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lake-arrius-caverns · 3 years

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Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 13: Three’s A Crowd

hey just a PSA that since i’ve fallen behind (this chapter is ridiculously late) i’m going to take a short break from posting for a while to work on building up a buffer! (join our discord and bug me to write pls)

summary Fahjoth is hopeful that tensions between Julan and Ribyna will settle, but their animosity risks a guild assignment going pear-shaped.

content warnings violence, blood, minor character death

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

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He stood quietly awaiting a response after rapping his knuckles on the door, but only a heavy silence greeted him. Frowning, Fahjoth tried again, a little more forcefully this time. This was the right room, wasn’t it?

The third knock finally yielded a result. From within the room came a low, long groan, and Fahjoth took that as his cue to open the door a sliver and peer inside.

“Rise and shine,” he called, trying to hold back a grin at the state his friend was in. Julan was slouched on the bed, fully clothed and burying his face in his hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh… fantastic,” came Julan’s gruff response. “Why did you let me drink so much?”

“You’re the one who kept asking for more! Want me to stop you next time?”

“Yes.” Julan paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. Sheogorath, it feels like my head’s about to explode…”

Fahjoth chuckled, pushing the door open a little more to step inside. “Are you up for training today? Or d’you need some time to, uh… recover?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Julan insisted, hauling himself to his feet and staggering slightly on the spot as he fought to balance himself. “So how come you’re looking so fresh this early?”

“Early?” Fahjoth repeated. “Mate, it’s gone midday.”

“It has?” Julan squinted at Fahjoth as he rubbed his head. “Gods… alright, there’s no time to waste then. What’s the plan?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could do something a bit more practical today,” Fahjoth started. “How d’you fancy taking out a bandit leader?”

“Bandits? Sure.”

With no sign of Cosades to be seen that morning, Fahjoth had stopped by the Fighters Guild to find something, anything to keep him busy and to keep the gold coming in. While the prospect of facing an entire gang of bandits by himself was daunting, he was a little more confident that he and Julan would be able to deal with it together. And having Ribyna tag along couldn’t hurt, although he hoped that she and Julan would be able to put their differences aside for the time being.

Julan continued to chatter as he sat back down again to pull on his boots. “D’you do this sort of thing regularly?”

“Sort of.” Fahjoth leaned against the doorframe, waiting and watching idly. “I’ve done a few jobs for the Fighters Guild to earn a bit more gold. Nothing this big before, mind.”

“The Fighters Guild? You’ve never mentioned that. Fighters… they’re alright, I guess.” Julan suddenly looked up, eyes wide. “Hey, have you ever seen a Nord hit himself in the face with his own hammer?”

“No?”

Julan sighed, a grin growing on his face. “Well, me neither, but I live in hope.” He stood up and approached the doorway, patting Fahjoth on the shoulder as he reached him. “After you.”

Fahjoth laughed as he headed out of the cornerclub, feeling an odd excitement begin to quiver somewhere in his gut. Or was that nervousness? Whatever it was, the feeling intensified as he stepped outside and came face-to-face with his twin, who was leaning against the wall and looking bored stiff as she waited for them.

“About fucking time,” Ribyna muttered, and as Julan stepped out after him, Fahjoth heard him falter. His good mood instantly took a nosedive; he had been hopeful for a few more moments of peace at least before the hostilities began again.

“Are you still up for coming with us to Suran, Beebs?” Fahjoth asked, in an attempt to ease the tension.

“Why the fuck else d’you think I’d be stood here like a lemon waiting for you?” She jerked her head towards Julan. “The question is whether drunk tank here can cope with it.”

Julan frowned. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure about that? You got pretty hammered last night.” Ribyna’s voice was casual, but the glare she fixed Julan with was hard and cold. “You almost drank a hole in Fahji’s coin purse.”

“What does that even—”

“Guys!” Fahjoth said abruptly, rubbing his temple as he spoke. Better to nip this in the bud before it became blown out of proportion. “Let’s get going, shall we? It’s a fair way to Suran. It’d be nice to get there before it gets dark.”

Neither Ribyna nor Julan continued to bicker, but the scathing looks they shot at each other instead left Fahjoth’s nerves shot. Julan’s eyes eventually met Fahjoth’s own and he began to look quite guilty.

“Sorry, Fahjoth,” Julan said. “Go ahead.”

Fahjoth flashed Julan a small smile of appreciation before setting off out of town. The balmy afternoon sun warming the top of his head offered little comfort as he dreaded having to break up fight after fight between his two companions, an outcome that was looking more likely by the minute.

——————————————

The journey to Suran passed mostly in a very strained silence. Fahjoth would make conversation with Julan or with Ribyna, but never both at the same time, as they seemed to be doing their best to ignore each other. Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether he preferred that over the snide comments and defensive retorts.

His contact in Suran, Serjo Avon Oran, resided in what was possibly the grandest house Fahjoth had ever set foot in. Delicate steps and care to avoid breaking or dirtying anything led the three to Oran; on speaking to him, Fahjoth learned that the bandits were occupying a cave among the hills to the northeast.

“Be careful,” Oran had cautioned. “Nasty piece of work, those bandits. But take out their leader, Daldur Sarys, and the rest should scatter. Good luck.”

With this advice in mind, Fahjoth was thoughtful as they exited Oran Manor and stepped out into the cool Suran evening.

“I felt so weird being in a house like that,” Julan remarked. “I was expecting someone to yell at me for trailing muck all over their floor…”

“You know, you were trailing a lot more than muck in there,” Ribyna replied. She sniffed, looking down at Julan’s boots. “Is that guar shit?”

A momentary flash of alarm crossed Julan’s face and he hastily lifted up his foot to check the underside of his shoe, only to scowl as Ribyna in turn cackled like a hyena.

“Don’t listen to her, she’s winding you up,” Fahjoth said with a sigh. “Right, well, if you’re done, shall we get going? We’re losing daylight. Unless we got a room for the night and headed out first thing.”

“Oh no, I’m not hanging around any longer than I need to!” Ribyna insisted, already turning on her heel and strolling out under the town’s entrance archway. “We’re going. What are you? Men or scribs?”

“You know that shit doesn’t work on me!” Fahjoth called, but nonetheless he followed suit, glancing back to ensure that Julan was following.

“Well, come on then! You and Guar-Boy better get a move on, or those bandits will have died of old age by the time we get there.”

Fahjoth said nothing, merely trotted along in Ribyna’s wake with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Likewise, Julan was quiet, but when Fahjoth risked a peek back at him, he caught him furiously mouthing “Guar-Boy?!” under his breath.

The road to Saturan was pleasantly empty. With the shadows cast by the sun growing as it sank behind the hills, plunging them into the bitterly chilly shade, Fahjoth was grateful that they encountered no trouble along the way.

By the time they located Saturan, dusk had come and gone, leaving only clear dark skies glittering with distant stars overhead. Fahjoth shivered as he stared at the cave entrance, the dilapidated wooden door concealing the unknown that lay within. He took a few cautious steps closer and gently pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges emitted a slight, shrill creak. The inside of the cave stretched further in than Fahjoth could see, its earthy tunnels lit by bracketed torches propped up on long iron poles jutting up from the ground.

The entrance cave meandered on for a short distance, descending deeper into the hill until opening up into a much larger cavern. The path was supplemented by a rough wooden boardwalk, its far end strewn with crates and candles and a ladder leading down to the lower levels. Fahjoth scuttled along, taking care not to hit his head on the low-hanging stalactites until he reached the crates, and beckoned Julan and Ribyna along behind him as he tucked himself behind one. Here, they looked down upon the lower boardwalk, where a few others paced back and forth, carrying boxes and sacks of loot back and forth. Fahjoth’s gaze was fixed down below, but he heard Ribyna and Julan settling down and crouching on either side.

“So, these must be the bandits,” Julan whispered. “Have you got a plan?”

“Sort of,” Fahjoth answered. “We need to get to the leader, somehow. Daldur Sarys. If we can take him out with a sneak attack, the rest should scatter like Oran said.”

“Right! So… how do we get to Sarys? Which one is Sarys, anyway?”

Fahjoth paused, frowning as he stared down at the bandit activity below. Truthfully, it was impossible to know exactly who their target was; all they could do was hope to hear his name brought up in conversation and go from there. But how long could they stay put, before someone discovered them and raised the alarm?

As Fahjoth pondered this rather pressing dilemma, he became aware of a soft rustling and clinking coming from his left. He glanced over, his heart beginning to hammer as he watched Ribyna idly rummaging through one of the crates.

“Oh hey, look!” She held up what seemed to be a bottle of sujamma, admiring it in the soft orange light of a nearby candle. “There’s loads of this shit in here! We won’t have to buy drinks for like, a week with this lot.”

Like Fahjoth, Julan’s agitation was evident.

“Put that down, they’ll hear you!” he hissed, lunging for the bottle. Though he made contact, Ribyna refused to relinquish it, keeping a firm grip on it herself.

