Dominion Cat - 2. Home At Last

He could hear the sound of the ocean, smell the scent of drying fish in the air. Such a beautiful thing, the ocean. It gave a whole new method of hunting, with spears and nets...

Sinjaro’s stomach gurgled loudly and he groaned, sitting up. His head was pounding, an ache like he hadn’t felt since he stopped taking moon-sugar.

“The Vestige awakens once again!”

“Rajhin kodesh!” Sinjaro yelped, head whipping around.

He saw the Prophet standing near a door, the same ghostly visage that had appeared in the prison.

“As I feared, we have arrived in different locations. I am in a city near the sea, in a land of eternal spring. The air smells of the ocean, and of markets, and gardens… It matters not. You have awakened once again and we must set you on your path.”

“Sinjaro’s path leads him to home.”

“Would that we could choose our paths in life…”

It was simple, wasn’t it? He just needed to get to Khenarthi’s Roost, travel across the island to Eagle’s Strand and and go to his home. It would be nice to sleep in a familiar bed. Maybe he’d actually sleep through the night for once. If he still had a home. He had been gone for a while.

“Er, how long was this one unconscious for?”

“Days, weeks? I can not tell. The voyage between worlds has disrupted all sense of time and space. I only know that you were deposited into the sea and some charitable soul fished you out and brought you to dry land.”

“What would you have Sinjaro do now?”

“You will have to decide that for yourself. As for myself, I must find some way to repay Lyris for her sacrifice. I can not leave her to Molag Bal’s wrath,” the Prophet said sharply.

“This one assumes he will see you again.”

“Most assuredly. There is still much we need to accomplish. But off with you. We will speak again when the time is right.”

The Prophet faded away, the room darkening as his glow followed. Taking better stock of his location, Sinjaro found he was in some kind of tower, shattered and broken. He had been laying upon a simple cot under the only bit of roof left, and there was a cauldron sitting nearby. When he sniffed at it, the Khajiit found it contained a cold, watery carrot stew. Still, food was food, and certainly whoever took him in wouldn’t mind a little more charity.

Near the door, Sinjaro discovered a real treat. A selection of basic lockpicks, a pair of gems, a simple jack, and a bow better than the one he had picked up in that accursed prison. He collected them all, shedding his ruined shirt for the jack. Now if only he could find some boots…

Exiting the tower, Sinjaro blinked in the sudden sunlight. He was standing near the entrance of a ruined fort… his ruined fort.

“Bright Moons,” he sighed, looking around.

It was changed, that was for sure. There were far too many Altmer running around, and injured cluttering up the place. Sinjaro could see his dilapidated tower, the only real home he had known, taken over by a strange Khajiit in a dark blue robe carrying an intricate staff.

This was not okay. He had nowhere to go. Surely she would be amenable to sharing. There was space for them both there.

Crossing the broken down fort, Sinjaro approached the Khajiit.

“I’m sorry, we are out of moon sugar. You will have to wait for the next shipment,” the Khajiit said tiredly.

“This one has not had moon-sugar in months, but that is not why Sinjaro is talking with you. You are in Sinjaro’s home.”

“Your… home… has been commandeered by the Aldmeri Dominion to assist in the recovery efforts. I assure you when we are finished, you will be allowed to have it back.”

“Who are you?” Sinjaro frowned. “You look like Khajiit yet speak like Altmer.”

“This one-” The Khajiit stopped, taking a breath. “I am Lieutenant K’radel of the Aldmeri Expeditionary Force in Khenarthi’s Roost.”

“And this one is out of a home.”

Muttering quietly, Sinjaro started walking, only to be stopped by a calico hand.

“For what it is worth, this one is sorry for your troubles.”

A handful of gold fell into Sinjaro’s hand, Sinjaro looking at it in surprise.

“Thank you walker,” he said. “Sinjaro wishes you well with your task.”

“Jobal kha’jay.”

They parted, Sinjaro looking around again. He was at a loss for what to do. All around him were soldiers busy at work, a bustling camp vastly different than the Eagle’s Strand he knew before. Slowly he came to the conclusion that there was nothing for him here. Perhaps he could go to Mistral, offer his services as a chef. After all, he was the only one who could make… could make…

“Dark Moons…” Sinjaro snapped.

He’d always been a chef, memorizing his recipes like all great cooks. But now he couldn’t remember a single recipe. How did one forget his life’s work?

