#ma'zurah the khajiit

[mazurah]

ESO released new body markings, so I remade Ma'zurah as an Ohmes Khajiit instead of a Cathay Khajiit (ESO's default Khajiit model.)

[hyperionwitch-art]

Day 7!  This is Ma’zurah for @mazurah, which is exciting because I’ve seen her pop up in the Morrowind tag before!  What a lovely darling, right?

[chameleonspell]

mazurah replied to your post “quickchangeartist: chameleonspell: quickchangeartist: ...”

Can Ma'zurah pop in and drop off a stack of those Khajiit erotic poems that Julan was looking for way back in Vos? How bout the Imperial audience knockoff versions she totally found hanging around the back rooms of brothels in the Imperial City?

She ABSOLUTELY should!

[quickchangeartist]

mazurah replied to your post “chameleonspell replied to your post “2, 21, 25, 29, 38, 45!” ...”

Can Ma'zurah pop in and drop off a stack of those Khajiit erotic poems that Julan was looking for way back in Vos? How bout the Imperial audience knockoff versions she totally found hanging around the back rooms of brothels in the Imperial City?

Moraelyn: Yes-- Ahem. Yes, sera. Thank you. I think that would be acceptable, I’m sure I could... Work these into the rotation. 

Iriel, dear, I’ll sort though these and send you the better ones... Later. First, though, I need to, ah... Give them some thorough inspection...

[mazurah]

Fear and Loneliness in Seyda Neen

Seyda Neen reminded Ma’zurah a little bit of home. The tall trees, the smell of water and vegetation, the guar--gods, Ma’zurah had not seen guar since she left Elsweyr--it all conspired to be both painful and comforting.

Her first few steps of freedom after completing the paperwork they made her sign for her release revealed that there was not actually all that much to the town. She could easily see from one end to the other. There were the docks, bordered by the Census and Excise office and a few small warehouses, with a handful of other houses and buildings beyond that. They looked new. Beyond the docks and warehouses on the shore, nestled into the edge of town stood a cluster of older wooden shacks that looked out of place next to the stone and thatch of the new Imperial buildings, like a fishing village that had gotten lost.

Scanning the surrounding area, Ma'zurah saw trees and swamp in one direction, and the sea in the other. She spotted a lighthouse perched at the end of a small peninsula past the last wooden shack; not exactly part of town, but not far enough away to be isolated either. Across a stretch of water, down the uneven coast, Ma'zurah thought she could see something floating like a small moon on the horizon, with buildings standing beneath, but they were much too far to make out any detail.

A cursory search for someplace resembling a shop or an inn revealed the tradehouse, located halfway between the new and old parts of town. Her attempts at conversation resulted in an informative exchange with a Redguard scout who was happy to give her an overview of the local geography.

It was approaching evening by the time Ma'zurah reluctantly turned her mind to what to do next. The tradehouse had no rooms available, and she had her orders: go to Balmora, deliver a package, and receive her next set of instructions. She had been given enough money to afford a fare on the strange, tall insect whose echoing call reverberated like something that should by all rights have been underwater. The ride was exciting, like riding a walking tree while the sun set in fabulous shades of pink and red around her. It was long past dark by the time the insect brought her to her destination.

Balmora did not remind Ma’zurah of home, and she was not sure if she should be disappointed or relieved that not all of this new strange land plucked at her emotions the same way the swamp did. Though the hour was late, there were still people about, mostly Dark Elves who gave her sidelong looks that she did not know how to interpret. She moved past them quickly, too aware of how visible her white fur was in the dark.

Finding Caius Cosades proved more difficult than she had anticipated, and sent her through parts of town she would otherwise have avoided, especially at night. She found him in what had to be the smallest house in the dirtiest alleyway in Balmora. He opened the door bleary-eyed and shirtless, and Ma’zurah immediately smelled moon sugar. It would have been a welcome scent if she had been in Elsweyr, if he had not been Imperial. Instead, it irked her. She had seen what happened to non-Khajiit who used the stuff in the Imperial City, and she did not like it. There was a good reason it was sacred to the Khajiit but denied to all else.

Tight-lipped, she proffered the package. Cosades read the label. His gaze sharpened and he waved her inside, all hint of the effects of the sugar gone from his stance as soon as the door was shut. He bolted it behind him, and Ma'zurah's heart sped up. Her fingers felt the familiar, comforting gestures of an invisibility spell, but she did not put any magicka into it. This man was supposed to be her "superior and patron" in Morrowind? The tip of her tail twitched in nervousness as Cosades read in silence.

Her waiting was rewarded with something that might have resembled an explanation if it had not been so absurd. The Emperor wanted her to become a Blade.

She dismissed the "Emperor" part immediately. She could safely assume he did not mean the literal Emperor. That was how these official types liked to talk; any action taken on behalf of the Empire was always the work of the Emperor. She knew about the Blades of course; they were supposed to be the Emperor's spies and personal guard. She was not exactly sure how she was expected to go directly from imprisonment to becoming a Blade entrusted with state secrets and the Emperor's life, but it seemed suspect at best.

"There must be some mistake," she told him.

He gave her a piercing stare, looked pointedly at the document he was holding, and asked, "You are Ma'zurah, correct? No surname, formerly of the state of Pellitine?"

Ma'zurah nodded mutely.

"No mistake. You are to become a Novice in the Blades, and that means you'll be following my orders. Are you prepared to follow my orders, Ma'zurah?"

Her fingers itched for the invisibility spell, but he was standing between her and the door, which was locked. "What happens if Ma'zurah says no?" she asked weakly.

"Then I will have to put you back on a boat for the mainland and return you to prison." His tone was dismissive, but Ma'zurah could tell he was watching her closely.

There was a long pause as Ma'zurah digested this information.

"Indefinitely," he added as the silence stretched.

The fur on the back of her neck stood up, and she felt a flash of anger for a brief moment before her anxiety subsumed it. She could not afford to lash out. She had to consider her options rationally.

She could probably get past him if she really tried, but if he really was a high ranking member of the Blades, and she could not see any way that he was not, then he would probably just put out a warrant for her arrest. In a strange province with no friends, or clan, or even allies, no real knowledge of the land, and with her distinctive appearance, it was doubtful she would be able to hide for long.

No friends or clan; she had not realized how vulnerable that made her. She was all alone. Her anxiety curdled suddenly into an icy spike of true fear. This had to be illegal, right? This was coercion. But there was no authority she could appeal to that would be willing to stand up to the Blades. Would anyone even believe her?

No running then. Maybe it would not be so bad. It was not her ideal job, and she had no loyalty to the Empire, but maybe she could get something out of it--some money and a place to sleep at the very least--even if the whole thing still rubbed her fur the wrong way.

"May Ma'zurah ask why she has been chosen for this honor?" she finally asked, her tone careful.

The man raised one brow at her. "No, Ma'zurah may not. Now will you take the oath, or am I going to have to send you back to Cyrodiil?"

Ma'zurah took the oath.

The next few days were a whirl of instructions and introductions. She did indeed get some money, and was told to get her bearings in Balmora, and get some equipment and training. To that end, Cosades sent her to three Blades agents in Balmora who would be able to provide the necessary training--for a fee, of course--and assistance in an emergency. When she had returned from introducing herself to them, three small gifts and much advice richer, Cosades gave her the names and locations of four more around Vvardenfell she should introduce herself to at some point. He suggested she start with the Redguard scout in Seyda Neen. Elone would be able to help her get the lay of the land, he said. Ma'zurah did not know how to feel when she realized she had probably met the woman already.

Finally, Cosades told her to establish a cover identity, and instructed her to check in with him next month to discuss its progress. "I don't care what it is, so long as it doesn't point back to us," he told her. "Go back to prostitution for all I care. The point is to establish a history for yourself here."

Ma'zurah scowled and went to sign up with the local Mages Guild instead. When she asked for work, she received an assignment from a distracted, but friendly Suthay alchemist to gather mushrooms from the swamp.

Happy to have such a solid excuse to return to the swamp that reminded her even a little of the jungles of her homeland, Ma'zurah procured a herbalist's bag and a book of local plants in a language she could actually read, and set off the next day, walking instead of riding, taking in the landscape at her own pace. It was beautiful, but lonely. She wished she had someone to share it with.

At least she had direction. She was not sure what she would have done with herself without direction. She had a task, and it distracted her minutely from the horrible anxiety of being so completely alone in a foreign land full of strangers who did not care about her. She wished she had a friend. Just one person who cared would be enough. Maybe then she would not feel as though she was climbing a narrow tree branch over the head of a hungry tiger. She had no one to steady her if she started to lose her balance. The utter lack of social connection was a new experience for her, and not one she liked. She felt vulnerable.

She missed her friends back in the Imperial City. She had not felt so alone since she had found out she would never be allowed to return to Elsweyr, and even then she had still had Dra'nassa. She had gone from a tribe of many to a tribe of two in a single day--a day she had previously considered to be the worst in her life. It had been hard building up connections after that, to replace the support of the tribe she had grown up in with one of her own making, but she had done it. When Dra'nassa had died, she had made enough friends to see her through her grief without despair.

This was worse. Now she had no one. Cosades had made it clear she could not go back to her old life. She would have to start over from nothing again, this time without Dra'nassa's help.

It was enough to make her want to cry. She saw a mushroom and distracted herself with the task at hand. If the fur of her cheeks was wet, the mushrooms certainly did not care.

She had already filled the bag halfway by the time she got back to Seyda Neen. She presented herself to the scout Elone--again--and tried not to feel horrible and ridiculous when she introduced herself as the Blades' newest novice.

The woman seemed friendly enough, and gave her a copy of "Guide to Vvardenfell" with accompanying maps. Ma'zurah was grateful. Maps were expensive. Ma'zurah asked if there was anything she could do to help her in return. Elone pursed her lips and sent her to check on a friend of hers who lived a short way outside of town.

"She was supposed to come see me after she got back from her scouting," Elone told her. "She's late. I'd check on her myself, but I have work I have to finish. It's probably nothing, Jasmine can take care of herself, but it's not like her to stay out for so long. Just check at her house and tell me if she's there. She might just be sick or something."

Ma'zurah agreed and went to check.

The house was locked and appeared empty. There was no answer to her knock, so Ma’zurah peeked through the window, and saw no lights lit. Frowning, she checked the muddy path for tracks, trying to determine if Elone's friend had been home recently enough to leave evidence. Ma'zurah was not the greatest tracker, but she knew enough to hunt animals in deep jungle, and enough to discover a faint set of prints leading up to the house, and another of the same size heading down the path in the direction of the town. Perhaps she had just missed the woman? But no, neither set seemed fresh enough.

She followed the path and the footprints back in the direction of Seyda Neen, resolving to tell Elone of her discovery. She was most of the way back to town when she came across several more sets of footprints--at least three, all overlapping--intercepting the first set of footprints. The trail became smudged and some of the prints scattered and came back, and the next trail Ma’zurah could find led into the underbrush at an angle, away from town. Whoever they were, they had taken Elone's friend with them for reasons inscrutable to Ma'zurah. Kidnapping was not typical behavior for bandits, and surely if the woman had come across friends on the path, they would not have trampled the ground quite so much. Each subsequent scenario Ma'zurah thought of was more worrying than the last.

She followed the tracks to a cave, thanking Azurah for the wet ground. Trampled plants stuck to the mud, making the trail easy to follow all the way to the stone of the cave mouth. It was hidden against a hillside at the edge of the swamp, behind a set of boulders that blocked line of sight from the path. Ma’zurah cautiously poked her head inside, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness, and saw the glow of a fire.

She followed the cave a few paces deeper into the hillside until she found the source of the light: a campfire, with a Dark Elf woman tending it. An overturned rowboat had been pulled into the shelter of the cave as well, and the back wall was blocked off by a fence. There was something wrong here, something obvious Ma'zurah was missing, but she could not pinpoint what.

And she would not find out what was going on by standing here like a lump.

"Hello?" Ma'zurah called.

The woman by the fire whirled, knife drawn. Ma'zurah gasped and cast invisibility on herself and dove for the shadows.

"Ku’or havag?" the woman called, stalking toward the cave entrance.

Ma'zurah could have kicked herself. Why would a woman sitting in a cave at the edge of a swamp respond positively to an unexpected stranger, no matter what reason she had for being there? She should have predicted this kind of a reaction instead of calling out and making it that much harder to sneak past an alert person. And of course a Dark Elf would be speaking the Dark Elven language in Morrowind. Somehow, Ma'zurah had not yet run into the language barrier in any significant way. She was going to have to learn the language.

"Ku’or edur diru?" The woman passed Ma'zurah's hidden form and stared out into the swamp, frowning.

There was a moment's pause, and Ma'zurah huddled against the wall of the cave, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

The woman turned abruptly on her heel and approached the wooden fence set into the back of the cave, muttering something incomprehensible under her breath.

Ma'zurah followed as closely behind her as she dared, practically holding her breath. Her heart was pounding. There was definitely something wrong here. She was sure of it now, even if she could not say why. It was a subtle thing, told in the set of the woman's jaw, or the hardness of her expression. It made the fur on the back of Ma'zurah's neck stand up.

If she could only figure out what was going on, or even just confirm that Elone's friend was here, she would not have to report back to Elone with so little news. She wished she had asked Elone for a description of her friend Jasmine.

The Dark Elf opened the gate and Ma'zurah slipped in behind her. Beyond the gate, the cave split into two paths, the leftmost branch leading up to another fence with a gate in it, and the rightmost branch leading down a slope and out of sight. Ma'zurah thought she could hear running water somewhere below.

The Dark Elf woman took the rickety wooden ramp down the uneven stone slope to the right. Ma'zurah started to follow when the woman called something ahead of herself. Two more Dark Elves appeared at the bottom of the ramp, and the woman spoke urgently to them. Their faces turned grim, and both stalked toward Ma'zurah's position.

Ma'zurah nearly panicked, trying to scramble out of their way without making any noise. She darted up the ramp to the left until she was almost backed up against the fence at the top. Oblivious to Ma'zurah's presence, the two Elves exited toward the mouth of the cave, leaving the woman at the bottom to retreat further down and out of Ma'zurah's sight.

Heart racing, Ma'zurah slumped against the fence, and the invisibility spell broke.

"Hey," a low feminine voice hissed urgently through the fence behind her, making Ma'zurah jump. "Do you have the key?"

Ma'zurah's fingers froze in the process of reapplying her invisibility spell as she registered the words. She peered between the slats of the fence and discovered a brown oval face with wide dark eyes and long black hair.

"Are you Jasmine?" Ma'zurah whispered back.

The face hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Please, you have to get us out of here." There was the faintest edge of desperation in her whispered tones. Ma'zurah's hackles rose again.

"Us?" Ma'zurah asked numbly.

Jasmine stepped back, allowing Ma'zurah to see through the narrow gaps in the fence. Huddled at the back of the small enclosure were two Argonians and a Suthay-raht, all wearing only the barest scraps of clothing. The Argonians both had a greenish tint to their scales, but one of them was shorter with a long row of spikes protruding from forehead to back of the neck, while the other had a pair of spikes on either side of the head. The Khajiit was orange-furred, with black markings around his eyes and nose, and had long mustaches which hung down on either side of his mouth. He was also topless, Ma'zurah observed, feeling faintly scandalized by the display of torso fur. And she could see his ribs beneath his fur, she realized with a different kind of shock. She did not know much about Argonian anatomy, but they did not look too good either.

The pieces slotted into place suddenly, along with the memory of half-heard rumors from Cyrodiil. This was slavery. Those Dark Elves out there meant to sell these people. She had heard the Dark Elves kept slaves, but she had not realized what that meant before. Sudden tears of horror and sympathy pricked at her eyes.

"What should Ma’zurah do?" she asked Jasmine urgently. Jasmine was, she noticed, by far the healthiest looking of the group. "She can… She can run and get help?"

"There's no time,” Jasmine whispered back. “I overheard them say they were going to move us. We have to get out of here before that happens or you'll never be able to find us again. You've got to get the key to the gate, and maybe the keys to our shackles. If I had a weapon, I could fight, but I don't think the others could."

Ma'zurah nodded firmly. "Ma'zurah will be back."

She stalked invisibly down into the depths of the cave, past a branch of tunnel filled with water, and up a wooden deck covered with crates. Fury had eclipsed her fear. Her hands shook with how angry she felt. It was not right. How could anyone hold people captive like this and disregard their suffering? How could they use people's suffering for profit? How could they live with themselves?

The Dark Elf woman was not in sight, so Ma'zurah began searching crates. She had searched two, finding nothing but alcohol and cheap imported clothing before her head caught up to her and she cast a spell, willing her magicka to show her keys.

She saw the glow of something small atop a crate when her time ran out, and the Dark Elf woman walked into view.

Ma'zurah panicked, but instead of fleeing again, she dove for the woman, claws extended, spurred on by the anger that mixed oddly with her fear. The woman only had time to shriek "N'wah!" before Ma'zurah's hands wrapped around her throat, claws tearing.

The next thing she knew, the woman was motionless on the ground, and Ma'zurah's hands were slick with blood. She felt like she could not breathe properly, like someone had punched her in the gut. She had never hurt anyone before in her life, and now…

She scooped up the key and the woman's dagger and retreated up the ramp to free the others before her thoughts could catch up with her and render her useless. Her hands shook as she fitted the key in the lock, and the key nearly slipped between her blood-slick fingers.

The door came open, and Ma'zurah thrust the dagger into Jasmine's hands. "Here. Ma'zurah did not find the shackle keys. Can we leave without them?"

"Keep looking," one of the Argonians advised in a half-cracked voice. "We will not find many willing to remove slave bracers. We will draw too much attention wearing them."

"There are at least two more people around here," Ma'zurah warned, mentally beating her emotions into submission. Her hands were still shaking. "We will have to hurry before they come back."

They filed down into the lower recesses of the cave, Ma’zurah at the front, Jasmine bringing up the rear with the knife. The Suthay-raht looked sidelong at the body of the fallen Dark Elf as they passed, eyes flicking from the claw gouges on her neck to Ma’zurah’s bloody hands. There was something like approval in his eyes.

Ma’zurah cast the spell of finding again, looking for something that might unlock the magic suppressing bracers on the wrists of her companions. The spell revealed another key on the body of the Elf, but it was too big to fit into any of the shackles.

They proceeded further into the cave, uncovering more crates, more clothing, more alcohol, a small stack of coins, and a pile of pillows with what Ma'zurah's nose told her was moon sugar smuggled inside. She dumped one out, frowning at the little purple vials that fell along with the paper envelopes of white crystals. Confused, she sniffed one of the vials and got the overpowering scent of moon sugar and alchemy for her trouble.

"Skooma," the Suthay-raht rasped behind her in explanation.

Ma'zurah dropped the thing hastily. The Clan Mothers always taught that moon sugar was a blessing from Azurah, but skooma was a perversion created by Imperials.

It was also not a key. She searched the crates again for the telltale glow of the spell, but found nothing.

"There are no keys here," she told the group. They would have to keep moving.

They twisted around a narrow gap at the back of the cavern, only to find another wooden fence, and beyond it, a flooded tunnel descending down even further.

"We could dive for it," one of the Argonians offered, and distractedly Ma’zurah realized from her voice that the Argonian was probably female, though Ma'zurah was hardly in a position to judge someone's gender based on their physical attributes.

"I doubt they hid the keys underwater though," the second Argonian concluded.

There was a sudden shout from back the way they had come and Ma’zurah’s breath caught in her throat. The overwhelming emotions she had been suppressing threatened to overtake her again. In her peripheral vision, she saw Jasmine raise her knife and start back toward the noise, and Ma'zurah realized she had also committed herself to protecting these people. She frantically tried to remember everything she had learned about Destruction magic at the Arcane University and ran past Jasmine, readying a blast of frost.

She had just enough time to register that the two Dark Elves who had left had returned with three others in tow, and that they had just stumbled on the dead body of their compatriot, before she loosed the spell in her hands with as much force as she could muster.