“Piss off, Guar-Boy, get your own!”

“I’m not trying to steal it, you s’wit!”

“Oh yeah, right-o! I bet you’d be happy to guzzle this whole crate by yourself, you fucking alchie!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! Let go—!”

With one sharp tug from Julan, the bottle was wrenched from Ribyna’s grip. But Julan, not expecting Ribyna to let go, toppled back and hit the boardwalk with a dull thud. His elbow struck the wood and the bottle was flung from his grasp, sailing over the side of the boardwalk and crashing against the wooden deck below, shattering on impact and splattering its sweet, frothy innards in a graceful explosion of liquor.

“Shit—!”

Fahjoth ducked back behind the crates, keeping himself as low to the ground as possible as he reached out towards Julan and hauled him back to safety as soon as he felt their hands meet. As the three huddled together, their breathing laboured with the effort of remaining as silent as possible, Fahjoth strained his ears to listen.

It was quiet. Far too quiet. The sounds of activity below ceased entirely as all bandits froze in their tracks.

“What the hell?”

Over the sound of Fahjoth’s own rapid heartbeat reverberating in his head, he listened to the soft creaking of the wooden planks beneath the bandits’ cautious feet becoming louder as the seconds ticked by. They couldn’t remain there for much longer.

“Fahjoth,” Julan whispered, “we have to do something.” He paused to listen for a moment before continuing with the same hushed urgency, “If we all rush out at the same time, maybe we can catch them off-guard.”

“Yeah. It’s our best chance,” Fahjoth agreed. “Alright... ready? One... two... three!”

Julan led the assault. He vaulted down the steps and engaged with the first bandit, an Orc who was unlucky enough to be standing closest. As Fahjoth followed suit, from his periphery he saw Ribyna leap over the crates and land on the lower boardwalk where she lunged at the closest bandit. The force from her collision knocked them both clean off the edge, causing a loud squelch as they landed in the muck beneath.

Fahjoth drew his weapon as he charged forward and the Redguard bandit in front of him scrambled back for distance, reaching for his own axe. But Fahjoth was faster, and the Redguard hollered as his hand was struck with Fahjoth’s sword, leaving an angry, weeping welt across his knuckles. With the blade sailing ever closer, the Redguard threw up both hands in an act of surrender.

“I yield!” he cried, and Fahjoth ceased his attack. There was no way he could kill a surrendering man... But his sword hand did not waver, and after a second he spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“I’ll give you one chance,” he said, his voice heavy with threat. “Your group’s done. Get out.”

The Redguard needed no encouragement. Edging around Fahjoth’s sword, he broke into a sprint up the steps and fled, his footsteps echoing down the cavern until the creaking of the door in the distance announced his departure.

As he caught his breath, Fahjoth glanced around to see how his companions were faring. His eyes fell on Julan; his sword was slick with blood and his opponent had dropped twitching to the ground, and a surge of admiration welled up in Fahjoth’s chest. He opened his mouth to call over to him, but the air froze in his chest as a shadow caught his eye.

A hunched figure crept closer to Julan, the glint of a blade flashing in the candlelight as it was drawn from its sheath.

“Julan!” Fahjoth yelled, kicking off into a mad dash back up the boardwalk to his friend. The figure, a Dunmer, recognising that his cover had been blown, fully brandished his weapon and rushed towards Julan as well. As Julan raised his own sword, Fahjoth caught up with the bandit and threw himself legs-first at the bandit’s ankles.

A burning pain radiated out from his shin as the bandit’s foot collided with it. Fahjoth skidded to the ground, but his effort had been enough. The Dunmer, tripped up by Fahjoth’s sliding tackle, stumbled forward — and directly into range of Julan’s shortsword. Julan lunged, impaling the bandit clean through the neck. With blood dribbling from his gurgling mouth, the bandit crumpled to his knees, and after a hard kick to the chest from Julan, he dropped to the ground and fell still.

With his leg throbbing, Fahjoth struggled to get his feet, but Julan was quick to approach and offer a hand which he gladly accepted. But before he could say his thanks, footsteps at the end of the cavern alerted them to the arrival of two more Dunmer.

One of them, donning thick chitin armour, stared at the scene in shock before his angular features twisted with rage.

“You’ll regret killing my people, you n’wah!” he hissed, drawing a glimmering sword as he stepped closer. Behind him, the second Dunmer — donning the elegant robes of a mage — raised his hands as he prepared a blistering fiery spell. Julan prepared his own spell in retaliation, but before the mage could attack, a dark figure on the ground beneath the boardwalk suddenly lunged at his legs.

The mage howled as Ribyna plunged her dagger into his knee, and as he was rendered lame and unbalanced, she grabbed his robes and dragged him down to the ground with her. The head bandit — Daldur Sarys — snapped his head around in alarm, and Fahjoth took his opportunity.

He struck at Sarys with his sword, but Sarys faced him in time to block it with his own, the hilt vibrating in Fahjoth’s hand and the blades screeching as they clashed. As Fahjoth jumped back to avoid Sarys’ retaliation, Julan’s voice rang out from behind.

“Fahjoth, get down!”

Without hesitation, Fahjoth ducked.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as a crackling energy sailed overhead. He risked peering up in time to witness a bolt of electricity crashing down on Sarys. As the magic jolted through his body, he gave a choked gasp and stumbled back, and Fahjoth took his chance. He whacked at Sarys’ sword arm, and — as he drew a deep breath and steeled himself — slashed his blade across the bandit’s throat.

With a deep laceration in his neck now gushing blood, Sarys began to stagger on the spot. A weak glow illuminated his hand as he tried desperately to heal himself, but the damage had already been done. Unable to breathe, and with his own blood generously painting both himself and the wooden planks beneath his feet, Sarys could only remain standing for a few seconds more before his legs gave way beneath him and, like the rest of his comrades, he collapsed.

With the silence in the cavern now punctuated only by the sound of their ragged panting, Fahjoth turned to face Julan, taking deep breaths in an attempt to force his heart rate back to normal. The pain in his leg now pulsed much more noticeably than before.

“I think that’s all of them,” he said, limping to meet Julan and weakly wiggling his sword to shake off the blood. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Julan answered. “What about you? Is your leg okay? That fall looked nasty.”

“It will be,” Fahjoth replied, but before he could continue, a noise behind them caused them both to whirl around in alarm. Fahjoth’s heart hammered again, but it calmed as soon as he realised it was just Ribyna, wearily clambering back up onto the boardwalk from the muddy cave floor beneath, splattered from head to foot with a grim combination of muck and blood. Fahjoth started towards her and offered a hand to help her up — which she ignored entirely.

“Beebs! Are you alright—“

“No thanks to you.”

Fahjoth paused. “What d’you mean?“ She had since got to her feet, but as Fahjoth tried to reach out to her again, he faltered as she smacked his hand away. “Ribyna, what’s the matter?”

Ribyna didn’t answer. Instead she gave a derisive scoff, turning away from Fahjoth and making a half-hearted attempt to clean the grime off her leathers. Confusion gave way to a prickling anger as Fahjoth’s blood began to boil.

Before he could stop himself, he had snapped back.

“What exactly is your problem? I mean if it wasn’t for you fighting with Julan, none of this would have happened in the first place! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Ribyna let out a humourless laugh. “Oh yeah, that’s right! Go on, blame me instead of your new best mate who can do no wrong!”

“What?” Fahjoth’s mouth dropped open as he stumbled over his words. “W— where’s this coming from?”

“As if you need to ask! It’s like he’s the only one who matters now!”

From beside him, Fahjoth noticed Julan bristle and take a breath as he prepared his retort. Fahjoth held up a hand and shot him a pleading glance — a silent request to let him handle this situation, which Julan thankfully obliged.

“Beebs, you’re being ridiculous—”

“Am I, though?! Ever since he joined us, you’ve been siding with him and defending him all the time!”

Fahjoth frowned, his frustration from Ribyna’s behaviour over the past few days finally bubbling over and spilling out. “Because you’ve been treating him like shit!”

“He treated us like shit, Fahjoth! Or have you forgotten already?!”

“I apologised for that,” Julan interjected with a frown.

Glancing between Julan and Ribyna, Fahjoth nodded. “He did apologise for that, Beebs.”

Ribyna cackled again, a rough, unpleasant sound devoid of any mirth. “There, you’re doing it again! Well, d’you know what, I’m done. I’m fed up of you picking this random guar-fucker over your own fucking family.”

Fahjoth stepped back, Ribyna’s words hitting him like a punch to the face as a wave of unease washed over him. “But... I’m not—”

“Save it!”

She turned away, and Fahjoth’s stomach churned as he noticed an unmistakable dark red stain oozing from her hairline, just before her temple.

“Ribyna? Did you— are you hurt?”

