Sharee was in Leyawiin, at the Blackwood Brew tavern. She had bought up about a month’s worth of time at the inn with the gold from her last job, and had about three more days left. Most of the rest of her gold had been spent on alcohol and other forms of instant gratification, so she would need to find some other employment soon. This, of course, meant that she was completely ignoring the issue and getting drunk with some of the locals.

There were five people at the table: a female Khajiit, a male Argonian, a male Orc, a male Altmer, and Sharee. They were all in various states of inebriation, talking and laughing louder than any other table in the room. Sharee had just started with a few games of shells, and was collecting a tidy profit. A few rounds had gone to the others, and the Khajiit was even up about ten gold, but Sharee still very much had profit.

After a loss at shells, the Argonian male sighed and shook his head. “By the Hist you can move those things fast. How in Oblivion are you making any money at this, Ahnasha?” He asked, giving the Khajiit a pat on the back, which wasn’t surprising considering that he had been using any excuse he could find all night to put his hands on her.

“This one’s eyes are as sharp as her claws.” The Khajiit responded, looking at him with a prideful smirk.

Sharee leaned in toward the Argonian with a grin. “Come now, you’re sittin’ here with the fastest blade to ever grace the Topal Sea and you think I can’t move around a few shells? You must be a real lightweight on your ale if you’re already losin’ your mind.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the deadliest woman to ever live, we’re all at your mercy, I know the drill.” He responded sarcastically. “I guess you’re going to tell the story about how you took out that galleon again?”

Sharee chuckled as she moved on to let the Orc have his turn betting on the shells. “Hmm…no, I’ll let you off the hook this time. I’m more than satisfied just takin’ all your gold.” She said, taking another swig of her ale. The Orc played a few rounds of shells, losing each round and thirty gold along with it. He was not part of Sharee’s usual circle of acquaintances, as he was simply a friend of the rather quiet Altmer at their table. The Orc was starting to get visibly upset, which, if the others weren’t too drunk to notice, would have probably killed their upbeat mood.

“Come on, don’t look so down. How about another round, double or nothing?” Sharee offered encouragingly.

The Ore grumbled for a few moments, glancing back and forth between Sharee and the shells before finally speaking up. “Fine, one more.” He said with a hint of anger. Sharee put a septim under one of the three shells, then rapidly swapped them around with surprising speed and precision for her level of intoxication. The Orc tried to keep his eye on the one with the septim as best as he could, then, once Sharee stopped, immediately selected what he thought was the right one. Unfortunately for him, when she lifted the shell, it was empty. “Another loss for you. I don’t think it would be smart to go for another one, might as well quit while you’re behind.” Sharee said with a satisfied grin. The Orc growled for a few moments, then suddenly jumped up out of his chair and swiped the shells off of the table. He slammed his hands down on the table and looked Sharee in the eyes as menacingly as he could. “I’m not paying you a septim swindler!” He yelled.

Sharee set down her ale, clasped her hands together, and looked up at the Orc with an expression that made her seem calm. “You lost the bet, you pay the coin. No exceptions.”

“I don’t pay cheats. What, you think just because you got some locals thinkin’ you’re some kind of legend that I’ll just believe it? All I see here is a drunk lizard cheating her way through a few games of shells with a bunch of idiots. Now, give me my coin!” He yelled. By this point, the eyes of everyone in the tavern were on them. The others at their table had already gotten up from their seats and backed away, though Sharee stayed right where she was.

Sharee leaned forward and returned his stare. “Make me.” She said firmly. Sharee was far from pleased with the Orc at the moment and very much wanted to teach him a lesson. She was offended that he actually had the audacity to accuse her of cheating. She was cheating, but he had no way of knowing that.

The Orc flew into a rage, throwing the table aside and charging right at her with his fist in full swing. However, even while intoxicated, Sharee was leagues more agile than an untrained, berserking Orc. She swung her entire upper body to the left while kicking at him with her right leg. His fist smashed harmlessly through the back of her chair, while her leg hit him full force in his stomach, though that was a bit higher than where she was aiming. Sharee was nearly thrown off balance and barely managed to right herself in time to strike the back of his head with her elbow. She stood up and looked down on the Orc on the ground beneath her. His hand was bleeding from splinters and he was certainly going to be bruised from that strike to the head, but nevertheless, he still started to bring himself up to his feet.

Sharee saw that the stubborn Orc was still trying to fight, so, almost calmly, she reached down and picked up one of the half empty bottles of ale that had survived the fall to the ground, walked over to the Orc, and smashed it over his head before he could get up. The bottle shattered over his head, cutting up his face with shards of glass. He once again fell on his back, still conscious, but obviously unwilling to fight. While the Orc was incapacitated, Sharee reached down and grabbed his coinpurse from his belt to secure her earnings, plus whatever else he had.

For a few seconds, there was some cheering from the crowd of onlookers, not necessarily because they wanted Sharee to win, but simply because they enjoyed watching a good fight. It was cut short, however, when the front door to the tavern flew open, revealing one of the Leyawiin guard. He silently looked over the room for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know what I expected. Sharee, this is the third time this week you’ve given the guard trouble…and it’s only Morndas. I don’t know what you said to the last two to get out of it, but I’m not going to be putting up with it anymore. You’re coming with me. You too Orc, we’ll figure out what happened in the castle dungeons.”

Sharee chuckled, responding to the guard’s command with a smile. She held her arms out wide and looked at him confidently. “Don’t worry my good sir, that won’t be necessary. Everyone here saw what happened. I can’t help it if the bigots in this city don’t like that I don’t submit to them. This Orc here just couldn’t stand the thought of an Argonian besting him in a game of chance. I assure you, I did everything I could to calm down the situation, but he just didn’t listen.”

“What, bigots? What are you-” The Orc began to say, but Sharee quickly spoke up to interrupt.

“I’m sure the proprietor of this fine establishment will support me, won’t you Tonan?” Sharee asked, glancing over to the Imperial male behind the bar, locking eyes with him for a few moments.

The innkeeper locked up for a second at Sharee’s gaze, then quickly regained his composure and turned his attention to the guard. “Yeah, of course, it was the Orc who started it, didn’t want to pay his gambling debts, so he got mad, attacked her.” The Imperial said, trying to sound as calm as possible. He had been on Sharee’s bad side before and had regretted it, so he was too afraid to do anything she would disapprove of. He knew well she was probably cheating, but he judged it would be a bad idea to rat her out for a crime that would only be punishable by a week or so in prison.

The guard glanced back and forth between Sharee and the innkeeper suspiciously, then looked down to the Orc and sighed in resignation. “Fine, whatever. Come with me, you.” The guard said, reaching down and pulling the Orc to his feet. After the guard left with the Orc, Sharee walked over to the bar and took a seat on a stool, setting down the Orc’s coin purse on the counter in front of them.

“Get me another round.” She said demandingly. She reached into the coin purse and dropped down quite a few more coins than was needed to buy another drink to smooth things over with the innkeeper. If he was lucky, she would forget to steal it back before leaving town.
Sharee drank her ale in peace for a few minutes before a few of her acquaintances, the Khajiit and the Argonian, approached her once again. The Argonian had his arm around Ahnasha's waist, and she wasn't really intent on letting go of him either. The Khajiit seemed calm and a bit tipsy, while the Argonian was slightly less inebriated.

