The journey to Sentinel is understandably tedious; you travel first by carriage down the length of the Gold Road and across the breadth of Cyrodiil, then by boat from Anvil to the Iliac Bay itself. Yet, even with the uneasy watch against the Thalmor, the travel through coastal waters is by far preferable to stomping across the breadth of the Alik'r, and a far better excuse besides for why you all happen to arrive at the same time as the Empress's diplomat.

Your first days in Sentinel are busy, your explicit orders to buy up somewhere you can more permanently stay. The idea, after all, is that you'll come across as immigrants rather than travellers… as strange a group as you are.

What your initial funding eventually secured you is a rather nice two-floor building, with the caveat of being outside the city walls when some invading force or other comes knocking… and as the fate of the former refugee district in the same area shows, if anything does happen, your current residence is unlikely to survive. It also does little to cool the omnipresent heat of the area, and the sea breeze can only do so much.

That leaves two immediate problems: one, establishing a proper cover for your presence in the area. The willingness and ability to pay out got you this foothold, but with how distinctive a group you are—particularly the wizards, even more than the unexpected minotaur—it's only a matter of time before the authorities grow concerned about what you're doing. More importantly…

The small pile of coins sitting on the table paints a dim picture. It's enough to get by for another week or two, but it seems that the Empress either has no means or no willingness to send more… and you still need to eat, too.

I'm sure we could have found a nice ruin to stay in. For free. And it woudn't be nearly this hot.

Runehorn was, as ever, maintaining the weapons and armor of those who requested it. At the moment, he was polishing his elven helm. A quick snort to help with the polishing, and he was back at it.

Should see about an enchanting table or forge or something. Putting up some walls, too. Maybe the wizards can do something about that.

Runehorn, of course, didn't talk much. The thick Reachman's accent was embarassing. But for now, his best bets for getting the party some funding were either his marketable skills... or finding some fighting pit to toss himself into again. Turning a page in the book he was reading- something or other about Horker biology, half the words went over his head- he continued his work.

Colcette

---

Hammerfell, huh.

She had only ever really been through in passing on her way to the Imperial City. Honestly, she kind of hated it. The heat, the sand. It was rough and course, and got absolutely everywhere. It definitely wasn't good for maintaining weapons or her armor, that was for sure. Not that she minded, really. The Empress, in all her resplendently questionable authority had sent them here, and so here she was along with her...misfit group of allies.

Two elves, a Minotaur, and someone she was pretty sure was from that mysterious place known as Akavir. Well, as long as they were loyal to the Empire, especially the elves, she had no grievances with them.

Their first order of business should be to establish a good cover identity and do something about their money problem.

"Alright, so," Colcette started counting the coins on the table. "We need money and a cohesive story for ourselves. I don't know about you mages, but I'm probably going to find some...fighters guild or similar organization here in Hammerfell, if one exists."

What an abominable situation she'd found herself in. Ripped from her research to put up with people she didn't much care for or about, and having to go to forsaken Hammerfell on top of it. But this was the price Rela paid in exchange for being able to take advantage of the renewed Empire's magical facilities and resources. She'd just been hoping for less personally arduous ways of repaying the debt. Like setting Argonians or Altmer or Argonians or Nords or Argonians or Khajit or Nords or Argonians or Argonians on fire. Bretons would have been on the list as well, but they didn't burn as easily. A shame.

And everything in this Azura-damned desert was so dry. Actual temperature was one thing, considering the presence of Red Mountain in her homeland, but the lack of humidity would have been ruinous on her skin had Rela not taken measures to keep herself so magically well-preserved. But she could still feel it.

As of current, she sat at the table the Empress's loyal Blades were all gathered around, lounging back as she continued to scribe a spell scroll for later use. One of the...meat shields was the polite term, began to speak, and seemed to think she could command. So long as the bint didn't prove herself incompetent, Rela wasn't about to gainsay her. After all, leading these people would be far, far too much effort on her end.

"Funds ought to be easy to come by once we have acceptable targets to take from." She remarked, inscribing a few more runes into the vellum with magicka-infused ink. "As for a cohesive story, we are refugees and exiles, clearly. Considering the makeup of our group, any attempt at obfuscation or creation of a narrative will be blown apart with one glance. I evidently missed the dissolution of the Mage's Guild some centuries ago, may they all rot in Oblivion, but I suppose I can say I'm here to satisfy...oh, some personal grudge. Yes, something petty and vengeful ought to do. It is what an educated guess would expect, and it carries the bonus of being something I would undertake given sufficient reason to."

