FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

A note from one of the authors:

All of the stories uploaded to this account are roleplays written by two people. They have been edited into a more novel-like format, but sometimes you may notice a bit of jankiness, like ubrupt POV shifts. Some of our stories include sex scenes, but they will be buried somewhere in the middle and will be a very small part of the story. For the most part, these are plot-heavy adventure tales set in The Elder Scrolls universe. This particular story contains mxf sex scenes and a few graphic depictions of violence that could be considered gory.

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Chapter 1

The sun was rising over Tel Aruhn, flaring brightly behind the high tower with its riot of walkways carved into the great vines. The slaves that were intended for display were just being herded out into the outdoor cages: a beautiful Argonian maid with red and blue scale and big, beautiful red eyes; a delicate Bosmer girl with trembling rosebud lips; a handsome Orc in a loincloth, every inch rippling with muscle, coup knot immaculate; and a Khajiit with an unusual pattern of black and white spots, silky and sought-after. These were those who would fetch the highest price, luring customers who would ultimately buy cheaper from the less glamorous underground holding cells. Sharp-eyed Dunmer slave-masters kept a sharp eye out to ensure nobody tried to touch the merchandise.

The early crowd was thin, only the most serious buyers arriving at this uncomfortable hour. The orcish mage in her gray and green robes stood out among a group of mostly Dunmer and the odd Breton or Imperial. She was not especially tall for her species, but she did have the traditional sturdy, buxom look that often defined Orcish and Nord women. Her tusks were thin and short, polished to a high gloss, and the yellow eyes were bright and alert, darting here and there as she looked the market over. She wore her hair in a fat braid hanging down one shoulder in front of her hood.

The mage gave only a cursory glance to the cages outside, snorting derisively, and jangled the purse at her hip as she marched through the huge round door that led to the underground market.

Here it was noisier. Some of these slaves had not yet accepted their fate or their value as readily as those outside. There was weeping, entreaty, cries as some were beaten, swearing from masters who had not yet proven their mastery. Some of the more valuable and cooperative were in the individual display cages that were carved into the walls. More were chained in rows, standing along the broad walkway.

The orc looked them over, lips pursed around her little tusks, and tugged at a ragged green ear as she looked around for a bargain.

The wailing of the other slaves hadn't ceased for a moment since he'd arrived. Ra'kesh turned fitfully in his cell in a futile attempt to get comfortable. His body longed for a deep, restful sleep, but he probably couldn't have gotten any even in a quiet place. There was only a thin layer of dirty straw thrown onto the floor of his cage, and Ra'kesh was beginning to ache from laying on the uncomfortable surface. He shifted to his knees and put his hands on the bars, looking out at the potential buyers as they filtered past.

Ra'kesh was not what one would call a high value slave. His was thin and wiry, but the severity of his weight loss was concealed by a thick coat of matted tawny fur which would have made him appear even larger in better health. He was tall even for a Cathay. This, coupled with the old scar across the bridge of his nose, gave him an intimidating appearance. Torn slave rags clung to his filthy body. He'd been hosed down yesterday, but it wasn't a thorough cleaning. His undercoat was still uncomfortably damp.

Try as he might, Ra'kesh could not quell the slight tremor which ran down his arms and caused his hands to quiver slightly even as he gripped the bars. The slavers would probably conceal his skooma addiction on his record in order to get a higher price, but buyers would know. And he wasn't getting out of here unless he looked fit enough to work.

"Oh sera, sera!" called a Dunmer lady from beside one of the cells, waving a switch ornamented with colorful ribbons. She wore practical homespuns dyed in rich blues and purples. "We make a special deal for you today, just for our friend from the Mages Guild!"

The orc snorted - it was not hard to deduce that a non-Dunmer mage in Telvanni territory might be a Guild member - but she moved closer, eyeing the Khajiit in the small cell.

"Oh you will, will you? What sort of deal?"

"Very special, very nice, just look at this handsome Khajiit. Raffish fellow, isn't he, but strong, very strong. Look at these arms. Look at these muscles." She tapped his arm with the switch, staying well back out of reach.

Ra'kesh's upper lip raised in a snarl at being touched, but he quickly forced an impassive mask over his face. His sharp golden eyes glanced over the Orc, assessing her. An outlander mage would have sparked fear in a lesser Khajiit- they were all rumored as being necromancers, and they bought the cheapest slaves possible to use for experimentation. But Ra'kesh feared no man, mer or beast. He flicked his black-tipped ears forward, staring evenly at the Orc woman.

