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Baneeva had sampled a great many pleasures, in his travels. He had feasted on Morrowind kwama, sipped skooma with the wise cats of Elsweyr, and slipped into the bed of every race of man and mer civilized enough to have a concept of courtship (and a select few, besides, who did not). However, if there was one sensation he craved most of all (especially in the unforgiving reaches of the Pale), it was heat. The roar of a fire, the shimmering waves rolling off stones baked in the Hammerfell sun, the mud pools of his ancestral homes... these all were his birthright. In their absence, he clung to whatever warmth he could find, whatever island of comfort could be had in the bitter, wind-swept chill of Skyrim.

This was inconvenient, when such warmth was in short supply. And it was downright embarrassing when the only source of warmth he could cling to belonged to Za'ir. Baneeva was no stranger to waking up in compromising positions. That being said, to wake up like this? Covered in furs, arms around the waist of his most irksome of lovers, his chest against the cat's back and their hips still joined, his cock nestled between soft and fuzzy cheeks, turgid with the promise of an early morning delve into places warmer and more inviting...

He pulled himself away. It was too much. He thanked whatever forces were watching that he awoke before the vexatious “troubadour." If Za'ir had known he was being held with such tenderness, the Argonian would never hear the end of it. He would forever have to dodge accusations that he had developed honest-to-the-Aedra fondness for Za'ir. Baneeva, without exaggeration, would sooner face a Skyrim blizzard sky-clad than give the cat in his arms reason to get that smug. And so, with the practiced motion of a mer who had clambered out of more than his fair share of bed-chambers, he extricated himself from the bed and slithered out into the chill morning air.

He climbed into his pants and threw his shirt back on. He would have liked to revel in his nudity a moment longer, but the walls of the inn let in too much of the world outside for such things. Besides, he had learned from harsh experience that, while inn-keepers were often quite patient with paying customers, they were as unaccustomed to the sight of perfection as most of the rest of the world. He would just have to content himself with having cloth between him and the large fire-pit in the tavern.

At least, that had been the plan. Opening the door into the main room, he was vexed to discover that the tavern was colder than the bedrooms. The fire pit had been extinguished, or burned out, sometime during the night. “Madness," he hissed to himself. “Leaving the fires unlit, while the world is ending outside?"

“You can't leave a fire burning unwatched." Turning around, Baneeva saw Virdus walking in from the kitchen, a woodcutter's axe in one hand and a bundle of fresh cut logs under one arm. The Nord dropped the latter into the large stone trough in the center of the room.

“What are you doing?" Baneeva asked.

“Earning our keep." Virdus leaned the axe, head-first, against the wall. Then, he sat down in one of the dining room chairs, rubbing the morning chill from his bare arms. “When you went running off to go spend the night with Za'ir, you left me alone to negotiate our rates for the night."

“And did you?"

Virdus paused, for a length of time that Baneeva could not help but feel was significant. Then, he said “I did."

“Excellent! Fantastic work, companion." Leaning over the fire-pit, Baneeva snapped his fingers. A bright ember appeared in the middle of Virdus's log pile, which began the slow and always morale-boosting process of smoldering. “While you were doing that, I was negotiating our entry to Lady Milandra's Sanguinial."

Virdus scowled at the fire-pit. He did not trust sorcery, and Baneeva used Destruction magic just infrequently enough for him to constantly forget that the Argonian knew it. He shook his head. “Is that some kind of party?" He leaned back, already expecting that he was going to be dragged into something dangerous and inexplicable. “Do we really have time to do something like that? We should be looking for a solution to... you know." He leaned forward, his voice an anxious mutter. “My affliction?"

Baneeva folded his arms, tapping a finger in impatience as he watched the fire propagate onto the logs. “I have already found a solution, Virdus," he said. “Did you forget?"

“A more permanent solution," Virdus corrected. He pressed the issue, even though he very clearly feared eavesdroppers. “Are you planning on locking us away and offering your body as appeasement, every month until one of us dies?"

The Argonian chuckled. “Friend. Dearest friend." He turned to look into the Nord's eyes, smiling warmly. “I'd offer my body as appeasement as often as you needed, and more besides."

Virdus had no response to that. The young Nord was a fighter and a huntsman, a devotee of the warrior's creed as surely as his father and his father's father were. He could stare down a troll, axe in hand, and march forward without fear or hesitation. And yet, for all his bravery, all it took was the right set of words, a firm and earnest declaration of love. It stole the give from his muscles, the words from his throat. He stared at the Argonian with an alertness somewhere between dog and deer in character.