"Celebrating your victory, are you?" The Argonian asked with a chuckle as they approached. Sharee took a large gulp of her ale, then slammed it down on the table as she looked at them.

"If by celebrating, you mean doin' the exact same thing as before, then yeah, I'm celebrating." She responded sarcastically.

Ahnasha laughed awkwardly loudly at Sharee's response and leaned in closer to her. She likely would have fallen were it not for the Argonian holding her up. "Good, good. This one was afraid the assassin would get mad and kill everyone."

Sharee grunted. "Nonsense, if I killed everyone, then there wouldn't be anyone to give me a job. Besides, I snatched the Orc's coinpurse, and he got arrested. I call that a win. I suppose, though, I need to start thinkin' about finding more work. I mean, there was one thing I've been thinking about trying, but I need good people for it. I meant to start finding people for it last week, but then I got distracted and now...well never mind. Point is I need work."

"What is it, maybe we can help with it?" The Argonian asked.

"I said good people." Sharee quipped, looking at them judgingly.

"Fine, whatever. I'll keep an eye out, but I'll expect a finder's fee if I do." He said.

"You'll get nothin' and like it." Sharee said, returning to her drink as the two went away to their own table. She finished her ale and thought for a few moments. As useless as those two were, they had made her think about something. She was fairly confident that she could get work if she wanted it, but frankly, she was tired of taking orders. Her years of experience as a professional assassin had taught her how to keep up an act with ease, so it wasn't hard, but she still wanted to be her own boss. Sure, she was an independent mercenary, but she still inevitably had to report to her employers. There was one idea she had in her mind that could eliminate that issue, but she had been putting off any serious planning on it for quite a while. If she did do it, it would be extremely risky in pretty much every way, but if she succeeded...

Sharee stood up suddnenly, glancing back and forth between the door and the bar. She was slightly inebriated at the moment, but she could still handle plenty more drinks. With the group before, she had been playing up her intoxication a bit to make the others more confident with their betting. After a few moments, she let out a sigh, then walked away from the bar and out of the tavern. Sharee ignored the suspicious glares of the guards as she left through the city's main gate and started heading east to the marshland just outside the city. Her mind was clouded and undecided, so she was heading for a nice secluded place to clear her head and think in peace. The blackwood forest just outside Leyawiin was rather marsh like, much like her own homeland. It was the perfect place for her to go just to...think.

Sharee walked along the road for a while, then left the road behind and walked the short distance to the shoreline. After taking a seat on a fallen log, she looked out over the Topal bay, which gave her a clear line of sight on the Leyawiin docks. The sun was setting in the sky, leaving an orange glow over the water. From her position, she could see she the vessel the had been thinking about for the past few days. It was a medium sized frigate, one of the East Empire company escort vessels tasked with escorting trading ships, and a lot of its crew were currently on shore leave...

"You know, that's not a bad idea." Sharee muttered to herself as she stared out over the water, mezmerized by the vessel.

Anyone taking a casual stroll through the woods would have noticed the stag standing proudly a and nibbling at the contents on the forest floor, but they would not have noticed the Wood Elf blended amongst the trees: a blessing to her people by Y'ffre and his Green Pact. She had taken care to be up wind of her prey, sand had been watching him for a few moments now. Slowly, she drew and notched an arrow into the polished bone bow, and drew the arrow back, her eyes piercing and her pink tongue sticking out ever-so-slightly, as she lined up her arrow. A second later, and the arrow went flying, and found its mark in the neck of the stag. Red blood sprung from the mortal wound and splashed what was his meal, and the stag collapsed with its final groan to the floor. Carawen released a pent up breath as a sigh, and made her way to the beast with a drawn knife. Skinning and butchering a deer was something she was well practiced with. This wouldn't take too long.

---

Carrying a couple hundred pounds of meat was better said than done. Luckily Caenlin, the owner of the shop she worked for, was more than happy to help her bring in her catch. Intestines for sausage, liver, venison steaks, stomach and cartilage for kabobs, venison steaks, and the eyeballs and other odd-bits for soup. Carawen was able to keep the bones for fletching and the marrow as a treat; the marrow along with a few steaks was her share for her kill. She hoped to smoke one of the steaks to keep for later, and was chatting to him as they walked back into town with his cart and horse pulling the catch. "That's three bucks down, do you think you could get any more, Carawen?"

"More? Like what? Pheasant?"

"Pheasant would be nice."

"That will be trickier, you know." Carawen frowned. Not like she couldn't track and kill a pheasant, it's just that a bird was a bird; skittish and with great sight.

"Yes, but that is why you are here; for the tricky prey." He grinned at her, which caused her to shake her head and push him lightly. "Fine, fine, I will go get you your bird. Can you hang one of those steaks for me in the smokehouse for me?" She eyed through the steaks and pointed at a small sirloin cut. "I'd be happy with that one."

"The sirloin? Alright, since you did a good job with this buck! Go, mighty hunter, and bring me a pheasant! Or a wild boar!"

"Don't push it!" She grinned at him and waved good bye as she turned to start walking back to the woods, but stopped dead in her tracks when she realized what she was close to. Her grin sagged into a mournful, longing look at the docks; where she first entered Cyrodiil and began what she believed to be the dumbest thing she had ever done in her whole life. All she wanted to do was explore, but she had gone too quickly, too brashly, and against the advice of her parents, jumped on the first ship on a ship that she presumed was going to the Imperial City so that she could see what was beyond Valenwood and its heavily wooded, nearly cage-like lands. A few months later, she landed not at the Imperial City, but a backwater town called Leyawiin; she had guessed wrong. And if that wasn't enough, she hadn't a coin to her name and was stuck in a foreign land. She was lucky that Caenlin offered her a job and cheap lodging. But despite his kindness and her diligent work for a decade, her salary was meager. Coupled with rent, supplies, and taxes, her pay was so small, that she was unable to buy passage on a ship despite how long she has worked. The damage that one mistake could cause was nearly surreal to her.

She missed home. She missed her friends, her beloved parents, the trees, the familiar sights and smells, and being among her people, where she was considered normal. The Bosmer had long lives and could be patient, but she was on her emergency supply of patience at this point. "Oh, what I'd give to go home," she thought in her head, sadly shaking it as she turned to walk back to the woods and begin her hunt again. Paying no heed to how dangerous that thought could be, or to the Argonian assassin across the water.

The balcony of the bar was filled with the usual assortment of people. All of them laughing, singing, dancing, and being all around rowdy as Oblivion which was surprising seeing as it was not yet night but rather still dusk. One man a Breton was not taking part in the drinking or playfulness of the rest of the bar instead he leaned on the wooden post on the edge of the balcony looking out towards the water. The smell of the sea filled the air with its aroma making for a pleasant aroma that still managed to fight through the smell of ale and cooking meat. The Nords eyes gazed out towards the shimmering waters that reflected the light of the setting sun. A orange hue had been cast across the landscape as the sun set making for a beautiful view. The Breton seemed to be deep within his own thoughts as though something was troubling him when a figure stepped up behind him. A female Bosmer looking in the Mer equivalent to her twenties stood behind him with a concerned expression.