The Dunmer gave him a sharp look - he knew well that would presage a beating later if he tried to bite or claw her for use of the switch.

"He looks like he hasn't eaten in two weeks, woman," said the orc, raising a black brow. "I wouldn't give you two gold for him."

"B'vek, two gold! Nonsense, sera, nonsense. He came to us from a bad master. Give him a good feed and a wash and he'll be worth the moons. You'll hardly have to beat him at all. But then, a lady like yourself no doubt can make the worst slave behave with the power of your spells. Surely such a clever slave as our Ra'kesh will be gentle as a lamb for you. Fifty gold, sera, fifty gold and his clothes included."

"His clothes aren't worth a gram of scuttle. Thirty-five at the most. Show me his papers."

"Thirty-five! Ah, you will reduce an honest woman to poverty," said the Dunmer happily. She had been trying to get rid of Ra'kesh for days. She handed over the short record. The orc scanned it with a practiced eye.

Ra'kesh wondered what kind of drivel was in that report. He'd been picked up in a skooma den and sentenced to slavery for breaking the law just two weeks ago, but the dealer was making it sound as if he had experience as a slave. Was his new skillset in farmwork or heavy labour, he wondered?

His left arm twitched violently; he rubbed it vigorously with his other hand, as if scratching an itch. There was still time for the Orc to back out before the papers had been signed and the gold exchanged.

"Farming saltrice... farming ash-yam... oh, come on." The orc glanced incredulously at the tall and severely underweight Khajiit now rubbing at his spasmodically twitching arm. "He's got to survive skooma withdrawal before I can even have him carry my equipment. It'll delay my expedition by at least a week. Thirty-five is generous. Is this even his real age? He doesn't look nineteen."

"We don't sell skooma addicts here, Madam, and you insult me by suggesting it," declared the Dunmer, in a tone of high offense. "But I'll throw in his slave bracers for free, good solid enchantment, keep him fifty yards from the key-holder or he'll pass out until you wake him up, guaranteed. No damage, no escaping and no fuss."

"Pfft. Even I could enchant a simple proximity fatigue drain for less than that. Take your money and get him out, woman, and spare me from your drivel." She detached a small bag from her belt and held it out by her fingertips. Her nails were cut very short, and the fingertips were stained from alchemy.

"You won't be sorry, Ma'am!" the Dunmer promised cheerfully as she accepted the proffered purse and deftly squirreled it away in the heavy satchel at her hip. "Sign right here," she continued, producing a parchment and quill and offering them to the orc.

The orc read the agreement, grunting once in derision. "Fine. There, Kala gra-Nend, my hand and sign." She signed in a fine hand, rolled the parchment tightly, and handed it back. The Dunmer presented her with a rough iron key, bowing, and hurried to unlock the cell door.

"All right, Ra'kesh, get out of there and go with the nice mage lady. Today is your lucky day, you scoundrel."

Ra'kesh used the bars to haul himself to his feet as the door swung open. He wavered slightly, but kept his balance. He smiled sweetly at the Dunmer woman and, carefully stepping forward out of the cell, spit on the ground in front of her feet. Shouts filled the already noisy air as some of his cell neighbors rattled their cages and cursed him.

"Enjoy being stabbed in the back and robbed of all you're worth," an old Redguard with a salt and pepper beard said from down the row. He chuckled to himself from the back of his cell.

"Enjoy wasting away like a rat in the sewer, old bastard," Ra'kesh snarled back. His eyes darted back to Kala, searching her face for any clue as to what kind of master she might be.

The Dunmer pursed her lips, dark blue-gray brow furrowed, and raised the switch. A green hand caught at her arm.

"That will be quite enough of that," said Kala. "You've got yours." She allowed the slave master to jerk her hand loose, swearing in her native tongue, then turned her shoulder to the Dunmer as she looked the Khajiit over in turn. The orcish sense of smell is much poorer than a Khajiit or Argonian's, but still her flat nostrils flared at the smell of him. _First a wash-up, then a meal, then we'll see about getting him through the next couple of days. _She still had more time than money, all her funds sunk into her needs for the expedition. She needed a strong arm at a low price, and freemen were expensive to hire on a hazardous journey. She would just have to see what she could make of him.

