[b]A Great Collab between Dipper, Fallout and me.[/b]

"Three blessings, Muthsera." Zainat said in response to Elayna's comment on his rugs, smiling softly. "Feel free to look and find one that you are most fond of. I am sure I saw you on the Caravan looking at my wares as they were folded, yes? I am sorry for not letting you look at them at the time." He smiled again, before leaning back in his chair, and closed his eyes, happy that he wouldn't have to haggle with Elayna, and hoping that the woman would perhaps keep other people from the stall.

Coming out from the alleyway a few stalls down, Francis played with one of the edges of his mustache, twisting the end with his fingers. He looked to Francis, the two sharing a smile.

"You look to be yourself again, friend." Vendel clapped the Breton on his shoulder.

"I feel like myself again. We still need to procure rugs, and get ourself a herald to perhaps be called a show. Performers. I wonder what my father might say if the old bag was alive." Francis twisted the ends of his mustache in thought.

"I don't know, Francis. Rugs, though..." Vendel trailed off, wondering if he could pick the face of the goods peddler out from the crowd, as either browser or merchant. Coming up empty, he folded his arms across his thick chest, "I can't seem to find anyone, Francis."

From across the markeplace, Francis spied a stall manned by a Dunmer. They were a peculiar sight around Hammerfell, or at least one he thought he would never see. He figured the deserts and forests to turn away anyone but the Redguard that called them home. He was wrong, he guessed. After all, the first sighting of a Dunmer he'd had was when he finally left his farm and Camlorn to go to Wayrest. He'd almost been killed by the first Dunmer he'd seen, and he'd had to kill the second. He hoped he wouldn't have to kill this one or almost be killed.

"There, Vendel, a rug merchant." Francis pointed out.

"We've no septims, Francis." Vendel had a point. A very, very true point.

"We'll promise him a good portion of the earnings if we manage to get an audience." Francis decided. He walked, and Vendel decided to follow.

"My Dunmer friend!" Francis greeted Zainat, or Sul-Matuul, cheerfully. He nodded to the woman standing next to him. She had come before him and he was half-inclined to let her go first. Gentleman Adventurer, and all of that.

Zainat opened his eyes and glanced at the Breton warily. After a moment, however, he smiled, and nodded at Francis. "Welcome to Sul-Matuul's emporium!" He said, rising, offering his hand to shake. "Three blessings, Sera. Have I met you before? In Sentinel, perhaps? Rihad? Skaven?" He listed off a few of the cities he had visited during his few years in Hammerfell, before pouring Francis a cup of coffie, and placed a small pastry infront of the man. "Come into my stall, friend, and we shall discuss selling my fine Prayer-Rugs!"

[I]Prayer rugs?[/I] Francis cast a glance at Vendel, who was probably along the same trail of thought. Francis wondered if he had made the wrong decision with this merchant. Certainly, he would not let a couple of outlanders peform their martial arts and dirty his prayer rugs. Something about the mer told Francis he'd be insulted if he asked him what he wanted to. He glanced at the woman who arrived before him with a friendly shrug, mouthing the word, "Sorry."

"Thank you, Sul-Matuul, my friend," He paused, searching for the right words, "You are a very gracious mer, friend. May I ask, to what God are these prayer rugs dedicated to? Divines? One of the Tribunal?"

Zainat inhalled sharply, his ruby orbs narrowing at the man. "The Tribunal are not gods, they were but false traitors to Nerevar Moon-and-Star." He snapped at the Breton. He paused, and for a few seconds he looked as if he were to continue, but then he realized he was not Zainat Ashurnasaddas, the Gulakhan of the Urshilaku, but Sul-Matuul, a simple rug-monger. "I... Am sory for that outburst. The history of the Dunmer religion is... Unpleasant." 

He sighed, and continued to look ashamed. "These rugs" He motioned to some to his right, "Are for the ones worshiped by my Kin, The Aldmer and Bosmer. I know not their names, nor do I care to." He pointed at another group. "These are for The Reclamations, the Gods of my people." He paused a moment, before smiling softly. "You would know them as Azura, Boethia, and Mephala." 

He pointed at yet another section, and stroked the stubble that had been growing upon his chin the last few weeks. "These are for the Ten Divines commonly worshiped by the Imperials, Nords, and Bretons. Shezzar; or Shor; also called Lorkhan, Talos, Akatosh, Arkay; sometimes called Orkey by Nords..." He paused, and squinted, trying to remember the gods of man. "I... Can't remember the rest." He admitted at length.