Baneeva's eyes glittered, in the growing firelight. “I see your concerns, friend," he assured. “And I am serious, when I say that I have a solution. You are not likely to be familiar with her, but Lady Milandra is a scholar of the ancient and the otherwordly. As a Bosmer of the Valenwood, she is closer to the magics of Hircine than any in your orbit or mine. As a sorceress, she has a collection of arcana at her disposal matched only by the secret vaults of Mannimarco."

Repeated mentions of magic were enough to pull Virdus from his daze. “I'm sorry. Man-a-who?"

The Argonian opened his mouth, then paused. Remembering that Virdus had very little patience for stories that weren't played to the tune of Ragnar the Red, he decided to skip the recitation. “No one of importance. What is important, friend, is that if anyone in Tamriel will know how to wrest your soul from the Daedric Prince of the Hunt, it will be Milandra." The fire, by this point, was just starting to produce heat. Baneeva thrust his hands over the pit, reveling in the warmth. “Of course, there are certainly others who could help, but since the Sanguine Queen is in Skyrim, it would be madness for us not to at least try and secure an audience with her."

Virdus sat back in his seat. It was clear, by the look on his face, that he did not like this plan. Baneeva had always been quick with a scheme, so eager to jump on opportunities that he almost conspired to go out and make them. Up until now, however, those plans had been modest. Tracking down necromancers for the Morthal town watch. Running beacon fires for smugglers. Selling fake moon sugar to bandits. Now Baneeva was talking about cutting deals with elf witches and dropping the names of Daedra. Virdus was keenly aware that he was in over his head. He had been in over his head the night he first contracted lycanthropy. What he could never understand was how Baneeva could so easily pretend that his head was above water.

Eventually, he took one of those deep breaths that kept his heartbeat under control. Then, he said “I suppose I'll just have to trust that you know what you're doing."

“That's all I could hope to ask of you, friend." Baneeva smiled, again. Then, clapping his freshly-warmed hands together, he said “To business! There are many things we have to do, before Sanguine's sacred day arrives. My effects, Virdus. Where did you stow them?"

Again came that subtle shift in tension in Virdus's face. He looked off to one of the bedroom doors, uneasily. “That's... I put our things in the room I..."

“Excellent! Please fetch my bag, if you would. I have need of something inside of it."

Despite the fact that Virdus was clearly concerned he would, Baneeva did not watch the Nord as he went to his room. Baneeva did not need to see what he was so furtive about. He knew, from past experience in taverns, that Virdus was most certainly headed into the innkeeper's room, the largest one behind the bar. Perhaps, if he was quick, he would catch a glimpse of the handsome woman, still availing herself of the warm covers. He would not, however, because he was focused on the business at hand. Well, mostly focused. He did allow himself a moment's pride for his companion. “Negotiating our rates for the night," Virdus had called it. As mired as that man was in anxiety, it seemed as though he was learning the right lessons from the Argonian.

In a moment Virdus emerged from the room. He hefted Baneeva's bag with both hands, breath sharp as he labored it into the tavern. Then, he dropped it down to the ground with a clatter. “Has this thing gotten heavier?" he asked. “There had better not be anything in there from my ancestors' barrow."

Baneeva simply rolled his eyes, at the umpteenth accusation that he was a common thief. Then, he squatted down, opening the main flap of the bag and digging through his possessions. It was not long before he found what he was looking for: a silver, amethyst encrusted amulet on a worn leather string. “Yes. This is the one. I recognize her birthstones clearly."

“What is that for?" Virdus asked.

“Oh, this?" Baneeva rose to his feet, rolling the disk between his hands. “This is a gift from a dear friend of mine, a student of the Synod in Cyrodiil. We made a promise that we would see each other again, and with the enchantment she placed inside of this, I should be able to enter into her chambers."

Virdus's eyes narrowed, as goosebumps spread on his arms. “How does it... work? We're going to have to wear that?" He watched as firelight glinted off of the metal surface of the amulet. It filled him with a sharp and primal dread, far beyond his usual distaste for magic.

The Argonian, seeing the unease in his friend's face, carefully covered the amulet with his hands, hiding it from Virdus's intense gaze. “No, friend. We shall not be wearing this device. This is a journey that I must take alone."