Orsinium was a nation of free men. She had been raised to believe that, though her parents had been forced to come here when she was quite small. The idea of buying a slave was repugnant, this loud and odorous market still more so. At least he'll be better off with me than dying in a skooma den. I can always give him his freedom if we survive.

"Come," she said, holding out her hand to the Khajiit. "My mark is in Balmora. I assure you it will be a much shorter trip there than it was here."

Ra'kesh looked at the offered hand suspiciously and flicked his ears to the side. It took him a moment to realize that she was referring to magickal teleportation. He had always been too poor to afford such extravagant means of travel, and had never known anyone with the ability to do it themselves.

Reluctantly, he placed his trembling hand in the orc's without a word, mentally bracing himself. Kala's casting was minimalist, a small gesture of her free hand, and the slave market dissolved around them to re-form into the main downstairs room in the house in Balmora's eastern Labor Town. Ra'kesh managed to grin at the slave seller just as lights flashed before his eyes and the sounds and scents of mortal suffering faded from his senses.

Through the green glass window, a distorted view of the cobbled street and the river could be seen. During her parents' residence here, this had been a sitting room and kitchen, with couches and chairs and handmade quilts; they had moved to an estate outside Suran years before, rich from the proceeds of their work, ready to retire to a much smaller smithy and a much larger home. The deed of this little house had been their gift when she embarked upon her career in magery. They had not understood - "Is this work for a good strong girl, all this faffing about with books and papers?" - but she was still their daughter; and they had two older sons at the forge to comfort them.

Now the hearth and the cutting table were still there, but the room was a laboratory, walls lined with cupboards, shelves and tables. A table in the corner held a shelf of jars labeled with alchemy ingredients, and in front of them an expensive and enchantment-reinforced set of alchemy equipment, the mortar and calcinator blackened with long use. Dwemer schematics decorated the walls, some ancient, some recent tracings made in charcoal or pencils. A couple of half-filled knapsacks stood in a corner, a staff propped against the wall between them. On the left side of the room a stairway ran up to a landing and a hallway, the small bathroom with its built-in pump and the two bedrooms. In earlier years there had been partitions erected to divide up the children's room. Now the master bedroom was fitted up for Kala's use and the old nursery was a guest room, neat and impersonal with its woolen coverlet and empty dresser.

She felt the Khajiit's hand shaking in hers in the moment before she released it, the enchanted bracer scuffing his matted fur. She dropped the key to the slave bracers down her cleavage with her free hand as she went to the cupboard by the hearth.

Ra'kesh expected to feel uneasy, maybe something like seasickness after being teleported halfway across Vvardenfell. He was surprised to find that he felt nothing, other than the general aches and sickness from withdrawal he had already been feeling all day.

"Sit down. We'll see if you can eat while I run your bath, I think. You will need your strength. Potions cannot cure skooma withdrawal. I'm afraid the pain will get worse before it gets better."

As she spoke she rummaged in the cupboard and came up with a small slab of scuttle, a loaf of bread, and half a roast ash yam. She hacked off a little blob of butter with a dull butter knife and brought all of it over to the cutting table, then went to get a fork from a drawer. The table service was all earthenware, sturdy but not valuable; much less money had been spent on it than on the alchemy furniture. She pulled out the one chair.

Ra'kesh took the offered seat without a word, bracing himself against the table and slowly lowering his body into the chair. An unpleasant sensation shuddered through his body, like worms crawling inside his bones, but Ra'kesh tried his best not to show it on his face.

While Kala's back was turned preparing a plate, he allowed his eyes to roam over the furnishings in the room. Everywhere he looked was something that would fetch a fine price. Being a Hlaalu town, there must be plenty of buyers who wouldn't question the origin of a gentleman's goods. He could almost taste the sweet skooma in his throat; he could feel heaviness in his limbs as his body filled to the brim with pure liquid ecstasy. He licked his lips hungrily, staring at the alchemy supplies, yet looking past them entirely.

Rajhin had smiled on Ra'kesh today. The house may as well have been an ebony mine.

"Just don't try to run while I'm setting up the bath," Kala was saying. "I don't fancy having to drag you in off the street."

She turned to go upstairs to start the small boiler and run the pump.

