A/N: I recently commissioned a portrait of Ilsme, and if you want to see it, click on the tumblr link on my profile, or look up my tumblr, which is Shasilison.


The smell of ash danced in the air this morning, the ninth morning of Ilsme's stay in Ebonheart. Silver and slate were the colors of the sky, and all dealings done on the docks were done with shawls and scarves covering the lower halves of faces, a cacophony of coughs from her people and wheezes from outlanders who had not the lungs to accommodate for Morrowind's volatile climate. An eruption had not happened on the mainland that day, though ash was being spewed from the Red Mountain on the island of Vvardenfell, a fate that one could not escape until they were in the most southern reaches of Morrowind.

Ilsme hardly noticed ash until she was away from it for long. Years of wading through the ashstorms of Molag Amur's jagged and suffocating landscape taught her instead to appreciate the peculiarity of her people's motherland, though she was still peeved that she would need to again wash she and Vehk's clothing so soon. Said mer was walking by her side now on the docks, his gifted spear held on his shoulder, aimed away from the commoners due not only to its owner's height, but his intentions also.

Crates that were normally left open and on display were closed now, luxury goods that arrived from the southern provinces that could be contaminated by ash and volcanic debris. Ilsme got the impression that this Dunmer city was frequented by outlanders ignorant of Morrowind's unstable locale, which was supported by how many Nords there were doubled down, hands clutching their stomach as they threatened to retch.

The nine days spent in Ebonheart felt akin to a lifetime, but Ilsme would have it no other way. Indeed, it was liberating to free oneself from another's prophecy. By morning, however, Ebonheart would be far behind she and Vehk, less than the smallest dot on the horizon. When Tanhis, captain of The Cliff Racer, arrived at Ebonheart's port yesterday, she had been quick to secure their passage to Valenwood. Once in Valenwood, she was unsure if she would stay there or move on westwards, this she would decide with Vehk, who she knew had much knowledge to pass down about the provinces.

Between them, was an anticipation, the intensity of which shook her to her core. An excitement, the likes of which reminiscent of a youth, coexisted among the two – a seed of desperation to experience and not simply to watch. She realized, not with disappointment, but with pleasure, that this youthful part of them had not waned from responsibilities thrust upon them from an early age. Their aptitude for adventure passed through time unchanged, bringing secret smiles to her face when he was not looking, which was rare, for he was always looking. Vigilant and astute were only two of innumerable qualities she could apply to Vehk, whose contradictions would have intimidated her if she were not patient, or if she had not known him in a previous life.

One last trip to the city's marketplace, and they would board the ship that would finally take them away from this chapter of their lives. With her detailed map of Vvardenfell in her hand, she approached the merchant she'd met on her second day here with the intention of selling the roll of parchment and paying for passage on The Cliff Racer, a name that was still leaving a rather comical effect on her. When the merchant saw her with Vehk, holding the rolled parchment securely in her long fingers, his eyes widened, apparently not expecting a map so fine from their conversation the other day.

"I'll admit, I didn't expect you to actually do it yourself." He then eyed her suspiciously, and she thought of a convincing lie to distract him from the blatant fact that she knew Vvardenfell this well.

"My companion and I are travelers, we sell our maps so that others need not struggle as we have." He seemed to accept this cover, as his fingers began to move of their own accord for his lockbox. "How much is it worth to you, serjo?"

A few seconds passed as his shrewd, red eyes assessed the subtleties of the map, the perfectionism of the map's creator. He compared it to a noticeably less detailed map that he had of Vvardenfell, and a second later, an expression of admiration and greed rose, apparently eager to oversell it to the next overly cautious adventurer who passed through the city.

"Three-hundred." He offered, and she began to shake her head softly at the offer, which he'd lowered since the days before.

It wasn't often that she was given leave to bargain, as she understood the desperation of poverty, but this mer was in no state of poverty, judging by the many wares he had on display in his shop. With a raise of her chin and a narrowing of her eyes that might even gain Vile's admiration, she began to consider just how to move the bargain in her favor.