He stepped closer again and cautiously touched her shoulder, but another hard strike from Ribyna sent him recoiling instantly.

“Ribyna—!”

“Fuck you both. See you ‘round.”

Ignoring Fahjoth’s cries, Ribyna wheeled around and stormed off with a distinct unsteadiness in her steps. His gut twisting and a cold sweat settling on his skin, Fahjoth continued to shout after his twin long after her angry footsteps had receded into silence.

“Ribyna!”

With nothing answering him but the gentle dripping of water from the cave roof, Fahjoth dropped his head into his hand and sighed. Things had been tense with Ribyna lately, but he hadn’t anticipated such a blow-out. He hadn’t realised she still held such a grudge for Julan’s attitude on their first encounter. Why couldn’t she have just talked to him about this? He was used to her stubborn reticence, but it was still incredibly frustrating.

“I’m sorry.”

Fahjoth turned around. Julan was standing there, looking almost as wretched as Fahjoth felt.

“What are you apologising for, mate?”

Julan wrung his hands, dropping his gaze. “I just… I feel like this is all my fault.”

“Hey, don’t be daft!” Fahjoth took a few hasty steps forward until he was close enough to rest his hands on Julan’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. Ribyna is just…” He grimaced, shrugging as he wondered how best to explain. “She isn’t the easiest person in the world to get on with. She doesn’t really… make friends very easily.”

“But my point still stands!” Julan protested. “Me being here is just causing you problems. You wouldn’t be fighting with your twin if it wasn’t for me.”

Fahjoth scoffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure. We always squabble over… pretty much everything. But— look…” He gave Julan’s shoulders a squeeze and crouched the few inches necessary until they were at eye-level with each other, trying to convey his sincerity with a small smile. “I promised I’d help you train, and I’m sticking to that. Whether that’s with or without Ribyna. Okay?”

Julan managed a weak smile in return. “Okay.”

“Anyway, you’re not just causing me problems!” Fahjoth continued. “Look at what we did today! I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, mate.”

“You probably would have. But thanks.” Julan’s smile gradually became a grin. “We do make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

Fahjoth’s smile widened. “Damn right we do!” Without thinking, he pulled Julan into an enthusiastic one-armed hug — only to panic as he realised what he’d done. Had he crossed a line? He didn’t know what Julan’s stance on physical contact was; what if he was offended?

“Sorry, I just—” he began babbling as he backed off, but Julan simply laughed and patted Fahjoth on the shoulder in return.

“It’s fine,” he said. “So… shall we get going? I could kill for a mazte right now!”

Fahjoth raised a brow, glancing around at the bloodied heaps of bodies dotted around the cave. “I think we already did, mate.” He flashed Julan another grin and set off, limping out of the cave while frequently looking back to ensure that Julan was following. “I think we’ve more than earned that mazte.”

“Hah, you’re right.” He glanced down at Fahjoth’s leg, noticing his awkward gait. “Are you sure your leg’s alright?”

“Oh, it’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Fahjoth replied, waving Julan’s concern aside with an airy flick of his wrist. “It’s just a bit bruised, I think.”

“As long as you’re sure. You know, that was an impressive tackle.” Julan paused, a thoughtful look on his face as he trotted along beside Fahjoth. “I heard you letting one of them go.”

Fahjoth faltered, his grin slipping away to a wry smile. “Yeah… he was yielding. I couldn’t bring myself to kill someone after they’d surrendered.”

“You’ve got better morals than half of Morrowind then. At least.” For a moment, Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be taken as a compliment or an insult, but Julan continued, “Oh, I’m not criticising! I think it’s nice. Just… be careful, okay? I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

A curious feeling settled in Fahjoth’s stomach. He glanced at Julan, the earnesty on his face clear to see even in the low light of the nearby torch flames, and instantly Fahjoth felt a rush of gratitude and affection for his new friend. The idea that another person cared that much about him warmed him from the inside out, even as they stepped out into the chilly night air.

“Cheers, mate,” he said, clapping Julan on the shoulder as another smile lifted his cheeks. “Let’s go tell Oran the good news, then go get those drinks.”

Julan grinned back, lightly bumping Fahjoth’s shoulder with his own.

“Sounds good to me.”

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #julan kaushibael #Morrowind #dunmer #nerevarine #dunmer oc #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #tes iii: morrowind

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lake-arrius-caverns · 3 years

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#tes #tes art #eso #eso art #elder scrolls online #for others #others ocs

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lake-arrius-caverns · 3 years

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Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 12: Two’s Company

summary As the party grows from two to three, Fahjoth tries his best to smooth over tensions.

content warnings strong warning for nausea/emetophobia about halfway down

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

————————————————————————

The shock reverberated up Fahjoth’s shins as his feet found solid ground with a jolt. Gasping, he staggered back, desperately trying to regain his balance. Once his brain caught up with the messages his eyes were receiving, he realised that the three of them were back in Ald’ruhn; a nearby guard stared at them from behind his impassive helm, but otherwise he didn’t seem to care too much for three Dunmer suddenly materialising out of thin air.

While Fahjoth remained on his feet, Ribyna was not so lucky, and she groaned from her landing position face-down on the dusty ground. “Ugh… what the fuck was that?!” she spat, rubbing smudges of dirt from her face as she dragged herself upright again.

“Almsivi Intervention,” Julan answered, discomfort clear on his face. “It teleports you to the nearest Tribunal temple.” There was a pause before he continued, “I’m sorry, I— I don’t know what happened back there… You must think I’m such a coward. I swear I’m not. I swear I am a warrior, and I’ve never run from a fight, nor do I fear death.”

“Look, don’t be daft,” Fahjoth replied, raising his voice to speak over Ribyna’s loud scoffing as he tried to reassure Julan. “We don’t think you’re a coward—”

“Speak for yourself...” Ribyna muttered, but Fahjoth ignored her to reassure Julan.

“I wasn’t exactly having a good time up there either,” he continued, trying to inject a bit of humour into the situation. Judging by Julan’s expression, it hadn’t worked.

“I’m not afraid of Red Mountain, or any of its monsters,” Julan said. “It’s... something else. It’s to do with these… weird dreams I’ve been having.”

Fahjoth’s curiosity was piqued as he thought back to his own night terrors. He hadn’t experienced them for a while, and for that he was thankful, but recollections of fiery landscapes and dark figures with blazing red eyes still lingered in the back of his mind. “Oh yeah?”

Julan took a deep breath. “I dream that I’m climbing Red Mountain. It’s just like what we saw — it’s dark, the air is filled with ash that gets into my eyes and mouth, but the further I go up, the harder it is to keep going. And then there’s all these voices, whispering things to me.”

“What sort of things?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t even know. I can’t understand what they’re saying, it’s too hard to make out. But it sounds, uh… well, not good, y’know?” Julan looked between Fahjoth and Ribyna apprehensively. “You’ve heard of Dagoth Ur, right? I mean, I’m guessing you have, but...”

Their silence said more than enough; Ribyna’s face looked as blank as Fahjoth’s brain felt, and Julan was visibly stunned.

“Oh come on, even outlanders must know about him! Dagoth Ur? The devil who lives beneath Red Mountain?”

“Sorry, mate.” Fahjoth shrugged. “I don’t—” Then he stopped, as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, does he have anything to do with the Sixth House Cult?”

“Yeah…” Julan frowned, and Fahjoth began to feel as if he’d done something wrong. “What do you know about the Sixth House Cult?”

“Honestly, not much.” At least that was truthful. There was no point bringing up Cosades and his work, as Fahjoth knew very little about it himself. “I just heard there’s been attacks from sleeper agents. I saw one of them myself.” He couldn’t suppress a shudder at the memory, remembering the vacant expression on the Dunmer’s face and his iron grip as hot as ashes on his wrist. “He said something like… Dagoth Ur is risen, something something Sixth House glory… I don’t know.”

Even Ribyna looked surprised by Fahjoth’s anecdote, while Julan’s tone became one of understanding instead. “Ah, I see. Yeah. Dagoth Ur is a powerful figure in our history and legends. Supposedly, he causes people to go insane by sending them dreams.”

Ribyna raised a brow at that. “What, so you reckon you’re going insane?”

“What— no!” Julan replied defensively. “I am not insane and I’m not planning to be, either! Lots of people dream about him. It’s nothing.”

For a moment, Fahjoth wondered if it was worth bringing up his own dreams. But if what Julan said was right, then perhaps it was more common than he had thought. He didn’t feel like he was going insane, and as long as it stayed that way, then he surely ought to be alright.

On realising that he had tuned out of the conversation, Fahjoth jolted and made an effort to concentrate again.

“Then why are you so bothered by them that you can’t even climb a mountain?” Ribyna was saying.

“I’m not! I mean—” Julan blew out, his frustration evident. “Look, I know it doesn’t make any sense, okay? I just need time. Anyway…” He looked between the twins, vying for a change of subject. “Never mind that. How about getting on with some training? I could do with taking my mind off things.”