---

"Yes, if you wish to sell the strength of your body to any who need a thug or desire mere entertainment, I doubt any of us have the desire to stop you. Just so long as you remember that we aren't supposed to make ourselves too noticeable as of yet." He glanced over at their minotaur, and then once at Rela, before he snorted. "Too much more, rather. I'm sure I'll have to keep an eye on my own back the entire time we're here."

While Sentinel was far more lush than it had been in prior centuries, the Alik'r desert shrinking more and more away from it, it was still the capital of the kingdom, and the backwards warriors who wandered within the desert proper still would make their way in and out of the city on a regular basis. While all of Hammerfell had suffered in the conflicts with the Aldmeri dominion, the desert dwellers maintained the greatest chip on their shoulders, it seemed like. Any Altmer was suspect; being one of upper class background, and a mage at that, only made one more of a threat in their eyes.

It was surprisingly intelligent, for one of the races of mankind.

Meanwhile, he was left sharing a glorified doss-house outside the city walls, lacking his library, lacking the majority of his equipment, sweltering in the heat that suffused the region. While the true desert may have been further inland, the coasts were rapidly coming to resemble swamp or jungle territory, and the city proper was not avoiding that fate for long.

Hot and humid, when the wind blew from the sea; hot and dry when it blew from inland. Uncomfortable either direction.

Where the minotaur shined his helmet, and the Telvanni girl contented herself with writing scrolls, Keirthanil was grinding ingredients together for some potions as they all sat. Flax seeds, stinkhorn caps, and blackberries. Nothing inspiring, especially given that he'd not had the time to piece together any of the equipment he'd unfortunately had to leave behind when he was ran out of the Summerset Isles. A mortar and pestle, glass bottles, a few ingredients...

And that was all.

Ah, what a cursed life...

He had no clue what the Dragonguard or the Vigilant intended to do; perhaps they would join the other knightly-sort in finding whatever existed akin to the fighters' guild. Lacking any knowledge of who they could most easily take funds from, then, the red-head at least had the right idea in pursuing some sort of service providing. "I suppose I'll make a trip to the market when I have the chance. We'll all need materials before too long, and alchemists, enchanters, and spell-scribers are always easy niches to compete in. I doubt they've many here that could put up much challenge for either myself or the Telvanni, given neither the Synod nor the College of Whispers have much presence here. Hedge mages can never put up much of a fight against those with a real education."

He looked back at Rela, nearly done with another scroll. "Revenge quests need funds as well, after all, and selling scrolls for those unintelligent enough to actually learn is an easy way to make a profit."

It wasn't the first time Verius had been to Hammerfell. Aside from all the times he had to pass through on the way to High Rock, there was a posting at Wind Scour Temple for a few months, an undercover assignment in the Syffim for a few years, a failed diplomatic expedition to Craglorn one time. He learned a few important things from that last one- Lamias do not see Tsaesci as kin, red-on-black bands do not indicate a lack of venom, and many of the same martial techniques for fighting dragons also applied to them.

None of that really mattered now- over a thousand years had passed and the Hammerfell he once knew was not quite the Hammerfell of today. For himself, blending in should be as simple as singing up in the local fighter or mercenary guild, but this group was unusual enough that sooner or later people will notice their unusual composition. Fortunately, there were a few things in their favor. For one, Sentinel was a Forebear port town, meaning that it was normal for all manner of foreign folk to come through here, and the locals. Second, "Getting away from the Thalmor" ought to be a pretty common motivation for coming to Sentinel.

During the boat ride to Sentinel, Verius had plenty of time to collect his thoughts and take notes about the rest of the Empress' retinue. The Chantry knight seemed straightforward enough- a Breton warrior of Akatosh, wanting to serve the Dragon God in a more direct way than whatever politicking was happening in High Rock. The Vigilant was a devotee of Stendarr, belonging to a younger religious order dedicated to combating Daedra. For those two, nobody would find it unusual for them to be in Sentinel.

The Altmer mage was pretty typical for his kind, and would probably have ended up in the Thalmor had the current organization not been so extreme in its dogma and overzealous in purging dissidents. He might turn some heads and inspire some distrust, but there were enough Altmer that were on the Thalmor's bad side, and from what he had gathered while getting up to speed on the Fourth Era, Sentinel had already been the site of a major incident of the Thalmor purging Altmer dissidents. If the Blades and Empress trusted him, so too would Verius. Regarding the Dunmer, Verius knew of the Telvanni and their unapologetic "might makes right" policy all too well. Fortunately, with Sentinel on the opposite end of Skyrim from Morrowind, it was unlikely that anyone would pinpoint her as a Telvanni. As long as those two mages weren't caught raising the dead or trafficking with Daedra, they ought to be able to stay under the radar.