“Hey wet one!”

A Khajiit approached Sinjaro, dressed in black leather armour. He had a twinkle in his eye, like one used to making mischief. Sinjaro was no stranger to mischief himself, but he doubted now was the time.

“The hurricane must have disoriented you quite a bit, friend. Come, speak with Razum Dar a bit.”

His voice was like a silky purr, the sweetest moon-sugar mead, and Sinjaro suddenly had a mental image of himself entwined in the Khajiit’s arms.

Sinjaro shook his head roughly. That was the last thing he needed, to be caught up with some Aldmeri Khajiit. But he followed Razum Dar to another tower anyway. He had nothing else to do.

“This one thinks we might be able to help each other,” Razum Dar said as they stood against the tower. “But first, a question. Where are you from?”

Sinjaro had no idea what the Aldmeri meant. And he couldn’t exactly say he had come from a Daedric prison. But he had a hunch. There had been a hurricane, and now there were a bunch of soldiers in his home.

“This one is a recruit who washed ashore with the other soldiers,” he said.

Razum Dar chuckled.

“Yes, lie with confidence and a twinkle in your eye my friend. You will do perfectly. If you are a recruit, we shall speak with the commander. She may have work for you.”

“What is in it for this one? You say you can help Sinjaro. What if Sinjaro doesn’t need help?”

“No one will stop you from leaving. But if you stay, you can do some good and get rich while doing so.”

Sinjaro thought for a moment. He did need money. And he had survived everything that had been thrown at him. He had even gone claw to claw with a Daedra and survived.

“And you? You have some stake in this as well,” he said.

“Raz merely needs a friend who can talk to the people, put in a good word for the Aldmeri Dominion.”

Sinjaro took a moment to think. He needed money. He was officially homeless, and barely had enough for a mead in Mistral. At this point, he couldn’t afford to be picky about what jobs he took.

“Sinjaro will help you. But this one must be paid for his work.”

“Of course!” Raz said.

Sinjaro didn’t trust the grin on the Khajiit’s face one bit.

“Follow me, and we’ll speak with the commander. She will have some work for you to do.”

They walked back through the fort together, Sinjaro ensuring he stayed at least two arm lengths away from Raz. Approaching a gold-skinned Altmer barking orders, Raz waited for her attention.

“Commander Karinith, this recruit says he would like to help.”

“Good, I need a scout,” she said, glancing at the bow on Sinjaro’s back. “Several of my soldiers are missing and I need someone to find them. There are reports of Sea Vipers along the coast, scavenging the wrecks from the hurricane. See what you can find out.”

She turned away, leaving Sinjaro to puzzle through the orders as he would. He knew about Sea Vipers, the Sea Elf pirates that claimed Khenarthi’s Roost belonged to them. But he hadn’t expected them to be raiding the coast. That was disturbing news.

“There, you see? You fit in perfectly,” Raz smiled. “While you find the missing soldiers, this one will be in Mistral, dealing with some… diplomatic issues that have arisen.”

“And this one’s money?” Sinjaro asked suspiciously.

“If Commander Karinith doesn’t give you a reward, Raz will when you get to Mistral,” Raz winked.

Sinjaro felt his loins stir and he turned away quickly. His tail swished in annoyance. How could the Khajiit get to him like that? Sure, Sinjaro joked about sex a lot, but he wasn’t easy. Yet Raz seemed to play him like a lute.

“Until we meet again, jobal kha’jay t’harith jer drago.”

He had missed the tongue of his people, and hearing it from the mouth of someone with a voice like that… It did not bode well for his self control. Sinjaro hurried away.

As he neared the other end of the fort, Sinjaro’s eyes picked up a bright blue beam rising into the air. Curious, the Khajiit followed the beam to a tower, climbing up two flights of stairs. He found a skyshard at the top, his body nearly crying out for the power it could provide him.

Kneeling, Sinjaro let the shard’s energy flow into him. He could feel things moving through his head, information that might be learned if he could just find the final piece. Something about arrows falling from the sky.

Shaking his head, the Khajiit descended the stairs, making his way out of the fort. He doubted he would see the place again.

Five minutes after leaving the fort, the Khajiit remembered he had no boots. His feet were killing him. But Sinjaro wasn’t going to let a little pain stop him. He would carry on, find these missing soldiers. In fact, he could hear someone calling already.

