Fate of Dro-m'Athra

The origin and downfall of the pirate captain, Vorakhal, as he falls to the seductive sway of Namiira, albeit in his own way.

Contains: Violence, mild nudity.

Go forth!

The sound of water was everywhere in many forms. Around the small island at all times, was the sound of waves gently rolling over the golden beach, either gently sliding across like the breathing of a great beast. The large temple that the khajiiti priests resided in was a work of art as much of a place of learning and meditation, fountains and even small waterfalls cascading water from one place to another, each catching the fiery light of the setting sun with radiant splendor. This was usually the hour when the monks retired from their work to return to their homes in the village, but visitors weren’t required to leave at this time, and Vorakhal had been a visitor for a few years now.

The wind whipped through the upper levels of the temple, several walkways along the walls from tower to tower offering gorgeous views of the rest of the tropical island and the sea. Water from the fountains caught mist into the air, offering a cool, vibrant feeling in the sun’s glaring light.

Vorakhal’s red eyes shone like fire as he walked with his face in the sun, eventually stopping as he came to a tower overlook. His grey and white stripes shimmered in the light. He rested his hands on the handrails as he lifted his face to the wind and sun, his red and purple clothes billowing. A purring sound behind him caught his ear, causing it to flick back towards the sound reflexively before the purring gave way to a feminine voice.

“Waiting for someone, rhook?”

The voice was far closer than he realized, and it was all he could do not to flinch. He turned his energy to a chuckle as he looked over his shoulder. Another young khajiit, with spotted grey fur longer than his and icy-blue eyes in contrast to his own. Her eyes shone like windows into the starry sky as she looked at him, barely even squinting into the sun. 

“You’re always out here looking out at the water. Is it not the same as it always is?” She asked, shifting her weight onto one leg.

Vorakhal looked her up and down, she was wearing what amounted to a bathrobe and a sheer shawl, her strong, voluptuous form all but plain for him to see, the wind trying its best to be his wingman for the evening. 

“If ever you were to leave this island, do you think you’d miss it, Rassubi?”

She scoffed playfully. “The boring priests and yowling cantors? Rassubi doesn’t think so. The island is pretty enough, but she wants to see the world. This one wouldn’t look back.”

“The sea was where I was born. I’ll want to return someday, but I do still love this island.”

Vorakhal leaned off the handrail as Rassubi followed him into the tower overlook, where the sun still shone through the columns holding up the roof, creating bars of light and shadow across their faces. He sat down on one of the many cushions, the incense around the altar in the center of the room having gone out. 

“This one knows you do,” she responded. “But this island is all she’s known, and I think they’re almost as sick of her as Rassubi is of them.”

Vorakhal nodded, avoiding her eye contact as she scanned his face. “I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you about that. Another ship came in alongside the one my parents crew. They were looking for new crew members. I’ve got some experience as a deck hand, so I thought I’d offer to join with them. They said I could bring a guest in exchange for pay.”

Rassubi’s expression changed from her playful smirk to wide eyes and a neutral mouth. She looked down as Vorakhal took one of her hands in his.

“Rassubi… I want you to come with me.” He finally looked her in the eyes, doing his best to keep his voice calm and words clear amidst the feeling of his heart rising up his throat.

A beaming smile erupted from the other khajiit’s lips as she leapt up to her feet, bouncing on her heels, her tail flicking side to side. 

“Oh yes! Yes! Of course!” Were the last words she said with any sort of beginning and end. “This one saw that ship and hoped like with every other, but she’s always nervous about asking questions, like, how much does she need to know, and how much gold would they want, and oh, I’m always nervous they’ll get angry-” 

She stopped long enough to take a breath as he stood up and took her arms in his hands.

“But yes, Vorakhal. Anywhere you go, let Rassubi go too.” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him tight against her.

Vorakhal did his best not to choke. “Anywhere you want. I’d sail you to the ends of the earth if you wanted. Rassubi… I love-”

The sunlight vanished, as if a giant curtain was dropped between it and the island. A flash of blue light appeared behind Rassubi as Vorakhal felt a searing pain in his stomach. He looked down as a sword impaled Rassubi, her eyes wide with agony. Just beyond her, stood the high priest of the island, garbed in the lightning blue armor of the dro-m’Athra, his eye blazing solid blue as he pulled the sword out of the pair. Rassubi collapsed as Vorahkal staggered backwards.