Lastly was the Minotaur. According to some of the myths and legends of Cyrodiil, they were believed by some to be descended from Alessia and Morihaus. Whatever the truth was, they were also considered to be bestial brutes that existed entirely outside of civilized society. Then again, the same things were considered of Orcs until Potentate Savirien-Chorak brought them into the Empire. The local authorities could probably be permitted to allow him if they assumed him to be a pet or trained beast, but it might be a good idea to not have him wandering the city.

Currently, Verius was at the table, looking over a map of this corner of Hammerfell.

"I concur, Fighters Guild, or whatever passes for a mercenary guild here, would be a good start," he replied to Colcette, looking up from his map. "Solve problems, get paid, and no unnecessary questions need to be asked. In the meantime, if anyone asks, I'm nothing more than an ex-Legion soldier-of-fortune."

---

Ugh, the weather here---

I haven't been anywhere so utterly hot and dry before. I've certainly experienced plenty of undesirable conditions, but when it comes to the weather this is definitely an entirely new and an entirely displeasing experience. However, I'm not about to let it stop me from carrying out the duty I have received.

What kind of Follower of Stendarr could I possibly be, if I was dissuaded by unpleasant weather?

---Albeit I still want to complain about it, just a little.

What a strange group this is.

It's hardly common to see a minotaur in a situation like this. I can't even say I'm entirely pleased by it, but if he genuinely wishes to serve and do good then it's difficult to argue with him regardless of his bestial looks. No matter the Empress's eccentricities, I doubt she would have allowed such a being into her service without certainty in his capabilities and his willingness to serve.

A fellow knight, though her origins differ from my own, is a welcome sight to say the least. I hope she isn't foolish, but at least I have some certainty in the idea that she is willing to pursue a just cause. The idea of approaching the Fighter's Guild, or something similar, is quite clearly the best way forward, at least.

"I think it's quite difficult to suggest a better option then pursuing the local fighter's guild, or equivalent thereof," I begin, leaning forward, "Not only can we earn some money---"

Why do we need to have so little in the first place? Hmph.

"---But we can also assist the locals with potential threats. Honestly, you'd have to be a fool to think otherwise."

I do not approve of either of the elves' demeanors, though if I had to select one who stood out to me as less pleasant it would be the Dunmer.

At the very least, her attitude does suit her proposed cover story.

The Dragonguard seems to be an honorable fellow, at least.

Finished with his own arms and armor, Brulhaus cleared his throat. Granted, it sounded like a rumbling bull, but he DID look sheepish after the fact. The looks suggested that he should probably come out and say it. While he'd gotten by on gestures and body language on the way here, it looked like it was finally time to speak. And so, in an incomprehensible reachman's accent, he piped up:

"Anyain else want me tae gie thar geur a ance ower?"

Getting into the city proper was once again an interesting experience. That a minotaur wanted 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 safer 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."

---

Getting through the gates for the wizards, 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 not 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 probably offering magical services, between the faded robes, the awning covering another chair, and the paper-strewn desk that was resolutely not blowing away in the sea breeze.

Colcette

---

Why did she expect anything but thinly veiled insults, a haughty attitude, and rudeness from an elf? She had broached the subject because they all needed to be aware of what everyone else was saying their background was. If they all just started saying random things without any cohesion at all, then their story would fall apart. At least Lady Lisette and Sir Verius seemed to have a more level head about things. But she held her tongue, aside from an audible tsk of annoyance at the elves responses. She did however tell Brulhaus that he could inspect her weapons and armor later, but for now she really wanted to get a move on making some coin.

At least getting into the city proper was easy enough.

"That...is why we're here, yes." Colcette responded to the Redguard. "We have good sword arms and a desire to solve problems. If you require a show of skill of some sort I am more than happy to provide and I'm sure my friends here would be so as well."

The Fighters Guild has certainly changed, Verius silently assessed. It wasn't really a surprise, considering how long the guild had existed. Any traces of its origin as an organization envisioned, approved, and staffed by Akaviri would have faded in the millennium-and-a-half since its inception. However, it thus far appeared to have retained its original purpose or providing reputable swords-for-hire for dealing with small-scale problems.

Since Hammerfell was no longer part of the Empire, this local chapter would no longer be constrained by its guild charter. However, they would probably still be operating under Hammerfell's laws if they wished to remain welcome in the province.

Technically speaking, Verius had already joined the Fighters Guild back in the Second Era but there was no possible way that they'd actually believe that he was an Akaviri from the Second Era.

