Fin's seventh entry

SHWOOSH! A rusty arrow cut straight through the air and with the hollow sound of cracking wood lodged itself firmly into the dark knot that served as the bulls eye of a wooden crate target forty foot in front of us. Soundlessly the string of the elven bow was pulled back again, mechanically, routinely, practiced. Six or seven seconds of concentrated and silent aiming passed, then another shwoosh and another arrow pierced the crate not half an inch away from the other. "Something is bothering you," the skilled archer broke the quiet rhythm just as I had pulled an arrow from my own quiver and carefully positioned it. "You're not usually this quiet." I pulled back the black string of my bow and released to see my arrow strike at least an inch above his. "I have a lot on my mind," I admitted without removing my eyes from our mutual target. Already after a week in the sewers, I barely took notice of the rotten stench anymore. It also did help that no one else down here seemed to notice anything at all either. It was like a massive, stinky mammoth in the middle of the cistern and every one of it inhabitants had an unspoken agreement not to mention it to one another at any cost. The beds were placed in a perfect circle around the pool in the middle, each with a chest and an end table attachment. I hadn't yet stored any of my things in there, lest they'd be gone when I woke up. But even though I had yet to learn to trust the rest of the pack, my kin-brother's proposal was still being weighed out in my head. The stiff string of his bow creaked like it was out of tune when Niruin again tugged it backwards with three fingers. It let out a sharp clanking sound when he let it go, sending off the arrow straight towards the target to dig itself in under the tip of that one my arrows already stuck there, forcing it out of the crate side. My arrow landed on the ground with a pling that echoed off the wet walls of the Cistern's practice room.

- Fin Larksong

Tjar-Rei's first entry

I, Gabriella, will be writing on behalf of Tjar-Rei (the lizard can't read). He tells the story of his "Rei-Skaiaki".
It is tradition for all Argonians to receive a trinket of a kind from his mother in the midst of his teen years as a part of an adulthood ceremony. Since I didn't have a mother, Siiq-Dar was the next best thing (even if I had known my mother, Siiq-Dar would be my first choice, he adds). I remember, with his furry fingers it was difficult for him to lodge the iron band onto my horn. He struggled with it so much, that he had to use both his hands to press it down properly in order to assure that it wouldn't come off again. Since then, of course, my horns have grown and it would be impossible to get it off today. I appreciate that he would help me stay in touch with Argonian tradition even though Bravil's beast race inhabitants aren't exactly known for their open-mindedness. From an unknowing spectator's point of view, it would have looked like a grown up Khajiit in his skooma haze physically abusing a tiny, skinny lizard - which is more or less what it was. He did the ritual oil drawings on my face and I guided him through the chanting of which I wasn't quite sure, I had only heard the words at someone else's ceremony and didn't remember them very well. At the time I didn't quite realize that I had become a burden to Siiq-Dar, I adored him. He was the only one I had to look up to so I worshiped him completely. And he knew it. And he used it. For all I know, the rings he gave me for my Rei-Skaiaki might as well have been some I had fished out of someone's pocket myself. But he was I had. I often wonder what happened to him after I left. If he is even still alive.

- Gabriella on behalf of Tjar-Rei