The continuous sound of muffled yelling from outside roused Blade from his slumber. His eyes opened owlishly and he winced as the cramped muscles in his neck resisted his movement. That's what he got for passing out in a chair he supposed. He got to his feet with a groan, empty bottles of mead clinking about as his feet knocked them aside. Looking down at the noise he noticed he still had one clutched in his hand, and it was only half empty.
Downing the liquor, he made his way to the shuttered window of the room to see what the ruckus was about. Throwing it open, he gazed down on the street below. People were running all directions, many waving hoes, shovels, and other makeshift weapons. There was the occasional sword or axe as well though. Off in the distance, screams of pain and combat could be heard.
The argonian grinned his pointy grin, his contact had not disappointed. He tossed the bottle aside and shuffled over to the dresser he'd laid his armor on and began to dress for the occasion. After slipping the brown robes over his gear, he tossed a handful of coins onto the bed, a tip for the rather large mess of bottles he'd be leaving behind.
The cacophony of fighting had grown even louder since he'd left the window sill, and it drew his attention as he stepped out of the inn. The more primal part of him yearned to go join the fray, but he had a mission to complete. Besides, there was sure to be plenty of excitement once he "infiltrated" the barracks. And so he started in the opposite direction.
Even this far from the main event however, there was fighting in the streets. The groups were smaller though, and the guards were making quick work them. Though his blood boiled at the sight of the guards cutting down their own for the benefit of the dwemer, he hugged the walls and avoided attracting attention. Busy as they were, the guards didn't even give him a second glance.
A short time later the barracks came into view. It was far enough away from the heart of the conflict that nobody was giving the two doormen any trouble, but Blade could see they were still on edge. Aside from them however, there were no others in sight. Devising a quick strategy, Blade began his approach from their flank. His robes hid the orcish sword that was drawn from his left scabbard, even so, the guard nearest him was becoming suspicious of the approaching stranger. Just as he was about to draw his own blade and address the argonian, a loud CRACK filled the air, followed shortly by a tremor. The commotion startled the jittery guards, who turned their attention away from the large argonian for just a moment, which was all he needed. In an instant, Blade whipped of the robes charged.
As the closest warrior returned his gaze to Blade his fission was greeted by a flying brown garment that landed over him. With a cry, he drew his scimitar and slashed blindly in front of him with one hand while the other desperately clawed at the woolen robes. Blade ducked the swing and thrust his own sword into the space where the guards neck should be and was rewarded with a gurgle. He didn't wait for any more confirmation however, he was already pivoting around the standing corpse while drawing his second sword which he slashed at the remaining guard. This one was ready however and easily blocked the telegraphed attack with his own weapon, but only just. The first guard fell bleeding to the ground as the orcish steel was ripped from his neck, severing it in half, and was used to pummel away at the remaining guard.
Blade was moving swiftly, without the heavy armor he could move faster then he ever had before, and his swords struck like lightning, slamming one after the other against the guard's desperate defense.
The man couldn't even muster the breath necessary to call for help, lest the break in his concentration doom him, but he knew he had to warn the others that they were under attack. He parried two more heavy slashes from his argonian aggressor then lunged into the offensive. His scimitar flashed dangerously as he swept it through a complicated series of maneuvers, intent on removing the argonian's head.
Blade growled as he was forced back by the extravagant display, the scimitar clanging off his own weapons. He has to end this now or lose the element of surprise on those sighing the barracks. He crossed his swords and stopped the scimitar dead, pushing against his opponent and locked hilts. With the sword pinned, he kicked out at the guard and caught him in the midriff. The man stumbled back wheezing, but with his blade up, hoping to fend off the argonian, but to no avail. Blade slapped the weapon aside with his own and slashed his throat with the other before slicing his belly open with both swords and a roar.
The argonian panted heavily as the guard slumped to the ground with a hand at either wound, attempting to stem the flow of his life. Blade quickly searched his two victims and found a key ring on the first. He hoped they would come in handy later. As he pushed the keys I to his coin pouch he became aware of a small crowd of people that watched on. He looked back at them with some confusion, though it didn't show on his face. It took only a moment for him to realized how this must look, in their eyes he had just committed murder. Well, at least he wore no colors to mark his affiliation. Nobody could say he'd sullied the name of the resistance if it was assumed he was working alone. Not that he really cared anyway. He wasn't doing this for the resistance.
He turned his back to the onlookers and marched to the barrack doors and entered. If these men wished to work for the dwemer, then he would slay them just the same.