Fire On The Mountain (A Skyrim Quest)

Ongoing Quests

Pest Control, Part 2

Current Objective: Deal with the wolf and find the source of the trouble.

Reward: ???, ???

The Blessings of Nature
Current Objective: Return to Whiterun with the Sap of the Eldergleam.
Reward: ???

Training Up
Current Objective: Find someone that can be trained to make alchemical potions, in order that there be more cats available to help.
Current Objective (Optional): Visit the potion-using witch outside Riverwood, she might have knowledge that could be useful.
Current Objective (Optional): Would one of the cats without a steady job work as such an apprentice?

Reward: ??, ???

Job Procuress:

Current Objective (Optional): Ask around when you meet people to see if there are any jobs to be had, even in unusual places.

Reward: ???

Cure for Boredom

Current Objective: Certain "layabout" cats cannot find nearly enough work, and are often bored and listless. Find something for each of them to do.
Current Objective (Optional): Find something for Anusi to do.
Reward: ???

Cure for Rattles

Current Objective: Rattles is spreading in the homeless community of Little Elsweyr, and someone needs to help them...
Reward: ???

The Summons of Noctra
Current Objective: Travel to Riften, at the behest of Noctra.
Reward: ???

The Black Star
Current Objective: Travel to WInterhold in search of the Star of Azurah.

The 11077 Step Method
Current Objective: Spread the knowledge of the true number of steps to High Hrothgar.

The Shadow of the Hist
Current Objective: Follow up on the rumours Bathes-In-Steel has discovered.

Blood on the Ice
There are rumours of a serial killer in Windhelm.

Blood in the Water
There are rumours of disappearances at a farm by Lake Ilinalta.

Blood from the Stone
There are rumours of murderous cults in Markarth.

All Norded Out
Current Objective: Do something, anything, that isn't about nords.

The Tomb Of Jurgen Windcaller
Current Objective: Complete "All Norded Out"

Completed Quests

The Lay of Whiterun
Reward: 10 XP, bonuses to actions in Whiterun.

Pest Control Part 1
Reward: 20 XP, Skeevers dead.

Unbound
Reward: XP and your life.

Dogged Determination
Reward: Dog is saved.

Gathering Ingredients (Radiant-Quest)
Reward: XP, goodwill, potentially cash.

Straight To The Moon!
Reward: 100 Septims, Lunar Weapon, 25 XP

Listing Up:
Reward: 10 XP, Contact made between the working Khajiit and a Nord willing to help in the city.

Begging For Scraps:
Reward: 5 XP, Information about the Nord Beggars.

Nice to Meat You

Reward: Contacts, potential access to meat, 5 XP

The Golden Claw
Reward: 35 XP, the goodwill of the Valeriuses

A Lovely Letter
Reward: 5 XP, Tavern-goers and hunters in Riverwood have a reduced opinion of Do'azda. Lucan and Camilla Valerius have a greatly increased opinion of her. Camilla Valerius feels greatly betrayed by both Sven and Faendal.

Cure for Loneliness
Reward: 5 XP, Hustasarr is visiting the elderly Khajiit.

The Merchants' Quest

Reward: 10 XP, new Trade Routes Opened.

Captain of the Guard
Complete: A Captain has fallen, and the other now stands in his place. All is well…?
Reward: 25 XP, street cred.

The Least Dangerous Game
Reward: 30 XP, got put on trial.

Before The Storm
Reward: 30 XP, a Whiterun-wide reputation.

The Magicat Connection
Complete: Do'azda has spoken to the priesthood in both Little Elsweyr and Whiterun proper, and contacted a magical supplier in Whiterun.
Reward: Spellbooks and connections within Whiterun, both underground and legitimate, magical and mundane.

The 7000+ Step Method
Reward: Bathes-In-Steel knows how many steps lead up to High Hrothgar.

The Way of the Voice
Reward: A greater understanding of the nature of the Dragonborn and the Voice. 100xp.

The Underbelly of the Beast

There are fewer and fewer guards as Do'azda makes her way towards the Argonian neighbourhoods, nestled against the wall of the city. The streets are narrow, flanked on both sides by buildings which rise so high the sky can scarcely be seen between them, and more and more, Do'azda becomes aware she is the only non-argonian in sight.

Argonians are a very unfamiliar sight to her in the extreme, and she finds herself having to keep from looking closer at their scales. They are as odd to her as the smooth, strange skin of the Races of Men and Mer, though at least they come in a decent variety of colours, with patterns to their scales just as a Khajiit has patterns to their fur. This is at least a little familiar and will make it easier to tell them apart: as with most children of Elsweyr she spent much of her youth unable to tell two elves apart, and the same with Men, and learned to do so only in her teenage years without the fur patterns to make it easy to tell even two twins apart.

But Argonians? They are new to Do'azda, and so she resists staring only through an act of will. She knows it is no more polite than the Men who along her caravan asked to rub her fur or looked at her tail as if they might reach out and grab it. She is not a curiosity… and so she should not treat these Argonians as such either.

"Khajiit! Are you hungry?" An Argonian man, tall and broad-shouldered, calls out. He is green-blue and has a pattern like waves on his neck, the scales bending and dipping with its curve. "Brand-jah has a table free, if you'd like?"

Coming closer, Do'azda can see the man is a chef, and what she had taken for the ground floor of a house is instead a tavern, tucked away behind shutters and an unmarked door.

"Come in! Come in!" He smiles, likely aiming for encouraging, but even to a Khajiit, an Argonian's teeth are quite startling.

She needs to find Bathes-In-Steel, but with no other leads - nor anyone else obviously inclined to talk with her - Do'azda ducks into the tavern.

The tavern is only a single room, with a great fire at the rear - meat sizzling on a steel plate above the flames - and three neat little tables dot the room, stained and scarred with age, but gleaming in the dim torchlight, buffed to almost a mirror shine. As she enters, the Argonians sitting at two of the tables turn to look at her, and she fights to keep from fidgeting under their gaze.

"Please, please, take a seat! No khajiit has come to the Argonian quarter for a week or more, I was beginning to worry!" Brand-jah says over one shoulder. "What would you like? I have spiced goat in the pot, and seared beef on the grill?"

She lets her nose scent the air, and finds it a remarkably pleasant smell. Let nobody say that Brand-jah didn't know how to cook meat, it would seem.

"Ah… Do'azda will have the beef?" She manages after a long moment. It is a strange place to eat - there was no sign outside, though as Do'azda thinks this, she realises nowhere in the Argonian neighbourhood have there been any signs - and yet, surely there are shops? Perhaps the Argonians do not need signs? She has never met an Argonian before, but the rumours always painted them as secretive, isolationist to a fault.

