, ma'am." Sibylla nodded, jaw set firmly as she swallowed her pride.
And with that, the Nord and Argonian left.
"Now, one more thing, Do'Ravier." Claudia announced as they heard the heavy wooden doors shut.
"What's that?" the Khajiit asked, climbing a ladder to get to some of the higher shelves.
"I have a question for you, about a Daedra." Claudia admitted, becoming quiet.
Do'Ravier glanced at her, glanced at the pile of papers and books on his desk on research projects and then back at her.
"Get in line." Do'Ravier muttered sarcastically.
Sibylla strolled off to the the tavern. She intended to make good on her word. She did not like to be chastised, no one did, but Sibylla knew when she was in the wrong. Most of the time anyway. Make no mistake, Sibylla did want to argue back with Claudia. She was defiant by nature, she was even half tempted to not honor Claudia's command. Still, Sibylla had once run with a group of sellswords when she was younger. It was a brief phase but she did learn a few important lessons. Chiefly, the importance of working in a team and submitting to leadership, especially when said leadership was right.
It was still mid-morning when Sibylla entered the tavern and the company that hung out there during this time of the day was far different than the one at night. In fact, the only person who recognized her was the bartender who cast a wary glance at her as he polished up a tankard.
"Here's what I owe on my tab." Sibylla said quietly, sliding the appropriate amount across the counter to him.
The bartender stopped polishing but continued to stare, as if waiting for a snide remark.
"And this is for whatever damage was caused yesterday." Sibylla added, adding a few more coins, a decent amount by the bartender's approximation.
"Very well." the bartender murmured, pocketing the money.
Sibylla only nodded and turned to leave. She did not care to linger any longer than necessary.
"You're still welcomed here, Sibylla. Just try not to make a habit of causing fights." the bartender called.
"You'll regret that welcome." Sibylla snorted to herself.
"Wait, wait, wait...run that by me one more time." Do'Ravier said, paws held out as if trying to physically back up the conversation.
Claudia sighed, rolled her eyes and then prepared herself to re-tell the story.
"The mage of Peryite was a Dark Elf..." Claudia started.
"Right, right, that makes sense." Do'Ravier muttered.
"His name was Furaldur. I lost him in the chaos at the party." Claudia added.
"Right, right, go on." Do'Ravier assented.
"He said that he was there because of some 'plot set in motion by Molag Bal.' Otherwise, he seemed like he was alright. Other than the Daedra worship of course." Claudia shrugged.
The look Do'Ravier gave her was either one of great pity or dumbfounded bafflement.
"What?" Claudia demanded.
"A cultist of Peryite is there because of a plot started by Molag Bal, at a ritual to Boethiah?" Do'Ravier spelled out.
"That...seems like an accurate analysis, yes. Why do you seem so upset? It makes sense, right? Peryite is the Daedra of order, right? He could have been there to try and stop it in some sort of Daedric rivalry." Claudia suggested.
"Peryite is the Daedra of order through pestilence and disease!" Do'Ravier bit out.
Claudia left after barely listening to Do'Ravier's lecture. It had been an interesting one but she could have done without most of the details and the speculation. The basis of what Do'Ravier said was that the Daedra Peryite indeed sought order, but that order was minimzing chaos through sickness and disease. More people going about meant more causes of disorder and chaos. Peryite would allow the formation of a plague to cut the population down and minimize disorder. It was there you might see the disregard the Daedra had for life.
Claudia was mentally giving herself a tongue lashing for letting Furaldur escape, much less convince her that he was mostly benign. Still, that did not explain Azura's involvement. Furaldur had admitted her influence before she had non-verbally disclosed hers.
"Claudia, stupid girl, how did you let yourself do that?"Claudia silently berated herself with a wince.