He pointed at the final section of Rugs, and smiled. "These are for the Gods of the Redguards, one of the most important being Ebonarm... Who's Mosque we stand beneith the shadow of."

"My friend, I do apologize for my foolish remark," Francis bowed, growing nervous as quick as ever, "I did not realize. Please, excuse my ignorance of this fact. I have not been to Morrowind and am uninformed of their customs." Francis eased up a bit as the Dunmer began to apologize for himself. At least they both felt a bit repentant instead of at eachother's throats. Or Sul at his, more likely.

"Of which God would fit a duelist, my friend? I am in the market, and am looking for someone to..." He swallowed, taking a sip of the coffee given to him before glancing to Vendel on his left, "I am looking for an investor willing to loan rugs to me. I am a duelist, an adventurer, most recently, I am a performer. My friend, I would be more than happy to buy the rugs with whatever portion is needed from the earnings of my future performance nearby." He shifted ever so nervously.

Elayna smiled in return, bowing her head slightly. "It's no trouble at all. I'll have more leisure to browse now, anyways." She began carefully looking at the whole selection, as if she were inspecting each thread for quality. In reality, she was just occupying herself with questions such as [i]Why are there so many of the damned things?[/i] and [i]Would Julianos get upset if I used this one...?[/i] Silly things, of course, but entertainment in a city under seige was a valuable commodity. In fact, such thoughts seemed to herald the approach of two men, both with strong airs about them. One of them, the one with an awfully nice mustache, acknowleged Elayna, but she simply waved her hand and stepped out of the way so they could do their business.

The newcomers and 'Sul-Matuul' quickly got into discussion about the rugs, the Dunmer getting momentarily livid over the mention of the Tribunal. Elayna made sure to listen to his explanations of each section of rugs, giving an impressed "Huh...", and suddenly wondering if rubbing an amulet and hoping for the best hasn't exactly been the best way to go about divine affairs. Convinience, what a dreadfully addictive thing...her thoughts were interrupted by an itching on her neck and in the back of her brain, that feeling that usually meant a pair of eyes were unwelcomely affixed upon her.

Turning her head to the side, just slightly so she could look behind her, there was sure enough a Redguard woman watching her, and Thyra just a short distance away. Her fingers itched to grab the dagger on her thigh, but she knew better. At least, not yet...there wasn't any sign of aggression at the moment, save for that spear...

She turned back to Francis as he mentioned that he wanted the rugs for performing. The man looked awfully uneasy, an emotion that Elayna was starting to pick up easier and easier each day. The young Breton woman stepped a bit closer to the group, and put on her most welcoming smile. "I'm sorry, but...did I hear you're a performer? If you don't mind my asking, what is it that you perform?" She'd heard the part about being a duelist, but whatever started conversation, right?

With a few hesitant glances and a loud swallow coming from Francis as he slowly turned around from the Dunmer burning holes in his head with his death glares, Francis offered the best smile he could muster in this situation, hoping that him turning his attention away from the Dunmer would help him cool down, "I am a performer of martial prowess, madam. In Wayrest, I was known to be quite the duelist and sword-fencing master. My Nordic friend here also sports the same skillset as I. Road-Brothers, are we." He smiled.

[i]Master...[/i] Even Francis knew that to be a stretch, but he was good. More than thirty beaten opponents and seven Wayrest tavern brawls couldn't lie as to his skill. More often than not, one would find a knife in their back whenever one Corsair captain got into an argument with another over whose ship was bigger. Just one big size-contest about everything when it came to drunken sailors, Francis found, both from the taverns and the [i]Golden Gale.[/i]

"What is it that you do to fill the time and perhaps earn a few septims doing, Miss..." Francis waited for a name with a polite smile.

"Wayrest, eh? What a fine coincidence to find one who shares my hometown!" Elayna mused in a light tone, before answering the implied question. "Sylvia. I'm just a botanist, nothing as exciting as dueling or adventuring. Unless you count studying flowers and grasses among the things you simply [i]must[/i] do before you die. I don't believe I got [i]your[/i] name, friend." She chuckled to herself, mentally groaning. Of course her field was interesting! By Oblivion, thistles and mushrooms were the best conversation partners. If you had a vivid imagination, something she came equipped with. However, it seemed a good idea to just downplay her passion for now. Elayna nodded a greeting to the Nord behind Francis.

