#argonian

These wastes of earth are choked by wastes of sky, each pulling the other apart by the smallest hairs, and the world tumbles overhead. Hla-eix has prepared for this, having spent time in the ashlands of Morrowind, and tightens her scarf and scrapes sand from her goggles with a single motion. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t be out here, but Hammerfell is as distrustful of magic as ever, so teleportation was out of the question. The old ways of a dead world have forced her to cross the Alik’r Desert in the middle of a sandstorm, but such ancient traditions have always held her back. This is nothing new.

But there is something new: a sound, amidst all the roaring of the wind, almost like a frail brook, babbling discordantly. Hla-eix is certain the desert hasn’t made her mad just yet, so she pursues the sound.

And then she trips over its source.

Hla-eix tries to catch herself but the wind pushes her over, crashing into the dune she was climbing. She picks her head out of the sand, wipes furiously at her goggles, and looks for the cause. At first, just a dark shape sticking out of the sand. Then, she realizes, a dark shape with bright red eyes, staring at her, its mouth opening and closing like a dying twitch, screaming gibberish through a tortured throat.

Hla-eix spins around on her knees to get a better look at it. It’s a person, alright. A dunmer, by the looks of it. She casts a spell, a purple spark illuminating the eyes of her goggles for a moment, before there is suddenly silence. The sand that was carried by the storm falls to the ground like snow. She casts another spell, illuminating the small sanctuary she’s created for herself and the mer.

“You alright?” Hla-eix tries to ask, before realizing her voice is muffled by her scarf. She pulls it down and raises her goggles. She repeats the question, her voice and vision clear now.

The mer’s mouth moves, wide like his eyes, wide like he’s screaming, but even in this quiet space, it’s faint, unintelligible. Hla-eix leans in closer.

He grabs her by the straps of her backpack, his eyes like hot coals pressed into her scales. He desperately tries to be heard: “…the vision…fades…the pupil is closed, fails, bound tight to the mutation, to the home…the strained eye, spreading itself over paper like mercury…stretched thin and membranous over and over unto itself until it is dry and torn like a sailor’s flag forlorn…it…fades…”

Hla-eix clocks him in the face, knocking him out. She sits back on her haunches and her muttered question echoes in the magical bubble, unanswered: “What the fuck?”

When Ku-vastei wanders into The Spiris while wandering oblivion for centuries seeking escape, she engages in conversation with The Qyruath Vitreous. They play an unofficial and unannounced game of riddles, so to speak, trying to confound each other to gain the upper hand. When Qyruath lets slip his inability to truly grasp some grander concepts of existence, Ku responds, “It is because you lack the insight of the hub, the middle world. All you have known is oblivion and immortal daedra and consuming souls. You do not understand the ways of mortals and mortality’s cost, the gifts of Lorkhan. Without this knowledge you cannot hope to be complete and wise.”

This response gives pause for The Qyruath Vitreous, signaling that Ku has won the game of wits. “I must understand the ways of mortals, and mortality’s cost, then. What is the way to know them?”

“The surest way is to live it. Let us both go to the Mundus, so that you may learn its power.”

“No,” answered The Qyruath Vitreous. “I shall go, and you shall stay here. Take up the mantle of The Qyruath Vitreous until I return.”

“You cannot! You shall not!” cried Ku-vastei. “I must return home! I must find my wife and child, and kinsmen!”

“And perhaps you shall, one day. But you have given me an opportunity I must take. The Spiris must have a master, and if I am gone to the hub of the wheel, someone shall have to take my place. You are immortal, and powerful, and you are wiser than I am at present. I shall return when I am wiser enough to outwit you, and allow you passage.”

“…Fine. How long must this arrangement last?”

“I am unfamiliar with the mortal passage of time. Perhaps a year? Decade? Century? It is impossible to know. Truth is ever evasive, especially to one such as me. I shall choose a mortal form long-lasting, to give me as much time as possible to observe the secrets you speak of. When I return with this bounty, you shall be set free of the throne of The Qyruath Vitreous.”

“This is absurd! Even a year is too long! I must return to my family.”

“You shall, one day. But as for your current situation, you have no choice. There is no leaving The Spiris until I permit it.”