“What? I don't understand." Virdus paused a moment, almost unwilling to voice his fear, before it tumbled out of his mouth. “You're... leaving me, here?"

Baneeva put the amulet to his breast, so he could still cover it even as his other hand stretched out to his companion. “No, no, no, friend," he said, his voice soft. “I assure you, I will not be gone long. Cyrodiil may be beyond your familiar mountains, but in the leaps and bounds of magic I may as well be on the other side of a modest stream. In the meantime, it will be necessary for you to keep an eye on our 'troubadour,' and make sure he does not do anything that might hinder his ability to lead us to the Sanguinial."

Virdus frowned. He could tell that he was being offered bodyguard duty as a distraction. Considering bodyguard duty was the only reason he deigned to follow around a morally-flexible Argonian with ambitions as large as his ego, both he and Baneeva knew that it was an effective thing to offer. Even now, Virdus found himself unable to at least acknowledge the challenge. “How likely do you think that is?" he asked. “Za'ir getting himself into danger. You would know him better than I do."

“Oh, I know that mer better than I'd ever want to," the lizard muttered, with perhaps just a bit too much fondness and not quite enough bitterness. Then, realizing that his mind was wandering, Baneeva cleared his throat and spoke up. “I don't believe you have too much to worry about. Za'ir is no adventurer, like we are, and so long as the two of you stay in this town I doubt even he could find a great many troubles to get into. In fact, with you here, I imagine he... he, well..." He watched as Virdus raised an eyebrow. Putting his hands together, he pointed in the Nord's direction. “Friend, I shall be blunt. If I leave you alone with Za'ir, he will almost certainly attempt to sleep with you."

“He'll... he'll what?"

Baneeva tried to remain serious. It was difficult. Virdus was as stout a man as they came, but under the right circumstances he could be made to blush like a schoolboy. “Fear not," he reassured. “You should know full well, by now, that I do not subscribe to the Nedic concept of 'romantic loyalty.' For all his faults, Za'ir is a creature of great charms, and I would think no less of you if you were to be taken in by them."

“Yes, well..." Virdus folded his arms, his face red with more than the bite from his time outside. “...he can try all he wants, but I don't see myself falling for any charms of his."

“That is something you'll have to decide, when the time comes." With that, Baneeva turned to put the amulet around his neck. “More importantly, can I trust you with the cat's safety?"

“Of course you can." The Nord chuckled. “From the sounds of things, he should be a vacation from having to mind your safety."

“Excellent, excellent." The familiar feeling came to Baneeva, the thrum of Magicka that suffused the disk on his chest. He knew that all he needed to do was touch the gem in the center, focus his thoughts on a dim and cozy room far away, and he would be gone. Before he did so, however, he turned to look at his companion one last time. “Do be careful, Virdus. Especially if you find yourself seduced by our friend. You are a mighty and potent sort, and it would be an inconvenience if poor Za'ir was to face the Sanguinial while burdened with your child."

The schoolboy blush came back, and with it a sputtering noise of raw scandal. “I'm sorry, what!?"

Virdus's question fell on deaf ears, for at that very moment Baneeva was ensconced in magical energy. The Argonian offered one last smile to his friend, before reality gave way under his feet and he found himself falling into the space between.

---

Teleportation was one of the many forgotten arts of Tamrielic magic, and it was easily one of the most disorienting. One did not travel the physical space, or even a truncated version of physical space. Instead, it was more accurate to say that one was literally removed from the world. Baneeva stood, suspended, in a formless void. The hardest part of the journey, at least the first few times he had done this, was keeping his composure in the face of the abyss that surrounded him. Eventually, after a few moments of tense patience, reality formed back around him, and it was as if he had always been in a completely different room, hundreds of miles away from where he started.

He found himself in the home of Anisette Poissan, Breton sorceress and former member of the Cyrodiilic Synod. Of course, she had not been a member of the Synod for some time. Not since Baneeva encouraged her to cut ties with the mystical organization to pursue her true passions. Her home, as always, was a cacophony of collected curio, exotic plants, half-broken implements and papers. Mostly papers. She collected those more fervently than a Black-Briar collected septims, so that she would never run dry of things to write on, when inspiration for her many sordid stories came to her.

