The crisp morning air, still carrying the faint scent of pine and something distinctly fishy, did little to deter the sun’s determined assault on Windhelm’s docks. Sunlight, thick and golden, poured over the city’s ancient stones, making the newly repaired timbers of the waterfront gleam. Hammers clanged with rhythmic purpose from a nearby construction site, a testament to the city’s stubborn refusal to stay broken. Dunmer, Argonian, and Nord alike, their faces smudged with dust and sweat, moved with a shared, quiet resolve, rebuilding what the war had shattered.
On the deck of The Enchantress, a sleek, dark vessel that looked far too elegant for a working dock, Palindon unfolded a parchment map with a soft crackle. His milky white eyes, strikingly pale against the deep grey-green of his skin, scanned the coastline with an intensity that bordered on unnerving. Long, dark grey hair, almost black, spilled over his shoulders, catching the light like spun shadow. He was a tall figure, easily matching the formidable height of the Nords bustling about the docks, yet his movements possessed a fluid grace that was utterly alien to their brusque efficiency.
“Another fine day for it, wouldn’t you say, old friend?” Palindon murmured, tracing a finger along the jagged contours of the coast between Windhelm and Blacklight.
A low, contented hiss answered him. Onix, a magnificent cobalt Sep Adder, lay coiled on a sun-warmed patch of deck, his scales shimmering like polished jewels. He uncoiled a fraction, his head rising slightly, a flicker of his forked tongue tasting the air. The snake seemed to be in a perpetual state of languid contentment, a stark contrast to the restless energy that hummed beneath Palindon’s calm exterior.
“Aye, too fine, perhaps,” Palindon sighed, his finger drifting further north, towards the icy expanse of the Sea of Ghosts. “These ice flows, they’re thicker than the High King’s skull, even in summer. Still, we’ll navigate them. It’s the other parts of the journey that concern me. The parts where the ship needs to sing.”
He tapped a specific point on the map, a tiny, almost imperceptible mark. “Without those crystals, Onix, she’ll be nothing more than a glorified bathtub once we hit the truly cold waters. And you know how much I despise glorified bathtubs.”
Onix’s tail gave a lazy thump against the deck.
A sudden, boisterous burst of laughter echoed from the docks below, followed by a triumphant shout. “She’s up! By the Eight, she’s actually up!” Palindon glanced over the railing, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips. A newly hoisted mast, still swaying precariously, dominated the scene, surrounded by a crowd of cheering labourers.
“Optimistic lot, aren’t they?” Palindon mused, turning back to his map. “All this rebuilding, all this hope. You almost forget what they’re rebuilding from, eh? Still, it’s a refreshing change from the usual moans and groans of a city under siege.” He straightened, rolling his shoulders. “Speaking of things that need to be ‘up’, I wonder if our esteemed crystal-hunters have managed to locate even one of those blasted Ayleid shards. The Sea of Ghosts waits for no man, nor Maormer, nor indeed, for any ridiculously well-prepared Sep Adder.” He glanced at Onix, who merely blinked slowly, basking in the sun’s warmth, utterly unconcerned with the impending magical preparations. The serpent seemed to hum with a quiet, reptilian contentment.
On the deck of The Enchantress, a sleek, dark vessel that looked far too elegant for a working dock, Palindon unfolded a parchment map with a soft crackle. His milky white eyes, strikingly pale against the deep grey-green of his skin, scanned the coastline with an intensity that bordered on unnerving. Long, dark grey hair, almost black, spilled over his shoulders, catching the light like spun shadow. He was a tall figure, easily matching the formidable height of the Nords bustling about the docks, yet his movements possessed a fluid grace that was utterly alien to their brusque efficiency.
“Another fine day for it, wouldn’t you say, old friend?” Palindon murmured, tracing a finger along the jagged contours of the coast between Windhelm and Blacklight.
A low, contented hiss answered him. Onix, a magnificent cobalt Sep Adder, lay coiled on a sun-warmed patch of deck, his scales shimmering like polished jewels. He uncoiled a fraction, his head rising slightly, a flicker of his forked tongue tasting the air. The snake seemed to be in a perpetual state of languid contentment, a stark contrast to the restless energy that hummed beneath Palindon’s calm exterior.
“Aye, too fine, perhaps,” Palindon sighed, his finger drifting further north, towards the icy expanse of the Sea of Ghosts. “These ice flows, they’re thicker than the High King’s skull, even in summer. Still, we’ll navigate them. It’s the other parts of the journey that concern me. The parts where the ship needs to sing.”
He tapped a specific point on the map, a tiny, almost imperceptible mark. “Without those crystals, Onix, she’ll be nothing more than a glorified bathtub once we hit the truly cold waters. And you know how much I despise glorified bathtubs.”
Onix’s tail gave a lazy thump against the deck.
A sudden, boisterous burst of laughter echoed from the docks below, followed by a triumphant shout. “She’s up! By the Eight, she’s actually up!” Palindon glanced over the railing, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips. A newly hoisted mast, still swaying precariously, dominated the scene, surrounded by a crowd of cheering labourers.
“Optimistic lot, aren’t they?” Palindon mused, turning back to his map. “All this rebuilding, all this hope. You almost forget what they’re rebuilding from, eh? Still, it’s a refreshing change from the usual moans and groans of a city under siege.” He straightened, rolling his shoulders. “Speaking of things that need to be ‘up’, I wonder if our esteemed crystal-hunters have managed to locate even one of those blasted Ayleid shards. The Sea of Ghosts waits for no man, nor Maormer, nor indeed, for any ridiculously well-prepared Sep Adder.” He glanced at Onix, who merely blinked slowly, basking in the sun’s warmth, utterly unconcerned with the impending magical preparations. The serpent seemed to hum with a quiet, reptilian contentment.
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