The Elder Scrolls: Hammerfell [IC]

[Insaeldor]

OOC | DISCORD | MAP
A Pub RP
CO-OP
Rohst | The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness | New Finnish Republic

Yousef Talal
Rihad docks

The Vermillion sun hit me with its heat as I looked out across the sapphire ocean and into the teal sky in the distance. I loved working at the docks; the salt in the air, the cheer in the surroundings as people walked around looking for food to cook, clothes to wear, and armor to don. I myself sold clothes for those looking for a more “traditional” flavor. My wife, Basma, would see and dye these from hand. They sat on a wooden stall, folded and facing outward. To my left was Thumnseb’s stall where he sold fish. I've know him for at least 20 years at this point, since we’ve been doing this for as long as we could remember. He was hauling a net behind his stall -- lots of Sablefish this trip.

“How's the sea been treating you?” I chuckled slightly as he finished hauling his net.

“Oh fine, the waters out past Stirk have been getting a little rough, but we still brought in a good haul.” The Abecean gave us so much, like a plentiful mother for our people. It felt good be here and to experience everything Nirn had to offer. We both looked out over the waters, faint silhouettes of ships in the background. They looked smaller than usual. With a strange sail setup.

“You see those over there?”

“Aye, barely. I saw then while out at sea.”

“Where do you think they're from?

“Definitely from the south, they've been coming north since I last saw them.”

“Dominion?”

“I couldn't say, could be from the Niben--” our conversation was interrupted by a patron. She was a lovely Redguard woman.

“Do you have any scarfs?” she asked, pointing at my stand. I obliged and handed her one, a wine red color. She wrapped it around her neck and face for a moment, took it off, bartered a little and left me seventeen Septims richer and with one less headwrap. A typical day on market row. From butchers to armorers, they all lined up on the road parallel the docks. Men off of fishing vessels would come and get food so that they’d be ready to sail out by the next morn. New migrants would get some clothes, linens and the like. It was the economic heart of both the city and the country.

“Yousef!” a familiar voice called out, I looked to my left and saw the bright smile of my wife. She approached and I gave her a welcoming hug. She was always a good sight to see here. She greeted me and we engaged in the slightest of initial talks about the stall. She then looked out ocean to see the shapes we had seen, this time more visible in the distance. Still, she smiled and carried on.

“So remember, we need to make sure Eshyr makes it to Naveed’s.” she said, her voice soothing and pleasant. I nodded in agreement; as she made her way back home, she stopped by Thumnseb and picked out a few fish for dinner. I got back to work, noticing Gilyn as he advertised his weaponry. The Dunmer apparently sailed from here to Khuul to trade with the Dwemer of Bthungthumz. It almost seemed believable just from the force in his voice, but I doubt a Dunmer could make that journey and be back before Middas. Then again, the elf had a family to feed, so who was I to say anything about his marketing tactics?

As the day moved along, more ships docked into the harbor. The docks went from lively to overwhelmingly packed, as more and more people moved from the ships to the docks, causing both Man, Mer, and the occasional Betmer to pack onto the roads, shoulder-to-shoulder. Some would walk to Peyman’s Inn, others to Rasjhed’s where they could get grossly more intoxicated without much worry. As the ships filled in even more, those vessels out in the distance still looked as small as they had before, moving little (if not at all.) Hopefully they’d reach the docks before nightfall.

[Rohst]

Bjorn Snaggletooth
Rihad Docks

By Ysmir's Beard was this place hot. Hotter than every wretched plane of Oblivion, Bjorn thought, as he began rolling up his sleeves. The towering Nord continued forth, as the swarthy faces from below would shift around him, sometimes eyeing him with great curiosity. Not many Nords hung around this neck of the woods, much less a wandering skald such as himself. He came here to barter and deal, and maybe entertain with his bagpipes later after lunch. He spotted a fish stand off to the side, and made a mental note to come back later.

Just then, however, a fight broke out in front of a different stall. This one to his left, the participants being a Dunmer armour peddler and a hoodlum of local extraction. Bjorn didn't know much of the Dunmeri tongue, but he did know the word's for "help", "thief", and "AH HARDER BJORN, HARDER!" (though the last of those wasn't really applicable here.) The dashing Warrior-Poet parted the crowd around him, making his way towards the scuffle. Cries for help switched into Common as he approached.

Bjorn never was a particularly altruistic individual, at least not much more than the common man, but one trait that separated himself from others was his unabashed courage. As throngs of man and mer just seemed to just shift and slide around the scene, Bjorn Snaggletooth rushed up behind the two combatants. By this point, the boy had pulled a knife and the Dark Elf his, though the latter was calling on guards with deaf ears, who could not see the commotion inside of the crowd. Bjorn slid behind the boy and picked him up by the scruff of his neck. Out of surprise, he dropped the blade.

"Vhut is going on here, my friends?"

The young ruffian struggled against the skald's iron grip, unable to free himself.

"That dirty little fetcher tried to pilfer me goods, he did!" the Dunmer spat, using his thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth.

"Ah, did he, now?" Bjorn said, smiling at the would-be thief. "Give it back, please."

The lad, no more than fifteen or sixteens Summers old, had by this point already resigned himself to his fate. Feet still lifted off of the ground, he reached into his side-satchel, revealing an a piece of golden-bronze metal of distinctly Dwemer origin. The stall's vendor quickly snatched it back and examined it for a moment. He nodded to the Nord, still holding the rascal in the air. The unidentified Dunmer began to speak his thanks to the foreign traveller, but was stopped when he saw pair of guards making their way. They were lead by another Redguard, also dressed as a merchant.

"It's your time to go, is it not?" Bjorn said, as he planted the boy on the ground. The militia stepped to both sides of the attempted shoplifter, scimitars drawn.

"You have committed crimes against Hammerfell and her people. What say you in your defence?" They grabbed him firmly by the arms, for his answer was not satisfactory, and began hauling him off without much a-word. The merchant who had retrieved the soldiers was huffing and puffing by this point.

"I'm glad you stepped in quick enough to help, foreigner. I wasn't sure if I could bring the guards back in time, and I was worried someone might try to lift from my stall and--" the Redguard stopped himself, then turned to the Dunmer. "Gilyn, are you alright?!"

"Aye, I am. Stupid child had a knife, though. I'd prefer not spilling blood all over me merchandise." He then turned to Bjorn. "Finally, I can say thank ye."

"It is no problem. we don't exactly take too kindly to thievery back in Skyrim either." he replied with his namesake grin.

