Another chapter, another adventure.
DG2 - I'm afraid you are looking for the wrong kind of story. Sorry, but while in the nearest future the POVs will merge into a combined adventure of Rotheimaak and Azirra, the other two points (side-quests and expositions) will certainly remain. I don't rush the story and get stright to the point, that's just not my writing style. As another reader said in comments, this style "really gives it that flavor that a bunch of others miss, they get the setting, they get the characters, but they don't get the picture put together that makes it elder scrolls". Think of it like Lord of the Rings approach, where Tolkien switched POVs often, even though in Hobbit he followed Bilbo Baggins only. The reason is the same - I want to tell all about the world of the story, rather than observe a single plotline.
Cheesecake244351 - Damn. I only now noticed that the scamp indeed had a name that asks for a lot comic relief at his expense. I'm so going to make him a recurring character. xD Yes, Rotheimaak's interaction with Akatosh will be limited, but Sheogorath will eventually get quite a lot of screentime - after all, since Roth follows the protagonists of the games, he will at some point get on the Shivering Isles.
shirzadym - Rotheimaak is an elder dragon, which puts him in the middle of hierarchy (I'm pretty sure I already once wrote about it in author's section). While Sheogorath did influence him, it wasn't so much that his race would be something new.
oldtimeydude - I don't think I will put anything from ESO here. If I will, it will be an easter egg at most. I just don't particularly care for ESO. Heh. Funny - when it was still terrible, I played it for a several days of free access. I had fun. This year I bought the game and got bored rather fast. I suppose online games just aren't for me.
Nosferatu2255 - As far as I know there's no such mod (but who knows, I certainly didn't check all Morrowind mods). It's still too early to tell in depth about the plot of the stories for Oblivion and Skyrim, can't spoil too much. Sorry.
Accursius - He could probably still take a single daedric arrow or two. In this story dragon's large HP bar was exchanged for absurd defenses and healing factor, so it would take something really serious to take him down in one hit.
Let's get to the story - Azirra heads north, towards Urshilaku tribe.
Never in her life Azirra experienced two weeks so filled with hard work.
She could work hard if the circumstances required it, yes. When you are a street rat, you often have to put in some effort to survive, especially if you aren't particularly sly. In her childhood, however, her enemies were simple: hunger and cold. Now her situation was much more complicated. Bandits, wild animals, daedra... even the Ordinators, if they learned what was her aim. She wouldn't know what fate would throw at her out there, in the ashlands. As such, she had to be prepared.
Unfortunately, even someone experienced can easily perish when thrust into disastrous encounter all on their own. Azirra was far from experienced, at least as far as it comes to travelling in Vvardenfell. She had to reduce a gap as much as possible in a short time. Needless to say, it was hell.
Almost entire time she spent on training. When she wasn't physically tired, she worked with her trainer from Fighter Guild on building up stamina and mastering... alright, just becoming familiar with a spear. Sometimes she exchanged it for training from her fellow Blades, Rithleen, Nine-Toes and Caius himself, in order to learn a bit about swordsmanship (it was, after all, her secondary melee weapon), unarmed combat (since she didn't count on keeping her sword for long in a fight) and sneaking (as avoiding the fight was the best option with her level of, ahem, expertise). Those sessions always exhausted her body... and then she had to read on practical magic until she exhausted her mind too. Towards the end of this self inflicted training regime she was actually looking forward to get out there into the wastes just to get away from this cycle. On the plus side, she was doing better now. She obviously didn't suddenly become an athlete - anyone who thinks two weeks of exercise can make them buff should improve genetic pool by removing themselves from it. At least the damage done to her condition by (thankfully) short stay at prison was mostly undone. Her repertoire of spells increased as well... unlike the weight of her coinpurse. Since she would be on her own for so long, she went on a big shopping spree and spent two thousands septims on developing her magical firepower. As costly as it was, she still thinks it was worth it - now a flooded corridor or a freaking lockpick-eating door wouldn't stop her thanks to her utility spells, while even the tallest, most muscled Nord barbarian will find himself paralyzed (for five second only, but that's plenty of time to make one into a shashlik). The only reasons she didn't buy even more spells was the fact she already stalled long enough and that with her not so impressive rank she couldn't yet acquire more significant spellbooks. Still, her mission seemed much less deadly now.
Her mission...
...