She still had not told Do'Ravier about the visions see was seeing. She decided that for now that little bit of complication did not need to be disclosed. Nonetheless, it still troubled her. So far, they had no reason to suspect anything evil on the part of Azura, but that did not mean some manipulation might be involve. Even then, how many of the Daedra had been brought up? Molag Bal, Boethiah, Peryite and Azura? Was there yet another? She could not have Do'Ravier go run some tests on Oblivion or pull some research up on the personalities or personal histories of the Daedra.
All of this was enough to drive her mad.
"Miss Vivinicci, there you are." a familiar voice called out.
Claudia looked over to see Delamar approaching her. Delamar, the Thalmor representative in Wayrest.
Claudia did her best not to scowl. The last thing she wanted to deal with right now was Delamar.
"Have I yet congratulated you on that successful mission, putting down that subversive dissident? All under cover right in front of my nose as well. I must say, I was almost impressed." Delamar said, almost sounding sincere.
Claudia set her jaw and watched the stiffly dressed Thalmor approaching her. The High Elf looked as arrogant as he always did and Claudia was not sure if his eyes could become any colder than they already were. What she would pay to see that elf humbled.
"No congratulations are necessary. We were just doing our job." Claudia bowed before walking off, hoping to get away from him.
"Miss Vivinicci, there is one matter I would wish to speak to you about." Delamar announced, tapping the tips of his fingers together contemptuously.
Claudia stopped dead in her tracks, plastered her best diplomatic smile she could summon, and then turned to face the Thalmor.
"Yes, Delamar?" Claudia asked patiently.
"As I might have mentioned earlier, I was interested in learning more on how your group operates. Naturally, I don't want to interfere too much in how your group operates-"
"We could just send reports to you, Delamar." Claudia interrupted.
"Nonsense. I've discussed this matter with your Archon. The next time you go on a mission, one of my aides will go with you, strictly for observation. Of course, you may use them if you find yourself over your head, but I'm sure that will not be necessary." Delamar smirked.
Claudia secretly clenched her fists. How dare he go behind her her back and then toss a chaperon at her and her team.
"Very well, Delamar. That will be satisfactory." Claudia continued smiling before leaving the Thalmor.
Still, despite the smile Claudia had half a mind to give the Archon the riot act. Why didn't he at least inform her first before Delamar? Sure, he was a busy man but that little bit of information could have been important. Besides, didn't the Thalmor have better things to do than send one of their own to babysit her team?
Claudia was about ready to kick the Archon's door open when she had a sudden realization.
There was in fact nothing the Archon could do to protest. It was no secret that the Aldmeri Dominion had the advantage over the Empire. It was no secret that the fragile peace was held on their terms. The Archon had few options left but to be the yes man for most of their requests. This was one of those requests that the Archon would have no grounds to disagree to. Claudia could try to argue and complain but in the end it would do nothing.
Claudia realized that if she wanted to get the Thalmor dog off, she would have to play it subtly. It might take time. Still, Claudia liked to think that she was a patient woman.
Sibylla was in a bad mood.
The Cathedral of the Eight ran numerous charity organizations and relief outlets throughout the city of Wayrest. One of those relief projects was a soup kitchen in what was probably in the roughest part of town. The dwelling places better resembled shacks or crumbling apartments fit more for animals than humans. All manner of filth, from mud, trash, decomposing foodstuff, manure and squeaking rodents coated the walkways. On top of the offending odor were the gangs of unruly children as well as more older adolescents and adults who were more concerned about mugging and stealing to a higher degree than the younger street children.
And here, Do'Ravier, Bann-Je and Sibylla were sent to this particular soup kitchen to help. Claudia was requested by the inquisitors for help so she could not attend while the Archon made it absolutely clear that this soup kitchen was in dire need of aid. Sibylla secretly wondered if there was also a hint of "protection" thrown in with that need for "help."
Still, the place was in a sorry state when the three of them arrived. The priests and acolytes had done their best to keep the place as clean as possible, which was more or less a losing war considering the environment. Even worse was that the staff seemed to be in a state of barely contained panic. The food supplies had arrived late and because of the constant rains they had been having, the wood was too soaked through to start a decent fire to cook. Only to further aggravate the problem was that none of the staff seemed to be cooperating.