"'Ere, I 'ave somethin' fer ye." The Dunmer retrieved the metal piece that was moments ago so hotly contested. "I want ye to 'ave this, as a thanks. Should fetch ye a hundred, maybe two hundred Septims. Just fer that little bit right there."

"Vhut is it?"

Gilyn paused for a moment, a slight smile creeping onto his face. "Ye wouldn't believe me if I told ye."

[Free States of Agnosicstan]

Lolivah Sadaen
Rihad Docks

Lolivah had travelled the vast wastes of Skyrim. She had wandered the ashlands of Morrowind. She had traversed the fields of Cyrodiil, but she had never experienced weather quite like this. Stepping off of a ship and into uncertainty, she was used to the hustling, bustling crowds of major cities, but the hot, overbearing sun and sheer volume of people had her nearly overwhelmed.

Despite this, she was grinning. Caught up in her excitement. Something new to discover. Not only the rumours coming out of Hammerfell, but the architecture, the ancient structures of long-dead civilisations, the cultures contained within the deserts and her cities. The thought of it all had her more eager to learn and go forwards than ever before. The excitement of looking into something old, and yet discovering something new, was more enticing than ever.

Lolivah stood out more than a little. Dunmer were not exactly an oddity around the Provinces these days but despite that she had an optimistic appearance and a grin, so unlike a Dunmer. Not to mention, the woman was still wearing rather stuffy-looking robes, in the middle of the day no less, and she wasn't exactly ugly, though none would consider her overly attractive either, with a too-thin frame and a rather bookish appearance about her. What really caught people's attention, however, was her complete lack of self-awareness; she was clearly not paying attention to her surorundings, her mind deep within itself in either thought, or imagination. It was hard to tell.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a loud scuffle nearby, bringing her back down to Nirn from whatever clouds she had been daydreaming in. She shook her head slightly, quickly checking her possessions hadn't been taken by an opportunistic thief. Well, curious as she was, she simply had to know what the fight was about. With many a "Sorry" and "excuse me", she made her way through the crowd to see its tail end.

Nothing exciting. Just a thief being caught, and someone stepping in. A Nord, a prime example of her people. She chuckled to herself, imaging that if she was struggling with the heat, he must be suffering. The glint of the disputed object caught her eye was it was handed over. She knew a Dwemer object when she saw it. And more important, she knew a Dwemer object she wanted when she saw it.

Which explained her great, great disappointment as she heard what the Nords reward was for stopping that Thief. Her grin faded into a small, slightly upset frown. Perhaps she should step forwards and try to change that mans mind. Or perhaps the Nord would sell it? She certainly had to try. Her want for the object grew even greater as the merchant, evidently named Gilyn, explained that there was something special about it. Indeed, that was the last straw. She couldn't let an important object like that sit on some collectors wall, or even worse, be left in the filthy and uneducated hands of a Nord!

"Hello! Yes, hello, excuse me!" She called out, making her way to the front of the crowd. Her voice was surprisingly soft, for a Dunmers, attesting to her large amounts of travel. "Before you give that item away, I would be most interested in purchasing it!" She called out. Somewhere, deep down, she suspected this wouldn't work, but she figured it was worth a try at least.

"I am certain I can give you more than a fair price for it!" She added the last part quickly.

[Beiarusia]

Kari Beaufort
The Docks, Rihad, Hammerfell


The marketplace is abuzz with the usual commotion. Vendors and patrons and the gold exchanged between them, the distracted gawking of foreigners entranced by the exotic and brightly coloured wares, the succulent aroma of unknowable cuisine and, in the near-distance, the dockyard and its smell of saltwater. Further out the sails of ships can be seen on the distant curve of horizon. Tongues of all kinds speak and shout and barter. A melting pot of men and mer, as ports were oftentimes wont to be. Most striking, however, is the unrelenting heat of a remorseless sun.

Quite simply, it is terribly hot.

Kari Beaufort has traveled most all of Tamriel, to a point, but rarely has she come to Hammerfell, and never Rihad, but now she regrets having ventured this far into a desert where the temperature never sets below disgustingly unbearable. The sand collecting in the bottoms of her boots is enough of an annoyance without adding the insufferable mugginess. The marketplace, with its sights and smells and sounds, offers no appeasement as she shuffles past one stall of goods to the next, exhausted and overheated beneath a cloak and cowl. The faded blue parasol is keeping the worse of the sun off her but it's like battling an inferno with only a single cup of lukewarm water. Abject misery. Distressingly, unlike other travelers who have dressed accordingly to suit the weather, Kari is resigned to remain covered, head-to-foot, until sunset, due to her special circumstance. Not that she is optimistic of her survival. Baked alive. An unpleasant thought.

Just when she feels faint she spies a small, shady alleyway in-between two buildings. Not the perfect escape she envisioned but a quiet moment alone and away from the sun will undoubtedly be to her benefit. Kari stumbles past a Dark Elf speaking in quick words to a potential customer — and the Redguard youth eyeing something of value — and disappears down the secluded alleyway like a drunk uncertain of his next step.

The shade offers a much needed respite. She collapses the parasol before making herself comfortable with her back against a sand-brick wall, cowl removed to expose a mess of pale hair. For added freedom she loosens the cloak. A cool breeze would be delightful, or, more preferably, a cold bath to wash away the smell of sand and sweat.

"Who in their right mind builds a city in the desert," she mutters to herself, using a hand to fan underneath her clothing, the pale skin of her midriff exposed as if begging for a sudden gust of refreshing wind.

Instead there comes the patter of footsteps.

And a voice, accented slightly, that sounds as sly as a fox. "Do you require assistance? The heat can be overpowering at times."

Cold, blue eyes turn to gaze upon three men stepping into the alleyway. Locals, dressed in unassuming tunics of red, yellow, and brown, dark-skinned and looking about as trustworthy as... well, something untrustworthy. The man who spoke, presumably the leader, wore an old leather chest-piece, and they all carried daggers on their belts. They fan out as they approach.

"Just a bit too much sun," Kari answers with little emotion, looking as nonplussed as could be and eyes unwavering as she stares down the leading man. She keeps track of the others in her peripheral vision.

"I am just offering my help. Rihad can be a dangerous place, to women especially, and you appear distressed."

Kari shrugs. "You know, I think I'm felling much better now, so I'll just be on my way."

The man stops her with a hand on her wrist. His other is gripping the handle of his dagger. "I insist."

"I refuse" — she offers a small, impish smile —"and he insists that you unhand me."