"Ah, another Breton from Wayrest! Well, to be a saint in honesty, madam, I come from the Principality of Camlorn, but my sister and I left with my Nord friend trailing behind. A rather unfortunate series of events surround that happening," Francis trailed off and cleared his throat before continuing, "But my name, Madam, Francis. Francis Martell. And a botanist, eh? My sister absolutely adores flowers, but I don't think she could name one from another." Francis laughed.

He missed her, truth be told. Although, finding another Breton native to High Rock was a welcome reprieve from the sea of strange faces he'd found in Hammerfell since he left Wayrest two years ago on a quest for a self-styled Corsair-King and his dead daughter, rest her soul, "And Adventuring? 'Tis a dangerous thing to do. I can't tell you some of the things I'd seen on the road," he frowned, remembering the Necromancer's mausoleum, now that he thought about it, this woman held a familiar face, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen it, "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Sylvia. I do say, when was the time you were last in Wayrest? I feel as if I've seen you before."

Elayna nodded as Francis told her a snippet of his story, restraining herself from flinching when she heard the name 'Francis'. There was something at the back of her mind telling her that she knew this man from somewhere. For the sake of her cover, she ignored it, but now...this man was with her, Gorzath, and Blade as they delved into the Mausoleum. She had to quickly formulate a response, and knit it together to hide the seams of her disguise. "Oh, it's had to have been months, at least...funny, considering this is a desert. Folks get me confused with others easily, I suppose I mix into the background a bit. I'd say this is our first meeting, Mister Martell." 

She felt as if she'd dodged a bolt with only hairwidth's to spare. Even if this man was to be considered an ally, this was a public place, and she wanted to make sure not a whisper got out about her actual name. Even if she was inconsequential to everything, her life was on the line, regardless.

Francis studied her features, still a bit unconvinced, "I see. Perhaps my heart reaches out to anything that looks of home in such a land as this."

He wasn't entirely lying. He did miss home, but the reason he was here was so that he could find the Heroes and do his part for the war effort. It was a strong but silent calling he felt and nothing short of his death or success could pull him from it. Even so, it still hold truth that Francis wanted home. This woman before him was a Breton, born in the homeland like him, and that spoke to him. But there was business to be done, and septims to be earned here in Helgathe before he and Vendel could eat and stay at a tavern.

"As it stands, Miss Sylvia, we are standing here at this stall to try to get supplies for a venue that my friend and I are planning on doing to line my coinpurse. A few hard days on the road will put a hunger in you fiercer than anything you've ever felt, Madam. I'd be pleased if you would watch, and perhaps invite a few friends from around the city? It would mean something grand to my friend and I." Francis smiled politely, sparing no amount of charm, speaking the way some Bretons of High Rock speak in the courts and finer inns.

Zaint had remained slack-jawed in surprise from the comment about the dueling on the rugs, and he found him self having trouble even figuring out how to respond to Francis' request for a [i] prayer rug to fight on[/i]. He ended up sitting and fuming at the disrespect that the Man had shown for the gods, before he finally snapped out of his Stupor, shaking his head. "Wait one moment, Sedura Francis." He added the Dunmer honorific for the wealthy to the man's name. "You desire to fight on these, and you offer me no payment?" He said, trying to get back into character. "You say that I would earn a portion, yet what if you earn nothing?" He sighed and shook his head. "What... Rug catches your eye?" He said after a second, trying to appear like the greedy merchants he met in his travels.

"Well," Francis paused in thought, feeling just short of sweating fire, the Dunmer had a point, "Hammerfell is a martial society, if I remember. They may appreciate the fighting prowess of a duelist, famous for his performances and duels in Wayrest. That's a fact to be faithful in, my friend."

That was pulled off surprisingly well. Francis was indeed surprised at the way he'd handled that. Of course, unbeknownst to neither him or Vendel, Azura was a very important deity to the Dunmer. Vendel reached out for a prayer rug, not seeming to care which one his hands landed on, just only enough to care if it was pleasing to the eye. He grabbed one, feeling the material and looking at the intricate weaving that went into the rug, "Francis, this one looks quite beautiful. We'd be sure to attract some people with rugs like these, Mister Sul-Matuul."

"I guess those may be the ones, my friend." Francis smiled at the Dunmer.

"Yes, quite beauti-" Zainat said absently, before realizing what rug the Nord was holding. His ruby orbs widened slightly, and he felt a rage building inside him. These... Heathens intended to stain a rug dedicated to Azura with their filthy Outlander hands and deeds. "Get out of my stall, N'wah." He said. He knew he was dangeriously close to breaking character, but these gods damned Fetchers intended to stain a rug dedicated to Azura with their filthy, ignorant hands. "Get out before I cut your throat and feast upon your neck-vein." He said as he rose sowly from his seat.

