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“Are you alright?”
Dar'kalsh stood behind the man, watching with a skeptical eye as he stormed and stomped at his broken wagon. He’d neglected to notice her approach on the road, and he seemed so genuinely distraught she couldn’t help but stop and ask what was wrong. If she was being honest, he didn’t seem completely there in the head, even if you put his jester’s outfit aside. But who was she to judge, really?
He whirled around, somehow managing to not dislodge his hat in the process, his gaze immediately drifting upwards to find the speaker. Kal couldn’t hide the tiny smirk that snuck onto her face - seems he was used to looking up at the world. His gaze snapped down to her face, and for a split second he looked confused, before his face crumpled and he burst out into a wail.
“Poor Cicero is stuck!” He cried. “Can’t you see?” His arm swept dramatically in the direction of the wagon beside him, forcing Kal to take a step back, lest she get smacked in the face. “I was transporting my dear, sweet Mother - well, not her.” The change in his tone was dramatic, and only confirmed for Kal that if he wasn’t mad already, he was most certainly on his way.
“Not her, her corpse. She’s quite dead. I’m taking Mother to a new home. A new crypt. But..” His hands dug into his hair underneath his hat, nearly tipping it from his head, as his voice once again rose to a feverish pitch. “Wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel! It broke. Can’t you see?”
As he grew more distraught, the volume of his voice finally attracted the attention of a Whiterun guard patrolling the road. Kal turned her attention away from the jester for a second, just long enough to meet the guards eyes, giving her head a small shake. He recognized her, of course. She was the only Thane of Whiterun, not to mention the only khajiit she knew of that was even allowed inside city walls. The guard took a step back, deliberating, and made the wise choice to not get involved. The moment she was sure he was once again out of earshot, she turned back to Cicero. The jester was watching her with a curious look in his eye that made the fur on the back of her neck prickle up.
“I don’t carry the tools to fix it - how would you suggest I help?” She asked, before he could voice whatever question he had stewing in the back of his mind. She spared a glance to the sky. It was still morning, and she had hoped to be well on her way to Windhelm by now. She was still close enough to Whiterun that it would be simple to backtrack and stay at the inn. She could always make the trip tomorrow.
“Oh! Oh, yes, the kindly khajiit can certainly help!” Cicero squealed, seemingly overjoyed at the prospect. “Go the the farm - Loreius farm, just there, off the road! Loreius has tools! He can help Cicero! Oh, but he refuses! Convince him! Do this, and Cicero will reward you!” Kal nodded her assent, taking note of the damage the wagon had taken before taking the thin dirt path up the hill to the farm.
She grimaced. Convincing people in Skyrim to do anything was always a chore. Let alone things they had already said no to.
An older nord leaned against the fence of the field, where a woman pushed a hoe through the dirt of what appeared to be a garden. Probably for their own use instead of for the profit of the farm, considering the size of it. Kal jogged up, lifting her arm in greeting.
“Loreius?” She said, stopping in front of him. The man raised a bushy eyebrow, looking her over with suspicion. Being used to these expressions from the residents of Skyrim - Nords in particular - she didn’t bother to react. Khajiit were viewed with suspicion, and there was little she could do about it.
“For the love of Mara, what now?” He growled, straightening his posture to loom over Kal. She met his annoyed gaze undeterred. This man was invoking Mara’s name - but he hardly seemed loving. Refusing to help someone in need, someone who could easily get stranded out in the middle of Skyrim and freeze to death, seemed like the opposite of Mara’s teachings.
“The jester needs your help, with the wagon?” The man made a disgusting hacking noise, turning to spit into the dirt beside him. Revulsion curled in Kal’s stomach, threatening to make her gag. Gross.
“Tell me something I don’t know! I’ve already told him no about five times already. Why can’t he just leave us alone?” Kal frowned. Cicero was alone on the road with a broken wagon, and was at least several hours walk from any town. It was obvious he wouldn’t leave the wagon by itself to fetch help, either. Sure, he was a bit odd, but what really could be the danger in lending a hand?
“So what’s the problem?” Her foot tapped against the dirt, edging on impatient. “He’ll reward you, I’m sure.”
“Pay me? You think this is about money? The man’s completely out of his head!” Loreius exploded, leaning closer, his breath heating the fur on her face. Hand dropping to the dagger on her belt, and Loreius’ eyes followed the movement. He leaned away from her, sweat beginning to bead on his brow.
“Ain’t been a merryman in these parts for a hundred years - at least.” He said slowly, attempting to deescalate the situation. Her hand didn’t twitch away from the knife. “And that huge box.. Mother, my eye. He could have anything in there! War contraband, weapons, skooma… “ At this last example, he gave her another glance over.
“Since you’re who he sent to try and talk to me, I’m starting to think I’m right not to help.”
Kal grit her teeth and swallowed hard, glaring at Loreius. Her hand tightened on the grip of her dagger, forcing herself to not draw it. She may be small, but she was better armed than him, and Loreius knew it. No matter the size of your opponent, getting stabbed was never something anyone wanted to have happen to them. Swallowing hard, Loreius set his jaw and stood his ground, and despite what he had said, she had to commend his courage, stupid as it is.
Kal let out a long sigh, her hand falling away from her dagger, and she took a step back, giving the farmer room to breathe. Not a threat, not an enemy. Cicero needed help, so she couldn’t get in a fight with this man, no matter how much she wanted to.
“Look, you don’t know him, but he really needs the help. Please, do the right thing.” She pleaded, and for a split second, Loreius softened. Then the hard, mean glint was back in his eyes, and he scoffed at her.