A brief look of confusion crosses the man's face before black scales loops around his throat from behind, choking and lifting him with sudden, unnerving force, his feet kicking for purchase against the dusty ground he can no longer reach as his hands grip instinctively to the vice. The deep, serpent-like voice whispered in his ear is enough to send chills down his spine. "Release her," it says, claws digging uncomfortably into flesh. The man lets go of Kari without hesitation.

Niriseus, ignoring the two men drawing their daggers, the other choking in his grasp, looks to the woman with something akin of annoyance, as if she were a puppy that has run off. "Mistress Kari, please refrain from putting yourself in unnecessary danger." As an afterthought he adds, "I've procured a room at the nearby inn. It should be to your liking."

"Does it have a bath?"

"I believe so."

One of the men steps forward, dagger raised. "Drop him you damn lizard!"

The Argonian slowly turns to look at the offending thug as if eyeing an unpleasant insect, eyes deep and golden against black fringed by horns as white as worn bone. The man in his grasp has gone limp. He tosses him aside with little care, tail swishing side-to-side in small movements. The scared man looks to his incapacitated leader, then back to Niriseus, and the charges with a yell, driving the dagger straight for the heart only for it to ding harmlessly against armor underneath the battered cloak. He steps back with a look of dread as the Argonian steps closer.

Niriseus goes to draw his steel sword. "Very well. Let me see your blood."

The man scrambles away and flees in terror, pausing only to drag the semi-conscious man to his feet, as his friend tries to flank the Argonian whilst distracted, but he is stopped by Kari, her hand tightening around his wrist, bending it back, forcing him to drop his weapon as the bone snaps. He yells out. She grins. "You sound distressed. Do you need assistance?"

He shakes his head with tears streaming down his cheeks from the pain.

Kari releases him and he, too, runs off without the courage to look back. Just her and Niriseus in the alleyway now, ignored by the crowds who's attention is drawn elsewhere on the nearby streets.

"That was fun," she says, readjusting her cloak and pulling up her cowl.

The Argonian only grunts in response, sounding disappointed that the muggers ran off without a proper fight.

A commotion is taking place on the street nearby to the armorer's stall. A tall Nord is being buggered by an eager Dunmer about something, but Kari is too preoccupied with thoughts of a bath to pay much attention. Niriseus, too, doesn't care and parts the crowd as they pass. Peyman's Inn ins't far.

[Grozav Inima]

Quintus Marius, Rihad Docks

Hunting Pirates, it was something Quintus had done before but it was never something he particularly enjoyed. Infiltrating a camp of bandits, cutting the targets throat and disappearing into the night was straightforward, simple and innocent lives were virtually never at risk. Pirates were a different matter, sneaking aboard a ship, slaughtering the captain and somehow getting back to port alive was definitely no simple matter. That was why this raider from Stros M’Kai was still breathing.

Into the Peyman’s Inn, the Imperial bounty hunter sauntered over to the innkeep, a diminutive Redguard, despite his fine clothes Quintus knew he was no nobleman.

“Cyrodiilic Brandy, thank you,” Quintus said, and carefully watched the innkeeper as he picked the bottle from the cabinet. As the redguard placed a tankard and the bottle on the table. As he poured, Quintus continued. “I’m here looking for a friend of mine, Salahden al-Azif.”

“’fraid I don’t know anybody by that name sir,” the innkeeper said, looking nervous.

“Don’t think I don’t know where you get your finery from, Redguard, I know for a fact that al-Azif makes port in Riyadh today, selling pilfered goods to some of Riyadh’s less reputable markets. I also happen to know that whenever he makes port he sleeps overnight in Riyadh with one of your wenches. Do you understand me?” Quintus hissed.

“Come with me, there are guards about and we shouldn’t discuss this here,” the Inkeep said, ushering Quintus into the foodstore.

“I didn’t mean to get roped up into all of this, if I had my way I would have nothing to do with that fetcher, but he forces me to pay him protection money, if I stop paying or report him to the guard he will have my throat slit in the night. You look like a lawman sir, at least I’ve never seen no pirate in imperial garb, I don’t know what you’re here for but I don’t want to be involved.”

“Well that’s not good to hear, because I intend to gut one of your patrons tonight, and I would rather it be Salahden, rather than some innocent bystander. You are going to set two candles in his window tonight, let me know what room he is in and I’ll take care of the rest, just a word of warning, random innocents getting shanked in your inn isn’t good for business, so try make sure not to get the wrong room. I’ll return at midnight.”

Ignoring any of the redguard’s further complaints, Quintus left the Inn into the waterfront to check for the arrival of the Rogue’s Gambit, al-Azif’s ship. Looking out at the horizon he saw a fleet of ships, far off shore. The ships weren’t large enough to be merchants, and there were far too many of the ships for that to be likely anyway. Upon first glance his assumption was an imperial fleet of galleys would launch a naval invasion, but the ships were clearly not imperial. His next thought was that the fleet were some kind of exotic traders from out of Tamriel, from Akavir maybe. It was a far fetched idea but contact had been made many times over the eras between the two continents.

He saw a crowd up the street, he hadn't caught sight of the commotion which caused it. Entering the Inn as he was leaving was a black Argonian, with a pale woman in tow, wearing a heavy cowl despite the heat. He stopped the Argonian briefly. "Does nobody find those sails threatening? I spent years in the Imperial Legion, and they are surely no ships I recognize, furthermore they seem to be... waiting for something..." he said. "I don't know how acquainted you are with Riyadh, but surely this is not normal?"

[United Human Planets]

Siona "The Sly" Abali
Rihad Docks

Siona placed the box in her belt lightly, as if it contained something important. And in a way, it did, but not in the way she was trying to convince others that it did. It was little, big enough to carry only a few small trinkets. About the size of a flask, the kind of thing you would keep in a pouch on on your belt. As she did so, her hand brushed against the sword at her waist, a simple iron blade she had procured just south of the border to Skyrim, near the Reach. It had been one of her fathers, but it was hers now as far as she was concerned. Siona took the sword off, resting it behind a stack of boxes in the alleyway she was in, before turning around and making her way into the market.

Siona rested her weight on her left leg, cocking her right leg and left hip, before tidying up her hair on her head. She scanned the marked as she did so, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and watching the stalls with the other. One of the shopkeepers looked her way, and she smiled at him, giving him a coy look before looking back out at the market. With her hair out of the way, Siona took the green scar around her neck and lifted it over her head so that it was somewhere between a cowl and a headscarf, before setting off into the market. She took a few steps before reaching for her neck, and finding nothing there stopped dead in her tracks. She paused, assessing the situation at hand, and leapt back into action, searching desperately or the necklace and band.