And into this little circle of Oblivion, Claudia had left Sibylla the harshest command she had ever given the Nord.
"You're in charge."
Gods, Sibylla could handle a responsibility but she hated being responsible over others. She had no problem being responsible over her own hide but things got much more complicated when she had to start making decisions for others. What if she was wrong? Being wrong with just herself was no problem, she could take a punch to the nose better than most people. But what if she made a decision that got someone else punched in the nose? Divines knew most other people were not as hardy as her.
Sibylla sighed, if she was going to be in charge, she might as well start doing what she had to do.
"Bann-Je and Do'Ravier, get to the kitchens and help them out there. Do'Ravier, you do an excellent job blowing stuff up so I want you to find a way to get a roaring fire to cook the food."
"Exploding things does not do well for cooking unless you want to lick your food off the walls. Still, I'll try to think of a way to get this wet wood burning." Do'Ravier grumbled.
"Good cat. Bann-Je, the farmers donated a bunch of chickens but there's no way we'll be able to process them in time for lunch. Normally I wouldn't care if we were late but a lot of these people look like they haven't eaten a decent meal in days. Process those chickens as fast as you can." Sibylla added.
Bann-Je only nodded and the two headed straight off to the kitchen.
Sibylla meanwhile stood at the entrance of the soup kitchen. "Entrance" was a very loose definition because the soup kitchen was in fact just an alley with an abandoned apartment that served as the kitchen. The needy would line up on one side of the alley and walk out the other end, the length of the alley served as a line for which the food was given to them.
Pulling her hood over her blonde hair, Sibylla hugged herself to protect against the chill, Head Reaper securely in her arms. The locals here knew when food was usually served, Sibylla was just making sure to keep any mischief makers away. She figured the massive ax and the daring smirk she wore would be a good discouragement to any who just wanted to cause trouble.
Meanwhile in the kitchens both Do'Ravier and Bann-Je paused to stare at what seemed to be an impossible tasks set before them.
Two acolytes were hopelessly trying to set fire to a pile of wood that was terribly waterlogged. There was not even a roof over their heads, drops of rain were lightly but nonetheless pelting them from above causing the lighting of a fire to be nearly impossible. Especially with wet wood. Meanwhile, Bann-Je stared at two priestess who helplessly stared at the cages of live chickens that needed to be butchered before they could be processed into the soup. None of them had done any butchering before, much less killed a live animal.
"Is there's a butcher's apron around here?" Bann-Je asked one of the priestess.
"No sir, we've never done any butchering here before. The farmer said he ran out of time so he just delivered the chickens live." the Breton woman explained.
Bann-Je let out a pained groan in his throat.
Do'Ravier meanwhile was lecturing one of the younger acolytes.
"Run all the way to the Cathedral. Do you know where my room is? Good. Bring me all the fire salts and charcoal you can grab. You do know what those look like right? Good. Off with you, run!" Do'Ravier coached before turning to the pile of wood.
"Why do people assume that if I'm a mage, I am therefore a good pyromancer? I can send lightning fiercer than any storm but my fire spells are only so-so at best." Do'Ravier complained to Bann-Je.
"Don't complain. I'm going to be miserable for the next few hours." Bann-Je murmured, knowing exactly what he had to do.
Much to the priestess' shock, Bann-Je removed his robes until he was bare to his trousers.
"I have no choice, so deal with it. Do you have any sharp knives?" Bann-Je growled, trying to stifle the tremor of shivers starting to wrack his body.
Both women shook their heads to the negative, trying to ignore the years of honed muscle on Bann-Je's scaly flesh.
"Grrr, there is no order here. Ready yourself, it seems I'll have to do this myself." Bann-Je growled. Without another word, he conjured one of his bound blades.
Do'Ravier meanwhile placed his spear off to the side and inspected the pile of wood. It certainly seemed hopeless. Not even the inside of the pile was dry. Keeping a sustained shower of flames yielded no results either. Do'Ravier placed a paw on his forehead. This was going to be hard.
