(collab between idlehands and Lo Pellegrino) The stench of blood and spilled innards clung in the nose of Faruq. Dead men and beast lay scattered about the road with a few unfortunately too wounded to expect to see more than the next few moments. A priest might stop and kneel beside each of them, might say a prayer or two to comfort the dying and send off the dead properly. Then again, if Faruq wore the hood and robes of Arkay he shan't be able to reflect upon the fallen. He whispered something for the princes, the innocents, the guards, and even the beasts until Maulakanth and Cyrendil glanced his way. Faruq disregarded the looks. Once Maulakanth was settled within the stable Faruq wandered briefly. Despite taking great care with his left arm, jostling it about left him wincing. He knew the promise of a shoulder kissed by an arrow or of being run through by a dagger, but his armour spared him this until now. Indeed his discomfort did not come from the broken skin about his wrist and hand, from which bright red blood slowly dripped, instead he was concerned about the deeply felt throbbing that ran up his arm. Faruq squat against a nearby shack beside a slumped body and straightened the arm against his calf. He glanced at the body dressed in dark fur and a white silk tunic before tearing off a long strip. Biting down, Faruq wrapped the cloth around the open wounds, tight enough to add pressure as well as make him feel a fool for removing his armour. It was a slow work and he knew only enough to stop the bleeding until someone could afford to offer proper care. Not quite satisfied with the work and arm still throbbing, Faruq observed the corpse once more. It's head was hidden behind the furs and the belt at its waist visible. Well, would be visible if not for the obscene number of skins. Faruq shook his head and loosed a skin from the corpse's belt then took a swig. The taste of wine was welcomed, if not unexpected. He closed the skin clumsily with one hand before tying it to his own belt as well as a couple more from the corpse. [color=bc8dbf]"Much appreciated,"[/color] Faruq sighed, rising to his feet and returning to the stables. --- Gaela slipped away from the dwindling battle and found Fiona where Finch had led her back to the tavern. Laying the warrior on one of the tables, she went to work using her restoration magic and a knife to dig out the arrow head. As much care as she took, there was still pain involved and a few times she winced in empathy as she withdrew the broad barbed piece of iron. Most of her magicka was drained by the time she was done with Fiona but the woman was mobile and the wound no longer life threatening. Her guts were saved but they would be tender and she warned the woman not to indulge in alcohol as it might hurt her healing internally. Their escape was a whirl, the orc was tossed in a wagon like a very large sack of cabbages and she could see the bolt protruding from his torso. Gaela hiked up her robe and stepped on the side of the wagon, heaving herself into it as she dropped beside the wounded Maulakanth. While her own mount would have been nice, she was not going to add horse thief to her already growing list of crimes. Crossing her legs, she leaned over and studied the wound. She was still drained so she reached for her belt, choosing a potion. Knocking it back, she swallowed the thick liquid and shuddered, feeling the power course through her as her magicka energy flooded back at a quicker rate. Flexing her fingers she set about to work on the wound. The jostling wagon was less than ideal but the bolt had to be removed and the restoration magic applied to start binding the damage done. He would still be sore and hopefully would think twice before raging into a battle barechested against archers. The orc was restless and sweating, Gaela counted it as his reaction to being wounded. Shock must have set in and it was good that she decided to hitch a ride in the wagon or he likely would have been dead before they reached their destination. When they stopped at the cottage, the healer was wary about Brynn’s intentions. He was a hard man with eyes that reminded her of a slaughterfish. Cold and searching for prey, now they had found it. Concerned with the fate of the family, Gaela clambered out of the wagon, her pouches and bags banging around her ample hips. Dropping to the ground with a huff, she brushed her hands down her robe and watched with some concern as Brynn approached the cottage. Biting the inside of her lip, she furrowed her brow and sent a quick plea to Mara for the safety of the peasant family. Glancing aside, she spotted the dark skinned warrior holding his arm gingerly and she noted the makeshift bandages. Turning her attention to Faruq, moving towards him as there was little she could do about Brynn’s negotiating tactics, “Is that a new fashion trend or did you need my help?” she pointed, her grey-blue eyes scanning over him as she indicated the various ragged strips of silk that now bedecked his body. The redguard guided his horse closer to the wagon and attempted to tie the reins with one hand. Faruq replied, eyes still on the work,[color=bc8dbf] “I figure it best to save witty retorts until after my arm’s a little less battered, aye?”