She ran her hand all the way around her neck, stuck it down her shirt front ways and back, dug through her pockets, and wheeled around on her heel, heading back the way she had come. As she moved, she scanned the ground with a helpless look on her face, trying to find what she had lost. It made her feel a little ridiculous, but Siona even allowed her eyes to become a little watery, and her lip to tremble some. She scanned the ground, ran her hand through her hair, (and subsequently knocking back her scarf again) and slapped a hand to her head. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

"Excuse me, miss? Are you alright?"

Siona turned around, face to face with the shopkeeper she had smiled at.

"No," she said, "no Im not. Ive lost my necklace."

"And?" said the shopkeeper. He seemed like a sweet boy, eager to please. Perfect.

"Its just that, it was given to me by a certain someone," continued Siona, "and it had my wedding band on it. I wore it to remind myself that he was coming home soon, and we would be married. I cant lose it, he'll be crestfallen that Ive lost it. I cant do that to him."

"Well, what does it look like?" said the shopkeeper. He had also taken on a concerned expression, giving Siona's near weeping face a look of pity and a need to help.

"The chain is gold," said Siona, "and the ring on it is silver, with a diamond inlaid in the center."

"Alright, Ill help-" the shopkeeper fell silent, looking over Siona's shoulder. "Um, is that the necklace?" he said, pointing.

Siona turned, and saw a younger boy, around 10 or so, holding a golden chain. And hanging from the chain, was a silver ring. Siona practically leapt at the boy. "Hey," she said, her voice desperate but trying not to seem like she was about to mug him, "please, thats mine. Its very special to me and-" she reached her hand out to take the necklace, and the boy snapped his own hand back, holding it away from her.

Siona, and the shopkeeper as well, looked a little taken aback at this, but she kept going. "Please, thats very special to me, and I really need it."

"What will you give me for it?" said the boy.

Siona stopped, and looked at the boy with a mixture of growing panic and sudden defeat. "I, I dont have any money on me. Ive already spent it."

"Well, then what did you spend it on?" said the boy. "Maybe you can give me that."

"I didnt spent it like that," said Siona, "I spent it on my mother, she needs help at her shop. Please, thats way more important than you understand."

"Oh, I understand perfectly what this is miss," said the boy. "This is a wedding band. So, what will you give me for the wedding band, bride to be?"

"Hey, kid, how about you just give it to her and be a good person, instead of tormenting her like this," said the shopkeeper.

The boy looked around, eyeing up the shopkeeper. He looked him up and down like an experienced swindler, deciding on his next move. The shopkeeper could easily beat a young boy in a fight, but it was clear that the shopkeeper was not that type of person. He had the look of a sensitive young man, the kind of boy who would buy a girl flowers and write her poetry. Siona suspected that the boy had never been to a tavern in his life, and would rather sing songs than fight.

"Wow, look at you all high and mighty," said the boy. "Maybe you want to buy this, huh?"

Siona looked over at him, her hands clasped over her chest, the desperation obvious on her face. "Ill pay you back, I swear it, Ill find a way to pay you back," she said. The shopkeeper seemed swayed, but not convinced. "Please," she said, "Its the only thing I have," and that did it. The shopkeeper crumbled and nodded.

"Alright, how much for it?" he said to the boy.

"250 Septims," responded the boy, looking proudly at his defeated foe's. Truly a business man in the making.

The shopkeeper grimaced, but didnt say anything, going behind his stall and producing a lock box. From his own belt he pulled a key, and unlocked his little safe to begin counting the money into cloth bags. The boy watched greedily, and Siona smiled sweetly at him when he glanced up at her. She saw him him blush, as did the boy, who said with mild contempt, "Aw, look at that. Someone's in love." Siona glared at the boy, but he just continued to grin in triumph.

When the money was counted out and the ring back around Siona's neck, she looked over at the shopkeeper again. "Im sorry you had to pay all that money, I swear Ill find some sort of way to get it all back to you," she said.

"Its no problem," said the shopkeeper. "It was the right thing to do."

"Whats your name?" said Siona.

"Im Abdan," he said.

"Im Siona," said Siona. She leaned forward and gave Abdan a hug, before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you very much Abdan, your a real gentleman. Not enough of you around."

Abdan grinned again, and they said their farewells. Siona walked back off into the market, and Abdan watched her go. He hoped he would see her again, and though he was a little ashamed to admit it, he hoped that whoever it was she was marrying would leave her at the alter and that she would come back to him in a time of need. He already knew exactly what type of flower he would buy her to try and make her feel better.

Granted, none of that meant anything to Siona. She wasnt getting married, and both the chain and the ring were fakes. As soon as her back was turned from Abdan, her face, which had the whole time been that of a sweet, pretty girl with stars in her eyes melted away to reveal sly, shifting eyes. She weaved her way through the market, and bumped into a man wearing fine clothes on her way through. With some apologies she made her way passed him, but not before snagging his coin purse and quickly tucking it into her belt. She couldn't believe that poor Abdan had actually capitulated without any fuss, giving the full 250 Septims with zero attempt to fight it. She had expected the boy, who's name was Mier, to have to haggle his way down. She wasn't expecting to have Mier leave with more than 80 Septims.

Siona made her way out of the market, looping around on sides streets and alleyways till she was back to where she started. Mier was there waiting for her, swinging his legs from on top of the box he sat on, eyes on Siona's sword. Siona glared at Mier, this time not an act to help get money, and snatched the sword away from him. "Dont touch that," she said, "I dont fuck with your things."

"I highly doubt that," said Mier. "Ive only known you for a day, but I can already tell you would sell me for a loaf of bread."

"Whats it to you Mier," she said. "And wheres the money?"

"Its right here," said Mier, jumping down from the box and taking the coin purses of Septims from a little alcove in a wall. "And how much am I getting?"

"One fifth, like we already agreed on," said Siona, counting out 50 Septims into her hand. Mier held his hand out expectantly, and Siona plopped the coins onto his palm.

"I hope we can work together in the future," said Mier, smiling a snaggle toothed smile. He did and awkward, almost mocking bow, before turning and leaving the alleyways. Siona watched him go, her face passive, before gathering up the 200 coins she had left and leaving in the opposite direction, back towards the docks. She was careful to avoid Abdan's stall, steering closer to the water than to the buildings so that the crowds would cover her. Her sword, now back in her possession, bounced on her leg. She liked it that way, having come to consider the weapon a part of her identity, along with the steel dagger she carried as well. By making money the way she did, it was better she found to come with protection. Sometimes people caught on, and wanted to teach her a lesson in humility.