Before anyone knew it, Bann-Je was expertly dicing the heads off the chickens, draining the bodies while also trying to de-feather them. He tossed the carcass at the priestesses to finish while he went on to the next chicken, executing the head chopping faster than most people could see. By the time the bewildered priestesses returned a finished chicken to him, he quickly cut the bodies open to remove the organs before turning the finished product to a large couldron for preparation. All the while, his blade was more of an extension of his body than an actual weapon.
Bann-Je found it a gross misuse of his skills but he had no choice, even if he quietly grumbled the whole way through.
The younger acolyte had finally returned with Do'Ravier's supplies when the Khajiit had already decided on several possible answers, none of them tested. Either way, the Khajiit knew that they were running out of time. You don't ask a crowd of hungry people to wait in the rough part of town and while he, Bann-Je and Sibylla were armed, it would just be unthinkable for the Chapel to clash with the city's poor.
"Here, mister Do'Ravier." the acolyte panted, handing the mage two burlap sacks.
Do'Ravier only responded with a nod before impulsively mixing all the contents into one larger sack and shaking it up to finely combine the ingredients.
"What are you doing?" the young acolyte asked between breaths.
"Going off on a hunch. Either this will do what I hope it does...or it won't." Do'Ravier shrugged.
"What happens if it doesn't do what you want it to do?" the acolyte asked curiously.
"Well I'd hope nothing would happen, but considering my track record, I'd probably blow a new hole in this compound. We'll see." Do'Ravier said nonchalantly.
The Khajiit tossed the powder of red and black upon the wet mound of wood. Tentatively eyeing it, Do'Ravier then poured flames from his paws upon the pile. Immediately, the powder ignited.
Much to the relief of everyone involved, the mixture did not explode. Even better, the fire kept burning.
"And there we have it." Do'Ravier smiled.
Bann-Je was still busy lopping chicken heads off and handing them to the others to be processed. In all the commotion and busy work, no one noticed a very subtle change occurring. Due to the nature of bound weapons, they always carried the chance of soul trapping a creature. Usually, this does not matter if there is no soul gem to around. Alas, quietly but surely, a faint wisp of light started to pour from each chicken beheaded from the ethereal blade.
The wisps started trailing, unnoticed, towards Do'Ravier's spear.
Rain started coming down at a quicker pace. It was constant, wet and the heavier drops were sometimes painful to be felt when they landed on your head. Combined with the autumn chill and the wind and the environment was becoming unpleasant. Rain water and dust mixed to become a gritty slime that seemed to cling to everyone. It was even worse for Bann-Je who was covered in gore. The only thing going right was that Do'Ravier was able to keep the fire going. Even then, with the rain coming down, they were not allowed to grow weary on that task.
It was starting to make more than a few tempers flare.
Sibylla was growing sick of it.
Squabbles were erupting among the staff, all of it over little, petty things. Well, Sibylla thought they were petty anyway. She never really saw what the big deal over a little rain and grime was, especially after she had slogged through the gore and viscera of bandits in the middle of a Skyrim blizzard.
When the arguing hit a higher tempo when someone tripped and dropped a pot that was going to have to be re-washed, Sibylla felt a vein on her head pop up.
"Enough!" Sibylla bellowed.
Everyone grew silent and stared at her with wide eyes. Sibylla spotted some shuffling in the back and gathered that Do'Ravier and even Bann-Je were unsure of how to proceed.
"This is maddening! In a few hours we're going to go back to a nice, warm Cathedral while these people are going to suffer out here in the cold, the same way they did the night before and the night before that! For some of them, that's all they've known their whole lives! The least we could do is to give them a warm meal! The Divines taught us what is right and to show compassion, so Divines help me, you will all shape up, shut up and get this place ready to serve these people within the hour! I swear, if we don't show these people how to live right, who will? Who else is going to show any kindness to these people? Either get on board or go back to the cathedral or Akatosh help me I will send you to Divines myself!" Sibylla shouted.
