The Tower
In the sands of Hew's Bane, a Khajiit discovers someone he lost long ago.
Southern Hammerfell, a few years prior to current day. It is a typical hot, sunny day on the outskirts of Abah’s Landing; the only relief from the brutal heat is the warm breath of the ocean blowing over the sand. Out of the desert landscape, a figure dressed in black emerges; heading towards a bleached limestone watchtower, he keeps his head down and face covering held over his face to prevent the sand from entering his eyes, ears and mouth. His other hand wraps around his chest, holding the strap from his satchel down so it does not blow in the wind. Squinting, he peers forward as he summits the rocky dune before the tower, relaxing his posture as the wind is blocked by the tower before him. Before approaching the steps, he reaches into the satchel, unfolding a yellowed piece of parchment with a crudely inked map drawn upon it. Following the depicted coastline with his claw, he stops at the marked tower, then gazes over the horizon; the teal blue sea meanders along the beach in the distance, adorning the port of the city beyond. His eyes then travel to the top of the watchtower almost expectantly, his hand reaching up to shield his gaze from the sun. Taking a deep breath, he makes his way to the stairs, beginning his ascent. The sand adorning the limestone steps crunched quietly with each step. Placing one hand against the wall to maintain his balance in case a gust blew the Suthay Khajiit away, Al’khajir kept his eyes trained upward in fear of an ambush. His satchel contained some very valuable goods meant for Thazahrr Goldfang herself, whom he hadn’t done business with before; in fact, he was very reluctant to do so, having not heard good things of the Cartel. However, the offered pay was more than enough for him to disregard his morals in this instance, and obtaining the goods desired was not the hardest challenge for the seasoned sneak-thief. As he ascended to the top level of the watchtower, a figure looking out toward the ocean came into sight. The long tail behind him suggested a Khajiit; this one was a tall Cathay, his arms crossed behind his back. He wore dark red and shining gold armor, the golden plates etched with intricate floral designs. Al’khajir couldn’t help but to envy the armor a little, it was extravagant and clearly that of a high ranking officer within the Cartel. Stepping into the shade of the watchtower, Al’khajir made his presence known by dropping his satchel on one of the chairs in the small room. // The tall Cathay almost jumped at the disturbance; surely, he had not heard the Suthay enter. Chuckling, he spoke before turning. “Goldfang must have hired a good thief if I didn’t hear you coming.” He turned around, raising his eyes to greet Al’khajir. Furrowing his brow, he blinked; his expression turned to one of concerned curiosity before he took a small step forward, examining Al’khajir’s face closely. Al’khajir’s blood had run cold, his eyes wide. Taking an instinctive defensive step back, he covered his agape mouth with a hand. The typically stoic Khajiit felt his chest fill with a hot burst of emotion; the face before him one that he had not seen since his adolescence. Trying to find words to say, the Cathay spoke first, quietly and under his breath. “It… can’t be. You,” he managed. Al’khajir stumbled to stand straight, before rushing forward, embracing the Cathay. “Liter,” the Suthay choked, squeezing him tightly. Closing his eyes, tears began to pour from his eyes, quickly making their way down his cheeks. The Cathay returned the embrace gently, unsure of what to say. They both stayed there for a moment, the silence between them only broken by the gusting desert wind. Al’khajir then leaned back, placing his palm against the tall Cathay’s cheek, rubbing it gently. “How you have grown, S’riss…” Smiling honestly for the first time in what had felt like a lifetime, he took in every detail of the Khajiit, choking out tears. “I-I figured you were dead,” S’riss spoke slowly. “Surely… your little games at the pier would have gotten you in trouble eventually…” Al’khajir laughed at the remark. “How would this one be hired for this job if he had not been the best at what he does, hmm?” Pulling S’riss close for another embrace, S’riss did not reciprocate the embrace this time; instead, he gently pushed Al’khajir back, before sitting in the chair not occupied by the satchel. He placed his face in his hands, rubbing a little. Al’khajir moved his satchel under the chair, sitting across from S’riss. “What happened, liter? Where did you go? This one searched for you for so long…” He reached out, placing a hand on S’riss’s shoulder. S’riss sighed heavily, taking his time to respond. He looked up, identical silvery blue eyes meeting Al’khajir’s, who patiently waited as S’riss struggled to speak. “Khaji… I…” S’riss cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t understand, Al’khajir.” His tone changed from broken to formal as he corrected himself from the endearing nickname. Al’khajir’s expression grew concerned as he heard the shift. “Would not understand what, S’riss? What…happened?” S’riss failed to meet Al’khajir’s gaze now, turning his head toward the ocean. Abruptly, he stood, folding his arms behind his back and pacing, not daring to face his brother now. “You were going to get killed eventually. With mama sick, your… your games were not going to provide for us forever,” S’riss’s tone was suddenly cold, cutting through the stale air. Al’khajir leaned back, blinking. “What are you saying, S’riss?” “Someone had to do something that wasn’t going to get me killed.” Sharply, S’riss turned to face Al’khajir. “Eventually they were going to catch you and hang you from the mast of one of those boats, Al’khajir. It wasn’t sustainable to support six people with petty theft.” The sudden aggression put Al’khajir off, taking a moment to ponder before standing. Having to look up at S’riss was so unaccustomed to him; the last time they had seen each other, S’riss was half of Al’khajir’s size. “What did you do, brother?” Fear