At a crossroad further ahead, Sinjaro found a Bosmer in an Aldmeri uniform, clutching her arm to her chest.

“You there, have you seen my crew? They answer to Edhelas, Onglorn, and Nistel,” she said, gritting her teeth with pain.

“This one has not met any of your soldiers. Are you certain they survived the storm?”

The Wood Elf shrugged helplessly.

“We’re Dominion Marines. We laugh at the ocean’s attempts to kill us. Hurricanes though, they’re another matter…”

“Sinjaro can help you find them. But what should this one do about their wounds?”

“Our hold was full of an old Bosmer remedy. It’s labelled Torchbug Treacle, but most of us call it glow juice. You can try to find some, but you might have to fight the alits for it.”

Sinjaro winced. Alits were crabby on a good day. With the storm barely past and strangers trodding on their land, the monsters would not consider this a good day.

“Sinjaro will do his best,” he said.

“Do me a favour, if you find my squad, tell them the sea hasn’t got me yet,” the Bosmer said.

Nodding, Sinjaro turned, taking the narrow road down to the shoreline, where he could see plenty of wreckage from the fleet. He felt a presence enter his mind, one he recognised as Zephron. Shrugging, the Khajiit let his energy flow from his body, summoning the cat. She would be good company in his search.

He found the glow juice first, in the guts of an alit he cut up. No one had ever claimed the creatures were smart. But he was grateful Zephron had shown up. If he didn’t have to fight the alits alone, he was happy.

Sinjaro shook his hands, the alit’s gore flying off him.

“Ugh, why did Sinjaro agree to this?” he muttered, tucking the third bottle of treacle in a bag he had found.

Standing, the Khajiit picked up the scent of blood, coppery and tart. It was easy to follow the trail, and he said a brief thanks to the Hungry Cat for his increased sense of smell.

He found the source of the blood sitting against a broken mast, holding his side.

“Who are you?” the Bosmer asked.

“Sinjaro was sent by a very concerned marine to search for her crew,” the Khajiit replied, pulling out a bottle of treacle.

“Sergeant Firion? Hah, she made it,” the elf chuckled weakly, taking the bottle Sinjaro handed him.

He swallowed the juice, grimacing.

“Tastes like boiled sandals in mint tea… But it should knit up my ribs like new. I’ll find Sergeant Firion, let her know I’m alive.”

Sinjaro moved on down the beach, skirting around groups of alits. He felt better about his task with Zephron watching his back, but he didn’t want to get into pointless fights.

Still, he had to kill another two alits before he found the next marine sitting between two rocks.

“I lost a lot of friends to that storm, cat. Give me some good news.”

Sinjaro bristled at being called cat, but he squashed the feelings down.

“Sergeant Firion sent this one to find you and your squad,” he said.

“She’s alive? That is good news. I saw her go overboard. Held onto the ropes as long as I could. Tore my hands up…” The Bosmer held up her bloody hands. “I’m useless to my crew if I can’t hold a weapon.”

“Here, this one has glow juice,” Sinjaro said, opening a bottle.

He helped the marine drink, the skin on her hands slowly growing back.

“Thanks. Once I can heft Spleen-Shanker, I’ll push up the beach and find Sergeant Firion.”

Sinjaro noticed a greatsword at her side, the hilt covered in wet sand.

“This one needs to find the last member of your squad,” he said, standing up.

“Hope they appreciate their good fortune when you find them,” the Bosmer said, standing beside them. “Scrib humping sack of PUS! That stings!”

Sinjaro left her to her swearing, making a mental note to never get sand in his wounds. From the sound of it, the feeling was not pleasant.

He found the final squad member in front of a wreck. Yet another Bosmer, which did little to make Sinjaro think there would be racial equality under the Aldmeri Dominion. Separate squads for soldiers under their command? Did they also give their Wood Elf underlings weapons made of wood and not bone? Even Sinjaro knew of the Green Pact that forbade Bosmer from using vegetation.

But then, he was a rather well travelled Khajiit.

“You got some glow juice on you? I can’t get anywhere with my leg like this,” the Bosmer said.

Sinjaro handed the last flask over.

“Bless Y’ffre! Soon as I can stand I’ll head inland.”

“This one has found the other soldiers in your squad and sent them to meet Sergeant Firion. They’re all safe,” Sinjaro announced.

