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23 Evening Star, 2E 325
Pandomaic Ocean

In the fading embers of the western-setting sun, the Captain Tael-Muarsei gazed out from the blanket of mist that lingered between Eastern Fortune, and the dusty shore of Morrowind.

Necrom, that was its name, and the privateer knew of it well, though only through distant, comfortable retellings. Yet there it stood, distant no more; monolithic and black and sat upon an dark crag before a muddy amber sky.

Partially veiled as it was - that triangular blot on the horizon - it nevertheless stood as an unnerving sight to behold. Its reputation made the silhouette darker still, impossibly so.

However Necrom, and the heretical tendencies of those who were interred within it, were of no concern to the captain.

Thoughts of the dead city aside, Tael-Murasei’s attentions turned instead to set upon the sails of the small slave vessel that flew the dark imprint of a twisted tree, with roots and branches gnarled and warped upon a parched field of brown.

The cargo ship moved at a leisurely pace, just as the note portended. It crouched low and petty and muddy against the golden brown backdrop of where the ocean met the earth. To lesser eyes it would scarce warrant any attention at all, but there was a reason as to why Tsaesci were quite so revered as hunters.

Clearly this ‘Waterbug’ had once belonged to whatever dirty-blooded savages passed for nobility upon this fire-parched spit of earth, but the design belonged to Akavir. From this distance, even for the captain’s eyes, the details were difficult to discern.

As he watched, as the waited, he was compelled to finger at the cracked and jagged surface of the delicate sapphire that had been so inexpertly socketed into the pommel of his Akaviri blade.

Yet as his fingers traversed ever more, the memory of how he came about the ugly gem in the first place eluded him.

Some squallor market in Archon, perhaps?

His attentions waxed as water across his scales, then waned, then drifted hot from the reptile as the breeze.

With a deep, chesty rumble, the snake propped himself up on his hind quarter, his hand busy upon the lightly glowing stone, the pale blue appearing all the dimmer within the clutches of one who shone as fiercely as Tael-Muarsei.

A dimness that the perceptive predator himself could not see.

Frustration rose like the tide, but refused to fall, as the Tsaesci strained his thoughts, only to be distracted by a golden glimmer upon the waters surface when the sheeted mists could first afford. It was beautiful, so much so that he leant forward, his forearms resting upon the edge of his ship, in his attempt to make out his own elegant reflection within the shifting watery mirror

To no avail.

The mist, though waning, revealed only murky depths, ill-fitting to bask in even the lowly light of a candle, let alone one as splendid as he.

And the frustrations would not abide.

With a subdued snarl, the snake turned to busy himself with the further toying of his sheathed blade. Black and bronze, his treasure wore a sheath that wove a chaotic web of thin tendrils, perfect in their design were it not for the recent addition.

More than even Eastern Venture herself, the blade exuded a sense of richness and splendour. A richness, a splendour, he diligently sought out with sleek, golden digits.

Most would look upon the addition of the ugly, dirt-infected light blue gem to be unseemly in the face of a blade quite so magnificent as Tael-Muarsei’s.

The Tsaesci would have found himself in agreement a few short months ago.

However a few short months ago felt as if it existed many brighter worlds away, ones where the Potentate still lived, and the hunt for those responsible - this morally depraved “Tong” - was an unknown concept.

His benefactors had known much about them, about as much as a scorned lover did for their wayward mate.

[i]The Foresters.[/i]

That is what the translator had rattled before the poison took him completely. The captain discarded this moniker for the hunted, and he encouraged his crew to to openly declared them as nothing more than jewelry.

Ninety-nine trophies attested to that.

His hunt had carried him far, and had earned him more than his fair share of ashen ears that now lined his necklace as morbid, misshapen pearls of various victories. It had been a blooming hunt thanks to the various writs and tips from his source, the aforementioned benefactor and their webwork of contacts, each more palatable than the last.

So extensive was this spread, that Tael-Muarsei wondered whether it was a bounty hunt at all, but rather a war.

Whether they were battles or slaughters, there was always this one exception to the death that the captain dealt.

This one particular group had eluded him, from Auridon to Morrowind.

Once more, and to Tael-Muarsei’s shame, they had his Bright-Eyes. A claim, a trophy; a living, breathing variant of the privateers own necklace.

His beloved.

The Tsaesci recalled, as he touched upon the ridged edge of the sapphire, and allowed the sensation to inject the memory of the pale-faced translator, and the day he had received the glimmering adornment to his pommel.