"You need not worry, we're not outside contractors," he chimed in. "As my friend said, we all wish to join the guild, assuming there's work to be had."

Brulhaus nodded as he handed one of the Arena posters promoting one of his fights to the fighter's guild representative. It showed him alongside a Breton mage fighting against Daedra- the artist hadn't seen anything nastier than a Clannfear so that had been his basis for the hulking monstrosity. Alongside this, he presented a newly made iron helm, as well as a list of skills and references... granted, most of them were fighters or staff at the Arena. But it WAS a valiant attempt at a resume, written in a sharp hand.

"Yer hirin' the best, lass."

What a miserable little man-hovel. The locals' suspicion of outsiders would have been laudable if their accusations weren't so absurd. Borderline Nordic, really. The Altmer traveling with a Dunmer, a Thalmor?? Perish the thought.

"Don't be ridiculous." Rela couldn't help but snap at the one guard in particular that made that accusation. "Dunmer do not kneel and scrape before the Thalmor wretches like those ridiculous, savage Bosmer do. Obviously, he isn't one."

Another suggested they were eloping, and she damn near lit that one on fire. Really, she should have. The next generation of Redguards would be smarter without that particular guard muddying the waters. Still, Rela could already hear the insufferable mewling from everyone involved should she go about that. So, with enough restraint that she deserved an award for her mercy, Rela settled for a sneer and a glare that suggested the other person was utterly braindead.

And so they entered the market. The available magical services were identified rather quickly, and Rela practically shoved her Altmer companion in the Argonian's direction.

"You go deal with the lizard." She hissed towards Keirthanil, before turning in the opposite direction. "I cannot be bothered to muster up the will necessary to treat that thing like an equal."

"I'm not going to talk with him, Telvanni girl. I'm going to talk at him with veiled insults as to the quality of his education and his work until he gets angry, and then you can subdue him to your heart's content. Assuming you still have one of those."

"...A fair point. Very well, then. And don't be absurd. My heart exists. It simply isn't doing much of anything."

---

"I don't know that anyone would ever accuse a Dunmer of having an active heart, yes," Keirthanil replied drily, waving Rela off as he continued along towards the Argonian. "Keep your ears open, and find me some tools. A good alembic, at the very least." He sauntered nonchalantly up towards where the supposed-mage sat, a studiously disinterested eye picking up what details he could of the book or the papers strewn about at a glance.

The lizard was in for a possibly terrible day; more than anything else, he was the simplest target, whether skilled or not. Edging out the other alchemists would take time and materials, regardless of any shows of comparative skill that could be arranged. The enchanter, regardless of their ability, would be harder to deal with given that they had an evidently profitable partnership with the smith next to them. Breaking up a business relationship like that was not the easiest task.

Likely, even, for the small group of Blades to sustain a loss if they weren't careful about it, and their business wasn't the sort that could afford such losses up front in the hopes of long-term gain.

"Slow day? Sometimes it seems that these Redguards are as bad as Nords when it comes to appreciating any clever craft that they can't eat, drink, or swing around." He glanced down at the desk, much more openly this time. "Do they at least have a decent library here? I find the utility of Camilonwe's works is rather limited without a wider breadth against which to cross-reference—beyond, even, what he himself suggested."

The woman lets out a chuckle when Brulhaus presents the flyer, shaking her head. “We all recognised you. I was even in the Arena for that last fight.

“But that is the problem that the Guild finds itself in,” she almost immediately sobers up, “While it is reassuring that you wish to join, let me be blunt: all of you, as a whole, are too good. Brulhaus is an Arena grand champion. Even now, High Rock's knights are a familiar enough sight we can spot a questing squire a mile off, and you,” at this she looked at Colcette, “Clearly aren't. I might not recognise what orders the other two belong to, but neither of you hold yourselves like someone playing dress-up on Daddy's Septim.”

She folds her arms and sighs, “Normally, anyone who joins would at least spend some time doing the simple jobs until we could trust them to take on something more important, or sensitive. Sending any of you to do pest control would be an insult, but we can't trust you not to undercut us if left independent.”

A young man, hovering by the door until this point, comes through with a sheaf of paper. “So, the guildmaster has tasked me with accompanying you on your first jobs. We've had a request for an expedition lined up for a Dwemer ruin out in the Alik'r for a while, and you might be the free muscle we need to embark.”

---

The Argonian looks up, surprise across… his face? Ah, seems like a "his", although it can be hard to tell with them. Still, he recovers quickly, and gives a half-hearted shrug. “If there was a good library, business would be better, no? More appreciation for the arcane. And less trouble when you read something of actual worth.”