“Lieutenant Gelin dragged me out of the water. He’ll want to know Sergeant Firion and the others are safe. Think he said something about finding some shelter in a cave up ahead, but I was still spitting up sand.”

Sinjaro scanned the shore, spotting the entrance to the cave not far ahead.

“You go find your sergeant. This one will tell your lieutenant where you are.”

The sun was starting to fall, waning Jone making its way through the sky with a new Jode. Suthay moons, like the ones that Sinjaro was born under. If he was lucky, Sinjaro could talk to the lieutenant and have enough time to find a bed for the night.

The sand crunched under his feet as he neared the cave, the sound of water dripping from within. Zephron trotted past him, scouting the cave out for him. He could see torches hanging from the walls, small piles of ash at their bases. Flames flickered over the walls, lighting much of the cave, but a large formation blocked his sight through the center of the cave.

Sinjaro pulled out his bow. He had been taken by surprise one too many times. It would not happen again. He crept through the cave, eyes shining in the flickering light. The Khajiit paused as his ears picked up a hiss. Snakes… He hated snakes.

Then it came around the corner. Nearly ten feet long, with scales that shone bright green in the torchlight, the snake made Sinjaro tremble in fear. Its body scraped over rocks and bones, dried scales rustling as it neared the Khajiit.

Sinjaro set an arrow on his bow, the projectile clinking quietly as his hand trembled.

“Now would be a good time for Sinjaro to turn into a wolf…” he stammered.

His wolf remained dormant though, lacking the bloodlust to come forth.

“Clawless coward,” Sinjaro muttered.

He took a step back, anchoring his arrow at his ear. The arrow leapt forward, sticking between a pair of scales, and the snake let out a deafening hiss. Zephron darted forward, hissing back at the snake, and Sinjaro laughed.

He couldn’t help it. The sight of the dark panther staring down a giant snake was too much for him. The Khajiit echoed the hiss, feeling emboldened. He could kill this thing, and it would be a mighty hunt.

Loosing another arrow, Sinjaro darted under a strike, the snake coiling up with their positions reversed. A wave of electricity washed over the fight, the snake breaking its coil. Taking the opportunity, Sinjaro sent one last arrow into the snake’s head. The fight was over.

Standing over his defeated foe, Sinjaro held out his bow. It really was a piece of garbage, a low draw weight making it nearly impossible to penetrate anything. But beggars couldn’t be too picky, and he was definitely a beggar cat.

“This one is lucky Sinjaro is a good shot,” he muttered, kicking the snake. “Here is snake… Where is the Bosmer?”

The Khajiit looked around the cave, body still tense from the fight. There were a lot of bones strewn about the cave, too many even for a snake of this size. Assuming snakes left the bones. Sinjaro thought they swallowed their prey.

He fought back a shudder.

“You can run screaming like ma’khajiit later,” he said sternly. “Sinjaro better get more than twenty gold for this…”

Walking cautiously through the cave, Sinjaro discovered a gruesome sight at the back. Tied to a pole was an Aldmeri soldier, body sliced to ribbons. His armour was missing, though a set of hide epaulets lay on the ground nearby. Sinjaro picked them up. By the look of it, the lieutenant wasn’t going to need them any more.

Kneeling beside the body, the Khajiit examined the wounds, taking in a green foamy pus that oozed from arcane sigils carved into the Bosmer. Something was going on here. Something that likely had to do with the Sea Vipers, if the giant snake was any indication. Sinjaro just hoped the new Dominion soldiers could stop them.

Setting the epaulets over his shoulders, Sinjaro left the cave, finding Sergeant Firion standing with her squad outside.

“Turns out my squad were the ones who found me. Ever think about a career as a Dominion Marine?”

“Moons no…” Sinjaro shook his head. “This one found your lieutenant dead. Some kind of ritual, though Sinjaro does not know for what.”

“Lieutenant Gelin dead? As some part of ritual? What else did you find in that cave?”

“Bones and a rather angry giant snake.”

“This is too large for me and my squad. We need reinforcements. Nistel said there’s a beached ship further up the coast with some Dominion soldiers onboard. We need to get Lieutenant Gelin out of that damned cave. Would you go warn the crew of the ship for us?”

Glancing at the darkening sky, Sinjaro shrugged. He doubted he would be able to sleep too soundly after seeing that soldier.

“This one will warn the boat.”

“Wait, take these. I found some glow juice. The squad doesn’t need them any more, so I thought they might help you,” the sergeant said, handing over a trio of bottles.