He couldn’t scream as he watched her, her icy blue eyes turning solid blue like he priests, her body writhing and wracking in place. 

“Vorakhal!” The priest’s voice boomed. “I’ve offered the priests to Namiira, but I think she’d gladly welcome you into our fold as well.”

It was a blur beyond that. Did he snatch the priest’s sword and stab him with it? He didn’t remember. Did he just leave his lover’s body on the floor as he raced out across the wall and down into the courtyard, dodging bolts of magic and arrows from the small army of dro-m’Athra without looking back? He saw the crew of sailors pushing off into the dark waters, desperately rowing as they tried to coax the night air into the sails. They screamed for him to hurry, that ‘they’ were behind him. He heard the demonic chanting behind, but louder still was the thumping of his own heart in his skull. He dashed across the pier and leapt onto the boat with the athletic prowess he never would have assumed he had. He clung to the back of the ship, pulling himself up by his claws until he was over the rail.

He turned back towards the dark spirits behind him, and finally, with a moment of clarity, he screamed at them, reaching his hand out to fire a torrent of lightning from his claws. After a moment, most of the dro-m’Athra fell onto the beach, either dead or whatever qualified as dead for immortal spirits. One of the crew members, a big female palmar, grabbed and pulled him away from the railing, but not before he saw a glimpse of two more figures coming from the courtyard. The high priest and Rassubi. Her fur was as black as the night, with her spots replaced by blue stripes, like jagged tears through her fur.

He felt his stomach grow warmer as blood seeped from the wound, but the palmar’s concern was greater than he suspected it would be. Other crew members joined her as a mix of fear and concern grew in their voices. Vorakhal didn’t hear what they said or see the blue light emanating from the wound in his gut. All he heard was a drum beat, one that both elated him and made him feel sick. When a voice finally did reach his ears, it wasn’t one of the crew, it was Rassubi herself, as if spoken through a wind instrument and underwater.

“I’ll go with you. Anywhere you go. Don’t worry.”

—

Vorakhal snapped upright in his bed with a snarl, his hand drawing a curved knife from the nightstand. 

“Captain?” 

Vorakhal looked around frantically as he saw where he was. It was the cabin of the Merchant Princess, the same ship he had left the island on some six years before. He became captain, he led them as a pirate and privateer crew. Right. He looked up at the palmar standing in the doorway as she nearly hit her head on the ceiling. He let out a sigh as he set the large knife down, rubbing his face with his hand, his hair strewn about his face.

“Sorry Galivi. What uh… what is it? Is everyone alright?”

She blinked down at him, her black fur shining in the light of the lantern as it swung back and forth with the gentle rocking of the ship. 

“Everyone’s fine. Are you?”

“Yeah… I uh… I guess since it’s been on my mind a lot lately, I uh…” He looked away as he trailed off, his mind still rattled by reliving that night again.

She nodded slowly at him. “I see… Hopefully it’s not a portent of the night to come.”

He looked back at her, his red eyes wide. He got up, unconcerned with her seeing him naked, in fact, in different circumstances, they enjoyed each other. Her eyes didn’t wander down his muscular form though as he hastily got dressed, her unease not wavering as he grabbed his knife and metallic staff before turning towards her. She stepped out of the doorway and let him out. His breath caught in his lungs as he looked out over the bow.

“We’re here.” Galivi said as she walked up the steps towards the helm. 

It was the island, the ruins of the temple already in view in spite of the darkness, the crescent moon doing little to light their way. In all their years, Vorakhal had never made them go back until now. Indeed, after the horrors they witnessed that night, none of them had any more desire to return than they did. The dro-m’Athra were like a consuming disease. The more a khajiit saw or interacted with them, the more they were likely to succumb to the Heart of Lokahj, and become bent like the rest of those under Namiira’s sway, damned to eternity in her service.