“Yeah, alright. Good idea,” Fahjoth agreed. He gestured between himself and Ribyna. “Me and Beebs are both used to working with short blades and light armour.” Then he gave a dry laugh. “I don’t think either of us will be able to help with your magic, though. We can’t cast spells for shit.”

“Hah! That’s alright.” Julan grinned. “I don’t need any help with archery, either, I’ve been practising since I was small. I prefer fighting with blades anyway, so I’m up for that.”

“Right!”

Fahjoth turned to face Ribyna, alarmed by the sight of her drawing her dagger.

“Sparring match, then? Let’s see how we do,” she suggested. Fahjoth was nervous; Ribyna’s attitude so far hadn’t sat well with him at all, and neither was the look on her face as she eyed Julan. Such a sudden turnaround, going from being openly hostile to Julan to wanting to spar with him, didn’t exactly bode well.

Whether Julan himself shared Fahjoth’s apprehension wasn’t apparent. On the contrary, he drew his own shortsword and nodded.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure?” Fahjoth asked. “With real weapons? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

“It’ll be fine, Fahji,” Ribyna said dismissively.

“Don’t worry, we won’t go too hard,” Julan added. Fahjoth wasn’t at all optimistic about that, but he held his tongue and decided to lean against a nearby wall to observe.

Ribyna brandished her dagger and stalked a circle around Julan, who stood ready with his chitin sword. Without warning she lunged, hard and fast. Julan brought his sword up to deflect the blow, the blades screeching on impact. A retaliation from Julan, deliberately slow and cautious, forced Ribyna back and kept her at arm’s length for the time being. Overall, it seemed to be going well, and Fahjoth began to relax.

That was until one particularly close call from the tip of Julan’s blade threw Ribyna off her rhythm. Although the strike hit the tough leather of her armour, the force and angle still caused the dagger to get flung from her grip. With a grin, Julan pointed his sword up to her chest, puffing from the brief yet intense exercise.

“Got you! Maybe don’t drop your weapon next time.”

Ribyna only scowled in response. Then with a flash of steel, she pivoted herself against Julan’s chest, a second dagger poised against his throat.

“Maybe make sure your opponent is actually unarmed next time.”

There was a moment of stiff silence; Ribyna glared at Julan, her face less than an inch from his own, while Julan stared back defiantly. Then the tension broke, and she backed up and resumed pacing, looking for the next opportunity to strike.

The remainder of the sparring session continued much in the same manner, with Ribyna and Julan flitting around each other in a vicious dance, both trying to get the upper hand over the other. A short while and a few close calls later and they agreed to call it a day, having been reasonably evenly matched. It seemed that training together would be as beneficial for Fahjoth and Ribyna as it would be for Julan himself.

“How about a drink?” Fahjoth suggested to his somewhat bruised companions. “I think we could all do with chilling out for a bit.”

“Fine by me,” Ribyna said, while Julan looked awkward.

“Oh, I… don’t think I have enough to—” Julan started, but he stopped as Fahjoth waved a hand genially.

“Don’t worry about it,” he chirped, offering Julan a friendly smile. “I’ll get them. I owe Ribyna a round, anyway.”

Julan’s unease melted away and was replaced with a grin, which Fahjoth found quite contagious. He purposefully ignored Ribyna’s dull glare in his periphery, focusing instead on Julan.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to a mazte, if you’re offering.”

“Sorted!” Fahjoth declared, ambling further into Ald’ruhn while Ribyna and Julan limped along with him. He was subjected to the uncomfortable feeling of someone staring at him, and he didn’t need to look around to know that it was coming from Ribyna.

Once they reached the cool shade of the Ald Skar Inn, Fahjoth suggested that Julan find them a table while he went to retrieve the drinks, to which he happily obliged. However, Fahjoth was not all surprised when Ribyna offered to help him carry them over, despite knowing full well that he could handle them himself, and prepared himself for the ear bashing he knew was imminent.

“He’s taking the piss,” Ribyna hissed, once they were at the bar and out of earshot of Julan. “You know what’s gonna happen, don’t you?”

Fahjoth heaved a sigh as he leaned against the bar, deciding to just let her rant. “Go on then, enlighten me.”

“He’s gonna mooch off you every chance he gets! He’s always gonna be all, ‘oh no, I don’t have any money’, and then you’ll have to pay for every-bloody-thing.”

“I don’t mind. It’s not like I don’t have the gold for a few drinks here and there. I’d do the same for any friend!”

Ribyna’s mouth fell open. “Friend?” she spat, outraged. “You barely even know the bastard! Honestly Fahjoth, you see a pretty boy and I swear your whole fucking brain just shuts down!”

Trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks, Fahjoth was quick to see a lifeline and he clung to it like a drowning man. “Oh, so you think he’s pretty, do you?”

This time, it was Ribyna whose cheeks flushed a dull red. “I— no, I never— don’t put words in my mouth!” she retorted, fuming. “You know exactly what I’m saying, and you know I’m right!”

“Well, just do me a favour and keep it to yourself if you can,” Fahjoth requested flatly. “I don’t want Julan to feel uncomfortable. More than he already is...”

Ribyna looked as though she was going to continue to argue, but a moment of respite came when the drinks arrived. Fahjoth hastily took them over to the table before Ribyna could say another word, leaving her to traipse after him clutching her own. Once he placed the drinks down on the table, Julan gratefully took his, shuffling his stool along to make plenty of room for the twins to join him.

“So, whereabouts do you two live?” he asked. “It’s not here in Ald’ruhn, is it?”

“Nah, we’re staying in Balmora.”

“Probably a good thing. It’s like the dusty armpit of Vvardenfell here. And so Redoran, it’s illegal to even joke about it!” Julan swigged his mazte, looking to Fahjoth curiously. “What’s Balmora like?”

“Bit bigger than Ald’ruhn. And less dusty. You’ll see it for yourself soon!” Fahjoth paused. “Well, that’s if you still want to come with us. I’ve got to go check in with my boss soon.”

“Course I do. As long as we can still continue to train, then I don’t mind where we go.”

Fahjoth grinned. “Don’t worry about that. If I’m not around, you’ll be able to spar with Ribyna again!”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause it’s not like I’ve got a life outside you or anything,” Ribyna grumbled, staring at Julan with heavy mistrust — and even dislike. Julan seemed to notice as well, for his smile slipped somewhat and an awkward silence fell over the table.

“Anyway…” Julan attempted a wary change of subject. “What is it that you do for a living? Apart from rescuing people from clannfears, of course.”

“To be honest, mate…” Fahjoth shrugged. “I don’t really know. I know that sounds daft, but mostly I just run errands. Gather information. Sometimes nearly get myself killed in Dwemer ruins or haunted tombs. That sort of thing.”

“Sounds… interesting.”

Both he and Julan both then turned to Ribyna, but she remained silent, glowering back at them while she sipped her drink. Fahjoth’s stomach sank. With Ribyna’s stubborn refusal to socialise, the relatively upbeat mood had been well and truly quashed.

A heavy weight began to settle in Fahjoth's chest. Though he was looking forward to working with Julan, the excitement was spoiled by Ribyna's behaviour and incessant hostility towards him. He knew Ribyna was prickly at the best of times, but he hadn't anticipated this much resistance to gaining a new companion. If Julan was going to stay with them for the foreseeable, Fahjoth dreaded the idea of trying to persuade her to play nice. How much more grief were they going to get from her?

But more importantly, how far did Julan's tolerance extend? How long would he put up with her animosity and foul mood before deciding that he'd had enough?

——————————————

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s up with your hair?”

Blinking, Fahjoth slowly turned to face Julan, trying to concentrate over the rough jerking of the silt strider’s teetering steps and the shrill grinding of its chitinous joints ringing in his ears. He wasn’t normally prone to motion sickness, but being so high above ground level coupled with the vigorous swaying of his seat was not a good combination, and Fahjoth had spent much of the journey from Ald’ruhn to Balmora trying to hold down the urge to vomit. After spending another day in and around Ald’ruhn for training and shopping, Fahjoth could no longer put off returning to Balmora and the silt strider was the fastest way to get there. Even if it did make him want to throw up.

His first time riding one, and he dearly wished for it to be his last.

Julan perhaps mistook his silence for offence, for he held up a hand apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Eh? No, it’s fine. Sorry for being quiet, I’m just not feeling great,” Fahjoth explained, squinting as the low sun on the horizon shone into his eyes. At least the weather had been good for their trip. “Well, it used to be totally black. But a few years ago, it started to go white in the front here.” He held up a strand by means of demonstration. “I dunno why.”

“That really is weird.”

“I still reckon it was stress,” Ribyna added, looking over her shoulder with a smirk. With her arm hanging loosely over the silt strider’s side, she seemed to be having no issues with the bumpy ride. “Obviously not everyone is cut out for life in prison.”