Notably missing, however, was Anisette herself. That did not bother Baneeva all that much. In fact, he began to walk between the small rooms of the cramped Imperial home as comfortably as if it were his. He poked through papers, read little snippets and half-phrases waiting to find their way into a book. In preparation for her eventual return, the Argonian worked his way out of his shirt, his pants, his undergarments, leaving them on the floor where he doffed them. Then, he found what he was looking for: the bundle of bound papers that formed the Breton's latest manuscript.

“Oh, excellent!" Baneeva pulled the book up and thumbed through the pages. “What scandalous happenings have you dedicated to print this time, friend?" Entering the bedroom, he set himself down on an old but comfortable bed, spreading out and holding the manuscript above his face with both hands. He chuckled to himself, as he read the tale of two Imperial courtiers and their illicit rendezvous in the very halls of the Palace. “By Sanguine, Anisette. I see that your appetite for the male form has only gotten sharper, since last I saw you."

Unable to resist the temptation, the Argonian flipped straight to the part of the story where robes were opened and manhoods were brought out into the light. Anisette had the Daedra's talent for painting vivid pictures with words. He barely needed to know the meaning of words like 'amorous' and 'turgid' in order to experience the feral passion of Solemnus and Chastisian, long held at bay by the tragic circumstances of their noble births. In his mind's eye, Baneeva could see every flex of Solemnus's powerful thighs as he pressed his love deep into Chastisian's... fundament? That was certainly a new word. The Argonian chuckled to himself, even as his own length began to rise from his groin, silently begging for him to take at least one of his hands from the book and...

It was at that moment that the bedroom door opened. A tall, thin-armed Imperial man paused in the entrance, wooden watering can in one hand to tend to the flowers on the windowsill. The look on his pale, clean-shaven face suggested that he had not been expecting to walk into a Breton woman's bedroom and find a naked, half-erect Argonian man spread out on her bed. As was often the case with those experiencing the unexpected, he was frozen in place, mouth open as he tried and failed to question what he was seeing.

Baneeva, not one to be caught off-guard by the unexpected, was faster with questions. “You... are not Anisette," he said, peering over the side of the manuscript with a squint. “Who are you, and what are you doing in her home?"

It would only be later when the poor man realized that he was the one who should have been asking Baneeva that question. At this moment, however, something in the firmness and confidence of Baneeva's tone put him immediately on the defensive. “I... I-I'm her assistant. I'm watching the house while she's away. Who...?"

“Assistant? I'm to believe that Anisette has taken on assistants, in my absence?" Closing the manuscript, Baneeva managed the impossible feat of looking every bit the inquisitor from the neck up, even as everything from the neck down should have disqualified him from such a threatening mien. The Imperial intruder was halfway to stammering out his apologies and leaving as quickly as could be dignified. Then, the wheels turned in Baneeva's head, and his expression brightened. “Oh! Oh, yes, of course! She'd mentioned her plans to take on a boy, when we last met. A local youth, with some talent for the craft. You must be him, then. Levil, was it?"

Levil was well into his adulthood, not much younger than Baneeva appeared to be. If he had been talking to anybody even a little less bewildering, he would have taken offense to being called a 'boy.' As it stood, he was far too preoccupied trying to keep his eyes from burning any more images of another man's penis into his memory. “And y-you must be Baneeva," he replied. “She'd warned me that an Argonian might show up, unannounced."

“It seems we are as acquainted as two strangers can get." Baneeva stretched himself, the threat in his eyes receding and leaving behind only shameless nudity. “This is a trifle inconvenient. I'd hoped for all this to be a surprise for our mutual friend." He propped himself up on his elbows, smiling his crooked smile. “Shall I make myself modest, then? Or perhaps you wou-"

“I should like that you would," Levil interrupted, firmly. “Make yourself modest, that is."

Baneeva's expression did not falter, though internally he found himself regretting the lost opportunity to acquire a Chastisian of his own. He rolled off of the bed and immediately set about making himself presentable for his new friend. “You said that Anisette is away."

“I did," Levil said, at the wall opposite of where Baneeva's exposed rear could be found.

“Quite a shame. Did she say where she was going to?"

“She travels to Cheydinhal. She didn't say when she would be back, but..."

“Goodness! Cheydinhal?"

“Aye? What's so special about Cheydinhal?"

Baneeva appeared on the edge of Levil's vision, pulling the knot closed on a blue felt robe. Levil had never seen Anisette wear that one, though he knew from intimate experience that the lizard had pulled it from her closet. He noted, with a hint of bitter concern, that it seemed to be a perfect fit.