There was a reverberating crack and a hair-raising rumble as the telekinetic blast propelling her spell forward connected not just with her foes, but with the far wall of the cave and a low hanging portion of the ceiling. Stone cracked, the ground shook, and before anyone had time to do anything more than scream, the roof caved in, burying the group of Dark Elves and the exit.

A deafening silence followed. Nobody moved.

“Well,” Jasmine began, lowering her dagger.

The mountainous pile of rock and gravel that covered the exit shifted slightly, and a scattering of scree clattered down the heap. One of the torches illuminating the cave flickered and died.

Ma’zurah sat down on the ground and promptly burst into tears.

“Oh no…” moaned the Suthay-raht. “Oh nooo…”

“Let’s not panic,” Jasmine said, with a kind of calm Ma’zurah could not imagine she actually felt. They were stuck here, and it was all Ma’zurah’s fault. She felt herself begin to hyperventilate.

“Be right back,” one of the Argonians said in a matter-of-fact tone. There was the sound of retreating footsteps, then a ripple of water and a splash.

A flicker of hope cut through Ma'zurah's panic at the sound. There might be another way out! She scrubbed at her face with her hands, trying to quiet her emotions. The scent of blood assaulted her nose like a warhammer and she recoiled, trying not to begin hyperventilating again for a different reason.

“Alright,” a deep reptilian voice said from just behind Ma’zurah, and Ma’zurah felt hands under her armpits, lifting her to her feet. “Come on, get up.”

The remaining Argonian clasped his hand around her upper arm and led her through the back of the cave to the flooded tunnel. He stopped at the water’s edge. “Clean yourself up a bit. You'll feel better.”

Ma’zurah nodded gratefully and knelt to wash her hands and face.

“Sorry,” she said guiltily once she had finished scrubbing. The cold water had grounded her flying emotions into a hard but manageable lump, and her newly regained clear-headedness brought with it an awful awareness. These people had been literal slaves, and here she was the only one crying like a newborn kitten.

The Argonian looked at her with an indecipherable expression. Heat blossomed in her face despite the chilly dampness of her fur. Her emotions still felt like a tangle, and she could not find the words to adequately explain why she was apologizing. “Thanks,” she finally said instead.

The Argonian turned his head away. “Don’t mention it.”

Jasmine appeared behind her with the Suthay-raht just as the water rippled and the other Argonian surfaced.

“It’s a bit of a climb,” she told them in her odd rasping accent, “but it looks like there is a way out.

Jasmine nodded firmly. “Alright, gather what you want to take from here, and let’s go.”

Ma’zurah simply sat at the water’s edge and waited for the others. The roiling tangle of emotion in her gut made the prospect of looting the remaining crates totally unappealing, and besides, the others probably needed the things more. They could get new clothes at least.

The Argonian was right. It was a bit of a climb. Once they surfaced on the other side of the flooded tunnel, they had to climb a tall bank to get out of the water, and then up a steep tunnel that opened suddenly behind a cluster of stalactites into the cavern wall above and to the right of the fence that led to the freed slaves’ erstwhile cell. Once they made the drop down, they had only to walk over and open the gate that led to the cave entrance.

“Wait,” Ma’zurah said suddenly, remembering. “Your shackles--”

“We know,” said Jasmine quietly.

“The keys were probably buried,” one of the Argonians explained. Guilt shot through Ma'zurah. No one had cast any blame, but she still felt it.

“We’ll figure something out once we get out of here.” Jasmine gestured them through the gate. “We can go to my house. It’s not far.”

They went to Jasmine’s house. She retrieved a key from a flower pot and let them inside, and the five of them collapsed onto the plush rug in the middle of Jasmine’s floor, relieved and emotionally drained after their ordeal. There was a long moment of silence.

Jasmine got up abruptly and rummaged through her cupboards. She returned with half a loaf of bread and a knife, and served each of them slices.

Ma’zurah chewed hers in silence. As soon as Jasmine’s door had closed between her and the outside world, she had felt her grasp on her emotions slipping. She could feel the tears coming. She could not let the others see her cry again. She did not know what would be worse, having them ignore her or try to comfort her.

She stood up. “Ma’zurah needs to-- Ma’zurah has got to-- Be back.” She fled out the front door and into the little outhouse at the side of Jasmine’s house. She closed the door behind her and took one shaky breath before the tears came in full force and she was sobbing and shuddering. She sat down on the wooden outhouse seat, still in her damp clothing, and rode the wave of her emotions.

She felt bad. And once she felt bad about one thing, more reasons to feel bad flooded her. She could have died! She had not cast invisibility, and instead she had fought, and she could have died. She had never hurt anyone before, but this time she had fought and killed someone. Several someones, actually, but the rest were not nearly as personal as the first someone. They could have killed her, but instead she had their blood on her hands, figuratively and literally, though she did not think she felt nearly as bad about them being dead as she did about having to be the one to commit the act. That also made her feel bad. What was wrong with her that she was more upset about having clawed a woman’s throat out than about the woman being dead? She was no stranger to blood, but killing animals was nothing like killing people. And still, she felt less upset about having dropped a cave on top of a group of people than she did about the memory of warm blood beneath her claws. She should not feel like this!

And then there was the slavery. She had not thought about what slavery was really like before. It had always been an abstract concept that was far away and never affected her personally. To be confronted by the reality of it so suddenly was a shock, though she probably should have seen it coming. She just had not connected the Morrowind of Imperial rumor and speculation with the Morrowind she had been sent to. Was she in danger of being captured and sold? She supposed she was, especially since that seemed to be what had happened to Jasmine, and Jasmine was not even Khajiit! This province was dangerous. She did not feel safe!

Why had they sent her here? She did not want to be here! She did not know anything about this place. She did not even speak the language! She wanted to be back in the Imperial City studying magic and laughing with her friends. She was alone here. She did not have any friends in this strange land--no clan, not even the self-made clan she had gathered around herself after she had been exiled from Elsweyr, and after Dra’nassa had died. She had never been so alone in her life. It was terrifying.

The tears came harder. She felt so bad! The mental refrain felt like a wail.

And she could not leave! She could not leave after swearing an oath to the Blades, or she would be branded a traitor and hunted down and imprisoned for the rest of her life! It was a kind of slavery itself, whether she stayed or tried to leave. She had not done anything to deserve this kind of treatment! Whoever had picked her to join the Blades obviously did not know anything about her. She was the worst pick for that kind of job. They should have asked instead of forcing her to join. She did not want it! She just wanted to leave. But she could not, because they were coercing her, and she was scared. She was scared of being branded a traitor and hunted, she was scared of the Blades, and she was scared of Caius Cosades. Caius Cosades was not a nice man. She wished she never had to speak to him again. She wished she never had to speak to any of the Blades again, even Elone, who seemed nice, but could not be trusted because she was a Blade, and the Blades were not nice people.

She felt so bad. She felt so bad! She was alone in this province, no friends, no clan, no one who cared if she felt bad, and she could not leave, and she was angry and scared, and she felt so bad!

There was a knock on the outhouse door. “Ma’zurah?” Jasmine’s voice was muffled, but recognizable.

Ma’zurah sniffled and scrubbed at her face with the heel of her hand. The fur of her cheeks, already damp from the swim through the flooded tunnel, was soaked again. “Sorry, Ma’zurah will be out soon,” she managed to croak out. Her nose was stuffed up, and her eyes were sore and puffy.

“I brought you a change of clothes. I thought you might want something dry.”

Ma’zurah opened the door. Jasmine’s face fell at the sight of her. “Oh dear…”

Ma’zurah shook her head violently. “No no, Ma’zurah does not want to hear it. Jasmine has been through much worse.”

Jasmine drew her brows together. “It’s not a competition. What's wrong?"

Ma'zurah shook her head mutely. There was no way she was going to lay her troubles on someone who still wore the shackles of slavery. The Clan Mothers had not raised her to be a burden.

Jasmine clicked her tongue. "Well, it looks like a change of clothes isn't going to be enough. Come inside and I'll get you a towel. Baadargo is using my washtub right now, but you're welcome to bathe after him."

With guilt, Ma'zurah realized she had not asked for the names of any of the others. How self absorbed was she? Her emotions felt like they had been scraped raw, and tears welled in her eyes again.

Jasmine's eyes went wide. "Whoa, hey, it's alright! You're alright, okay?" Her hands fluttered around Ma'zurah's shoulders, but did not quite touch her.

Ma'zurah nodded agreement, but the tears would not go away. She contemplated retreating into the outhouse again, but she had already alarmed Jasmine enough. She needed a distraction.

"Tell Ma'zurah--" Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat and tried again. "Tell Ma'zurah how Jasmine got in that cave?"

Jasmine's shoulders slumped and she let out a long sigh. Alarmed at her suddenly morose expression, Ma'zurah made a placating gesture. "You do not have to--"

"No, it's-- You deserve to hear it after everything you did for me. Actually, I was meaning to thank you. If you hadn't come along…" Jasmine paused, eyes distant. "I was just trying not to think about it yet."

"Ma'zurah is sorry--"

Jasmine shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry about." Her shoulders straightened again. "In any case, there's no point standing around out here when we could be sitting inside. I'll find you a towel, and then I'll tell you the whole thing if you want."

Ma'zurah followed Jasmine inside, reluctant to show her face to the others, but unwilling to be rude to the woman who was trying to be nice to her.

As soon as they got inside, the pair of Argonians approached them. Ma'zurah tried to hide behind Jasmine without looking like she was doing so.

"You have been a most generous to host us," the deeper-voiced of the Argonians told Jasmine, making a complicated hand gesture.

“And a kind rescuer,” the second interjected, pointedly looking at Ma’zurah and making the same gesture. Ma'zurah's face felt too warm.

“And we wish to show our gratitude."

The pair of them exchanged glances, and the second one took up where the first had left off. "We have nothing we could offer as thanks, so we were thinking--"

The first one made eye contact with Jasmine. "If you are willing to lend us the use of your cooking fire--"

"And you are willing to wait for us to catch the fish before we cook them…" The second Argonian shoved an admonishing hand against the first's shoulder with a look that might have contained amusement, though Ma'zurah was no expert at reading Argonian expressions.

Jasmine blinked at the pair. "By all means, feel free," she told them, sounding surprised.

"Then we will be back with a feast!" the first Argonian declared, and the pair of them exited the house.

"At least they're happy," Jasmine said with a shake of her head. She crossed the room and searched her cabinets for a towel.

Ma’zurah stood in the doorway and took in the room for the first time. The house was small, probably only two rooms large; modest by Imperial standards, but clean. The room she was in held a kitchen in the Imperial style, a table, a fireplace, a writing desk, and a large bookshelf, but no bed, and no washtub. Ma’zurah could hear the sounds of splashing from the next room. She could even hear the Suthay-raht, Baadargo singing muffled snatches of song in what must have been the Dark Elf language, because it certainly was not Ta'agra. With a pang of loneliness, Ma’zurah realized she had not heard anyone speak Ta’agra since she got to Morrowind. She hugged her arms around her chest.

Jasmine returned with a fluffy towel, which she draped gently across Ma'zurah's shoulders, and led her out of the doorway. Ma’zurah followed her with a painful hope in her chest. Jasmine was being nice, friendly even, and Ma’zurah had been so alone. She desperately needed a friend. She felt like they had the spark of connection; maybe Jasmine could be the friend she needed.

Once Ma’zurah was dry and clothed in Jasmine's loaned dress, she found herself sitting next to Jasmine at the table as the woman began the story of how she had gotten caught.

"I've been working with my friend Elone to track the activity of smugglers along this section of the Bitter Coast--"

Ma'zurah had to interrupt. "Is Jasmine a Blade too?" she blurted out, dreading the answer. Blades could not be trusted, no matter how nice they were. She cringed, realizing what she had just said.

Jasmine gave her a puzzled and vaguely alarmed look. "No, I'm technically an independent contractor. Elone commissions me to help her when she gets assignments too big for one person or she's too busy to go out herself. But now I'd like to know how you know Elone is a Blade. Not many people know that."

Ma'zurah bit her lip. She had probably given away too much already. She had been raised by the Clan Mothers; she was supposed to know the value of keeping secrets. She knew it was expected of her as a Blade, but she just was not cut out for weaving the kind of elaborate subterfuge required of a spy. They should have asked her before dragging her into this mess. She felt bitter about the whole thing, and not a little rebellious. She was tired and lonely. She wanted to tell Jasmine. Besides, if Jasmine knew the truth about Elone, Cosades probably would not punish her for telling the truth about herself as well. Especially if he never found out.

"Ma'zurah is a Blade too now," she mumbled. She felt absurdly like she was telling a dirty secret, though she was not sure she could articulate why.

Jasmine opened her mouth, stopped, and closed it again. "I see," she said finally. Something in her expression became ever so slightly more closed off, as though she was watching her words in a way she had not been before. Maybe she was worried about getting Elone in trouble, or maybe she did not trust the Blades either. Maybe she thought Ma'zurah was like Cosades. The thought made Ma'zurah feel as though she could not breathe. She was filled with the sudden, desperate need to tell Jasmine the whole story; to distance herself from the Blades and prove she was not one of them, not really. She wanted to regain that small measure of trust that she had just lost. She was already so isolated, she did not want to lose this connection. She needed a friend so badly.

"You asked why Ma'zurah was upset," she began urgently, leaning closer to Jasmine.

"Yes?" Jasmine looked surprised at the change of subject.

"It is related."

The story came torrenting out: the illegal prostitution charges, the prison sentence, the inexplicable deportation, the package for Caius Cosades, the extortion. She told her about how she did not want to be a Blade, how she did not feel safe in Morrowind, and how she could not leave. She started crying again in the middle of it, and Jasmine put a hand on her knee. Ma'zurah hid her face in her damp towel, but kept talking until she got it all out.

"I'm sorry, that sounds awful," was Jasmine's quietly horrified response. Ma'zurah's gaze flicked to the magic suppressing slave bracer still locked around Jasmine's wrist and remembered her resolution not to be a burden. She could not bring herself to regret telling Jasmine though, because there was genuine sympathy in her eyes now instead of that quiet wariness. And Ma’zurah would not be a burden if this was a mutual exchange.

"Your turn," she said, sniffling. "You just got captured by slavers. Do you want to talk about it?"

Jasmine closed her eyes. "No, but I should."

She told Ma’zurah about how she had been scouting, and been caught snooping too close to the smugglers' cave. She had made a hasty retreat, and thought she had avoided being pursued, so she had gone home. She was on her way into town to report to Elone when she had been ambushed. She could have fought them off if one of them had not snuck up on her from behind.

"I was so scared…" Jasmine's voice was so small it was nearly a whisper. “They were going to sell me. Who knows what would have happened to me after that. They said I would be… valuable. Because of my looks. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life. Not even when--not ever.” She closed her eyes, and the tears that had been slowly welling in them finally spilled over. She swiped at them with her fingertips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“It is fine." Ma'zurah put a hand on Jasmine's knee. "It seems like a reasonable reaction.”

Jasmine shook her head and covered her face with her hands.

Baadargo chose that moment to open the door to the next room. He looked much better. His orange fur had been combed, and he was dressed in more than just rags. He took in the scene and his eyes gained a quality similar to those of a frozen deer. Ma’zurah tried to offer him a tremulous smile, but he retreated, closing the door behind him quietly.

“Sorry,” Jasmine repeated once her shoulders stopped shaking. She tried to wipe her face with her hands, and Ma’zurah offered a corner of her towel. Jasmine looked at it skeptically, and went to retrieve a washcloth instead.

“In the cave,” Jasmine continued after she had wiped her face and steadied her breath, “you asked me if I was Jasmine. How did you know who I was, and where to find me?”

“Elone asked Ma’zurah to check at Jasmine’s house to see if she was there. Ma’zurah found footprints leading from Jasmine’s house, and she followed them.”

“I see. Thank you. I can’t imagine what would have happened to me if you hadn’t done that.”

Ma’zurah nodded and opened her mouth to reply, but Jasmine had closed her eyes and was sitting very still. She looked like she was waiting, Ma’zurah thought, or listening.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s over.”

“It is,” Ma’zurah assured her. “They cannot sell you, or anyone now.”

Jasmine just shook her head. "The thought of going back out, scouting the Bitter Coast like before…" Jasmine took a shuddering breath. "I don't think I can do it. Not--not yet. Not for a while, maybe, and not by myself."

Ma'zurah nodded sympathetically.

"What are you doing after this?" Jasmine asked, turning her focus back to Ma'zurah with a suddenness that startled her.

"Er, Ma'zurah is doing jobs for the Balmora Mages Guild, she thinks. Why?"

"Do you think--" She stopped and tried a new tack. "You seem like you can take care of yourself."

Ma'zurah nodded slowly. She usually took care of herself by turning invisible when things became dangerous, but she supposed today's events proved she could take care of herself in other ways too. She was not sure where Jasmine was going with this.

"Do you think I could… travel with you for a while? Help you with jobs?" Jasmine's voice sounded hopeful, and her words tumbled out in a rush. "Only if you want the company. I wouldn't be a burden. I have a strong sword arm, and I'm good with a bow. I couldn't ask Elone for something like this, she can't leave the Bitter Coast right now, and I don't know anyone else well enough to be able to ask--"

"Yes!" Ma'zurah felt like she would burst. She would not be alone anymore! She threw her arms around Jasmine's shoulders. "Yes, of course! Ma'zurah would be glad to have your company."

Jasmine stiffened in surprise, then released a breath and returned Ma'zurah's embrace, smiling ruefully. "It will be good to get back on the road again."

Ma'zurah sat back and beamed at her.

"First things first. We have to take care of these." Jasmine tapped the bracer on her wrist. "I don't think it would be safe to ask a blacksmith or a locksmith for help, but I was thinking maybe we could get some scrolls. They might be expensive, but maybe Elone knows someone who--"

"Hold on." Ma'zurah's brow furrowed. The idea of scrolls pinged something in her recollection. "Ma'zurah has a thought. In theory, Ma'zurah knows a spell. She has never used it, but before Jasmine speaks of buying expensive scrolls, perhaps she would like Ma'zurah to try."

"Is it dangerous?"

Ma'zurah pursed her lips. "Not really. Definitely not if it is cast correctly."

Jasmine gave her a searching look and hesitantly proffered her arm.

It took two tries. The first time it failed outright, and Ma'zurah wished she had access to her notes far away at the Arcane University. The second time the lock came open with a muffled click.

“Thank you,” Jasmine breathed, rubbing her wrist and sounding supremely relieved. “I should--we should let the others know.” She rose and knocked on the door to the next room. “Baadargo?”

There was no answer.

Frowning, Jasmine opened the door.

The orange Khajiit was asleep on the floor, curled into a tight ball in the corner of the room.

He peeked an eye open at their approach. “This one can come out now?”

"Why are you on the floor?" Jasmine asked, bemused.

"Where else should this one be?"

"The bed?"

Baadargo looked over at the bed and Ma'zurah followed his gaze. It was a nice bed, with soft, clean blankets smoothed over the top, and not a wrinkle in sight.

"That is the bed of muthsera Jasmine, not Baadargo." The Khajiit's voice was plaintive. "This one did not want to mess it up."

Jasmine tisked, but let it drop.

“Show Ma’zurah Baadargo’s bracer please?” Ma'zurah asked, helping the Suthay-raht to his feet.

He held out his wrist and Ma’zurah opened the lock.

“Fantastic! Can this one learn to do such things?” Baadargo’s tone was wondering, as though Ma'zurah had handed him a precious gift and he could hardly believe it.

Jasmine laughed along with the joy on the Suthay-raht's face, but Ma’zurah gave his question serious consideration. “Does Baadargo have a talent for magic?”

Baadargo’s face fell slightly, though the joy remained. “This one does not know. This one has never had the bracer off long enough to find out before.”

“Never?” Jasmine asked, horrified.

“This one was born with it.”

Ma’zurah gaped at the Suthay-raht. Her mind boggled at the thought of being born into slavery. She could not imagine a life like that.

A look of concern had affixed itself to Jasmine’s face. “If you've never been free, do you have anywhere to go? Or anywhere you want to go?”