"She speaks! I did wonder. He will be here soon, I'm sure." Brand-jah doesn't turn around, busy at the fire.

"Who will-" Do'azda begins, half rising; she has, she realises, been mistaken for someone else.

"Me. Sit back down, cat." The voice from behind her is gravelly, and Do'azda tenses slightly, her neck prickling - she can almost feel the weight of someone's gaze on her neck. "You took long enough to get here, I was beginning to worry Tsani had gotten cold feet."

The Argonian man who slides into the seat opposite Do'azda is small, with black markings along his snout and delicate little horns forming a crest atop his head.

"So? Where did you stash it?"

Do'azda swallows hard. "Do'azda is not Tsani's mule - they could not get through the gates? Even Do'azda was almost searched, and she is the shaman."

The Argonian man blinks - the sight is unsettling, as the lid slides horizontally across his eye - and leans forward, his tongue flickering out of his mouth, his slit nostrils flaring for a moment. "If Tsani cannot get goods through the gates any longer, why has she sent you? And if not her, who sent you?"

"Do'azda is here with a message for Bathes-in-Steel, from K'dasi, Tsani and Draseva? Apologies for the misunderstanding. Does this one know where Do'azda can find Bathes-in-Steel?" She keeps her voice level, trying to suppress the panic rising in her stomach. She's gotten involved in things she does not understand, dangerous things.

"I am Stalks-Dark-Paths. No one wanders in off the street to speak with Bathes-in-Steel. Tell me your message. If it satisfies, I'll take you to Bathes. Once we've eaten, of course." As Stalks-Dark-Paths speaks, Brand-jah sets a bowl of spiced goat before him, and an earthenware plate in front of Do'azda. Do'azda's tail flicks nervously, and she thinks to still it before wondering if any of them know how to read the language of tails? She stills it anyways, keeping it stiff, feigning relaxation, just in case as she begins to eat.

It is, as expected, delicious, but Do'azda cannot focus on the food, constantly aware of the eyes on her. "Well," She begins. "There is a new captain of the guard - Sinmir - and it has prevented our people from working in the city."

"Yes, yes. Tell me something I am unaware of. Do the khajiit believe this Sinmir does not trouble Argonians? If I wanted to hear excuses, cat, I would be speaking with Tsani myself."

"K'dasi believes it would be helpful for us all if Sinmir were removed from his post, and that we would be best served by meeting to discuss plans?" Do'azda says, irritation bleeding into her tone - does this Argonian believe he is speaking with a child?

"Ah, this is better! I was beginning to worry that the rumours of the Khajiit's criminal competence were exaggerations. Bathes will want to take a look at you, but you can tell your people we will be there." He pauses, looking at her slightly askew. "Shall I escort you to Bathes, and then back to the city gate?"

Do'azda's throat goes dry - she knows little of the Argonians, but their antipathy with the dunmer is legendary, and Stalks-Dark-Paths is not a man she would want to offend.

Uncertain what to do, she reaches for her drink, taking a nervous sip.

"Do'azda must-" The gagging comes without warning, almost enough to knock her from her chair. The drink burns her tongue and throat, and not the warm burn of alcohol, but the bitter burn a cat only gets as a child, when they learn to clean their prey and make a mistake.

"Do you not care for the Bile-Beer? It puts the shine back in your scales, they say." Stalks-Dark-Path says with a smile. "Of course, cats do not have scales, but…"

Brand-jah hands her a glass of water with an apologetic smile. "Usually the smell is enough to put khajiit off the Bile-Beer, and it is only a little joke, I didn't think about how it would taste if one of you actually drank it."

"As she was going to say," Do'azda starts, when she has finally washed the taste from her mouth. "Do'azda will need to speak with the dunmer. She hopes this is not a problem for Stalks-Dark-Paths?"

He bares his teeth for a second. "One of my brothers was killed by dunmer in Arnesia, but I am no mewling smoothskin, to forget necessity for sentiments sake. The dunmer have more pull in this city than either of us. If Bathes agrees, I won't be the rock in the stream."

Do'azda is not blindfolded, as he leads her to Bathes-in-Steel, but in honesty it would've made no difference. He takes her down dark alleys, around blind bends, and once he opens an otherwise unremarkable door to move from one alley to another, but eventually, all of a sudden, he stops short, and Do'azda only just avoids colliding with his back.

"Down there." He gestures to a staircase leading into inky darkness.

Do'azda peers into the gloom - she's quite certain that for argonians, or indeed for most people, it is impenetrable, but she can see a room, washed out with so little light. As she moves further in, however, even that light fades into complete darkness, and she reaches for her dagger nervously, before forcing herself to release it - it will do no good in a fight in any event, and sends the wrong message entirely.

"Ah! Hello!" The voice from the darkness is like a bell, bright and loud. "Stalks always insists I meet people in the dark, says otherwise they won't take me seriously"

As they talk, they reach out, and a little stream of fire lights a torch, revealing Bathes-in-Steel.

She's of only middling height, with bright feathers like a crown, and a small scar on her nose. Their eyes dance in the torchlight, and they shake their hand to dispel the fire held in it.

"Delighted to meet you, anyway! I hear you are organising a meeting? What time? Where? With what result? If it were easy to deal with this Sinmir, I assure you, I would've done it." She pauses. "I'm sorry, that was a lot of questions. Would you care for a sweetroll?"

As she moves, gesturing to a plate of sweetrolls off to one side, Do'azda's breath catches. The Argonian moves with a surety and grace that oozes lethality, and Do'azda is unsurprised to glimpse a glass sword on their hip.

"Do'azda has eaten already, but she may take a sweetroll for later?" Do'azda says, "The meeting is an hour past noon - outside the city, where the Khajiit live, because K'dasi-"

"K'dasi cannot come into the city, of course! The guard would detain them. I'm sorry, it slipped my mind. I suppose we'll be, what… pooling our talents?" Bathes-in-Steel interrupts. "I did wonder though… If you don't mind me asking, what is it to you? You're a shaman, a khajiit mage, yes? Why involve yourself in the affairs of the underworld? I have no choice - my fool brother would get himself killed otherwise, but you're new in town."

It is not an uncommon misconception - some think a shaman is simply a priest, but others hear of their magic, and think a shaman is merely a mage.

"Do'azda has a duty to her community - it is part of being a shaman," She replies. "And in Whiterun, the Khajiit community relies on the underworld more than others may realise."

Bathes-in-Steel seems to consider this for a moment. "It is much the same for us. Pushed to the brink by the nords, only hardly tolerated within the walls, and then they are surprised that we have the temerity to turn to crime rather than starve quietly. I will be at your meeting, Do'azda."