"Ahem" The figure said to voice her arrival. She stepped up and leaned on the rail next to the Breton and joined him in admiring the view The Breton barely looked in her direction as she joined him. "Its a beautiful view." She said softly as though trying not to disturb the scene despite the rabble behind them. "I see why you love the seas so much. It just seems so big open and free, let alone beautiful." The Bosmer said a little more in a normal tone. The Breton nodded his head before he took in a deep breath letting it out in a long sigh, "Yeah, the ocean is a beautiful sight, always manages to be captivating no matter how many times you see it." He said mono-toned. The Bosmer turned toward him still leaning on the rail looking at him concerned. She gave him a light shove on the shoulder before she spoke, "Hey come on whats wrong with you? You have been out of sorts all day?" She said concerned. Once more she was met with a few moments of silence as the Breton took in a deep breath of the ocean air. "I don't know I have just been thinking a lot. A dream I had last night got me thinking." He said in a hushed tone. Her expression became one of more understanding and she turned back to the water. "Oh..." She said quietly, "Was it one of the bad ones?" She asked. He only nodded his head in response.

The two remained silent for a moment watching the sun set in the distance. In the harbor a small ship likely around a Schooner could be seen making port, its crew already had the majority of its cargo pulled up to the main deck and were preparing to start disembarking. Finally the Bosmer spoke up, "What was it about Kayal?" She asked turning toward her long time friend. Kayal's gaze lowered from the port to the street below as he thought of his response. "Betrayal." He said quietly. He knew that would be all she needed to know to answer her question. The Bosmer frowned at his answer before turning her head back to the water. "Come on, lets take a walk on the beach. That always helps clear you head." She said pushing off from the railing, her dual short swords ringing lightly as they shook around. She turned and grabbed his arm giving him a light tug, he did not put much effort into resisting instead letting her pull him away from his rail and through the tavern crowd.

"Zana, honestly I am fine." Kayal said to the girl. "Bullshit Kayal your obvious as hell when your in a sour mood, especially with me." She said dragging him out of the tavern. When they were out and on their way to the port gate Zana released his arm and the two walked side by side toward the port. It had been a spot they enjoyed going to many times. They would walk down to the beginning of the port then hop down off the side onto the sand then it was open beach from their on out. It took little time for the pair to make it to the port and surely to the sand. Once down they two began to trudge through the sand enjoying the break from the sounds of the city as they got further away. The waves came and went on the shore creating a rhythmic soothing sound as they came and went from the shore. Kayal walked on the side closest to the water, when the waves pushed in the water would just barely reach his boots and would wash away some of his footprints left in the sand.

The two walked in silence for sometime letting themselves relax and enjoy the scenery. They were a good ways from the city before Kayal suddenly turned away from the beach heading toward the tree line gesturing for Zana to follow. "Where are you going Kayal?" Zana asked as she followed after him. "Just come one you will see." He said as he stepped into the tree line, Zana followed closely after. It was another dozen or so minutes of walking through the trees at a gentle incline, before they reached their destination. A small hill that lowered on the opposite side to dozens of rocks, where the waves would crash into creating small amounts of white foam for a moment before the next wave would come wash it away and replace it with more. This area was spared most of the swampy features of the other parts of Leyawiin, the creatures of the swamp could still be heard but it was for the most part dry. At the top of the hill a large rock sat, which was the exact point of Kayal's destination, he sat down on the edge of the rock looking out at the ocean and gestured for Zana to join him. The Bosmer sat next to him and looked out at what Kayal had been so interested in. Before her she was met with a sight similar to the one she had from the tavern balcony except this one was much more pristine and natural, it was for the most part free from the rabble of the city, save for the occasional ship sailing through and the East Empire company Frigate anchored off shore.

"Looks who it is." Zana said gesturing to the ship. "Yeah those monopolizing pricks have been there for a while. Likely waiting for a new escort pirate, hell or maybe just to show themselves off. That wouldnt be unheard of for the East Empire Company." He said scornfully. "You really dont like them do you?" She asked already knowing the answer. "After everything they did, of course I do." He said in the same tone starring down the ship. "They are so self-righteous, they claim pirates are all evil criminals more likely to kill you then to do anything else yet they are the exact same. At least pirates don't try to hide behind false pretenses." He said still in a scornful tone. "Good." Zana replied. Kayal looked at her oddly, "Good? What do you mean by good?" He asked no longer in the scornful tone. "I mean its good to see you are feeling better." She said pointing out his improved behavior. "Sometimes all you really need to make yourself feel better is a good friend, sometime to think and something to vent on." She said kindly. "Luckily you have all three." She said with a mock arrogant grin. Kayal rolled his eyes at her, and smiled, "Speaking of self-righteous." He said teasing her. She tried her best to act offended and punched him on the shoulder, "I am the self-righteous one? Out of the two of us I am? You've got your facts seriously mixed up Kayal." She joked, crossing her arms acting like she was offended.

He chuckled at her and looked toward her happily, "Oh don't be so flustered Zana, your not all bad, there is some good in there, I am sure its just hidden under a few layers of arrogance, ego and sarcasm." He teased. "Once more Kayal your one to talk." She replied in earnest. The two continued to chat and joke with each other while enjoying the view, taking the time to enjoy themselves, something they haven't been able to do for sometime.

It wasn’t there. It wasn’t there!

Sarel cursed that stupid Imperial with as much time as he had, which wasn’t much. The white stone wall to his right was collapsing in a frightening way. Dozens of undead emerged from the hole in the wall with little regard for the poison darts which pelted them. Sarel had been told of a rumor when he was in Solstheim. Some traveling Imperial merchant asked about his katana and then noted that he’d heard of an ancient Akavir katana in an ayleid temple. What he actually said was something like this:

“What’s that ya got there? Ya, one of those Akveer swords uh? Pretty impressive…. Ya sir, my uncle Darius told me that he saw one of those things in one of those old elf temples. In Cyrodiil. What? Well I couldn’t just give you information like that without… Ah, okay, okay, alright! Ah, oh, N… near Leyawin I think. In the Blackwood.”

Sarel did his own research and cross referenced what little writing he had of the Order and decided it was possible that what this Imperial had said was true. Possible enough to ask for leave by his current employer, Lazerus Mede. The old man got to asking and Sarel wasn’t in the mood to lie to the man; he said he was going to the Blackwood to find an ancient ruin. That was enough to get him going about his middle son in the legion. Uriel was his name, and he was looking for adventure, something to make him a hero. Within a few days Sarel was Uriel’s official babysitter, he was to pick the boy up in Cheydinhal and take him to the ruin. Sarel was sure he could handle whatever was in the ruin by himself, but he wasn’t about to turn down an extra hand. Finding this ruin would be an adventure within itself, getting the artifact would require a great deal of effort. So he agreed to pick the boy up and bring him along. The lad was surprisingly humble, and he seemed genuinely chivalrous. It was a change of pace to the greedy paunch of his father.

“By Stendarr.” Gasped Uriel. The young Imperial, clad in legion steel back away from the empty pedestal, Sarel, and the emerging undead horde. He watched the Dark Elf as long as he could. The damn Elf just stood there on the dais staring at the empty lit spot before him. Uriel wasn’t even sure if he’d seen the zombies. Suddenly Sarel’s sword whipped from it’s sheath and decapitated an incoming undead. Sarel was quick after that, he jogged down the narrow atrium hall, toward Uriel who was making the first steps back toward the entrance. They ran together through a wider corridor and then down a staircase which led to a much narrower hall.