The food put before him should have looked and smelled delicious. Ra'kesh had no appetite, it all tasted like ash to him now. But he knew well enough that he needed strength, and he was lucky to have real food and not the spoiled scraps he'd been thrown in Tel Aruhn. He dutifully ate while his new Mistress moved about upstairs, although the smell of it - as well as the wide variety of alchemy ingredients in the room - was making him sick to his stomach.

Kala watched the fire rise inside the boiler, squinting at the coals, and gave it another small blast of magical fire for good measure. Then she shut the door to the squat pot-bellied little thing and turned to check the bath for spiders. It was a ceramic tub with four iron feet, big enough to sit in, not really big enough to lie full-length even for someone only five feet six like herself.

Then she hurried to check the sheets on the guest bed and dig out the old grooming set Dra'viji had left. The old housekeeper had visited often, for a while, until she grew stiff and arthritic enough that she preferred to doze by the fire in the kitchen out in Suran instead. She had never come back for these. They were carved from kagouti horn, not luxuries, but better than the same article made from clay or soapstone. There was a comb, a brush, and an undercoat rake. Kala hurriedly pulled the gray hair from them and rinsed them from the pitcher by the bathroom sink. Both the sink drain and the convenience with its wooden seat were basically just tubes traveling down to the sewer system. There might well have been a risk of rats, if Balmora's rats had not been generally far too large to fit.

She laid out the grooming tools on the sink, set their leather roll-up case beside them, and went to hurriedly dig through the guest closet for some clothes of her eldest brother's. He was not tall for an orc. His things would hang loose on the thin frame of the Khajiit, but at least the man would be warm and covered and they could throw the noisome rags with which he had arrived out into the dustbin. She hung the shirt, pants and vest on the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

The pump water came out warm on her second check, so she plugged the drain with its hard shalk-shell stopper and ran the bath. It was hard to estimate Ra'kesh's exact mass under all that fur, she thought. Hopefully he would not displace enough to cause an overflow with the tub half-full. The sload soap was still in its dish on the side.

She hated to leave the bracers on him. It would make washing harder, and she loathed the very idea of them.

A man should be free. But she had only twenty gold left, and too much gear to carry it all herself, and be damned if she was going to ask her parents for one solitary drake, not at twenty-nine years of age and ten of magical experience. She could not risk him running away. It is less than certain that he isn't so deranged from withdrawal that he'll forget what they're for and try to steal something and make a break for it anyway. I'd better make sure I still have enough fortifiers.

She went down the stairs again, brushing off her wet hands on her outer robe.

"All right, it's ready. How do you feel?"

"Oh, Ra'kesh feels like a young kitten in spring time," he answered dryly, pushing away the plate of half-eaten food. He had forced down as much as he could, but the greasy texture of the scuttle was making him ill, and he found the dry bread hard to swallow. Knitting his brows in mock confusion, he tilted his head slightly and brought a hand to his chin.

"Ra'kesh has questions too. A silly mage wastes gold on worst slave. Must be powerful, powerful mage indeed, to not fear Ra'kesh slit throat in her sleep." He grinned cheekily. "Ra'kesh would never do, of course. But Orc does not know stranger's intent." His tail lashed behind him as he spoke. Now he waited to see if he had enraged Kala. She had stopped the filthy Dunmer from striking him earlier; perhaps she would be a good owner. But Ra'kesh was not a thing to be owned, and he would let the world know it.

Kala looked at the tail for a moment, then back at the Khajiit's face. Then she folded her arms, hands inside her sleeves.

Of course. How would you feel, if it was you?

"I'm not a bad mage," she said. "But more importantly, if you're going to try and kill me in my sleep, it's better to find that out now, before we're out on Dagon Fel with just the cliff racers and the wandering Saints for company. We will have a long way to travel together, you and I."

Ra'kesh "hmphed" and looked away, but it was more of a growl. Aside from irritation at the lack of a reaction, he felt a bit of panic. Dagon Fel was very remote, with little to steal and little to buy. It would be a disaster if he ended up so far North.

He placed his palms flat against the table and pushed himself to his feet. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to will his body to behave. But the little tremors continued, and there was nothing he could do about it. He opened his eyes again, and moved towards the stairwell.

"Ra'kesh will wash now, as_Mistress_wishes." He spat the word like venom right as he passed by Kala. Then he carefully made his way up the stairs, refusing to steady himself against the wall.