Baadargo nodded. “This one has heard rumors. They say the scaled ones in Ebonheart will help those who want to leave. Baadargo was going there.”

“Alright.” Jasmine glanced at Ma’zurah. “I guess that will be our first stop.”

Ma’zurah nodded.

Jasmine spent the next hour packing and preparing her house for her imminent absence. Ma’zurah laid the things in her bag out to dry, lamenting the water damage to her new maps, and then proceeded to sit at the kitchen table and attempt to teach Baadargo how to access his own well of magicka.

At some point the pair of Argonians returned with three large fish and a mudcrab, which they gleefully cooked. Ma’zurah demonstrated again the spell of opening, which prompted the Argonians to speak animatedly of their plans to return to the marshes of their homeland. Jasmine suggested they travel with Baadargo to look for assistance first, and to that end, the five of them hired two fishing boats from the outskirts of Seyda Neen to take them to Ebonheart directly, avoiding the main roads. Jasmine and Ma’zurah stopped to assure Elone that Jasmine was fine before they departed.

When they arrived at the fort, Jasmine had only to ask for “the Argonians” to be directed to the Argonian Embassy. They had barely taken two steps inside before they encountered a tall Argonian in an elegant robe, who quickly divined the situation and whisked the three former slaves away to a safe place.

Then it was just Ma’zurah and Jasmine. Ma’zurah gave Jasmine the details of her job for the Balmora Mages Guild, and the pair of them set off in the direction of Balmora. There was a lightness to Ma’zurah’s step that she had not felt since before she had been imprisoned in Cyrodiil.

Ma’zurah looked over at the Redguard walking beside her. She still missed the life she had lost, the life she could not go back to, but at least now she was not completely alone. Now she had a friend.

[mazurah]

OC Archetype Meme

The quiz can be found here for anyone who is interested.

Tagged by @thatoneshadyshop

Tel’s Archetypes: 

Ma’zurah’s Archetypes:

Calm Water’s Archetypes:

Linwe’s Archetypes: 

Bo’s Archetypes:

My Archetypes:

Now guess which characters I put the most of myself into.

[mazurah]

Ma’zurah in Watercolors

Ma’zurah has a dorky smile. I love it. Continuation of this series.

(Process)

[mazurah]

Ma’zurah Takes a Bath - ESO Screenshots

With bonus appearance by Fayrl, who belongs to @talldarkandroguesome

[mazurah]

Ma’zurah Loves to Dance - ESO Screenshots

[mazurah]

Ma’zurah the Khajiit

These are the ones I can’t stop staring at. My child has come to life. Series continued here.

(Process)

[mazurah]

Ma’zurah and Fayrl - ESO Screenshots

Fayrl belongs to @talldarkandroguesome

[mazurah]

Lost in Time Ch. 42: Paranoia - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Ma’zurah and Fayrl plan a murder and visit Morvunskar.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: T for canon typical violence.

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Lost in Time Chapter 42: Paranoia

They appeared behind the Bannered Mare in Whiterun. Ma'zurah blinked, adjusting her eyes to the sudden bright sunlight; it was a startling change from the deep cloudy shade of Witchmist Grove.

Fayrl shaded his eyes. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to that sensation.”

He turned and kissed Ma'zurah softly, then with more force. “It would be best if we cleaned the rings before we returned them. The stench and dried blood may raise some suspicions.”

Ma'zurah nodded in acknowledgement and closed her eyes, biting her lip and leaning forward in Fayrl’s arms, begging him with her body language for more kisses. It was barely midday and she was already so tired. Injuries and healing would both do that to a person, but his arms felt so nice around her.

Fayrl stroked Ma’zurah’s back, noting the look of fatigue upon her features. “Perhaps it is best if we find a place to rest first.”

He picked her up in his arms with a grin. “Let me transport you this time.”

“Ai! Fayrl! Ma'zurah can walk just fine on her own!” She rolled out of his arms with tail flailing and fished in her pack for a waterskin. “Here, wash the rings.”

Fayrl pouted. “You never let me have any fun.” He retrieved the rings and held them out to her.

Ma'zurah grinned at him and poured water over the gold bands in his hand. “Ma'zurah lets Fayrl have plenty of fun,” she told him in a suggestive tone.

“Well, we could always have more.” Fayrl glanced down and noticed the blood drying on the fabric of his velvet tunic. “By Azura’s arse! Can I not have a single garment free of blood for more than a day? Why, this tunic is absolutely ruined. I am going to have to purchase yet another outfit!”

He had bought new clothing in Windhelm, but he was trying to hold onto the newer outfits for a couple of days before dirtying them. Now he would have no choice but to wear them. Life with Ma’zurah in the fourth era was terribly hard on apparel. He grumbled under his breath and pulled his tunic over his head.

Ma'zurah burst out laughing. “Fayrl should wear his armor or start using that bow, and maybe Fayrl’s clothes would last longer!”

Fayrl frowned. “The armor is ridiculously hideous! I do not wish to be seen in it. I can make a fool of myself perfectly fine without looking like a jester.”

He folded his tunic neatly, setting it atop a water barrel against the side of the inn, and giving it a sorry look. “A shame. I think it was a good color on me.”

“Fayrl!” Ma'zurah huffed in exasperation. “Just wash the clothes! If Fayrl does not like the armor he can modify it to his taste! It has a resist frost enchantment on it. Fayrl should really wear it more. Does Fayrl really wish to die for fashion?”

“If one cannot live beautifully, is it really worth it?” Fayrl asked stubbornly. “I don’t think there is any way to modify that ugly pile of carcasses to ‘suit my tastes’. I really should trade it in and get something more decent looking. I’d rather be seen in a sack than that fur trimmed monstrosity!”

“Well if Fayrl dislikes fur so much,” Ma’zurah snipped, “Ma’zurah will just cover herself up completely for Fayrl, so he does not have to be seen with her tacky fur!”

Fayrl gave her a confused stare. “What would give you the ridiculous impression I do not like fur? The fur is the best part of that pile of shit! It is the only flair it could ever hope to achieve. It is the construction and overall appearance all together that is so terrible.”

Ma’zurah snickered. “Sometime Fayrl should get Ma’zurah to tell the story of the Spotted Dreugh and the most hideous set of armor that Ma’zurah has ever seen!” She began walking around to the front of the inn, gesturing for Fayrl to follow her.

Fayrl picked up his pack and walked after her. “You mean there is armor more hideous than that Nordic pile of buffoonery?” He laughed. “I should very much like to hear that story. Perhaps over a drink and a hot meal.”

“Ma’zurah thinks that sounds lovely. But perhaps Fayrl should trade a story of his own for Ma’zurah’s stories. One true tale for one true tale, fair?”

Fayrl laughed again. “I promise you the tall tales are far more entertaining and believable than the true stories.”

They rounded the corner into the market square. Ysolda spotted them immediately and began walking towards them with determination in her step.

As soon as he saw Ysolda, Fayrl smiled widely. He really did not want to deal with the woman again so soon.

“Well, have you got my coin or rings back?” asked Ysolda in a voice only vaguely masking her anxiety. “I think I have been more than fair in my patience. But I have a trade deal I wish to make with a caravan that’s due to come through soon and I cannot afford loose ends.”

“Yes, we just returned from retrieving the rings,” Ma’zurah replied. She gestured to Fayrl to give them to Ysolda.

Fayrl handed Ysolda the two gold bands, placing them in her hands.

Ysolda lifted them up and inspected them in turn, scrutinizing each ring carefully. “They appear to be as they were given to you.” She produced the ring Fayrl had given her as collateral. “I can see you appear to be in need of some clothes. Perhaps you would care to sell this heirloom so you might afford a shirt?”

Fayrl smiled at her, taking his ring back gently. “It is a very kind offer, but I am afraid that the ring is priceless to me. I have felt its absence deeply and do not wish to be parted again so soon after getting it back.”

Ysolda nodded. “Very well. Your loss.” She paused. “Look, for what it’s worth, I am sorry it didn't work out with you and your ladies. I know how excited you were for the wedding. You kept saying it would be a huge ceremony at Morvunskar. You said you even had some magic staff there that would handle all the guests. Maybe you two should think about one another instead of other people?"

Fayrl looked to Ma’zurah. “Perhaps,” he said.

Ma’zurah turned to Fayrl and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Ma’zurah does not know, does Fayrl think Ma’zurah is pretty?”

Fayrl turned his head, acting bashful. “I have always thought that,” he said. “Have I not said?”

Ysolda smiled. “I’ll leave you two to talk then.” She walked off with a soft giggle and a pleased expression.

Ma’zurah smiled after Ysolda then took a step closer to Fayrl. “No, Fayrl has not actually said,” she teased, “But Ma’zurah thinks Fayrl is very pretty.”

“How very careless of me then,” Fayrl said, turning back to her. “I think you are more than just pretty. You are beautiful, radiant as the moons and stars combined, dazzling as the sun’s glint off the ocean. What can mere words do to describe a beauty such as yours? They fall short in mastering the proper depth.”

Ma’zurah gave him an unimpressed stare. “Fayrl is teasing Ma’zurah.” She turned away to head for the inn, but paused upon hearing a distressed voice from the other end of the market.

“Mikael, I have told you for the last time! Leave! Me! Alone!”

Ma’zurah turned to look and spotted Mikael the bard leaning into a dark haired woman’s personal space next to a stall of vegetables. “You can’t fool me, Carlotta. I know you love the chase just as much as I love pursuing you. Your fiery temperament just makes the flames of my passion burn all the brighter for you.” He leaned forward as though to kiss the woman.

The woman slapped him across the face and stormed to the other side of her stall. The bard bit his lip with a devious expression, and turned to go back to the inn. “Mark my words, lovely Carlotta!” he called over his shoulder. “I will conquer you as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast!”

Fayrl’s eyes narrowed. He could not stand seeing that sort of behavior. He was not going to tolerate it. He still had the man’s lute--a perfect bargaining chip, and perhaps a way to win the man’s trust.

Warmth radiated from the Ebony Blade strapped to his side. He looked down at it. It felt as though it was smiling at him. “Are you thirsty?” he asked the blade.

The blade seemed to pulsate with energy like an excited child promised scrib jelly or a sweetroll.

“I will prepare the perfect meal for you then,” he promised it. He turned to Ma’zurah. “I have a new friend I should like to make before we leave.”

Ma’zurah nodded firmly, a look of disgust on her face as she watched the retreating bard’s form. “How can Ma’zurah help?” she asked in Dunmeris.

“How much would you like to lead a fool towards justice?” Fayrl asked in the same language, his hand lingering on the hilt of the Ebony Blade.

Ma’zurah glanced at the blade, then up at Fayrl’s face. “Ma’zurah will help however Fayrl thinks is best.”

Fayrl’s face lit up. “You will? Truly?” He felt himself growing excited at the prospect of them working together to dispatch the foul man.

“That man,” Ma’zurah nodded in the direction of the closing inn door, “is disgusting. Ma’zurah thinks Fayrl has picked a perfect target for the Lady’s task.” She pressed her lips together in anger.

“Well, I think the easiest way to get him to do as we wish is through seduction. Though, that may be asking a lot from you, my dear.”

Ma’zurah hesitated. “Is there another way that will also work?”

“If you allow me use of one of your dresses, I can take the lead. But a man like that has one very glaring weakness and I have every intention of using it to bring him to his knees and regret only too late the mistake he has made.” Fayrl did not wish to ask anything of Ma’zurah she was not willing to do. If need be, he would take care of it on his own.

Ma’zurah nodded. “Fayrl is free to use any of Ma’zurah’s belongings he pleases, even the Moon and Star if he is careful and explains why first.”

Fayrl was surprised by her offer. It was far more generous than he had expected. “I hope you will use my things as you need as well, though I would caution you against using anything in my hip satchel without asking. There are many purposefully mislabeled items in there and it can be a deadly game to simply use things without knowing exactly what they truly are.”

“Shall we get a room and find out where this Morvunskar place is first?”

Fayrl walked toward the door of the inn. “Oh, the fort? I know exactly where that is. Just south-west of Windhelm. Two, maybe three hours walk? But as for the bard, if we should be seen to retire for the evening and then be seen as other people entering the inn, I think it will keep us from being caught so long as we lure the fetcher away. But we can discuss that once we have a room.”

“Oh? Fayrl knows where this Morvunskar is?” Ma’zurah glanced at the sky. “It is only just midday now, we could go check it out and teleport back this evening. What does Fayrl think?”

Fayrl sighed dramatically. “And I so had my heart set on our very first act of treachery together. Alas, I suppose business before pleasure.”

Ma’zurah giggled. “Come along then, silly ketriit!” She held out her hand and led him back behind the inn to where they could teleport without being observed. She paused to allow him to put a shirt on, then held him close and cast the spell to take them to Windhelm.

---

They appeared a little ways down the road from the Windhelm stables and Ma’zurah took Fayrl’s hand and started down the road heading to the west.

Fayrl shook his head. He felt a slight chill and tightened the lacing on the front of his tunic. “I’m never going to get used to that.”

The silk tunic felt particularly thin for some reason. He must have been cheated on the quality. It had looked like it was fine, but perhaps after a millennium it was easier to make something cheaper look like it was nicer.

“So how shall we avoid the suspicion of the guards for this task of Fayrl’s?” Ma’zurah asked as they walked. “Ma’zurah would rather be able to return to Whiterun unimpeded, and she is not sure she is comfortable getting into any sexual situations with anyone not Fayrl.”

“Oh, well all of that is quite easy to accomplish,” said Fayrl, brightening at the discussion of murder. “So long as it is not us who are seen entering the tavern, there is no record of us not still being in our rooms. We may wish to refresh people’s memories on that point closer to the time of the murder, best to establish a proper alibi.”

Ma’zurah thought for a moment. “Well, we could teleport in already disguised. Nobody will know we are in the city to begin with, and we could teleport away before any suspicion arises.”

“Yes, perfect. We should.” Fayrl laughed and slipped his hands behind his back, rubbing them together, they felt cold. Fetching teleportation.

“So we enter in disguise,” he continued. “I shall be dressed as a lady of some means. We can use a veil and cloak for you not to be so readily spotted. You can simply remain mostly silent, laugh or whisper Dunmeris to me if you wish to speak. I will say you know little Cyrodillic. I can translate for you and make you seem all the more alluring for your mystery. A man like that does love himself exotic beauties and mysteries.” He gestured to himself.

Ma’zurah looked skeptical. “Unless Fayrl plans to dress Ma’zurah as a veiled Velothi Wise Woman with the thick cloth veils, it will be very difficult to disguise Ma’zurah’s Khajiiti nature.”

“Oh, you worry too much. There are plenty of ways to disguise someone. Why, I once passed as Ohmes for two months. I mean, it did involve having my skin dyed and my face painted daily, but if I can pass as Khajiit, you can pass as not.”

“Fayrl once disguised himself as Ohmes?” Ma’zurah’s face lit up. “Fayrl will have to tell Ma’zurah about it! But after we finish these plans. Please continue.”

“And I shall. Later. So, as soon as this so-called bard seems the most interested, I, your humble handmaiden, shall invite him to follow us out to where we are staying for a more… intimate gathering. We lure him away from where any might find us. Perhaps to the hall of the dead. A fitting place, don’t you think? I am sure a dirty minded fool like him will enjoy such things. And then we dispatch of him properly. I will do any of the work that is sexually required. I need to prepare him for my Lady after all, don’t I?” He laughed.

Ma’zurah looked concerned. “Fayrl really wants to touch such a despicable person? We could take him down before it becomes necessary. Perhaps Ma’zurah can teleport Fayrl someplace, and return and teleport the wafiit to Fayrl.”

Fayrl raised his hand. “No, I would prefer to refrain from teleporting when it is not necessary. Besides, I am well suited to such work. They may be disgusting scars upon the face of Nirn, but I do so love absorbing their essence. It makes the entire experience worth it. Plus, it is all the sweeter gift unto my Prince if it is in the middle of their reaching their pinnacle of desire.”

Ma’zurah cocked her head. “Absorbing their essence? Is this a ritual of Mafala?”

Fayrl looked surprised. “Do you not know? Have you not learned of the exchange of essence?”

“Khajiiti culture is very different from House Dunmer, and Ma’zurah was not with the Velothi long enough to learn all the secrets.” She cast him an apologetic look.

He waved a hand dismissively. “My apologies, I should not have assumed. You see, traditionally the fluids one exchanges during sex are imbued with your energy, your unique essence. They are a part of yourself that you offer to your partner. And by sleeping with these foul creatures, you can absorb their energy and make it your own. You can take their power and make it yours.”

Ma’zurah nodded. “That makes sense. It is not the Khajiiti way, but it makes sense. So for something like this, taking their fluids is stealing their essence, and for partners like us, it is sharing?”

Fayrl smiled. “Precisely!”

“Alright, but if we are to fulfil this task of Mafala’s to the fullest, we should get him to trust us completely before we take him down. Is it not true that the more he trusts you, the more the betrayal will energize the blade? Perhaps we can make him become indebted to us.” Ma’zurah gave Fayrl a devious smile.

Fayrl licked his lips at the look on Ma’zurah’s face. He was instantly turned on at the prospect of them sharing this task so thoroughly. “That is always the best and most fun way, yes. I did not expect you to be so excited to share in this revelry though. My apologies for underestimating your appetites.”

Ma’zurah gave a self deprecating smile and glanced down. “Ma’zurah has only ever killed in self defense or honorable duels. She never had a good reason to be an assassin. It is not a task Ma’zurah has a taste for. Anger is not a good reason to kill. Money is hardly a good reason either. She would not do it for anything less than the will of a god. Fayrl is the one that makes it exciting. Fayrl excites Ma’zurah.”

Fayrl took Ma’zurah’s hand in his and pulled her towards him. “If you keep up that sort of thing I am going to need to make a stop before we arrive at the fort.”

Ma’zurah grinned and groped Fayrl through his trousers. “Ma’zurah did say she would assist Fayrl in his prayers,” she whispered in his ear. Her tongue flicked out and caught the edge of his ear. “Why not now?”

---

Fayrl had thought the fort looked different from how he had remembered it when it first came into view in the distance. Yet the closer and closer they got to Morvunskar, the more it did not look like the fort he had been to so many times before.

Where were all of the tall walls? What had happened to all the buildings? It was not even half the size it had once been. Of course he had not expected to see Pact soldiers anymore, but he had assumed it would still have been in use. What had happened? There weren’t even sentries up.

They had said they were getting married here, were they not? What had happened to all the attendees?

“Hail and well met!” he called, in case anyone was around. Then immediately regretted it. What if they had been killed by bandits? He was being careless, unthinking.

Ma’zurah took in the crumbling walls of the fort, and glanced at Fayrl doubtfully. “This is it? It looks like a ruin. Why would we choose this place?”

A figure came in sight on the walls and a fireball flew in their direction. Ma’zurah hastily pulled Fayrl back down the path.

“Shit, sorry,” Fayrl whispered as they pulled back out of the line of fire. “Let me go around and take them out. I’ll be right back.” He made himself invisible and crept forward.

“Wait, Fayrl! Ma’zurah is coming too!” She cast a detect life spell, then cast invisibility on herself, following Fayrl back toward the ruined fort.

By the time they had come within a stone’s throw of the fort’s walls, two mages in dark robes had appeared to investigate their arrival. One had a significant lead on the other and had moved out of direct line of sight of the second behind a boulder as he searched the fort’s perimeter. The second was only just emerging from the gate. Fayrl smiled. He teleported forward, intent on appearing behind the first mage, only, something went wrong. Halfway between the mage and where he had been standing his teleportation failed, and his body turned visible again.

He didn’t have time to think. He rolled to the side and threw a dagger at the man’s face. It caught him in the cheek and he flailed, screaming, trying to get the blade out.

Fayrl dashed forward, drawing his sword. He slit the man’s throat in an attempt to silence him quickly, but it was too late. A swirling cloud of snow and ice came barreling towards him from the second mage. He jumped out of the way, pain stabbing into his head as he went. He cursed whatever had happened to prevent him from using his skills properly.