She still didn't know what to make of it, even though she resigned herself to actually do it - in fact right now she was preparing several simple potions for her trek into unknown. She's supposed to be a reborn ancient Dunmer leader? One meant to fulfill a prophecy and bring unity to Morrowind? Riiight. Just let her put on her tinfoil hat and she'll get right down to it. Becoming a secret agent is exciting enough, but some sort of chosen one? Someone give her a break...
"Azirra?"
"Huh?" Azirra blinked.
"You have been grinding those petals for a quarter of an hour now. This one thinks they are done," pointed out Ajira next to her, while pausing her own work on something that, given the ingredients, was most likely a potion of water walking. "Something on your mind?"
She took a subtle glance at her surroundings. Masalinie Merian, who worked in the same room as Ajira to maintain teleportation network, was currently on break and it seemed no one else was around. Still, she decided to play it safe and not say anything outright damning.
"You remember this other job I have?"
Ajira dropped a trama root she was holding. For a moment the agent thought she was once more reacting to her not using Khajiit way of speaking - she had no idea why the other mage reacted like this, but at times she still got startled, even if she was getting over this. Azirra was actually a bit troubled by this - what did she go through to be disturbed by something as simple as Khajiit speaking like an Imperial? Anyway, it was clearly not the case this time - the reaction was too strong, she noticed the pupils of her friend's eyes shrunk.
"Oh no..." she whispered and grasped Azirra's wrist tightly with one hand. "You aren't in trouble, are you?!"
"Shhh, not so loud." Azirra extracted her arm out of the alchemist's hold. "And no, it's not exactly trouble. I think I'm mostly on good terms with my other friend. I'm a bit out of it because I'll be handling another task tomorrow."
That didn't calm down Ajira. If anything she only seemed more worried now.
"Difficult?"
"That's just it, we don't know. There's someone far away I have to talk to. Depending on the outcome I might have to do something else too before I return. It will be a long trip and I don't know how much time it will take. A girl can't help but be nervous. I guess am a bit of a coward."
"Don't belittle yourself, Azirra," the alchemist surprisingly scolded her. "Ajira cannot imagine herself doing what you do. You take everything head on, while this one does what she can to never have to leave the city."
She raised her pointing finger to argue.
"Neither do I. I leave for wilderness only when I have to."
"But that's just it, this one can't do that even when it would make things easier for her! Remember the first two jobs Ajira had for you, collecting mushrooms and flowers? Ajira could get them herself easily enough if she just took a long walk outside. Most of the stock of her ingredients comes from her roof garden on the top of the building, the rest she buys from merchants. This one could get majority of them just by leaving for a few hours and Ajira would save much coin this way. But she doesn't. She can't. Ajira is too scared of leaving the city limits."
Azirra frowned.
"I know the countryside isn't exactly friendly here, but it's not that bad."
"Tell that to the party of slavers Ajira encountered three years ago while picking herbs!"
The silence that overcome the room and, if the two Khajiit cared enough to notice, the entire guild hall, was deafening.
"Ajira, I'm sorry..."
"...Please, forgive this one for the outburst," The alchemist was avoiding her eyes, now focused on her alchemical apparatus despite still not moving. "The point is, don't blame yourself for hesitating. You are still much braver than Ajira."
"Do you want to talk about this?"
"...No. At least not right now. There will be time for this later, when you return from your job." She looked fiercely at her. "Because you will return, is that clear?"
Azirra honestly had no idea what to say - she couldn't help but be moved by her friends protectiveness. So she just said what Ajira wanted her to say.
"Of course."
"Good." The alchemist leaned over and pulled something out of her desk. "And you will take this with yourself as well."
Azirra started to wave her arms in refusal.
"No no no no no!" The content of the small ampoule was unknown to her, but a potion placed in such a decorative container couldn't be simply an average concoction. "I'll be fine, no need to give anything! I'm making my own potions and later on I will even visit Fort Moonmoth, I've been told someone there has a package of useful supplies for when I'll head out!"
"You will take this potion. Ajira would rather loose a potion than a friend." Ajira's voice was like that of a sergeant that is about to fry a private with his speech alone. She handed her the flask without any further words. Azirra, beaten, accepted it reluctantly.
"What does it do?"
"It's a potion of luck. It's experimental, so this one doesn't know how well it will hold up to expectations, but Ajira thinks it will work for an hour and improve all your direct actions. The best aid when facing unknown odds."
"Ajira?"
"Yes?"
"The only reason I'm not kissing you right now is that you are stright."