As she came to the other end of the docks, going towards Peymanns Inn where she had been staying, Siona found a commotion forming. She watched from the periphery as a Dunmer merchant and a local thief had an altercation of sorts. She couldn't tell exactly what it was about, but it appeared the local had pilfered something from the Dunmer's stand, and had been caught. Soon, knives were out and just as it seemed they were going to fight, a man came pushing through the crowd. Tall, fair skinned and with flowing hair and beard, it was not hard to place him. A Nord, coming in with what appeared to Siona to be the classic Nord way of doing things. Get in its face, and look like a hero with your warrior ruggedness. Personally, she liked Nords, but there was still something oddly naive about them as well.

The man came through, easily manhandling both the thief and the merchant, thrashing the thief around in particular and blowing on about who was at fault. Along with a few others in the crowd, Siona laughed heartily as the Nord shamed the would be thief into giving back what he had stolen, before sending him on his way as if he had been nothing more than a petulant child. The crowd began to disperse, but Siona remained behind, making her way forward as a Dunmer woman, who struck Siona as a little bookish and not quite the traditional adventurer, came up to the group and instantly started trying to barter with the Nord over the reward given to him by the Merchant. It was something Dwemer, and it glinted prettily in the sun. Upon hearing the Merchant describe how one could fetch a good price for it, coupled with the Dummer woman's sudden haggling, and Siona's interest was perked. She made her way forward to the growing group, and with a friendly "Hello," she firmly inserted herself into their conversation.

"So tell me," she said, "when you say that one could fetch a good price for this little piece of technology, how so do you mean that? Because I dont want to lose money on a bad investment, you understand?"

Siona smiled at the Merchant, before looking over to the Nord. Now that she was closer to him, she was a little taken aback by his size. She was already not a very big person, and that coupled with the fact that this Nord was in fact a big person, Siona suddenly found that she practically had to crane her neck like she was looking into the sky to look him in the eyes. "After all, I would be more than happy to take this off your hands or you," she said to the Nord.

Siona smiled at him too, giving him a cocky look, matching him if not in size than in confidence. "You can call me Siona, by the way."

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

Arvesa Vess
Rihad Docks

---

Hammerfell, at long last. Rihad was close to Cyrodiil, still, but yet it was obviously very, very different - the architecture, with its high domes and mosaic colophones alone was vastly different from anything Arvesa had seen before, and so it was that the Dunmer could come to the conclusion her travels in foreign lands had started in earnest once again. A group of Redguard dressed in snake-styled garments passed by. She squinted at them. Worshipers of Satakal, if she had done her research right, the Yokudan Snake-God of everything. There was a motley variety of people in the docks, she'd noticed, which made sense, considering they were... docks. Cyrods seemed to be most commonplace, due to the city's close proximity to those lands, but there were people to be seen from every nation, race, and culture.

Then, of course, there was the sun high above. It was far, far too hot already, and she'd only just arrived and stepped off of the ship! Unbuttoning the top of her shirt, the Dunmer became annoyed by the fact she'd chosen to wear those thigh-high riding boots instead of some simple sandals already. Sighing, she readjusted the sizable bag hanging from her back, lute hanging from its side, and marched onward, down the pier. Arvesa didn't stand out much in the way of attire - simple brown pants, leather riding boots, and a white shirt. While obviously not local wear (did they even have that? She remembered reading some curious tales about Rihad...) it certainly didn't seem out of place among all the sailors around. Of course, her ashen skin and that very red hair of hers certainly did make her stand out a bit, and for a moment the Dunmer pondered on whether it'd make her a more likely target for whatever pickpockets made these docks their home and workplace. She hoped the glass sword hanging from her belt would make them think twice about that, the malachite having a slightly eerie glow to it as some enchanted weapons were bound to have.

Indeed, as soon as the thought popped in her head, Arvesa could make out a Nord holding up some local kid, apparently a thief who had tried to steal from either him, or the stand he stood by. Either way, what appeared to be the local guard arrived, and it was nothing for her to meddle with - she'd likely be an annoyance, if anything, if she did now, the situation seemingly well controlled. The Dunmer glanced around, looking for some stands that could sell her some local delicacies, before coming to the conclusion that she wasn't really all that hungry yet, anyways.

Looking around again, Arvesa furrowed her brows slightly. She wasn't even sure where to go yet. Perhaps she could simply stay here for a moment, and see if anything interesting would happen? It usually seemed to be the case with docks in port cities, anyways - at least if Anvil had taught her anything! Still, simply standing around would just give her odd looks at best, and would make her a very, very tempting target for any pickpockets indeed. With a hum, the Dunmer moved over towards some seemingly unused crates, before depositing her bag in front of them and sitting down on top of one, the bag locked between her legs and in her plain sight.

Taking out her lute, she decided this would be how she'd pass some idle moments as she kept an eye out on the streets - perhaps even have a few people walk up to her because of it? Readjusting the strings a little after the journey she'd had, Arvesa gave a satisfied nod, and after a moment began playing a song with it, singing softly to herself as she kept her eyes on the bustling dockworks. "Eyes of polished amber, hair swept like a comet's tail, soul alight with love and joy under pregnant golden sails..."

[Beiarusia]

Kari Beaufort
Peyman's Inn, Rihad, Hammerfell


The inn was a two-story building with a sand-brick exterior and a covered patio for guests. A few men are outside, drinking and sharing stories and laughing at jokes only they understand. Adventurers from some far-off place. Above them a soft ocean breeze tugs at the canvas tenting, a deeb red fabric dyed bright underneath the sun. Near the door is a wooden sign painted and carved with the name of the lodging in bold, fancy lettering: PEYMAN'S INN. Beyond is a scene typical of most taverns. Merriment and drink and music, songs both familiar and captivatingly exotic, the same with the coloured bottles of liquors, placed upon the shelf in no particular order.

Niriseus was leading, his strides long and purposeful as Kari sauntered behind. A man was leaving just as they arrived, an Imperial, or someone fond of Imperial clothing, his attention diverted to the commotion further down the wide avenue. He stops Niriseus as he passes. Niriseus, in turn, looks down upon the man with poorly concealed aversion.

"Does nobody find those sails threatening? I spent years in the Imperial Legion, and they are surely no ships I recognize," the man begins, as if talking to an old friend. "I don't know how acquainted you are with Rihad, but surely this is not normal?"