Ma’zurah gasped and ran forward, grabbing Fayrl’s shoulder and casting invisibility on him again to pull him into the shelter of the fort’s walls. “Shh! Do not move!” she hissed in his ear. More mages had appeared, and she didn't think it was wise to try to take them all on.

Fayrl nodded, and then regretted that too. His head was pounding. What could have caused such a reaction in him that did not also affect Ma’zurah?

As far as he could tell, the only thing they had done recently that he seemed to be feeling the effects of worse than she did was the teleportation. Perhaps it was not fully doing… well, something. He didn’t understand exactly how this magic worked--or any magic, really. He waited for Ma’zurah to signal the all-clear, giving himself the time to try and suppress the pain. It was temporary. He could control it, mind over matter.

The mages fired spells in the general vicinity of where Fayrl had disappeared and prowled the walls, searching for sign of them. Four of them retreated into a huddle in front of the gate into the fort. Ma’zurah took the opportunity to pull Fayrl back down the road to regroup. She stopped behind a large boulder, well out of earshot of the fort. “What happened back there?”

“It’s your fetching teleportation spell!” Fayrl snapped, more out of pain than true anger. “I got cold after the last one and it’s only gotten worse.”

Ma’zurah shook her head. “The teleportation spell Ma’zurah was performing has a safety mechanism built into the casting,” she explained. “The spell either works completely, or it fails completely. There is no in between, or else the spell would be too dangerous to attempt. It cannot be the teleportation. Was Fayrl poisoned?”

“Oh, great, poisoned again!” Fayrl huffed. “What is the fetching point of taking daily doses of poison if they aren’t going to fetching work? Probably some new-fangled poison from this era.” He grumbled and pawed through his satchel for a cure poison potion.

Ma’zurah cast a spell to cure the poison for him. “Any better?”

Fayrl did not truly feel any different. “Well… I think so.” He stood up, ignoring the headache that had not faded. It did not matter, they were here now and there was little that could be done. Best to push through for now. “I should be fine now to keep going.”

Ma’zurah cast a worried glance at Fayrl. “Shall we sneak up there and try again?”

“I think that’s for the best.” Fayrl started down the path. As soon as they drew near to the front gate, he called the shadows to him.

Immediately a splitting pain ran through his head as if someone was trying to cleave it in two with a dull and rusty axe. He ceased being invisible nearly as soon as he had managed to disappear. “B’vek!”

Ma’zurah glanced up at the walls warily and cast invisibility on both of them. She drew Fayrl back down the path. “What happened?” she asked again.

Fayrl growled. His head had not stopped hurting. “I don’t fetching know!” He was growing increasingly frustrated. He had never had any issue with his abilities before. Why should they be a problem now? And why so suddenly? “Are you feeling anything?”

Ma’zurah shook her head. “No, Ma’zurah feels fine… Is Fayrl in pain?”

“Of course you’re fetching fine,” he grumbled. “It’s always my place to be getting hurt and poisoned and the like. Cursed blood, cursed race. As if I don’t already bloody well know. Fetching Almsivi.”

“Ma'zurah is cursed too,” she reminded him. “Is Fayrl in pain?” She was not going to let this go.

Fayrl began creeping back toward the gate, not even appearing to have heard her.

Ma’zurah grabbed his hand. “Fayrl?”

Fayrl turned back. “Hmm?”

“Ma’zurah tried talking to you three times! What are you doing?”

“What?” Fayrl did not understand. “When?”

“Just now. Ma’zurah asked if you were in pain twice, and said your name a third time.”

“Are you jesting? I swear I did not hear a word. Are you sure you spoke aloud?” If she had spoken he would have heard her. His hearing was pretty good.

“Yes…” Ma’zurah said slowly. “Ma’zurah is worried. Are you sure you want to keep going right now? We can teleport back to a city and get some rest if you like.”

“No teleporting!” Fayrl roared. “I refuse to be party to that haphazard magic any further! I am in enough pain as it is!”

Four mages came running out the front gate in response to the sound of Fayrl’s shouting, all preparing spells in their hands. Ma’zurah shoved Fayrl behind her and cast a bubble ward around herself, stepping forward and beginning to cast a whirling ice storm between her hands. The mages were close together, she could use that. She snapped off the ice storm in their direction just as four fireballs ricocheted off her shield, knocking her backwards.

Fayrl watched as two of the mages took the full brunt of the spell and froze solid. The two on the outside managed to get out of the way. One of them ducked back behind the gate, while the other rushed towards Ma’zurah, volleying more fireballs towards her.

Fayrl ran forward, summoning thorns to subdue the oncoming mage. The thorns appeared then vanished, and the searing pain shot through his head again. Adrenaline took over and he pushed through the pain, brandishing his sword and dagger. He ran full force into the mage’s side.

A wave of fire slammed into him as he struck the mage. It actually hurt. He was Dunmer. Fire wasn't supposed to hurt. The two of them stumbled back, and Fayrl swept his blades sideways, lodging them into the chest and abdomen of his foe. He landed atop the mage, and staggered back to his feet. His body seemed to be lacking much of its usual strength. He tugged to remove his sword from his foe’s ribs, but it was stuck fast.

The final mage peeked out from behind the gate and shot a huge fireball at Ma’zurah just as she regained her feet. Her bubble shield blinked out of existence as the fireball bounced off of it, knocking Ma’zurah onto her tail again. She bared her teeth and hissed at her assailant, and sent a handful of ice razors in his direction, lacerating his face and chest. One razor caught him in the neck and he frantically started trying to heal himself. Ma’zurah rolled to her feet again.

Fayrl pulled out another dagger. He could swear it looked like his opponent was reaching out towards him, ready to cast another fireball. Fayrl stabbed him through the hand pinning it down into the ground with the most force he could muster. He took another couple of smaller daggers and started stabbing the man in the chest. “I won’t let you, fetcher!”

Ma’zurah regained her balance and began crystallizing an ice spike between her hands. She shot it towards the mage, catching him in the chest just as he finished healing himself and turned his attention back to her. The mage fell.

Ma’zurah shot a rapid glance at Fayrl. He seemed to have his assailant under control. She ran forward and examined the mage she had downed, ensuring he was dead before turning back to help Fayrl. She blinked in bewilderment at him. He was stabbing the dead mage under him repeatedly with a pair of small daggers. “Fayrl!” she called.

Fayrl did not stop. Every time he stabbed, the mage’s hands seemed to rise up again. Fayrl couldn’t allow the mage to get away with this, he wouldn’t let him hurt Ma’zurah. He refused to.

Ma’zurah cautiously approached Fayrl. “Fayrl, stop! He is dead!”

Fayrl turned at the sound of a voice, his daggers raised towards the approaching figure. “Stay back!”

Ma’zurah froze, startled. She had the creeping suspicion that something was very, very wrong; he did not even seem to recognize her. “Fayrl, it is just Ma’zurah.”

“Ma’zurah?” She came into focus. Fayrl breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s question this guy. He’s been fighting hard, but he might be useful.”

“Fayrl, he is dead.” Ma’zurah’s tail twitched nervously behind her.

“Dead?” Fayrl turned back to his opponent. He did not appear to be moving. “Damn! Looks like he finally went down. Ah well, let’s get going, shall we? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No… is Fayrl hurt?” Ma’zurah took a step forward cautiously, still unsure of the situation.

“Oh, you know me, a couple of scrapes and bruises perhaps, but I am perfectly fine, my dear.” He smiled and wiped his blades off before putting them away. “I could use some help getting my sword out of this s’wit’s chest though. I managed to get it in a bit deep to the bone.” He tugged on the hilt to demonstrate.

Ma’zurah nodded. She was still a bit nervous about his behavior, but at least he did not seem to be in danger of failing to recognize her anymore. She moved forward and pulled Fayrl’s sword from the mage’s chest with ease, handing it back gingerly. “How is Fayrl feeling? Is he still in pain like before?”

“Thank you, my dear.” Fayrl cleaned and sheathed his sword. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. A little pain’s good for the mind anyhow, right?” He checked that all his weapons were accounted for then began walking cautiously to the gate of the fort.

“Hold on!” Ma’zurah called. She rifled through the mage’s pockets and discovered a pair of petty soul gems and a small coinpurse. She tucked them into her own pockets and moved on to the other mages, discovering a total of three more small coinpurses, a minor magicka potion, and a lesser soul gem. She caught up to Fayrl.

“Is Fayrl sure he wants to keep going? Ma’zurah is very worried about Fayrl…”

Fayrl laughed. “Of course I am, my dear.” He gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. “Come on, I am sure there are plenty more vermin to exterminate inside as well.”

“Ai! Fayrl, wait!” Ma’zurah caught his wrist. “What are we doing here exactly? We were supposed to have a wedding ceremony here, right? And we wanted to find more information about Sam and that staff Fayrl won, but we do not know why there are mages here who attack us on sight. Those,” Ma’zurah gestured behind her at the dead mages, “were self defense, but barging in and killing them… what does that achieve?”

“They are hostile! Anyone who we may have brought here for our wedding must be inside. I am sure we will find ourselves with either guests or their captors. Or… perhaps worse. If there were five guarding outside, there are likely to be at least as many inside. We will just have to kill them all.” Fayrl’s tone was easy, as though he was talking about a preference regarding how he liked his meat cooked.

Ma’zurah’s brow furrowed and she shook her head. “Ma'zurah does not know who these guests might be, but better to try to sneak past and see if there are any hostages first before we try to take on an entire fort ourselves. Ma’zurah will cast invisibility and muffling on the both of us. Ma’zurah’s best invisibility spell lasts a long time, so it should not be a problem. Alright?” She squeezed his hand.

Fayrl squeezed back. “You worry far too much. We are unstoppable together. We’re blessed by the Three and you are the fetching Nerevarine! What can some puny mages do against all that? No, it will be easy. We shall paint the floor in their blood, retrieve our staff and go home. Well, we’ll help anyone who was captured. Though that hardly seems likely.”

Ma’zurah pressed her lips together. After Fayrl’s earlier display, she couldn’t afford to trust his ability to fight at the moment. She was not going to take any risks, or put him in any situations in which he might fail to recognize her. She was frustrated that he seemed insistent on continuing forward. “Ma’zurah did not stay alive as long as she has by being reckless. We will scout the place with invisibility first. Fayrl will not use any of his abilities; he will use blades only, and he will allow Ma’zurah to lead any attacks. He will not break the invisibility unless Ma’zurah breaks it first, and he will not let go of Ma’zurah’s hand. Does Fayrl understand?”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course,” Fayrl agreed. Ma’zurah was not giving him enough trust. What happened to all that guarshit about them being equal? Maybe she was trying to take advantage of him. What a perfect spot, out here where no one knew where they were. He would have to keep an eye on her.

Ma’zurah’s face softened. “Ma’zurah is just worried about Fayrl. He should not be in any pain at all. We will do this the smart way, and then we can get some rest.” She leaned in and kissed him, squeezing his hand again.

He smiled at her. “Alright, let’s go murder some evil mages.”

Ma’zurah gripped Fayrl’s hand tighter. “Fayrl… scouting first. No breaking invisibility.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my dear.”

Ma'zurah cast muffling on their feet, then cast invisibility, first on Fayrl, then on herself, and led him forward towards the front door of the keep.

Fayrl held onto her hand. As soon as he saw one of those fetchers, he didn’t care what Ma’zurah said, he was going to take them down. No one was going to keep their wedding party from their revenge.

Ma’zurah ducked into the front door. There was one mage in the entry hall, yawning and scratching his side, back toward them. Ma’zurah began leading Fayrl around the mage toward a door in the far wall on the left.

Fayrl dropped Ma’zurah’s hand and slipped around behind the mage. He covered the man’s mouth and slit his throat. The only noise escaping his lips sounded like a single sigh.

Fayrl smiled as he lay the body gently on the floor.

Ma’zurah cast a life detection spell as soon as Fayrl slipped out of her grip. She couldn’t prevent him from killing the mage without alerting anyone nearby, but as soon as he straightened, she slammed him against the far wall. “Fayrl! What! The! Fuck!” she hissed in his ear. “You just agreed not to break invisibility!”

Fayrl smiled as he was thrown against the wall. “So you show your true colors at last. Are you going to kill me now too?”

“ NO! ” she hissed emphatically. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Fayrl?! Did you lie to Ma’zurah when you agreed not to break invisibility?!”

Fayrl laughed. “I didn’t lie exactly… just, think of it as misleading the leader. Asserting your individuality from within the mass.”

“Fayrl, that was a blatant lie! Ma’zurah cannot believe what she is hearing! You promised!” She fished Fayrl’s amulet of Azura out from under her collar. “You promised to trust Ma’zurah’s judgement and always tell her the truth! You gave Ma’zurah this as a token of your sincerity! Was that a lie as well?!” Ma’zurah was furious and hurt and close to tears. She bared her teeth at Fayrl and shoved the amulet in front of his face.

Fayrl continued laughing. “It wasn’t. But it might as well be.” The pain in his head kept growing into a huge pressure that spread outward, searing the corners of his vision. “Goodbye, Ma’zurah.” He forced the shadows to come to him and pushed past Ma'zurah.

This time the invisibility stuck, though it felt like it took the entirety of his being to maintain it. Every step he took hurt like stepping in lava. His vision started to fade, but he kept willing it to stay. He was going to slip away from her and… and… his brain wouldn’t finish the thought. He had to concentrate on staying invisible. He could feel the shadows trying to abandon him.

Just a little further. Just a few more steps.

Everything went black.

End Notes:

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

[mazurah]

Lost in Time Ch. 38: Prejudice - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Fayrl and Ma’zurah arrive in Windhelm. Several disappointing things happen.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: T for fantastic racism.

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Lost in Time Chapter 38: Prejudice

They arrived at Windhelm mid-afternoon of the next day. It became noticeably cooler the farther north they went, but it was not the temperature Ma'zurah minded so much as the wind, which blew her fur in the wrong direction and dried out her nose. Though there was no snow on the ground and the local plants were in their summer bloom, the wind was biting and chill. Ma’zurah wrapped her face in her scarf and tucked her tail into her skirts.

As they approached the stables outside the main gate, they were greeted by a cheerful Altmer with a Cyrodiilic accent. “Hello there! Here about the stables? I’m Ulundil, stablemaster here. Fine horse you have there!”

Fayrl paused, mid dismount, bristling at the unexpected sight of the Altmer before them. “We are,” he replied with an uncharacteristic lack of warmth in his voice, “and thank you.” He held out a hand to assist Ma’zurah.

She took his hand and slid awkwardly out of the saddle, giving Ulundil a cheeky wave. “We need a place for our horse to stay for the night, possibly longer.”

Ulundil grinned and patted the horse’s nose. “Certainly! My rates are a flat fee of twenty five gold, plus an additional twenty five gold per night. That includes feed and grooming, and exercise on days when you will not be back for her.”

“Reasonable, I suppose,” Fayrl grumbled. “We accept. Would you like the first night up front or do you prefer the full bill settled at the end?”

“I usually take the flat fee up front, then settle the bill at the end, but you can pay up front if you like,” the Altmer told Fayrl amiably. “Does she have a name?”

Ma'zurah stroked the horse’s mane. “We only just got her. We have not named her yet. Perhaps Isharsha. She is a very sweet-tempered horse. A very good horse.”

“That is a lovely name!” the Altmer exclaimed. “I'm sure she will be a delight to care for.”

Fayrl rolled his eyes and dug through his coin purpose to retrieve the gold and handed it to Ulundil. “Thank you for looking after her.”

Who was this Altmer anyways, he thought. Where did he get off acting so friendly? As if they had time to name the horse. Maybe Fredas Delight would be a good name. They could name her just in time for it Turdas evening. He did not understand why Ma’zurah was being so nice either. The Altmer was just a stablehand.

Ulundil took the gold and pocketed it, then pulled a writing tablet from his apron to write them a receipt. “No, thank you.”

Ma'zurah grinned at him. “You know, you remind Ma'zurah of an Altmer she once knew on the Bitter Coast of Vvardenfell. He was a lovely mer named Arille, and he helped Ma'zurah get on her feet when she did not have much to offer. You seem like a nice person like that.”

“Aw! Why thank you! You seem like a nice person yourself! I'd love it if you wanted to stay and chat.”

“Oh!” Ma'zurah looked pleased, though taken aback by the invitation. “Perhaps when we return for our horse. We need to find a place to stay before it gets dark.”

“Oh my! You’re heading into the city? You might want to cover your face more and avoid the guards. Don't bother with Candlehearth Hall. The woman that runs the place doesn't seem to like anyone who isn't a Nord. Just be careful. Mer aren't always too kindly looked upon by the Nords around here, and beast races really aren't allowed inside the city.”

Fayrl tapped his foot. “Thank you for the information,” he said and held out his arm for Ma’zurah. He didn’t trust this mer. He was up to something. Why would he want them to stay longer? Was he fishing for information? It was just so suspicious. He did not like or trust this mer, not at all.

Ma’zurah took Fayrl’s arm, and wrapped her face more closely with her scarf. She waved at Ulundil and the pair walked down the long bridge to the gate of Windhelm.

“Why are you humoring his foul intentions?” grumbled Fayrl as they headed towards the gate. “He’s just a stablehand.”

“Foul… intentions?” Ma’zurah shot Fayrl a skeptical glance. “He was nice.”

“Too nice,” Fayrl muttered under his breath.

The main gate was a huge stone affair, adorned with the carved heads of birds of prey. As the pair approached, the bored guards waved them inside without taking a particularly close look at them.

Ma’zurah stopped as they passed through the open doors, taking in her first sight of the City of Kings. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but she hadn't expected it to be so… grey. There was hardly any plant life to be seen, and almost everything was made of the same grey stone. A sign in front of them declared the building directly ahead to be Candlehearth Hall.

Fayrl’s brow furrowed in confusion. There was an inn where the Mages Guild once stood. The Guild had been an apolitical organization devoted to learning and the preservation of knowledge. What could have happened to see it removed? His attention was momentarily taken by the thought.

A harsh, gravelly voice broke into the pair’s awareness. "You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!"

Ma’zurah glanced to her right and spotted two Nord men confronting a Dunmer lady. One of the Nords was dressed in rags, the other in rich clothing. Both of them were at least somewhat drunk. The Dunmer held up her hands towards them in a pacifying gesture. "But we haven't taken a side because it's not our fight."

The Nord in rags leaned toward his companion. "Hey, maybe the reason these grey-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"

The Dunmer looked incredulous. "Imperial spies? You can't be serious!"

The better dressed Nord grinned at the Dunmer maliciously. "Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are."

The Dunmer recoiled with a look of fear on her face. The two Nords turned and stumbled drunkenly towards the inn, snickering together.

Fayrl strode over to the woman. “Are you alright, sera?”

“Yes, thank you. Honestly, this is nothing new. Most of the Nords living in Windhelm don't care much for us, but Rolff is the worst by far.” She shook her head.

Ma’zurah walked up behind Fayrl and stood quietly, trying not to draw too much attention to herself.

“Rolff?” asked Fayrl. “Was he one of those two just now?” Fayrl already saw the two as his next gifts to his Prince. “The drunker one?”

“Yes. Rolff Stone-Fist. His brother is Ulfric’s housecarl, so he thinks he’s much more important than he really is. He likes to get drunk and walk around the Grey Quarter yelling insults at us in the small hours of the morning. A real charmer, that one. But where are my manners? I’m Suvaris. Suvaris Atheron. Might I ask your name, traveller?” The Dunmer smiled and held out her hand to Fayrl.

“I’m Fayrl, of House Alari.” He took her hand and bowed over it. “Such a shame that one who claims to be so high can act so common as a drunken beggar.”

He glanced around for potential eavesdroppers and leaned closer to Suvaris. “Why did those Nord accuse you of being a spy? Are there prying eyes around to be aware of?”

Suvaris sighed. "Some of these Nords will come up with any excuse to despise us. And it isn't just the Dunmer they hate--they make a target of the Argonians as well. In fact, just about anyone who isn't a Nord is fair game for their bullying. You really must be new here. Fresh off the boat from Morrowind I take it? Who is your friend there?” She gestured at Ma’zurah.