Ku hisses but accepts the situation, trying to force patience by sheer willpower. She’s the reason he has decided to do this, after all. “Then go. Hurry. Find your truth.”

chapter 2 

(chapter 1)

cw: implied nsfw, nothing explicit

note: i don’t even know what the state of tense is in this, and i don’t care at this point lol

- - - - -

“…So.”

Hla-eix had already rolled over away from Daabush, her eyes contemplating the window. “So…what?”

“You said we would talk.”

Dammit, he remembered. She closes her eyes. “Did I?”

A hand grabs her shoulder and rolls her onto her back, but she keeps her head turned away from him. “No,” Daabush says. “Not again. You agreed to this. Stop trying to run away.”

“It’s all I’m good for. Running away.” She bites the inside of her lip, wishing she hadn’t said anything.

Daabush reaches over her, his rough hand gentle on her chin, pulling her around to face him. He’s so intense, the way he stares at her - into her. She always tries to avoid eye contact, but if she ever finds it, that intensity holds her completely still. No more running away. 

He caresses her cheek, his thumb running over the thin, delicate scales there. “I just want to get to know you, Eix.”

“Sorry,” she says, her eyes managing to step aside for just a moment to breathe. “I don’t know what to tell you. Where to start.”

Daabush purses his lips around his tusks. “Fine,” he says. “Okay. I’ll start, then. I grew up in a stronghold, out east, in the Velothi. What about you?”

“Uh.” This was going to be hard to explain. She always hates having to. But maybe if she can just get it over with… “I grew up in two places. Some in Morrowind, some in Black Marsh. Few years with my moms near the border. About ten years in Morrowind. Few years after the Red Year, I got taken in by the An-Xileel. Then -”

Daabush stretches his thumb over to cover her lips. “Sorry, hold on,” he says. “The Red Year?”

She bites his thumb. “I told you I was old.”

“Ow! Okay.” He props himself up on one elbow. “Also, what’s the An-Xileel?”

“Uh. Government of Black Marsh?”

“Is that common knowledge?”

“It’s not a secret.”

“I’ve only ever lived in Skyrim.”

“I guess you wouldn’t know then.”

“Anyways. Why’d they take you in?”

“Well. My mother was a dunmer. Ashlander. Mabrigash, to be specific. Like a witch, I guess. I lived with her and her coven for a long time.” Hla-eix looks up at the ceiling. She’s always thought about these things. She just needed a push - and some trust - but once she got going, she had plenty to say. “But the An-Xileel pushed north after the Red Year, to take back lands stolen by the dunmer long ago. We lived in those lands. So they killed the mabrigash except for me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, but…okay. They didn’t kill you? Why?”

Here’s the hard part, the one she’d been avoiding. “Well. You know what I look like. I had two mothers, an argonian and a dunmer. They found a way to have a child of their own with magic. When the soldiers found me, they thought I was … a cruel experiment of witches, I guess. Another awful thing the elves had done to our people.”

“Why didn’t you tell them?”

“Couldn’t. I don’t know why. But I didn’t speak for a couple years after that. So I just let them assume what they wanted.”

“Okay. So -”

Hla-eix covers his mouth with her hand. “Nope. Your turn again.”

He swats her arm away. “Ugh. Fine.”

“Why’d you leave the stronghold?”

“Well. Hm. You know the Great Houses of Morrowind, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there was a wave of Hlaalu emigrants almost ten years ago. Bunch of folks nobody wanted no more, on account of being so close to the Empire. Got especially bad after the Red Year.”

“Wait. You said you were born in a stronghold.”

“I did. Hold your tongue for a minute. I’m not Hlaalu.” His eyes glaze with thought for a moment. “Well. I might actually be, technically. That’s…well, who gives a shit.” He shakes his head and looks back at Hla-eix. “Where was I? Before you rudely butted in.”

“Hlaalu emigrants.”

“Oh. Well, they passed through the Velothi near our stronghold on their way to Skyrim. We let them camp nearby, gave them some supplies. Hlaalu’s always been the House that hated us least. There was…” He pauses, bites his lip. “…a person who, uh. Became important to me. But before I could get…their…name, the caravan left.”

“Daa.” Hla-eix playfully bonks him on the head. “My parents were both women. You don’t have to play the pronoun game.”

He sighs, and she notices that some tension leaves his body. He closes his eyes. “Okay. So … Well, I decided to leave the stronghold to follow them, so I could talk to him again.”