[/color] His expression softened when the reins cooperated. Faruq then received Gaela with a proper smile. [color=bc8dbf]“I must admit, the silk makes for a bit of flare though.”[/color] Faruq glanced toward the cottage. The apparently renown bandit stood with shoulders squared and a mean expression visible even from behind. He saw the concern on Gaela’s face as he raised his left arm to her. Out of kindness, or perhaps self-preservation, Faruq continued, [color=bc8dbf]“He wouldn’t tell us to look mean if he intended harm. This Bloody Brynn doesn’t seem to me the average roughian. Asks too much of others, of our feelings I mean. I know not his tales nor these lands. I could be wrong. Even if I was wrong, though, those people are protected. Broken arm or no, I swore an oath.”[/color] Eying her expression, Faruq changed topics. Her fingers felt cold on the tender skin and despite his best efforts he winced. [color=bc8dbf]“Never broken an arm before. Then again, I’ve never stripped my armour in an unknown tavern and been attacked by centaurs either. They really should have signs for that sort of thing. Wouldn’t you say?”[/color] Gaela unwound the silk scraps and examined the break, glancing up at him as he spoke. “Brynn will do as he will. If by average ruffian you mean he’s not a mindless thug, you’re right. As much as I know from my travels is that he was a leader of bandits, probably one of the few among us that is a true criminal. I trust he will limit his bloodshed after what occurred at the tavern, I hope it is a lesson to all of us that we need to keep a lower profile rather than call the guards down on our collective heads.” [color=bc8dbf]“A proper leader of bandits, is that so?”[/color] Faruq side eyed the Breton and sighed. She raised an eyebrow at him, smiling slightly, “Signs are everywhere, it takes someone to interpret them though,” [color=bc8dbf]“Fiona killed a fellow in cold blood not long ago. He might of been a raper or a man made fool by drink -- murder, regardless. I saw the sneak-thief stand to a centaur to aid folks he barely knew. And he breaks bread among the most craven lots in Mundus.”[/color] He faced each of them as he said their names, then paused a moment. [color=bc8dbf]“To hear Brynn is truly the kind of man villages might send me to handle, yet also the most vocal among us for avoiding conflict... High Rock is too confusing a land.”[/color] “I’ll agree Fiona should not have started that fight. Kirella and I are capable of defending ourselves,” Gaela replied without looking up from her task, “But that man’s death was self defense. I don’t know where you were in the tavern but where I was, he was trying to strangle her. I would not call that murder, unless you see it unfair he did not try to kill her with a sword. Not to mention she saved a girl’s life at nearly the cost of her own against the centaurs, the same the beggar stood against. The same we all stood against. Now Brynn sees what I see, that avoiding conflict is best when we’re trying not to be noticed. Though his insults against that local man were ill timed and some of his actions were questionable if he truly wished to not get into a fight.” The healer’s hands began to glow as her fingers stroked along the muscles of his arm, the restoration magic straightening and knitting bone together. “A lucky break, it was clean and it takes a lot less power to heal. It will still be a bit sore but that is normal.” Removing her hands from his arm, she asked, “Test your arm, how does it feel?” Faruq looked to his Gaela then his arm. His left hand tingled like a thousand needles stuck into his flesh. Beneath the skin, he felt a flood of warmth from his shoulder down to his hand. He grasped the middle of his left forearm, fingers dancing as he tested their dexterity, and squeezed where streaks of cut flesh had mended. Fresh scars coiled around his left forearm over a part of his arm that felt cold to the touch and without feeling. He wondered about the numbness, then lifted his satchel. [color=bc8dbf]“Whole again. If only my mentor had spent time in the School of Restoration, I imagine such a skill would serve anyone quite well,”[/color] Faruq replied, an honest smile spread across his face. [color=bc8dbf]“I hope at the next tavern you allow me to buy you a drink in thanks.”