She couldn't help but laugh at her friend's expense when Ajira's face turned red even despite her brown fur.
"Oh, come on!" Marayn Dren's disappointed exclamation from the main room made them look to the side to spot half of the guild staff clearly not eavesdropping on their conversation. "I bet fifty septims on them getting together!"
Now the blush was present on both of their faces. It was the kind caused by anger.
The good old Estirdalin, always ready to share her wisdom with her younger peers, was quick to give the wizard one short advice.
"Run."
The first stage of her trip caused no issues. The second, not so much.
Our heroine obviously had no intention of taking a hike across the entire Vvanderfell to reach a remote Ashlander camp. As expected of any plan made by Azirra, it assumed the maximal safety within the time and cost she could afford - and here she had both. Because of this Azirra came to Ebonheart first by guild teleportation network, and then by gondola from Vivec. Once she reached the heart of imperial administration in the region, the young agent remained there for several hours until the arrival of the ship that was on a permanent course around Vvardenfell, stopping in all coast towns and some more distant fishing villages. To Azirra's relief she didn't suffer through sea sickness. Some of the other passengers weren't so lucky - those were particularly miserable, given that traveling longer distance required spending the night on board. She had no problem with that - unlike in her first sea voyage that brought her to Vvardenfell on prison ship, her sleep was devoid of any dreams or nightmares. She attributed them to the gentle swaying of the boat, which she mentioned to some Dunmer passenger after breakfast on the second day. The only response she got was a very deadly glare, followed by said traveler rushing to railing to once more empty his stomach.
Said reaction became even more pleasing to her when a Khajiit crewman gave her thumbs up and started with her a much more appreciated conversation. Ah, the magic of friendship build upon the interracial hostility and the misery of others, truly the greatest of bonds.
Her last stop in the afternoon at Ald Redaynia, a small village with the outpost of House Redoran. This, along with Khuul (which was pretty much just a stone's throw away), was the last location of proper civilization before Dagon Fel far to the east, in Sheogorad. Somewhere between was Urshilaku encampment, in an unspecified location. Fortunately it shouldn't be too hard to find it - in this season all Ashlanders were making preparations for what passed as winter in Vvardenfell. That obviously involved fishing, meaning the camp should be very close to the shore.
She learned from her visit to Ald-ruhn that just a short walk during a sandstorm was a pain. The moment she was hit by something like this out there would be the end for her... if one didn't count her new sandstorm gear. In that case she would be merely a bit lost rather than hopelessly lost, on account of no longer being blinded by sand.
Her preparations paid off - just as she was passing Khuul on her left, she started to feel the impacts of little grains against her head.
"Great," she mumbled under her breath. The headgear saved her from getting a mouthful of sand. "Of course this happens as soon as I leave the safety of a town. Why wouldn't it?"
In actuality, the storm was more of an annoyance than a real danger. The only exposed parts of her body were feet and a tail - obviously there wasn't a version of clothing shielding those, especially since she required little protection for them (Khajiit of her breed always walked barefoot, no matter the surface - unlike with the humans, their natural soles could handle a lot). The only issues were a low visibility, which limited her sight to several meters, and howling of the wind, driving her insane with the constant, high pitched sound.
If only the sandstorm was her only obstacle. There was a problem she didn't fully realize until she actually encountered it. She was told Urshilaku were nomadic and as such their camp moved. It was only now that she understood that roads didn't serve just a function of directing her towards objective, but also existed to make travel easier. Walking on even, smooth ground was just something she, a city dweller, took for granted. Now she had to climb small hills, push her way past random boulders and so on. The terrain north of Red Mountain received the most of its troublesome gifts over the ages, making it into a wasteland that was rich only in ash and rocks. The speed of her march slowed down by half at least.
"Blasted Vvanderfell weather," she grumbled while climbing an especially steep hill. She actually had to help herself with hands at this point just to keep moving on - the slope was wide enough she didn't see the edge in those horrid conditions, so she didn't know if it would pay off to try to find a way around. "Of course my so called destiny brings me here, to this chamber pot of a province. Why couldn't it be back home in Cyrodiil? That would be so much easier. Just woods and plenty of patrols on the roads, keeping them safe. I envy any 'heroes' sent there, the Emperor makes their job look like an evening stroll compared to... WAH!"