“You didn’t mind leaving your kin behind to follow this Hlaalu mer?”

Daabush’s eyes shoot open. “That’s…Actually. It’s your turn. Why’d you leave Black Marsh?” 

“…Occupational reasons.”

“A trader? Adventurer? Mercenary?”

“…Sure.”

Daabush furrows his brows pointedly but doesn’t push it. “But you didn’t mind leaving your kin behind to follow your occupation.”

Hla-eix cocks an eyebrow. “So your elf crush was just a job to you?”

“That’s…!” He stiffens his posture and raises his voice. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. I was just … ugh.”

“I was forty-four when I left for the first time since arriving,” Hla-eix says. “To me, that’s nothing. But to orcs I’m sure that age is meaningful. What I’m saying is that it wasn’t easy to leave.” She wiggles and fiddles with her fingers idly. “I’m sure you can imagine … what it was like for me. To be among normal-looking argonians. To constantly have to prove yourself worthy. That you’re one of them. That you’re loyal to them, and not the dark elves.”

“…Yeah. I get it.”

She snaps out of her anxious spell and sits up straight, crossing her legs. “Tell me more about the Hlaalu boy.” 

Daabush gently runs his fingers along Hla-eix’s exposed and heavily scaled back. “…His name was Sevren. Member of the Dren family, he said.” Hla-eix raises a confused eyebrow. “As in, Vedam Dren.” She pulls back a corner of her mouth and shakes her head. “Was the Duke of Ebonheart. Whatever. Important guy.”

“…So what happened? Did you talk to him? Were you…involved?”

Daabush’s eyes close shut, then open again, but they were in a different place and time. “Yes. We were in love. He left his family to be with me.” He shakes his head back and forth slightly. “Not easy, two men, orc and elf, in Skyrim, you know. He was used to city life. But it wasn’t really an option. We joined a band of poachers in Eastmarch. They didn’t mind, long as we pulled our weight and didn’t get nobody caught. They were skeptical about Sev at first. But we managed. It was cold, but there was warmth there, with Sev, and the others. Like family.”

He shakes his head more forcibly to clear it and sits up, matching Hla-eix’s posture. “What about you? What’s your history with love like?” 

She looks away towards the window. “…I lied.”

“What?”

“I, uh. You’re my first.”

Daabush places a firm hand on her thigh. “…No. Doesn’t make sense. You’re too experienced. You’ve had others.”

She stands and walks towards the window. “No. When you’re like me, you have to pay them. And only if they’re desperate.” She opens it and leans into the biting cold.

Hla-eix doesn’t hear anything except for the heavy silence of Solitude late at night. It is a quiet hour, even the loud drunkards fled to bed. No early morning exercises clanging metal at the castle; no music wafting from the college; no weeping at the cemetery; no prayers at the temple. There is the faint whisper of winter wind, the delicate sound of snow shifting, the crisp crackling of street torches, and the cacophony of thoughts roaring in her head.

Then there is a massive warmth pressed against her back, wrapping around her. “Then I’m not your first,” Daabush says, slowly turning her to face him.

First she sees his chest, heavily scarred grey-green flesh built like a bear. Then she looks up into his eyes, this time without being forced by them. “You’re the first that mattered.”

He pulls her into a deep kiss, their first real kiss despite all their rutting, and his first in years. In his arms, she is warm despite the cold outside.

When they finally pull away from each other, he reaches over to close the window. Hla-eix buries her face in his chest, listening to his heavy heartbeat, entranced. But he hesitates, and distantly she registers the sound of a door slamming open downstairs. 

“Shit.”

note: this is technically the last chapter of “a window, open and closed.” i don’t know which chapter that is, though. just the last one. but i’m uh. i just wrote it so i’m kind of really feeling it and as a result i don’t have the sense to like, post it after the rest of awoac. so…here.

- - - - -

They had not spoken in years until Uuloril and daro’Zirr invited Hla-eix to a reunion of sorts. She was reluctant, but knew she had to go. They were her friends. She had saved the world with them.

She did not know it was because Daabush was dying. If she had, she would not have come.

Uuloril was the one who told her when she arrived at the estate. Daro’Zirr was pacing in front of the door, their tail twitching anxiously. Uuloril did not look much older than he had when Hla-eix had met him, his altmer blood sure to last him another century or two before he shows significant signs of aging. The only sign he was any older than he was that day in 4e201 was that the youthful innocence he’d had then had been drained from his face by the decades since. 