He had the satisfaction of seeing her flinch, yellow eyes wide. She turned to watch him up the stairs, looking stricken for just that moment before she managed to erase expression from her face.

Perhaps I should take him to the Temple. _And yet, she had heard there was little to nothing that they would do for a skooma addict. _No, here we are, stuck with each other.

She ate the rest of his breakfast - wasting food was high on her mother's list of deadly sins - and washed up the plate.

But my twenty gold might buy us some meat. Khajiit have sharp teeth. Maybe it will be easier for him to digest.

She went to the front door and opened it to peer out. The sun was well up now, and as expected, she could hear the neighbor's children playing on the roof.

"Bala?" she called. "Do you want to earn a drake?"

A Dunmer child, clad in a dirty robe, black hair in several tiny braids, scampered down the stairs from the flat rooftop. A boy of the same species with an unruly mop of red hair peered over the roof parapet.

"Course I do, Miss Kala."

"All right. Take this and go buy me as much guar as it will get minus your drake. Ask your mama first."

Bala ran over to push her way into her own house, and there was a muttered conversation. Then she came back.

"Mama says yes. May I have two drakes so I can buy a sweet for Vhajo too?"

"Yes, you may. Run fast now. It'll need to cook all day."

The child grinned and sprinted off up the street toward the market. Kala went back inside to her jars and her alchemy apparati. She should have time to brew one or two more potions of healing before she had to talk to either the child or the Khajiit again.

Entering the bathroom, Ra'kesh examined his surroundings and found the clothes and grooming tools Kala had left. She was treating him like a valued guest in her home, not a slave. An unpleasant mixture of emotions gripped him for a brief moment- shame at the way he had acted, anger that she must pity him. Humiliation that he was in this position to begin with. He raised a clawed hand, intending to smack the grooming kit to the floor as hard as he could, but he stopped before making contact. He sighed and began peeling off the unwashed rags he'd been living in since the trial.

He slowly eased himself into the water and instantly felt better, if only slightly. How long had it been since he had a warm bath? Years, maybe. The pleasure from the warmth against his aching muscles was miniscule in comparison to the pleasure he could be experiencing, if only he had another drop of skooma. Every sight, every sensation was so gray and dull when sober. Ra'kesh stared into the water, watching the constant ripples from his trembling body, and wondered why he was such a loathsome person. A bracer clinked against the side of the tub, drawing his attention. He could just barely see his own reflection in its shiny surface- an ugly scarred face and cold eyes. Perhaps this life was the fate he deserved.

The water began to grow cool.

Although filth had ceased to bother him, he worked at scrubbing his fur clean anyway. The water turned a dingy brown as he worked. When he stood out of the water, wet fur plastered to his body, Ra'kesh was a pitiful sight. Although he was in his early 30s, his bony frame made him appear much older. He quickly dried and groomed his fur. He was disgusted by the sight of himself when he looked down and didn't want to see it longer than necessary.

More of his tawny fur was coming off with the comb than it should have. He collected the fur and balled it up inside the slave rags to protect his pride, or what little of that he had left.

The clothes Kala had left stank of Orc. Ra'kesh wasn't racist; he had known a few Orcs in his sailing days. Good warriors, loyal friends, but dumber than mudcrabs and always emitting a strong, musky odor that took some getting used to. Even the humans seemed to be aware of it. But, anything was better than rags. He solved the problem of the shirt being too big by tying it off at the side, although the vest still hung loose like a child in his father's clothes.

Ra'kesh stepped into the hallway and paused for a moment, ears twitching as he listened for movement below. Faint clinking sounds told him that the Orc was busy doing something or other in the lab. He probably had time, and if not, what was the difference? Nothing worse could happen to him now.

The beauty of Hlaalu style homes: no creaking wooden floors. He still took care to move silently, and looked into both bedrooms, quickly identifying which one was the master. Ra'kesh knew he had to pick something that was valuable, yet wouldn't be missed. He noticed a box with a layer of dust on it. Ironically, the most valuable items were usually the ones that were checked on least often. He undid the latch with the tip of his claw, and gently lifted the lid by the side, to avoid disturbing the dust on top. Unfortunately, the contents weren't all that valuable, but he didn't need much. He ignored a necklace, which may have made slight noise in his clothes, and opted for an iron bracelet. The material was not valuable, but it might be considered "exotic".

