TW: GROSS DESCRIPTIONS OF DEAD STUFF IN CHAPTER. BRIEF SUICIDE MENTIONS.

(ooc: it's been hard for me to write a reborn!oc fic set in the elder scrolls world. i believe in reincarnation. my older brother took his own life in mid 2020, and he was the one who introduced me to the elder scrolls. of course, that was morrowind, at the age of 8 and the cliff racers traumatized me, but it was for the best lmao. this fic is dedicated to micah's memory, with all the fuckin manic crackhead energy included. wherever your spirit is, fuck you my dude!

and here's the part where i thank y'all for commenting and reading my dumb story! Shoutouts to borichu and butterflydreaming on ao3, and technomancer3301 on ffnet for the comments! Thanks to qewfhi, butterflydreaming, and angelic_anissa for the kudos! If i missed anyone i apologize!)

18th of Rain's Hand, 4E 404

Two weeks went by before Rho'jita got any wind whatsoever of Gajul-lei. However, she was not idle. During those two weeks, Rho'jita made fast friends with Delilah and Illdi, often finding herself tagging along with the two of them on their walks about the city. It was so huge; larger than Rho'jita ever came to expect. Something in the back of her mind had her pacing down certain avenues, her gold-amber eyes taking in all the detail in the stonework as she could. (familiar. so familiar. why though?) Through all her pacing and meandering, no answer came to her.

As the sun dawned on a beautiful late Spring morning, Rho'jita's shoulder bag returned to her bedside with a hefty sum of gold in it. No matter who she asked, none would say whether or not they saw the sneaky lizard come or go. He must have stolen into the servant's quarters during the night. So, in addition to her previous haul from selling half her things the day after she got to Solitude, she had a legitimate dragon's hoard of gold to take care of. It was honestly enough to pay for a house, maybe; real estate was few and far between in Solitude. Especially for common folk like her. However, she had heard Corpulus talking about a vacant little abode, no one wanting to live there for almost a month due to "a very unfortunate alchemy explosion" happening to the previous owner. (ooo house, i want actual bed) Rho'jita got leave from Bendt for the day, easily done as much of the preparatory work was already done the previous night, and then sought the Blue Palace.

It took all of two sentences to Falk Firebeard about the house to have that man begging her to take it, "thank the Gods!" He had proclaimed when she agreed to purchase the property. Maybe that should have tipped her off, but she didn't care; she was a homeowner! She paid, in all, 3000 septims for the property; all things considered, being in Solitude, that was pocket change for landowners, so Rho'jita thought she made off well enough. And apparently, all the previous furnishings from the last owner were still there. Including little bits of the previous owner. Falk apologized for that detail. He gave her a scrap of parchment that decreed her the owner, and a rough map of the city with its location marked. With a thank-you and a two-fingered salute, she departed the Blue Palace, bound for her newest acquisition.

After consulting the map and following such, Rho'jita was delighted to find that her home was about halfways between the Winking Skeever and the College, kitty-cornered (heehee) between a rock face and the battlement walls by the main market. It had a small alleyway leading to a tiny courtyard, barely big enough for someone to lay down both ways, flanked in the front by two other houses. She could people-watch so well from here. She placed the key in the locked door, turned it, and entered.

It took all of two seconds for Rho'jita to lose her lunch. The moment she had opened the door, the sweet, cloying stench of rot assaulted her nostrils. Bile rose up her throat, burning its disgusting path out of her throat and onto the cobbled stone alley she had fled back to. Flashing images ghosted and whirled through her brain, none making a lick of sense as the memories flooded into her mind. A decaying body, face down rear up at the bottom of the stairs, in a puddle of its own grave juices, flashing red lights and a strange mechanical wailing noise in the background. Brain matter sprayed on the wall behind the stump of a head, a strange metal contraption in the person's hands. A man, torn apart by his own mechanical implements that were hooked up to some large green wheeled apparatus, in the middle of a half tilled field. Her vision went dark, thunderclaps of migraine pain pulsing in time with her heartbeat, vertigo taking over her senses, bending her at the knees to the ground. Rho'jita expelled the contents of her stomach fully this time, retching up that really good baked chicken Bendt made for breakfast.