Do'azda turns to leave, only to hear a shout, "Wait!" She stops. Bathes-In-Steel has been very friendly so far but for a moment she thinks that perhaps it was a front. She turns around only to see that Bathes-In-Steel is holding out a sweet roll and some wrapping paper to hold it without getting her hands sticky. "Please, I have too many anyways."

"Of course," Do'azda says with a smile, and takes it.

*******

Evola Raveri is a little easier to find. When she enters the grey neighborhoods, where Dunmer predominate, she is stopped almost immediately by a small, aristocratic looking Dunmer. "Ah, Khajiit. You go to the argonians, and we lose track of you, and now you are here, in our territory. This cannot be by chance. So I must ask: are you looking for me, honored Shaman?"

Do'azda blinks, looking him over. He is dressed in a long, flowing red shirt and dark pants, both of very good (and very insulated) material, with a purple jacket to finish it off. Against his dark skin it really does stand out and his red eyes seem to almost glimmer with mirth. "Are you Evola Raveri?"

"Just so. You seem to have the advantage of me… but I did hear that there was word a new Shaman would arrive for Whiterun."

"Do'azda," she says, not sharing her last name. He smiles wide.

"Do'azda, a strong name, bold, powerful. A name that I can respect." He looks around as if there is an audience to his antics, and then gestures towards a nearby shop. Its sign is in Tamrelic and Dunmeris and seems to have very little that would indicate that it is much at all. It is just a bookstore, and from the glass case in front there are only a few books of much value at all.

She tries not to show her nerves, as if Annabeth is about to pop out and start ranting about romance to her.

Inside there is an aging Dunmer woman, probably nearling three-hundred to have started to look almost elderly.

"Venghat bookseller, I wish to take over your desk for the moment. You may take a break and rest your weary bones," Evola says without even the least hint of threat. Nonetheless the Dunmer woman grows flushed and hurries out.

"There we go. I could probably run this store better than she could, but then, would there be time for art, music, poetry and literature, and of course the finer things of life: do not tell me you are one of those beggar Shamans living on crusts of bread and water?"

"Do'azda is not," she says, though she knows what he speaks of. "But Do'azda is not here to talk of religion…"

"Ah, such a shame. Your kind are much more mystically connected than some might think, and it has to do with your heritage, with the shapeshifting blood in your veins that renders you mistresses of the Shadowed Spell, though perhaps not suited to… oh, sorry, it is impolite to chatter so imprudently."

He gives a polite little laugh that clearly invites her to join in, and Do'azda coughs and says, "Do'azda was asked by K'dasi to come see you about the new Captain of the Guard. They wish for a meeting with you tomorrow, at noon, along with Bathes-In-Steel to discuss matters."

She is hurrying it up because she does not quite trust him. There is something about his demeanour that is far more threatening than the obviously more dangerous Bathes-In-Steel, as if he will at any moment decide to kill her and stab her through the eye without a blink or even a moment to psyche himself up.

"This seems a capital idea, though of course Bathes-in-Steel might not have much to contribute. I feel as if I can trust you as a friend. You are a friend, right?" He reaches out to stroke her hand with odd tenderness. "I feel as if I can trust a friend."

"Yes," Do'azda said, wanting more than anything to flee.

"Right, well, you wonder at such martial women, leaning so strongly into the ways of war, whether they are not perhaps compensating… but of course the Argonians are very different than you and I, warm-blooded as we are. And so it is no matter… I like her well enough, and would even count her almost a friend… though not nearly as much of a friend as you, as I am sure you'd agree."

"Of course," Do'azda said. "So should Do'azda tell K'dasi that you will be there at the meeting?"

"Oh of course, that Guard Captain has been quite a nuisance, and you Khajiit are known for having solutions to such problems. Why, has anyone told you the rumors that swirled around your predecessor, the Shaman Jo'Zhid?"

"Yes they have," Do'azda said, blurting out it for the joy of seeing him look taken aback, as if he is expecting to have a chance to reveal secret truths. "But the past is sometimes best buried."

"Beneath Ash, if need be," Evola agrees. "I have plenty of contacts, and am the most powerful Dunmer in the city… and so my aid will no doubt help with arranging all the little details of the assassination."

Do'azda blinks, ears flicking nervously. There's nobody listening, she's sure of that, but neither did anyone say anything about killing him. To her this seems like a straightforwardly bad idea considering how much pressure it would bring down on the Khajiit. She does not have moral objections: the killing of oppressors and tyrants has a long history in Elsewyr. But practically, while she is no schemer, it seems foolhardy. But she thinks it may be her life to say such a thing here and now. "Do'azda will relay your words accurately. She has much to do, and she knows that you must be a very busy man."

"I am, truly, but the pleasure of meeting such a holy figure outweighs any schedules, and I am sure your pleasure in meeting me is equally great," Evola says with a wide, empty smile. "I would love to speak to you further soon, perhaps have a drink and something to eat?"

"Do'azda was fed earlier," Do'azda says. "But it is… kind of you to suggest."

"Of course it is," Evola says with a nod. "However, I can see you are busy. Another time, then." She turns to leave, but he reaches out to grab her hand and look at her with soft, pleading eyes that she doesn't trust at all. "So, since you are here… are you going to buy anything? I would hate it terribly if I drove sales away from such an honored elder."

Do'azda ends up getting a slim volume of poetry just to get out comfortably, her purse just a little bit lighter.

******

When she leaves Whiterun, she is not quite searched, but the guards look her over as if they're trying to spy some odd bulge or anything odd about her. But there is nothing they can see, she reminds herself, because she merely brought herself and words… and now she leaves with nothing but herself and a different set of words to a different set of ears. She thinks she'll tell them the news once she talks with the merchants, which she wants to get to before it gets too late in the day.

It's only now that she's out of Whiterun that Do'azda truly appreciates how strange it was in Whiterun, with no other Khajiit to speak of. Surrounded by her people, and without any guards turning suspicious eyes on her, she can begin to relax.

Do'azda has only walked a single street away from Whiterun's gates when K'dasi and Tsani fall into step beside her.

"Well? How did it go? Did the shaman succeed? Will they meet?" K'dasi asks, leaning in.

Do'azda nods, slightly hesitant. "Bathes-in-Steel was quite willing to help - she gave Do'azda this?" She holds up her sweetroll, sticking to its paper bag. "Evola was more…"

"Evola's a shit." Tsani replies dryly, though there is a little bit of nervousness in the voice, lurking waiting to ambush the dry dismissal. "Damned good at keeping his people in line, but the man's a streak of shit."

"He made Do'azda buy a book of poetry? And he wishes to kill Sinmir." Do'azda finishes, holding up the book of poetry. She hasn't started to read it yet, but she might as well since she spent a little on it.