Daro’Zirr, on the other hand … their once bright red fur was paled with grey, their mane long but with half the hair length from the root stark white. Despite all the energy the khajiit had been known for, they seemed subdued, tired. Their pacing was accompanied by a limp suggesting poor hips, their eyes were dark and sullen, and their anxious claws shivered with frailty.

“…said maybe a few more days with this treatment, but that was a few days ago, so…Are you okay?”

Hla-eix was focusing on daro’Zirr’s condition too much that she forgot Uuloril was talking. “What?”

“You just seemed…you know, distracted, or -”

“Of course I’m not okay!” She grabs him by the collar as she realizes what he had asked, her voice quickly raising to a scream. “Are you? You would be. So goddamn detached and self-concerned. Just another fucking inconvenience, huh? Never mattered to you. You never gave a shit about him! You -”

She stops. He’s crying, tears shattering on his cheeks, smiling so sadly. “I loved him, too,” he says.

She lets go. Daro’Zirr steps in between the two of them. “What the hell is wrong with you?” they whisper harshly. “‘Detached and self-concerned?’ You’re the one who ran away. Daro’Zirr and Uuloril stayed with him. We stayed together. But you ran away!”

Hla-eix stares blankly. It’s worse up close. She can see the wrinkles under the fur, deep as canyons. And their voice is strained like a frayed rope. Not long now until -

“Of course,” they say, shaking their head and stepping back. “Not even listening to daro’Zirr. Fuck off.”

“He, uh,” started Uuloril, wiping the wetness from his eyes and under his nose, “wanted to see you. He asked for you.”

“Of course he did,” Hla-eix said, but the malice she tried to lace the words with just felt like lead on her tongue. She walked towards the door, but her attempt to push past Uuloril was so feeble he just stepped aside himself. She put her hand on the door handle. She could not turn it.

So she just stood there for a long moment. She tried to break free, and the only way she was able to was to breathe the words, “I can’t.”

Uuloril was right beside her. He put his hand over hers and slowly turned the knob for her.

He was lying in bed. A healer sat in a chair next to him. Hla-eix only looked at her.

“Scales,” he croaked. “You made it.” 

He was hit with a coughing fit. The healer’s hands reached over to his throat, glowing with golden restoration magic, and Hla-eix’s eyes couldn’t help but follow them to his face. 

She immediately covered her eyes with her hand, to avoid seeing him, and tried to play it off as rubbing her face. It probably looked more like wiping away tears. Once the coughing fit subsided, she looked again, this time at Uuloril, who sat on the other side of the bed from the healer, Daa’s weathered hand in his. Daro’Zirr leaned against the wall, their arms crossed, keeping a weary eye on Hla-eix.

“Hey,” Hla-eix says, her glance shooting between Uuloril, daro’Zirr, and the healer, trying not to look at Daabush. “Long time no see, I guess.” 

Uuloril looks to the healer. She nods solemnly. He looks down at his and Daa’s entwined hands, teardrops staining their skins. He nods back weakly. Hla-eix decides to look at the ceiling instead.

“Could you…leave us alone for a minute?” Uuloril asks. The healer nods gently and leaves the room.

“Come,” Daabush says, his voice so hoarse. (Hla-eix can look away, but she wishes she could listen away too.) “Sit by me. Please.” He waves towards the healer’s seat, now vacated.

She does, keeping her eyes as far from his shriveled body as she can. 

“I’m glad you came,” he says. His eyes are burning a hole into her head, and she tries, she tries so hard to ignore it, to resist. But she can’t help but finally look at him.

He’s so pale, like his wrinkled skin is so thin that she can see right through to the bone. His eyes are set so deep in his head, but their fire hasn’t ever gone out. His hair, once long and ebony-black, is patchy and ash-grey. His once massive muscles cling weakly to his skeleton. He reaches up towards her with a shaky hand. She hesitates before accepting it; its shriveled boniness fits cold and awkward in hers. He squeezes, but the reminder the gesture gives of the comfort these hands once gave her just makes it worse.

She can’t bring herself to look at his face too long, so she looks at their hands again. “What … Is it … How bad is it?”