[i]A gift from Bright-Eyes[/i], the deceased had rattled to him before succumbing, on the day Bright-Eyes was spirited away.

Such curious memories one mere gem could inspire, and inspire it did for what had been one long, bloody year since.

The final writ was within his grasp, and sure enough it foretold a future that the captain could keep pace with. It dictated that upon the shores of Morrowind, the last of the Foresters would be discovered in all their meagre glory, and sure enough that was as true now as it had been the tens of times before.

Fulfilled in its purpose, the writ was done. The snake cast it into the waters below and  watched as it was devoured by the parting miasma.

Erecting himself, Tael-Muarsei slithered across the the deck of Eastern Venture with a well-acquired righteousness. His amber eyes were slits, narrowed and watchful of his remaining crew.

They were few, but effective, if only for that reason alone. From the time he has been unleashed upon the Foresters, less than a quarter remained of those who had served under the Tael-Muarsei before him.

The lesser snake that he had mantled so supremely.

At first, when he feasted upon the previous captain, there had been an uproar. Due, in part, to the slaughter his proud kin had endured beneath a faulty rule, but also by how public the mutilation had been.

Tael-Muarsei, the feasting Tael-Muarsei, needed that publicity. Savage tides always whisked away poorer captains, but an equally savage captain knew when to battle against the flow, or go with it. The captain knew it, and now his crew did too.

In the end, the water always won. The trick was to not be anywhere near the victory point when it did.

Now not a whisper sounded against him. And in the silence that came from it, he vowed to avenge all rich Tsaesci blood spilt in the name of this Imperial vendetta.

First and foremost, was the loss of the beloved Potentate Versidue-Shaie.

Deep, aggravated breaths hissed from Tael-Muarsei’s rattling chest and sounded above the caressing grey mists as he made his way to the ship’s wheel.

As he moved, the darkening carnelian glow of the eve slipped across his body, drinking in the gold of the captain’s scales before it could fall behind and be blotted out by stifling Necrom.

Clutching at his wheel, the captain shot a sharp stare upon his prey.

The laughable crawl of the decrepit Waterbug gave the exquisite serpent only fleeting amusement. The boat swayed with typical dark elf arrogance as it trailed lazily across the brown waters.

Black was the trail the Waterbug left, the disturbed muck of the shore making it appear slick with ink behind. The blackness sprayed out behind the ship. melding with the grey-white waves that rippled to trail the Waterbug in an increasingly graceless fashion.

Perhaps the parting mists that painted the surface waters in their muted shades did much the same to the wits of the elves aboard; they sailed too close to the rocks with the wind at their starboard side, willing them stubbornly to the same fatal shore.

Tael-Muarsei would see to it that what was willed, may be.

The first time he had cornered them, a moment of blindness had earned the rats all the time they needed to scurry into the cracks of Auridon, and - as it would appear - onto a ship bound for Telvannis.

He would not make the same mistake twice, and they would not make it home.

Lifting his hand, he gave the call to launch the attack.

Thirty seconds, that was all that it would take before the they were upon the villains; thirty more before they were bathing in their blood.

Even amidst the dullness of Morrowind, the intensity of Eastern Fortune in motion brought renewed life to this ash-ridden hole. As the sails caught the wind and hurtled her onwards, it caused the previously muted light to ricochet from black ripple to ripple and cast a dancing illumination across Tael-Murasei’s superb form.

The winds rose, and the captain followed the flow.

[i]Twenty seconds.[/i]

As his ship neared the tug, the captain could see that the mists and the dankness of the evening had managed to mask a great deal about the Waterbug. Not only nobility had piloted this boat, many sorry years before, but one with the wealth that only royalty could bring. Since that time, the ornate wooden carvings of dragons battling their own tails had worn away; their eyes eaten by rot, their maws eroded into toothlessness.

Now what was left of it: a poor name, dark wood, stained darker still by the ill waters of Morrowind.

In stark contrast did Eastern Venture, a younger twin in many respects, rise across the mists.

[i]Ten seconds.[/i]
The Foresters - I (Revised)
The Elder Scrolls: A tsaesci captain is contracted to hunt down and kill the heretical Morag Tong, perpetrators to the fall of the Potentate and the initiators of the Interregnum.
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: nudity and violence/gore)

Malacath take the dunmer.