K'dasi and Tsani exchange a glance. Do'azda does not like what this glance says, or rather what she can't read from the glance. There's something going on that she doesn't quite understand. "This one does not wish to keep Do'azda." K'dasi says quickly, tail waving rather energetically. "She may go about her business. Do'azda knows when and where the meeting is, should she wish to attend."

"But you are not required to attend," Tsani added, just as hastily.

And with that, they're gone, disappearing as soon as they arrive.

******

Lakaabi is minding a stall when Do'azda reaches the market, but she makes her excuses when she sees the shaman.

"This one wondered whether she would see the shaman again!" Lakaabi says, "Lakaabi can talk to her for a time - she has arranged for someone else to watch her stall for a time."

"Do'azda had other matters to deal with, but she is here now. Lakaabi mentioned perhaps forming some sort of… agreement? With the other traders?"

"A consortium, yes! If Do'azda would care to accompany, this one knows of a delightful tavern where such matters can be discussed in comfort, over drinks - her treat!" Lakaabi doesn't wait for a response before turning away and heading off with a determined spring in her step.

The Moon's Blessings is a fairly large tavern, well stocked and warm, and Lakaabi leads Do'azda into a backroom, with a fireplace and a large table.

"This one is sure the others will be along shortly, but she can explain the situation to the shaman first, if needs be?"

Do'azda takes a sip of mead - it's sweet, sweeter than she expected, certainly, and cool, but the fire roaring in its hearth is beginning to banish the chill from her fingers, and she is in no rush. "Do'azda is listening?"

"This one has been a trader here for almost a decade, and she is no quitter, but these Nords, they do not deal fairly with khajiit; she pays twice for goods half as worthy. Lakaabi has only a small stall, she cannot bargain with the merchants in Whiterun - her custom is unimportant to them. For a time, she could survive through trade with the caravans, but now the war limits where our caravans can travel…" Lakaabi says, "This is all true for her fellow traders too, of course, and so Lakaabi thinks perhaps if we join together, we will be more powerful, more able to negotiate better with the Nords?"

"Khajiit would often do this in Elsweyr, when dealing with the Aldmeri in the cities," she says, thinking through all of her lessons. A Shaman, a true one unlike a… sham-an, has to be trained in all sorts of problems that might face the Khajiit. She is glad that nobody can read her mind for that pun. "It works well enough, though Do'azda confesses, she is uncertain what Lakaabi needs her assistance for?" She knows a little about how to help, but she is hardly an expert in business.

Lakaabi takes a swig from her tankard of mead and grimaces. "This one hopes that collected together, the khajiiti traders might apply for a line of credit, from the nord's bank in Whiterun? It would help the consortium find its feet. Lakaabi would not ask for the shaman's help, but it would settle the nerves of some of her compatriots to have the shaman's blessing, and for herself, Lakaabi knows a shaman's word is oft more respected even by outsiders."

"Well, this one has no objection - such agreements are not uncommon - but she is not known to the nords, her word may be of less use than Lakaabi believes?" Do'azda replies.

Whatever response Lakaabi has, it is drowned out as a crowd of five or six other khajiit bursts in - Do'azda recognises one or two from the other day at the market, and takes them to be the others who wish to form the consortium.

"Has Lakaabi spoken to the shaman?"

"What does she think?"

"Is it a bad idea? This one knew the shaman would think it a bad idea!"

"Is she going to tell the Nords?"

"Will she bestow Alkosh's favour on the agreement?"

"Who cares about that? Will the shaman use her wits to trick the bank into agreeing to the loan? This one reads tales of such tricks between shaman and lord!"

So many questions, so many voices, Do'azda cannot answer them all at once, cannot keep track of every question.

A better shaman could.

Do'azda ignores the voice, which sounds like her tutor, her mother and herself, all at once.

"The shaman tells this one that such agreements are commonplace in Elsweyr, and serve khajiit well in deals with the thalmor in the cities. She will bless the venture to Alkosh, Lakaabi has no doubt."

"And she will come with us to the bank?" Another cat asks.

Lakaabi looks sideways at Do'azda for a second. "We shall not be going to the bank immediately - tomorrow we must construct our arguments, they will not lend money without knowing we are a sure bet, not during a civil war like this. The shaman may be busy, the day after tomorrow, and unable to accompany us. Or perhaps we won't need her?"

"This one can bless your consortium now, if you would like?" Do'azda says.

"This one would like that, yes" One of the merchants replies, "It is of course understood that the consortium shall grant the shaman an honorarium upon completion?"

Do'azda frowns - it feels unsettling to be given money, but she understands this is something shamans must engage with; being paid is of course unacceptable, but food must be bought, and lodgings paid for…

A Shaman can survive on charity, but eventually Do'azda expects she will wear out her welcome with Ka'hasa, and if she starts getting a real healing practice she will need more room than a tiny side room in someone else's house if she is to help Khajiit. Some Shaman even have 'offices' of sorts.

"Do'azda understands." She nods, trying not to let her hesitation show in the cant of her ears.

"Great. Amazing even! You are doing a fine job," Lakaabi said. "All cats in Little Elsweyr have begun to talk about the wisdom displayed by the Shaman already."

Do'azda does not know how to feel about that, though she knows that new Shaman are always subject to gossip. "Thank you," she says, taking another drink of the mead. She really might, once she gets more settled in, spend more time in places like this. As long as she doesn't let it distract her.

She still stays long enough to finish the mead, and she is even offered a flatbread and some dip; some hummus, a little taramasalata.

A taste of home.

******

When she opens the door, there is Ka'hasa, talking to her children. She looks up at Do'azda and smiles.

"It is good to see Do'azda" Ka'hasa says with a soft smile. "Ka'hasa's husband has sent a letter and will be back in a week. Ka'hasa thinks you would like to meet him, and she has made dinner if you wish to relax. She has heard that the Shaman has had a very busy day."

Without really thinking about it Do'azda's tail relaxes, her body lets out tension that she didn't know she was feeling. This isn't home, not even close, but it is a comfortable place to live for now, and so she eagerly enters and slips off her cloak. Skyrim is a cold, cold land filled with cold, cold people, but sometimes there is warmth to be found.