Daabush swallows thickly and closes his eyes. “Any time now,” he says. “Potions stopped working a week ago. Spells stopped working yesterday.”

“Why did you bring me here? I told you. I didn’t want …”

“I wanted to see you. I missed you. We missed you. Even daro’Zirr.” He coughs again, but manages to force it down himself. “And I know you missed us.”

“No.” But the word wouldn’t have convinced even the healer outside. “I didn’t. You … I told you. You shouldn’t have … I could have stopped this. I told you I could. But -”

“But I don’t want that,” he says, opening his eyes again. “Just like Gus didn’t want it. I’m not afraid.”

“Bullshit.” She looks him in the eye. “Of course you are. Everyone’s afraid of dying.”

“But everybody dies.”

“You didn’t have to!” She lets go of his hand and looks away. “You could have stayed young and done so much more with your life. You could have - we could have done so much together.”

“I’m content with what I did with my life. It was enough.”

“No, it’s not. You could have done more. You could have done it with me.”

Daabush doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes half-focused on Hla-eix, the other half on something beyond. A memory? Or something else?

Then he swallows, and says, “You don’t look a day older than when I met you.”

“Of course I don’t. The Serpent keeps me. It could have kept you.”

“You haven’t aged,” he continues. “And you haven’t changed.”

Her eyes snap back onto his. “What?”

“You haven’t changed. Always so … afraid. Running away from everything. Pushing people away when they get too close. Afraid of change. Afraid of losing things, so you throw them away before you can lose them.”

The dam she was bracing her entire being against this whole time breaks. She keeps staring at him for as long as she can until the world becomes too murky, and his face is a vague blotch of light. Then she collapses on top of him, her body a thousand earthquakes, and her face a million tsunamis. 

“I’m sorry … just … please don’t go. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave.” 

“It’s not your choice to make. It’s mine.” He places his cold gentle hand on the back of her head. “But I’m sorry.”

It is not the glorious death in battle that many orcs dream of and pray for. There is no great triumph, no heroic sacrifice. There is Uuloril, holding Daabush’s hand so tight, his golden face awash with tears and snot; there is daro’Zirr, kneeling beside him, their face in their claws; there is Hla-eix, body shaking, screaming into his chest. There is a family, damaged by time, but a family, together, nonetheless.

It is not the honorable death expected of a savior of the world. But it is a good death.

Daa,

Something’s come up. It’s Uuloril and daro’Zirr. He went missing first, and then they went to find him. Now they’re both gone. If you don’t hear from me in a week or two, your ass better come looking for me. And them too, I guess.

I don’t want to lose any more of us.

- Scales

With a note like that, she should have known better than to expect him to wait. 

Uuloril had been invited to meet someone; he had told daro’Zirr where he was going; Hla-eix followed daro’Zirr’s tracks, because the khajiit always traveled recklessly. But Hla-eix’s investigation left very little for Daabush to go on, the clues mostly destroyed or no longer useful, and Hla-eix knew how to move in secret, minimizing her trail.

Fortunately, on top of being among the last Dragonborns, Daabush was damn near the best tracker in all of Tamriel.

He followed her across Skyrim, never catching up, but the faint trail was fresh enough he knew she couldn’t be more than a day ahead of him. He knew he wouldn’t find her before she found their friends, but hopefully whatever happened, they could hold out one extra day for him to arrive.

After a week of chasing, Daabush entered the Dragontail Mountains, and thereby the nation Orsinium. He might have been excited to be here had the circumstances been different. At the border he was stopped by orcs in heavy orichalc armor.

“Halt, outsider,” said one, supposedly the leader, in Orcish. “State your business.” 

“None of your business,” replied Daabush. His Orcish was fairly rusty.

“You come here, you make it our business,” said one of the other guards.

“I can really make it your business if I have to. Move aside.”

“That a threat?” The guards drew their weapons in trained unison.

Daabush had not bothered to bring his bow for this quest. Whatever was stealing his friends from him demanded a more personal touch. He pulled a massive warhammer from his back, but did not bother entering a combat stance. “A promise.”

One of the younger guards stepped forward to attack, but his boss held him back, and said, “Wait. Is that…?”

“By Malacath,” exclaimed another. “It is. It’s…”

As every orc recognized the hammer and its gravity, they whispered in awe, “Volendrung.”