Rho'jita wiped her mouth and nose on the hem of her dress, then wiped her eyes with her sleeve as her vision returned. Her head pulsed in excruciating pain each time her heart beat. The memories faded into the background fog of her mind, and so did the thunderclap migraine. Standing up straight, she fought the urge to hurl again and instead closed the door and went to the market for cleaning supplies and fresh air.

Now armed with some old rags, cakey lye soap, two buckets of water, and a face-rag soaked in lavender oil, Rho'jita tackled the house's cleaning. The first room, what was sparsely decorated as a living room, just had ridiculous amounts of dust. The adjacent kitchen and included dining space contained rotted, congealed, and moldy food which she quickly took care of.

When Rho'jita moved to the basement of the dwelling, she was very unpleasantly surprised when the "little bits'' of the former owner turned out to be bigger bits. Her largest problem was that it had expressed its fluids and the piles of flesh were stewing in their own grave fluids. Thaaaaat's where that stench was coming from. At least it was on stone instead of wood.

With several dry heaves behind her cloth mask, Rho'jita did her best to scoop up the piles with the rags and tell herself that it was just gross smelling detritus not another sentient being's remains. Falk only apologized for little bits, Rho'jita found a whole ass set of metacarpals on the alchemy table, and the matching metatarsals below it. Strangely enough none of the other hand or foot parts were there. Rho'jita shusted them into a small box the former tenant had owned, and pretended they were rotten pork parts. (that's all those were, no problem.) The previous owner just left their snacks out and they rotted. (yup. that's what happened.)

Rho'jita was going to throw some serious hands at Firebeard, and they just might be the ones she just put in the box. Upon further contemplation, she decided she was going to bury these in the tiny front courtyard, as a respect to the former owner. Lord knows no one else would.

Rho'jita had to take several breaks during the more grisly parts of the cleanup, sitting on the stone doorstep, observing the people passing on the street right outside the little alleyway. Each one seemed to make a face as they walked by the side street; of course, from the rot smell. Rho'jita had been around it enough already that her sensitive nose went blind to the smell. Rho'jita decided that she would burn many herbs and spices in the house and leave it to cleanse before moving in. Soon enough, she returned to her task, and had the house cleaned enough to not barf at the sight by supper time. She left one window super high up open a tiny bit; if some thief comes to steal possessions she had no real attachment to, so be it, but she wanted her new home to be liveable as soon as possible, and that meant ventilation.

Before departing fully, Rho'jita retrieved the little wooden box with the remains of the previous tenant, and dug a tiny square of dirt up in the corner of the little yard. She placed it in with a murmured prayer to any God that would hear her, for this soul to be at peace and that it had found that of which it was put in this world to do. She patted the soil back over top of the box and laid some pretty stones over top in a cross formation. Rho'jita had no idea why that symbol, but something at the back of her mind told her that it meant something. She sat there for a while, simply reveling in existing right then. She sat and contemplated for a long time, the sun warming her thick black fur. Words came unbidden to her lips, falling softly upon the earth.

"Do not stand

By my grave, and weep.

I am not there,

I do not sleep—

I am the thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints in snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle, autumn rain.

As you awake with morning's hush,

I am the swift, up-flinging rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight,

I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand

By my grave, and cry—

I am not there,

I did not die." (1)

Rho'jita stood without another word, dusting the dirt from her skirts. The key made a rather satisfying ka-chunk noise in the lock as Rho'jita turned it. She departed with much haste, aiming to go scrub the crap out of her fur after the events of the day. She was starting to smell like rot. After returning to the college and doing just that, Rho'jita had sat on the sunny steps of the amphitheater, sunning herself to dry her hair and fur the rest of the way.

Rho'jita was clad in a new red dress, the hem falling to her ankles, the neckline plunging low on her ample yet fluffy bosom. It laced up in the back with some black cording, and she had topped it off with a black leather waist cincher. Her feet had a new pair of sandals as well, in dark leather. She felt super fancy and no one could tell her otherwise. After sunning herself until she was at least only slightly damp, she decided to go to the Winking Skeever to show off her new key to her own house and clothes, weird though that she was able to get a house right off the bat. (right off the bat? wat) Maybe Viarmo spoke of her to Firebeard while at the palace? Doubtful. Who knows. She continued on her way.