The sharp teeth of a lizard's smile is never a particularly friendly thing. “The guards don't like it if they think you might summon daedra in the market. Now, what can I do for you?”

Colcette

---

"Ahahaha..." Colcette responded with a nervous laughter. Well, she supposed a high ranking member of such an organization would be that perceptive. Thankfully at least, she was not entirely opposed to it. The following offer wasn't bad, either. A dwemer ruin, huh? She had never been in one before. "Let me be clear miss, as a follower of Akatosh who spent her time growing up around clergy doing menial chores for free is not something I am opposed too, if it helps people...but thank you for the understanding." She'd look over to the young man and the paper presented, studying it. "Never been in a Dwemer ruin before. A little exciting to think about. Either of you have complaints?" She'd ask her two companions.

Evidently the locals had no difficulty recognizing the four of them for the capable warriors that they were. Thankfully, they also came to the conclusion that it'd be better to have Verius and his companions as members rather than competitors.

Joining the guild would not only allow them to support themselves, it also would also afford them a lower profile than if they were gallivanting all over Hammerfell while independent and unaligned. It was unclear as to how much work the guild would be able to offer in the long term, but as long as they could put food on the table and avoid drawing too much attention to themselves, their current objectives would be met

"Dwemer ruin? I've been in one or two before, we can handle that," Verius replied to the knight. Dwemer ruins were dangerous, but fairly consistent in the dangers that they posed. After all, it wasn't like the ruins had changed much since their masters disappeared.

Brulhaus stroked his chin, weighing his options. Or so it seemed. The minotaur was actually positively giddy at the prospect of exploring a Dwemer ruin. He'd seen the old forts of Cyrodiil, as well as the Ayleid ruins. So an entirely new style of architecture and craftsmanship would likely serve to teach him quite a lot. Plus, the dwarven metal had taken well to forging. Yes, he figured this would be an excellent use of his time.

"I suppose it could be arranged."

I guess I'm not particularly surprised by their explanation of the situation. It's not unexpected that we'd be seen as overqualified for basic duties.

We are.

And I don't think I'd particularly approve of being sent to handle anything less then serious threats to innocent people, rather then pest control or something of a similar nature.

So, their logic, as frustrating as it is, spares us from a far more frustrating outcome, and I am sure my partners agree. At least, provided they're not entirely brainless.

"There were quite a few Dwemer ruins where I come from, and wicked-hearted louts were fond of lurking within them," I respond, "I have no issue with the task."

@Rune_Alchemist@Crimson Paladin

---

Keirthanil retained his pleasant disposition even as the Argonian...smiled at him.

He had no real clue what its gender was. He knew from studies and observations that certain members of female portion of the species had pseudo-breasts, a rare biological skeuomorphic adaptation to help them fit in with the other intelligent, bipedal races of Tamriel, as dictated by the Hist. This one lacked such projections, but that didn't necessarily mean that it wasn't female; the Altmer had long learned to assume male and correct himself if necessary, as he had already done.

At least the voice seemed more likely to be masculine, a point of obvious familiarity he could rely on to facilitate his intentional hiding of his disgust at the lizard's expression.

"Guards, like most men, hold distaste for anything they don't understand. It's unsurprising that an Argonian reading a book would alarm them—I doubt they'd even look long enough to see what you're reading." Much as they'd devoted even more focus to his species than his occupation...it was the height of foolishness, but in some ways it was a useful foolishness. "Are you a conjurer, then? I expect that the majority of what you focus on selling is armamancy scrolls, then. I can't imagine the guards would be inclined to let you sell any atronachs, assuming they could read enough to see what your work was about."

He looked down at the table, perusing over some of the half-finished scrolls that the Argonian had arrayed before him. Taking a break from writing, most likely. Something to suit the short-sighted nature of how he'd described his business, anyways; appreciation for the arcane could be fostered through his own skill and his offerings, not reliance on a good library and hopeful curiosity on the part of the locals. That he would blame slow business on the lack of a library, and spend time at his front reading rather than working...

"May I see some of your finished scrolls?"

He did not expect anything of particularly great quality; the unfinished scrolls already had what seemed glaring errors to his eyes, so he expected that the finished scrolls, while functional, likely contained similar problems. If the conjurer's skill was as he expected, then there would likely be an even faster, easier way to achieve his goals in this conversation.

Ah, if only I'd managed to take some of those old Psijic tomes with me...telepathy could be useful here. No matter, though, I'm sure the Telvanni girl can handle herself.