Daabush stepped forward until he was almost tusk-to-tusk with the captain. “Unless any of you want an express trip to meet the one who gave me this hammer,” he said, “you are going to take me to the city. Now.”

- - - - -

The capital city of Orsinium, Orsinium Major, was nested in a deep valley surrounded on all sides by a veritable wall of mountain faces. It was only accessible via a network of natural tunnels carved into the rock. The orc from the border patrol who led him there had to give Daabush to the guards who roamed those halls. They attempted to rebuff him as well, but his heavy badge as Malacath’s champion forced their hand.

When he emerged into Orsinium Major, he could not help himself this time to be a tiny bit awestruck. The entire city was built like a temple, perfectly arranged and carved from stone, every building from abode to smithy to palace a monolith to the strength and fortitude of the orcish people. Orcs, goblins, ogres, trolls, and even ogrim walked its streets like priests of Malacath (or Trinimac), and though Daabush had long ago distanced himself from his people, his chest was filled with pride to witness their works.

But then he remembered his purpose, and continued his investigation.

After asking around to no avail, Daabush resorted to more subtlety in his search. The approach proved fruitful, if only because the subtlety of his target was less than impressive. The facility was poorly hidden. If you looked hard enough, the entrance to the cave was visible from over the city’s walls. And Daabush had eyes like a hawk. All it took the old hunter was a bit of climbing to reach it.

The hole in the side of the mountain was watched by two orcs in even heavier armor, but brass rather than orichalc. (Daabush did not care to wonder why.) They were braver than the border patrol, and seemed unimpressed by the artifact Daabush wielded. But their bravery was misplaced. One had his chest caved in, and the other Shouted off the mountain.

The first chamber of the caverns was mostly empty, except for some brass machinery that Daabush couldn’t quite place. Were these thugs operating out of some dwarven ruins? It seemed irrelevant to him until one of the machines spoke.

It was some kind of perforated cone hung from the ceiling. It had a thin, metallic voice, speaking Cyrodiilic. “Ah, you’re here, Daabush gro-Dren. Come, your friends and I are waiting for you. But, if I may? Please do spare my researchers. They will not harm you. I cannot make the same promise for the soldiers, as they are sworn to defend our work. Make your way to us as you must. I eagerly awai-”

Daabush smashed the machine into a thousand brass pieces. He didn’t bother to see if it communicated both ways, because he couldn’t stand to hear any more of the transmitted monologuing. If they were to exchange words before Daabush tore him apart, they were going to do it face-to-face.

He did decide to oblige the speaker’s request to spare the civilians. But he relished destroying the armed orcs like they were skeevers. Deep into the mountain, with a trail of mangled corpses and weeping scientists behind him, Daabush kicked down the door to the lab.

Inside were four cages. Three of them held Uuloril, daro’Zirr, and Hla-eix, all chained and gagged, while the fourth and central chamber contained a small orc whose brief startlement became a wide smile when he saw Daabush.

“Wonderful! You made it.” He clasps his hands together. “My name is Ogash. I hope the soldiers didn’t give you much trouble? Ah, no, of course they didn’t. With friends like these,” gesturing vaguely at the caged Dragonborns, “of course you would be more than capable of taking care of them.”

“Let them go. And maybe I won’t paint Orsinium with your guts.”

Ogash frowns. “Oh, well, you see. I can’t quite do that yet. I do hope you don’t get too heated over it.”

“I can show you heated, alright. Let them go.”

“Show me that fire, then, little dragon. I’m dying to hear it!”

Hla-eix yells through her gag and fights against her restraints, but it’s too late. “Yol Toor Shul!”

Daabush’s shout never reaches the orc in the cage. Suddenly his eardrums are filled with ringing like a bell’s long echo, and he cannot move an inch.

“Excellent!” exclaims the small orc, opening his cage. “Give me one moment, please.”

Only Daabush’s eyes are mobile now, and he looks around the room. The walls and ceiling are covered with more of those metal cones, and they stare at him like laughing eyes. His captor moves over to a large machine and fiddles with it for a moment, pulling levers and flipping switches. It prints out something on a long scroll of paper, which he scrutinizes with a growing frown.

“Damn. Still useless to me…” He glances at Daabush’s frozen body with a slight smile. “You’d think the thu’um would be more interesting, and more scientifically important.” He crumples up the paper and tosses it behind him. “Oh well. I’ll release them then. You’ll find I haven’t harmed a hair on their head. Or tail. Or a scale on their skin? What a fascinating bunch, but not for my purposes.”