“Thanks,” Sinjaro smiled slightly.

At least these ones didn’t have alit guts all over them. Sinjaro would take his victories gladly.

He found the ship nearby, a Khajiit working on some boards by the light of a lantern beside a gangplank.

“You aren’t a silk-arsed Sea Viper or a cabbage mouthed castaway. State your business with the Prowler,” the Khajiit demanded without looking up from his work.

“This one found a Dominion marine dead in a nearby cave. The dead marine appears to have been used in a ritual. Sinjaro thought you might want to know. His squad asks for reinforcements,” Sinjaro added, almost as an afterthought.

“Oh. Well the Prowler is sitting like a hen in a wolf den for the moment. Perhaps this squad you mention could help with repairs, show they aren’t just two legged cargo.”

“Sinjaro is certain they’d be glad to help. What needs repairing?”

“We are missing a helmsman’s wheel that needs to be replaced. And there are several holes that need patching. Perhaps your soldiers could do some actual work.”

“This one will do what he can.”

“Oh, and the sun-sighter fell overboard when we beached. Our lookout saw those skink-fingered pirates scurry off with it. You’ll have to get it back any way possible.”

Sinjaro let out a sigh. This looked like it was going to be a long night. But he would do it. For the gold.

Returning to the squad, he found the Bosmers stacking one last rock on a small pile.

“He’ll keep for now,” Sergeant Firion said. “What did the sailors say?”

“They can’t promise reinforcements. Their ship is broken, but if we fix it, they might be able to help you in return.”

Sergeant Firion hummed thoughtfully, studying her squad.

“What needs to be done?” she asked.

“The hull needs patching, the helmsman’s wheel has to be replaced, and the sun-sighter was taken by Sea Vipers.”

The sergeant nodded, as though Sinjaro had confirmed her suspicions about the involvement of Sea Vipers.

“Nistel, you fix the leaks. Edhelas, you’re our best scavenger, go find a new wheel. Onglorn, you can track down the Vipers that stole the sun-sighter.”

As her squad vanished into the night, Sergeant Firion looked back at Sinjaro.

“Is there anything else?”

“This one does not think so. Sinjaro will return to the Prowler and see if they will send reinforcements.”

“Wait, did you say the Prowler? Those aren’t Dominion sailors, they’re privateers! Just our luck!”

“In Sinjaro’s experience, privateers hold themselves to a code. If they said they’d do something, they’ll not back out.”

“See what you can do then,” Firion shrugged.

Sinjaro began walking again, muttering quietly.

“Go here, do this, run back… Sinjaro is not a messenger…”

He stopped beside the old Khajiit quartermaster, who watched Nistel work with approval.

“Maybe this one was too hasty to judge these soldiers. You have Oblan’s thanks, walker. And more than that. We cannot provide reinforcements, but Captain Jimila has some information that might prove useful to you. She’s on the forecastle. And don’t worry, she only bites if you give her good reason.”

He was a little wary of being back on a ship, the memory of his last foray still fresh in his mind. But Sinjaro didn’t let his worry show as he walked up the stairs to the forecastle.

“Thanks to you, the Prowler will be free of its bonds soon,” the Khajiit captain said as he approached.

She seemed too soft-spoken to be the captain of a privateer, but Sinjaro had seen stranger things in the past year. Like an Argonian healer.

“I have no reinforcements for you, but I have information. I know who is killing the Dominion marines. Our lookout saw Sea Vipers drag a marine into a cave. Later he saw your friends remove the body. Had we not been so short handed, I would have ordered his rescue, but members of my own crew are missing.”

“What happened to your crew?”

“The Sea Vipers happened. Before we understood the danger, I sent my crew to scavenge among the shoal. We thought they had just gone missing, but one returned not long ago, claiming she had been captured by Maomer trying to raise another hurricane.”

“Dark Moons, what has this one gotten himself into…?”

“My crewmates are tied up to serpent statues on a wrecked Dominion ship. There was something about lodestones on the Maomer wrists being the only way to breach the lightning chains. I would ask Mastengwe, but she is still recovering from the ordeal. Perhaps you could scout the area for us?” Captain Jimila asked.

“You want this one to kill some Maomer, sneak into their den, and rescue your crew?” Sinjaro clarified.

“I wasn’t willing to go that far, but you seem capable. If you can manage it, the Prowler would be forever in your debt.”