Julan did a double-take, looking from Ribyna to Fahjoth with shock. “You’ve been arrested?”

Fahjoth turned to Ribyna, scowling. Ribyna simply smiled back at him with false pleasantry and turned away to gaze at their surroundings as the silt strider tottered along. With a sigh, he turned back to Julan, feeling somehow even more queasy at the thought of telling the truth and wondering how Julan would take it.

Damn Ribyna and her big mouth!

“Yeah. Me and Ribyna both came here on a prison ship,” Fahjoth admitted. Instantly, Julan looked leery.

“You’re both convicts? You’re not on the run, are you?”

“No! No, nothing like that. We were released.”

“Released? On Vvardenfell?” Julan scoffed. “That’s just typical of the Empire. As if they haven’t done us enough damage, now they’re offloading their unwanted criminals onto us!”

Admittedly, that comment stung. But before Fahjoth could answer, Ribyna had whipped around in her seat again, looking none too pleased with Julan’s remark herself.

“Yeah, that’s no good, is it? It’s not like those unwanted criminals saved your sorry arse from getting eaten alive by clannfears or anything!”

Julan blanched, biting his lip as he realised what he had said. “Oh— gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it personally. Look, I didn’t mean— well…” As he took a deep breath, Fahjoth noted his hesitation to continue. “You do seem like a good person… people. Good people. Um... were you... y’know... guilty? Of... whatever it was you did to get arrested.”

Fahjoth, for a moment, was silent. He risked a glance over at Ribyna, feeling his stomach clench when he saw that she had turned her back to them again. She said nothing, but Fahjoth could see the tension in her shoulders, and he knew his twin well enough to know that if he spoke the truth, it would hurt her. So he looked back to Julan, thinking about his words carefully.

“It’s... a bit of a long story, mate,” he said. “It was...” — he paused, waving his hands vaguely — “an accident.”

Julan stared at him with a mild frown, and Fahjoth felt himself break into a nervous sweat, not knowing what he was thinking. After a silence that was far too long for his liking, Julan spoke up at last.

“I believe you,” he said simply. “I’m not sure why, but I do. Like I said, you seem like a good person, and either way, I’m willing to judge you on your actions here and now, rather than in the past. Whatever they were.”

A wave of relief crashed over Fahjoth, but before he could respond, a particularly vigorous judder in the silt strider’s pace hit him like a punch to the gut. His stomach, already churning from nausea and anxiety, convulsed violently and a thick, wet sourness hit the back of his throat. Spinning around, he bolted up from his seat, leaning over the side and letting his head hang as he fought to swallow the sickness down again.

Through watering eyes Fahjoth watched as the ground went rushing by with the strider’s uneven pace, stopping and starting with every bumpy step, the leaves on the trees and bushes below blurring into one as his eyes struggled to focus. How far up was he, anyway? Twenty-five feet? Thirty?

His knuckles whitened as he clenched his trembling hands, his skin becoming hot and clammy and damp with sweat while his heart fluttered an uncomfortable half-rhythm in his chest. After seconds which lasted a lifetime, during which the contents of his stomach barely managed to settle, Fahjoth hauled himself back into the relative safety of his seat. It was still as choppy as ever, but at least he didn’t have to look at the ground this way. When he was able to focus again, he found Julan’s perturbed face fixed rapt upon his own.

“Fahjoth, are you alright?”

“Yeah Fahji, you look pale as fuck,” Ribyna added, finally turning her gaze back around, brows furrowed with concern. “Here you are, have some of this.”

She rummaged in her backpack and fished out a bottle of mazte, reaching back to offer it to Fahjoth. Fahjoth, however, shook his head with his mouth clamped tightly shut. If he opened it, there would likely be more than just words coming out.

Julan reached over and patted Fahjoth’s shoulder, albeit seeming reluctant to get too close. “It’s okay, I think we’re nearly there. Just... hold onto your lunch a bit longer, alright?”

The silt strider finally drawing to a halt could not have been a bigger relief. Except now that they had reached Balmora, Fahjoth faced the prospect of having to disembark from the silt strider and onto that precarious platform awaiting them. It had been bad enough ascending the narrow ramp to board the strider, how on Nirn was he going to get back down again?

Fortunately, Ribyna was on hand to lend him hers. Once she had clambered up out of the strider's hollowed-out carapace, she offered her hand to Fahjoth as he hesitantly followed suit. The simple boon of having something firm to grip onto while he stumbled out of the silt strider made all the difference, and without a word, Ribyna let Fahjoth continue holding her hand as they made their way down the slope, Fahjoth's pace hindered significantly by his shaking legs.

It took all his effort not to collapse to his knees the moment he stepped on solid ground at last. He doubled over, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths as he tried to encourage his stomach to settle, paying no heed to anything else going on around him. Once his nausea had subsided enough, he straightened back up again, preparing to face the mocking and jeering he predicted from his travelling companions.

However, there was nothing of the sort. Both Ribyna and Julan were watching him, their faces showing nothing but concern and sympathy.

“Not good with heights?” Julan asked, his tone one of pity.

“I— I dunno,” Fahjoth admitted. “I never realised... but I suppose, yeah. Obviously…”

“Either that or the turbulence,” Julan suggested. He fell silent, turning his gaze away to survey Balmora instead. "So, this is Balmora? It’s so grand." There was clear hesitation in his voice as he continued, “Um... tell me honestly, do I look like a complete savage?”

Fahjoth blinked. “What?”

Julan chewed his lip, his eyes darting from left to right apprehensively, as if searching for anyone who would look at him with disdain. “I know how people view Ashlanders. They think we’re violent, uncivilised barbarians who live in filth and poverty. They don’t even try to understand us, or our culture, or why we choose to live as we do. But we’re proud of our culture. We don’t need these tacky displays of wealth to be happy — we have more valuable things of our own.”

Before Fahjoth could even open his mouth, Ribyna cut across him. “Oh, don’t worry. Me and Fahjoth grew up stinking savages ourselves.”

Unsurprisingly Julan bristled, glaring at Ribyna and quietly seething. Sensing an altercation brewing, Fahjoth hastily spoke up, cringing over Ribyna’s lack of sensitivity. “What she means is that... well, we grew up on the streets,” he explained. “People saw us as nothing more than dirty, uncivilised thieves, as well.”

Thankfully, Julan seemed to calm down. “Well. Then maybe you’ll understand. My people are viewed with suspicion here in the cities. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of my heritage, but I feel like I might be too conspicuous. I don’t want to go drawing any attention. What d’you think?”

Fahjoth shrugged. “I mean... you look fine to me, Julan. But if you like, we can look into getting you some new clothes.”

“At least get him something that smells less of guar,” Ribyna interjected, and once again, Fahjoth wanted to throttle her. Fortunately, Julan didn’t take offence.

“Maybe that would be a good idea, actually. But!” He jabbed Fahjoth in the chest with a finger. “If you make me look ridiculous, I swear I’ll never forgive you!”

Fahjoth held his hands up innocently, a grin curling at the corners of his lips. “I would never! I’ve got a good eye for fashion, me. Can’t you tell? Anyway…” He looked between Julan and Ribyna with an apologetic gaze. “Do you two wanna go get us a table in the South Wall Cornerclub? I need to go speak to Cosades, but I’ll join you straight after. He gets grumpy if I call on him too late in the day.”

Both Ribyna and Julan looked as apprehensive as Fahjoth felt to be sending off by themselves, but for the moment, it was unavoidable.

“Alright, well... don’t be long!” Ribyna said with a frown.

“I won’t!” Fahjoth called back as he began heading off, jogging away between the long shadows cast by the setting sun.

——————————————

Given the lateness of the hour, Fahjoth had assumed that Cosades would be home, perhaps settling down for the night with a few bottles of booze as he was wont to do. To his surprise, that was not the case. He lingered around for five minutes, just on the off-chance that Cosades would turn up, but he was reluctant to leave Julan and Ribyna alone for much longer. So he hurried on to the South Wall Cornerclub, hoping that the two had not bitten chunks out of each other in his absence.

However, he needn't have worried. When Fahjoth arrived and descended the steps into the bar, he spotted Ribyna and Julan sitting in complete stony silence at their usual corner table. Quite frankly, he had seen funerals looking more lively.

His arrival seemed to come as a relief, as Julan glanced up and waved Fahjoth over. Fahjoth obliged, joining them at the table with haste as he accepted the bottle that Ribyna pushed towards him. He was both unsurprised and disappointed to see that Julan had nothing.

“Sorry about this,” he murmured, casually pushing his own mazte over to Julan instead.

“It's fine,” Julan replied. “Not like either of you are obligated to buy me a drink.”

“Yeah, but it's polite, isn't it?” he said, directing this particular comment over to Ribyna, who curled her lip but said nothing on the matter.

“So did you see Cosades?” she asked instead. “What's he got lined up for you this time?”