The Argonian exhales out his nose in a dismissive gresture and continues on inside. "It is not my concern."

Kari is more approachable, but offers no explanation as she is just as clueless as the Imperial, and, like her companion, doesn't really care too much. "Who knows. If it was trouble the Redguards would have done something by now." She assumed Hammerfell had a navy or warships or something. Maybe she was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time; wouldn't be the last. Looking to the man she changed the topic to another curiosity with a slight twist of her parasol. "Why is an Imperial out here playing in the desert?"

[Rohst]

Bjorn Snaggletooth
Rihad, Hammerfell
Dockside Markets

---

The skald held out his hand to receive the item. It was light, almost exceedingly so, and fit within his palm. It must've been one of the magical wonders of the Dwemer, to bend metal such as this so that it weighed less than tin. Regardless, the shaggy Nord was more concerned with worldly affairs than that of foreign metallurgy and quickly accepted the gift.

Just then, a mousy voice squeaked through the air as a small Dunmer woman squeezed through the dispersing crowd.

"Hello, yes, excuse me! Before you give that item away, I would be most interested in purchasing it!"

Gilyn looked over the lass, then back to the large man in front of him, then brought his vision back to the girl. It was far too passed the the chance to attempt a sale, and it'd be awkward or potentially suicidal to ask for the gift he just gave the Nord immediately back, just so he could sell it away in front of his face. People often get killed for less in Tamriel, after all, and Gilyn was a shrewd elf. The situation had, also, garnered the attention of another spectator, as a Redguard woman who slinked out of the crowd.

"Hello," she began. "So tell me, when you say that one could fetch a good price for this little piece of technology, how so do you mean that? Because I don't want to lose money on a bad investment, you understand?"

She turned and looked up at Bjorn. "After all, I would be more than happy to take this off your hands for you."

Snaggletooth let out a hearty chuckle. This wasn't the first time he had two pretty girls after something of his. The Dunmer merchant, also amused, still saw an opportunity to profit off of this situation, though. Afterall, if those girls were both after something as simple as that, they might be more than happy to buy other goods from his stall. Cogs began turning in his head, and he cleared his throat.

"What's in that man's hands royght there is naught other than an authentic attunement sphere. It's'n ancient Dwemer arty-fact, a key to access a vault hidden away in some ruins wif all sorts of wealth 'nd splendour tucked away inside! I'd've gone fer it meself if it weren't fer me bum knee and 'avin' a family to feed." He looked over the group excitedly to see if his little pitch worked.

"That said, I 'ave me all sorts of even more valuable treasures in me stand, stuff ye don't need to risk yer neck fer, namely armour 'nd the loykes. Perhaps I could interest ye ladies in that, eh? Or ye, Mister 'Ero, you look'n the toype fer spelunkerin'."

The hairy Northman shrugged. He had no need for armour as he was wearing some already. Money wasn't a concern but... perhaps this two pretty ladies could be. He turned to them, and in that accented Nordic timbre that oft made women swoon, posed a query.

"Well, what are ye both offerin' me?"

[Grozav Inima]

Quintus Marius, Rihad Docks

The Argonian dismissed Quintus almost immediately and continued on his way. "It is not my concern,” he said.

The woman seemed more interested in conversation. "Who knows. If it was trouble the Redguards would have done something by now." The woman spun her parasol slightly, with her cowl, he could see that this woman had more of an aversion to sunlight than the most sensitive of Nords. "Why is an Imperial out here playing in the desert?"

“I’m here on business," he said, and paused for a moment, "I am not involved in the war, if that is what you are asking." Quintus looked at her more carefully. The way she was dressed, the cowl, and the parasol, it seemed too excessive even for this weather. And her eyes, they were glowing slightly. There were other things in Tamriel that could do that to a woman but Quintus started to become suspicious. "I could say the same about yourself, what is such a pale girl like you doing in a place like this." He focused quickly and in his hand conjured a brief spell of detect life. It was a spell he was familiar with, as it was useful in his line of work, this hadn't been the way he had ever used it for, but he figured it could confirm his suspicions. He quickly saw the marketplace light up with the life essences of all the citizens, all the people but one. "Especially, my lady, considering your condition."

He wasn't certain how she or the Argonian would react. "Your secret is safe with me, I have no intention to turn you over to the savages here. My name is Quintus Marius, by the way, I'm a bounty hunter, I won't keep too much of your time but I am interesting in your... situation, what brings somebody so averse to sunlight, to a place like this?"

[Torchina]

Romana Larcius
The Docks, Rihad, Hammerfell

---

Romana laughed gaily as the sailors around her began to work to moor the ship to the dock, the captain of the Zenithar's Gambit looked at over at her with a puzzled glance. He was a big Nordic man, the stereotypical sailor type, with a shaved head and a big red beard. He'd gotten along well enough with the merchant who he'd agreed to bring to Rihad over the past few weeks of their journey, but he wasn't the sort who cared much for idle chit chat. Or any chit chat for that matter. Come to think of it, he didn't really seem to care for much other than his drink and the efficiency of his journey.

As for the Gambit itself, she wasn't the largest of vessels, but she was a good ship, a Nordic barge hailing from Solitude. Passage for her and her goods had also come cheap, so as far as she was concerned, it was the finest ship north of Cyrodiil. The crew was a mix of nords and redguards and they worked tirelessly to anchor the boat into the harbour. The scent of their sweat mingling with the smell of the sea salt and brine, and the faint waft of spices from the nearby markets. Romana stood on the bow of the ship, people watching with a giddy little smile, she'd finally done it, she was finally a merchant in her own right. No more working for her family, no more working for the caravan. It was enough to put a sparkle into her eye.

"I'll be back to sort out the particulars of my shipment when you're finished with the docking, old boy," She chuckled again and slapped the back of the captain, "I have to organise a few things on shore."

The man gave her a grunt in response, and that was about as good as she was going to get. With a few cursory greetings, to the sailors that she was pushing past, the imperial merchant had to keep herself from breaking into a run as she made her way off the ship. Jumping from the deck onto the wooden dock, she allowed herself to take in the sights. The hustle and bustle of the marketplace, people and merchants making their way from stall to stall in search of bargains. The distinct smell of fish intermingling with the clearly local spices, it seemed the war had yet to make its way to the city proper. A tiding that brought mixed feelings to Romana, it would allow for more money to flow through the marketplace to be sure. But without the express needs of people to purchase wares to keep themselves safe, and her own ability to raise prices exorbitantly in order to take advantage of those needs.