Kala had a display of plain rings, which he recognized as enchanted based on a faint shimmer. They all looked the same to him; surely Kala would not miss one or two. He took two from the top, and pocketed them opposite the bracelet so they wouldn't clink together. Giving one last glance around the room and feeling satisfied with his choices, Ra'kesh gathered his old clothes from the bathroom and rejoined Kala downstairs.

The orc sat hunched over the alchemy table in the corner, gently pouring a top layer of blue liquid out of the retort and into a ceramic bottle. A cork and a short iron rammer sat next to it on a plate.

"Just throw the rags in the dustbin," she said, without looking up from the delicate task. "It's just outside the front door."

And there was, indeed, an untopped half-barrel outside the front door, shoved inside a crate to stifle the smell of the garbage. There wasn't much in it.

Ra'kesh thought of making a smart remark about running away, but decided not to push his luck. Now that he had something to sell, maybe he could build up some trust. He padded over to the front door without a word, and winced when he threw it open. The sunlight was brighter than he remembered, but the fresh air was divine. The stink of the slave pens was finally out his nostrils. His whiskers twitched as he tested the air, full of foreign and familiar scents.

Forgetting his task for a moment, he stood leaning against the doorframe and watched the foot traffic on the street. He'd never been in Balmora before, but every city was the same after you'd seen enough of them.

Kala finished bottling the second potion and applied the rammer to the cork, glancing up curiously. Ra'kesh had been in the doorway for a good minute or so, looking out at the street. At least he looked better, fur smoother and softer now that it was clean; but it looked thin and sparse in places that the dirt had originally hidden. Her brother's clothes were so large on him that he had had to tie off the shirt under the vest.

Either he has been more abused than his manners suggest, or he has been an addict for a long time.

She poured the remaining contents of the retort into the refuse-bottle. The less useful liquid residues would mix and react to form a particularly corrosive substance that she used to clean the convenience and the sinks.

Still, he ought to have better clothes. Maybe I will see if I can make a few more of those Make-Me-Pretties Ra'Virr keeps pestering me for. That ought to be worth a better shirt and pants, at least.

After several moments Ra'kesh pitched the rags in the bin and shut the door behind him. He sauntered back over the Kala at her table.

"Ra'kesh wonders, what sort of work is Mistress's? And what is there in Dagon Fel to interest anyone?" he asked cheerily, surprised to discover he did not have to force it. He genuinely did feel better now that his fur was clean and he had gold (or as good as gold) in his pockets.

She looked up warily as his shadow fell across the table, then relaxed slightly as he spoke to her without apparent hostility.

"Alchemy is what puts food on my table. I've had to take on one or two other jobs for the Guild to pay for my research. It turns out there is very little demand for spelunking in Dwemer ruins." She got up to take the potion over to stuff into one of the two knapsacks in the corner. "Dagon Fel is where I believe I will find the ruins of Drakan-Ka. If we do find it, and it has not completely collapsed, it should contain a device called the Engine of Greater Difference."

Ra'kesh's eyes widened as soon as the word "Dwemer" was mentioned. Everyone knew that much gold could be made smuggling the ancient artifacts, and the ruins in a remote place like Dagon Fel must be untouched!

"Yes... Khajiit sees.." He thoughtfully stroked his furred chin. "And when do Mistress and Ra'kesh depart on this noble expedition?"

Kala watched the Khajiit's expression shift with her eyes slightly narrow, brows lifted. Lacking native telepathic abilities, she still suspected she was able to read the Khajiit's mind. Still, if it convinced him to behave more cooperatively, that was all to the good.

"Within a week, I hope. It depends on how fast we can build back your strength - "

Someone was pounding on the door at about Ra'kesh's waist level. Kala waved him back and got up to go and open it. Bala grinned up at her, holding a big saltrice-paper-wrapped bundle in her arms.

"They were having a two for one on lollies," she said happily. "I got FOUR."

"Good girl. Don't forget to share with your brother." She accepted the bundle of guar meat and gave the child a pat on the shoulder.

"Why is there a scary man in your house?" asked Bala, peering past Kala at the Khajiit.

Ra'kesh bristled at the insinuation that he was weak, even if it was true. But the arrival of the Dunmer child interrupted his thoughts and the offense was forgotten, for now.