XP: 25/40+10 (Lay of Whiterun)=35/40

Choose an Early Morning and Late Morning Slot for the 21st of Last Seed

[] The community is bigger than the cats she's just met so far, perhaps she could check some of them out and find a few more problems for her to solve (Choose 1 per time slot.)
-[] Those without a visible source of income.
-[] Guards and mercenaries…
[] The hunters have helped her quite a lot, so perhaps she should think about a way to deal with the Thanes that have been disturbing their hunting. Thinking of this is… unnerving now, but the necessity also seems more obvious. Talk to them to see what can be done.
[] Having seen and found one holy location in Whiterun, perhaps it might be best to search the whole city for the religious and magical hotspots for… future reference. (Consumes one time slot, if you're already in the city, two otherwise)
[] The smugglers and dealers are going to have a meeting in Elsewyr with some of their opposite numbers. It is optional, but Do'azda could go to the meeting. It might get her deeper involved in the matter but might also provide key information. (Today, Late Morning Slot Only.)
[-] The merchants are preparing for the meeting, and they request and hope for her presence, but not yet. (Must be taken Early Morning tomorrow, the 22nd of Last Seed.)
[] Do'azda has found her feet. Perhaps it is time to look for somewhere she could purchase magical tomes, and other such tools to expand her options.
[] The mayor and leadership of "Little Elsweyr" has not talked to Do'azda much, but she could perhaps go to see about them.
[] It may be in Do'azda's interests to talk to the local healers to see what if anything she can help with there, though there is no expectation that she'll get put into rotation until she's at least a little bit more settled, perhaps in a few weeks… but doing it now might help her prove herself.

******
VM AN: Tomorrow, Khajiit will meet with organised criminals from within Whiterun, trying to come to an agreement of mutual benefit. The day after, Khajiit will meet with organised criminals from within Whiterun-

TL AN: Bathes-In-Steel and Evola were both fun to write, and the latter name chosen at random by a naming program and then ran with as a great inspiration.

And, the vote is closed! Update will come when it comes!

Moontouched

Do'azda wakes to the dawn songbirds, thankful for a night of undisturbed sleep after her nightmares the night before, having so much to do today.

Ka'hasa is not yet awake, so Do'azda leaves without breakfast; she is headed to talk with the fighting cats - those who sell their claws and swords for septims. They make a base and place of training of a patch of bare earth where a warehouse was torn down some years ago, so Do'azda has heard.

The sound of paws on packed earth carries far in the early morning silence, and as Do'azda gets closer she catches the clattering of wood on wood, the twang of bowstrings and the smack of steel against wood.

The space was filled with a dozen or so khajiit, busy with their dawn training, running shuttles, duelling with wooden batons and shooting arrow after arrow downrange. Do'azda steps gingerly into the yard, feeling more out of place than she ever has in Little Elsweyr, surrounded by such comfort with unveiled violence.

It takes almost a minute before anyone notices her, but three different cats break off from their work when they see her, and Do'azda finds herself all of a sudden crowded.

The first to reach her is a broad-shouldered cathay woman, her hair tied into a loose braid with silver bells woven in, with pale scars etching ridges across her biceps and chest.

"The shaman visits? Does she have a job for us? So many have so much work for khajiit, but this one may be able to make time, if it is something important to such a sweet girl? Razirr would not wish to disappoint..." She says, her voice low and rough, her mouth curling in a confident smile. More muscular than any Do'azda has seen in Little Elsweyr, Do'azda swallows as she scans the other cat, noting the sword on her hip and the mail shirt, battered but clearly well-cared for.

"Dahlima expected the shaman," Another cathay interrupts smoothly, slighter than Razirr, with one of his ears torn off halfway up, a dapple of grey on his muzzle. "She makes her way from cat to cat, solving problems in our most dismal little slum. Dahlima must disappoint, however - for all their sins, none can ever claim nords do not know the worth of khajiiti blades. Mercenaries prosper when others struggle, is this not the way of things? Does it not make the shaman want to just cry?"

Do'azda bites her lip - his tone turned mocking, and she doesn't know what to do, exactly.

"Leave the shaman be, Dahlima. This one would not like to drive her off, not before he can see how she uses the dagger on her hip - Hizala would not be able to live with the shame, should it be known he let a young cat carry a weapon she cannot use, if she comes to harm," The last cat to have come to speak with her, Hizala is a squat, broad cathay, a warhammer slung across his back. A cut down his face leaves his left eye milky and unseeing, and contributes to an air of menace about him, but Do'azda cannot detect any malice in his words.

"Do'azda was not planning on doing anything else until later…" Do'azda says uncertainly. It's true that she had no further plans, but she could go elsewhere, find others to assist.

But she remembers the panic in her gut when she fought in the caves below Helgan, remembers how little use she was cleaning out the skeever nest at the walls, and with a shudder remembers phantom claws ripping at her stomach, and she tightens her grip on her dagger.

"Do'azda would like to learn how to spar, if she could?"

Hizala bares his teeth in what could charitably be called a smile, and Razirr barks a laugh. "Razirr will spar with the shaman first. She will go easy at first… but not too easy."

*****

Do'azda looks over at Razirr. If Do'azda has any delusion she has a chance, then she probably wouldn't be allowed to keep a knife. There are wooden knives, perhaps, but such tools with weights and everything else are not present, and so Razirr watches her as she takes a basic stance exactly as if she's seen it in a book and little more.

"Do'azda should flow a little more than that. This is the right stance," Razirr says, the sword out and held in one hand. Her other hand was placed so that she can claw Do'azda if she gets too close. "But… if the stance is dead, then the pretty Khajiit will be dead too. Come at Razirr."

Do'azda doesn't quite charge, but she quickly heads towards Razirr, and then dodges at the last second to avoid a blow with a wooden practice sword. She's fast enough to do that at least, even if Razirr is clearly going easy on her, but then Razirr steps forward and thrusts the sword and she is forced to duck and half-crawl backwards to avoid being hit. Her only swipe almost comes close enough that Razzir would be forced to easily dodge.

She never has it that good again. She is not terrible, she does not stab herself or immediately lose, but she is no trained cat--or at least no more trained than the kinds of swift textbook descriptions she's seen--and she loses two bouts in a row.

"Do'azda needs to strengthen her arms and look at where Razirr is moving her arms, see the flow of her actions in order to respond instead of simply guessing and swinging away," Razirr says.

Hizala snorts, "Razirr is teaching the Shaman wrong, she needs to focus on the footwork: if the cat stands in the right place the swing itself simply comes in on its own once the dance of blood and violence has begun--"

"Easy for a one-eyed warhammer fanatic to say," Razirr says with a roll of her eyes. "It is the arms that are key, surely one as strong knows this."

"It's everything," Dahlima declares. "Everything is wrong with Do'azda's stance: arms and legs both. If she doesn't fix both of them…"

"Right, it is both. It is always both with this cat, is it not?" Hizala asks with a snort. "Which lover does the cat want, the wife or the husband, the bard or the seamstress? The Shaman must be decisive."