But… recently, Vorakhal had been feeling the effects of his old wound. Though it was all healed up physically, without even a scar to show for it, he carried it with him in his mind more and more. Bouts of rage, lust, violence, cruelty. In silence, he even heard the drums again. So he stayed out at sea as much as he could, but the more he blotted it out of his mind, the more it came back. After months of research, he learned that there might have been a relic of Azurah on the island that could cure him of his wound, assuming it was still there, and that they dro-m’Athra weren’t.

“Vorakhal…”

The pirate captain looked around to see who would dare whisper his name in such a manner, but no one was close enough. He grimaced as he nodded, to himself as much as anyone. He knew what he just heard, but decided to keep it to himself.

He put his hair back in a half pony-tail as he walked across the ship. He walked up to the bow of the ship, leaning over the rail as a dagi crew member approached him.

“Captain? So, what’s the plan?” The small male asked.

Vorakhal looked down at the ship’s lookout before gesturing for him to follow him.

“All hands on deck!” He shouted, followed by a scurrying of feet on planks as the other eight members of the crew joined him and the dagi, followed by the Galivi slowly down the stairs.

“I’m going to find the relic of Azurah. As if there’s anything spooky left on the island, I imagine it will be in the heart of the temple. The rest of you, make off with whatever loot you can. I imagine there’s plenty that other pirates and scavengers with better sense have left behind.”

There was a chuckle among the crew, but it didn’t last long. Most of them were almost as scared as him. 

“We’ll meet back on the beach where the pier is or was. If I don’t make it, don’t risk coming and looking for me. Galivi,” he turned to face his first mate. “If we don’t see each other again, the ship is yours.”

A gloom cast itself over the faces of those present, before Galivi glared down at him.

“No, Vorakhal. You’re our captain. Whatever happens to you, we’ll get you back on this ship. And we’re not going to hear orders of otherwise.”

There was a nod and murmur of agreement among the others. Vorakhal sighed silently before nodding. 

“So be it… Gentleman!” He turned before leaping up onto the rail and hanging onto one of the shrouds. “It’s been a privilege robbing with you. Now it’s time for an old fashioned treasure hunt!” 

A quick cheer rang out through the crew before they returned to their stations to bring the ship in. The beach itself was quiet, as they often were on uninhabited islands in the middle of the night. They made their way into the courtyard armed to the teeth and ready for a fight, but found only skeletons strewn about with debris. It looked as if they had been the first people there since the attack. Vorakhal drew his staff and called down a massive bolt of lightning onto the top of the temple. If they were to have a fight, let it be while they were all together. 

Nothing. Moments turned to minutes. They started lighting torches and setting them up around the courtyard and inside the temple. No one heard or saw anything save for some rats and seagulls. Except for Vorakhal. As he maneuvered the temple, he kept hearing his name whispered again and again. In his wandering, he found a few shiny trinkets that he stuffed into the pouches tied to his belt, including a ritual dagger which he kept in hand, but nothing special looking. Eventually, he gave up looking for the relic and just started wandering, making his way back up to the wall and lookout tower. 

He leaned up against the rail where he had been standing where Rassubi found him so long ago. He looked out over the moonlit water as the light of the moon suddenly vanished. He hadn’t seen any clouds in the sky before. As he looked up, it appeared as if in an eclipse. A chill took him as he looked back down at the black water.

“Waiting for someone, rhook?”

He turned to face who he already knew was standing there. 

 

She didn’t give him time to even get a good look at her before lunging at him with her hands reaching for his neck. Rassubi tackled him to the ground, but they didn’t stop there, they fell as if the wall beneath them had simply vanished, what little light above remained vanishing into a well of darkness before he finally hit something. His back was caught as if by soft sand, landing with a thud. He blinked and she was gone. In her place was a sea of stars and cosmic bodies. He lifted his head up and looked around. What looked like temple ruins floated about in the air, waterfalls spilling from one piece to another and then falling into nothingness. He stood up on what was a small island in the middle of the void. 

A wisp of shadow and smoke materialized in front of him some distance away. From out of it stepped Rassubi wearing nothing but a sheer purple robe, her form just as muscular and supple as it had been when he last saw it, if not more so. Her stripes, jagged and vicious looking, were striking, they all seemed to end with her eyes, as if strewn out from them. Though solid blue, there was a slightly brighter spot at the center of each, giving some direction to her gaze as she walked towards him, a sway in her hips unbefitting the earlier scare. 