Sibylla was pleased to see them immediately quiet down and start operating efficiently. She tired to ignore Do'Ravier's goofy approving smile and thumbs up.
And as Sibylla commanded, they had pots of steaming chicken soup ready along the counter within that hour. A line of the miserable and desperate looking inhabitants of the area had formed up and were being given a warm meal, probably the only proper one most of them would get that day.
Sibylla was watching all of them, Head Reaper still held close to her when she spotted three especially rough looking thugs approaching. The Nord raised one of her blonde eyebrow at first. Anyone was welcome to get a meal but they had to be orderly and not cause trouble. These three looked like they had more on their mind than just getting a meal.
"Is that what the Cathedral sends to guard their food, a priestess given only a large, shiny ax?" the center thug snickered showing a mouth full of rotten teeth.
"Right, boss, we could probably take the food and sell the ax off." the weaselly looking one added.
"Not like the priestess could fight back, isn't that right, sister?" the stockier one sneered.
Sibylla just smirked at them from under her hood, still clutching her ax as the rain poured down.
From behind, Do'Ravier and Bann-Je quietly snuck up, wondering if they should intervene. Everyone was getting nervous from what they perceived would be an impending confrontation. The cathedral staff were dishing and pouring out food quicker while the destitute hurried to disappear so their warm meal wouldn't be taken away from them.
"So, you three think you're the meanest thing in this neighborhood, don't you?" Sibylla asked, still smiling broadly at them.
"Think? We know we are, woman." the leader growled.
"Yeah, you'd like us to prove it?" the weasel added.
"Sure!" Sibylla replied excitedly.
Before anyone could react, Sibylla practically tossed her large ax at the three men as she lunged forward herself. The thugs could only watch in shock as the long handle of the weapon caught all three of them across the chest. Sibylla, at this point an unstoppable force, pounced on the ax, using her momentum to slam all three men onto the ground. Before the thugs knew it, they were on the ground with the wind knocked out of them and an extremely powerful Nord priestess applying pressure on the ax handle that was on their chests, making it hard to breathe.
"You see, boys, preying on those who can't defend themselves isn't bravery or a show of strength. Remember that. Now, if you want food, you're going to need an attitude change. If that's not the case, I'm giving you thirty seconds to get out of here." Sibylla warned despite the smile that still remained on her lips.
The thugs were gone no sooner did she release them.
When the line was gone and the food supplies used up, the staff cleaned up the utensils and closed up shop for the day. They were all soaked through, cold and many of them were tired. Still, it felt good. Of course, all of them were looking forward to a warm bath when they got back to the cathedral.
That night, Do'Ravier made his way to the tavern with its familiar stone floor and rustic looking wooden walls. It was quiet compared to other times in the day or evening. The Khajiit thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that the sun had just set. Not enough people had arrived to create a cacophony of noise.
Do'Ravier was not surprised to see Sibylla already there, sitting at a stool by the counter. Taking the seat next to her, the Khajiit ordered a large mug of Elsweyr cactus tea. While he waited for his drink, he pondered over something he was unsure about. He could have sworn that every time he picked up his spear, he could just barely make out what sounded like a coop of chickens squawking.
Glancing over, Do'Ravier noticed that Sibylla had already downed two tankards and was working on a third. A quick look at the bartender told him that he too was keeping a close eye on her. Neither wanted an incident like the last time the two of them were in here.
The Khajiit decided now was a good time to be a friend, even if it ran the risk of earning him a punch to the face.
"You're not thinking of another one, are you?" Do'Ravier asked Sibylla bluntly.
"Maybe." Sibylla grumbled.
"Hey, what's wrong? You sound like something is bothering you." Do'Ravier shrugged, trying to sound disarming.
"Nothing, Khajiit." Sibylla grumped.
Deciding he was already playing with fire, why not just go all out and jump right in? Do'Ravier gently slid Sibylla's tankard away from her before she could bring it to her lips again.