The Breton in green felt her muscles tense as Zainat's face began curling up in annoyance at Francis. This situation was most likely going to end badly. And, in fact, it did, right after the pair decided on a rug. In the section for the deities of the Dunmer. [i]Oh, for the love of Mara and the Divines above...[/i] Elayna prayed silently that Zainat wouldn't do anything rash. Of course, that'd be just a bit much to ask. Threats insued, and with Francis already wound up, there was definitely tension about to snap in the air. Elayna turned her eyes to Zainat's momentarily, her emerald orbs turning to sea ice as she silently warned, [i]Don't you dare kill anyone...[/i]

"Well, it was lovely meeting you gentlemen, but I have a shipment to procure for my employer. I'll be sure to come see you...good day!" Elayna said hurriedly, acting as if she was fearing for her safety. She scampered off, away from the stall, but stayed close enough so that she could watch the stall. It [i]would[/i] prove as a good distraction...especially a crowded area such as this.

Francis put his hands up in surrender, "I didn't mean to offend, my friend."

Francis glanced to his left and Vendel had his fingers curled tightly around his sword's hilt. Francis only frowned at him and the Nord frowned back, moving his hand to simply rest on his hip, but close by to his sword. Francis gulped audibly as he slowly backed away, "I don't want trouble, friend. The guards don't either, so let's not..." [i]Gentleman Adventurer,[/i] Francis thought to himself, "I apologize deeply."

From behind, Sul, or Zainat, Francis could see Vendel's restraint wavering between following his friend and stay peaceful or listen to his nerves and draw steel. The latter didn't sound fruitful to Francis, but his dagger was it his hip, as well as his bastard sword. Three people fighting in the marketplace would attract far too many eyes for Francis's liking, but if this Dunmer followed him out or tried to have a go at Vendel, Francis would have to do something. Vendel could handle himself, that's not what Francis was worried about, it was the fact that Vendel would have to do just that. [i]Nothing rash, Vendel, nothing rash,[/i] he thought, [i]You are a Nord, of course.[/i]

"Out!" Zainat yelled as the two human men continued to stand in his stall, his own hand reaching into his clothes, and gripping his hidden Shortsword tightly. He did not even see Elayna leave, so angry was he. He advanced on them, attempting to force them out of his stall. His left hand grabbed at Francis' shoulder, and shoved, hard. "You did not mean to offend? You are an N'wah, a S'wit, and Ignorant!" He spat at Vendel's feet, before he attempted to shove him out of his stall as well.

Francis could take the shove, he truly felt in the wrong, and he was. He had no problem leaving, he had no problem being called whatever in Dagon's name the Dunmer had called him. But he knew Vendel couldn't stand for an insult to his honour, nor his dearest friend's. It mattered not to Vendel whether Francis took personal offense, as Vendel took enough of it for the both of them. Vendel did what Francis hoped he wouldn't, and the three feet of Nordic intricate-etched steel withdrew from its scabbard.

"You want a go, you filthy milk-drinker?" Vendel growled, sweeping the golden locks from his face in a swift motion, revealing fierce, Nordic eyes of ice blue. Francis had only seen those eyes twice before, and both times, men had to be carted out of the tavern.

"Damn it, Vendel-"

"Stow the shit, Francis, I followed you miles on the road and I won't have my honour sullied by some merchant too sensitive to be sympathetic," Vendel looked at Sul, "Come and have a go, Son-of-a-Whore!"

"You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, Nord." Zainat said, his eyes taking a hard, sharp look to them. In a instant, his shortsword was in his hand. Compared to the three feet of steel, the single foot shard of razor-sharp Chitin must have looked comical. With speed that only an Ashlander posessed, he planted his foot in the center of the Nord's chest, attempting to knock him. back into the Market so that Zaiant would have room to fight properly. 

"You ever fight an Ashlander, Nord Filth? I've fought a lot of Nords. You might be tall, and strong... But you are slow." He spun the shortsword in his hand, his face a grin. "I've not had a fight for far, far too long." He laughed softly, and addopted a typical ashlander figting stance, holding his shortsword ahead of him in a reverse grip.