As it turns out, the hill was just as steep on the other side... and Azirra was unfortunate enough to put her weight on a loose stone. Poor agent tumbled down the hill, fortunately avoiding any serious damage. She finally stopped her descent and, after a pause, rolled onto her back and remained there for a second, tempted to just stay there and let the forces of nature do its course in removing her from sight by piling more and more sand on her. After a minute she stood up and shook off the dust.
"I take it back. Sandstorms can be dangerous." She glanced at her surroundings. Due to higher ground on her both sides visibility down her was better than before, revealing to her that she stumbled into a caldera left behind by a long gone river of lava. There was an opening to her left, leading east. She shrugged and followed back into the pandemonium outside.
While the entire march seemed to take her forever, it wasn't actually a lot of time before another development took place. Ahead of her, barely visible in the still raging sandstorm (which oddly enough recently took on a reddish hue), slowly become visible the outlines of buildings, something that greatly confused Azirra.
There are no settlements around here, of this I am sure... and I have yet to see a large abandoned structure that isn't of dwemer origin, which it doesn't seem to fit. Could it be one of those strongholds Folms Mirel is interested in?
She doubted it. Even with visibility being so poor, she could still tell the place wasn't made with defense in mind. It was too... abstract. When one said word 'stronghold', you though of a compact, solid building that could take quite a beating without much damage. While buildings here seemed old - Azirra checked that by approaching the nearest structure - they clearly never were subjected to a significant military attack. It didn't resemble anything Dunmer of today build either, meaning it probably never was meant to merely be a dwelling. With all that in mind, she concluded it most likely had a religion related purpose. When some place or item seems strange and doesn't have an obvious use, it's most likely religious.
Azirra was fairly certain she was still on track. Before the storm hit her she still had the coast in sight, even if it was in the distance. After that she passed (and we are using that term loosely, given how it happened) the caldera, which almost certainly ran directly all the way from Red Mountain to the sea, as most in Vvardenfell tended to be. After that she headed north-east - while there was a part of the area that seemed to look like a primitive path, it was heading south-east, so she left it behind as it was doubtful Urshilaku would place themselves much further from the sea. This path, however, led stright through this slightly ruined complex of structures. By her estimations she should be by now close to the central part of the northern coast, where Ashlanders were supposed to be.
She was also tired. Fighting against wind in a hostile terrain took a lot out of her and she felt the need to find herself a spot to rest - there was no way to know just how much walking was still ahead of her. This place, despite its eeriness, provided cover. After a long inner debate Azirra decided to enter one of the abandoned buildings and sit down for a few minutes to eat without a threat of consuming more sand than food.
Even the freaking door was strange. Just how often do you see one of the oval shape? Azirra braced herself against the frame and pushed, as there was no obvious handle. The entrance remained closed. The Khajiit stroked her chin in thought.
In the end she pried it open by inserting her fingers into the small gap by the frame and pulling. After sealing away the noise of ongoing storm behind the door, Azirra cast her oldest spell, Fire Bite, and stretched out the arm in front of her to reveal her surroundings in the weak light of the magic (cat she may be, but even a cat won't see anything in absolute darkness).
The corridor leading further down into the dark was just as bizarre as the outside architecture. Rather than use normal, even walls and ceiling like civilized people do, the architects of this place instead inserted as many sharp spikes and angles as possible, whether or not it was needed. Everything was in dark shades - black, purple or brown. What little was bright only served to further embellish the dark colors by contrast. Everything was dangerous, ominous, edgy.
In short, it was designed to either be a meeting spot for angsty teenagers or a temple dedicated to daedric princes. Perhaps even both.
Azirra sighed and sat down, even though one could tell from how stiff her tail was that she was on high alert. The only reason she didn't abandon the idea right away and get back on track was lack of any kind of presence - no signs of life were spotted either outside or inside.
Taking a break inside the shrine most likely used to sacrifice people to an evil god surprisingly proceeded without anything going horribly wrong for her - she finished her meal and remained seated for an entire hour before she decided to brave the weather outside once more. To her joy, the sandstorm was over and the setting sun painted the normally dull landscape gold. She couldn't help but shiver though as she observed the ruins in this state, for when one would look at them at this hour, with many shadows all over the place and countless sharp angles no longer hidden by unfriendly weather, it was a sight that wouldn't let her even consider making a stop here.