“Hello, my beloved,” she said, a purr in her voice.

Vorakhal still clenched the ritual dagger in hand, but didn’t raise it, his lips quivering as his eyes welled with tears.

“I… I left you. I didn’t mean- You know I didn’t. I just wanted to get away from him. I’m sorry, I-”

Her eyes were laced with concern, no, pity, as she continued to walk up to him, stopping within arms reach as she started to walk around him.

“I know. You mean to fight. To find a way to get the upper hand. You didn’t understand how helpless the situation was until after you left the tower… I don’t hold it against you. It was a happy chance that my back was towards the door instead of yours.”

He looked over his shoulder at her as his expression calmed again. “Happy? He killed you.”

She chuckled, a deep, mocking sound. “No, Vorakhal. He blessed me with the bent dance. I have everything I wanted. The power to go where I wish, to have what I wish…” She reached for his collar, hooking her claws into it before pulling him down towards her. “...who I wish.”

“You’re a slave.” He shot back, pulling away from her and turning his back towards her. “I would never wish that on you.”

“But I would wish it on you.”

He looked back at her, a growl rising in his throat. “No…”

She rolled her eyes and put a hand on her bare hip. “You loathe the word because of what you associate it with. Being a slave on tamriel is different. It is to be weak, in service to a wretch just as weak. But for us, it’s power. To live, as we should, undying, perfect, beautiful.” She walked around to stand in front of him again. “Imagine it, Vorakhal. To take what you want, when you want it. Being a pirate would be beneath you for the life of a prince you would have. Who cares who is above you on the ladder? Whether it be a Daedric Prince or a mortal king or queen, you always must bend the knee to something. Why not bend it for the best side?”

He leaned forward and bared his teeth at her. “Because I can always change sides. If I throw in with you, I can’t.”

She scoffed. “You wouldn’t have to anymore. You only stay to the wind because to do otherwise is to be vulnerable. You wouldn’t have to worry about that. Come on…” She leaned up against him, sliding her thigh in-between his. “Come back to me, beloved…”

In addition to the unsettling feeling he got from her different appearance and the feeling of the beating returning with her presence, something else bothered him. Something petty. He couldn’t put his finger on it until then. Her accent was like his. She lost her dialect. 

He pulled off of her, racking the dagger between him and her. It cut a gash across her arm as she gasped and screamed in outrage. 

“How could you!? After everything you’ve done, after my forgiveness, you’d do this to me?!” 

She threw her arms in a tantrum before lifting her hand in a claw, dark energies grasping at his neck, lifting him from the sand as her eyes blazed.

“You will submit to the Dark Heart!”

Vorakhal struggled and grasped, slicing the dagger through the air at the magics around his neck to no avail. After a moment, he accidentally hit himself on the arm. The magics vanished as she gasped again. He fell to the ground, and for a moment, the beating and drums stopped. He looked down at his arm and saw white light where blood should have been. He slowly looked up at her and saw a similar light appearing where her wound was. He groaned, both in pain and in realization. This dagger that he picked up in passing was the relic he had come for. It must have had some banishing enchantment. 

“I should have destroyed that thing when I had the chance. How did you figure out what it was?!” She screamed.

He shrugged as he looked from the dagger to her. “I just did. I had no idea before.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “So what now? Hmm? Going to banish me from here? How will you get home then? Think your precious Azurrah will deliver you with that?”

Vorakhal looked down at the blade. It was shaped like a sacrificial knife. Most khajiit didn’t use such a thing. He understood its purpose. It was to kill cats who were on the verge of becoming bent, to send their souls to Azurrah. He chuckled breathily at the cruel irony. The salvation he had come for was just to be put out of his misery. He looked back up at Rassubi.

“Maybe. To save you from this place. To let your soul know peace. But… then I’d stuck here. And as selfish as it is, I wouldn’t want you to go on and leave me here.”

She visibly calmed down again, taking a moment before walking towards him again. “Then don’t. Be with me. It’ll be our own adventure just like you always wanted.”