Oh well, such was the way of it, she could at least try to organise a way to sell the bulk of her civilian goods. The many barrels of nordic ale and mead had at least kept on the long journey, and she was sure she could convince at least one innkeeper to purchase at least a part of the stock. If she could sell to a large number than she may be able to at least recoup a majority of her costs. Although, the real prize would be the large stockpile of steel and iron weapons she'd hoped to impart to either those looking to sell them to the competing armies or one of the armies themselves. Regardless, whoever bought them was of no concern to the girl. With this in mind, she set out to find a buyer for at least some of her goods.

At least, that was her intention, and she turned her purposeful walk toward the market as a whole. Her eyes constantly glancing at each of the different stalls, even to herself not knowing whether she was intending to scope out competition or rather if she was looking at a trader to sell to wholesale. The whole idea of actually being in charge of an operation for once was so exciting and foreign to her. This girlish energy clearly clouded her judgement as her plans for the day were temporarily put on hold when she overheard the sound of a lute. How exciting!

She turned her head rapidly around until she found the source of the music, a dunmer woman had propped herself up on some crates and was singing in tune with her music. The song itself was new to Romana, and was far more to her taste than the drinking ballads that she had grown accustomed to in the taverns of Skyrim. She paused for a moment just to listen, thoughts of sales temporarily exiting her brain.

Romana knew not how the dark elf would react or if she would even notice she was being watched, but in the event that she did catch the eyes of the merchant before her she would greet her rapidly, "By the divines, that was simply exquisite! If I may inquire as to the name of the ballad? Not to seem too upfront of course."

[Zanera]

Abadol gro-Malok
Rihad Dockside
Sitting at a Shady Table

---

He had ordered the box two weeks ago and was waiting at a table under some shady colorful awning. The parchment box would have been cheaper to make in Cyrodiil instead of Hammerfell. In Hammerfell trees were scarcer than in Cyrodiil. In Cyrodiil the lumber would be cheaper and since there were many carpenters there, the labor would be cheaper. Overall, the box would be cheaper in Cyrodiil, however there was the delivery. Shipping it had its cost, and the merchant was asking a hefty price for some un-graspable reason. Of course it was Hammerfell and he was able to talk them down to 60% or so below what was originally asked for. The overall price between the actual parchment box and the shipping fee was lower than he'd get it for if he had gotten it from Hammerfell, ironically. Abadol didn't like economics much so he didn't think about it much, he was just happy he could save some money.

A Redguard merchant approached, holding in his hands something rectangular in a cloth. "Are you Abadol gro-Malok?" he smiled.

"That is me, yes."

They both got up and grabbed each other's wrists, and sat down. "Should we have some coffee?" Abadol asked.

"This should be quick. We already have the agreed price."

"That it should, now, let's see the merchandise."

The merchant opened the cloth of to expose a fine piece of finished wood, with fresh metal hinges. It was sturdily put together and was supposed to be safe if it fell into water. The inside gave just enough space to fit the crisp, newly-bought parchment Abadol had. He liked it very much, and produced the pouch of coins he had already counted out and put in the pouch for the exchange. The merchant sifted through the septims and was satisfied. They grabbed each other's wrists again and the merchant got up and left. Abadol produced his written oral histories out of his satchel and put them in the box, with the fresh parchment on top. He closed it and put it in his satchel, very, very pleased.

He sat back and looked around. Hammerfell was hot at this time of day but it was good in the shade. Dozens and dozens of people filed past, stopping at stalls or going to the piers. Ships sailed in and out of ports, crews yelling as they moored and unmoored the large merchant ships. There were shoulders drooping in the heat and heads perked up high looking forward to what was to come in their day. Business and administrative duties being done all up and down the dockside. The scent of the sea fought with the smell of the dozens of ras el hanouts dealt out of spice stands. Out at sea, there was strange ships settled in port. What they were doing, Abadol did not know, but he cared little. The Redguards had been especially suspicious of outsiders since the Empire abandoned them. If Rihad of all places wasn't investigating the ships, then they must not be a threat. Among the din there was a commotion. Through partings in the crowd it looked like pickpocket trouble. At that, Abadol drug his orcish tower shield to be right against him, planting his satchel behind the shield away from onlookers. There was suddenly a charming voice singing a tune he had not actually heard before, but that he knew he liked.

Abadol slided his chair out from under the table and stretched, some of his joints popping. That never sounded good to an orc. He bent over and used the table for support, picking up his satchel and sliding it on before picking up his tower shield. Well, as long as he could heft that. The crowd was a little hard to shuffle through but he made it over, leaning on some crates as an Imperial drifted over. She asked what Abadol wanted to know, so he stayed silently.

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

Arvesa Vess
Rihad Docks

---

As she played her lute and her song, sitting down by the docks, several people stopped, even if at least momentarily, to listen to the Dunmer play. Indeed, some of them placed a coin or two by her feet, and Arvesa knew already that her journey in Hammerfell was off to a good start - if people in the docks would stop for her and even pay her for her public performance, she could only imagine how well local taverns and their patrons would pay her! Clearly, she had made the right decision, to travel here.

"My star-eyed bride of Alinor, That cruel fate took away." She finished, moving her lute off of her, holding onto it with one hand while scooping up the coin she had earned already. Quickly tucking them all away, she moved to sit back upright again, only for her eyes to meet with the blue eyes of an Imperial, whom seemed to be very quick to voice her appreciation for the song indeed. The Dunmer bowed her head at the woman, smiling. "Thank you, thank you! 't is a song I've always enjoyed myself, as well." With a hum, Arvesa leaned back slightly, legs still firmly pressed against her bag as before, locking it in place to try and discourage any potential thieves. "An old song from the Summerset Isles - Altmeri. 'The Star-Eyed Bride of Alinor', it's called. Beautiful song, although it isn't all that popular these days - or at least, not many people that play it are abound in neither the Empire, nor here it seems. For reasons unrelated to the actual song, I imagine, but..."

The Dunmer shook her head in disapproval. "A great shame, that, for it is an exquisite song indeed! You are far from too upfront, fear not. Are you a performer yourself, sera?" She asked, tilting her head slightly. Arvesa looked at the Imperial, interested. She didn't look like the type, at least not the way she was dressed, now. Who knew? Maybe she was an actress, or a sword-eater that just wasn't working today! One always met the most curious types at the docks of major ports, she'd found.

[Beiarusia]

Kari Beaufort
Peyman's Inn, Rihad, Hammerfell


"I'm here on business," the Imperial says before adding that he is uninvolved with the ongoing conflict.

