[h2]Fighter's Guild[/h2]

Getting into the city proper was once again an interesting experience. That a minotaur [i]wanted[/i] to enter and had identification of any sort was staggering, yet it still had the guards clutching their weapons just in case. Yet with the fame of the Arena still percolating to the major trade hubs—and two knights, no matter the foreignness of their order, to both vouch for and keep an eye on the obvious threat—there was surprisingly little pain when it came to entering the city.

Despite Hammerfell's separation from Imperial institutions, along with their own decline over the Fourth Era, the Fighter's Guild had managed to weather the change, transitioning into a strictly local institution. The Alik'r hadn't really gotten [i]safer[/i] over the years, especially with the coastline being of even more vital interest, and there were always going to be problems with the wildlife anywhere in Tamriel. And sure enough, the local branch was as bustling as would be expected from the provincial headquarters.

Not that the guildmaster was available to meet with them; that was delegated to a sharp-looking Redguard woman whose hands never seemed to stray far from her swords. Given the disparity in armour and strength between herself and the arriving party, it seemed only fair.

"So… what, you all want to join up at once? We're not in the business of contracting our jobs out."

[hr]

[h2]Market[/h2]

Getting through the gates for the [i]wizards,[/i] on the other hand, took a bit longer. On the one hand, there was the general distrust of mages, but even more than that was the obligatory "can we make sure you're [i]not[/i] a Thalmor spy?" directed towards Keirthanil. Or maybe it was just general bickering dragging it out.

Nonetheless, they, too, were allowed in, free to roam the city. As expected, magical services were on the limited side. Apothecaries were plentiful, nobody was going to deny the utility of a good remedy, but the more overtly arcane was limited to a single enchanter squeezed next to a much busier smithy, and – down in the market by the docks – a bored-looking Argonian flicking through a worn book. At least, they were [i]probably[/i] offering magical services, between the faded robes, the awning covering another chair, and the paper-strewn desk that was resolutely [i]not[/i] blowing away in the sea breeze.