He frowned at her. “What about my crew? Where are they?”

She looked down and smirked just slightly for a moment. “They’re being taken care of…”

Vorakhal grabbed her by the neck and held the dagger to her throat, her eyes widening with a mix of fear and lust. 

“Ooh!” She purred.

“They don’t deserve this. My soul is blacker than theirs ever could be. If anyone should rot here, it’s me, not them.”

She laughed in his grasp. “You have no say over it. Namiira will have who she will.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Is that so? This dagger says otherwise. And here I am, in the land of the dro-m’Athra. How many do you think I could pry from her grasp before I kill myself with it?”

Her grin turned to a snarl. “You wouldn’t. You’re no crusader. Why would you? To spite me?!”

She pushed him back with a shockwave of dark energy. 

“No… but if I’m to do this, it will be my way. I don’t submit. I am no one’s slave. If I am to serve for all eternity, it will be on my own terms, not Namiira’s and not even yours!” 

She hissed loudly at him, moving to strike him before he brandished the dagger in the air, lightning crackling along its edge and down his arm. She cowered back away from it, pinning her ears back and holding her arm up, the gash still burning brightly.

“This can work out for everyone. I just want my terms… I can be reasonable,” Vorakhal said.

She pursed her lips in contempt before crossing her arms and tapping a foot in the sand. 

“Very well, beloved. I shall see what I can do. Name your terms.”

“My crew shall remain mine. Namiira can have their souls if she must, but let them stay under my command.”

She shrugged. “Sure. I don’t see why that’d be a problem.”

“And… my will… Let me have it, so that I may wander the lands of Tamriel as an agent, and harvest more souls for her in my place.”

She shook her head. “No. Her command is your will. On that you must submit.”

He took a step towards her, lowering his voice in severity. “A thousand souls in a year, for one. This is to her advantage as much as mine. Think of what one of hers could do if unimpeded through the mortal realm. Do you know how many people we kill? We could just send the khajiit to her.”

She pinched her chin with her thumb and forefinger before chuckling slightly. “You’ve thought this through.”

He nodded slowly. “And another the year after, and the year after that.”

She cast her gaze down for a moment before looking back up at him. “If you fail, not just your soul and those of your crew, but mine as well for vouching for you. There are fates far worse than that of the dro-m'Athra. You understand that, yes?”

“It’s not about what I deserve. It’s about what’s best for everyone involved.”

The two stood silently, listening to the sound of wind through the sands and thunder off in the distance. After what felt like at least a minute of this she nodded and walked up to Vorakhal. Without a word and before he could react, Rassubi wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself tight against him.

“I shall do my best. That is all I ask of you.” The skys around them blurred as the sandy ground fell out from under their feet. “I will see you again, soon…”

All turned to a swirling vortex of blue and purple light. Rassubi vanished from his arms before he suddenly fell forward, the vortex giving way to the stone of the temple ruins. He looked around. It was dawn, the island lit with the prelude of the sun’s light as  the small army of dro-m’Athra  stood around him. They stood with their weapons out but upright as if in a salute. Many of them were in formation in the courtyard, unmoving save for their eyes, ever watchful. He considered speaking to them, but instead just made his way out the courtyard and back towards the decrepit pier. He walked up the plank and onto the deck where his crew was waiting. 

“Welcome back, captain.” Galivi said, the same strange echo in her voice that had been in Rassubi’s. 

Vorakhal looked her up and down, her fur black with bright blue stripes, same as the rest of the crew. He didn’t address them. He barely looked at the rest of them. Guilt was somewhere in his heart, but he couldn’t bring it to the front for some reason. Nor any emotion that felt appropriate to him at the moment. He walked up the steps to the upper deck and took the wheel in his hands. He stared at the smooth wood for a moment before looking back down at his expectant crew.

“All hands!” He roared. “Prepare to cast off! We’ve a new plunder to ravage from the land!” 

The crew scurried to their stations, the sails whipping about as they unfurled, a chill wind rising with the sails as if called to push them along. 

“May Khenarthi weep as we steal the winds and Jone and Jode curse this day as we flee from the night! We sail out of the Heart of Lorkhaj to damn the souls of Elsweyr!”