“Run” Sarel screamed from behind. Uriel went ahead, dashing toward the other end of the hallway. Another wall came down between him and Sarel and more undead came pouring out. Uriel entered a large room lit by welkynd stones, which rested silently under the dais where the couple had just been. It hummed with the blue aura of the Ayleid temples and the songs of unlife. Sarel slashed and burned his way through the undead horde and into another one which erupted halfway down the hallway, Uriel seemed to miss all the undead action. The fact was, Uriel was getting a bit of undead action of his own. To his right emerged a lich, as tall as a Nord and as skinny as a wood elf. He floated in majestic rancor toward Uriel who readied his shield. The lich summoned scamps and sent them forth, uttering a foul cry which might have resembled a laugh if it weren’t so abhorrent. Uriel was quick to swallow a resist fire potion he had handy, Sarel had slipped it to him before they entered the ruin, purely as a second thought.

“Have at thee, fowl dramora!” He screamed as the scamps rushed forward, and he met them. He stabbed one immediately in the heart, forcing it to fall then evaporate into a cloud of purple dust. Another scamp clawed at Uriel’s shield trying to rip it from his grasp while another still tried to cast a fire ball at him. Sarel was out of the hall by the time the scamps descended. He was able to cast a quick ward spell in front of Uriel, blocking the magic. The Imperial glanced back and might have sighed of relief if his life wasn’t still very much in danger. He ripped his shield from the scamps little hands and hit it on the head, then he sliced at another. Most of the scamps were dead when the Lich summoned two skeletal archers on the dais above. Zombies rushed from more holes in the walls and Sarel could tell what would become of the couple if they stayed and fought. Sarel sent a fire bomb between Uriel and the Lich, sending both flying backward. Uriel landed mostly in Sarel’s hands and they both tumbled on the floor.

“We must flee, go. I’ll hold him off” said Sarel as he stood, unsheathing his katana. He readied himself in the position he’d learned as position number 5. It was defensive yet imposing. It allowed for dexterious movement yet planted his feet firmly. His sword was held near his face. Uriel stood as quickly as he could and darted off toward a hall which he knew to lead to the exit.

A skeletal warrior, brandishing a war axe and shield hobbled over to Sarel as two zombies shambled toward him from behind. He dodged an incoming blow, and an arrow, from the skeleton, ending up behind the sack of bones. He quickly sliced at the midsection of the skeleton and it fell to pieces. Sarel jogged toward the incoming zombies, decapitated them and turned toward the Lich, who was incoming. A frost spike whizzed past Sarel’s head as he sheathed his sword. He unleashed a fountain of fire from his hands, his crimson eyes glowing in the firelight. He closed them and allowed the fire to take over. He imbued his own magical essence into the fire which had become a wall of flame. It grew even larger and was finally large enough to split the entire room in half. Zombies who touched it on either side were burned to a crisp. Sarel breathed heavily from exhaustion as he weaved between zombies, heading as quickly as he could to the exit.

As Uriel rounded one of the polished white corridors he wondered if Sarel was close behind him. A pack of zombies emerged from a wall in the hall ahead. Uriel charged forth, holding his shield out in front of him with his short sword raised high near him. He stabbed and slashed and bashed until most of the zombies were dead. Sarel came from behind and sliced another slacker in two. The couple couldn’t have run faster from the ruin. They breathed heavily as they shut the ruin doors, locked it with the little bulb on the front. Uriel made his way up the stairs while Sarel stood before the door.

Uriel peered down into the stairwell a few moments later when he realized Sarel was still down there.

“What are you up to, Elf?” Uriel asked.

“Sealing it as best I can.” Sarel replied

The two were mounted on their horses in no time riding at a brisk pace to find the nearest path.

“Do you know where it is?” Sarel asked absent-mindedly.

“No, sorry. I never traversed these forests by myself.”

Sarel was quiet for a while as he let the horse walk toward a small glade, hoping to catch a glimpse of the road. The horse licked at the pond for a while before perking it’s head up, Uriel’s horse seemed to notice the same thing. Sarel saw the trail of flying insects too late. In less than seconds a full grown spriggin was beside Uriel and his mount. The thing was massive, almost the size of the horse. It ripped Uriel from his horse and tossed him on the ground. He clanked a little as he tried to pry his sword from his side. Sarel cast a fireball at the forest guardian, hoping to catch it off guard. It warded itself from the effects and enchanted Uriel’s horse. The thing nay’d in anger as it rose on its hind legs. It came down on Uriel so hard he was instantly flattened. His armor was caved in and his chest very clearly impaled, the horse did it again, and again.

Sarel was able to get a fireball through to the Spriggin, weakening it before stabbing at it’s heart. It fell to the ground and the flying insects revolved around it as it tried to heal itself. Sarel relentlessly doused it in flames, burning it's oak to cinders. Uriel’s horse calmed itself and laid next to it’s dead rider, exhausted. It’s hooves were bloody and battered. Sarel knelt next to the young corpse, spoke a quiet prayer. Upon further inspection, the horse had a broken leg, it whimpered. Sarel stood over the kneeling horse with the forest sounds singing a sweet lullaby behind him. He raised his katana over his head and it shone with the brilliant red of the setting sun. He brought it down quickly, frowning solemnly.

Back at the inn, where the Dunmer already had a tab, Sarel was a mess. He scored some moon sugar from one of the the Khajiit he was able to flag down with some coin, and asked the bartender to mix it into his boiling mead. The bartender agreed without batting an eye, didn’t hurt that Sarel slipped him a few septims as a tip. Sarel was brooding with his brew at a table relatively close to the door, it was slightly behind a pillar so he was hardly ever looked at. He drank, and sank, more into the jug of mead.

Well, this place looks better than the last place. James thought, as he walked around the town, occasionally walking in a circle, but righting himself. The travel to Leyawiin had rid him of a lot of his coins, the 'small fee' for the transport didn't exactly have breakfast included, so he had to buy his own when the carriage stopped at a village. Now, in Leyawiin, he needed funds. Fortunately, James knew how to do that, illegally.

James walked around for a little while longer, spotting a good crowd. James walked straight into it, being swallowed by the crowd. James then started looking for those with protruding purses, and swiftly took them. A few times, the selected person would look almost like he felt his purse being taken, but would continue doing what he was originally doing. One time, however, one of the selected men actually turned around, and looked James in the eye. The khajiit put his hand against where he thought his purse was, and found it gone, then he looked angry. Really angry. "You rat." The khajiit said, bending over so the khajiit's short nose was almost touching James' nose. "Give me back my coins."

James tried to put on his innocent face, and said quietly, with a fake scent of fear; "B-but it wasn't me. I-I didn't steal your money. P-please don't hurt me." Just in case anything went wrong, James' hand moved with exaggerated slowness to where the hilt of his dagger was. Luckily, the man took sympathy for James, gave James a sorry look and turned away. James grinned, and backed out of the crowd with his loot. Once out of the group, he walked away to find a shop and grab something to eat.