Do'azda decides to just listen to all of the advice and decide later. Her arms ache with effort, and her lungs are heaving in a way that she hasn't felt in several years, since she first was put through practice in running and hiding and fighting of the most basic sort, enough to make her more able to defend herself than the average civilian… but clearly not helping her nearly as much as she had thought it had at the time. Or perhaps Do'azda is out of practice.

"Again." Razirr says, raising her wooden sword, resolutely ignoring the others as they bicker.

Do'azda is nursing a number of bruises and a splitting headache by the hour's end, and cannot decide which she hates more - sparring with Razirr, or being lectured by her when the spar ends.

"The shaman may relax - if she would like more training, Do'azda may pay Razirr for the privilege."

[One-handed +1]

Do'azda exhales, slipping her dagger into its sheath. Enough exercise, at least before lunch, Do'azda thinks.

A commotion draws her attention - another mercenary has rushed in from the road, waving her arms around even as Dahlima tries to calm her down.

"He's missing! Do not tell Soahin it is unimportant! Marash'ji would have told Soahin if he was going to take so long!" Her voice is panicked. "His landlady won't let Soahin see, but she knows-"

"Soahin knows that her friend has been away on a mission for a few days, and she's worked herself up. This has happened before, as Dahlima recalls. When Marash'ji thought he had found treasure in Lake Ilinalta, when he spent a week diving there, Soahin tears up the city looking for him, and he rolls back in days later all smiles." Dahlima's tone is soothing, but it has a mocking edge which Do'azda does not care for.

"This time is different! Marash'ji promised Soahin this would be a quick mission, but she does not even know where he has gone. Please, Soahin simply needs someone to convince Marash'ji's landlady-"

"Give over, Soahin. Marash'ji Far-Eye will be back when he moves past whatever folly has caught his attentions this time," Razirr replies dismissively.

"Where does Marash'ji live?" Do'azda asks, inserting herself into the conversation with a smile. "Do'azda will accompany Soahin, if she so desires?"

Soahin laughs, nervous. "T-the shaman would do this? Soahin is not so successful a mercenary as to have much to offer the shaman…"

"Fool girl. A cat offers something without charge, no mercenary worthy of the name tells them no," Hizala opines. "Say "Yes, Shaman," take her to Marash'ji's lodgings and be done."

*******

It is not all that long of a walk, unfortunately. Everything in "Little Elsweyr" is very close together, often within just a few blocks, and this makes it all packed almost to comedy. She doesn't know where she'll live if not in the house of someone else, and people like Sha'ki and Ka'hasa are sitting on some of the better land, what with having actual yards and multiple rooms and even guest houses. Neither of them is going to starve, though she does not quite know what Sha'ki does to get by.

But compared to the run-down shacks here, often with a different family seen in each of the four windows, Sha'ki is living a life of luxury. The building they reach is ramshackle, rising haphazardly, sharing walls and support with its neighbours, with a handful of windows here and there, likely not nearly as many windows as there are apartments. She allows Soahin to go first, keeping behind her as she tries to think of what to say to the landlady.

Inside, the reception hall smells of too much cheap soap applied with great vigor and intent, with peeling wallpaper patched over by other wallpaper now peeling until it is like the layers of a rotting onion.

"You again! Naamah will not say it again, mercenaries such as yourself are not trustworthy. Soahin is a 'friend' of Marash'ji, but what does that mean, hmm?" A short Khajiit, soft from age and almost plump with bulging eyes and trimmed-down claws bustles forward, wagging one of her hands at the mercenary. "Naahmah will not allow Soahin to steal from him while he is gone, and on such important missions! He is a mercenary, but far more polite than you were to demand… Shaman?!" The Landlady squeaks and her tail stiffens. "What are you doing here?"

"Do'azda would like to see the apartment of Marash'ji, there are worries after he did not come back when he was expected. She understands your fears, and if you wish to come with Do'azda and Soahin to make sure nothing untowards happens, Do'azda would be happy to reassure you." She speaks quietly and politely as she can, her ears tipping in the direction of the landlady and smiles, carefully not showing off too many teeth.

"Oh, oh dear, if the Shaman is here, then this might be a real danger. Naamah hopes it is a false alarm, for Marash'ji was one of her best tenants, always paying on time and always so polite to an old lady like me." The landlady is only in her middle-years, but Do'azda can imagine that she is vulnerable to the kind of flattery that would be easy for a mercenary already used to clients… or a Shaman used to conversation.

Marash'ji's room is at the very top of the building, climbing up rickety, dark staircases, a draught growing more pronounced with each rising floor.

Never particularly fine, it is increasingly obvious the building was not built in one piece - each subsequent floor was added atop the previous, and with rougher wood - the very building itself provides a timeline of the decline of the neighbourhood, Do'azda thinks wryly.

Naamah fumbles with her key for a second, and the crooked little door to Marash'ji's room swings open.

The room is a box, barely tall enough for Do'azda to stand upright in it. A cot is crammed in the back of the room, where the slope of the roof lowers the ceiling lower still, whilst a desk takes up almost all the remaining space.

"It smells damp in here," Soahin mutters under her breath, casting a mutinous glance at Naamah. "Not fit habitation for a fighting cat. He'll catch a chill."

Do'azda ignores her, glancing around the room. There's a book face down on the bed, its spine broken, a map of Whiterun hold on the desk and a note pinned to the wall with a crossbow bolt - driven into the wall by hand, she suspects.

Do'azda checks the book - Skyforge And Her Imitators - first, skimming the page Marash'ji had left it open to.


"Soahin?" Do'azda looks up from the book. "Does this seem like something Marash'ji would pursue?"

Soahin frowns, setting the note she had pried from the door down on the desk and making her way over to Do'azda, skimming the page quickly. "Perhaps, yes. But why would he have looked it up to begin with?"

"Do'azda could not say. What was the note?"

"A bounty. "Skilled mercenary requested to deal with bandit hideout. Captured outlaw revealed they hail from 'Silent Moon Camp'. Three Hundred Septims." He must've picked it up in town - he would never have been the only one to be looking for it if it were posted here, not with a 300 septim reward." Soahin says thoughtfully.

"This one will check the map, to see if it sheds any light." Do'azda says, skirting around Soahin to reach the desk.

The map is old - Whiterun is marked only as "Jorrvaskr", Riverwood is not on the map at all, and nor is Helgan. Something called "Korvanjund" is marked to the far north-east of Whiterun, but Do'azda's gaze is taken instead by a settlement some ways north-west of Whiterun, marked with a drawing of a tiny hammer.