“He wasn't in,” Fahjoth answered. “I'll see him tomorrow, I'm sure.” He paused, before sliding a handful of coins over the table towards Ribyna. “Could you go get me a mazte? I still feel a bit dodgy.”

“I already got you a mazte.”

“Ribyna, come on,” Fahjoth groaned, desperate for one night of peace. “Please.”

A moment of irate silence later and Ribyna got to her feet, striding off towards the bar with a distinctly sour demeanour.

Fahjoth sighed, burying his face behind his hands with dismay. “I'm so sorry about her,” he apologised, lowering his hands and resting his chin on his fist.

Julan shrugged. Fahjoth had to admire his fortitude. “Don't worry about it. It's hardly your fault. And I've dealt with much worse, believe me.” He peered over his shoulder, jerking his head in Ribyna's direction before turning back to Fahjoth. “I don't suppose you know what her problem is?”

“I wouldn't take it personally, mate,” Fahjoth said. “She's just... like that. To everyone, pretty much.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his mouth continuing to move as his frustrations began to seep out. “Has been for years, now. I knew she was... difficult, but I swear she's gotten so much worse since we got here. Like, I know you need gold to survive, that's obvious, but there's gotta be better ways of going about that than joining the Thieves Guild or the Morag bloody Tong—”

“Hold on,” Julan interrupted, cutting Fahjoth off mid-rant. “She's in the Morag Tong?!”

Fahjoth froze, realising his slip-up.

“Uh…” he began, but he was spared the need to respond by Ribyna's return.

“There's your bloody mazte,” she said grumpily, putting the drink down in front of Fahjoth with enough force that, for a moment, he thought the bottle might shatter. Before he could say anything, Julan was on the attack.

“So you're in the Morag Tong.” He glared at Ribyna, his grip on his own bottle hard. “The Morag Tong! You'd better have a damn good reason for this!”

Ribyna paused, slowly turning her gaze to Fahjoth as she sat down again. Fahjoth could merely offer her an apologetic grimace, and with a loud huff, she rolled her eyes and turned back to Julan.

“Come on then, I want to hear this!” Julan went on. “How can you possibly justify joining a murder cult?!”

“It's a job,” Ribyna said bluntly. “I get paid to do it. That's all. And keep your bloody voice down, will you?”

After glancing around to ensure that they hadn't drawn any undue attention already, Julan continued in a low hiss. “So that's all this is to you? Money? There's lots of ways to make gold that don't involve killing people you don't even know!”

“Listen, save the lectures. If someone's got to die, they're gonna get killed either way. At least this way, I can get paid for it!”

Julan sighed, eyeing Ribyna with distrust. “Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I have to like it. You're still walking up to a stranger and putting a dagger in their back. I don't know if I could live like that. And if you can, well…”

“Yeah? Well if you don't like it, you know where the door is,” Ribyna spat. “In fact, why don't you do us both a favour and piss off back to the Ashlands alread—”

“Alright, that's enough!” Fahjoth snapped, holding his hands up towards the bickering pair. “Both of you, pack it in! You're doing my head in. Let's all just calm down, okay? Thank you…”

Fahjoth hung his head after his outburst, going back to nursing his mazte in silence and deliberately avoiding both Ribyna and Julan's eyes. Already he felt guilty about losing his temper, but he was still feeling rough from the silt strider ride and the vicious squabble wasn’t helping. He was beginning to wonder if they would ever get along; the prospect of having to put up with their constant quarrelling was a grim one. Was this going to be his existence for the foreseeable future? Playing referee between his twin and his new friend?

He despaired at the thought. But he could always live in hope, no matter how exhausting it was.

————————————————————————

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #julan kaushibael #morrowind #dunmer #nerevarine #dunmer oc #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #tes iii: morrowind

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lake-arrius-caverns · 3 years

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 11: The Agent, the Assassin and the Ashlander

👀 i have been excited to get here for a while sdgsfgsf

summary With Fahjoth’s guilty conscience dictating his resolve, the twins set off for Ghostgate; but what was supposed to be a flying visit escalates when they come across a stranger at death’s door.

content warnings violence, blood

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

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By the following morning, the ash storm had subsided, and Ald’ruhn was caressed by the warm glow of the sun as the twins departed from The Rat In The Pot refreshed and rejuvenated after a long rest. Everything from the chitin-like buildings to the spiked plants to the market stalls were blanketed by a layer of ash, quiet and dense like a dry, rusty snow, kicked up into dusty puffs by the footsteps of Ald’ruhn’s populace.

As Ribyna made her way towards the silt strider port chattering about her plans for the day, returning to the Morag Tong headquarters and checking in with the Thieves Guild and whatever else she was harping on about, Fahjoth stopped behind her, his gaze on the ground. Ribyna was quick to catch onto his silence and turned back to face him in puzzlement.

“What’s the matter with you?”

Fahjoth hesitated again, before eventually bringing himself to speak, already able to predict how Ribyna would take it.

“I think we should go to Ghostgate.”

Sure enough, this statement was met with a loud groan from Ribyna as she brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, not this again...” Ribyna started. “I thought we’d agreed we wouldn’t bother! Anyway, if he was off up bloody Red Mountain, the guy’s probably already dead!”

“But we don’t know that for sure,” Fahjoth pointed out. “I’m just not comfortable taking that gold and doing nothing.”

“Well, I am. And he didn’t ask you, so don’t worry about it!”

This was not enough to reassure Fahjoth. But in any case, as he stared up at the distant mountain range, painted blue by the balmy haze, he had already made up his mind.

“Well, I’m going,” he declared. “Come with me if you want. Otherwise, I’ll see you back in Balmora.”

As he turned on the spot and began to head off, he caught a glimpse of Ribyna’s indignant gape before he heard her shout after him.

“Fahjoth! Wait—”

Then came the footsteps, and he turned his head to see her trotting along in his wake, despite not looking particularly happy about it. Either way, Fahjoth was still glad of her company.

“Obviously I’m not gonna let you go on your own!” she huffed. “But I really think this is just a waste of time!”

“Yeah well, if it is, then you can say ‘I told you so’ all you like,” he promised, shooting her a wry grin. “But I just need to do this to put my mind at rest. I’ll be feeling bad all day if we don’t go.”

“Gods, Fahji, you’re way too soft,” Ribyna remarked with an exasperated eye roll. “But alright, fine, whatever. Let’s just get this over and done with.”

After checking with a Redoran guard for directions, the twins set off from Ald’ruhn, backtracking along the road from which they had arrived until they reached the base of a short hill, the broad jagged rocks jutting up from the ground acting as a sort of wall to guide their path. At the top of this short climb was something that stopped them in their tracks. Fahjoth had heard it described in passing, but nothing could have prepared him for actually seeing it.

With the steep rocks blocking out the sun and casting heavy shadows over them, the eerie blue glow of the Ghostfence was startlingly prominent even in broad daylight. Towering stone pillars were connected by a rippling web of magical energy, wisps of fog drifting off and dissipating into the air like shimmering heat on a summer day. But most disconcerting of all were the whispers, carried along on the wind but sounding like little more than a hushed breeze themselves. It was unnatural, but its presence alone was so immensely powerful that even the simple act of looking at it made Fahjoth’s hairs stand on end.

He almost didn’t want to get too close, but skirting along the edge was necessary in order to reach the foyada that would lead them to Ghostgate itself. So he took a deep breath and pressed on, ascending the short climb and pacing along the rough hewn path that would take them to Ghostgate. But, as they continued on, the whispering fence wasn’t the only thing Fahjoth could hear.

“Can you hear that?” he murmured, holding out a hand to get Ribyna’s attention. Even from a distance, it was evident that there was some kind of disturbance ahead, roughly where Ghostgate was — or rather, where Fahjoth assumed it would be — around the corner. The crackling of magic, the dull thwack of a blade against flesh, and bizarre, otherworldly shrieks.

Ribyna nodded in confirmation, and though the look on her face warned Fahjoth to exercise caution, she seemed to be as curious as he was. So he continued, edging along and remaining on guard, waiting until he passed the dense wall of volcanic boulders and Ghostgate itself came into sight. But once he clapped eyes on the source of commotion, a choked gasp escaped from his chest.

One Dunmer stood outside the portcullis at Ghostgate’s entrance — sword in one hand and a flickering, fiery glow in the other — surrounded by three snarling creatures, vaguely reptilian in appearance with thick green scales, crested heads and viciously sharp claws and fangs. Although he had evidently put up a good fight, judging by the lacerations and burns on each of the creatures’ bodies, he was struggling; even from a distance Fahjoth could see the blood staining his ragged armour, and he staggered every time one of the monsters snapped at him — which was frequent as the three worked together in a deadly tag-team.

“What the fuck are those things?” Fahjoth heard Ribyna mutter from behind him, but he didn’t stop to answer. Instead, before even making the conscious decision to do so, he found himself sprinting over to the affray, drawing his sword and ignoring Ribyna’s calls of “Fahji, don’t!”