"You probably spend all day listening to other people's problems but that doesn't mean you're immune to them. I'd like to wager I'm a better listener than this tankard of mead is." Do'Ravier jibbed, exaggerating the action of swiveling his ears to her direction.
"You're playing with fire, cat." Sibylla warned.
"I always do. Tell me, what's going on. You got in a drunken fight here not too many days ago, when we were on that mission you got plastered and then-"
"Don't bring up what I did with that guard. I was drunk, I was not thinking straight and there is nothing attractive about it. It was disgusting." Sibylla snapped.
"Actually, I wasn't thinking that. I was more worried that you compromised us, and yourself, by being mostly out of your mind. But at this point, it doesn't take a certified healer to tell you that something is behind this self pickling via mead." Do'Ravier observed, taking a whiff of the beverage and immediately making a face at how strong it was.
"I don't want to talk about it." Sibylla grumbled.
"Well for your liver's sake at least, you should at least consider doing so." Do'Ravier insisted.
"Fine, fine! I listen to people's problems all day long. In fact, I don't know if I have one of my own-"
Do'Ravier pointed at her tankard of mead.
"Fine, other than that! Either way, after spending all morning and afternoon listening to people talk about their dying loved one, their abusive parents, the people or things they've lost, all of this mind grinding madness that no one should have to go through, I want to forget about it in the evening. And what happened today at the kitchen with all those idiots arguing. They of all people should have perspective on how lucky they are and yet I had to set them in their place. All of it is mad, none of it makes sense. Mead is the fastest way to forget it all." Sibylla huffed.
"There's nothing wrong with a glass here or there...but surely there's got to be a better way to deal with pain." Do'Ravier offered, sampling a drop of the mead from the tip of one of his claws.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end in doing so.
"This is far quicker, easier." Sibylla murmured, feeling the tip of her ears turning red.
"You could just talk to me, you know. Or Bann-Je or Claudia." Do'Ravier shrugged.
"This is my job." Sibylla muttered.
"It doesn't have to be your burden." Do'Ravier argued.
"You're thoughtful, but it's not always that easy." Sibylla said.
"We're all in this together. Just promise me you'll take better care of yourself." Do'Ravier replied quietly.
"Fine. I'll try." Sibylla replied.
Do'Ravier slid the tankard back to her.
"The Khajiiti seer Ri'vasar once said that we are all cups, character and compassion the water in us. Some of us hold more water than others but pain and hardship is the carving tool that cuts into us deeper. It hurts, but it allows us to hold more water." Do'Ravier said.
"Never heard of him." Sibylla admitted.
"Yes, he had a strange obsession with cups, hoarded them." Do'Ravier shrugged.
"So when did you become an expert at this?" Sibylla asked, taking a sip of her drink.
"This one has known loss too, back in the Elsweyr sands." Do'Ravier smiled, taking a sip of his tea.
"Anything you want to talk about?" Sibylla inquired.
"No. Sometimes, it's best to leave the corpses buried and undisturbed." Do'Ravier replied, still in the heavy accent.
It was an unusually warm dusk this late into the fall season. There would only be a few more days and the grip of winter would descend upon them, heralded from the frosty lands of Skyrim to the north. Bann-Je and Do'Ravier decided to enjoy what would probably be the last pleasant evening while they waited for Claudia to return. The both of them sat on the cathedral steps, taking in the sunset.
It was probably a mistake. Delamar decided to drop in on a visit.
"Good evening. I trust you two are well?" Delamar greeted. His manners may have sounded welcoming but his tone was not.
Bann-Je and Do'Ravier just nodded.
"Is Miss Vivinnici here? Or is she still working with your inquisition?" Delamar further inquired.
"She is still away, yes." Do'Ravier replied.
Bann-Je maintained his stockade silence.
"I see, very well. If you see her, let her know that I will be assigning an observer to your squad just to see how you all operate. Said observer will be joining you on your next mission." Delamar announced.
"Very well." Do'Ravier nodded.