As promised, Ogash begins to open the cages, unlock the chains, and remove the gags, starting with Uuloril, who seems very shaken by the entire ordeal. Next is daro’Zirr, who tries to bite the orc as he ungags her, but can’t quite manage it. Last is Hla-eix, who says nothing and does not resist.

Once the three are freed, Ogash operates the machine again, relinquishing Daabush from the ringing and paralysis. Daro’Zirr catches him as it happens so he doesn’t fall over. Once back on his feet, he tries to swing at their captor, but stops his arc just before hitting Uuloril square in the face. “He’s letting us go,” the altmer says, his voice dripping with exhaustion. “Leave it be. No more bloodshed.”

Daabush stares into Uuloril’s eyes for a moment, then grunts and puts Volendrung away. Ogash smiles at Daabush, and he really wishes Uuloril would let him kill the orc anyway.

But then there is a flash of steel and a spray of warmth on Uuloril and Daabush. They stare at Hla-eix and her bloody blade and face as Ogash starts screaming.

“Oops,” she says. “I’m sorry. I think I slipped. So very sorry.”

“I don’t think she’s sorry,” Uuloril whispers to Daabush after stepping back to hide behind him. “Or that it was an accident.”

“You don’t say,” Daabush says, rolling his eyes.

Daabush bends over and picks up Ogash’s severed arm from the floor. “Here,” he says, holding it out to the wailing orc. “Let me give you a hand.” He hits Ogash so hard that the amputated limb breaks with several sickening snaps, and the orc is unconscious before he hits the ground. His body starts thrashing about, blood spewing everywhere, as the last Dragonborns leave Orsinium to go home.

———

“I need a new lab. New facilities.”

A smith is fitting Ogash for a prosthetic as a healer tends to his swollen face. Across from him, shrouded in darkness, is the King of Orsinium.

“You don’t say,” she says, her eyes scanning the reports in her hands.

“New guards, of course. More of them. And almost all of my assistants quit.”

“Both are replaceable.” She flips through a few pages. “You, however, are not. Even if you’ve given me nothing so far.”

Ogash frowns and says nothing. But then he suddenly straightens up in his seat, then squeaks in pain. The sudden movement caused the healer to accidentally press too hard on the bruised mound supposedly hiding an eye. He composes himself, and says, “I have an idea. But I need a more remote lab. And more funds.”

The King puts aside the reports and leans forward, the shadows peeling from her skin like a sunburn. “What’s this new idea that will dig even deeper into my coffers?”

Ogash runs through historical, geological, mathematical, metaphysical, and tonal data in his head. “There’s a few more things that need checking. But this could really work.” His mind races through dark tunnels, navigating their twists and turns, searching for something that could change everything. “I need some of your best and most loyal to accompany me into the deep tunnels. Very deep.” 

He swats away the smith and healer with his remaining left hand so that he can lean in towards the King and whisper, “If we find what - who - I think is down there, I can make your nation something truly great.”

chapter 1

cw: implied nsfw, nothing explicit

note: the fluctuation between past and present tense is intentional. it might not work out as well as i hope, but i’m experimenting.

- - - - -

Daabush was captivated at the sight of her. She sat, naked, a few feet from an open window, illuminated by moonlight. The patches of scales all across her body caught the glow and showered the rented room in faint glints, shifting ever so slightly as she breathed. The orc had never seen anything quite like it - or anyone quite like her.

A stiff breeze of cold Skyrim air clambered up over the edge of the bed, pulling Daabush out of his reverie, and his sheets up to cover more of his own naked body. 

“Aren’t you cold with that damn window open?”

Hla-eix didn’t avert her gaze from the night outside. “No.” 

Daabush grunted. She could be so damn frustrating sometimes. One minute she’d be playful, flirty, passionate. Then she’d do…this. His lips asked the question just as his brain did: “Why do we do this?”

She glanced towards him, her head tilting ever so slightly, before returning her outward stare. “I don’t know. Why do we?”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Daabush said, sitting up in bed. “I’m serious. Why? You come off so strong when we first meet, and then by this time at night, like clockwork, you act like this. It’s like … oh, by Malacath. I get it.”