“Oh, how very rude of me.” Fayrl held out his hand for Ma’zurah. “This is my wife, Ma’zurah. She’s a bit shy around new people. Particularly here in Skyrim where everyone seems so willing to be rough. Indeed, we have only arrived in Skyrim not a week ago. I must say, I was here once before in my younger days, though it seems like it was two eras ago.” He laughed. “I suppose we stick out like a cliff strider at a coronation.”

Ma’zurah stepped forward, taking Fayrl’s hand and nodding to Suvaris.

Suvaris blinked. “Welcome to Skyrim then,” she said politely. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for a warmer welcome, you've come to the wrong city. Windhelm's a haven of prejudice and narrow thinking. But perhaps you would care to join me for a drink?"

“It would be my great pleasure to join a lady as eloquent and graceful as yourself. Would we not be honored, my dear?” Fayrl turned and smiled to Ma’zurah.

Ma’zurah grinned behind her scarf and nodded.

“Oh my!” Suvaris laughed. “Such a charmer! Well, if you’ll follow me, I’m afraid the only place we Dunmer are welcome in Windhelm is the Grey Quarter. This way.” She gestured and led them off to the right.

Fayrl did not like the sound of a “grey quarter”. It meant the city was segregated, something that disheartened him very much to hear. How badly had the Pact’s tenets fallen apart? How bad had things become?

Their path led downhill, and the road became progressively muddier the lower they went. They turned into a great chasm that appeared to have been carved into the bedrock of the city. The walls of the canyon were lined with precarious wooden bridges and structures and the doors of dwellings. The sun shone in at an angle as it sank lower, illuminating faded, tattered flags that fluttered across the narrow stretch of sky, proclaiming homage to saints in jagged Daedric script. Ragged and half naked Dunmer children shouted and played on the rickety stairs to shops and houses, and harried mothers with squalling babies strapped to their backs walked swiftly along the dirty streets.

Ma’zurah’s eyes grew wide as she took in the poverty of the Grey Quarter. She gripped Fayrl’s hand tighter. This was nothing like the clean, sunny streets of Whiterun or the maze-like stone stairways of Markarth. It was worse than the slums of southern Balmora, into which Ma'zurah had needed to venture to report to her superior officer in the Blades, Caius Cosades. It was worse even than the waterfront district of the Imperial City near which she had lived after leaving Elsweyr.

Fayrl’s heart sank as he saw just how terrible the conditions had become. He recalled how merry Windhelm used to be, Dunmer, Nord, and Argonian all drinking and dancing together during celebrations. Sure, there were occasionally those Nords who would shout insults of “Fancy man!” or “Grey face!”, but they were few and usually scolded if they made any kind of a scene.

This level of poverty was different; this was oppression. This was the way that the Dres had treated the Argonians after the formation of the Pact. To treat another group of people in such a way, as though they were animals, as though they were trash, it was abhorrent. Fayrl’s stomach turned. This was unforgivable.

Suvaris pointed ahead to a sign that read “New Gnisis Cornerclub”. “It’s just ahead, there. Probably the nicest place you can get a drink in Windhelm if you’re of the Merrish races.”

“Thank you,” said Fayrl. “You are so very kind to guide us.” He had to remind himself not to give any indication that he noticed the stench of foulness that lingered in the air.

The pair followed Suvaris up the stairs and into the cornerclub. The darkened interior smelled of smoke and Morrowind spices that made Ma’zurah’s heart ache for Vvardenfell. The sudden rush of recognition the familiar scents conjured within her nearly brought tears to her eyes. She gripped Fayrl’s arm hard and clung to his side.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The place was worn, but clean. There was a long bar with a Dunmer barkeeper, and several Dunmer patrons scattered at tables around the room speaking in low voices in Dunmeris.

"Welcome newcomers,” the barkeeper called as they entered. “Welcome, Suvaris. Have a seat, there should be plenty of space."

Fayrl smiled at the man. “Thank you, my good mer.” He turned back to their host. “This is quite a nice establishment. Thank you for recommending it. Do they serve proper drinks here as well?”

“They get imports from Solstheim, but those are more expensive than the local brews.” Suvaris seated herself at a table on the left side of the room near the bar. “You can get a proper sujamma if you like though.”

“A sujamma would be lovely,” said Fayrl. “Haven’t had one since I left Morrowind. It feels like so long ago and far away.”

Ma’zurah sat down and unwound her scarf from around her head. Suvaris blinked at her. “I wondered if your name sounded Khajiit! Well, you won’t get any trouble in the Grey Quarter unless that wretch Rolff shows up again. Nobody has any desire to bring the guard down here.”

“Ah, yes,” interjected Fayrl, “we thought it best if we did not bring attention to that fact where the guard is about. These Nord guards seem to take issue with everyone except their own kind.”

Ma’zurah grinned. “Ma’zurah will take any sweet wines they have here, please.”

“Ambarys!” Suvaris called to the barkeeper. “Bring a couple of sujammas and a sweet wine if you would be so kind!”

“Coming right up!” the barkeeper responded and moved to bring them their drinks.

“So,” began Suvaris, “What brings you to Windhelm?”

“Oh, we are just passing through on our way to Winterhold,” said Fayrl. “But that is hardly important. Tell me more about yourself, Suvaris. I am quite curious why it is you remain here if the treatment by the locals is so terrible. Could you not find a safer haven elsewhere?”

“Well I personally stay because I managed to get a good job with the East Empire Company’s major competitor in the area, Shatter-Shield Shipping. Torbjorn Shatter-Shield wants the shipping operations to bring in cash, and I make it happen. I get paid quite well for it, too.”

The barkeeper came by with their drinks. "Don't you ever find it demeaning, working for that Nord family?" he asked Suvaris as he set the drinks down on the table.

"Look, Ambarys,” Suvaris snapped, “I just came here for a drink. I don't need a lecture."

"Fine, then,” the barkeeper said with a snide sniff. “I guess some Dunmer are content to be the Nords’ pets.”

Suvaris put a warning hand on the other Dunmer’s arm. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, and you're going to leave me alone. Deal?"

Ambarys rolled his eyes and walked back to the bar.

Fayrl shared a glance with Ma’zurah, before turning back to Suvaris with an amused smile. “Seems like everyone here is like one big family; everyone worried about everyone else’s business.”

Suvaris laughed. “Sounds accurate. But where was I? Oh yes, why people stay. Basically, after the Red Year, there were so many refugees with nowhere to go that the Jarl ‘gifted’ us the entire Grey Quarter. It’s been nearly two hundred years, and for most of us, it’s our home now. Would you want to leave your home, sera?”

"Things have been a lot worse around here since Ulfric took over,” Ambarys called from his place behind the bar. “His father was much more concerned about the wellbeing of all the people instead of the accumulation of power.” He wiped the bar with a tattered cloth, obviously bored and listening in on their conversation.

“Ambarys….” Suvaris said in a tired voice.

“Right, sorry. I’m going.” The mer moved further down the bar and struck up a conversation in Dunmeris with another Dunmer.

“Is that so? Hmm.” Fayrl paused in thought, wondering. They had met this man, Ulfric, being taken to Helgen just before the Dragon attack. He wondered if Ulfric had returned to his city or gone into hiding.

“I am sure it is none of my business,” he began, “but perhaps if an outsider were to voice concerns, the Jarl might listen better. I wonder, is it easy to get an audience to speak with him? I think I might be able to explain the situation quite well.”

“Well, I doubt you would be able to get an audience with Ulfric himself,” Suvaris said thoughtfully. “He hasn’t held any public audiences since he started this whole civil war. You might be able to request an audience with his steward, but I doubt it. I’m sure I appreciate the gesture though.”

“Of course,” Fayrl said. “I was a diplomat back in Morrowind, so I try to do my best by my people. When my House heard there was trouble in Skyrim, of course the first thought I had was of our kin in the north. Tell me, how has this war affected life for our people here? And when did you first notice the changes? Was it just before the war? Surely there were signs of change in the air.”

Suvaris frowned in thought. “Well, there was restlessness for years, ever since the end of the Great War and the signing of the White Gold Concordat. The banning of Talos wasn’t really too much of a problem among most of the Nords at first. Talos isn’t in the traditional Nordic pantheon, so it wasn’t a problem until Ulfric escaped from the Thalmor shortly after his father’s death. He had to write his father’s eulogy from prison, you know. Once he took power he started making speeches about not letting the Thalmor dictate who the Nords could and could not worship. He never really got into the whole governance part of the Jarlship, he just went straight to fighting the Concordat. The Dunmer got treated worse the more Ulfric talked about ‘throwing off the shackles of the elves’ or whatever his nonsense was, but it didn’t get really bad until Ulfric marched into the Blue Palace in Solitude and Shouted High King Torygg to death.”

“Oh, I see,” said Fayrl gravely. “Yes, this is a very serious matter indeed. It may be even more serious than my superiors believe.”

Ma’zurah leaned forward and put her wine back on the table. “Wait, he Shouted the king to death? He cannot be Dragonborn… Ulfric is… a Tongue? Like the old stories from Resdayn?”

“Oh! Yes, didn’t you know?” Suvaris looked startled. “He was sent to study with the Greybeards at a very young age, and he was going to be a Greybeard, but he apparently ran away to fight in the Great War and abandoned his apprenticeship.”

Fayrl glanced at Ma'zurah, worried. The mention of Ulfric having some of the same powers as Ma’zurah and having been taught by the same group that had summoned her would likely cause her some stress; and what with her being Nerevarine, hearing about a Jarl engaging in such activities would likely not sit well with her either.

“My dear and luminous host,” he addressed Suvaris, “might we beg one final favor from you?”

Suvaris raised an eyebrow. “Possibly, what do you need?”

“In light of the current animosity towards our kin in the city, would you recommend a place for the both of us to stay? I assume the inn at the front gate would be ill-advisable. Is there anywhere a bit more… accommodating to our kind?”

“Well Ambarys does have beds for rent, but they aren’t exactly private. I agree though, I doubt you would be able to get a room at Candlehearth Hall, and your wife most certainly wouldn’t. Ambarys!”

“Yes, Suvaris?” Ambarys slid down the bar, smirking.

“You have any spare beds for these two?”

Ambarys gave the pair an evaluative look. “I’ve got a couple bunks available so long as you don’t mind bedding down in a roomful of grumpy Dunmer.”

“Well there you are,” Suvaris said turning back to Fayrl. “Ambarys doesn’t have enough room to run a proper inn, so he has what is basically a bunkhouse here instead.”

“If you want the beds I can show you which ones are available now,” Ambarys offered.

“And I should get going.” Suvaris gave Fayrl an apologetic look. “I have an evening shift today.” She finished her drink in one long draught.

“Thank you so much,” said Fayrl earnestly. “You have been beyond helpful. I shall strive to do what I can to seek a solution to the plight of our people and other groups within the city.” He raised his glass and nodded his thanks, then turned to Ambarys. “My good mer, we would be most grateful if you had some room for us.”

“It was lovely meeting you!” Ma’zurah told Suvaris. Suvaris smiled and passed Ambarys some coins for the drinks. She waved and walked out the front door.

Ma’zurah finished her wine and stood. “Alright, where are these bunks?” she asked Ambarys.

“Right this way, seras.” Ambarys motioned them toward a door in the back wall.

Fayrl rose to follow Ambarys and held out his arm for Ma’zurah. “Shall we?”

Ma’zurah smiled at Fayrl and shouldered her pack. She took Fayrl’s arm and followed Ambarys up a dark stairwell to the second floor of the building. Ambarys motioned the open doorway to the next room, which contained two rows of bunks. “There you are! The last two bunks in the far corner on the right should be free for your use. Feel free to use them at your convenience, just try to stay quiet after dark. The cost is ten gold a night for the both of you.”

Ma’zurah sniffed the air. “You do not have skooma addicts sleeping here, do you?”

Ambarys’ brow furrowed. “I should hope not. I can’t stand the stuff.”

Fayrl placed a hand on Ma’zurah’s arm. “Come, my love, it is not polite to accuse people of such things.”

He turned to Ambarys. “Thank you so much for the beds. I do not know what we would have done without your kindness. Shall we pay you now or in the morning for our beds?”

“Ai, sorry!” Ma'zurah interjected. “Ma’zurah is not accusing. She could just swear she smells…” She trailed off and turned in a circle sniffing. She walked in a slow spiral that ended under the stairs that led to the third floor. “Ziss, Ma’zurah knew it!”

Ambarys scowled and walked over to her. His mouth dropped open when Ma’zurah pointed to a small bottle partially obscured behind some storage crates. The bottle had fallen on its side and a large drop of whatever substance it contained hung from its imperfectly sealed cap. Ambarys broke into an impressive string of invectives in multiple languages. “Where in Boethiah’s bollocks did this come from?” he asked when his cursing slowed. “Who put--why would--n’chow!” His eyes widened. “This has to be a plant! Oh gods, they’re going to call the guard and put me out of business!”

Fayrl watched the scene with passive curiosity. “Has someone been trying to have your business shut down, my friend? Who might do such a heinous act to a good and proper business owner?”

“Gods! I don’t know! The Nords maybe? I have to get rid of it before whoever it is calls the guard down here!” Ambarys gripped at his hair. “What to do, what to do?! Going to have to take the blighted thing down to the docks and throw it in the fetching river!”

“Good!” Ma’zurah said emphatically. “Skooma is an abomination to the gods! Ma’zurah cannot stand it!”

Fayrl gave Ma’zurah a pointed look to let her know that she was not helping.

“Allow us to take the bottle out of your establishment,” he offered Ambarys. “If we are caught it will not confirm any suspicions from anyone. It is the least we can do for your having helped us out with a space to sleep. I would not look forward to having to beg Nords for a pile of rotting straw. Please, allow us.”

Ambarys stared at Fayrl. “I… you know what? Just take the damned stuff. Just don’t come back with it and I’ll be happy.”

Fayrl bowed. “It will be our pleasure.” He stashed the bottle away in his bag. “We shall get rid of this and return to you.” He held out his arm for Ma’zurah. “Shall we go and take care of this, my dear? I know the perfect spot to dispose of it.”

Ma’zurah pressed her lips together, wrapped her face in her scarf again, and took Fayrl’s hand, following him back down the stairs and out into the street.

End Notes:

Velothi Translation: Isharsha = Silky One

The Velothi language is a conlang being developed by the wonderful @chameleonspell​. You should read their writing!

Context: Julan used to call Ma’zurah Isharsha in his native language. She’s considering naming their horse that because she misses him and it’s nice to have a reminder of him. Plus, their horse is very silky. Look:

If you haven't seen it yet, there's new art of Ma'zurah and Fayrl here, here, here, and here.

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

[mazurah]

Lost in Time Ch. 28: Consequence - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Ma’zurah attempts to grapple with the moral consequences of spontaneous dungeon crawls, and Fayrl avoids responsibility.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: T for difficult moral consequences and the aftermath of child abuse.

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Lost in Time Chapter 28: Consequence

There was much clamor as the small party came within sight of Karthwasten. Fjotra became more talkative as they got closer to her home, pointing out places she was familiar with, and speaking excitedly of her reunion with her parents. The two younger children seemed very interested in Fjotra’s stories about the landscape as they approached the town, but Morva still seemed lost in thought as they walked.

When the little party was spotted on the edge of the small town, a blonde man and brown haired woman came running and enveloped Fjotra in a relieved embrace.

Fayrl was glad they had found a way to convince the children to travel with them without hostility, though he still feared what would happen when they got to Karthwasten. He had already been stabbed by one of the children so far today. He did not want any repeat performances. And then there was the matter of what to do with the children; if they heard even a single word about an orphanage, it would be only too obvious what part he and Ma’zurah had played.

He was exhausted. He wanted to sleep. Maybe for an entire day. It was only early afternoon, but he already longed for the comfort of the bed he and Ma’zurah had shared the night before.

Fjotra’s parents ushered her away, and Ainethach came out to greet them. Ma’zurah took him to the side and explained the situation to him in a low voice. He agreed to keep the children until the Jarl could send an escort to take them to the orphanage in Riften. Ma’zurah gave him the money she had found in the fortress to pay for their stay, and Ainethach led the group into his house to serve them a late midday meal.

Morva glanced anxiously at Ma’zurah, clearly waiting for Ma’zurah to speak. Ma’zurah could feel the girl’s eyes boring into her even as they sat down to eat.

As soon as they had all situated themselves at Ainethach’s kitchen table, Fayrl turned to their host with a smile. “Do you have anything to wash this down with, my good man? Something of the headier variety, perhaps?”

“I’ve got plenty of mead if that’s what you mean,” offered Ainethach, “but I tend to keep the stronger stuff for special occasions. Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking yet?”

“Oh, mead will do just fine,” said Fayrl dismissively. “You’ll join me, won’t you? I think in light of our reunion of Fjotra with her parents, a little celebration is called for.”

Ainethach barked an amiable laugh and walked to a cabinet on the far side of the room.

Ma’zurah began slicing the children cold cuts of roasted goat and ladled them newly warmed leftover cabbage and potato soup. She offered a bowl to Fayrl. “How long until the boy wakes up?” she asked him in quiet Dunmeris, glancing toward the open doorway to the next room, and the bed in which they had laid the boy.

“About another ten to twenty minutes and he will start to come out of it,” Fayrl responded in the same language, accepting the proffered bowl. “It may take him a while to be fully up though. That stuff makes you pretty woozy.”

“We should probably bring in some other adults for when he wakes then. We shall have to inform them of their situation somehow. Do you have any suggestions?”

Fayrl tried to keep his expression and voice as neutral as possible. “They are going to all react badly to that. We don’t even know how many more knives they have on them.”

“That is why we bring in more adults. Ma’zurah thinks that perhaps we should just tell the oldest that their parents are all truly dead and gone and ask her how to handle the others. She seems the most mature. Or perhaps we should have one of the adults here tell her. She may not wish to see us afterward.”

“Would you want to see the people who killed your parents, your friends parents, and everyone you lived with? They are going to feel betrayed! Better to lie to them. Make them swallow an easier version of things. I don’t think we should let them know. They know what we look like. How many more children need to grow up looking for blood to spill?” He stood up anxiously and walked to Ainethach’s side, accepting the man’s freshly poured mug of mead.

Ma’zurah sighed. “Ma’zurah is not planning to tell them that we killed them, but they do need to have the clean ending that the knowledge that their parents are truly gone brings. Ma’zurah may not have ever had any parents of her own, but she knows what it is like for those who wait in uncertainty for those they have lost. Some of her friends in Elsweyr lost their parents in one of the great storms from the sea, and never knew whether they would return. They never did. Ma’zurah does not wish that kind of agonizing false hope on anyone.”

Fayrl drained his mug of mead in one long pull and refilled it again from the bottle on the counter, topping off Ainethach’s mug in the process. “A toast!” he called in Cyrodiilic common. “To our success!” He raised his mug.

Tyran grinned and lifted his small pewter mug of goat’s milk so fast he spilled a great deal of it on himself, the table, and Petra next to him.

“Hey!” cried Petra, wiping the spilled milk on her arm onto Tyran’s clothes.

Morva continued to stare at Ma’zurah.

Ainethach laughed and retrieved a cloth for the children before lifting his own mug in Fayrl’s direction. “And very happy we all are that you succeeded!”

Ma’zurah glared at Fayrl as she helped to clean up the spilled milk. “Stop that! You are acting like a little s’wit and not helping matters,” she complained to Fayrl in Dunmeris. “Help Ma’zurah figure out what to do! Ma’zurah would like to bring in more adults before the boy wakes up at least! You may have to keep the children distracted while Ma’zurah and anyone else talks to the oldest.”

Fayrl smiled at Ainethach and nudged him to continue drinking. “Not gonna let a Dunmer outdrink you, are you?” he said, and tipped his mug back. He shot a taunting wink in Ma’zurah’s direction, drained his mug, slamming it down onto the table, and reached for the bottle again. “I don’t want any part of that,” he told Ma’zurah in cheerful in Dunmeris. “I can help keep the children calm, but I will not be involved in the rest. I’ll not ask to have a target drawn on my back.”