It had been three weeks since Ilta first arrived in the coastal town of Leyawiin, and everyday had either been spent in the Temple of Kynareth, tending to wounded soldiers or in the town library, reading as much as her mind could absorb in one sitting. Ilta had been exploring the countryside west of Riften in Skyrim when a courier approached her with a letter, claiming it was from the priests of Kynareth located in Leyawiin, Cyrodiil.

"Cyrodiil?!" Ilta had exclaimed aloud, loud enough for her voice to carry through the wind and stir the birds in the trees. "That would take weeks to travel from here!" The Bosmer was skeptical as the letter requested that Ilta be hasty on her journey from Skyrim to Leyawiin, meaning her afternoon walk would be rudely interrupted by the Kynareth priests. But this was an opportunity to explore the land of Cyrodiil, Ilta thought, beginning to reconsider. Ilta took in as much of the scenery as she could before running back to her camp in the abandoned watchtower not too far from her location and immediately set out on her journey to the town by the sea.

The journey itself was surprisingly shorter than expected when Ilta took little rest and walked at a brisk pace, landing the Bosmer in the town of Leyawiin within two weeks time. All Ilta wanted was a bed to rest in and a warm meal, but the priests required her assistance immediately. As she recalled on the letter, she remembered the priests never specifically mentioned the task itself, only stating that she "was needed of the utmost importance in Cyrodiil".

Upon Ilta's arrival at the Temple of Kynareth, she was greeted by panicked priests who shoved her at a great amount of crippled and bloody soldiers. The room was packed with dying war heroes and citizens who were praying to the divine Kynareth for her blessing. According to the head priest, they had heard word from the Temple located in Riften of Ilta's legendary healing ability and immediately requested for her assistance at healing the wounded. Day after day, Ilta spent hours slaving away at the soldiers, healing their broken bones and stitching up their cuts. After a week or so, the amount of sick had decreased to a manageable amount but the Bosmer healer decided against leaving for Skyrim straight away, and instead chose to explore Leyawiin and the surrounding areas for a while longer in addition to helping out part-time at the Temple. Her skills were greatly appreciated here as the citizens of Leyawiin had not been blessed with such a gifted healer in decades.

Ilta discovered the library while looking for fresh ingredients to combine in new alchemical creations and was elated upon finding the vast collection of magic books. The Bosmer lost track of time while in the building, reading book after book after book. Never in her life in Skyrim had she seen such a beautiful collection and not even the College library came close to what was displayed in Leyawiin. Ilta was permitted free entry, provided she kept to herself and was cautious not to raise any ruckus during her time.

Life in Leyawiin was simple, as Ilta had enough coin saved from her old job in Riften selling meat and potions to keep her warm and comfortable during her stay. After finishing a rather lengthy book on the uses of Illusion magic, Ilta decided to take a visit to the local tavern, the Blackwood Brew, a rowdy and crowded place with gambling taking place in every corner. The Bosmer drank alcohol rather rarely, but she decided that one drink wouldn't hurt. She sat on a barstool and handed the innkeeper the required Septims and in turn he handed her a jug of ale, which Ilta took a hefty swig out of.

"For someone so delicate-looking, you drink like someone who has been drinking all their lives, miss," a young Redguard stated, sliding into the stool next to the Bosmer who remained silent amongst the noise. "I haven't seen you around before, you from here, Elf?" Ilta glanced at the Redguard from the corner of her eyes before returning to staring at the wall adjacent to her. "No, I travelled here from Skyrim," she replied sharply and took another drink.

"Skyrim eh?" He asked, inching closer to Ilta. "No wonder you drink with such flamboyance."
This Redguard clearly isn't getting the hint, the healer thought, giving him a curt not as a reply. He had snuck up so close that Ilta could feel the thick stench of alcohol on her cheek, and that was it. With hand movement under the table so quick, the dark-skinned Redguard had turned away and left the Bosmer alone in peace. Illusion spells aren't entirely useless, thought Ilta to herself. To the right of where she was sitting she noticed the innkeeper slipping a small amount of moonsugar into a jug of mead and handing it to an unknown figure seated in a hidden position behind a pillar near the door. After all her years trading in the town of Riften, witnessing all the shady trading that went on beneath the marketplace Ilta knew moonsugar when she saw it. The Bosmer was almost certain that moonsugar was illegal in Cyrodiil - although she couldn't know for sure - so she stood up and began to approach the shadowy figure. This was not about to go unnoticed.

It was dusk when a Nord, who couldn't of been a day over twenty, with dark blond hair and sun kissed skin made his way from the docks of Leyawiin after a seemingly hard day of laboring. His sweat stained clothes stuck to his body as he made his way through the normal crowds of the city, carrying a large bag over his shoulder that weighted down each of his steps. He made his way to a plane looking two story building, not something that wouldn't normally catch the attention of anyone, that he called his home. The weary lad tossed the sac he had lugged from the docks aside, it being filled with dried fish for his dinner, as he entered the house and shuffled his way over to a ratty looking chair that sat in front of a fireplace that didn't seem to have been cleaned in years. After starting up a fire the young man crumbled into the chair, dirt falling off both him and the chair, with a sigh of relief. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of ale, something he snatched off one his fellow dock works, and let out a slight laugh before he took a swig. The young man watched the fire and drank his ill-gotten ale, he didn't notice the shadowy figure that was waiting for him to arrive home sneak up on him. In a quick motion a hand found its way over the young mans mouth preventing him from letting out a yell then in the moment after that a pair of fangs plunged themselves into the Nord's neck.

Tagorn drank deep from the young dock worker, stopping just before he completely drained the man. The Wood elf rose from the unconscious Nord with a look of pure satisfaction on his face, blood still dripping from his lips. "Oh such a gracious host you have been. But I'm afraid it is time I go." Tagorn slowly wiped his face clean of blood before he emptied the pockets of his victim of any coin he had. He then pulled up his hood and mask, concealing his face, and head up the stairs of the house. He exited out the window of the second story that looked out to the ally, him jumping and landing effortlessly on the ground below.

Tagorn had done this type of hunting for the past two-hundred years, picking a mark wait for them to return home then feed on and rob the poor soul, he had become use to the act to the point he knew exactly how a person would react once they awoke. They would first feel a sharp pain in their neck, even though his bite would of already quickly healed, then they would realize that all their coin was gone and report that they were robbed, but by then Tagorn would be long gone. Tagorn made his through the alley ways of the city, making sure not to be seen by the guards, as he thought what his next move should be when he happened upon a tavern.

Like always he entered the building unseen and unheard and made sure to stay as far away from candle light as he could. He took a seat in a shadowy corner and scanned through the crowd for any potential marks, waving off the hostess that came with a bottle of ale for him. He was quite disappointed to the fact he didn't see anyone that would give him a good pay off, though he did take an interest in one of his kinsmen sitting at the bar. Many may not of noticed it but it was obvious to Tagorn that the young Bosmer used magic to ward off the advances of the drunk fool. Though he never saw the point of magic himself he smirked some to see the young woman was able to bend the minds of the weak. He continued to watch her even as she arose and approached a Dunmer who seemed to be lost in thought.