Azirra picked up her spear she left leaning against the wall and ventured outside, sticking to the shadows of the buildings and slowly making her way through the ruins - just because she was unmolested so far didn't mean the area was completely clear of hostiles. Hostiles... ugh, what was happening with her life that she had to worry about searching for hostiles? Even back on the streets of Kvatch the worst threat of sentient sort was an abusive guard or an occasional thief (obviously one not allied with the Guild, otherwise the Grey Fox would rip them a new one), not something that would eat or soultrap you.
"REEE! GRAAAW!"
Speaking of something that would eat you...
Urshilaku do not believe a title can make someone be above doing something, unlike the settled people. Even an Ashkhan would be expected to do hard, tedious job if the good of the tribe demanded it, no matter how underwhelming or humble the task would be. As such it is to be expected that even one of the elite warriors of the tribe would be occasionally trusted with hunting down prey normally not worth his effort. Cliff racers are even more of an issue to Ashlanders than outlanders - Zabamund had to reluctantly admit that large cities had a perk of scaring off the nuisance. More than once per day a member of their tribe would lose a freshly caught fish because of the flying menace before they could even get their hands on it. The resulting tug of war between the vermin and an angry fisherman (or entire group at once) was a rather amusing sight though, which usually ended with the snapped string, happy cliff racer and a royally pissed off tribesman.
That was an extra work for their hunters. Zabamund, as Urshilaku's gulakhan, rarely sought out small game (which cliff racers counted as, despite their tendency to cause a lot of collateral damage along the way), his attention was usually on rare opponents that could pose an actual threat to the tribe: particularly aggressive kagouti, daedra lingering around the shrines dedicated to less amicable princes, any corprus beasts of the Devil Under the Mountain or, if it ever came to this, Ordinators. In the end the most dangerous predators on Vvardenfell were the cruel fanatics of the False Gods.
Still, to lesser the weight put upon their gatherers, any aggressive beast in the immediate area of the camp had to be put down by occasional patrols. Being an elite warrior second only to their ashkhan, Zabamund could afford to go alone, as this particular patrol wasn't one that led him too far away from the camp. In case of encountering an entire hostile group he could just use one of his emergency potions to quickly get to the camp and warn the others.
As it seemed, the emergency was going to take place - the silence of nearly lifeless wastes was broken by approaching screeches. Zabamund knew that sound - they belonged to clanfears. More than one.
The warrior sprinted towards the daedric ruins that were only a short distance from Urshilaku camp, a one hour walk at most. The disturbance wasn't that far away, in that case he wouldn't hear it. Either way, he had to make haste. The only situation in which the lesser daedra would group together was to face a mortal opponent. Whether it was sentient or not was of no essence - even if it wasn't, he had to check the number of daedra and judge if they would come any closer to the camp.
After getting on top of a small hill the intruders become visible. There was a total of four clanfears chasing after a single person, a number that could be dangerous even to a veteran warrior. Normally simply running away from this type of daedra ended badly - they were faster than almost all humanoids. However there were ways to even the playing field and, as Zabamund run towards the group, he could tell the chased utilized them as best as possible in those conditions.
When faced with several fast, but not overwhelmingly strong enemies, the most basic strategy is to either find some sort of bottleneck where that speed was useless (not exactly an option when traveling the plains between the camp and the ruins) or use a variation of hit and run tactic. The reason most people couldn't survive in scenarios like this one was that they either lacked right mindset or simply had no means of executing the strategy. In this case the traveler was lucky enough to have an effective way of fighting back - some sort of spell, or maybe potion, allowed him to make jumps several times their height, keeping him away from the daedra most of the time. This, combined with fireballs thrown while still in the air, allowed him for a safe landing and immediate jump afterwards, sometimes with a single, not particularly effective slash (but that's to be expected from a magic user) of a sword in between. In the end it was a very good stalling technique against this type of enemy. 'Stalling' was the key word - strategy based on spells worked only if you had magical power. The fireballs caused a lot of damage to pursuers, perhaps even enough to kill them once the effects of adrenaline wore off, but by then the mage would probably run out of power (unless they managed to chug down a mana recovery potion in mid flight, a feat more difficult than one would think) and, as a result, die. The saving grace would be getting into a safe location before that happened - the only one in this case would be Urshilaku camp. As Zabamund closed the distance, he made a mental note to question the wizard afterwards - the fact he run stright for the camp rather than make some sort of final stand was suspicious in itself, as very few outsiders knew their location. Barring a certain ancient ally of the Velothi, no one outside of Ashlander circles visited their tribe this year.