"Good evening, Rogie," Corpulus greeted from behind his bar, cleaning up a small spill from a patron. "Good to see you. Nice dress. How's College life treating you?" Ha-ha. His version of a joke.

"Not bad at all, Bendt runs this one ragged quite often, but I am glad for the busy work." Rho'jita replied, sliding into her seat. "May I please have a venison stew with those dumplings you make, Corpulus? And some mead, please?" Rho'jita asked, ears perking up in hopefulness. She thought she smelt it coming into the building, and hoped, for Corpulus almost always makes a smaller batch with dumplings on top made from flour biscuit dough. He drops them in when it is near done cooking, and places a lid on top to steam the dumplings. (2)

Corpulus winked with a grin at her without another word, then went and got her the requested food and drink. She handed over more septims than needed, and Corpulus gave her an eye crinkle-y smile. Her concept of tipping was odd and unheard of to him, but appreciated nonetheless. Rho'jita thanked him and then proceeded to stuff her face like the mongrel she was.

The seat beside her was quickly filled by Minette, who proceeded to blabber about her past few days. Rho'jita nodded and asked questions in the appropriate places, until Minette got bored and then scampered off. Rho'jita liked kids, but some days, like today, she wasn't up for much child interaction. But she did have to keep good on her promise to Telran to keep an eye on the kid. She finished up her stew and mead, taking the dishes to the back room to wash them, and the rest of the ones already there. She occasionally looked out at the dining hall to see Sorex trying to hit, and then miss, on Vivienne. The boy had no game, he kept telling tall tales and expecting people to believe him while everyone knew he was here, tending the Winking Skeever with his father. It was obvious that he wanted to travel and adventure, but Corpulus was having none of that. He already had one Son cavorting across Skyrim; he didn't need another to worry about.

In her observations, Rho'jita noticed that Lisette had stepped down from her little bard's podium, leaning her lute against the wall beside her chosen seat. She was rubbing her wrists and had an uncomfortable, pinched expression on her face. Rho'jita finished up the dishes and dried her arms off, proceeding to go over to Lisette's table and plop down in the chair one quarter of a round table away from her.

"Hello…?" Lisette queried, the attempt at wiping away her negative expression pitiful at best.

"Rho'jita. Call me Rogie. I am with the Bards college as well. Do you ever stretch your hands before you play?" Rho'jita said, all rather quickly. Lisette blinked, then shook her head. Rho'jita continued, "It is very beneficial. Here. Let me show you."

Rho'jita proceeded to show Lisette on her own self a series of stretches, all centered around loosening up the tendons of the hands. Then she guided Lisette through the motions and had her repeat them until she was satisfied. "These will keep your hands free of cramps as best as you can manage without healing intervention. I also have pains in my tendons, and it hurts to play or write long."

Lisette thanked her, flexing her hands open and closed in one of the motions Rho'jita had taught her. "This feels better already; you said you were with the College as well?" She asked,

Rho'jita nodded, and replied, "I am Bendt's scullery maid. I enjoy lessons as well, however. I am starting to play the flute."

Lisette nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Would you be willing to teach others in the college these exercises?" She queried, a thoughtful expression on her face. Rho'jita frowned for a moment, then looked thoughtful as well.

"Possibly, if this one would be compensated appropriately," Rho'jita recognized the business proposition, and figuratively pounced on it. "I would be honored to help the overall health of the College."

"I'll have to speak with Viarmo about it, then. Thank you, Rogie." Lisette said, smiling at the dark cat. Rho'jita smiled back, then excused herself. It was getting late, and she was tired.

Rho'jita made her way back to the college, performed her nightly hygiene rituals, then crawled into her bedroll. Soon, she'll be in her own house, and in an actual bed. She slept sounder than ever that night.

(1) This poem is "Immortality," by Clare Harner. Erroneously attributed to Mary Elizabeth Frye for many years, however a 2018 Oxford article purported that Clare Harner had in fact submitted the poem to The Gypsy poetry magazine in December of 1934. This has been one of my favorite pieces of poetry I have ever read. It gives me peace, knowing that I see my lost loved ones every day in the beauty of nature.

(2) My mom makes beef stew and dumplings like this, would recommend.