Ainethach glanced awkwardly between Fayrl and Ma’zurah, obviously uncertain how to react to their incomprehensible conversation.

Tyran chugged his milk and slammed the mug on the table in imitation of Fayrl, nearly hitting Petra’s soup bowl.

“Watch it! You’re gonna make me mad,” Petra warned, pulling her soup away from him.

Morva continued to stare at Ma’zurah as she reluctantly ate her soup.

Fayrl reached into the satchel at his hip and pulled out a small box. He unwrapped a small paper packet and tipped the contents, a fine pale power, into his own bowl. He stirred it in and began to eat.

Ma’zurah stopped and stared at Fayrl. “Is that moon sugar? Are you high?! Gods dammit Fayrl! Moon sugar is not for Men and Mer!”

Fayrl grinned at her. “It is not. It’s my daily dose of medicine. Though, you are free to have some if you want, I would suggest starting with a third the dose. Otherwise you will have to use your magic and undo all the lovely effects.”

Ma’zurah stared at Fayrl in incomprehension, then threw up her hands in frustration. She stood and gestured for Ainethach to join her in the next room.

Fayrl decided to teach the children a clean version of a popular tavern song. Tyran and Petra were much more interested in learning the words than Morva was. Fayrl watched as Morva rose and walked to the door to the next room in an attempt to overhear Ma’zurah’s conversation. He teleported against the wall beside her, then leaned down and sang directly to her. “C’mon, join the fun!” She scowled at him and made her way back to her seat.

Ma’zurah briefed Ainethach on the delicate situation of the children’s parents and their potential volatility. Ainethach nodded gravely at her request to bring in more adults, and left to find anyone who was willing to help. Ma’zurah returned to the main room after checking on the unconscious boy.

“The boy should be awake soon,” she announced as she resumed her seat.

Morva was immediately at her side. “Does this mean you’re going to contact our parents now?”

Fayrl picked up his mug and took a long pull.

“Ma’zurah can do that, but the ritual takes preparation. Have you eaten enough yet?” Ma’zurah began slicing herself more roast goat.

Morva crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you mean eating? Or is there something else you have to do? You’ve been refusing to answer all my questions until we got here and you still won’t answer them! Something is up and I don’t trust you.”

Fayrl reached across the table and pulled the bottle of mead to him just as Ainethach returned to the room with Lash and Enmon, Fjotra’s father.

Ma’zurah sighed and hastily ate her slice of meat before standing and walking to the group of adults. “Alright Morva, come into the next room.” She held open the door for the girl.

Morva followed, looking nervous, obviously concerned by the sudden appearance of more people. Ainethach, Lash, and Enmon filed into the room after her and shut the door.

Fayrl did not even want to be in the same house while this conversation took place, but Ma’zurah had left him alone with the other children. He just hoped he would not have to be here long. Things were going to get bad, he just knew it. “Shall we try the song all together once more?”

Petra and Tyran nodded enthusiastically and began to sing together.

---

Ma’zurah sat down at a small table and pulled out a chair for Morva. The other three adults all located seats for themselves and Ma’zurah leaned towards Morva with a small smile.

“Alright,” Ma’zurah began, “Ma’zurah is talking to you because she thinks you are mature enough to handle being treated as a rational adult, and deserve to be able to make decisions about your future. She will answer your questions now.”

Morva looked around at the people in the room. “What are--” she stopped and looked between Lash and Ma’zurah. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No!” Ma’zurah looked startled. “Ma’zurah promised, did she not? No one will hurt you or the others as long as Ma’zurah can prevent it. Why would we hurt you?”

Morva’s eyes darted from one unfamiliar face to another like a cornered animal. “I don’t know. You brought me here. What do you want with us? Where are our parents?”

Ainethach leaned forward and gave the girl a grave look. “You were brought here because your parents are no longer living.”

Ma’zurah shot the man an anxious glance. Morva gasped and stood up, knocking the chair over and backing towards the door.

“That is why Ma’zurah says she thinks you should be allowed to make decisions about your own future.” Ma’zurah held out her hands in a soothing gesture. “As far as Ma’zurah knows, the only option available for the younger ones is to be sent to a place in Riften that will care for them, but you are nearly of age, and you may have other options if you would like. You could dedicate yourself to a temple, for example. Ma’zurah hears there is a temple of Mara in Riften.”

Morva glared at Ma’zurah. “You… you lied to us! You knew all along!”

“Ma’zurah did not lie,” Ma’zurah explained. “She is a mystic. She does know a ritual which might allow you to speak to the spirits of your parents.”

Ainethach cast a sharp glance at Ma’zurah. “Normally I would be against such things, but these are unusual circumstances. I am still not convinced it is a wise decision though.”

Morva looked like she was ready to bolt from the room. “That’s not right! No, they can’t be dead! How do you know? Did you look for them?”

Ainethach stood and blocked Morva’s path to the door. “Sit down girl. You’ll alarm the other children.”

Ma’zurah grimaced and wrung her hands. “Yes, Ma’zurah is sure. Everyone else in the fortress was dead. Ma’zurah is sorry, Morva. It may be that your parents will have some guiding words for you if you would like Ma’zurah to try the ritual.”

“No!” cried Morva, angry tears welling up in her eyes. “It can’t be! You must have done something to them.”

Enmon spoke up suddenly. “Us? Done something to them? They attacked us! Girl, your parents were Forsworn! They attacked people! They stole and murdered and put shame to the honor of all Reachmen! They terrorized the countryside!”

“Enmon, be quiet, you’re scaring the girl.” Ainethach crossed his arms at the man from his position in front of the door.

“With all due respect, sir, those Forsworn attacked our town, kidnapped my daughter, and murdered Belchimac. We are under no obligation to care for their brats now that they have met justice.”

“I have already agreed to care for them until an escort to Riften arrives. You aren't helping matters here by your outburst. If you can't be quiet, then you’re dismissed.”

Enmon pressed his lips together.

---

Both children grew bored with the music after the fifth repetition.

“I want a sweets!” cried Tyran.

“I want Morva,” said Petra.

‘I want a drink,’ thought Fayrl.

“Well, shall we see what Ainethach has in his cupboards?” Fayrl prompted. “We might find any matter of things in there.”

“Like sweets?” asked Tyran.

“We just might,” said Fayrl.

“I want Morva,” said Petra.

“I know. But she is talking with Ma’zurah. She’ll be back soon though. Maybe you can find something she would like in the cupboard.”

Fayrl and Petra opened up their cabinets and carefully looked through them. Tyran crawled into the one he opened and started to count things he found aloud.

---

Morva was beginning to hyperventilate, overwhelmed by the monumental news of her situation.

“Hey, hey! You will be alright.” Ma'zurah stood and reached out to rub small soothing circles on the girl’s back. “Take slow breaths and count backwards from ten.”

Morva, flinched at the touch, but did not pull away entirely.

Enmon stood up and walked out the door.

As soon as he walked into the main room he saw the children digging through cabinets “Hey! What do you think you’re doing! Get out of there!”

Fayrl stood back from the cabinets and looked at Enmon.

“They are looking for a golden bird,” said Fayrl as if the man was simple.

“Or a sweets!” said Tyran, poking his head out of the open cabinet door.

“You heard the boy. Or a sweets,” said Fayrl.

“What in Oblivion is wrong with you?!” Enmon barked. “That’s not yours! Get out, now!”

Fayrl walked up to the man and looked him in the eye. “These children have been through enough. You don’t need to yell at them. I suggest you calm down.” Fayrl infused his voice with the persuasive power of his birth gift.

Enmon sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I'm not yelling at them. They’re here on charity. It’s your responsibility to make sure they don't cause trouble. So get them out of there. Besides, my daughter has been through more than enough trauma because of these children’s parents.”

Fayrl crossed his arms. “I would have thought a father such as yourself would understand better that the actions of a parent do not necessarily reflect on their children; that perhaps you might have sympathy for the emotions of children, their innocence.”

Fayrl motioned for the children to join him. “They are indeed here on charity, but so is your daughter. We did not have to go and rescue her, but we did so out of kindness--out of faith that there is goodness in everyone. And then you turn around and spit in the faces of those who brought back your daughter! And make no mistake, she was very close to going through all degrees of terrible things. We risked our lives to make sure she would be brought home safe to you. I was stabbed and choked and set upon by the undead! And for what? For some simple village idiot to tell me that the kindness of saving his daughter’s life is not worthy of reciprocity? I spit on your ancestor’s graves if that be what you think, sera. And I wonder how disappointed your daughter would be to discover that her father has declared that the lives of the children with whom she made friends were not worthy of saving.”

Enmon looked at Fayrl with incredulity. “That… is not at all what I said. Nobody is spitting in anybody’s faces, and I am certainly not ungrateful that you rescued my daughter. But there is a huge difference between not wanting to save children and not wanting them to rifle through Ainethach’s private possessions without permission and potentially take said possessions! So for the last time, get them out of there! For gods’ sakes, man! How have you lived this long without basic common decency!”

Fayrl took a single step forward as the children ran to his side. The floorboards smoldered beneath his foot. “Pardon me for giving the children something to do to distract them,” he ground out from between his teeth. “But if you would like to enjoy the experience of learning what exactly it is that we have been through this morning, I am more than glad to share some of those happy memories with you.”

The door opened and Ainethach stepped out. “What in Oblivion is going on out here?” he asked in a low voice. “We are trying to have a discussion back here and you two ninnies are arguing!”

Fayrl smiled. “A thousand apologies. We will try to keep the noise down.” He had a million silent ways to kill a man if need be.

“Sorry, sir,” Enmon said. “I was trying to get this Dark Elf to show some responsibility in the handling of children.”

Ainethach shot him a look. “I told you you’re dismissed, Enmon. There’s no need to come out here and start further arguments.”

Enmon looked abashed. “Right. Sorry, sir.” He turned and left.

“Now.” Ainethach turned to Fayrl. “Is everything alright out here?”

Fayrl nodded and ushered the children back to the table. “Everything is perfectly fine. Do pardon our rudeness in interrupting you. I am afraid in the face of certain insults I do get a bit abrasive.”

Ainethach raised an eyebrow. “What insults would those be? I won’t stand for my workers being rude to my guests.”

“He assumed that as a Dunmer I possessed no manners and that I was simply allowing the children to run amok within your fine home. There may have been a question of breeding put forth. Not to mention words to the effect that these children were only allowed here based on a great charity on your part. I admit some fatigue from the trip, but I believe my defensiveness was not entirely unjust. I was particularly taken aback in light of having assisted him in the return of his daughter. Now please, I believe I have kept you far too long. We shall be fine now. Thank you for dealing with him.” He gave a low bow.

Ainethach drew his brows together. “That sounds highly unlike him. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him. If you’re fatigued, I can have Lash come out here and watch the children while you rest. Feel free to take the public house again. I assume you’ll want to spend the night again.”

Fayrl bowed again even lower. “Thank you for your continued kindness. It is our honor to be your guests and to assist you.”

He turned to the children. “How would the both of you like to meet a very fierce warrior of the Orsimer? She is stronger than twelve men! But do not worry, she really likes meeting young new warriors.”

Tyran stood up in his chair. “That would be amazing!” He bounced excitedly, and Fayrl had to put out an arm to keep him from falling backwards out of the chair.

“How about you, Petra?” he asked.

She grinned and nodded.

“It’s settled then. Let us see if Lash will be so kind as to take care of these two up and coming heroes.”

Ainethach smiled and nodded. “I’ll send her out immediately.” He walked back into the other room and closed the door behind him.

---

“NO! It’s not true! It’s not! You’re lying! Bring me back my parents!” Morva screamed, tears running down her face.

Lash looked on helplessly.

“Hey… shh… shh… Ma’zurah will do all she can! Please calm down!” Ma’zurah’s expression was half panicked, and she held her hands out in front of her in a vain attempt to soothe the hysterical girl.

Ainethach rubbed his forehead. “Lash, I need you to go watch the other children for a while.”

Lash looked up in surprise. “Me? With kids? Boss, I think that’s a bad idea.” She glanced between him and the situation at hand.

Ainethach walked over to Morva and put his hands on Morva’s shoulders. “I know this is hard for you to accept. Perhaps it would be better if you got some rest and we continued talking about this later. Come lay down for a while.” He gestured to the large bed where Dryston was lying. “I can get you a drink if you like.”

Morva tore away from his touch. “Don’t you dare touch me, liar! You all are kidnappers! Why else would you make up this sort of story!” She looked down at Dryston, then moved to stand between the bed and the adults in the room. “And don’t you dare touch him, either!”

“Muh-Morva?” came a voice from behind Morva. Dryston blinked blearily.

“Oh gods dammit, we need to keep them separated or the boy might try to attack.” Ma’zurah muttered to Ainethach.

“I’m not too worried about that.” Ainethach replied. “I think Lash and I can handle ourselves fairly well.

“You aren’t keeping me away from my brother!” cried Morva, getting onto the bed beside Dryston and throwing her arms around him. “Don’t you dare touch us!”

Lash looked nervous. “I can stay, boss. If you need.”

“No no, Fayrl was fatigued, I told him he could go. I need you to go watch them for a while. Don’t worry. I’ve got this. I have had kids before, you know.” Ainethach sat down in a chair across the room and gestured for Ma’zurah to join him. “Don’t worry, Morva. Nobody is touching you or your brother without your permission.”

Ma’zurah went and sat at the table with Ainethach, staring at her hands in her lap.

“Would you like something to drink? Either of you?” Ainethach offered. Dryston blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

Lash gave one last look between her boss and the children. “If you need me, just call and I’ll be there.”

Morva turned briefly to her brother. “Are you okay, Dryston?” she asked, worriedly peering into his face. “Did they hurt you?”

“Uuuh huh, ‘m kay. Whozzat?” Dryston nodded his head slowly.

Ainethach leaned forward in his seat. “I’m Ainethach. You’re in Karthwasten.”

“Keep away from him!” she yelled. “Dryston, it’s me, Morva. I am here with you.”

“There’s no need to yell. Like I said, nobody is touching anybody without their permission, so we can all just calm down. I’m all the way over here. Do I look like I’m moving, Ma’zurah?”

Ma’zurah shook her head mutely and hunched in her seat.

Morva seemed to grow less agitated. She put her hand on Dryston’s forehead to check his temperature, and looked him over to see if he was hurt.

“What did you do to him?” she asked in a more subdued voice.

“It looks like he was just sedated--put into a deep sleep.” Ainethach said, and looked to Ma’zurah for confirmation. Ma’zurah only nodded.

Dryston frowned at his sister. “Whas wrong?”

“These people say that mum and dad are…” she laid her head on his shoulder.

“H-Heeey... gerrof,” Dryston slurred. “M’notta baby.”

She lifted her head, tears threatening to start pouring from her eyes again. “They took us from our room and now they say mum and dad are… are… dead. Dryston, I don’t know what’s happening. What happened to you? We couldn’t wake you up.”

“Uuuh…” Drysten blinked at her. “Wha?”

“Give him a minute. He’s still waking up,” Ainethach said gently.

Ma’zurah sank further into her seat, feeling exhausted and miserable. She had inadvertently orphaned these children, and even though their parents were unmistakably evil, attempting to handle the situation calmly was taking its toll. She wanted to sleep for a week. She wanted to go home. She wanted Julan.

Morva sniffed and just stayed there holding onto her brother. “Who would have done this?” she asked to Ainethach. “Why did you do this to him?”

“I don’t actually know the full story,” Ainethach told her, with a glance toward Ma’zurah. She didn’t volunteer any more information, so Ainethach continued. “I just know that you were brought here because it would be cruel to leave you to fend for yourselves.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean? And how can she talk to our parents if they are gone? It doesn’t make any sense!”

Morva turned to Ma’zurah. “I thought you promised to answer my questions!”

Ma’zurah seemed to snap out of her stupor. “Yes! Sorry! What is your question?”

“Why did you take us? What happened back at home? How did our parents even die?” She was shaking and clinging to Drysten’s tunic.

Ma'zurah sighed. This was the question she had been dreading. “Morva, your parents were not good people. They raided this town last night, kidnapped a girl, and murdered a man. They ambushed a group of travelers this morning and tried to kill them. But the travelers defended themselves better than they expected and killed everyone in the fortress except the children. This cannot be the first time your parents have done things like this.”

“You’re lying again! Our parents were good people!” She shook her head, her whole body trembling. “Who killed them? I’ll find them! I’ll make them pay!”

“Morva, your parents killed and ate people. You saw the half-eaten heart in the ritual circle in the entrance hall and were unsurprised. They probably taught you to eat people. Killing people to eat them is wrong. Where do you think they got the bodies to eat? They ambushed travelers and kidnapped people. Innocent people. They kidnapped Fjotra. You were not surprised about that. You told Ma'zurah she was supposed to be in the shrine because she was a gift for the gods and then acknowledged that meant she was going to be killed. Your parents murdered people. They desecrated the remains and displayed the bones on the walls. That is wrong. The dead deserve respect as do the living. It is natural for people who have just been attacked to defend themselves. Would you not defend yourself if you were attacked? Murder is against the law, but self defense is not. It is natural for people to try to stop bad things from being done. What those travelers did was hurtful, but it was not wrong. You are a smart person. You can understand cause and effect. You can understand why this happened.”

Morva trembled. “No, those people volunteered. They gave themselves up. They always do. They wanted this. Mum said that people came to them, they came to be offered to the gods. Some of them begged to be taken and killed. I heard them! Our parents were good people. They did what the gods asked of them.”

Ainethach stared at Ma'zurah. His face had grown pale at her description of what they had discovered at the fortress. “I had no idea it was so bad,” he whispered. “Gods, what a nightmare!”

Morva tensed. “We aren’t bad! It was home. It was how things were supposed to be!”

“Oh Morva…” Ma'zurah sighed. “Those people did not volunteer. People do not just volunteer to die. Something is very wrong if people want to die. Fjotra did not volunteer. She did not want to die. Those others, they were probably travelers. You may have heard them beg for death, but that was because they were being hurt, tortured.”

Morva shook her head violently.

“For what it is worth Ma'zurah believes you that your parents were following the will of their gods. But Morva, it is a hard lesson to learn that not all gods are good. Some gods are very, very bad. Some only want to use mortals, or dominate them, or kill them. Good gods look out for mortals and teach them how to become better. Most gods are neutral. Most do not care for mortals one way or another. If Ma'zurah had to guess, she would say that the gods your parents were following were bad, and they told your parents to do bad things. One of them was probably Namiira, the God of the Great Darkness. She is known to govern everything repulsive, corruption and desecration and decay, and all manner of scuttling creatures, and she commands her followers to eat other mortals. If you were to dedicate yourself to her, you would go to the realm of Oblivion known as the Dark Behind the World, also called the Scuttling Void when you die. Ma'zurah has never been there, and she never wants to go. Does Morva understand why Ma'zurah says that it is not good to worship such gods?”

Morva clung tightly to her brother. “Don't speak of the gods like that! They aren't bad. Namira isn’t bad. My parents aren't bad. We aren't bad people. Our gods are good. And I know what I heard. They were treated well. Dad says they were allowed to eat and drink as much as they wanted, to enjoy themselves before they died. Our parents treated those people good. They rewarded them for their sacrifice. I know they did. My parents weren't liars. They wouldn't. You don't know because you never met them. You didn't know what they were like! We ate the hearts as a sign of thanks. To absorb what remained of them when they left. To keep their spirits living on on this world in some small way. It isn't bad. We aren't bad! You don't know anything!”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Morva was not in a mood to be receptive to anything Ma’zurah might say. It was better to wait for her to calm down. “Ma'zurah knows much, tells some,” she demurred. “Morva asked, and Ma'zurah answered.”

“Indeed,” Ainethach cut in, “This is not getting us anywhere. I still have work to do today, and I'm sure Ma'zurah here would like to get some rest with her husband. We took you aside to answer your questions and I believe we have fulfilled that goal. Is there anything more?”

