Wall scones sent shadows dancing on the walls of the tavern. In full light, the walls looked aged, with tapestries and trinkets centuries old hung here and there. Before the occupation the boisterous might sing and wave about their drinks. Before every citizen of the Hammerfell had to look within themselves for their alliance, this was a place of excitement and revelry. Now men and women solemnly sat, talking to those around them in hushed tones. Fools might bust in calling for a drink, but their painted smiles and forced missteps died down eventually. As the shadows danced upon the walls, the occupants faced each other with hard looks.

The Dark Pilgrim sat under a particularly vibrant tapestry in a back corner of the tavern. From across the room the colours silhouetted and consumed him, but the fact was no bother. A surprise, but still, no bother. He brought the ceramic cup to his lips and sipped his spice wine, eyeing the several documents on the table as if all at once. A leather codex lay at the center of the assorted papers as well as a sharpened and wrapped bit of charcoal. As the flavourful drink played on his tongue, his thoughts ordered and the reality of his situation emerged. Reality often came to the Pilgrim in the form of some hard, immovable obstacle, but never before this big. Never before like the Dwemer.

Shamoun assembled the documents and shut them within the codex. He slid the leather-bound heap aside, then scanned the tavern curiously. Working with the resistance felt closer to his days lurking about in the shadows, plotting and preparing among his the children of Sithis. Oddly, he even found himself smiling. He must look the fool, sitting alone, the smell of wine on him, and a grin far too content for the setting moronically stretched across his face. But Shamoun felt closer to the old days than ever before. How many nights had the Redguard waited for a contractor in a tavern? How many jobs came first as surreal musings of those too cowardly or too weak to commit it to action personally? The smile grew. He spotted the Argonian.

Blade looked about the dim surroundings as he entered the tavern, getting a feel for the mood, which happened to be as dark as the room. There were no songs, no laughter, not even any fights. The atmosphere was sour, but not in a take-the-fight-to-the-Dwemer kind of way.

How was he supposed to motivate these people. He wasn't a leader. He couldn't move people to action on a whim with brave words. He spoke with his sword, and if people chose to follow in his stride then so be it. But that wouldn't cut it this time. He had taken on the mission to lure the guards away from the barracks because distractions were right up his alley, but he alone wouldn't be able to draw enough of the guards away, so he'd decided he would start a riot... somehow.

He'd spoken with Darak Mashad and told him his thoughts. Darak in turn told Blade to speak with one Shamoun, and the tavern he frequented. Blade spotted the Redguard now, with a table to himself beneath an impressive tapestry. The scar on the argonian's brow and cheek was pale in contrast to his black scales in the glow of the torches as he made his way over to Shamoun. He pulled a chair aside and took a seat across the table.

"Shamoun, you can call me Blade. I'm here to help the resistance along, and Darak Mashad tells me that you can help cause a bit of a disturbance."

Straight to the point, Blade watched the Redguard while the question hung in the air. The Argonian came armed with all the right words, but the Dwemer did not seize Hammerfell by force alone. Several braids spilled over Shamoun's shoulders as he leaned forward and slid a second cup toward the Argonian. They sat quietly a moment longer before the Redguard let out a sigh.

"So bold, for a moment I thought you a spy. But what do They need with cloak and dagger?" Shamoun asked and took a drink. Nothing struck him as curious about the Argonian yet. "Your words are welcomed, Blade. Please, continue."

Blade welcomed the drink and took several deep gulps while Shamoun spoke.

"Well it seems that your own Captain of the Guard has sided with the dwemer. The people haven't taken too kindly to that and wants him gone. They plan to remove him, but need the barracks to be cleared before anyone can make an attempt."

Remembering the clandestine nature of the conversation, the argonian spoke with vague terms where he could, lest there indeed be a spy within the tavern.

"The problem is, a reptilian stranger like myself would have a difficult time moving the people to action under the best of circumstances. I can help when it starts, but we need one of their own to convince them."

Blade poured the last of his drink down his gullet and placed the flagon on the table before leaning back in his chair, arms crossed and brows furrowed in thought.

"I figure multiple small pockets of vandalism spread through the city would spread the guards out well. Torching checkpoints or any other government buildings. If you can do that, then my people can take care of your other problem."

The Redguard nodded and sat quiet a moment. His old talents in gathering information had grown useful as of late, something was surfacing. When his eyes lit up, Shamoun leaned forward and explained in a quiet voice, "Vandalism is all well good to rouse barbarians, but this is Hammerfell. We fight and die with honour, anything less is an affront to our people." He smiled, and met eyes with Blade. "The traitors capture some resistance fighters and conspirators. To break our will, they lead their prisoners through the streets on the way to the jails. Good bit of tension there. Allow me to work with that and you'll have all the distraction you need. Deal?"

Blade grinned wolfishly at the good news, his fangs glinting in the candle light. He growled eagerly, "Now that sounds more like the Redguards I've heard so much about. Glad I'm not the only one who plans to do a little more than deface a building or two. Deal. Have your people draw out the city guard, and I'll go with mine to remove our mutual acquaintance from office."

The argonian rose from his seat and prepared to take his leave, speaking as he did, "We'll be ready to make our move in a moments notice, so don't wait up for us. Shall I expect to be seeing you more during this little campaign of ours?"

"I should hope not," Shamoun replied with a smirk.. "I will have Brother Mashad send one of his boys before we strike. Until then, Argonian."