The Khajiit, Dar'ava, ran gleefully through the countryside, paws kicking up dirt, sackcloth flapping around him as he moved. His matted gray-and-black fur rippled in the breeze, whiskers tangled in every possible direction, and amber eyes glowing brightly with excitement. To Dar'ava, this was nothing less than the perfect escape—a brilliant trick pulled off by the cleverest Khajiit alive!
Oh yes, he thought happily, flicking his tail proudly. How perfectly Dar'ava had outsmarted those masked ones! These silly "Anbu" had released him with nothing more than a friendly request to keep their secrets. And Dar'ava, being the most cunning of Khajiit, had nodded eagerly, ears perked and eyes wide with innocence. Of course he had agreed—but of course he would still tell! Dar'ava knew the Dominion loved helpful Khajiit who brought news of enemies. He would surely be praised, rewarded with shiny coins, tasty moon sugar, or perhaps a cozy little spot away from all this fighting.
Yes, Dar'ava was a genius indeed!
His plan was simple yet brilliant: He would just slightly improve the story, naturally, because Dar'ava's stories were always better when Dar'ava himself retold them. He would say how foolish these masked Anbu were for letting a genius Khajiit like himself escape. He'd counted them himself—only a small group, perhaps twenty or thirty at most! Certainly no more. Such a small number would surely be easy prey for mighty Dominion soldiers.
What Dar'ava didn't know, of course, was that this seemingly tiny group had already demolished an entire Dominion company. But how could he? Dar'ava was always far too clever to worry himself with such boring details.
Running happily and tirelessly all night, eventually he stumbled into a village proudly flying the Dominion's banners. Spotting the golden-armored High Elf soldiers, he scampered right up to them, purring eagerly and waving excitedly to share his daring tale of heroic escape—though cleverly leaving out the less exciting bits. Dar'ava knew exactly what details to share—he always knew best.
Before he knew it, Dar'ava found himself swiftly whisked away to Gilane itself. Now he sat comfortably in a grand chamber, right in front of a tall and important-looking Altmer Justiciar named Caladhel. Two imposing soldiers stood rigidly at attention by the doors, their armor gleaming, eyes fixed sternly forward. But Dar'ava barely noticed them, instead looking around curiously at the splendid furnishings and rich decor, quite pleased with himself.
Caladhel regarded him coolly from behind a polished wooden desk. The High Elf was tall and lean, middle-aged, with golden hair tied back perfectly, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and narrow face. Pale-green eyes stared at Dar'ava intensely, but the Khajiit saw nothing worrying about this—why, this elf clearly recognized a genius storyteller when he saw one!
Sitting there, tail swishing contentedly, Dar'ava patiently awaited his inevitable reward, utterly unaware of any possible danger, confident as ever in his flawless master plan.
Justiciar Caladhel reclined slightly in his ornate chair, fingers forming a neat steeple beneath his chin, a practiced mask of polite interest carefully masking his dwindling patience. Before him sat Dar'ava—the self-styled Khajiiti genius who, judging from his exuberant storytelling, was clearly unaware of the precariousness of his own situation. Caladhel privately suspected this fur-covered simpleton genuinely believed the outrageous escape tale he was spinning.
"And then," Dar'ava purred dramatically, amber eyes wide and whiskers twitching enthusiastically, "Dar'ava crept out, yes? Quiet as moonlight, swift as shadow! All these fierce Anbu warriors—Nords, Dunmer, Redguards, and even big scary Orcs—never suspected clever Dar'ava slipping right past their noses!"
Caladhel glanced toward the two soldiers stationed by the doorway. One guard's face twitched slightly, clearly battling to maintain professional composure. Caladhel himself was finding it increasingly challenging to maintain his own neutral expression.
"So, Khajiit," he said dryly, raising an elegant eyebrow, "you're quite certain of these races? Orcs, Nords, Dunmer...and Redguards as well?"
"Oh yes, yes!" Dar'ava insisted, nodding eagerly. "Many races, all together—twenty, perhaps thirty at most! Dar'ava counted carefully, yes yes! Not more than thirty, certainly. Foreigners too, very suspicious indeed—but no match for clever Dar'ava!"
Caladhel exhaled softly, irritated yet intrigued. That the Anbu included such diverse foreign races aligned intriguingly with reports from Taneth, which indicated a similar mixture of outsiders reinforcing the river defenses—stubbornly preventing Dominion forces from fully conquering the city. Perhaps there was a connection here, one deeper than the Khajiit's absurd boasts suggested.
"You have provided some...remarkably helpful information, Dar'ava," Caladhel stated smoothly, maintaining a carefully neutral tone. "Your cunning is certainly unique."
Dar'ava beamed proudly, puffing out his chest and flicking his tail contentedly. "Yes, yes, Dominion very lucky! Few Khajiit so clever as Dar'ava, yes?"
Caladhel forced a thin, polite smile, privately doubting any Khajiit—or indeed any creature in Tamriel—could ever match this particular one's astonishing capacity for self-delusion.
Justiciar Caladhel tapped his fingertips lightly upon the polished surface of his desk, regarding Dar'ava with carefully masked distaste. With a subtle glance toward the guard stationed near the door, he spoke smoothly, his voice taking on a deceptively courteous tone.
"Escort our friend Dar'ava here to speak with Telandil. I'm certain my associate would greatly appreciate hearing this fascinating tale firsthand."
The guard gave an almost imperceptible nod. Telandil was well-known among the Dominion soldiers stationed in Gilane—a quiet, methodical Altmer who excelled at extracting the truth, especially from unreliable or troublesome sources. Caladhel held little doubt that Telandil would quickly cut through this Khajiit's exaggerated tales and uncover whatever scraps of genuine information might actually lie beneath.
After all, Caladhel thought dismissively, Dar'ava was already marked deceased in official records—just another Khajiit casualty no one would bother to question. The fool had no inkling he was already considered dead.
Turning his gaze back toward Dar'ava, Caladhel offered a thin, carefully neutral smile. "Please follow these guards, Dar'ava. My colleague has just a few more questions to ask. Your cooperation will be greatly appreciated, I assure you."
Dar'ava rose eagerly, whiskers twitching, ears perked up cheerfully. "Oh, of course! Dar'ava always ready to help! Questions mean rewards, yes?"
The Khajiit practically bounced toward the waiting guards, completely unaware of the cold, contemptuous look in Caladhel's pale-green eyes as he watched him leave the chamber.
Once alone, Caladhel rose from his seat and moved silently toward the tall window, gazing down at the flickering torchlights and shadowed streets of Gilane. The city lay quiet beneath the night sky, deceptively peaceful under Dominion rule. Yet beneath this tranquil façade simmered frustration—and beneath frustration lay danger.
He drew in a slow, measured breath, feeling a rare, unwelcome tension in his chest. Losing an entire company—one hundred Dominion soldiers—had been a blemish he could not afford to repeat. Another misstep, another humiliation, and his superiors in Alinor would gladly strip him of command, perhaps even worse.
At least, he mused grimly, he was not Aeralion Solinor. The commander at Taneth sat atop a far hotter seat, bearing responsibility for the only coastal city still stubbornly unconquered. Caladhel felt a fleeting moment of relief at not being in that unenviable position—though, he acknowledged wryly, his own situation was hardly better.
No, Caladhel could not afford another mistake. This growing resistance—these masked "Anbu"—had to be crushed swiftly, decisively.
He narrowed his pale-green eyes, gaze sharpening as his thoughts solidified. He knew exactly which card to play next. Perhaps it was time to unleash the Auroran Sentinels and remind Hammerfell what true Altmeri strength looked like.