Upon spotting the unexpected ally, the sorcerer changed tactics. Once the final fireball hit (and blinded) the clanfears, rather than once more jump away he swapped the sword for a spear and sent a dark red stream of magic at the nearest enemy, making them stumble. While Zabamund didn't know the exact effect of the spell, it was clearly meant as a way of temporary weakening a singular opponent. A thrust of the spear to the throat killed the sluggish daedra on the spot. By this point its fellows recovered, but it wasn't that much of an issue since Zabamund descended upon them with his father's sword and greatly wounded one even before they took action. With half of the monsters dead or dying, the warrior and the mage wordlessly picked the closer of two remaining enemies and fought them separately.
By the time he cut down the pest, the stranger was almost done with his own - the daedra was stuck on the tip of the spear and the mage was pummeling it with spells from their free hand. This time the attacks were of green color, which combined with clanfear's shudders made him deduce it was a poison based magic, rather rare, but not completely obscure brand of Destruction school. One heavy swing from Zabamund ended the struggle.
The traveler looked at him warily - his caution was visible only due to the posture of the body, since baggy sandstorm clothes were hiding anything but that. The Ashlander slowly lowered his weapon as a peace offering and the stranger slightly relaxed. Clearly while the mage had some power, he lacked experience - at this distance Zabamund could take off his head before he could react even with sword in its current position.
"Thanks for the help." Ah, it was in fact a woman. Not an impossible mistake to make, given the setting. The tone of voice was strange, though. It sounded a bit, for a lack of a better word, exotic - it lacked gravely tone typical for a Dunmer, but it was rougher than the speech of humans. "I'm not sure why you helped an outsider like me, Velothi, but I appreciate it nonetheless."
Zabamund managed to hide his surprise at the term. Few outsiders knew how his people preferred to be called and even less actually respected them enough to use the term. He shook it off to give a proper response.
"Most of my tribe would hesitate to aid an Outlander," he admitted. "However the daedra of Mehrunes Dagon are not seen as allies of my tribe, so fighting them when possible is expected. Also, personally speaking..." Here he couldn't help but to make a dramatic pose by standing stright, resting one hand on his hip and another (with his sword) pointing sideways. Whenever this matter came up, he oddly couldn't help doing it. It was a long ongoing subject of good natured jokes in Urshilaku. "...helping those in need is a common sense!"
Had there been crickets in the Ashlands, they would become at this point the only audible living beings in the area.
"...Alright."
That meek response was followed by yet another moment of silence.
"Say, Outlander," started Zabamund. "What brings you here? Except for us Urshilaku no one peaceful lives in the region."
"When you put it like that, then the reason of my arrival should be obvious, no?"
"You wish to meet our people?" Suddenly a movement near the stranger caught Zabamund's attention. He saw it only for a moment before it moved back behind the mage, but he was almost certain it was a tail. All pieces instantly fell into place.
Over two weeks ago, shortly after the arrival of Thunder-Lizard, the ashkhan made a proclamation that in the coming days they should expect a visit from an Outlander who has a potential of fulfilling the conditions of Nerevarine prophecies. The tribesmen had mixed feelings about this news. On one hand, any chance that Nerevar returned was a reason for celebration, as he is destined to destroy the cult of the False Gods and drive out the foreign devils that were stealing their land. On the other hand Sul-Matuul had the gall to say the Nerevarine was one of said foreign devils, a Khajiit to be specific. That sure did get a raise out of them and Urshilaku remained restless until Nibani Maesa scolded them by reminding them it wasn't a mortal's place to judge the decisions of a god. She also mentioned that it was very likely that Azura decided to make Nerevarine an Outlander in order to humble the settled Dunmer people, who turned their backs on her - this way the unfaithful would have to suffer through the indignation of being saved by the one they used to see as inferior. Even among the tribes it was a common knowledge that the settled Dunmer saw themselves as superior to Outlanders even though they were the ones who made deals with them, while the tribals merely disliked other races for daring to order them around on their own land. That line of thinking appealed to the Velothi, as the haughty attitude of the settlers was the source of at least half of the conflicts they had with them. Personally, Zabamund loved this outcome even more due to the race - being a gulakhan he traveled a lot in his youth to gain experience and as such he knew Khajiit were the preferred choice for slaves for the Houses. There was something satisfactory about the thought of one of their kind being revealed as a reborn Dunmer general.