"You might not like this one, Greyskin." Vendel said, taking a deep breath and recovering from the kick he suffered. The Nord charged forward with a battlecry, thinking his chainmail may stop the shard of chitin in the mer's hand and his two-hundred pounds of muscle would put the mer in his place. A quick and devastating swing from Vendel's blade aimed to open up Zainat's neck was the opening attack of Vendel as he lunged forward at the mer.

As the massive sword was swung to slice open up his neck, Zainat ducked under the arc of the blade, barely avoiding being killed by the Nord's opening attack. "I'm already loving this, N'wah! You are slow!" He laughed, backpedaling away from The Nord. "You Nords are all the same, no finesse, no skill, just raw, brute strength." He said, seeming to forget that he considered Thyra a friend. He rushed at Vendel, blade raised... Before he jumped to the side, dodgeing past any couter-attack. Hopefully his little 'trick' would work.

Francis watched the melee with white knuckles on his sword's hilt. He knew at this rate, he'd only be in Vendel's way if he tried to enter the fray. He wasn't content with standing and watching his friend fight, though. The merchant was a good fighter, certainly not skills you pick up from defending yourself against bandits. He was trained. Francis narrowed his eyes at that. [i]Who is this Dunmer?[/i] Francis thought. He didn't like this one bit, and he knew that Dunmer had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Vendel saw the mer rush him and roared as he swung for Zainat's legs before the mer wasn't where Vendel wasn't expecting. The Nord's eyes snapped to the mer, faster than his sword-arm could. It was then that Francis leaned forward, ready to take his place in the fighting as Vendel recovered. Whoever this Dunmer was, he was outnumbered. 

Zainat winked at Vendel as their eyes locked, and he delivered a spinning kick to the Nord's face, his agility astonishing for someone claiming to be a merchant. "Strong, slow and stupid. Terrible combination, but so common for you Nords." He swung his blade at Vendel's right arm, attempting to either slice him, or cause him to drop the blade, not seeing Francis move to get himself involved.

As quick as he could, Francis moved in and attempted to smash into Zainat's jaw with the pommel of his sword, half-swording with the hilt of the sword at the front. The mer's jaw made contact with the pommel and Francis stood, waiting for the mer to respond. As much as he detested this nonsense, what with Vendel's short temper to complement the Dunmer merchant's, he couldn't let his friend go through this fight without help, "You've forced my hand, Sul!" Francis announced himself as Vendel rubbed his face, his nose a bit crooked as he spat blood, the same blood running from his nostrils.

Zainat stumbled to the side as he was struck with the pommel of Francis' sword, and although he quickly recovered, he retreated a few steps back, watching both of the humans warily. "Coward." He spat at Francis, furious that he was now outnumbered. His eyes scaned the crowd that had formed around him and the other two, looking for a way out, or something that could give him an advantage. He saw Elayna, Gorzath, and Thyra, but he knew he couldn't expect them to help him - He had blown his cover, and they couldn't afford to do that. He was on his own. His eyes caught on a leather shield that was hanging from a stall, and he yanked it down. Now he could fight them straight on.

Elayna shook her head in disbelief as the men began to fight. So much for that cover, with the way Zainat was fighting. No merchant moved that quick, with such deadly intent. Drawing the spring-colored scarf over her mouth, Elayna turned and headed down the market street. Zainat could get away with it, but a botanist suddenly flinging icicles around, possibly skewering some bystander? It was better for her to just go about her business and hope he didn't get himself killed.

With that, she made her way to the docks, before the Redguard alchemist got worried or angry. She had kind of stalled...

Back at the Marketplace, Francis and Vendel stood shoulder to shoulder. Vendel reached back and unstrapped the large round shield from his back, squaring up against his opponent behind his shield as Francis maintained the Long Tail stance. It was true that Vendel's blood boiled with the sight of the Dunmer, but Francis held no stock in this feud of theirs. The Breton grumbled, calling out to Zainat, or as he knew him, Sul, "Sul, I don't want to fight you. I don't care if you want to fight me. One of us is going to die here if we keep going or we'll be hauled in by the guards. I have no interest in a jail cell. What say you?"

"Do you take me for a fool, Breton? The second I lower my blade, that N'wah will skewer me!" He called back, and began to advance on them, shield raised... Atleast, untill he saw the rather large group of Guards that had forced their way to the front of the crowd. Thankfully, they were just Redguards - While dangerious, they weren't carrying the Thunder-Sticks, nor Wearing Power Armor. Instead they wore Chainmail and carried those Curved Swords called Simitars. 