"Five-hundred." It was always wise to start substantially, she'd learned. Lowering the price marginally and gradually gave the other party the impression of victory.

"No deal." Sounded his heated reply, his gleam of greed replaced by a fear of losing a prize.

"Four-hundred and sixty?" She tried, watching Vehk in her peripheral, and she could see that he was amused by the exchange.

"Four-hundred and thirty." Her hand then jerked away from her in an unconscious manner, beginning to wave with the flow of her words, a familiar gesture when she spoke to others.

"Four-hundred and fifty-five? It is a rather detailed map, including all the sub-regions of Molag Amur, along with the coastal towns like Hla Oad, which you will not find on a standardized map drawn by the Empire." She offered, hoping that the game could be over soon.

The merchant began to shake his head at her, clearly hesitant to accept. If she were not familiar with destitution, she would find it odd, overly fastidious even, that those who were financially comfortable could care so much for small numerical differences in coin. She knew that the merchant was beginning to secure his walls and deny the offer, no matter how determined he was to possess the painstakingly accurate map. Before Ilsme could wet her lips and articulate a smoother approach, Vehk spoke, surprising her only for a moment. Thus far, he had been relatively quiet around other mortals, not one to engage first, instead waiting to be addressed, if he was addressed at all.

"I believe four-hundred and fifty-five is a reasonable asking price. Surely, Slides-Through-Gullies would agree if we were to take it to him instead." Her eyes widened at the implication, though she was unsure who exactly Slides-Through-Gullies was, surmising that it was an Argonian merchant in the city, perhaps one that this merchant had a rivalry with.

She watched Vehk then, an impatient look fixed on his flattering, effeminate features. Once, Vehk had related to her that he was impatient as a mortal, and when she'd compared Nerevar's memories of him to now, she could see that this too had not left the Warrior-Poet. Before, he had been a silent observer of the exchange, seeming both amused and unbothered by it. Her gaze then went to observe the merchant, passing between the two in those few moments before the merchant finally spoke. A rather sly smirk crept up to Vehk's thin, angular lips, reminding her of a reptile, though in vision only. How he so despised defeat, and so coveted dominance.

"Okay, fine. I accept, but only because I can't let that wretched lizard take all the good stock."

For a passing moment, she felt pity for the merchant – yet another victim of Vehk's charm, or in this case, Vehk's ire. Though if Vehk's ire could be used for such purposes as these more often, was it then ire or determination? After the exchange was over, and the coin was given to her, along with a fearsome swipe of the merchant's hand over the map, she spent minutes studying Vehk while walking. Together, they made their way back to the docks and the ship that would carry them south. She could see clearly that he had noticed her curious gaze, though he said nothing.

Vehk was not one to state the obvious as Sil had been, he would not plainly say that she was staring at him, rather he would re-frame it as he always did, with flowery words meant to awe and inspire. Or, he would say nothing at all. Twofold was the nature of Vehk, whose intensely chaotic moods were reflected well, if not exaggerated, in his form during godhood. She could not remember a time where his mood stayed fixed and consistent, for he was as consistently inconsistent as he was selfishly selfless.

Like Vehk, she was not one to state the obvious either, and easily held her tongue at his abrupt change in demeanor. It was not wise to press a snake while it devoured its prey, rather they should only be approached after the ordeal was done. She knew Vehk was still mulling over his small victory, and did not wish to upset the careful balance they'd established in their broken, and now healing, friendship. A connection could be severed as quickly as it was reforged, but a small part of her knew that a connection such as this could never be washed away. It would always remain in some capacity, whether it be in animosity as it was before, or in fraternity as it was millennia ago with Nerevar.

The Cliff Racer was not a massive ship, unlike the ones she'd seen in Anvil a lifetime ago, but it was impressive in its own right. Daedric runes were etched into the sleek, dark wood, marking it as a ship of Dunmeri make. Making up the figurehead of the vessel was what looked to be a woman's face, but she knew it was Ayem. On the hull were carvings of cliff racers, the aviary pests of Morrowind, though they were beautiful enough from a distance, and rather passive in wood. Judging by the look on Vehk's face, she knew that he was observing the Tribunal figurehead, watching it with a blank, passive look, his chin lifted in thought.