James arrived at the inn, hoping to find something to eat, or someone to steal something from. Looking around, he saw that the place looked okay, and he noticed people scattered around. One such man was by himself, at a table beside the door, drinking some mead. That gave James an idea. He walked around a bit, looking at all of the empty tables and found exactly what he needed. An empty jug of mead. He picked it up, and walked toward the table that the Dunmer man was at. James tried to look a bit drunk, and swerved around a little, not going directly to the man. Eventually, he got round to the man, bumping into him, his hand swiftly taking a purse from the man and putting it in his own pocket, hoping not to be noticed doing the action. "S-sorry." James says, putting on his childish, innocent face. "I feel a bit dizzy." James started to walk away.

The bosmer girl ran raggedly through the marshland, each descent of her bare and battered feet producing a faint squelch on the soft, mossy and water ridden earth below. Yet more dirt painted itself onto her as she tripped once again, falling straight into a pool of water and sinking deep into the thick, slimy silt beneath. Spluttering and desperate, the girl re-emerged from the icy liquid, floundering for a moment as she found her way back to her feet before disappearing off in to the thick fog. Voices rang out in the cold air back in the direction she'd come from, sopping with mockery and malice.

"Here girlie girlie girlie." Called the first, deep, harsh and husky male. "Don't'cha worry lass. We 'ent gunna hurt'cha." He jeered catapulting an arrow off at random into the fog. He was quickly reprimanded.

"Oy. Don't do that! you'll 'urt the merchandise. How're we gunna sell her with a bleedin' arrow wound in 'er back eh?" Said a second man in a firm growl.

"Oh relax." Replied the first slaver casually. "She's exotic, wot with all them tattoo's an' that. She'll sell for a pretty penny regardless of cuts, bruises n' screamin' murder at the buyers. They know 'ow to break people good they do. Might even give 'er a test run myself before the sell. Start their work for them. Besides it's no fun if she ent a little frightened." He said with a chortle as the pair emerged by the pool their prey had just passed through.

The pair were ornately dressed to a standard that seemed completely at odds with their environment and their accents. The two rode atop midnight black horses at a casual pace, slowing to pass around particularly prominent puddles and to duck under the occasional tree branch. The shorter, pudgier of the two looked to the other man, who was a comparative beanpole, as he awaited a reply. He tugged slightly on his mauve, silken jacket collar to correct a perceived imperfection caused by the motion of firing his chunky crossbow. The taller man sighed and said nothing to argue against his chubby acquaintance who took that inaction as agreement and proceeded to wind another bolt into the bow.

"C'mon lassie!" He called into the fog. "Come 'ere and we'll treat you proper. Get'cha to a place with a soft bed and plenty o' men to keep ya warm at night. 'Ow about that huh? Gotta be better than traipsing alone through this dump." He said firing another arrow blindly off into the fog. Moments later there was a cry of surprise and a splash as something stumbled in the marshland.

"You better not 'ave hit her you miserable dog!" The taller man yelled at his clumsy acquaintance before breaking his horse into a canter. "Now we gotta catch up before she drowns."

Ahead of the duo the panicked girl had broken into a sprint, the previous shot had passed far too closely for comfort, almost stroking her ankle as it passed. Behind her she could hear the cursing of her pursuers and the seemingly gruesome noises of the horses as they made their way through the soggy ground at high speed. She ran as fast as she possibly could, pausing only to brush the hair which stuck to her seemingly like glue from her eyes. Suddenly the relative flat of the marshland gave way to a steep incline and a patch of trees. She stumbled up the hill with the two horses close behind now.

"We'll net 'er when she reaches the bay!" One of them cried and then, as suddenly as the incline had become the girl found herself on a steep descent with the thick, obscuring fog lifted. Tired and unable to keep up with the sudden change in terrain the Bosmer tumbled roughly down the hill only to stop on a patch of rocks hard. She groaned and looked around, on her left was the hill she had fallen down although, now she looked at it she realised it was less a hill and more a short cliff. She had been lucky. Groaning and now too tired and battered to run the tattooed girl ambled along the beach almost waiting for her pursuers to catch up. It didn't take long.

"Hey! I see her!" Shouted the chubby slaver excitedly as his horse galloped up behind her. He switched his bow for a mace and set to run her down with a wicked grin on his face. The girl turned to face his charge wearily and waited as though accepting her fate only to, at the last possible moment, leap gracefully forwards and dismount him. She yanked hard at his wrist whilst placing a painfully effective open palm strike just below his collarbone. The man tumbled from his horse and landed on the gravelly sand with a crunch, moaning and shrieking curses like there was no tomorrow. The girl too yelped as she twisted her ankle on the landing and fell to the ground a couple of metres away. For the first time since the chase had started the taller man smiled.

"I think you're right Alfie. This one will fetch a pretty penny." He said staring mercilessly down into the face of the clearly terrified girl.

Sharee was taken out of her veritable trancewhen she heard the shouting coming from the marsh behind her. The voices were too faint for her to make out what they were saying at first, but they piqued her curiosity enough that she decided to see what was going on. Getting off of her log, she started to make her way cautiously toward the source of the noise, though she did not have to go far, as they were heading straight for her. Quickly, she dashed into the bushes nearby and hid herself away, waiting on whoever it was to arrive.

After a short wait, Sharee saw what looked like a Bosmer woman emerge from the woods, only to fall down a small cliff onto the rocks below. Two pursuers on horseback caught up to her rather quickly, and while she did manage to pull one down off of his horse, it was obvious she was caught.

Sharee watched the scene unfold with interest. Normally, it she didn't care about what crimes other people commited and would just leave it be, but there were two things making her consider actually doing something. For one, the two men were wearing oddly ornate clothing, indicative of wealth. It was entirely likely that they just stole the clothes and were as poor as the Bosmer girl appeared, but it was possible she could make a decent profit if she decided to intervene. The other part was that the two men appeared to be slavers, based off of what the tall one said. Sharee was obviously no saint, but even she had issues with slavery. It was about the only crime she wasn't willing to commit. She usually wasn't motivated enough to actually go out and stop slavers, but if she could make a bit of coin in the process, then the fact that they were scum would be a nice bonus. The Bosmer girl herself didn't look like she had anything of value, but it was possible that she had family that would pay a reward to her "heroic" savior.

After a few moments of contemplation, Sharee decided to get involved. She opened up the satchel hanging at her side and thought for a moment on which poison to use. In her bag, she had quite the array of alchemical concoctions, most of which were in concentrated vials. In the vials, she had two health potions, two stamina potions an invisibility potion, a dispel potion, two damage health poisons, and a paralysis poison. The other four, which took up the most space in her bag, were in flasks and were quite different from normal poisons. When agitated, the liquids inside would turn into a gas, poisoning anyone the gases came in contact with. Two of the flasks were filled with a poison of drain magicka, while the other two drained stamina. Since neither of the men looked like mages, Sharee grabbed one of the flasks filled with a stamina poison, then closed up the bag.

Sharee emerged from the bushes holding only the corked flask in her hand. She was armed, of course, but all of her weapons were sheathed at the moment. She made no effort to hide herself from the two men, instead walking out in the open towards them with a confident expression on her face.

"Well, well, what do we have here on this fine evening? It's quite unsusual for wealthy-looking gentlemen such as yourself to be wandering these woods at night. It can be quite...dangerous at times. In fact, I think it might be safer if you were to let me hold your coin, you know, for safe keeping. I'll take this Bosmer girl back to town as well, so you won't have to worry about that." Sharee said, taunting them with an arrogant grin. While her exterior was rather calm, she was ready to act on a moment's notice if they tried anything.

