This is homework from my art server, where the writing prompt was to write an entire scene that is nothing but dialogue. I love writing dialogue, so I jumped on that like an overexcited cat. So, have Karsaga and Dasrazel having a friendly discussion. They're friends. :)
“Okay. Let me see if I get this straight, Raz. You want me to turn myself in? To the Imperials? Because you fought Molag Bal once?”
“That is not what I said.”
“No, no I think that’s pretty damn close to what you said. You want me to turn myself in because you have a ‘feeling,’ and I should listen to you because you fought Molag Bal. Once.”
“Karsaga, that’s not—”
“Did you win?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t—”
“Because the fact you look like you died two-hundred years ago indicates you may have not won. Which begs the question…”
“Don’t.”
“... Why should I listen to the guy who didn’t even win?”
“Except that I did, as evidenced by the fact that Tamriel isn’t an honorary part of Coldharbour right now.”
“As far as we know.”
“We would know if the Prince of Rape was the blasted master of the mortal world. At the very least, Mannimarco would still be a nuisance.”
“So, now you’re claiming you fought Mannimarco?”
“I told you that already. Twice. Once when you were asking me what the texts of N’Gasta! Kvata! Kvakis! translated out to. The second time when I was angling to be emotionally open enough to tell you about my past and maybe urge you to do the right thing for once in your wretched life.”
“Wretched? Says the elf who eats people. That’s rich.”
“Not wretched enough if I’ve allowed you to continue on your merry way, dodging your responsibilities and ignoring omens. There is no mistake that you are meant for something greater than your peers, that the powers-that-be are trying to steer you in a certain direction. You have spent the better part of two months trying to run away from that damned note in your pocket and it has reached a point that even I can tell that the hand of Azura is guiding you as surely as—”
“As surely as you tore the throat out of the mer in Ashanammu.”
“Karsaga.”
“With your teeth.”
“Karsaga!”
“I’m just saying that I don’t think I need spiritual guidance and a reminder of my ‘responsibilities’ from a cannibalistic zombie.”
“A vampire is not a zombie.”
“In the same way a wolf is not a dog. Close enough.”
“You should choose your next words very carefully, cat.”
“Or else wh… oh. When did you get that close? How did you move that fas–?”
“We’re going to have a talk. And you are going to listen to me. Respectfully.”
“Ah, uh. Shit. I… could you put me down?”
“No.”
“Put me do…OW! Hellfire and damnation, what was that for, you desiccated, blood-sucking son of a bitch!”
“No. You shut your bastard mouth for two seconds and listen to me. Do you understand?”
“... When you show your teeth like that, suddenly everything seems pretty crystal.”
“Good. Because I am sick of your selfish shit and you are going to keep your muzzle shut and let me get two words in edgewise. You can start talking again when I am done.”
“O… okay.”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will begin by saying that I’m sympathetic. I know, right now, it doesn’t seem like it, but I am. Do you honestly think that I was wanting to follow the call of destiny when I woke up, soulless, in Oblivion? Did you think, when I crawled out of Coldharbour by the skin of my teeth, that I felt in any way compelled to pursue the fate destiny wrote for me?”
“... Can I talk? Or was that a rhetorical—?”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know the answer. You don’t have to speak. No hero in the history of this mortal plane has ever asked for the hand they were dealt. The ones chosen by the gods do not open their eyes one morning and decide they will make history. They start out like you and me: people in bad situations they don’t want to be in. People who want to run away.”
“Raz, I…”
“I ran away, too. I did literally everything I could to avoid having to ever think about what I had been through and the path that lay before me. But no matter how much I ran, or how far I traveled, I would always end up in a place where there was no escaping my destiny. No matter how many times I tried to sweep the pieces off the board, fate would pluck me up and put me back on the square where it wanted me.”
“Dasrazel…”
“There’s too much with you that reminds me of my own plight. Your luck goes sour every time you stray off the path. No matter where we go, we somehow always end up back in Balmora. Even the fact I didn’t immediately destroy you is an oddity because, gods, I did not like you. But I felt fond of you regardless. And what fluke would put you in the path of the Vestige in the first place? The odds are astronomically low.”
“I think a lot of people technically end up in the path of the Vestige. If you think about it. You know? It’s just that most of them are probably dead.”
“You know what I mean.”
“... Don’t look at me like that, Raz. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you distressed before. It’s weird.”
“I just want you to listen to me. I think this goes beyond what the Imperials want. I think you should speak to this Caius Cosades gentleman. Stop being a coward. Stop digging your own fucking grave.”
“Oh, a curse? From you? I feel special.”
“Don’t. Please. This is not a joke. Just promise me—promise me—that you will give it a thought. You’ll follow the trail and see what the gods have in store for you. Because bad things are coming, I can sense it, and I think…”
“You think what?”
“I think you may be more important than you think. So, consider it.”
“Or else?”
“I will kill you and find a way to do it myself if possible.”
“Ah. Well. Consider it considered, I suppose.”
“Thank you.”
“Great. Can you put me down now?”
“I’ll think about it.”