"Quiet." A hand covered Dar'Obashii's mouth. "We must leave now."
It was nearly dawn on Fridas as the group of shadows haggardly made their way out of the Caldera slave housing.
If it weren't for a surprising stroke of unforeseen fortune, it would be another 18 hr shift in the cold, damp ebony mines, scraping aimlessly in the dark, hefting the dull iron pick axe till his muscles strained unbearably against his will and his mouth became parched and swollen. The worst details he tried to brush out, with the remains of the grime coated to his fur.
They rushed along, out of the quarry, over the steep crumbling slopes till they arrived on a road leading to and from Caldera.
Once there, they hastily picked the locks to their bracers and stashed them in some nearby bushes, rubbing their forearms and admiring the toned musculature which they had acquired after those many years.
"And how do you plan to spend your freedom, Khajiit?" Asked a Argonian woman, holding him in a gentle gaze from her sunken eyes. It was the nicest thing he had heard in four years, pricking his ears up. And while they had slaved by one another in those regrettable mines, he never would have suspected her to one day lead him to freedom. Neither did the guards apparently.
He inhaled the cool air and held in the fresh air, studying the others who all stood around in wonderment, now being able to roam where they pleased:
"This one has a contact in Gnaar Mok. Perhaps I will make my way there." He finally decided while looking out over the shrubby landscape which covered the surrounding hills.
They divided up a few purloined Drakes and some bread and butter. And without so much of a second glance, they parted ways.
It was nice they took him along, he mused while rushing down the old fort path.
On second thought, they were a very scary cohort and not to be remembered. They seemed to be ones who would no sooner turn to murdering on behalf of their enslavement, was his guess. Many nights he listened to them scheme on behalf of their homeland; those vicious whispers and bitter tears, as he cowered under the scratchy (and most likely diseased) bunk blankets. He even used cotton from the mattress to stuff his ears as they'd curse wickedly and pace the locked room in their chains; untrimmed claws gouging holes in the floors.
How in the name of Mefala had he survived in such places?
He stopped his escape to admire his surroundings. What passed as clothes was little more than ripped trousers, with no shirt or other garment, and he had to carry everything in his arms. He wondered if that was alright? Surly he could not conceal the fact of him being anything other than a slave based on appearance.
He followed the road south and then west till the air became wet, coarse and briny. His fur began to bristle and twist in the humidity as the trees grew taller and the ground became soggy slowing his progress. Giant winged creatures flew overhead, thier squawking shadows chasing him down as the bog itself seemed to utter a completely separate doom bearing blutter of noise. He tightened his grasp on his belongings and rushed to the village ahead: Gnaar Mok.
When he arrived he was expired, having been so worked up and frightened navigating through that strange oasis of baffling flora and foul tempered fauna.
He let himself in through a creeky door of the first shelter he approached, latching the door securely behind him.
It was a modest store front and as he entered he was greeted by a Redguard.
"What is it I can do for you?" Asked the Redguard, not seeming to care about the condition he was in.
"A Khajiit by the name of Wadarkhu. Do you know of him? Would you-." He trailed off as he saw the Redguard coming to his senses and eyeing him more closely, with suspicion.
"Riiiight. Wait here then. He'll be back soon." He waved to another Redguard, a woman, who only nodded in some silent acknowledgment.
He meekly looked around at the various fishing and boating supplies: rigs, jigs, jugs, nets, bait, line and all manner of traps and snares. He found himself grinning, comically addressing the fact that Wadarkhu was never the one who enjoys the water.
About midday Wadarkhu arrived and hardly noticed the pale and gangly Suthay raht in the store. And when he did see Dar'Obashii, a worried frown befell his face.
"You travel light these days, friend." He said squinting at the Khajiit, barely able to recognize him.
"It was a long journey." He suggested.
"Well, I was expecting to see my friend, but this ?" He made a dismissive gesture with his paw, "…this is no good! It had been so long that This one had been expecting your visit; and when a dozen moons passed, well...I had just come to terms with the idea of your undoing…Come and put that stuff away. I will get you some things...BALAN! HINALD! Katha Ikasho!" (Clean clothes).