Morva looked as scared about being left alone as she had at the prospect of Ainethach touching her. “What are you going to do with us?” She held tightly still to her brother.

“The general practice for children without guardians is to send them to a place in Riften that takes care of them,” Ainethach explained. “I’ve sent word to the Jarl to have an escort take you all there. However, as you seem to be nearly of age, there may be other possibilities available for you, such as Ma'zurah’s suggestion of dedication to a temple. There is a temple of Mara in Riften. You would not need to leave your brother. If you show enough promise, you could also potentially earn yourself admission to the Bard’s college in Solitude or the Mage’s College in Winterhold. You are not without options.”

“We are not going to let you just take us and make us serve some false gods to earn a bite to eat. You can't just do this. You want us to go to some children's jail? Is that what this is? A way to make us go? Well, I don't want to go there! I want to go home! As soon as Dryston is feeling better we are going home! And we aren't letting you take our cousins either!”

Ainethach rubbed his forehead. “Alright first, no one is forcing you to serve any gods. The Divines don't work that way. False worship does them no good. Second, Honorhall Orphanage is not a jail. They are a charitable organization that cares for children who no longer have guardians. You will be fed, clothed, and educated, and be surrounded by other children your age until you come of age. Third, what would you do if you ran away from here? You have no parents to care for you, and while it is summer now, Skyrim is a dangerous place no matter what the season. Winter would kill you all. I cannot in good conscience allow you to run away on your own. Your deaths would be on my hands, do you understand?”

“Dryston’s coming of age ceremony was next month!” said Morva defiantly. “He is old enough with my help to care for our cousins and ourselves. I can hunt and he can trap.” Her voice became less full of conviction with every word. “Besides, no one asked you to care for us. We're adults. We can make it in our own. We don't need anyone else. We can make it.”

Ainethach gave the girl a critical look. “How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen? Your brother here can't be more than thirteen. Legally, you aren't of age until you’re sixteen.” He gave a long sigh. “Look, I need to get back to work. How about you sleep on it? I'll leave Lash or somebody in the next room with your cousins. If you get hungry or thirsty, just let her know, alright?”

The girl glared. “Fine! Leave us alone then! Tomorrow we are leaving and going home and there's nothing you can do to stop us!” Morva kept her gaze on Ainethach.

Ainethach stood and headed to the door, ignoring the girl’s jabs. Ma'zurah stood up to follow and the girl shifted her focus.

“I don’t ever want to see you again!” she screamed. “Don’t ever talk to me again!”

Ma’zurah pressed her lips together. “Very well. Let Ma’zurah know if you change your mind. Goodbye, Morva.”

She followed after Ainethach, and, after saying a quick goodbye to Petra and Tyren, made her way to the public house. Peeking into the horse stall revealed that their horse had been cared for in her absence, so she headed for the bedroom.

She discovered Fayrl already there, asleep on his back under a blanket with all limbs splayed wide. One leg stuck off the side of the bed, and an empty bottle of mead sat on the bedside table. Ma'zurah shrugged and dug through her pack for her sleeping shift and trousers. She changed, laid out a dress for her waking, and curled into Fayrl’s side atop the blanket and allowed exhaustion to come crashing down.

End Notes:

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

[mazurah]

Lost in Time Ch. 27: Children - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Ma’zurah gets into a fight and tells a story.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: T for swearing, including swearing at children, and the aftermath of very implicit child abuse.

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Lost in Time Chapter 27: Children

Ma'zurah led Logrolf down the hall from the room of sleeping children to the entrance hall. “Ma'zurah needs to talk to you. Ma'zurah has to warn you that Molag Bal is determined to make you submit. He tried to get Fayrl and Ma'zurah to bring you to him.”

“So you have heard of me,” Logrolf laughed. “Well, of course you have! I am sure that Molag Bal did ask that of you. I have desecrated his altar on multiple occasions and he has been powerless to prevent me! Lady Boethiah gives her faithful her protection, so I am free to spit in the face of her enemies. Once I have gathered the necessary reagents, I will venerate his altar in Boethiah's name, as I did before.”

Ma'zurah looked alarmed. The man might be rude, but he didn't deserve to be subjected to whatever Molag Bal had planned for him. No one did. “The House of Troubles are not Princes to be trifled with! They provide trials to be endured and survived! Even with the protection of the Covenant, dealings with them walk the edge of a knife! And Mazurah can assure you, desecrating their altars is not under the Covenant!”

“You do not understand. How could you? A Khajiit would have no understanding of the power of such a god.” Logrolf looked at Ma’zurah with smug sympathy. “You think the pitiful Molag Bal can best Boethiah's faithful? I have won this contest before! I leave the rescuing of children to you, but you leave the work of the Queen of Shadows to those who know her best."

Ma'zurah bared her teeth. How dare he?! She was trying to help him! She had numbered him among her allies and he was questioning even her competence! “Logrolf knows not to whom he speaks. Ma'zurah is the Champion of Azurah. Ma'zurah is well aware of the power of Azurah’s brother-sister, and she is giving Logrolf this warning: to become involved in the wars of the gods is to risk becoming crushed between them. Ma'zurah speaks from firsthand experience. She provides this warning out of the respect she holds Lord Boethiah and his teachings.”

“Champion? You?” Logrolf curled his lip at her in derision. “I think you misunderstand the meaning of the term. And even were you using it correctly, you are still young. I have a lot of experience in these matters. I understand the risks and rewards involved. The Queen of Deceit has shown her pleasure with my efforts! Your warnings are unnecessary. Though I suppose I should thank you for using so much of your mental faculties to relay them.”

Heat rushed to Mazurah’s face and she was filled with a blind need to make this man respect her authority. Her tail puffed and she gave a low warning growl. “You will show respect! This one is at least four times older than you could ever hope to live! She has learned more than you could ever hope to learn! She has spoken with Princes and Gods and retained both her loyalty and her sanity!”

“Not as though you had much to lose,” Logrolf scoffed. “Still, you have proven your usefulness in freeing me from my confines at the hands of those butcher barbarians. I shall have to give you a payment befitting your deeds when I have my possessions back. I think ten gold is fair for your hard won efforts.”

Ma’zurah’s temper snapped. She hissed and her tail lashed behind her. She held out both hands, palms toward herself, claws unsheathed, displayed the Ring of Azura and the Signet of Sheogorath sitting side by side her wedding ring on one hand, and the Ring of the Redoran Hortator and the Moon and Star on the other. “Do not insult this one! There can be no doubt that this one is who she says she is! You may think this one a weakling of Azurah, but this one exists because she has the will to do so! And she shall remain as long as there are signs of her handwork!” She dropped her hands and took a menacing step toward the taller man. “This one has suffered much that cannot be suffered! This one has weighed matters that no astrolabe or compass can measure! She warns you, there is no bone that cannot be broken except for the Heart bone; this one has seen it twice in this one's lifetimes!”

Logrolf crossed his arms and pressed his thin lips together, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Ma'zurah barreled on, angrier by the moment. “Your actions in the past may have pleased your Lord, and that is all very well and good. But this one thinks perhaps you do not truly understand the teachings of the Deceiver of Nations. To truly understand, you must know that the secret of weapons is this: they are the Mercy Seat!”

The priest snorted and rolled his eyes. Ma'zurah kept going, snarling as she spoke, determined to make him back down. “This one offers you one last warning for the sake of your devotion to the Devourer of Trinimac: peril falls upon those who offer insult to the Child of Azurah, for she guards her name with all the selfishness of the sea! You will show this one the respect this one has earned!”

Logrolf looked at her as one would a piteous thing; as though she was someone to humor. “I cannot deny you have bravado. You are well learned in your practiced speech as well. But I am not so as blind as to be swayed by mere trinkets or pretty words. I follow the God of Deception. And yes, let me guess, you're a master of theft as well as of killing savages. Bravo. But I hardly think there is much impressive about a Khajiit thief. It is what your people are good at. Why, I hear half of Riften these days are just your sort of people. Though, from the level of importance of your prizes, I am going to assume you befriend the great followers of the Daedra then steal from them. Is that why you are truly here? To try and steal from me as well?"

Mazurah saw red.

There was a yowl audible from outside the fortress. Squeals came from the room of Forsworn children as the ground shifted slightly.

Fayrl stopped playing his lute and laid it gently on the steps, giving the horse a reassuring pat and whispering to it to sleep until he woke it.

“Fjotra, I will check inside. Stay with Miss Horse and make sure she doesn't wake up. If something bad happens, I want you to get on Miss Horse, tell her ‘Hava’, and ride her as far from here as you can.”

Without waiting for confirmation, he ran back into the fortress. He only hoped that Ma’zurah was alright.

Ma’zurah had the priest pinned to the ground at the bottom of the steps of the entrance hall. She was straddling the man’s chest with one forearm against his neck and attempting to grab his wrists with her other hand.

From around the side of the door at the top of the stairs, three heads watched the scene unfolding in the hall.

“Ma’zurah was trying to give a friendly warning!” Ma'zurah hissed in the man’s face, baring her teeth. “But Logrolf had to be disrespectful at every turn and accuse this one of lying and of attempting to steal from him!” Her tail swished through the air angrily, all her fur puffed on end.

“Ma’zurah!” Fayrl yelled, “you cannot kill him!” He ran and pulled Ma’zurah bodily off the the priest, his arms under hers, gripping her by the shoulders.

The moment Ma’zurah was off him, Logrolf began coughing and scurried backwards until his back hit the stone wall. “She's mad! She's trying to kill me!”

Ma’zurah’s paws scrabbled under her, trying to gain traction to stand. “Why not?!” she demanded. “We shall have the trial of Boethiah’s proving! This one will live because that one will die!” She hissed in the priest’s direction and her lashing tail whipped at Fayrl’s legs.

“Mephala's left testicle!” cried Fayrl. We can't just kill a priest of the Three! This isn't one of Boethiah's provings! We are here to rescue people! Not to murder them! You haven't done any of the rites for that sort of thing!”

Logrolf drew the sword he had taken from the undead Forsworn. “I will defend myself if necessary, I warn you, cat!”

Fayrl whirled towards the man with one outstretched arm and summoned webs, pinning the man flat against wall. “You, shut up!”

He looked at Ma’zurah in his arms. “Have you forgotten about the children you were not supposed to be waking up?”

The three heads popped back behind the door with a collective gasp.

Ma’zurah gained her footing and stood, wrenching herself out of Fayrl’s grasp and brushing herself off. She glared at Fayrl. “Ma’zurah was trying to warn this wafiit about the plans of the Lord of Domination! But then he insulted this one!”

Fayrl sighed. “Do you kill everyone who insults you?” he asked tiredly, feeling the strain of using so many of his taxing skills in a row. It had been a long time since he’d had to fight so much, and he had grown unaccustomed to it. “And what are we going to do about the children now?”

The door slammed shut and there was a great commotion of scraping furniture behind the door.

“What is this disgusting pile of white excrement!” Logrolf spat. “I am a revered priest of Boethiah! How dare you treat me in this manner, you horse sodomizing simpleton!”

Ma’zurah gave Fayrl a sweet smile. “Nooo… Of course Ma’zurah does not try to kill everyone who insults her! Only the ones who should know better!”

Fayrl stalked over the the priest, ignoring Ma’zurah. He glared at Logrolf. “I thought I told you to be silent. You can do it on your own, or I will make you do it.”

“Oh, a threat! I see neither one of you can escape the confines of your natures. A thieving cat and a violent Dark Elf. I am sure I have never heard of tha--”

Fayrl ripped his bloodied tunic over his head and jammed it in the priest’s mouth. “I see what you mean,” he told Ma’zurah. “Let's let him stew while we see what the children have gotten up to. Hopefully they don't have any more knives. I feel I've been stabbed enough for one day.”

“Sure, just one thing first.” Ma’zurah walked up to the glaring priest and kicked him in the shins. “Jekosiit!” she hissed. Logrolf gave a muffled cry and shouted something incoherent into the tunic in his mouth.

Ma'zurah turned and walked with calm poise back up the stairs into the hallway and knocked on the door. “Hello?” she called.

“Go away!” came a small voice on the other side of the door.

Fayrl followed Ma’zurah. He wasn’t sure how they would get the children out without frightening them further.

“This one is Ma’zurah! Ma’zurah is sorry for acting scary! What are your names?”

“Go away!” said a different voice. “We aren’t telling you anything!”

“What if she tries to open the door?” asked the voice from before in a hushed tone, still audible through the wooden door.

“We have all the furniture up against it, she can’t get us,” said a third voice.

Fayrl gave Ma’zurah a look. “We need to be delicate with this.”

“Maybe Fjotra can help,” Ma’zurah suggested. “Go get her?”

Fayrl gave her an uneasy look, but obeyed with a sigh. He made his way back down the stairs, flashing a warning look at Logrolf before he went out to where Fjotra was.

“How are we doing out here?” he asked the girl.

Fjotra looked up from petting the horse. “Fine. Can we go now?”

“We are almost ready. First, we want you to come and meet the other children that were kept here. That way we can all go together. But they are scared to leave. Do you think you could talk with them?”

Fjotra gave him a doubtful look but nodded. “I guess. Why are they scared to leave?”

“Well, Ma’zurah was having a disagreement with that priest and she was a little bit upset. I think the children are afraid she might be angry with them too.”

“Oh. Okay.” Fjotra walked inside, making a face as she skirted the blood summoning circle.

Fayrl hurried after her, cursing himself for not catching up before she could see the remnants of whatever horror occurred in the entranceway. He caught pace with her and walked up the stairs, hoping that Ma’zurah hadn’t blown the door open while he was gone.

Ma’zurah had entered the empty bedroom opposite the children’s room, and emerged holding a book and a pair of leather boots when she heard them coming. “Hey,” she offered.

Fayrl looked her up and down. “I brought Fjotra,” he said with a smirk.

Ma’zurah blinked at him. “What? Nevermind! Here.” She shoved the leather boots into his arms. “Try these on. Yours keep getting ruined.”

Fjotra giggled, and Ma’zurah winked at her.

Fayrl sat down on a step that didn’t look too messy and began to unlace his boots, grumbling under his breath as he did.

Ma’zurah turned to Fjotra. “So these children are in there. We need to make friends with them so they will not be scared anymore.”

“Okay,” said Fjotra. She went up to the door. “Can you hear me?”

There was a smattering of hissed whispers.

“Let me answer!” said one voice.

There was a brief silence.

“I can hear you. What do you want?”

Fjotra sat down on the floor in front of the door. “Um. I’m Fjotra. What’s your name?”

“Morva. What do you want?”

“To make friends. I heard you were scared, but you don’t have to be!”

“Who said I was scared? I’m not scared!”

“Oh! That makes it easy then. You’ll come with me? I want to go home now, but they said we couldn’t leave because you were scared.”

Ma’zurah opened her mouth as though to speak, then closed it with a look of consternation.

Fayrl grinned, one boot on. The kid was good.

“Why should I care about if you get to go home?” asked Morva.

“Um… Because you’re a nice person? I was kidnapped last night, and I had a dream that a lady with big furry ears came to rescue me, and then it happened! She’s really nice, you’d like her.”

Ma’zurah shot Fayrl a smug look.

Fayrl rolled his eyes. He was a bit jealous, but he would never admit to it.

“You’re supposed to be in the shrine!” Morva cried. “How’d you get out!”

Fjotra looked confused. “I just told you. I got rescued. Don’t you want to go home too?”

“This is my home! Momma said you were a gift for the gods! You need to go back to the shrine.”

“How’d she get out?” asked another voice.

“She said she was rescued.”

“But how do you get rescued from going to see the gods? Why wouldn’t you want to be there?”

“I don’t know! I’m just telling you what she said.”

Fjotra frowned. “They weren’t taking me to see the gods! They were going to kill me! They said so! And they put blood all over Dibella’s statue! Why would they do that?”

“That’s how you go to see the gods. You can’t be alive and see them, dummy.”

“But I don’t want to die! And I can see the gods anytime I go to the Temple! Sometimes Dibella comes to me in my sleep too! Dying isn’t the only way to see the gods!”

“It is not,” Ma’zurah chimed in. “Ma’zurah has seen seven gods with her own eyes, and talked to many more than that. Some of them even gave her gifts, and Ma'zurah is not dead yet.”

There was a hushed discussion inside before anything else was spoken.

“What do you want from us?” Morva asked finally.

Ma’zurah moved closer to the door. “Ma’zurah promises she will not hurt you. She just needs you to come with her to Karthwasten. That is all.”

“Just come out?” Fjotra pleaded. “Please? I wanna go home.”

“They’re gonna do something bad when we go out there!” cried another voice.

“Oh, hush, Tyran! We never said we were going out!” hissed Morva.

“I think that’s the angry lady’s voice,” said another child. “The one that did this to Dryston.”

“Yes, Ma’zurah was angry,” Ma’zurah explained patiently, “But Ma’zurah is not angry at you. She will not hurt you, and she did not hurt your friend. He is only sleeping, and Ma’zurah knows how to wake him up.”

There was a gasp inside. “Morva! They can wake Dryston!”

“I don’t trust it,” said the other child.

“Me either, Petra. They’re up to something.”

“Why are none of the grown ups stopping them?” asked Tyran.

“That’s a good question,” said Morva. “Hey! Dummies! What’d you do with our parents?”

Ma’zurah hesitated. “They are not here anymore. That is why you need to come with us to Karthwasten. Ma’zurah cannot leave you here by yourselves.”

“What do you mean, they aren’t here?” cried Petra. “Mommy wouldn’t leave me!”

“It’s a trick, Petra, don’t listen to them,” said Morva. “As long as we are in here, we are safe.”

Ma’zurah sat down on the floor in front of the door. “You like Hircine, right? Would you like to hear about the time Ma’zurah met Hircine?”

“How would you have met Hircine?” scoffed Morva.

“I wanna hear,” said Tyran.

“It’s just gonna be a lie anyways.”

“It is all completely true. Ma’zurah was on the island of Solstheim with her friends Julan, Shani, Constance, and Jasmine, and she was visiting an Imperial fort when the fort was attacked by werewolves.”

“Who are all those people?” asked Petra.

“I think the grey one is Jasmine and the guy the lady was beating must be Shani. I don’t know about the other two though….” Tyran trailed off.

“That’s not right!” said Morva. “Jasmine is a girl’s name! The grey one must be Constance. That’s a good man’s name.”

“No,” Ma’zurah explained, “the Dunmer with Ma'zurah now is named Fayrl, and the other one is Logrolf. Julan and Shani are both Dunmer, a boy and a girl, Jasmine is a Redguard girl, and Constance is a Bosmer girl. But it does not really matter. So these werewolves attacked, but Ma’zurah did not know they were werewolves. When they ran away, Ma’zurah found out that the commander of the fort, General Carius, had disappeared. So Ma’zurah went to the Skaal village to ask them if they knew where he was. The Skaal are a tribe of Nords who worship a god called the All-Maker and live in a very snowy part of the island of Solstheim.”

“This story has too many people. It’s boring,” said Tyran. “I want a better story.”

“I thought the story was about Hircine,” said Petra, disappointed. “Let’s get back in bed, Tyran.”

“This story is about Hircine,” Ma'zurah explained hastily. “Werewolves are the children of Hircine, do you not know that? And it has so many people because the world has a lot of people in it. But Ma’zurah will get to Hircine soon. Ma’zurah found out that she had to prove herself to the Skaal, so she did a lot of things to help them. Then, after a while, werewolves attacked the Skaal village too and kidnapped the Skaal leader. One of the werewolves even bit Ma’zurah and everyone thought she was going to become a werewolf!”

“Did it eat you?!” cried Tyran with excitement.

“She couldn’t be telling the story if it ate her, dummy!” mocked Morva.

“No it did not eat Ma’zurah,” she laughed. “It also did not turn Ma’zurah into a werewolf.”