That was a conversation that would need to be had at a still uncertain point. Ilsme had mourned the Tribune's death, as Nerevar had wished her to mourn the loss of his former wife, and one who betrayed nearly all of his wishes. His anger had been hotter with Ayem than it had been at any other, white hot and surging, overflowing with grief and fury. There had been an overwhelming feeling of both relief and desperation with her death, a current of emotions not unlike Voryn's death. But that was different, for Voryn was the widow of no one.

The only response Vehk had offered at her death had been something along the lines of calling it a sad ending, and while Ilsme agreed, it did nothing to soothe the pain back then. Thinking about it did not bring tears this time, however, as she wrenched her eyes away from the figurehead and focused ahead. She did not intend to go back on her inner oath that she had forgiven Vehk, but it was easy to forget that he could be infuriatingly frustrating when she was in his presence. Only when she was without him, did she criticize his flaws. This was unfair, however, as she was aware that she too was flawed.

Her head spun around to meet his face, intending to check if he was following her onto the vessel, and nearly paused in her tracks when she saw that he was staring at her closely and no longer at the figurehead. She offered a small smile of understanding, against her better wishes to talk about Ayem, and spoke.

"Are you ready to leave?" The breeze, smoky and littered with tiny debris, lifted her hair, blowing it in the wind around her as she waited for his answer.

He did not take long to answer her, the fine, ebony spear held passively on his shoulder, the stance of one who was confident with their weapon. His robe, like hers, blew with the wind, and in that small moment, all felt terribly surreal, though any possible comparisons were rendered obsolete by the gravity of the circumstance. Two figures of renown stared at each other, all surrounding people oblivious to this, oblivious to the profundity of the moment.

"I have been ready for longer than you know, Ilsme."

This time, she did not doubt the sincerity of his words.

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The swaying of a ship was a familiar feeling for Ilsme, who was lying on her small bunk in the cabin of The Cliff Racer, which she noted earlier was clearly not a suitable passenger ship. The ship she'd arrived on in Vvardenfell years ago had not been a passenger ship either, and as one who didn't complain much, she kept her mouth closed and sharpened her spear when there was not much else to do.

Although accustomed to sailing by now, the swaying of the vessel prevented her from reading the books she had brought with her. She'd yet to be sickened by the motion of the sea, though the same could not be said for the few other passengers who had purchased passage to Thorn, a port city in Black Marsh that their ship would dock in for a night. The implications of this port city were not lost on Ilsme, who knew that while slavery was technically outlawed by the Empire, it was still a furtive practice in Morrowind, so deeply ingrained in their traditions that it could not be washed away by simple word of law.

The novelty of sharing a cabin with Vehk did not pass unnoticed by Ilsme, who often lingered on the edge of sleep at night, thinking of the mer who was lying on the bed beneath her. Temptation beckoned her to watch him sleep, or to keep one eye open at night, for reasons innumerable. He made no noise in the evening while he slumbered, and tonight was no different. Two other passengers shared their room, a thing she was not pleased with, but stomached by orphan's habit. Though they were loud, it was not what kept her awake this evening. An intrusive thought, a thought abandoned during the throes of passionate hatred and grief, was dancing around in her head.

Ayem.

When she spoke the name, like a lover's caress in her mind, her inner voice calm, but Nerevar's vindictive. As soon as the name was tangible in her head, her feet moved of their own accord, and silently stole away from the cabin. Outside, it was dark, and the only light were the stars, which were clear and bright now that the ash of northern Morrowind was not in a territorial war with the sky. The sea breeze was calm, not at all untamed as it had been in Ebonheart a couple days ago now.

A kind of guilt made itself known to her when she thought of the beautiful Tribune – the beautiful, wretched deceiver who could so easily deceive even herself into believing that her benevolence was concrete. This guilt, Ilsme knew, was irrational, for Ayem was not here, and if she was, she would be beyond saving. Only now that Ilsme had relieved herself from her duties as Nerevarine, was she given the freedom to contemplate these things.