“Tell me what you get.” Hla-eix swiveled in her seat, planting her chin in her hand. “I’m very interested to hear it. Dying to know, really.”

“You’re just a goddamn fetishist, aren’t you? Of course you would be.”

“You’re the one who’s been sleeping with a deformed argonian,” she shoots back. Then she bites her lip, hard, and turned away.

Daabush had never really asked what her deal was. She looked mostly like a dark elf, really, but with places where grey skin was replaced with dark scales, and a strange quality to her eyes. He had thought it curious, but best not to ask. 

“Hey,” he said, rising out of bed. Every step towards her reminded his skin of the blasted cold. “I didn’t mean to …” He didn’t finish his sentence, and instead just reached out to her scaled shoulder.

She brushed him off harshly. “Don’t touch me.”

He reaches out again. She brushes him off again, but softly. “I said don’t fucking touch me,” she says, quieter. “Please.”

Daabush obliged. Instead he walked around her and sat underneath the window. It was frigid as Coldharbour but - “Can we please at least talk?”

“About what?” Hla-eix avoided looking at him.

“About … this. About why you do this. Why we do this.”

“What is there to say?” She scoffed. “We both have needs and we satisfy them together.”

“But then you get so distant. So cold. Like the only thing in the room with me is that damn open window.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m just … a freak. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Maybe I’m a freak too. You don’t know me.” He stares so fiercely at her that she can’t help but match it. “I want to know you.”

She made a noise in her throat, like she was swallowing something hard. Then she stood up from her chair, closed the window, and sat on the edge of the bed. Daabush slowly stood himself and sat beside her. 

They sit in silence for a moment, Hla-eix not sure what to say, and Daabush not wanting to push her. Finally, she blurts out, “I hate doing this. What we do. It makes me feel so … disgusting.” Daabush starts to object again, feeling like he might’ve been right about his earlier theory, but Hla-eix interrupts him. “It’s not because of you. It’s … these bodies. Yours, mine, anyone’s. But mine especially. It’s … disgusting. Horrid. Maybe suited for the work I do. But not suited for … what we do, you and I.”

He lets the words rest for a moment, trying his best to temper his impulsivity, before responding. “I mean … I think it’s pretty damn well suited. Disgusting is about the last word I’d use. I’m no bard, but I could throw a few other words at you instead. Like sexy, or -”

“Please just stop right there. Not helpful.”

Daabush closed his mouth mid-sentence and clasped his hands together. “Okay. Sure.”

Hla-eix shakes her head and covers her face with her hands. “I hate it. But it feels like I can’t help it. Like there’s something driving me to do it, like I’m an animal, and as soon as I come to my senses I realize how repulsive it is - I am - and I just … I make promises to myself that I’ll never do it again, I’ll never stoop that low, I’ll never debase myself like that, not ever again … but in a few hours it comes back, that sick hunger for more. I feel like a slave to it. It won’t go away. And it just hurts me.” She pulls her face from her hands and looks at Daabush, her eyes close to overflowing. “And others.”

“Hey,” he says, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close, this time to no resistance. “Don’t worry about me. It doesn’t hurt me, doing what we do.”

“Not helpful,” she whispers. 

“Yeah, sorry.” He gently rubs her arm. “Just worried about you, is all. Hurting yourself. It hurts to watch you like that.”

“Why?” She looks up at him. “You barely know me. I’m just the weird-looking elf you meet up with for sex.”

“You’re right, I guess. I do barely know you.” He kisses her forehead, a much gentler kiss than their usual snogging. “But maybe I want to get to know you.”

Hla-eix shakes her head. “That’s a lot. You don’t want to know. There’s so much about me.” But then she smiles and sits up straight, letting Daabush’s hand fall to rest on her lower back. “If you really got to know me, I’d have to find somebody else to fuck. And it’s not so often a woman finds a nice boy like you to treat her right.”

“‘Nice boy?’” Daabush smiles back, his hand sinking lower. “I’m not some novice teenager or something.”

“To me, you might as well be.” She places a hand on his chest and leans her face into his, their lips breaths apart. “First thing you get to learn about me: I’m actually over two hundred years old.” Her hand slowly trails down his body. “Let me show you what two centuries of experience feels like. And then we can talk more.” She cuts out the breaths from between their lips, and the two fall back into bed.

(chapter 2)