It seemed Zabamund was the first Velothi to cross paths with the one whose chances of becoming a Nerevarine were higher than that of any Failed Incarnates of ages past. This one, unlike them, had Nerevar's companion vouching for her.
So far the warrior liked what he saw. Still, he had to make sure.
"I am Zabamund, gulakhan of Urshilaku tribe. You aren't far from our camp, I was on a late patrol. Why do you seek out my people?"
The Khajiit hesitated.
"Gulakhan...? I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with the title, so I do not know how much I can tell you. The only titles I'm aware of are that of ashkhan and Wise Woman. My task, I expect, would eventually be brought up directly with one of them. Please, forgive my ignorance."
He shrugged.
"It would be unreasonable to expect from an Outlander the knowledge of my people's customs. What you know is already above expectations. Gulakhan is an older, experienced warrior that has the trust of the ashkhan. We are tasked with their defense and often decide whether the outsiders can approach the camp and, especially, ashkhan. Only the ashkhan can give a stranger permission to meet the Wise Woman, since she is the guardian of tribe's traditions."
"I see. Very well. The reason I wish to speak with your leaders is that during my research of Nerevarine prophecies I've found reasons to believe I might fulfill at least some of the conditions. I wish to test myself in order to find out how much of it is true."
"Understood. In light of this I think you indeed should speak with our ashkhan. Follow me to the camp."
"Many thanks." The Khajiit took off the wrappings around her head, which probably a few hours ago helped her against the sandstorm that passed the coast heading west. Zabamund, not knowing much about her species, couldn't tell much about her features compared to her fellows, but she was clearly on the slim side of the spectrum, given how thin was her neck.
"I assume the clanfears attacked because you were too close to the ruins?" He questioned as they headed back the way he came.
"My information on where to find your encampment was vague. My best chance was to stay close to the coast and move east. After the sandstorm started visibility was low and I had to go stright east as soon as I could to make sure I won't go past you. That sadly led through the ruins. They looked empty enough, so I took my chances."
Yes, she's new to this.
"Not the best idea, as you have seen. But I suppose you had enough skills to handle the lesser daedra, if you had potions, that is."
"I did. It could have been much worse. At least this time there was no dremora and I had all the range I wanted."
A dremora? And she still survived? I'm starting to see what Thunder-Lizard meant.
"Oh, sorry. I just realized I didn't introduce myself. My name is Azirra, a mage by trade."
"Mage..." Zabamund reached for what little memory he had of Imperial culture he saw back in the cities. "So you are in, what are they called, Mage Guild?"
"Mages Guild, yes. You are either a permanent retainer with a specific duty in a specific guild hall, or a member that focuses on less regular tasks in any halls in the province. I'm the second type."
"Then you travel a lot?" To be honest, Zabamund was asking this only to kill time. His job was done here after all, judging the qualities of a possible Incarnate was up to the ashkhan and Wise Woman. Still, given how high were the chances of her being Nerevar reborn, he couldn't help but be curious.
"Yes, though to save time I rarely travel by foot. I teleport when I can or use local transpo... Oh."
The last word marked the moment the two of them crossed over the small hill right on the edge of the camp, thus suddenly revealing the encampment of Urshilaku to them. At this time, with the afterglow gone, the only sources of light were the fires of the camp, casting in warm light in some places while leaving other dark. In Zabamund's opinion their home always looked best at this hour.
"Huh. I didn't expect your tribe to be so big."
"It is after all one of the four Great Tribes of Vvardenfell." Zabamund glanced towards the edge of the camp, a small dune on the north-eastern edge. It was empty, meaning Rotheimaak was currently away. It wasn't unusual - as of late the dragon was spending less and less time at the camp, on some days not even appearing at all. Today was one of such days. It was no secret that lately their ally was beset by outlander scum - lackeys of Hircine, to be exact. Hunting was an important part of life in the wastes, but the core beliefs of that daedric prince were too much at odds with Velothi traditions, especially Urshilaku, who were always close to Azura. Because of this their tribe had nothing but contempt for Hircine, who tried to kill someone willing to help Nerevarine. Dragon's decision to decrease the danger for their tribe by checking on them only from time to time only increased his popularity.