Ilsme was alone here save for the crew, who did not bother her. Like all sailors, there was a tribal affinity passed between them and not shared with those who preferred to toil on land. This did not bother her, in fact, she rather preferred it – these bonds that connected people, sometimes to the detriment of her, were all many had. It had been much the same with her and the few Dunmer she'd known in Cyrodiil, who had shown tribal favoritism toward her in her youth, going out of their way to reward her with greater treasures and words than they had with others.

There was no land in sight, and if there were no stars out on this night, she may have been tempted to believe that she was not on a ship at all, but languishing in a dream unaffected by her title of Nerevarine. Her gaze followed a pair of dolphins that could barely be seen in the distance, except by her, who was looking for them. Truly, she had never seen the creatures before, for the waters of Morrowind were no place for the dolphin. A wistful smile tugged at one corner of her lips, and she wondered if at a distant point in time, she could learn to approach her woes with the whimsical attitude of the dolphin. To dance through a sea of strife, only to find beauty in its forward sway, for sway forward it did – not so unlike time.

A pair of footsteps had not sounded behind her, there was no audible breath, nothing sensational to alert her that there was another standing with her. But she knew, Vehk was here. Always, there was a shift in the air when she was with him, always, there was a slowing of the passage of time. Indeed, she needed no sense to know when he was nearby.

She was unsure of how to begin the conversation, for she knew why he was here. The implications of his presence were not lost on Ilsme, who knew that there was some level of concern behind his selfish processes. There was a suspicion that he may follow her, for Vehk had always been an inquisitive one who strove to know the secrets of others to synthesize with his own. This did not bother her, as she had accepted this quality of his long ago. But how to proceed with the discussion that she knew was necessary? Vehk's skill with language drove her to try harder than she had to with others. This competitive streak between them would likely never go away, and somehow, she was glad for this. It was a luxury she had yet to experience with any other.

To ask Vehk a question was no simple matter, however. Expecting the full truth was folly, as it was not in his nature to speak plainly, an intimidating scenario for she, who had a similar weakness. This made discussion with him profound and illuminating at the best of times, but a frustratingly alluring maze of smoke and mirrors at the worst. She swallowed this intimidation down, ashamed that she was still letting his superior age and wisdom get to her.

"How did you stomach the guilt all those years, Vehk? It's a question I've been meaning to ask you for sometime now.." She let her voice trail off, and turned her head only slightly to keep him in her peripheral. Instead of remaining behind her, he joined her side, a moderate amount of space left empty between them.

"Meditation, beauty, purpose." He answered without hesitation, causing her to furrow her brows and stare at him openly in an expression she knew would appear as doubt. He saw this too, and an air of amusement passed between them at his attempted gravitas, "Meditation is a rather convenient escape from the tangible – one becomes as a cloud is to the ground. But soon enough, even clouds become one with the ground, when the rain falls. The question I pose for you, is what makes you think that guilt can or should be stomached?"

The question was fair enough, she supposed, but she could not let it distract her. This was the game that Vehk played, redirecting a question for himself to a question of his which took on the appearance of seeming more pressing than the other.

"Should it not be worn, can it not be made beautiful by the skill of its wearer like any fabric?" He pressed, weaving the reassuring lie so well that it nearly distracted her from her purpose. He should've known better than to use such a tactic, and indeed she believes that he does, but is doing it to test her somehow.

So she turns her head back to the ocean ahead, gazing at it momentarily while she considers how to respond to his lies, which always have a sliver of truth in them, or else they would not be half as profound as they were.

"I'm afraid not, or love could also be worn, and when love is worn, it just becomes like any other ornament, and then ceases to be love." She finally decided to say, trying to turn the game of words in her favor. She was aware that Vehk enjoyed this, and it offered temporary reprieve from the thoughts swimming around in her mind, helping her shape something concrete from abstract. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I could be persuaded to agree, now that there is no repercussions for it. Guilt is a creature you must soothe when there are countless others who rely on you, and as you said before, becomes merely an ornament, a thing of beauty or terror. But permanent nonetheless, no matter what form you will it to be." A moment of silence that seemed to stretch on, until it was filled again by his even voice, and somehow, she knew he was about to tell her something revealing. "Because of this reality, I will confide in you that I did not feel burdened by guilt until only recently. I find that accepting it, similarly to accepting that the sky is blue and the clouds are white, will eventually lead it to being like a cloud – weightless. If one can do this, one does not need to meditate and become the cloud, but can instead be an observer of it, and appreciate creation's beauty."