"Silent Moons Forge" She says aloud. "If Marash'ji found this, when he was looking for clues about Silent Moon Camp…"

"That would set him hunting for context, yes." Soahin replies, her mouth twisting unhappily. "Foolish, foolish Marash'ji! Still, something must've gone poorly - Marash'ji is no smith. If nothing was ill, he would have simply returned to find one."

"Do'azda does not know Marash'ji. If Soahin thinks this is the case, Do'azda would believe it."

Soahin nods decisively. "This one will have to rescue him, fool though he is. She will need some time to prepare - potions must be purchased, more modern maps studied, Do'azda knows how it is. Soahin will be ready to go by… the late afternoon, perhaps? Should the shaman wish to come along for support, Soahin would not object, but she of course understands, the shaman has already done so much… This one can walk the shaman back to the main road, yes?"

*****

Soahin is so distracted leading Do'azda back out of the warren-like neighbourhood Marash'ji calls home, that Do'azda cannot draw her into conversation; any question about her life, about mercenary work, about Marash'ji… All of them are met with monosyllabic replies to the affirmative or negative.

She leaves Do'azda on the main road to Whiterun, through the middle of Little Elsweyr, and Do'azda swallows hard. Time to walk into the Senche-tiger's den.

The meeting room is a dimly lit warehouse, near the city walls. Based on roughly carved stone blocks, with hewn logs replacing the stonework a third of the height of the walls, it is entirely unremarkable, but Stalks-Dark-Paths stands by a small doorway halfway along one side, staring daggers at a dunmer woman in leathers, a dagger gleaming ominously from a sheath on her shoulder as she stoically ignores him.

"Name?" The Dunmer woman asks, looking up at Do'azda with sharp purple eyes.

"Do'azda. This one is the shaman, she invited Evola and Bathes-in-Steel to come to the warehouse, and now she would like to ensure it was not for nothing." Do'azda says. She had almost allowed herself to forget how tense talking with these people made her, but she is reminded all over again as the dunmer woman regards her coolly, her eyes burning into Do'azda. She tries not to look at the dagger, or the bow slung across the woman's back, hoping to keep herself from looking as nervous as she feels.

"Nice work. I'm Kalina, pleasure's yours. You can head inside." She says at last, waving Do'azda in.

"Stuck up, aren't they? Damnable Dunmer." Stalks-Dark-Paths stage-whispers as Do'azda passes. Kalina obviously hears it, but just as obviously decides to pretend she didn't.

It is a skill she hadn't expected, considering how arrogant and touchy Evola has acted. Evola seems like the exact sort of person who tugs tails just for fun and boxes the ears of a Pahmar-raht just to see what happens.

Inside, she quickly looks around at the rather small warehouse, clearly never meant to hold the vast treasures of the entire Empire. The warehouse is in a state of being mostly unloaded, with a few crates still full of their cargo of iron ore, a state of affairs which has been unchanged for approximately a decade. The criminals already present are standing or sitting on crates, with nothing like the smoky backrooms one imagines when one thinks of criminal deals.

Stalks-Dark-Paths splits off from her and heads towards the Argonian contingent, which is the smallest of them. No doubt they have trouble getting outside the city safely in the same way that Khajiit have trouble getting in. Bathes-In-Steel is there, her arms crossed and her tail swishing a little impatiently as she looks around. Her entourage includes Stalks-Dark-Paths, a burly Argonian with brown-green coloration and a rather hefty battleaxe in his hands, and a short blue-red Argonian in a what Do'azda recognizes as the garb of a lowly worker or servant of some kind. It includes a long skirt and a rough blouse, but both are in better condition than the clothes of a woman working in some manual position: so either she is a clerk or she is a maid.

Since she's an Argonian, Do'azda would guess the latter. And that's it. Four Argonians standing against a much larger group of Dunmer.

Evola is in front, dressed as if he is going to address the Tribunal itself, in a long flowing gown with his hair carefully braided and pinned back. He is armed, in that there is a sword at his belt, but he looks entirely unafraid of challenge. Behind him are five different Dunmer who are armored and armed and glare fiercely, ears cocked jauntily, at everyone around. All of them are men, she notes idly. To his left there are three others who are almost certainly not warriors.

One is a thin, handsome Dunmer man with particularly dark skin and a bright, vivacious smile. He laughs at something one of the two Dunmer women say. One of the women is short and slightly plump, her curves stuffed into a dress that is altogether too short, too tight, and too thin to possibly be anything other than the garb of a prostitute. The other girl is somewhat more sensibly dressed, but she is clearly with the other two. They watch everyone carefully, or at least the girls do. The man doesn't seem like a client, for his own clothing is equally tight and clearly meant to display him in a way.

Against these two very disparate group, then there are Do'azda's own people: Khajiit. K'dasi, Tsani, Dravsia, and five different rather tough looking Khajiit, including one of the mercenaries she'd spied just a few hours ago shooting arrows at a target. They are well-armed, but seem a little more individual than the Dunmer guards, with three of them being women and all of them dressed in different combinations of light and heavy armor. She notices one of them isn't armed at all except for very, very sharp claws that look as if they must have been intentionally sharpened despite how inconvenient claws could be for fine work.

Their tails are swishing with undisguised tension, and she's about to go over towards them when Evola steps forward. "Ah, Do'azda Khrimnin, it is so good to see you. I had been hoping that such a beautiful Khajiit would grace us with her mystical presence. As I have offered the other participants, if you wish for… refreshments, the ladies and the, ahem, gentleman have agreed to offer their services discounted to all participants."

Do'azda is stunned by the sheer crassness of the statement in contrast to his elven noble bearing. It makes her think of all the presumptuous cut-throats that call themselves proud members of the Aldmeri Union, and she just barely manages not to hiss as he continues.

"I am sure the gentleman can still do his duty, and as Do'azda surely must have seen: I am a man who does not pass up an opportunity to enrich my people or the world. Business is not just life, but the lifeblood of my community. And we will have quite a long time open after we have agreed on the obvious solution," Evola says, stepping forward. "We kill the Guard Captain and dump his body on the steps of Dragonsreach to tell him exactly what we think of his Nordic Laws and the inferior, thickheaded race of brutes and barbarians that call themselves thinking beings." He says it with a confident grin, earnest and looking around as if he will just cry if anyone disagrees with his well-reasoned points.

Bathes-In-Steel steps forward, opening her mouth and then stopping before shaking her head. "If we do that, then the Jarl will have to see us all hang as a matter of his pride. Nords value their honor and pride more than they do a thousand innocent lives, and certainly more than a few dozen guilty lives. It is best to simply have him removed, and then we can encourage the replacement of a more… acceptable Guard Captain, one who will focus on what matters." She shrugs, looking over at the Khajiit contingency for support. "This does not seem so difficult, but it means we must work together to find a reason that the Jarl and others will accept."