Baneeva sighed, wistfully. “I had entirely forgotten about it, but I suppose her anniversary would be happening right about now. I swear, time seems to move stranger with each passing year."

Levil started. “I'm sorry. Anniversary?"

The Argonian flinched, realizing that he had said something aloud that he probably should not have. “Yes, well... regrettably, that is not a story that is mine to tell. Suffice it to say, it is something from long before either of us were in her lives."

“I... see." For a moment, Levil's face was inscrutable. Then, he began to think. “It must have been important, whatever it was, since she took all her alchemy equipment with her."

Baneeva stopped. Physically and completely, he stopped. His mouth hung open with the start of a thought he immediately forgot about. Levil could almost have convinced himself that the mer had turned into a statue. A statue in a fine felt robe. When he could move again, Baneeva made an effort to pretend like his paralysis had not happened. “Do pardon my hearing, friend. You said she took her alchemy equipment to Cheydinhal?"

“Aye?" Levil was confused, but not enough to stop talking. “She took her mortar, alembic, calcinator and retort. And she took a couple sacks filled with things that were apparently imported in from southern Morrowind."

“Morrowind, you say?"

“I think so. Unless that part of the world's been claimed by Black Marsh, anyway. She ordered a lot of stuff from there. Sacks of animal hides and the dirtiest looking sweet potatoes I think I've ever seen. Couldn't even begin to imagine what... what she..."

Levil would have kept going, but then he looked into Baneeva's eyes. What he saw was horror. Sheer, unmistakable, mortal terror. It was as if Levil had just announced a second Oblivion Crisis, and not the strange details of her employer's shopping list. It was enough to freeze the Imperial's blood. He almost looked behind his shoulder, expecting a Dremora or something equally horrific. Instead, he furrowed his brow. “Good Baneeva? Is everything all right?"

It was an effort of will, and a titanic one, for Baneeva to regain anything resembling composure. He had to call on every instinct he had as a born and blood-tested Saxhleel to bury his fears. Even so, the smile he replaced it with was clearly hollow, and he knew it. He would have to lean into his feelings.

“Friend," he began. “Dear, dear friend. It is worse than I had imagined. Poor Anisette has not taken out the alchemy labs since the day she left the Synod. She had abandoned the ways of the magister long ago, though she was a rare and exceptional talent at it. If she is taking the craft back up, again... well..." He leaned in, whispering as if imparting a great secret. “I fear our mutual friend may be trying to claw back her youth, attempting to relive the feelings she had of a life she has long since given up."

It was clear that Levil was unable to question that statement, though he failed utterly to understand why such a thought would be so terrifying. “I... see? Should I have... talked her out of going, then?"

“No!" Baneeva cried, a hair too forcefully. Then, clearing his throat, he tried again. “No, friend. You bear no blame in this. You and I are privy only to a fraction of that woman's inner world, and that is as it should be. That being said..." He turned for the door, moving as if to sidle past the Imperial and out into the main room. “...it would seem that what she requires most, at this time, is a friend. I must be at her side."

“I'll go with you," Levil blurted without thought, even as his body dutifully pressed back to let the mer pass.

Baneeva paused in mid-step, the terror safely pointed at the front door and away from the man behind him. “That wouldn't do, friend." He shook his head, making sure his shoulders were confident, if nothing else. “The two of us fussing over her would no doubt destroy her from the embarrassment, alone. This shall be my burden."

“Oh. If... if you say so."

“I do." Baneeva looked back, giving the man a warm smile that was still mostly hollow. “Continue your work on the flowers, boy. I will bring your employer back."

With that, he took great pains to stride out of the house, as confidently and as business-like as if he were going to go find an old friend and subject them to a night of passion. Only once the front door was closed behind him did he start to panic. Taking off into the streets at a full sprint, he brought his hands up and began to make gestures. “You mad-woman," he muttered, as the spell took effect. “You had better wait for me, you absolute mad-woman!" Soon, his bare, taloned feet left the ground, and he was taking off into the air, thanks to the second forgotten art of Tamrielic magic.

Meanwhile, back in Anisette's house, Levil stared at the front door in bemusement. “Gracious Dibella," he muttered, “with your wild and tricksy charms... why do you torment me?" His face darkened with anger. Setting the watering can down on the ground, he pointed to the door with both arms outstretched. “How in Oblivion am I meant to compete with that?!"