Ma'zurah realized this was a difficult story to tell to children because she had to simplify it so much. She felt rather lame leaving out so many details. It had been significantly more complicated than she was making it sound, but she was trying to cater to the children's brief attention span. “Ma’zurah tried to find out where all the werewolves were coming from, and while she was looking for them she found out that all of the horkers had been killed and were lying dead on the beach!”

“Eww!” said Petra.

“Cool!” said Morva and Tyran.

That was a much better reaction than Mazurah had expected. They were engaged with the story now at least. “The shaman was very worried about this because the dead horkers were one of the signs of the Bloodmoon Prophecy, which foretold coming of the great hunt of Hircine. The shaman sent Ma’zurah to a castle made of ice called Castle Karstaag. Castle Karstaag was full of Rieklings. Rieklings are small blue goblins who live in icy places. Ma’zurah had to swim in freezing water to get into the castle, but when she got there, she met a Riekling named Krish. Ma’zurah was very surprised, because she did not expect any Rieklings to talk to her. Krish told Ma’zurah that the Riekling leader, a frost giant named Karstaag, had disappeared, and that Krish was trying to take over the castle. He made a deal with Ma’zurah to let Ma’zurah into the castle if Ma’zurah would help Krish become the new leader. So Krish took Ma’zurah into the castle, and inside Ma’zurah found out from the other Rieklings that werewolves had kidnapped the Riekling leader, Karstaag.”

“Did the werewolves go like ‘Rawr!’ and eat the head off the reekly things?” asked Tyran.

“Why would a werewolf want to eat a ice goblin?” Petra retorted. “It’d be too cold to eat.”

Ma'zurah was losing their attention again. She huffed a frustrated breath. Why was she so bad at telling stories to children? “Ma’zurah did not see any werewolves in the ice castle,” she explained quickly. “She only heard what the Rieklings said. But Ma’zurah thought that it was very strange that werewolves would kidnap an ice giant, so she went to tell the Skaal shaman. That night, Ma’zurah got kidnapped by werewolves!”

“And then did they eat you?” asked Tyran.

“Gods, you’re so thick!” said Morva. “If you get eaten by a werewolf you don’t get to tell a story about it.”

“Unless you’re a ghost,” said Petra.

There was a tiny gasp from Tyran. “You’re a ghost lady!”

“I should throw you outside with the ghost lady,” said Morva.

Ma'zurah sighed. “Ma’zurah did not get eaten by werewolves, and she is not a ghost. When Ma’zurah woke up, she was in a room full of werewolves and a man with skin like the coat of a deer and a head like the skull of a stag told her he was Hircine and that Ma’zurah had been chosen as Prey for the Wild Hunt, and all the werewolves were going to hunt her now!”

“Coooooool!” said Tyran.

“Lucky,” muttered Morva.

“Not so lucky! Ma’zurah did not want to die!” It was one of the worst memories of her life, but she could hardly tell the children that. “Hircine did not give her a choice about it. The next thing she knew, she had been taken to a giant maze under the ice! And there she met General Carius, the Imperial commander who had disappeared! Hircine told Carius and Ma’zurah that there was a key out of the maze, and that only one person would be able to use it. Carius was a nice man though, and he said that maybe we could find a way for both of us to escape, so we worked together to run through the maze full of werewolves until we found the key and got to the center of the maze. General Carius got hurt though, so he told Ma’zurah to take the key and use it to get out of the maze. He thought Ma’zurah stood a better chance of surviving whatever Hircine was going to throw at us next.”

“How did you breathe under the ice?” asked Tyran.

“Just shut up and listen,” said Morva.

“It was a great big cave that had been carved into a glacier, that is how. But Ma’zurah used the key to open a portal, and the next thing she knew she was in a different maze, and there was the leader of the Skaal who had also been kidnapped. So Ma’zurah tried to team up with him too, but no matter how much we looked, we could not find the key. When we made it to the center of the maze, the Skaal leader turned on Ma’zurah, and Ma’zurah found out that he had the key the whole time, and he was actually a werewolf too!”

“Woah!” all three of the children cried.

“Did he--”

“I swear, if you ask if she was eaten one more time, I am throwing you outside,” warned Morva.

Tyran was silent.

“Ma’zurah fought him and took the key, and this time Ma’zurah found herself in a room with an ice giant! Hircine appeared and told Ma’zurah that the ice giant, Karstaag, was going to fight her for the right to enter the last part of the Wild Hunt! So Ma’zurah had to fight him to survive the Wild Hunt!”

There was silence for a moment.

“What? You said I couldn’t ask,” pouted Tyran.

“Good,” said Morva.

“So how did you fight a frost giant?” asked Petra.

“With fire, of course! Ma’zurah threw fire at it until it fell over, but it was very difficult.” It had been more than difficult. It had been a long and exhausting fight that Ma'zurah had only survived by flying to a high ledge to heal herself and wait for her magicka to regenerate. “After that, Hircine appeared again and asked Ma’zurah what skill she thought a hunter needed the most, strength, speed, or cunning. Which one would you have picked?”

“Strength!” said Tyran.

“Cunning,” said Morva.

“I think cunning too,” said Petra.

“Ma’zurah also picked cunning, and Hircine told Ma’zurah that the last part of the Wild Hunt was to defeat Hircine himself! But he said it would be unfair to fight him at his full power, so Ma’zurah had to fight one third of him; the third she had picked. So Hircine divided himself into three, and the Avatar of Hircine’s Cunning appeared and started to fight Ma’zurah!”

“What did it look like?” asked Petra.

“It looked like Hircine, just a little smaller. A man wearing kilt, with skin like a deer’s coat, and a head like the skull of a stag. He had a spear that he twirled around a lot. Ma’zurah had to be very smart to get out of range of his spear. She ran around the room and threw ice at him until she defeated him. Then she got to keep his spear.” She was hardly doing this story justice, but she did not want to tell the children just how harrowing the fight had been and how close to dying she had come. “Hircine was very shocked that Ma'zurah had won. He promised to come back and host another Wild Hunt, but he only gets to host one Wild Hunt per era.” Ma’zurah paused with a look of alarm on her face and glanced at Fayrl. It was a new era now.

Fayrl dropped the old boots he was holding in hand and met her eyes. That was not news he wanted to hear; not at all.

“Cool!” said Petra.

“Do you have the spear right now?” asked Tyran.

Deciding it was pointless to worry when there was nothing she could do. Ma'zurah shook her head. “No, but Ma’zurah does have the Ring of Azurah if you want to see that. Azurah appeared to Ma’zurah and gave it to her in person.”

“Can I see?” asked Fjotra.

“Yes, it is right here,” said Ma’zurah holding out her hand. She indicated the silver oval ring with a blue stone like the night sky at its center that she wore next to her wedding ring.

“Wow… It is so pretty!” gasped Fjotra. “Can I try it on?”

“Ma’zurah supposes that would be alright, but it likely will not fit. It was made for Ma’zurah. Give Ma’zurah your hand?”

Fjotra held out her hand obediently, and Ma’zurah slipped the ring onto the girl’s thumb. It was still too large, but Fjotra didn’t seem to care.

“It has an enchantment on it,” Ma’zurah told her. “Can you feel it? That is the power of Azurah.”

“Wow…” Fjotra stared at the ring with round eyes.

“I wanna see!” cried Tyran.

“Oh, me too!” said Petra.

“I don’t know. What if there is no ring?” said Morva.

“I wanna see the ring!” insisted Tyran, voice turning whiny.

“It’s too dangerous,” said Morva.

“I wanna!” Tyran cried again, then sniffled.

“Don’t cry, you baby,” said Morva.

“You’re so mean,” sobbed Tyran. “I wanna see it!”

“Fine!” shouted Morva, “Go see your stupid ring! And when you end up captured by the weird white lady and the grey man, don’t come begging for my help!”

Tyran broke into a full cry.

There was a loud screech as something large was dragged across the floor.

The door opened just enough for the small, tearful face of Tyran to appear around the door. “I wanna see it,” he moaned, squirming to get out of the door.

Fjotra stood up and held out her thumb in front of the door, displaying the ring.

“It’s real!” he cried and scrambled forward, tripping over his own feet for a moment, but momentum kept him moving and he caught his balance, grabbing at Fjorta’s hand to look at the ring.

Petra’s head appeared around the edge of the door then popped back in. “They aren’t doing anything yet,” she whispered, still audible enough for Fayrl and Ma’zurah to hear.

“Can I wear it?” asked Tyran, his tears stopped, but a trail of snot coming from one side of his face. He wiped it on his sleeve.

“Yes,” Ma'zurah replied. “Fjotra do you want to help him try it on?”

Fjotra beamed at being given responsibility. “Hold out your hand!” she said, taking the ring off.

Tyran held out his hand, using his other hand to keep it steady. The rest of his body bouncing with excitement. “Like this?”

“Tyran’s getting to try it on,” said Petra. “Morva, can I try it too?”

“If you go out there, I’m not responsible for what happens. I can’t protect you. If you want to turn your back on Dryston and me, go ahead! But he’s like this because of her ! He protected us.”

“They don’t seem so bad,” said Petra.

“Go, then! Get out!”

Petra fell forward out of the door as though she were pushed and the door shut behind her.

Fjotra solemnly helped Tyran try on the ring. “You feel the enchantment?” she asked. “Like you can see everything more clearly, and your tiredness is slowly going away?”

“Woah! I’m like a warrior hero now!” Tyran made slashing and chopping motions with both hands. “Smash! Hack!”

Petra got to her feet and dusted herself off before looking at Ma’zurah, Fjotra, and Fayrl. She didn’t say anything, just watching them while Tyran slashed at the air, lost in his imagination.

Ma’zurah smiled at Petra. Fjotra giggled at Tyran’s antics.

Petra took a tentative step forward, eyeing Ma’zurah.

Fayrl was starting to get anxious. He didn’t know why. Everything was going fine. And yet he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Was something going to happen?

“This ring is amazing!” giggled Tyran. “I bet I could defeat an ice monster right now if one came at me!”

“Would you like to give her a turn?” Ma’zurah gestured at Petra. “I bet she would like to feel like a warrior too.”

Tyran held the ring close to his chest. “But I just got it!”

Petra took a couple more steps away from the door.

Fayrl stood up and Petra backed up against the door. “I’m going to go and check on the horse,” Fayrl said, and headed down the stairs.

Ma’zurah reached into her pack and pulled out a honey nut ball. “Ma’zurah will trade,” she offered Tyran.

He came over at once and extended his hand. “Deal!”

Ma’zurah took the ring and gave the boy the honey nut ball, then she turned to Petra. “You wanted a turn?”

She nodded and cautiously stepped forward, her hand out.

Tyran took his treat and started running around the entrance hall chewing on it and dancing, apparently oblivious to the remains of the bloody ritual in the center of the room. “I got a sweets and no one else can have it!” he taunted in a mocking melody.

Ma’zurah gently took the girl’s hand and slipped the ring on her finger. “Does the world seem brighter? That is the power of Azurah.”

Petra’s eyes widened and she looked around the room as if she did not know where she was. “This is Azra? This power?”

Tyran picked up a rock from the floor. “You think you can have some of my sweets. But you can’t!” he yelled at the rock, then threw it at the wall.

“Azurah made the ring. She put a piece of her power in it to make the enchantment.” Ma’zurah smiled at the girl.

Petra scrutinized the ring. “It just looks like a pretty stone. How did the power get inside?”

Tyran continued to pick up discarded items from the ground and scream at them about how they could not have his honey nut treat.

“Ma’zurah does not know how Princes do it, but when Ma’zurah does enchanting she uses a soul gem. Now. Would you like a honey nut ball too?”

Petra smiled. “I can have one too?”

In his circuit around the room, Tyran finally came across the priest stuck to the wall with spiderwebs. “I bet your want some of my sweets too!” He stood as tall as he could and pulled the gag from Logrolf’s mouth. “Ew, that’s gross! Don’t eat clothes Mr. Sillybeard.”

“Listen here you little shit,” spat the priest, “I am an illustrious priest of the great Queen of Deception, Boethiah! I demand you free me from my bonds at once! Or else I will curse you and every one of your little friends!”

Tyran frowned. “You’re a big poop! I was gonna share, but you’re mean.” He picked up a rock and shoved it in Logrolf’s mouth to replace the tunic.

Logrolf spat the rock out in Tyran’s direction. “I am going to make you pay!”

“Hey! Leave my brother alone!” yelled Petra.

The priest laughed. “If you don’t free me I will make sure that you never see your parents again.”

“No!” shouted Tyran.

The door to the room opened and Morva rushed out, a crude bone dagger in hand. “Leave them alone!” she yelled, facing Ma’zurah.

“Another idiot child of the inbred savages,” Logrolf taunted. “What a delightful sample of the Reach’s quality.”

Morva turned to the priest, realizing that it was not Fayrl or Ma'zurah who had threatened the other children. She had the knife up and her body tensed as if deciding to attack.

Ma’zurah sighed. “It is alright. You are not in any danger. Any of you. Logrolf the Idiot is tied up. He cannot hurt you. He is just very rude.”

Petra started laughing. “That’s why you were sitting on him and hitting his face!”

Morva lowered her weapon. “He is tied up?”

“I am! Now free me child! If you do I will give you a grand reward.”

“What kind of reward?” asked Tyran.

“To become an apprentice to the great Logrolf the Willful and serve the Lord Boethiah in all her needs.”

Petra and Tyran both frowned.

“That’s stupid,” said Morva. “I don’t want to serve some stupid god who makes people like you.” She stepped closer to Ma’zurah.

“It is not stupid! It is a great honor!” cried Logrolf. “You ignorant barbarians could not even comprehend what you are declining!”

Petra picked back up the tunic and hurriedly shoved it in Logrolf’s mouth. Tyran ran up after her and shoved it further in. The man struggled again and screamed behind his gag, though nothing he tried to say was intelligible.

Fjotra tugged on Ma’zurah’s sleeve. “Can I have a honey nut treat too?”

“Alright.” Ma’zurah retrieved one, then held out another to Morva. “Fair is fair.”

“I can see why you have him tied up,” Morva commented, accepting the treat.

Ma’zurah nodded. “He is very disrespectful.” She moved to peek into the room the children had been in. The boy was still asleep on the bed, but the rest of the furniture had been rearranged. She turned and walked down the steps into the entrance hall and looked out the front door. Fayrl was nowhere to be seen.

“Where are you going?” asked Morva as she saw Ma’zurah disappear down the steps.

Ma'zurah leaned out the front door to pat the horse and spotted the bodies lying in the road. She cursed under her breath.

“Trying to find Fayrl,” she explained.

The children sat at the top of the stairs watching and waiting. Tyran licked sugar off his fingers.

Ma'zurah closed the front door and turned around, noticing the door on the right side of the entrance hall slightly ajar. She peered inside.

The bodies of the Forsworn still rested where Ma'zurah had last seen them. The man Fayrl had injured lay sprawled across the floor at the side of the bed in a pool of blood, obviously dead. Fayrl stood in the center of the room redoing his hair.

“Hey,” Ma'zurah said to catch Fayrl’s attention. “Ma'zurah needs Fayrl to clear off the road and then come let Ma'zurah know when he is done.”

Fayrl turned around, tucking the last pin into his hair. “Very well. I will gladly go and take care of that, my dear.”

Ma'zurah nodded and walked back up the steps into the hallway and entered the children's room. The children came running after her.

“You can wake him up, right?” asked Petra, standing nervously next to the unconscious boy.

“Yes, but we have to take him to Karthwasten.” Ma'zurah started opening chests and nightstands until she located a set of packs. “Okay, help Ma'zurah pack your clothing. First one done gets another honey nut ball. Somebody show Ma’zurah where that one’s clothing is.” She gestured at the unconscious boy.

“They’re over here!” cried Tyran, tugging Ma’zurah’s sleeve towards a set of drawers.

“But his spare tunics are in here,” said Petra, pulling on Ma’zurah’s other sleeve.

Fjotra sat on an empty bed, blinking at the other children stuffing their meager belongings into packs. In a few minutes she was fast asleep.

When they finished, Ma'zurah scanned the room for anything else they might want, and tucked a lost rag doll into Petra’s pack. “Are you ready? It is not a long walk. It should only take an hour or two to get to Karthwasten.”

Petra nodded, slipping the pack onto her back.

Tyran put his bag on his head, trying to balance it. “Wooooaaah!” he said as it fell to one side. He caught it and put it back on his head.

Morva stood beside Ma’zurah with a wary expression on her face. “We’re ready. But I don’t understand. Where are our parents? Why won’t Dryston wake up? Why are you two here?”

Ma'zurah lifted her eyebrows at the teenager. “That is a lot of questions, and they all have long answers. Ma'zurah thinks she is getting a bit too hungry to answer so many questions at once. There will be hot meals at Karthwasten. If you ask Ma'zurah again after we have eaten, she promises she will answer them all. It is not too far to go or too long to wait, but it is only midday and Ma'zurah is already tired. Is that fair?” She gave a small smile and cast telekinesis on Dryston, lifting him gently.

Petra and Tyran watched their friend floating with wide-eyed fascination. Tyran waved his hand underneath and, upon finding nothing, walked under Dryston. “Magic!”

Morva tightened her grip on her pack straps at her shoulders. “What if our parents come back and we aren’t here? They’ll be worried.”

Petra looked worried at this prospect. “I… I don’t want mommy to think I’ve run off….”

“It will be alright. They will not worry. If you are still afraid, Ma'zurah will try to use magic to contact them once we get to Karthwasten. Ma'zurah is a Mystic. She knows a few rituals.” Ma'zurah stuck her head out of the children’s room, keeping an eye out for Fayrl.

“But where are they?” Morva insisted. “They put us to bed after we stayed up most of the night waiting for them, and then where did they go? They wouldn't leave us behind.” Tears of frustration and fear welled in her eyes.

Ma’zurah set the boy back down on the bed and knelt in front of Morva. “Ma’zurah does not know. She is sorry. Ma’zurah will try to contact them for you. She does not think she can do it here though. It is not a far trip. It will be alright. Ma’zurah will make sure that no harm comes to you if she can do anything to stop it.”

Morva looked like she was warring with herself. After a moment she sighed. “And you can wake Dryston? You're positive?”

“Yes.” Ma’zurah gave a firm nod.

“Then I will go.” Morva stood and Petra took her hand. “We are ready.”

“Alright, one second. Let Ma’zurah find Fayrl and see if he is ready too.” She walked into the hallway, closing the door behind her, and went to the front door. She spotted Fayrl hiding the last body behind a large juniper bush, and called out to him. “They are ready. Ma’zurah will bring them out.”

Fayrl nodded. “Go ahead. I'm ready.” He walked back to his lute and began playing a pleasant song.

“Alright. When Ma’zurah brings the boy out, make sure he will not wake soon, please.”

She went back inside and roused Fjotra from where she had been dozing. She smiled at the children, cast telekinesis again on Dryston, and led them outside. “Fayrl has his lute out, do you like songs?”

“I like music,” said Petra. “Daddy sings a song about a spotted stag who plays with wolves.”

“His song about the bear is better,” said Tyran, his pack on his head again, though he kept one hand on it so it wouldn't fall.

Petra snorted “You just like it cause the bear eats everything.”

“That's the best part!” said Tyran.

Morva walked in silence, clearly deep in thought.

Fayrl turned to the children with a goofy smile. “Look at this band of adventurers! Why we have four mighty warriors here! I shall be your bard and Ma’zurah your wizard as we hike on our way towards adventure. Let us hurry to the castle so we can wake the sleeping prince. Come, wizard, let us set our prince upon his steed!” Fayrl helped to guide the sleeping boy onto the horse’s back, stroking the horse to keep it from spooking. “Fjotra, I know you are good with horses, why don't you take the reins and I shall play a tune to keep away evil spirits.”

Ma’zurah gave Fayrl an amused smile, and the small group set off down the road to Karthwasten.

End Notes:

Ta'agra Translations: http://www.taagra.com/ wafiit = idiot jekosiit = sheep shagger

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

[mazurah]

16th of Last Seed, 3E 427 (Day 1)

Ma’zurah, fresh off the boat in Seyda Neen, and not too happy about it.