Ilsme mulled on that for minutes, deciding that she trusted Vehk's take on this for once.

"For the past two nights, I've wondered if perhaps I was too rash with Ayem. If there could have been an understanding found through reason, would that have stayed her hand? Or, was she beyond that? It mattered very little when I saw that she had murdered Sil, and I could not… stomach the anger, and this hot emotion took over all things. My guilt for letting her get to him first, far eclipsed my guilt for how I did not look for other ways to settle things with her. In a manner of speaking, her death felt so small compared to her actions. An odd thing, that."

Was it wise to confide in Vehk as he had confided in her minutes before? He was a singularly remarkable predator, after all, and though she did not hold this against him in any way, she still feared his callous manipulation of others, and what it would look like if applied to her. Another part of her entirely, feared that he simply did not care enough, but this was put to rest by the knowledge that he was here, and if he was here, then that meant there was something he could gain from this, and that was another way of saying that Vehk cared.

"It does not do to dwell on what could have been, rather than what can be done now." True. "Since our first meeting, I have noticed that you tend to take accountability for others' sins. This, I do not condemn you for. It is a rare gift that tends to be undervalued in those that have it, and in those that would seek to use it against you." There was a small, barely visible smile on his lips, though it did not threaten to become known.

She pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders, though the breeze was far from cool. It was a moment of vulnerability, a feeling she wished she could indulge in more often, and now that she was away from Morrowind, she may very well be able to.

"Ayem was a proud woman, a woman of valor and many mercies, once. She scarcely told a lie that she herself did not believe. If what you say is true, that she believed her troubles could only be solved by an attempt on your life, then there could be no other end. It's my belief that, even if you had not intervened, Sil's life would still have been forfeit… he was lost ages ago, much like Ayem was. No, there was no other way. If there was, I do not doubt you would've found it, Ilsme. Their destiny ended in betrayal, and this, I secretly anticipated. Do not feel guilt on account of Ayem, or Sil, but especially Sil. He would not have wanted this."

It went without saying that Ayem would have.

He did not comfort her by telling her that Ayem had become a monster, a shell of her former grace and compassion. Those words did not need to be said, and was silently understood by both. She could not help but feel a warmth emanating within at Vehk's passing appraisal of her, either, even if she itched to deny it by understating her act of heroism. Her experiences with Vehk indicated that a direct form of praise should arouse suspicion, but she supposed this moment was different from others. Yet again did she realize that he was the only one who knew her beyond her achievements.

Sil's death would always follow her, perhaps because her alacrity was outmatched by Ayem's madness. It was a rare circumstance where she had lost something but gained nothing. Though loathe as she was to admit that Vehk was right, she eventually did concede, and a weight was lifted from her shoulders as he had revealed it would. Nothing in this universe happened by mere chance, and that they were here together spoke volumes about this reality. A sensation that was not entirely physical encompassed her, filling her with a profound epiphany that this was supposed to happen, but it did not have to. As she suspected, an individual's choice was the only factor that could turn the tides of fate.

"Thank you." Was all she said afterwards, knowing that to say more was unnecessary.

Instead of returning to their cabin, they spent the rest of the night underneath the sky, the need for sleep abandoned for the kinship they were quickly finding in each other. Not many words were passed, and much of the night was spent in silence, but this did not bother her. If words needed to be said, they would indeed be said, and she trusted this, and oddly enough, she was beginning to trust Vehk again, as dangerous as it may be. As she'd been saying to herself since his trial two weeks prior, all the lies have already been told. Like a mantra, these words repeated often in her mind when he told her something that sounded trustworthy.