"By order of Governor Rourken, stop right there, Criminal Scum! You've violated the Law!" The leader of the guards, obviously a Leutenant judging by the fine surcoat he wore, as he advanced towards the Trio. "Put up your weapons and surrender, or we'll cut you down!" 

Zainat tilted his head slightly, before calling to the Breton. "Francis, was it?" He asked. "I have no interest in spending the rest of my life in a cell either. Follow me, and maybe all three of us can make it out of here safely." He said, before discarding his shield, and running off into the crowd, ignoring the Guards who were ordering them to stop.

Francis shrugged to Vendel, not finding any reason not to follow. The pair turned tail and ran after Zainat, perhaps not following him, but all three had the same idea. The guards were fast behind them, but in their armor, they couldn't hope to keep up. Even Vendel, still wearing his armor, could move like water in it, having worn it most of his life.

"Follow close behind, Vendel, and don't fall behind. I don't want you hurting any of those guards." Francis laughed, a bit less worried now that he didn't have to deal with an angered Dunmer. At least, not for the moment. The pair almost lost Zainat in the crowd several times, but always seemed to catch sight of him in the last moment. The Dunmer was fast, Francis could give him that. Soon, they broke free from the crowd, and while Francis felt like rejoicing after getting away from the sweltering heat of many bodies close together, he knew the guards would break free soon too.

Francis looked from left to right, trying to find some way to get away from the guards hot on his trail. The Breton growled, not able to find an obvious way out. Vendel pointed to a horse-drawn cart being pulled along, "Francis, there."

"Are you daft, Vendel? Did that kick to the head scramble you harder than I thought?" Vendel frowned at that. Francis didn't see any other way out, so he started towards the cart, diving in quickly along with Vendel. The cart driver's ears perked and he looked behind him, at the noise. The cart driver leaned over and a quick Nordic hand shot up to grab the cart driver by the collar, pulling him close to the hay. A faceless voice came from the hay, "Keep driving merry-like, milk-drinker, or I'll shove this cart's worth up yours."

Unlike Francis and Vendel, Zainat was not willing to terify and threaten innocent cart drivers. Instead, the Dunmer thought that the safest place to avoid the guards was to go the one place the guards couldn't follow him... Up. He ran at a wall, and then began climbing, using the intracite carvings to his advantage. Higher and higher he climbed, untill he finally reached the top of the building. As he pulled himself up, he found that he was face-to-face with another Guard, this one with a bow slung across his shoulder. The Guard looked at Zainat curiously for a moment, while Zainat silently judged the distance between them.

 [i]Twenty feet.[/i] He thought silently. 
 "You aren't supposed to be up here, Dunmer. Why don't you go and cli- Get back!" The guard stumbled back as Zainat bull rushed him, attempting to unsling his bow from his shoulder. Before he could, however, Zainat was upon him, swinging his fists at the young man. The Guard fell backward, onto his back, and Zainat climbed onto him, his hands grasping around the man's throat. 
 
 "I'm sorry, Serjo." Zainat said ad he began to throttle the guard, ignoring his struggles. Once the Guard lapsed into unconciousness, however, he stopped, unwilling to murder some young kid for doing his job. He looked around the roof, and sat, panting. "By Azura... That could have gone better..." He muttered, pulling his flask from his robe and taking a pull from it.

[b]Repercussions of Today's Actions:
Francis and Vendel: Though the guards would not be able to recognize their faces, they would be wary of anyone that looked like them, even vaguely. This makes it harder to walk the streets and it would be best to stick to crowds, where faces are easily seen but forgotten in lieu of so many others. A few days of lying low should take any heat off. Visit a merchant to help the process along. Gold shuts mouths quickly. Just be careful, Huntsmen are attracted to the trail of shiny things.

Zainat: If asked, anyone who'd bought prayer rugs from him would be able to tell the guards investigating that the merchant's name was Sul-Matuul, or Sol-Mottle. Something along those lines. Either way, this name might not be best used for a few days, if ever. Consequences of changing his name would be few, as little communication goes on between the city-guard and the Gate's Watch, especially about a brawl in the marketplace over prices or some such. The Gate's Watch's immigration and visitor's list is easily lost, and there are people willing to accept coin to make it so. Visit a merchant sometime if the name Sul-Matuul means that much.

Elayna: The Guards didn't see her slip away, no one was paying attention when she walked to Sul-Matuul's stall and she was nowhere near when the hostilities began. No consequence would be had if you were to walk the streets freely. Just remember the tale of the blackbird. "Caught with the crows" were the last words it heard. She should be wary of any Dunmer company she keeps.[/b]