"What is scary about old Ra'kesh?" he asked with a mock pout, rubbing the palm of his hand over the top of the other to conceal that he was shaking again. He smiled toothily, well aware that Khajiiti fangs could be scary to the other races who weren't used to it. "Ra'kesh hopes Dunmer doesn't mean the old scar.. Ra'kesh got this as a kitten, from a Yajira Yalir..."

Bala squeaked at the sight of his teeth and ran for home, little feet going rapidly pit-a-pat up the stairs to the roof.

Kala shut the door and gave him another look.

"Good job. You have succeeded in frightening a small child."

She carried the paper-wrapped bundle of guar meat over to the kitchen area - it smelled succulently of clean flesh - and laid it on the cutting table, then dug under the cupboard to haul out the biggest pot and the meat-knife.

"And what, exactly, is a Yajira Yalir?"

Ra'kesh sighed and took a seat at the dining table again, taking note that his plate from earlier had been disposed of. What kind of a Mistress was this Orc, who cleaned up the dirty dishes of her slave and draws him a bath?! Ra'kesh couldn't believe his luck. She was probably too trusting for her own good, and thus easy to manipulate.

"Ra'kesh did not mean to scare, it was merely a joke. Yajira Yalir is old kitten tale, not true, but Khajiit tell kittens that if kittens do not behave, a trickster demon named Yajira Yalir will take the form of mother or father, and eat kittens in their sleep. Harmless fun." He waved his hands in the air dismissively. His tone of voice said that he was only a victim of cultural misunderstandings. He did feel slightly guilty that the child had been scared so easily, but that was only because Dunmer children were too coddled.

"Harmless fun," Kala said, glancing at him sideways as she worked on chopping the meat and putting it into the pot. She toyed with the thought of handing over the meat and the knife, but it was entirely possible he would cut himself given his shaking hands.

Ra'kesh sniffed the air, and licked his lips at the scent of fresh meat. Another luxury he had not experienced in years.

"Surely Mistress does not intend to work all day while Ra'kesh lounges about? Any rumours of skooma addiction are greatly exaggerated. Ra'kesh has had tremor from birth. It is a natural infirmary some are born with." Even as he said it, it sounded like a joke. He wasn't really sure if he was just talking to hear himself talk, or to convince Kala of anything.

"Well, you're certainly welcome to do your own dishes from now on," she said. "The wash bucket is just there. Otherwise, I didn't buy you as a house servant, and I am used to doing things for myself. I also urge you not to assume that I'm an idiot because I haven't resorted to beating you yet. I know what skooma withdrawal looks like."

Ra'kesh winced, but found himself smiling in spite of himself. Kala wasn't a pushover, and he could respect that.

"Idle hands are no good for Khajiit. But, Ra'kesh supposes he will have his fill of work during this trip, no? What did Mistress say, we hunt 'Engine of Greatness'? What thing is this, and why does Mistress want?" He tried to keep the tone light, conversational. A wave of nausea wracked his body; without thinking, he dug his claws into the soft wood of the table. Ra'kesh gritted his teeth and waited for it to pass, hoping Kala would not turn to look at him until it did.

"The Engine of Greater Difference."

Kala poured a half-pitcher of water over the raw meat, followed by a sprinkling of salt, and went to set it on the stovetop. A casual gesture started a fire in the oven's belly. She went to wash her hands, the knife, and the cutting table.

"The records I've found are difficult to translate because they use some words that are not common in existing Dwemer documents," she said, and paused at the sound of wood splintering. Ra'kesh sat clutching at the tabletop, teeth gritted. She looked quickly away, continuing as if she had not seen.

"One way to translate what it does would be "changes any living thing into any other living thing." I'm not sure what the Dwemer would have wanted with that, practically speaking. It's also possible that the words used mean "changes anything into a living thing."

Ra'kesh panted for several long moments, barely registering what Kala was talking about. Eventually the sickness passed and he dislodged his nails from the table. He smoothed down the fur of his arms, desperately needing something to occupy his hands. His muscles twitched as if overloaded with energy that needed to be released. Ra'kesh stood abruptly, the chair scraping jarringly against the floor as he did so. After he was sure he could keep his balance, he began pacing the room, tail twitching behind him.

"Gods only know what these crazy elves were up to," he yammered on as he walked. "Living suits of armor, strange machines. Stupid, stupid. No fresh air for Dwemer, only dusty halls. Only dead, dark, silent halls."