The elf howled a second time in her vile tongue as she brought down all nine tails of the cat.

The argonian responded with the cry of a beast as the scales of his back were stripped and scattered across the piss-sodden floor.

Mazaga gra-Sarfek, watched.

Malacath fuck the dunmer.


The elf howled a third time in her vile tongue as she brought down all nine tails of the cat. Her breath growing harsh and sweat dripping from her brow.

The argonian quivered, clenching his fists to ease the pain till blood poured from his hands.

Mazaga gra-Sarfek, watched.

Malacath devour the dunmer.


The elf howled a fourth time in her vile tongue as she brought down all nine tails of the cat. Pausing afterwards, the weakling takes a few steps back, panting like a dog for air.

The argonian pissed himself.

Mazaga gra-Sarfek, watched.

Malacath shit the dunmer.


The elf howled a fifth time in her vile tongue as she charged forward and brought down all nine tails of the cat.

The argonian rocked against the whipping post, begging - for the sake of his eggs - that the beatings stop.

And Mazaga gra-Sarfek watched.







By the tenth blow, when bone met with air, the beatings stopped.

“Hang it out to dry.” The dunmer bitch ordered to her subordinate pups, collapsing meekly upon a barrel. She spoke in a tongue all aboard understood, so they knew not to fear her.

Mazaga gra-Sarfek watched as the mutilated argonian was dragged up above. He was Gual-Esh, and he was the last of the slaves willing to revolt with her.

She remembered when Gual-Esh was not afraid, not pissing and shitting himself and begging for his life.

She preferred to remember him that way.

Mazaga gra-Sarfek watched, and must have watched too hard. As the female beater wiped sweat from her brow and turned her blood-shot eyes to choose her next competition to snuff out.

Mazaga gra-Sarfek did not blink.

The female dunmer envied Mazaga gra-Sarfek. Her limbs, thicker and longer than the boney dunmer. Every part of Mazaga gra-Sarfek was bigger and stronger than the little dunmer bitch.

She could break every bone in her body if she wanted to.

They knew this early on, the dunmer, and took cowardly precautions. Stripping a Daughter of Malacath does not tame her, it only shows off her might. Beating a Daughter of Malacath does not tame her, it only makes her laugh.

Mazaga gra-Sarfek would now show more of her might.

As the dunmer approached, twirling her baby toy, Mazaga gra-Sarfek heaved herself against her bindings and snarled with all of her might against her fate.

She spat thick globules of phlegm up at her captive. Every muscle tensed, every part of her burned as the iron of her bindings groaned in agony against her raw flesh.

The cocksure dunmer was given pause, fear biting into her deeper than she could possibly bite back.

If Malacath will not fuck these dunmer, then I will.

Through rageful eyes Mazaga gra-Sarfek saw the pathetic slaves in their cages all turn to watch as the Daughter of Malacath, of Orsinium, barked up at her false slaver and struck absolute fear into her heart.

The dunmer bitch raised her cat tails.

The dunmer bitch broke entirely as the rotten hull behind her ruptured and the rush of water sucked her mangled corpse out of the wound.

Dark waters crashed against Mazaga gra-Sarfek as her chains finally broke to the strain. The rush battered her body against the pillar she was attached to until all air, all consciousness, left her.

Before she accepted her death, she could have sworn that she saw golden snakes swimming in the blackness.


Anteal's Profile Picture
Artist | Professional | Photography
United Kingdom
Hello there, I'm George, and I'm a professional photographer who, in his spare time, likes to pretend he's an elf.

I'm not so active these days on DA, and have moved most of my uploads onto Tumblr:

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Ruchiel Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the fav. :thanks:
KhajiitSawyer Featured By Owner Oct 24, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for Fav!
Woodsie-One Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2014  Student General Artist
Hello again, thanks a lot for faving my works)
Anteal Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2014  Professional Photographer
Thank you. Blindness of a Seer, I think, is particularly good.
ProKriK Featured By Owner Sep 19, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank u very much for the support :)
Anteal Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2014  Professional Photographer
How can I not favourite the Khajiit and Martells? 
UndergroundGallery Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2014   Digital Artist
Danke for the Fav! 
Anteal Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2014  Professional Photographer
Gladly, I'm a particular fan of "Crumbled".
UndergroundGallery Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2014   Digital Artist
This makes me happy. 
AffectiveDisorder Featured By Owner Aug 28, 2014
Thank you for the watch! о_0
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