The pair left and returned with some decent smelling clothes, but no footwear to accommodate those oversized pads. He excused himself and quickly bathed in the water offshore and got dressed. The clothes were loose and tied with rope around his waist, and as supper time came, a plate of ash yams, saltrice and slaughterfish had him filling out the clothes more comfortably, and he felt a bit drowsy.
"Curious this place, hmm?" Wadarkhu said pushing aside the clutter on the driftwood table. "Morrowind is not what I was expecting."
"This one cannot remember you being so fond of the water." Dar'Obashii inquired."
"Maybe I'm more interested in what the water brings to me." Wadarkhu said nudging the nearby crate which the two Redguards had brought in sometime during the day. "So. You need work yes? Good. You are new here, so here are some things for you to...think over." He stood and walked behind the counter picking out a few small books. When he came back he said nothing, only laying out the books: ABC's for barbarians, a book On Morrowind, and a few maps of Vvardenfell. "They helped this one when he was still wet behind the ears." He smirked. "They also make a very good pillow." He yawned. "I suggest you take some time to learn the local fare. For we are all outlanders here friend."
Dar'Obashii looked across the room at the two Redguards still eating their meal; in the dim candlelight he might have saw them ever so slightly nod in agreement. Carrying on in silence.
"There is an abandoned shack not far from here. You can have it if you want." Wadarkhu said expecting a grateful response.
"Can the cat swim!" Said Balan. "If not, I can teach him a thing or two." She said turning around looking over the Khajiit.
"Yes. I suppose you must swim to the place. It's off the most SouthWestern tip. You have your own private island. I'm afraid The bad news is, water breathing spells and potions are quite popular around here, you will have to rely on your own skill to get you there."
"Yes I see. I guess I will wait till mornin-"
"Oh no friend." Wadarkhu said with a laugh. "You are not planning on staying here for the night? We are full already. Do not be a coward. But come back to me in a week. I will have many things for you then."
Dar'Obashii gathered his pile of books and walked out of the store.
"Hey fetcher!" A voice called out from the darkness. "Looking for a ride back to the mainland?"
"I am going to the abandoned shack." He said approaching the boatman.
"Oh. Well 5 drakes and I'll get you there dry and fuzzy. Whadda say..outlander?"
Of course he agreed. However the stipulation of getting there dry and fuzzy did not hold up so well. The small boat dipped and rocked on ripple sized waves and the boat man seemed too drunk to notice his boat was half sunk by the time they arrived. He paid three drakes, which the Dunmer stuffed into his pocket and left without exclamation.
The Shack: came complete with all the modest furnishings one could expect from a hermit. The layout made use of the entire space and all the furniture seemed to be hand crafted. There was even a little boat which seemed to be in better condition than the one he rode in on. He did not bother cleaning up too much that night, but instead made his way to the hammock and tried to fall asleep.
It was not very easy to do.
He felt the din of his newfound life giving him much to think about. He only knew Wadarkhu from contacts in Elseweyr, and had only once been introduced in his life. Had he not been captured and forced into the mines...he'd be in Summerset Isles...amongst the gardens and indoor spas. But no. Instead he was here. Morrowind? Vvardenfell? He was only lucky enough to see the huge volcano as he was marched to the mines everyday. This place was even stranger than Black Marsh. Of course Valenwood was no place for strangers either. And the Dunmer were more than puzzling. Crude and harsh folk. Perhaps it was the empires doing. He knew too well the lengths the Septims were willing to go for expansion. The White Tower's money are felt far from Cyrodiil, and its outposts are crude displays of faux diplomacy with the locals. And to be having any part helping the empire (this one is no wind eater), mine the ebony...was truly shameful. He sat by the candlelight and opened a book, it read:
A is for Atronach.
B is for Bungler's Bane.
C is for Comberry.
The pictures were helpful.
And slowly he began to doze off.
The crippling winds shook the small hut all afternoon.
The storm shutters rhythmically clatter against the frame, lulling him into a slow drift