grew in Al’khajir’s eyes, the warm feeling from reuniting with his brother draining like a lantern low on oil. His impossibly dry mouth somehow grew drier as he spoke, scared to ask the question. S’riss scowled. “Who are you working for, Al’khajir?” His tone lowered. Al’khajir shook his head. “Please, no, S’riss. You are a Khajiit…” Heart sinking, stepped past S’riss, leaning against the wall, now looking out at the ocean himself. He felt sick, his stomach curling into a knot. “K-Khajiit cannot do that to, to…” “To what, Al’khajir?” Grabbing him by the shoulder, S’riss spun Al’khajir around. “To their own kind? Mama was barely a walking rug anyway. The money I got for her was more than she ever could provide for us!” Al’khajir had to hold back a screech, choking up as his imagination started acting up. He grabbed S’riss’s biceps, digging his claws into the expensive red fabric. “Who taught you this?! What moon guided you to this path?!” S’riss rolled his eyes. “You’re no better than me. Your employer approached me first,” he growled. “Thazahrr Goldfang made good on her promises. Look at me,” gesturing to his engraved armor, “Look at me now! Her right-hand man. And look at you, working for the very cartel that sold your brethren to the Dunmer!” S’riss couldn’t help but smile at the agony on Al’khajir’s face. “You couldn’t provide for us, and you couldn’t protect us. Don’t pretend you ever could.” Drawing a shortsword from its sheath on his hip, S’riss pushed Al’khajir by the chest back against the wall, holding the blade up and preparing to strike. “You’ll make a nice coat in addition to that jewelry you brought me.” As the blade came down, Al’khajir came to his senses and quickly slipped down to the ground, hearing the blade clang against the limestone as he slid between S’riss’s legs and popped up behind him. Stumbling, he pulled a silver dagger from his boot, holding it in front of him defensively as S’riss turned with his own weapon at the ready. “Don’t make this hard, Khaji. I’m a soldier now. You’re just a grimy little common thief!” S’riss lunged forward, and Al’khajir stepped to the left, dodging the strike before slashing at his own brother, the dagger leaving a deep gouge in the golden chestplate. Snarling, S’riss lunged again, slicing Al’khajir’s sleeve and leaving a shallow cut on his arm. Wincing, Al’khajir leaned back against the wall, raising his legs and using all of his force to kick S’riss in the stomach, pushing him back and making him stumble over the chair, tripping on the strap of the satchel beneath it and landing on the opposing wall. Before S’riss could recover his balance, Al’khajir jumped on top of him, grabbing his throat and beginning to choke; although he could slice him open with the dagger, he had no intention of killing his brother. S’riss reached forward, his longer arms giving him an advantage and also grabbing Al’khajir by the throat. They both wrestled, pushing each other up against the wall and letting out garbled cries as they desperately tried to breathe while unrelenting in their grip upon the other’s neck. Finally, S’riss managed to push Al’khajir back against the wall, ripping the claws from his throat as he extended his arm all the way, holding the smaller Khajiit over the edge of the watchtower, ocean waves crashing at the bottom of the cliff the tower resided on. Kicking, Al’khajir’s toes could barely reach the edge of the wall, desperately trying to find a foothold while trying not to focus on the distance below him. He grappled at S’riss’s wrist, his eyes meeting his brother’s menacing glare. “Say hello to mama for me,” S’riss growled, before releasing his grip. As he was released, Al’khajir whipped his wrist forward, a blade on a chain lurching from his sleeve and looping around S’riss’s arm. With a deranged cackle, Al’khajir used all of his falling weight to pull S’riss off balance, taking the Cathay off the side of the watchtower with him. S’riss swore at the maniacally cackling Al’khajir as they both fell, time slowing down for just a moment before they both crashed into the salty ocean water. In the millisecond before going under the water, Al’khajir heard the clang of metal as S’riss landed on something hard, likely a rock somewhere within the waves. Al’khajir sank down momentarily, but his youth spent growing up on the docks of Khenarthi’s Roost proved him a strong swimmer. He kicked and swam up, gasping for air as he surfaced. Finding himself relatively unscathed, he spun his head around wildly, looking for his aggressor. He saw S’riss struggling to climb onto the beach, his heavy gear pulling him back in with the crashing waves. There was a large dent in the chestplate, and judging by the desperate coughs for breath, Al’khajir figured S’riss had the air knocked out of him pretty badly. Slowly swimming towards the struggling Khajiit, he held his dagger in his teeth. S’riss seemed rather unsuspecting, probably having figured Al’khajir’s lighter apparel had proven him unfaithful and allowed him to be impaled on the sharp rocks littering the water. He clawed at the sand, pulling himself forward… …Until he felt his tail being grabbed. Yelping, he turned just as he saw Al’khajir raising his dagger, the sunlight glinting off the blade before it came down, slicing through S’riss’s tail at the base. With one swift cut, Al’khajir whipped the severed tail back into the ocean as blood poured out, S’riss screeching in pain as the salt water invaded the wound. Al’khajir stepped up onto the sand and stood over S’riss as he rolled in the shallow water, grabbing at the stub on his back. Al’khajir kicked S’riss in the chin before placing his foot on his chest, pressing as he leaned down and got close to S’riss’s face as he whimpered. “You are no Khajiit,” Al’khajir said in a low growl. “Jer varoh ahziss liter. Khrassozay qojiit.” With that, he took one last look at his brother, before kicking him aside and turning to look at the cliffside. Leaping up, he found a foothold and began to make his ascent, returning to the desert to roam until he found a temporary place again.