Together, they sat in a safe spot overlooking the short, wooden railing that protected them from the seas below. When the sun began to rise, to her right, she began to hear seagulls, and knew that Thorn was close. Tanhis, the ship's captain, told her that it was abnormal that he stay ported here for longer than two days, and if all business went right, they would be leaving by the morning. She found that she did not care if it pushed two days, for there was an adventurous longing to see even the barest slip of Black Marsh's swamps, which she had only seen hints of in Cyrodiil's region of Blackwood.

Nearing what she assumed was six o'clock in the morning, seagulls and other seabirds whose names she could not think of, swarmed the surface of the sea, picking off the fish nesting there. Vehk watched this with interest as well, looking in awe at the natural world, which she assumed he had been out of touch with for some time now.

"Have you visited the Black Marsh before?" She asked, breaking the silence while they stared at the birds collecting their morning meals, an entire world happening below that she was not a part of.

"Long ago, before assuming my godhood. It is a miasmal land of swamp and disease, and a place where our kind aren't welcome. Though there is a measure of poetry in the fetid, I assume our captain is not here to admire the scenery, judging by the size of many of the crates, which are empty."

It was her turn to chuckle at this close observation by Vehk, which she had not made herself. She wondered then if they had boarded a slaver's ship, and if the captain intended on selling the slaves in Valenwood, because while slavery was technically outlawed, it was common knowledge that the Great Houses did not abide by these rules, and used shadowy means to achieve their ancestral rights to slave labor.

"Our people have some nerve, do they not?" She commented, her voice light with humor, the weight of their earlier conversation becoming light with the rise of the sun.

"Indeed, a quality in them I have never undervalued."

It was ironic that her love for them had only grown over the past few years, while his had waned. Indeed, she wondered if he had ever truly loved them as deeply as the other Tribunes had, for she knew best that his love was temperamental and opportunistic, and flitted indiscriminately between objects that had momentarily captured his focus. While a talented lover, his love was fickle and its depth transformed with ease, much like the seasons.

Not thirty minutes later, their ship had made port in Thorn, and the first thing Ilsme noticed were not the sights, but the smells. It had been years since she'd smelt tobacco, and the scent of it brought forth images of Cyrodiil's taverns at dusk, when the colors pink, blue, and orange coexisted in the skies. Before they left the ship to explore the city of Thorn, she and Vehk retrieved their spears and she, her little red bag with her coin and belongings shrunken inside.

The city bustled, but there were none speaking in Cyrodiilic. Her ears picked up on Jel, the incomprehensible language of the Argonians, a rare sound outside of a Dunmer plantation or Black Marsh itself. It had a harsh, grating quality that she figured would not be ideal for poetry, and she wondered if Vehk thought similarly. The few Dunmer in the city were outfitted in exquisitely detailed robes of gray, blue, and golden, along with large, chitinous pauldrons, their faces covered by intricate masks, and she knew them to be nobles of House Dres, traveling from Tear, their city that was likely only a day's walk by foot, or half a day by water.

Nobles of House Dres spoke closely together in Dunmeris, some with Argonian hatchlings hanging from their arms, and it did not surprise her that this was a slave city, as close as it was to Tear. An auction was occurring not far from the docks, with members of House Dres, as well as unaffiliated Dunmer in attendance. She and Vehk watched it as it happened, the first time she had ever seen a slave auction occur with her own eyes. Though undeniably ghastly, it was a significant cultural aspect in the eastern provinces, and when she'd first seen slavery in Vvardenfell a few years ago, she had been outraged, though now it effected her very little. She'd seen no Imperial guards in the city, and not even a veritable hint of Imperial occupation in the form of banners. It made sense that Imperials would abandon such a province as Black Marsh, for if the rumors about it were true, it was an innavigable maze of giant trees suspended in murky waters where disease was rampant for outsiders, perhaps explaining why the Dres wore elaborate masks and robes.

Brass infusers smoked with the smell of incense, of horn lily, meadow rye, and myrrh, an attempt by the few Dunmer to fill the air with flora rather than mud and musk. She gazed at Vehk, who was closely observing the proceedings of the auction, unsure what emotions were swelling in him at the sights, sounds, and foreign smells of Black Marsh. Many of her people were not fond of the diminutive race of amphibious beastmen, but Vehk was not many.