"Tell me, did you grow up in Elsweyr, Khajiit?" Delamar asked, almost curiously.
"Yes. I started my studies in Elsweyr but I completed most of it in the Imperial City, which explains my accent, or lack thereof." Do'Ravier explained.
"I see, and why did you leave Elsweyr? Were the Thalmor instituted schools not well enough for you?" Delamar sniffed.
"No, the Thalmor provide good education. Still, the Synod in the Imperial City was rather prestigious and offered a very wide range of classes." Do'Ravier shrugged.
"I see. I spent some time in Elsweyr too, believe it or not." Delamar said.
"Really? What brought you there?" Do'Ravier asked curiously.
"A rabid Khajiit was murdering some of our Justiciars and guards. Savage beast. His victims were always found nearly torn in half, entrails all over the place. The maniac was scrawling 'oppressor' on the walls or road near the victim, written in blood. The locals started calling him the 'Mad Cat.'" Delamar grumbled, a distant fire burning in his eyes.
"I take it you were trying to stop this murderer. Did you ever catch him?" Do'Ravier asked.
"No. We never did. People assume he just disappeared when the killings stop. Me, I'm not so convinced. Either way, a maniac cat needs to be taught its place." Delamar growled.
"This one apologizes for the injustices of his own people. I pray Stendarr's justice finds him." Do'Ravier replied apologetically.
"Indeed." Delamar grumbled before marching off.
Bann-Je waited till the Thalmor was out of earshot before he hissed something to Do'Ravier.
"Must you be so social with him? The less we talk with him the better." Bann-Je grumbled.
"Tell them what they want to hear, and your life is made easier. Trust me, I used to live under them." Do'Ravier replied.
Bann-Je sat trying to remain as stoic as possible. Claudia had returned from the inquisition and called an immediate meeting. She had not told them any of the details yet but everyone could tell that the inquisition had apparently given her something very important. Bann-Je had each person on his team, nearly everyone in the Cathedral, observed down to the individual pores on their faces.
It was part of his compulsion.
Right now Bann-Je's yellow eyes resembled those of a human, pupils round. Only when he forced his pysche, and in turn part of his body, into Squints his Eye did they turned slit like and reptilian. Either way, both were trained for sharp observation.
The pink in Claudia's eyes were a hint deeper than usual. The white of her eyes were always just ever the slightest rose color, barely noticeable if you were not paying attention. They got pinker as she got more agitated. Bann-Je had seen her under different levels of stress. Judging by how deep they had gotten, Claudia certainly had a lot to tell them but it was nothing too pressing.
Still, this was going to be important.
What did not help was that they had a guest.
The Thalmor's name was Alaviera. She wore the standard issue elven armor that most Thalmor Justiciar's wore, a greenish, light armor patterned like a protective layer of feathers. She had placed the helmet on the table to reveal that she had long, very blonde hair, almost white against her golden skin. Her eyes almost seemed to shine, the iris a bright brown. Her voice did not seem haughty like Delamar. Still, she was every bit a Thalmor even if she did not flaunt herself too much.
Bann-Je quietly shifted his gaze from Alaviera, Sibylla, Claudia and back again, running a circuit between all three of them. It was how he dealt with situations he found tense. Watch everything that threatened to explode relentlessly. Do'Ravier usually opted to ignore it when possible, hence why he was sitting there desperately trying to pretend that they were all going to get along swimmingly.
It was not working very well, judging by the faint but constant scowl on Sibylla's face.
Claudia ignored whatever subtle misgivings were going on in the room and focused on giving them her report. She had a lot to give from the inquisition. It was a decent sized load to say the least.
"Okay, first off, informants have been given the description of Furaldur as I remembered him. We did not expect much but thank the Divines, one of our informants claimed to have spotted him going north towards Skyrim. We could have gone two ways with this information. Furaldur was spotted at a major crossroad, we would not have known which specific route he was taking, only that he was headed north. We could have tried to make an educated guess ourselves or continue to let other teams handle the situation." Claudia explained, eyes falling on each of them.