“This one does not like it. But Sinjaro could use a good hunt,” the Khajiit shrugged.

“Then I wish you well, walker.”

Sinjaro hurried off the ship, heading in the direction Jimila had pointed. Zephron followed closely, feet stepping silently behind him. As Sinjaro drew close to the island where the other ship was beached, the wind picked up around him. A storm was brewing, one he was supposed to stop.

Maormer patrolled the area, scavenging and looting. Sinjaro skirted around the majority of them, but there was a pair he couldn’t seem to get by. On the other side of them, he could feel a power calling to him, reaching out, and as rain fell around him, the Khajiit spied a blue light reaching into the sky. A skyshard. He was going to get that shard. And these two Maomer were not going to stop him.

Setting an arrow to the string of his bow, the Khajiit studied his prey. A dual-wielder and a mage. His fur would have stood on end had he not already been soaked to the bone by the rain. That mage was his priority.

Sending Zephron to sneak around the two, Sinjaro stood and loosed his first arrow. It sailed into the mage’s gut, the Sea Elf crying out in pain. Instantly his companion was alert, charging toward Sinjaro. Zephron jumped between the two, her electricity seeming to do nothing against these enemies. Sinjaro saw a faint yellow glow pulsing from the duelist’s wrist. It had to be a lodestone.

Rolling under an attack, the Khajiit loosed another arrow at the mage, catching her in the shoulder. This time she stayed down, allowing Sinjaro to focus on the Elf that was attacking once more.

A swipe across his stomach dealt little damage, his jack preventing most of it. Grabbing a third arrow, Sinjaro launched the projectile into the Maomer’s unprotected face from mere feet away, smiling in grim satisfaction as the Elf dropped.

It was the second time he had killed someone, and Sinjaro’s blood was boiling., the call of the hunt strong in him. Yet his wolf stayed down. No matter. There was bound to be more blood before he was finished.

As the skyshard shared its power with him, Sinjaro saw the missing piece of the arrows falling from the sky. A simple burst of energy, timed right, would break an arrow in midair, allowing shrapnel to fall over an area. He smiled, pleased with his new knowledge, even as he pushed deeper into the storm.

Crawling up a line of rocks beside the ship, the Khajiit paused, spying a Sea Elf standing in the middle of the deck. Lightning poured out of the elf, winds swirling in an endless vortex. This was not someone Sinjaro wanted to fight, even with the lodestone he had claimed from his victims.

Silently, Sinjaro crept to the left, toward the bow of the ship, where he had seen a tall serpent statue. It had to be where one of the privateers were being held.

Sure enough, there was a Khajiit held bound by a lattice of lightning. Holding out the lodestone, Sinjaro winced as electricity ran into his talisman.

“These Maomer are insane!” the other Khajiit yelped over the noise of the storm.

He ran toward the main deck, Sinjaro hoping that he would slip past the Sea Elf unharmed.

No, that was unacceptable. Sinjaro needed to make sure. He stepped out of hiding, Launching an arrow into the air. With a short burst of energy, the arrow exploded, showering down upon the storm mage. Zephron leapt into battle as Sinjaro launched another arrow, barely dodging a bolt of magical ice.

They made short work of the elf, Sinjaro ending the fight with an arrow in the chest. As the mage fell, the violent storm ceased abruptly, the ritual aborted by the absence of two pieces. Sinjaro was breathing heavily, the smell of blood strong. The wolf was growing within him again; he just needed one more push.

Collecting the mage’s staff, the Khajiit hurried to the stern of the ship, freeing the other crew member. Together they hurried off the ship, Sinjaro leading him to the Prowler. It wasn’t long before he was standing before the captain once more, the sky lightening in predawn splendor.

“Suhr and Virkvild are returned to us, shaken, wet, but physically unharmed,” Jimila said. “My lookout says I can thank you for that.”

Sinjaro nodded, not trusting his voice. He could feel the wolf prowling within him. If he shifted forms now, it would be disastrous for all involved.

“Your marine friends stopped a band of Maomer from reaching the ship,” Jimila added with a smile. “All of you are welcome on the Prowler any time. Perhaps we will see each other someday in Mistral. Until then, please accept this and our sincere thanks.”

The Khajiit captain handed Sinjaro a small bag full of coins, and a large wooden shield. Sinjaro smiled, accepting the gifts. He would make good use of them in Mistral.