It took a moment for the tall man to notice Sharee as she appeared from no-where to address him with an arrogance that served to douse his momentarily good humour. He looked sternly at her for a moment to weigh her up then examined his surroundings for a better feel of the situation. He, unlike his friend, was clearly a thinker. His eyes traversed from the across the beach, inspecting the rocky outcrops and bushes to his left, the long, curving expanse of sand and to the steadily lapping tides of the sea. The sea's roar became the exclusive sound of the moment, punctuated only by the cry of a distant seagull as the slaver made his calculations. With his friend down on the ground having turned pale and muttering something about a dislocation the taller man looked momentarily disconcerted, figuring that between the bosmer and the argonian he was outnumbered in effective personnel. That being said he had the advantage of a mount and was better armed than the others as far as he could tell. He decided to take his chances. The man threw his tricorn down and straightened his expensive gold travellers jacket as he attempted to look imposing upon his midnight black horse.the horse snorted and broke forwards into a trot as the man kicked his heels into its flanks.

"I think it might've been safer if you'd held your tongue." He replied to Sharee in harsh tones drawing his long bladed sword. He continued forwards at a steady pace, confident his enemy wouldn't have the pace required to escape should she try to run.

As Ilta steadily walked up to the man behind the pillar, she noticed a clearly intoxicated man stumble clumsily into the shady figure. The Bosmer just shrugged, it was a tavern. Of course there would be the occasional drunkard about the place. She noticed his nimble fingers brush into the man's pockets and extracting an object with a movement so quick, Ilta was unsure whether her eyes were just playing tricks on her. But Ilta made no mistake, this man was a thief and was most likely not the tiniest bit tipsy, even in the slightest. Moonsugar was one thing, but theft was another and interfering in other people's businesses and playing the good girl was part of Ilta's job. So with a hand gesture far less subtle than the last she cast a potent stamina draining spell on the man, causing him to collapse the the floor in a dream and catch the attention of the nearby citizens. Ilta walked up to the cutpurse and picked up the object, which was unsurprisingly a coin purse. The Bosmer placed it on the Dunmer's table, intent on asking him about his... drink. "I do believe this belongs to you, sir," she stated, placing her hands on the table. "Moonsugar is a fine and rare substance I would say. Wouldn't you?"

"That's the wrong answer." Sharee retorted, throwing the flask in her hand straight at the man. The glass broke at the horse's feet, sending a cloud of green gas out in all directions. All of them were still close enough that they were engulfed in the poison, including the Bosmer. The poison wasn't lethal, but it would cause its victims to feel exhausted, reducing their overall stamina and making them sluggish in a fight. The horse reacted immediately to the sudden burst of gas, rearing up on its hind legs and throwing its rider to the ground. Sharee simply walked towards the group, her Argonian poison immunity allowing her to walk through the cloud of lingering gas without fear.

The once-confident man was now on the ground, struggling to bring himself to his feet as the energy was sapped out of him. Sharee drew her cutlass from its sheathe, calmly but threateningly approaching. The man grabbed a hold of his sword, brought himself up to his knees, and made a last ditch effort to slash at the Argonian, but Sharee was easily able to parry the sluggish attack and, with a flick of her wrist, twist the man's blade out of his hand. She unceremoniously finished him off by stabbing him through the chest, then turned her attention to the short, fat one a few feet away. He had been scrambling to ready his crossbow and load in another bolt, but now that his friend was dead on the ground and Sharee was practically right in front of him, he quickly reconsidered. He tossed down his weapon and waved both hands in the air in front of him.

"Wait, wait, I s'rrender!" He shouted as Sharee continued to approach him. She stopped in front of him, then looked down into his eyes.

"That's nice." She said before slitting his throat with quick slash from her cutlass. With all threats, if she could call them that, eliminated, she sheathed her blade and started going through the fat one's pockets to see if she cold find a coinpurse. For the moment, she didn't even bother to acknowledge the Bosmer, who was likely still feeling exhausted from the poison. It would wear off soon enough, so she decided just to wait until the girl spoke up herself to begin dealing with her.

Splattered dots of focus, super imposed fractals, and interweaving images: This best described Sarel’s vision for the first few moments of his time at the table. The Moonsugar was incredibly strong and had distilled very little in the boiling mead. It had a completely hallucinagenic effect, something Sarel hadn’t experienced since his years in High Rock. He smiled dully as he remembered those years of rebellious youth.

He was just beginning his serious training with Beilin and was still on the fence about his decision. He would sneak out of the apothecary's shop where they’d taken residence, and head to the nearest tavern. Usually he’d find some salacious Breton or convenient Khajiit who he’d whisper playfully to. Eventually he’d be whisked away to a party in a mystical cave, or in a river boat, or in an abandoned shack somewhere in the mountains. Sarel was a confident man then, living the life of a travelling adventurer essentially. He did not yet know the humility of the Order or the responsibility set upon him by Boethiah. He was unburdened and unblemished, the whole world yet unkown. Akavir was still just a distant legend separated by the whole continent and the span of history. Unlike now, where he and Akavir are merely seperated by the ocean of fear and a life bygone.

When he was bumped into, Sarel simply shuffled, pushed the young man away slightly, and grumbled, looking beyond the boy. He felt something physically different, but couldn’t quite place what it was. He sobered up quite quickly then as he checked his swords and equipment. His weapons were still on him and the things in his bag were still there…

Sarel watched the boy fall to the floor and would have laughed if he weren’t so confused. The coin purse crashing on the table solved everything rather quickly. Sarel placed his hand on his forehead and cast a quick incantation. There was no physical manifestation of it, but he did mutter the words quietly under his breath. The world was suddenly set right and Sarel felt like he was thrown from secundus straight down to Nirn. The sobering effect of the spell was instantly nauseating, but Sarel knew how to keep it down. After what felt like a year, Sarel lifted his head and looked at the Bosmer. She was quite beautiful, yet Sarel was instantly thrown off by something in her appearance, perhaps it was the after-effects. He picked the coinpurse up from the table and slid it back in his pocket.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “And…” he continued before raising his index finger. He felt around his torso, which was now clothed with a rather fine looking doublet, and then his bag. He reached into his boot and found the pipe he’d been searching for. He placed it on the table and then looked back up at the Bosmer, “Uh, please, join me,” he gestured to the seat next to him.

The Dunmer had a daunting look about him, his eyes a piercing crimson that appeared to peer straight through her. He was dressed somewhat adequately for someone committing illegal acts and that impressed Ilta to some degree. "It is not your first time drinking moonsugar, am I correct in thinking so?" Ilta asked rhetorically, not waiting to listen for an answer. She walked over to the chair that he was referring to and sat, eyes glued to the pipe that he had shown her. A fine instrument it was, there was no denying the quality just by sight and it had a slight inexplicably nostalgic effect over the Bosmer that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Your name, Dunmer, what is it?" Ilta asked, balancing the chair on it's back legs. She was rather unsure of how to address to this man as his age was hidden in the way that he carried himself. He looked quite young, but Ilta knew better than to judge a book by its cover. After all, looks were deceptive nowadays.