[/color] “Restoration is an often overlooked school,” Gaela nodded, then returned his smile, “Make it one of Camlorn’s famous pork sausages and some fresh bread, I’ll be more grateful.” --- [color=bc8dbf]“No idea about this Sev’Ahmet, but we all might if we linger here to wonder,”[/color] Faruq replied to the grinning Cedric. The breton was observing a poster with a portrait and bounty, which upon seeing for himself, stirred memories. [color=bc8dbf]“Ah, the khajit. You know my mentor once told me of two khajiit merchants leading a band of dunmeri mercenaries into a forgotten city of ice. For those unfamiliar, the khajiit hail from a land far warmer and more lush, perhaps like Hammerfell with more greenery. To convince not one -- but two khajit to leave the warm sands for such a icy and unwelcoming place, well, the reward must be great. Say,”[/color] Faruq leaned closer to the portrait from his horse. [color=bc8dbf]“Wouldn’t it be a laugh if this Knife knew one of the merchants?”[/color] He underscored the suggestion with a hearty chuckle. The inn was a welcomed respite from the long road to Camlorn. Faruq sat the table near Gaela, all of his plate kept on and a helmet nearby with the Gaptooth Grin still fresh in mind. He listened to the suggestions of bribery, of scouting, and even of forgery. He paid Gaela a long glance, her remarks about few criminals among in his mind, and smiled. [color=bc8dbf]“I suggest we use the time permitted. Take our time to scout the keep, watch the guards to find holes or discover those walking an unsavory path. We’ve a talented sneak-thief capable of pinching a crate of wine amidst a dozen guards, imagine the secrets he’d unearth given two nights,”[/color] Faruq looked to Finch and nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eye. [color=bc8dbf]“We can send our mages to the keep with a forged note with either Cyrendil or myself as their guard as well. If they buy it, we’ll get a night or two for hospitality’s sake at least. The rest might make camp or stay here. After a night or two we can converge with what we’ve learned, or if things go poorly, Brynn, Cedric, and Mauly can storm the keep.”[/color] Faruq drank from his flagon then scanned the group. [color=bc8dbf]“Gaela, what do you think?”[/color] Gaela paused, her mouth half full of sausage when he asked her opinions. Swallowing hard, she wiped the grease from her mouth and took a deep breath, “Well...I think using Finch to scout is a good idea, if he agrees to it. I can even help him in that case. As for the note, we must be careful. Who among us is such a talented forger that a copy of an archmage’s handwriting will not go unnoticed. High Rock is full of mages and any of them could have read scrolls or other works by the master of Winterhold. It’s a risk, because that would immediately arouse suspicion and I am sure the story of the great battle of the Gaptooth Grin has found it’s way here.” Pulling apart a piece of bread, she looked towards the High Elf that sat alone in his tarnished armor, “Cyrendil could walk right in, without any trickery. He’s a Vigilant of Stendarr, all he would need to do was state he was doing an investigation. Any noble would allow him access, I believe. Lest they be accused of harboring necromancers or some other unsavory lot. And who is to say that Cyrendil is alone? I believe a couple here could pass as Vigilants, [i]if[/i] they kept their mouths closed and looked serious. Fiona, you, even Kirella...as long as she does not summon one of her atronachs.” She grinned at the other mage and shrugged, “Even myself, I know enough about conjuring to sound like I know what I’m looking for.” Warming to the idea, she leaned forward, her elbows on the table, “While the Lord is busy convincing Cyrendil that there are no Daedra in the cellar, we can split up and search the place, including down in the dungeon where bad things happen. The rest can disguise themselves as local peasants or laborers and provide cover or...whatever else is needed.” Popping a bit of bread in her mouth, she chewed happily as she sounded out her idea. It was not something she had thought out but it seemed a simple and obvious solution, or at least a partial one.