Stained glass lamps the color of dark orange and gold held candles in them, offering light in the damp, green and gray backdrop of the city, which was surrounded on nearly all sides except the sea by cypresses and large, hanging willows, effectively cocooning the city's residents away from the swamps beyond. Wooden claw torches painted in a tribal fashion of all colors dotted the city as well, intermingling with the more familiar Dunmer styles she knew. Roundhouses were numerous in the city, comprised of sticks and caked with mud, supported above murky backwater by wooden foundations, while the few Dunmer manors were large and impressive, cut from clay and decorated with Dres emblems.

While lost in thought, she barely noticed the Dres guard directing a group of young Argonians in chains toward The Cliff Racer, resigned looks on their faces as they were led by their Dunmer masters. So, Vehk was right when he made that observation, not that she'd put much heart into doubting him this time.

"There are many more where these hatchlings came from. This one will be fit, muscled, and obedient when it matures – a good addition to many a plantation. As hatchlings are ideal, this one will start at an asking price of seven-hundred drakes." A Dres noble spoke in Dunmeris, clad in robe and ancestral mask, a small, black and red Argonian hatchling in his arms.

When the initial shock at seeing a slave auction passed, Ilsme and Vehk continued on through the city, walking carefully over the dilapidated wood, the only layer between them and the murky waters below. It did not surprise her that there was only one inn in the city, and it was owned and rented by House Dres, a people whose curiosity she did not want to stir, as her face was well-known enough in northern Morrowind, and the Dres had many spies constantly searching for underhanded means to transport and make use of slave labor.

Beside her, Vehk handled his ebony spear, a weapon he had not given name to yet, and if he had, he'd not told her.

"Does slavery not bother you, as one who was once an outlander?" Vehk asked, his voice conversational but otherwise unreadable.

"A fair question, I suppose." She prepared herself to give the speech she'd given to a few other Dunmer who'd asked something similar, her hands moving in tandem with her words, "Initially, I was repulsed by it when first I witnessed the Khajiit and Argonian slaves in Vvardenfell. As one who was raised firstly in the Imperial province, slavery was alien, a practice that did not occur in civilized society. After some time of repeated exposure, I began to accept it as an ancient practice of our people, though this happened while I was beginning to embrace my Dunmeri heritage also. Though it bothers me very little now, I still find it rather ghastly."

"That is… fair enough." Rarely did Vehk pause when stating anything, except to emphasize a point. She'd yet to see him fumble with his words, something she could not imagine from the wordsmith.

A few moments of silence passed between them, while crickets and frogs sounded from the dark, submerged forest lining the city, a peaceful thing considering the hostility of it. She decided she wanted to return Vehk's earlier question with a question of her own, and prepared it thusly.

"Have you thought of a name for your spear yet?" Came her question.

He did not answer immediately, in fact, they walked past several mud-caked buildings before he did, and she watched the sharp, beautiful angles of his face as they passed underneath lamps, red eyes glowing with the opportunity to perform, and so she waited with baited breath for his response, prepared for a lie or more. Instead, he merely turned to face her, causing both to pause in their tracks on the shanty city's wooden planks, underneath a street lamp. His chin raised slightly in the air, more in contemplation than craft this time, and his gaze traveled from the spear to her, a benign but sly amusement dancing around on his face, pulling at his lips and narrowing his eyes.

"I believe I shall call it the Spear of Absolution, in honor of the one who has passed it to me… this is most fitting, wouldn't you say?"

Ilsme's lips parted slightly in surprise, for she'd grown used to indifference and a measure of coolness from Vehk's mortal form, as he had been as a mortal millennia ago, and she was not prepared for something akin to warmth from him. Vehk was apparently amused by this, and the sly smile lingered on his lips as she searched for a proper response, and she could sense the watering in her eyes, but instead of allowing them to fall, quiet laughter filled the air, surprising even herself. It took her a moment to realize that the sound of bells was not an Aedric chapel, but Vehk, who'd joined her.