[I]17 Rain’s Hand, Helgathe, Dawn[/I]

It was time.

The Heroes of Tamriel and their companions set out from Mashad Textiles’ basement before first light, leaving in small, spaced out groups as the three teams moved towards their objectives; the guard barracks, the dungeon, and to the streets, where the early morning disturbance was sure to draw the attention of the otherwise unoccupied guards. It was a time of day where the shady element of the city went to ground, away from the eyes of the law and the honest folk rose to begin another routine day. If only they knew.

The night prior, in the relative comfort of the cellar with his companions, Zaveed went over what he had learned from the prostitutes in the brothel. The guards, despite their punctuality and the great pride in maintaining their appearance, were mostly all of this opinion that Helgathe was a cozy position, well away from any real harm. They were not the divisions scouring the harsh Alik’r sands for rebels, risking an ignoble death from an unseen archer in the sands. They had a comfortable routine, patrolling streets that seldom gave reason for force. The troubles in some of the other cities were miles away, someone else’s problems. This was the seat of the dwemer government in Volunfell, under the watchful eye of Governor Razlinc Rourken. She was a popular figure amongst the dwemer, and the locals thought that while the dwemer could be harsh, they were at least fair and interfered little in most people’s lives. While generally wary, they were generally relaxed, not unlike a guard in any other hold. After all, very little had stood against them now. Who could oppose them?

Likewise, the Helgathe Guard were similarly sure of their authority. Enjoying the backing and increased numbers thanks to the dwemer soldiers who maintained a presence in the city, their positions were more secure than ever, and crime was much less likely to be so brazen. Some of the guards let the power go to their head, doubtless thanks to the influence of Captain Doshin Ismal, and had grown somewhat cruel in recent months. However, the majority were simply the men they were before, common folks who wished to preserve peace and order in their home. Interestingly, there seemed to be something of a schism in the guards, many of the guards who were outspoken against Captain Ismal’s practices seemed to be petitioning to have him step down from power in favour of a much more moderate commander.

With that information shared, as well as words by each of the others, each companion moved to their destinations, with the distraction team leading the way. The success of the other two groups depended largely on what they accomplished today.

Zaveed carried with him a mostly empty bottle of wine and walked with a drunken swagger, something he had grown rather used to mimicking for a variety of reasons. While the others who were joining him on the prison break kept spaced and indifferent to him, to maintain the illusion that they were not acquainted, there was no question they were all headed the same way. 

Suddenly, a commotion in the distance caught people’s attention, and Zaveed watched carefully to see what the reaction would be. Soon, a group of four guards passed by the khajiit, annoyed at the morning disturbance but none the less on guard. He chanced a look back with a brief nod. This was their chance. 

Several minutes later, Zaveed was in sight of his destination. A pair of guards stood at the gate of a 12-foot span of iron bars that encased the front of a solid building with two barred front-facing windows. Zaveed made his way towards the guards, who soon caught sight of him.

“Hoonding be good, it’s another drunk cat.” Zaveed heard one of the guards say all too loudly. He couldn’t make out what the other said, but the tone wasn’t flattering. 
“J’Karna begs forgiveness, friends!” Zaveed exclaimed, staggering towards the guards in an unsteady manner. “This one ish lost and cannot find his home. The other guards refuse to help thish one! Please take pity… sirs.” He said lifting the bottle towards them. “This one’hll let you finish his drink, I have coin…” 
“Get lost, you drunk.” The one guard called back, irritated.

The other elbowed his friend. “And people keep saying the khajiit are Thalmor spies. Look at this damn fool.” Despite their dismissal of the khajiit, both seemed to be very weary of him.

“J’Karna is sorry, he is. Can he offer you… drink?” Zaveed asked, raising the bottle towards the one guard, who swatted it out of his hand. Zaveed used the motion to stumble into the guard, who threw him to the ground. 

“That’s it, you’re going to the keep to sober up and pay the fine for disorderly conduct… and littering.” The guard said smugly, reaching down to pull Zaveed from the cobblestone. “This is why I can’t stand you out-“he began before gasping in surprise and pain. The Redguard looked down, speechless, as his eyes found the dagger that had been concealed within the khajiit’s robes was buried in his chest, expertly placed between his ribs. Zaveed pushed the body away, removing the blade. If he was lucky, his companions had already sprung upon the other guard. If not, he had very little time to react before he’d be dealing with a frantic, infuriated and very loud guard with no small amount of skill with the sword on his hip.