“What would a khajiit know about doing the right thing? Smugglers and thieves, the lot of you! Get out of here. I’m done with this nonsense.” Turning on his heel, he stalked away into the field, effectively ending the conversation. Dar’Kalsh was left standing there, completely dumbfounded. For a moment, she met eyes with the woman, who had stopped her work to listen to them talk. She shook her head, looking sympathetic, and Kal took a deep, calming breath.
Then another, and another, until she was calm again. Well, she wasn’t about to just abandon Cicero in the middle of the road. She walked away, making her way back down the dirt path until she could just barely see the two over the crest of the hill. Crouching low, she stepped away, making a wide circle around until she was back at the house, unnoticed by the farmer and his wife.
The window on the side was locked, but that was hardly an issue. A minute and one broken pick later, she had it open, and was slipping through the raised pane to the interior. It was a typical farmhouse, maybe a bit on the smaller side. Loreius may not be starving, but he clearly didn’t have enough money to be turning down repair jobs on the side.
Oh, well. Loreius wanted her to be a thief, huh? Well, then that was exactly what she was going to be.
She didn’t bother returning items she didn’t want to their original place, like she might if she was on a normal house sweep. Instead, she made it obvious that someone had torn through the house, snatching everything she could sell - even items she normally wouldn’t bother with. A single locked chest containing the most valuable items Loreius owned posed even less of an issue than the door, and within twenty minutes she was slipping back out through the window, toolbox in hand, her pack full.
Shutting it behind her with a quiet snap, Kal couldn’t help the satisfied smile on her face. Her pockets felt pleasantly heavy with her loot, and with her proximity to Whiterun, she could turn right around and sell it all the Mallus to line her purse before making her way to Windhelm tomorrow.
Cicero had abandoned yelling at the cart by the time she had returned, sitting on the dusty ground with his head down. As she approached, she could hear him mumbling under his breath, the words too quiet for her to make out. Her heart went out to him - she’d taken a long time. He must of thought she’d left him to fend for himself.
“Cicero!” She called, and his head snapped up so violently she worried for the state of his neck. She lifted the toolbox up in both hands, smiling at him. “I got the tools.”
“Oh!” He cried, and leapt to his feet in a quick smooth motion. The action surprised her - was he really just a crazy jester? “Cicero was worried the kindly stranger had left him! You persuaded Loreius?” One furry ear twitching in amusement, Kal came to stand in front of him, handing the toolbox off. He took it from her with a smile that made her cheeks ache just to look at.
“Loreius found me to be, mm, disagreeable.” She told him, and his smile dropped to a confused frown. “However, I happened to notice these tools just… lying about, and thought they seemed like just the thing you need.”
For a second, Cicero’s eyes dropped down to her pockets and travel bag, bulging with her stolen goods. Then, they flickered back up to her face, so fast she wasn’t sure he had looked at all, and he was whirling away from her in a spin.
“Oh, stranger! You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic!” His heels clicked together as he danced, and Kal couldn’t help but laugh at how silly he looked, dancing with his arms full. The sound seemed to spur on Cicero, who gave one last twirl and bowed deeply, leaning in close to her face. Her breath caught as she met his eye, startled by the curious look he was giving her. The fur on her tail bushed out, and suddenly, she was afraid of Cicero.
He leaned away as quickly as he had come in, and the obsidian knife on his belt glinted in the afternoon sun.
“My Mother thanks you as well! Here, for your troubles. Shiny, clinky gold!” Carefully holding the tools in the crook of one arm, he presented a palmful of gold from what appeared to be thin air, but she shook her head, pushing his hand away. Normally, she would never deny being paid, but something about him made her reluctant to accept his money.
“I’ve made more than enough gold on this little errand.” Was what she said, though truthfully, she frequently pressed people for more money than the errands they sent her on were worth. But this time, it just didn’t feel right. A look of understanding dawned on his face, but his attention was diverted quickly to behind her back.
She whirled around at the sound of shouting that was quickly gaining in volume, and spotted what Cicero had his eyes on. Loreius was running down the hill towards them, sword in hand and clearly ready to use it.
“Dirty thieves!” He shouted. Alright, maybe she deserved that one. “If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself!” A glance back at Cicero revealed that the jester did not look at all concerned, and she had to admit that she was also not afraid of Loreius. He was, afterall, just a farmer, sword or no.
Loreius was getting a bit too close for comfort, though, and Dar’kalsh had to come to a decision, quick. A quick look around proved that there wasn’t a guard to be seen; and so she pulled her dagger from her belt, taking careful aim at Loreius.
The dagger lodged itself into Loreius’ chest, and the farmer fell with a cry. He collapsed face first on the ground, and didn’t move. She half-expected to hear Cicero cry out in alarm and immediately run, shouting for a guard. When he didn’t, she turned around, and saw the reason why - Cicero had pulled his own weapon as well, and he actually looked… disappointed as he tucked it back into his belt. A strange man. Definitely a dangerous one, too. He caught her gaze and gave her a smile.
“Good kill.” He told her, earnest, and she couldn’t help but smile back at him, shrugging away her ominous feelings.
“How soon can you get that wagon fixed, jester?” She asked, and Cicero looked to the tools on the ground - she hadn’t noticed until now, but it appeared as though he had dropped them in favor of grabbing his weapon when Loreius appeared. He hummed thoughtfully, looking over at his wagon and its broken wheel, and gave a short nod.
“Soon enough.” He decided, and turned back to her, grabbing her hands in both of his and lifting them up between them. “Soon enough! Thank you, kind stranger! And thank you again!” She gave him a nod and a smile, freeing her hands and leaving the jester and the wagon and the body behind to return to Whiterun.
She preoccupied herself with trades and pricing for the items she had stolen for the rest of the day, and went to bed at the inn in town comfortably full and her purse quite a bit heavier.
But it was hard to ignore the whispers, in the back of her mind, that this wouldn’t be the last she saw of sweet, sweet Cicero.