Once he was close enough he lunged at one of the creatures, slashing hard with his sword and cutting a deep incision in its shoulder, which began to ooze with slick, dark blood. The creature then turned on him instead, opened its maw and emitted a horrendous, raspy screech. Fahjoth managed to catch a glimpse of enormous, serrated teeth and salivating jaws before it lunged for him.

On instinct he threw up his sword to block the oncoming wall of fangs and claws, the air freezing in his lungs as its talons gouged deep into the chitin guard on his thigh. As the creature stumbled back after a mouthful of sharpened steel, Fahjoth took his opportunity to strike again.

This time his blade caught the creature’s neck, leaving a deep gash in its throat which began to flow with the same sticky gunk that dripped from its other injuries. As it staggered on the spot, the creature made a strange chittering noise before it eventually collapsed. One down, two to go, Fahjoth thought, but as he glanced up to reassess the situation, his blood ran cold.

The Dunmer was on his knees, his blade buried in the gut of one of the monsters, while the other had clamped his arm between its jaws. Although the injured one was clearly ailing, the other remained as ferocious as ever and, despite his valiant effort, it was evident that the Dunmer’s energy was fading fast.

“Oi!” Fahjoth shouted, trying to get the monster’s attention. When that failed, he leapt forward and plunged his blade into its hide, grimacing when it barely managed to pierce the skin. With a squeal the creature whipped around to face Fahjoth, who stumbled back and prepared for the worst. But then it pounced, leaping through the air and colliding with his chest hard enough to throw him to the ground.

With the air knocked out of his lungs, Fahjoth could only push against its chest, trying to keep it at bay. Slavering jaws snapped inches from his face, its foul breath hot on his skin and deadly fangs filling his vision. He yelled as its claws raked through his armour and lacerated his skin, but all attempts at kicking the monster off failed as his boots collided with what felt like a wall of pure muscle. The fall had knocked his sword out of his hand, but he daren’t let go of the creature’s chest to retrieve it; the combined strength in both arms was the only barrier stopping those teeth from tearing his face to shreds.

A shadow fell over them, blocking out the sunlight overhead, before the glint of a blade flashed past Fahjoth’s vision and tore across the creature’s throat. With its neck slit open and spurting thick, dark blood, the monster staggered away from Fahjoth, emitting hoarse, rasping squawks until it finally crumpled to the ground and lay still. Ribyna stood by, staring at the corpse with distaste as she offered Fahjoth a hand.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll live,” Fahjoth replied, accepting Ribyna’s assistance and wincing as the claw wounds on his chest smarted with every movement. But once he was on his feet, alarm struck him and he whipped around in a desperate search for the injured Dunmer. Luckily, he didn’t have far to look.

The stranger was slouched on the ground near the body of the third creature, barely remaining upright, though his jerking shoulders indicated that he was still breathing at least — albeit very strained. The ground around him was speckled scarlet, as was his armour, and as Fahjoth approached with haste the Dunmer lifted his gaze to meet his eye. Although his face was marred by cuts and grazes and his shoulder-length black hair was matted with blood and dust, Fahjoth thought he seemed fairly young, perhaps around the twins’ age.

“What do you want, outlander?” he croaked, his expression dark with mistrust. Fahjoth faltered, but he still crouched down next to the Dunmer and quietly evaluated his injuries. He looked to be in a bad way...

“Do you expect me to thank you for helping with those clannfears?” he went on, his voice hoarse and his breathing laboured with obvious pain. “Everything was— everything was under control...”

“Oh yeah, course it was!” Ribyna scoffed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You should be thanking us, we could’ve got ourselves killed helping your sorry arse!”

“I never asked you to!” he retorted, wincing and clutching his bloodied arm close to his chest. “I was dealing with them myself! But no, you had to come” — he paused to gasp for breath — “rushing in to play the hero! Typical outlanders... Next time, stay out of what doesn’t concern you!”

“You ungrateful little shit—!” Ribyna snarled, but Fahjoth held up a hand in a bid for peace.

“Whoah, whoah, let’s just... calm, okay? Ribyna, shush...” Fahjoth stared at the Dunmer, his gut churning at the blood staining him from head to foot. “Mate, are you alright? Those injuries look... bad—”

“I’m fine!” The mere effort of speaking seemed to be taking a toll on the Dunmer, for his speech was punctuated with pained coughs that racked his entire body. “I was just— I was just playing with them, to train my skills. It’s just... a few scratches...” As he looked down at his wounds, the sheer amount of his own blood that had been spilt finally seemed to sink in and his ashen face became even paler. “Gods... That’s more blood than I... Oh gods, my arm’s— I can’t—”

But Ribyna had apparently had enough. “Come on, Fahji, let’s get going,” she said loudly, tugging at his uninjured shoulder. “Leave this dickhead to play with his... what are they called... clannfears? Whatever—”

Before Fahjoth could protest, the Dunmer spoke up again. “Wait! I— I might... It’s— it’s... possible... that I could use some help...”

“Possible?” Fahjoth repeated before he could stop himself, and the Dunmer groaned with frustration.

“Alright, fine! I need your help! Happy now?!”

Thinking fast, Fahjoth caught Ribyna’s hand and tugged her closer, lowering his voice to murmur to her. “Could you get us a healing potion from somewhere? I— I don’t have any on me.”

But Fahjoth could tell from her face that Ribyna would not be convinced easily. “Why the fuck should I?!” she spat, outraged. “We saved his life and he’s done nothing but give us shit for it! We should just leave the bastard here to deal with it himself!”

In response to this, the Dunmer wheezed through gritted teeth before speaking up again. “Y— you’re right. Look, I’m sorry. You did save my life, but... not for long. I can’t— I don’t have enough magicka to heal myself. And I don’t have any potions left either, and...” His voice cracked, growing panic evident in his tone. “Please, I— I don’t want to die. Not here, not like this...”

“Ribyna? Please?” Fahjoth tried again with a desperate plea, and this time Ribyna relented. She tore away from Fahjoth’s grip and stormed off, and while she was gone, Fahjoth focused his attention on the injured Dunmer.

“Hang in there, mate,” he said, putting a hand over one of his more severe injuries and applying some pressure. The Dunmer groaned with pain, but didn’t seem to have any more complaints. “We’ll get you healed up in no time, alright? Then you can get back to your... uhh... training.”

“Yeah, I... I might need to... ngh... try a different approach,” he said, and Fahjoth was alarmed by how faint his voice had become. “Ughh... The— the bleeding’s not stopping, is it?”

“N— not yet, but it will!” Fahjoth tried to reassure him, despite his hands being slick with blood. “Ah, there we go! That was quick.”

Sure enough, Ribyna came trotting back, her pace far too relaxed for Fahjoth’s liking. She brandished a bottle which Fahjoth snatched without hesitation, then passed along to the Dunmer after uncorking it. While he administered the potion himself, Fahjoth glanced up at Ribyna. “Where’d you get that, anyway?”

Ribyna raised a hand, pointing to what seemed to be a camp on the crest of a nearby hill. “Borrowed it from those people up there.”

“Borrowed it?”

“Okay, well... they might not know that I borrowed it.”

“Right...” Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he turned back to the Dunmer, who was already looking much healthier now that the effects of the potion had swiftly kicked in. Fahjoth was relieved to see that his face had begun to retain a bit more colour.

“Mephala, that’s better...” he murmured. “Bit less... Daedra-eaten now. Thank you.” As the various aches and pains began to fade, his face was instead clouded with clear humiliation. “Gods, this is so embarrassing... See, I’m... trying to become a strong warrior, but obviously I still have a long way to go yet.”

“Have you considered a different career choice?” Ribyna said loftily, earning herself dull glares from both the Dunmer and Fahjoth himself, who was very quickly growing tired of her complete lack of empathy.

“It’s expected of me,” the Dunmer replied irritably. “But I spend all this time training myself, and I’m... I’m still not good enough. I mean, what would my tribe think if they knew I had to be rescued by outlanders? Outlanders, for Azura’s sake!” He paused, seeming to realise that what he said had been potentially insulting. “Oh, uh... sorry. No offence. But it does look bad.”

“None taken,” Fahjoth replied before Ribyna could pipe up again. “So when you say tribe... d’you mean... are you an Ashlander?”

The Dunmer stared back at Fahjoth with an incredulous look on his face. “What gave it away?” he asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. Now that the situation had calmed down, Fahjoth was able to take in the Dunmer’s appearance fully. His attire, as bloodsoaked and scuffed as it was, had a far more rustic aesthetic, in line with that worn by the man in The Rat In The Pot the previous night.

“You’re right, sorry. Stupid question,” Fahjoth grimaced. “But hey, don’t beat yourself up. You were outnumbered, and those things were vicious as hell! What were they, anyway?”