In Zabamund's opinion Rotheimaak was the right kind of a sage for his task - one with enough knowledge and skill to call him that, but also easygoing, not distant from those he guides. Alright, maybe he was a bit too playful, that took some time getting used to. Still, for his role he had the right approach. It wouldn't fit a Wise Woman - she was a reliable rock on which rested customs of the tribe. They had to be stern, severe. They were right because they were right. Thunder-Lizard was more elastic, since despite being revered amongst them the tradition gave him only one subject in which he had an authority - the time of return of Nerevar Indoril. Any wisdom on other subjects he had to prove... which he did. His ideas, while sometimes odd (fishing bandits is hardly conventional), so far worked.
Zabamund doubted any Wise Woman would be able to guide Nerevarine well in more obscure parts of the prophecies, especially the ones that involved the settled Dunmer people. Nibani Maesa was good in mystical matters, but she couldn't help this Khajiit Outlander with becoming Hortator of Great Houses (which, being ashkhan's most trusted companion, he for certain knew it was involved). Normal tactics failed against trials like these, they required a different approach. A spark of unconventional idea. The mind of a mad genius.
Rotheimaak seemed mad enough and smart enough for it to work.
"It is rather late," pointed out Azirra, pulling him out of his thoughts. "I assume the ashkhan won't meet me at this hour?"
"He won't, no." It would send a wrong message if the ashkhan was ready at the convenience of an Outlander, potential Incarnate or not. No exception. "He will meet you tomorrow. I believe he will give you a task to prove yourself before you are given guidance towards becoming Nerevarine."
"I see. Where can I set up my tent?"
In this case, however, was an exception.
"There's no need for that. We were expecting another potential Nerevarine. Potential Khajiit Nerevarine, to be exact. We have already prepared a guest yurt for you."
She looked at him sharply, but without hostility.
"Wait. Two questions. One: is it a normal custom? I have a feeling it isn't, your people seem to respect perseverance. And two: how did you know to expect me?"
The warrior almost smiled. Young she might be (or at least that's his guess, the racial differences confused him too much), but her wits were sharp.
"We of Urshilaku always have a guest yurt to host any friend of the tribe. A mere visitor is not a friend, obviously. Your case is special. We were told to expect a Nerevarine candidate and you fit the provided description. Normally that alone wouldn't justify being treated as a friend, however the name of our common friend carries a lot of weight when it comes to the matter of this particular prophecy. I'll be blunt: of all potential Incarnates you have the highest chance of being the One."
The Khajiit oddly didn't seem uplifted by his statement. If anything, she seemed more cautious as a result.
"Was it Rotheimaak?"
"It was," confirmed Zabamund. "I'm not surprised you know of him, he did mention meeting you in person. As Rotheimaak or, as we Velothi call him, Thunder-Lizard..."
*snort*
"What was that?"
"Nothing, nothing. Continue."
"As Thunder-Lizard was the companion to Nerevar Indoril and promised to return in the same time as his friend, his opinion is important in choosing the Nerevarine. Beside Azura who speaks in riddles and the three traitors of Tribunal who speak in lies, he is the only one still alive who shared a bond with him."
Oddly that bond was one subject Rotheimaak never spoke much about - he obviously shared his knowledge with Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa (otherwise he wouldn't have so much pull), but decided to keep that to himself when the rest of the tribe was concerned. It was fine, really. The greatest secrets of Nerevarine cult should be known only by its two leaders.
"In short: if a trusted friend of Lord Nerevar says there is a high chance you are Nerevar reborn, then we should show you some measure of hospitality." Zabamund started to descend into the village. "Follow. I shall bring you to the guest yurt."
As they walked through the camp, the warrior became aware of the whispers coming from those tribals who were still awake. There weren't too many of them - there wasn't a feast tonight and the sandstorm made many retire early. Those few who remained outside at this hour however immediately spotted a stranger following the gulakhan. No doubt many also noticed the race of the traveler. Rumors run fast in their little community. By the time Azirra went tomorrow to speak with Sul-Matuul, every Urshilaku, regardless if she really was the Nerevarine, would have only one sentence on their mind.
She's here.
When I was writing the first scene, I intended to just have Azirra tell Ajira she will be away for a few days (and to inform the reader she would pick some supplies at Fort Moonmoth), while providing a bit of her own opinion on events. I stopped at the very beginning of the dialogue, having no ideas. I wrote the rest of the chapter. Then I return, still clueless about what to fill that part with and suddenly Ajira just decides to take charge and leave me nothing to decide on. I freaking love writing. xD
Next time we will get to the point which, I'm certain, most of you awaited for a long time - Azirra and Rotheimaak meet again. Who knows, depending on the length of the chapter I might actually get them to join forces for good.