"Tsani does not think the Jarl will accept that they are harassing Khajiit smugglers and refusing to keep his word when he is bribed," Tsani says with dry sarcasm, rolling her eyes and looking over at Evola with scorn.

"How can we remove him, though? He does not bother the wealthy, the nords, and Jarl Balgruuf listens only to them," One of Evola's women asks plaintively.

"The Battle-Borns do not like him, this I know." The maid brought by Bathes-in-Steel speaks up. "They do not see me, when I am sweeping their floors. Idolaf says Sinmir is a "gurning Grey-mane lackey" and old lady Bergritte says he will like as not open the gates for Ulfric Stormcloak."

Evola dismisses her with a snort. "They say this, but do nothing to act again him? Ha! I say again: we must slay him. The great houses of Morrowind know not to cross the Morag Tong, we could achieve the same!"

The Argonian maid wilts, closing her mouth even as she has more to say. Bathes-in-Steel glances at her, then smiles pleasantly at Evola. "If my esteemed friend wishes to engage in open war in Whiterun's streets, he needed only to say so. My people have wanted access to the markets of the Grey Quarter for some time, it will be all the easier when the Jarl's huscarl has gutted Evola like a fish."

One of Evola's men pushes off from the crate he was leaning against, a hand going to his axe as he steps forwards. "Is that a threat, lizard?"

"Oh please, asherspawn. Please bare steel. My teeth to your neck, revenge for my brothers," Stalks-Dark-Paths hisses, his pupils dark slips of malice.

"Enough!" Do'azda shouts, surprising even herself. "Blood will not be spilt today! We share a goal, let us at least finish discussions before we threaten one another?"

"Drasiva thanks the shaman - she is as eloquent as expected. Now girl," Drasiva turns to the Argonian maid, who shrinks back, trying to disappear amongst the boxes. "This one believes the maiden had more to say?"

"Yes! I, well, that is… Olfrid, the clan leader, he says they cannot touch Sinmir, his reputation as a mercenary captain is beyond reproach?" The girl shrugs. "Otherwise he could have blocked his appointment?"

"But-" The more well dressed of Evola's girls begins, then cuts herself off as Drasiva glares, before forging ahead. "I am Adosi Telvan - a courtesan of some repute, have any heard of me?" She looks around, and sighs. "A pity. I was only going to say… that can't be right? Vilkas the companion hires me thrice weekly, to hear his complaints so much as anything, and he calls Sinmir a bloviating dunce, who would have label his boots "Left" and "Right" if he had the literacy to do so,"

Tsani snorts, and Adosi brightens, pressing on. "Vilkas claims Sinmir was a prize fool as a mercenary captain, that Vilkas and his brother were hired more oft than he could count to save the man, that he could only have been appointed as a compromise betwixt all the nobles of the city?"

K'dasi hums. "Perhaps Sinmir has embroidered his record, hm? Misrepresented himself to House Grey-mane, to Jarl Balgruuf? The Companions are notorious for their honour - Vilkas would not spread the truth, but he might confirm it, should…"

Adosi pales. "A courtesan's discretion is everything, it would end my career if Vilkas knew I had betrayed his confidences!"

K'dasi purses their lips. "Indeed, this one had quite forgotten. Apologies. Perhaps… K'dasi provides Sleeping-Tree Sap to a Redguard once of Sinmir's company - the man lost an arm to a bear, terrible business, he can hardly sleep for the ache without medicinal assistance - and he could be persuaded, K'dasi believes, to tell of Sinmir's incompetence…"

"And Sinmir will deny it, have the man clapped in irons," Evola replies dismissively, but then stops himself. "Whereupon, with a man at risk of death…"

"Vilkas' honour will compel him to speak," Bathes-in-Steel finishes. "And this shall give Olfrid the leverage he needs to remove the man, humbling Clan Grey-mane, as he desires."

"A neat plan, and one which bears almost no trace of outside influence. K'dasi knew our meeting would be successful. Does anyone have anything to add?" K'dasi asks. "Because if not, K'dasi would ask that you return to your homes - the guard are less alert in the day, but it is best to not tempt fate, no?"

The Dunmer leave first - Evola walks out stiffly, embarrassed frustration radiating off him, whilst Adosi smiles at Tsani as she leaves. Tsani trips over her own feet.

The Argonians linger a little longer, and Bathes-in-Steel approaches Do'azda as she prepares to leave.

"I wanted to thank you," Bathes-in-Steel says, "Things could've gone badly there, but you calmed the situation well - you didn't cast a spell, did you?"

Do'azda gasps, but Bathes-in-Steel waves their hand before she can reply. "A joke! I was telling a joke! You did well, shaman. I'll see you around."

Do'azda watches the Argonians leave, heading up the road back to the city, and releases a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Let that be an end to my involvement in such things," She murmurs to Azurah.

Now that the morning is done, what shall Do'azda do with the afternoon?

Choose an Early Afternoon and Late Afternoon Slot for the 21st of Last Seed

[] The community is bigger than the cats she's just met so far, perhaps she could check some of them out and find a few more problems for her to solve.
-[] Those without a visible source of income.
[] The hunters have helped her quite a lot, so perhaps she should think about a way to deal with the Thanes that have been disturbing their hunting. Thinking of this is… unnerving now, but the necessity also seems more obvious. Talk to them to see what can be done.
[] Having seen and found one holy location in Whiterun, perhaps it might be best to search the whole city for the religious and magical hotspots for… future reference. (Consumes one time slot, if you're already in the city, two otherwise)
[-] The merchants are preparing for the meeting, and they request and hope for her presence, but not yet. (Must be taken Early Morning tomorrow, the 22nd of Last Seed.)
[] Soahin would like Do'azda to accompany her to Silent Moon Camp, to see what has befallen Marash'ji, and to investigate this "Lunar Forge" (Can only be taken Late Afternoon today, 21st of Last Seed)
[] Do'azda has found her feet. Perhaps it is time to look for somewhere she could purchase magical tomes within Whiterun, and other such tools to expand her options.
[] The mayor and leadership of "Little Elsweyr" has not talked to Do'azda much, but she could perhaps go to see about them.
[] It may be in Do'azda's interests to talk to the local healers to see what if anything she can help with there, though there is no expectation that she'll get put into rotation until she's at least a little bit more settled, perhaps in a few weeks… but doing it now might help her prove herself.

VM AN: Had fun with this one. Do'azda increased a skill! And all it took was an hour of getting beaten up.

TL AN: You now have a new Quest "Straight to the Moon!" about the wondrous Lunar Forge, which is of course an immediate ticket to endless wealth without effort. Be an early adopter!