“They were clannfears. They’re a sort of Daedra — probably came from some Daedric ruins nearby,” the Ashlander explained. “And thanks, but... you don’t understand. I don’t blame you, I mean... how could you? You’ve got no idea who I am, what I have to do...”

“No, and we don’t really give a fu—” Ribyna started, before Fahjoth struck her leg with his fist, hard enough to silence her temporarily while she glared daggers at him.

“So... you could tell us?” Fahjoth asked. Admittedly, he was interested to know more about this Ashlander.

“I can’t. It’s not that simple — it’s not something I can discuss. Especially not with outlanders. No offence,” he added. “All I can say is that I have a sacred mission that I need to carry out within the Ghostfence, on behalf of my tribe. Well... and others. But I’ve been training non-stop for weeks, and I still can’t even handle what’s on this side of the fence!”

“‘Sacred mission’?” Fahjoth repeated, his curiosity growing by the minute. “Does that mean you’ve got like... gods or something on your side?”

“Hah, well, my mother says so,” the Ashlander replied dryly. “She’s got such powerful faith... both in her gods and in me. That’s why I cannot fail. I can’t let her down. I can’t stand the thought... ” He hesitated, looking thoroughly dejected. “But I’m not sure I share her faith. Maybe that’s my problem...”

Rather clueless, Fahjoth wasn’t sure that anything he could say would be helpful, so he angled for a slight subject change instead. “Ah, I almost forgot,” he said with a mild smile. “My name’s Fahjoth, and this is my twin, Ribyna.” Fahjoth glanced up at Ribyna as he spoke, noting her expression with discomfort. She was glowering at the Ashlander, her face completely devoid of any amiability and she didn’t seem too pleased to be introduced by name, either.

But the Ashlander, who seemed to be preoccupied by his own thoughts, simply acknowledged the introduction with a brief nod before he turned his gaze to the rippling magical barrier again.

“You both seem like capable fighters...”

He must have missed the part where I nearly got my face eaten off, Fahjoth thought wryly.

“Have either of you ever been inside the Ghostfence?”

Fahjoth turned his head, peering over his shoulder at the Ghostfence himself. Beyond it was yet more barren, ashen land, and a steep ascent up what he could only assume was Red Mountain itself. It certainly looked like an unfriendly place.

“We’ve... had no reason to.” Fahjoth shrugged. “If we absolutely had to, then... maybe.”

“We definitely wouldn’t go there just ‘cause our mother told us to,” Ribyna added, and Fahjoth jumped. He had almost forgotten she was there, but her mood seemed just as dour as ever.

The Ashlander bristled. “I’m not— I’m not doing this just because my mother told me to! I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do!” He heaved a sigh. “I wonder— No, forget it. I don’t have any reason to trust you.”

Out of everything the Ashlander had said thus far, that was perhaps the most hurtful. “We helped you, didn’t we?” Fahjoth pointed out.

The Dunmer hesitated, his brows furrowed and lips twitching with agitation as he sat in deep thought. “I suppose, but how do I know you weren’t— ugh, I can’t keep thinking like this! I have to do something about this...” He took a deep breath, staring at Fahjoth with such intensity that for a moment, he was almost intimidated. “Would you be willing to help me train?”

Of all the things he could have come out with, that was the last thing Fahjoth had been expecting. “Oh, uh...”

“If my people knew, they’d be horrified...” he murmured. “But I just don’t see any alternative. I’m really not getting anywhere, training by myself. Even if you are outlanders, you’re the only people so far who have actually helped me. And— look, I wouldn’t be a burden, I can promise you that. I do have some skills!”

Before Fahjoth could respond to this shocking proposal, the Ashlander slapped a hand to his forehead. “Gah! I’m such an idiot! I haven’t even introduced myself! My name’s Julan Kaushibael, of the Ahemmusa.” He faltered. “Uh, well, sort of... I mean, I’m— I’m technically an outcast, but, uh... well, it’s complicated. Anyway, what d’you say?”

For a few moments, Fahjoth was dumbfounded. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what to feel. On one hand, helping to train someone who was on some sort of sacred mission from the gods seemed like a lot of responsibility, and one that Fahjoth did not feel remotely qualified for. On the other, Julan did seem like a good person, and with his curiosity burning, he was keen to find out more about him.

Before he could answer, Ribyna started to speak up again.

“Sorry mate, we haven’t got time to babysit you,” she started, and once again Fahjoth whacked her in an effort to curb her attitude. “Ow—!”

“Well, I don’t know how good of a training partner I’d be,” he said, over Ribyna’s irate mutters. “But you’re welcome to come along with me, mate.”

The affronted look on Julan’s face at Ribyna’s snide remark melted away, to be replaced by an actual smile instead — certainly the first one they’d seen him make. It was quite a heartwarming sight. “Great! Thanks. So, um... I’ll just follow your lead. I don’t actually know Vvardenfell all that well, if I’m honest.”

“Ah...” Fahjoth gave a nervous giggle, all his hopes of having a guide dashed in an instant. “Really? I’ve got to admit, I’m surprised. I thought you would’ve known it like the back of your hand.”

“Yeah, no... this is actually the furthest from home I’ve been so far,” Julan confessed. “Anyway... look, since we’re here, would you mind if we went inside the Ghostfence?” Fahjoth’s apprehension must have shown on his face, for Julan quickly held up a hand. “Not far! Just inside the gate here. I was about to head through onto the mountain just before you arrived. I just have to get used to it.”

Fahjoth hesitated. Despite having told Julan he would be willing to venture inside the Ghostfence, now that it was time to put his money where his mouth was, he was leery of it. But if it was only just a short way inside... what harm could it do?

“Alright,” Fahjoth agreed, pulling himself to his feet and offering Julan a hand up. “Are you sure you’re well enough, mate?”

“I’ll be fine.” Julan accepted his help, and Fahjoth was relieved to see that he was able to stand again with relative ease as he dusted himself off. “Now you can come through and see what it’s like! Come on.” He trotted off to the gate and pushed a switch on a short pillar, which began cranking open the portcullis with a rather unsettling groan. As the gate slid open, Fahjoth felt a tug on his elbow, and he glanced around to come face-to-face with a very vexed Ribyna.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” she hissed. “Getting involved with this dickhead? Going onto Red Mountain? Have you lost your mind?!”

“You don’t have to come with us, you know,” Fahjoth muttered, and without waiting for a response, he took off. Ribyna’s antagonistic attitude towards Julan had been infuriating, and although her lack of compassion should not have surprised him, he was still upset that she would choose to act so callously in such a critical situation. Nonetheless, a small part of him was comforted to hear her footsteps as she followed suit.

“Like I said before, I’m not letting you go on your own!” she fumed. “I just think this is a bad idea. Haven’t you got your own shit to deal with?”

“It’s fine. If you don’t want to get involved, you don’t have to,” he repeated. The tunnel through Ghostgate was surprisingly dark and cool, and Fahjoth shivered as they left the warm stroke of the sun. A feeling of foreboding settled in his gut that only continued to grow as Julan opened the second gate on the other side. Cautiously, he left the tunnel, and took his first step out onto Red Mountain.

This side of the Ghostfence was like another world entirely. An ash storm raged on, completely oblivious to the pleasant weather on the outside, and the skies overhead were heavy with deep, rust red clouds. Taken by surprise, Fahjoth swiftly grasped his scarf and pulled it back up over his face, squinting against the harsh winds and the onslaught of dust that tore through the air. Quite apart from the anxiety that being in the midst of an ash storm brought him, his heart hammered against his chest as a jolt of fear coursed through him, sharp and intense and completely bewildering as Fahjoth could not pinpoint what was causing it.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to deal with it for long.

“Uh— Fahjoth?”

Fahjoth turned to see Julan, still standing in the mouth of the tunnel and looking almost as afraid as Fahjoth was. Did he feel it as well?

“I’m sorry, I— I thought I was ready for this. I know I have to do this, b— but I can’t do this. Not yet. Please let me teleport us out of here!” He threw a hand up to his forehead, suddenly wincing, and Fahjoth jumped towards him in alarm. “My head’s— agh, I can’t—”

“It’s alright, mate!” Fahjoth cautiously put a hand on Julan’s shoulder. “You do whatever we need to do. Let’s go.”

Julan nodded, hanging his head. “Thank you...” he murmured, before raising his hands as a sparkling blue light began to shimmer in his palms. Ribyna, who had finally caught up after bringing up the rear, immediately looked alarmed.

“Wait, teleport—?!” she exclaimed, as the glittering lights grew and intensified and suddenly filled Fahjoth’s vision. He had just enough time to lunge for Ribyna’s shoulder before the spell took effect; the ground vanished from beneath Fahjoth’s feet, his stomach lurching as he hurtled into a freefall and the world around him blinked away into darkness.

—————————————————————————————

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #tes #tes fic #julan kaushibael #morrowind #dunmer #nerevarine #dunmer oc #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fic #tes iii: morrowind

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