Groaning, James woke up, and looked around. It had appeared he had fallen on the floor, and probably knocked himself out. He put his hand where the purse of coins that he had stolen was, only to find that it wasn't there. James got up off the ground, and looked between everyone at the inn for his money. Just when he was going to give up, James walked towards the door. He looked around once more, and looked at the Dunmer that he had robbed, now with a female Bosmer talking with him. The Dunmer slipped a coin purse in his pocket, presumably the same one James had stolen and was now missing. Sighing, James walked to a wall of the inn, and he leaned against it. Now that he thought about it, he shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be stealing from other people. He looked toward the Dunmer and Bosmer, a sorry look on his face. He couldn't just walk up to them and say sorry, could he?

A smirk found it's way on to Tagorn's face as he watched a young Nord, still a boy even by the standards of man, grab a discarded jug from one of the abandoned tables of the inn and begin to stumble. It took him less than a moment to realize what the lad had planed, Tagorn had seen this act many times before even having put it on himself quite a few times. He watched intrigued as the boy "drunkenly" walk towards the exit only to stumble into a Dunmer who was obviously drinking some sort of concoction that was more than just the house mead, Tagorn could smell the added ingredients even from his seat in the shadows. He didn't see it but he knew the boy had managed to slip something out of the Dark elf's pocket, what he could not say. He was about to turn his attention away from the little thief when the young Bosmer he spotted before intervened. As the boy fell to the floor Tagorn had to chock back a laugh, he hadn't seen a pickpocketing go so poorly in years. He was more interested in his fellow Wood elf than before now, even considering her as his next mark. He studied her for a moment before he noticed the failed pickpocket took a place on the wall next to him, probably not even noticing Tagorn in the corner next to him. "Rough day eh boy?" He smirked as he addressed the boy.

James nearly jumped when he heard a voice from beside him, and he moved his hand against his dagger, hidden within his clothes. He hadn't realized that anyone was beside him, he turned around to face the person, and found that it was a Bosmer. "Rougher than you can imagine." James replied, sighing as he did so. lowering his hand. "Judging by the way you spoke, I presume you saw. One doesn't just say words like that to someone he hasn't met." James said, quietly. If he did see what James did, he'd have to put on a small show. "Please, sir, don't take me to the guards." James said in an innocent tone. "It's the only way I can make money after my parents..." His voice trailed off as he thought about his parents, about his old home, and about how life used to be before he lost it all.

"Save your tale of sorrow for the Divines kid. Besides I don't think the guards would care that a boy fell on his face." He smirked as he leaned back in his chair so he balanced on the two back legs of the chair. He looked over the kid for a moment, taking in as much detail as he could. "And for the love of Y'ffre try not to look so much like a wounded deer. If you get caught the least you could do is not sulk about your mistake." He said with a role of his eyes as he brought the chair back down to all fours. He sat forward in the chair, but just far enough that he didn't enter the direct light of the candles, and said in a lower tone so only he and the boy could hear his words. "Besides your technique was sloppy to say the least. For instance you only paid attention to him." He pointed over to the Dunmer the boy tried to rob, who was now sitting with the Bosmer. "Once you decided he was your target, that's a rookie mistake. You should always know your surroundings." He said with a slight smile on his shadowy face.

"Should we be heading back?" Zana asked looking over to Kayal. The two had fallen silent for a time and were enjoying the view before she spoke up. Kayal looked towards her and nodded before responding, "Yeah, I think we spent enough time wandering about as it is, maybe we could catch a drink or two at the inn." He offered. But before Zana could respond a shout sounded from the woods behind them. A few more followed shortly after and only a few words rung through, "Girlie...then Dont...hurt ya." turned on the rock so he was facing the tree, he glanced toward Zana with a questioning expression. Then a shriek rung out from within the trees obviously from a different person. Kayal and Zana locked eyes for a moment before Kayal spoke, "Lets go check it out." He said as he got up from his seat Zana followed quickly behind with he hands on the hilts of her short swords. As they walked into the forest toward the direction of the voices they began to hear more voices this time much closer and the loud unmistakable sound of horses feet hitting the ground as they rode. The two continued to move through the trees their curiosity only being piqued the more they heard.

They followed the sound of the horses which took them back in the direction of the trees. Then they heard the horses come to a stop and more voices spoke up. They seemed to be talking with someone. Then they heard more movement of a horse followed by glass cracking then a horse neighed loudly. The two were obviously close and began to move in a light jog until they reached the edge of the trees. As they did the scene was finally revealed before them, at the buttom of the hill near the rocks that met the sea a Bosmer girl lay, at the top of the hill one man lay on the ground dead while the other was on his knees surrendering himself to a threatening Argonian woman holding a cutlass in her hand, a faint green fog like substance held in the air but was rapidly dissipating. Kayal and Zana heard the man finish offering his surrender, the Argonian only replied with, "That's nice." Before slicing his throat. With this Kayal's hand dropped to his hilt and he stepped out from the trees.

"Whats going on here?" He questioned, his tone was not one of hostility but instead much more relaxed. Kayal wore all of his gear on him, his bow was on his back and his sword at his hip, he wore his chain shirt over his usual clothes and then a coat over his chain shirt. His coat was unbuttoned revealing his under clothing, the cloak continued down almost to his knees in the back and on the sides while in the front it went little past his hips before curving and going down almost to his knees. The cloak was white with black accents, his undershirt was white and his pants are a dark brown. His knife was sheathed on his shoulder and could easily be covered by his coat but for the time being it's hilt was in plain sight. His left hand rested on the hilt of his sword but for the most part his stance was none threatening.

While Kayal approached Zana remained back staying in the trees and out of sight encase something bad went down she could rush in and surprise the Argonian. Both of her hands clutched the hilts of her swords as she remained crouched in the trees ready for for something bad to happen.This had been their usual tactic for many situations, Kayal would always remain in the front and distract them while she would wait to surprise them or should they have a caravan she would be robbing them blind, but this was no robbery so she remained hidden waiting for the Argonian to answer.

Sharee searched the fat man's body until he found his bag, hoping there was something inside to make her efforts worth it. There were a few sheets of parchment and other mundane items scattered about in the bag, but there was a small likely looking pouch inside. She opened the coinpurse excitedly, but then quickly turned to cursing to herself when she saw that there were less than ten coins inside. The man's clothes were more valuable than that, and if the other one didn't have anything of value on him as well, he would probably end up taking them, along with one of the horses, and selling them off.

Sharee was just finishing up searching the fat man when heard faint rustling in the trees behind her. She turned around just before a Breton man emerged from the forest, asking what she was doing. He was armed, though he kept his weapons sheathed. For a moment, she glared at him annoyed, as she really didn't want to have to deal with anyone coming along and trying to claim what little loot she had. Or even worse, a self-righteous hero who jumped to conclusions and mistook her for a theiving murderer. She was a theiving murderer, but he would have no way of knowing that.

"Just a little righteous justice. Everything is taken care of here, unless you're about to tell me that you are friends with these two slavers. If that is the case, I should probably get to killing you. Otherwise, keep your hands off the loot until I'm done." Sharee responded, not taking her eyes off of him. As always, she was ready to react in an instant.