"Something tells this one that recent events have changed that." Do'Ravier offered.
"Yes. A Vigilant team in Northpoint believe they have werewolves." Claudia dropped, her eyes turning hard.
You could have heard a pin drop in the room.
"Werewolves? Talk about a great way to start a panic." Do'Ravier observed.
"Dangerous, trade through the area will slow to a crawl while prices will skyrocket. People will practically bar their windows at night. Are they sure its werewolves?" Bann-Je inquired.
"I did not get many details, we'll find out when we get there. All I know is that it must have been bad enough that the Vigilant team decided to call in the experts rather than take it on themselves. Apparently, we're the experts." Claudia shrugged.
"Excuse me, but you're willing to just go in without many details? This is a matter of life and death and you're fine going in blind?" Alaviera protested, suddenly breaking her silence.
Claudia took a deep breath and grasped her diplomacy. Just because her team was used to taking these risks did not mean Alaviera knew that.
"I'd rather not do it this way, but often times we have no choice." Claudia explained.
"You're free to sit this one out, Thalmor, if you cannot stomach it." Sibylla jibbed, a smirk on her face.
"Are you questioning my bravery, Nord?" Alaviera bit back.
"No one is questioning anyone's-"
"Yes, I am in fact questioning your bravery, maybe even your ability." Sibylla cut Claudia off.
Do'Ravier and Bann-Je started to edge further and further away from the table.
"I'll have you know I have been judged more than competent by my superiors. We handle problems with much more than just raw brawn, Nord." Alaviera snapped at Sibylla.
"Oh sure, so much bravery it takes to beat a man tied to a chair just because of his beliefs." Sibylla scowled.
"Are you sympathetic to Talos worshippers then?" Alaviera demanded, eyes widening.
"No, I'm just saying you wouldn't know what a real fight was until it hacked your head clean off from that frilly thing you call armor." Sibylla retorted, voices rising.
"Ladies, enough!" Claudia shouted, fist smashing onto the table.
"We will leave early in the morning. You are all dismissed." Claudia huffed, tired of hearing them.
Looking over, she saw that Do'Ravier and Bann-Je had somehow snuck out earlier.
At the Thalmor headquarters located at a secluded location just outside the city, Delamar quietly tapped his fingertips together as he listened to Alaviera's report. His features were unreadable, his eyes focused on the ceiling as he sorted through the information the younger Thalmor had given him.
"That is my full report, sir. I'd suggest we find a way to get that Nord dragged in here and break her under some questioning." Alaviera said, almost venomously.
"Put your feelings aside. Work with the team as cooperatively as you can. We're here to learn from them, not drag them into questioning." Delamar sighed, not caring for Alaviera's grudge against Sibylla.
"Very well, sir. Is there anything else I should take note of while on the mission?" Alaviera asked.
"Yes. If possible, find a way to eliminate the Khajiit without drawing suspicion to yourself. It is not important, but it would certainly help us in the long run if you could do that." Delamar suggested.
"The cat? Why that cat?" Alaviera asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.
"Alaviera, we do well because the Empire knows so little about us. We usually don't worry too much about Khajiits because they are simpletons. Unfortunately, Do'Ravier is not only not a dunce, he is educated both under the Thalmor and the Empire. Whether he realizes it or not, he knows more about us than Empire agents. Combine that with the fact he is a battlemage and that is not something we can all too easily ignore." Delamar explained, sipping some of the tea he had next to him.
"Very well, as you say, sir." Alaviera bowed.
"Dismissed, agent." Delamar waved her away airily.
Another reason he did not mention to her was that in all honesty, he did not like Khajiits. He saw them all as mischievous rabblerousers. Also, his gut was telling him something about the mage. He learned to trust his gut a long time ago. It wouldn't surprise him if that mage was secretly spreading propaganda on the Thalmor. Khajiit were ungrateful like that.
He sipped more from his Elsweyr cactus tea. It was the only positive thing he could find from that province.