He paused for a moment. The room was blurry, the walls rippled and contracted around him. It suddenly felt too stuffy. The musty alchemy ingredients and all the dust was suffocating him. He shook his head to clear it away. Ra'kesh knew what came next. He stumbled up the stairs and barely made it in time to retch up the contents of his stomach in the proper place. He hung onto the seat for a long while, panting hard and just wishing he was dead.

Kala turned at the sudden scraping noise, watching the Khajiit pace. With the nonsense he was loudly declaiming, it wasn't really a surprise when he ran for the stairs. She stood up slowly, mulling her options.

Most potions won't help. A jot of flin might, but I haven't been able to afford flin for ages, and I'm still broke.

"Pity an addict," she murmured. Pity an addict and you waste your teardrops on the ocean.

Well, that line of thinking got her exactly nowhere. She filled a glass with water from the little pump by the sink and went upstairs to set it on the night stand in the guest room. Then she turned back the bed - the sheets smelled of clean soap, always a strong reminder of home - and went to stand outside the bathroom door. At what point should she decide he was unconscious and check to see if he really did need bodily healing?

Men were proud. Khajiit were probably not different that way. That made it more likely he would refuse what she was about to suggest, but she could only ask, couldn't she.

"Ra'kesh?"

"Khajiit is busy," he snarled. He was irrationally angry at her for bothering him now, but his voice was too weak to properly convey the level of rage he felt. The Orc may have disarmed Ra'kesh with her kindness, but she was still a limp-wristed scholar who'd probably been handed everything in life, and thought she could buy other people like animals.

Ra'kesh washed his mouth out with water from the pump. He still felt like vomiting, but that wasn't going away anytime soon and he couldn't hang around in the bathroom all night. After smoothing down his fur and composing himself, he opened the door to face Kala in the hallway.

"Ra'kesh is fine. Mistress is poor cook, that's all," he joked weakly.

"You are not fine, and I'm not that poor of a cook," she said bluntly, folding her hands into her sleeves again. "I can make it less painful while you're getting through it, though. Does that interest you?"

"Ra'kesh needs help from no one," he said quickly, a little more forcefully than he meant to. He glanced to the side, thinking for a moment. "But.. Ra'kesh has no free will anymore. Mistress can do as she wishes to slave."

Kala looked at him, one eyebrow raised. She had never been exceptional at reading people, but that really did sound like a way to say yes without admitting weakness.

"All right, then... slave." She loathed hearing that word coming out of her mouth. _This is what I've come to. _"In the cupboard over the sink there is a blue bottle. Take it with you into the guest room, drink all of it, and get into bed."

She had brewed it herself, for insomnia; drinking all of it certainly would not kill him (magic was different from conventional pharmaceutical art in that way), but it would put him out for probably two or three days, long enough to get through the worst escalation of misery.

"Yes, Mistress," he answered coolly, stepping back into the bathroom and retrieving the bottle. He uncorked it and sniffed the contents, wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar scent.

Ra'kesh squeezed past Kala in the hallway and went for the guest bedroom, which he had only glanced at earlier. Now he took a moment to look around a bit more thoroughly before seating himself on the bed. A lingering smell of Orc told him that Kala once had a much larger family, but just like with the clothes, the scent was old and faded. Perhaps mage blew them up in an experiment gone wrong, he mused.

He gulped the strange tonic quickly, surprised to find it was not quite as offensive as he expected. But he washed it down with the glass of water left for him anyway.

Kala went to lean in the doorway of the guest bedroom. "And lie on your side. It's safer."

The potion would take a few seconds to take effect. At first he would start to feel heavy and tired, limbs harder to lift and move. That would rapidly escalate until he felt made of stone, immovable and immeasurably weighty; sinking into a pillow and mattress would feel incredible. From there it would be a rapid fade into darkness.

"What ominous words," Ra'kesh muttered, unbuttoning the vest and throwing it over the night stand. But he did as he was told, slipping under the covers and laying on his side. To someone who had been spending the last year sleeping most nights on the floor of various skooma dens, pubs, and abandoned buildings, the bed was incredibly soft and inviting.

He closed his eyes and imagined that the heaviness overtaking his limbs was instead the sweet embrace of skooma. It was a slightly similar effect, minus the overwhelming joy of course. He was asleep before he could think of anything else.