Kari is indifferent to the war. It is a distant affair that is utterly insignificant to her self-absorbed interests, but she accepts the man's explanation, to a degree, retaining some lingering doubt. Not that she cares how suspicious the wayward Imperial looks. His business, not hers.

He then asks why she is here in Hammerfell, his words and subtle movements of the hand the makings of someone a bit too attentive for their own good. Then he calls out her condition. "Your secret is safe with me. I have no intentions to turn you over to the savages here." A slight pause as the two face one another. The mood is uneasy, but the Imperial soon offers an olive branch in the form of introduction. "My name is Quintus Marius, by the way. I'm a bounty hunter. I won't keep too much of your time but I am interested in your... situation. What brings someone so averse to sunlight to a place like this?"

The vampire crosses one arm to the other, hand resting in the crook of her elbow. The parasol is angled against her shoulder in a relaxing manner as if she were partaking in a leisurely afternoon stroll. "Why so interested? Thinking I may be a detriment to this fine establishment?" She smiles. "I'm traveling, and Hammerfell was next on the list, simple as that. If you were expecting some great story of a personal journey then I am sorry to disappoint."

Her eyes glance inside the inn. She can't see Niriseus.

"In case you think of doing me harm please consider that my companion would take exception to such action. But, curious, why a bounty hunter and why here? Looking for someone? I can help. I'm bored already and could use some entertainment."

[Grozav Inima]

Quintus Marius, Rihad Docks

The woman crossed her arms coyly. "Why so interested?" she said, "Thinking I may be a detriment to this fine establishment?" She paused for a moment and the Imperial let out a small smirk, and she smiled back. "I'm traveling, and Hammerfell was next on the list, simple as that. If you were expecting some great story of a personal journey then I am sorry to disappoint."

They made their way into the Inn, before they continued to speak.

"In case you think of doing me harm please consider that my companion would take exception to such action. But, curious, why a bounty hunter and why here? Looking for someone? I can help. I'm bored already and could use some entertainment."

Quintus raised an eyebrow, meeting her eyes, "While I don't fear your bodyguard overmuch, I have no intention of doing you harm. I'm afraid I can't share too many details on my mission, but I am tracking a notorious Pirate captain you may or may not have heard of, suffice it to say, if you meet any swarthy Redguard miscreants, I wouldn't follow them to bed," he said with a smirk.

He glanced out the window, the sun was still in the sky, and the Rogue's Gambit wouldn't arrive until sunset. So he had some time to speak. "Although I suppose you don't become queasy at the sight of blood, do you?"

[Torchina]

Romana Larcius
The Docks, Rihad, Hammerfell

---

Romana smiled and nodded like a child in a candy shop as the dunmer musician explained the name of the song and its origin, only pausing herself from her giddiness when the elf mentioned the region from which it originated. An altmer song? Romana didn't know quite what to make of that, she'd heard little good about the high elves of the south from either her family or from the nords with which she had made company for the past few years. But could they truly be all that bad if they knew art like that song? Regardless, it didn't seem to matter now, it's not like the Empire was going to throw her into some dank and dirty cell for appreciating the music of a woman who wasn't even from Summerset. Yes, yes, it was only natural to enjoy a song that was so fine and it was truly a shame that it had fallen from favour, as the dunmer woman had said!

This run of thoughts, of course, came to a crashing stand still when she was asked about her own status as a performer. To which Romana couldn't help herself but to let out a laugh, "Oh no no no, I'm afraid not. I'm just a humble salesman, here to sell my wares to the fine people of Rihad. The finest of exports from Solitude and Skyrim as a whole. Although I dare say the music of the northmen is far from as fine as your own, my lady." Instantly, Romana's demeanor changed, from that of an interested patron in the arts to something more akin to a banker playing as a noblewoman, a lady of fine means but not one of fine culture, as she entered into the beginning of her trade related tirade, "I dare say that the only thing that the nords ever wish to think about is drink or war. And that's all they care about in both trade and in music!" Romana let out a laugh, although it didn't seem to be at anything in particular.

"Oh!" The imperial let out suddenly, pulling out three septims and moving to give it to the dark elf, "I'm afraid I don't have much gold on my person at the moment. Most of my funds have been invested into the shipment that I've brought in. But if you have any desire to purchase anything I'm sure I can give you a discount. It's the least I could do given the song that you have given us all in exchange."

Romana smiled as she examined the dunmeri woman more closely, sharp features and red hair. She definitely didn't seem to be as soft as most of the people who she interacted with in port cities such as Rihad, and the imperial's interest was definitely piqued.

[The Ik Ka Ek Akai]

Rihad was bustling. People from all over came to visit the famous port city, thriving and prosperous as it was- and to stake their own claim to the vast wealth contained therein. Sailors were taking a moment of rest, filling their bellies and emptying their groins, while merchants all peddled their goods to each and every person passing by. It was just the sort of atmosphere that one woman, Ja'zirani-daro by name and with many aliases, could do her best work in. Zirani, when her name is broken to just its root, was skilled in merchantcraft, with a silver tongue, a piercing eye, and a knowledge of many things across the divided lands defining the continent. It was said she could talk her way out of an execution- perhaps she even had at one point. Probably not. In fact, nobody said that either.

Zirani stood in a somewhat dark alleyway shortly beyond her own home building, her base of operations. The dark helped to obscure some of her features, but the shadow was scarcely blinding. Her tan skin, not quite as pale as a Nord yet not as dark as a Redguard, gave her a somewhat exotic appearance to many of the others passing her across the years- perhaps the appearance of a dark Bosmer but never something they've exactly seen before. Her yellow-orange felid eyes only emphasized this, seeming like the eyes of any elf from afar, but up-close betraying her to any who dared look too close. Her long, red-brown hair, twisted into locks and grown into a mane in itself, and yet so clearly carefully groomed and cared for to appear undeniably neat and tidy, screamed 'savage' to some, but to any Khajiit it was their culture. Her hair was not too hard to manage, either, as she frequently changed its appearance to suit various personas- not all of them Khajiit. Just as well, unlike most Khajiit, she refrained from using earrings for long periods of time- even long enough for the holes to close and requiring the pain of reapplying the piercings all over again, but it was just how she lived with her disguises.

She wore a leather top, really closer to a breast wrap, leaving both her upper chest and her midriff exposed. The shade was a sort of ivory, seeming perhaps rawhide, but easily malleable enough to use for regular clothing- and thus it is only an appearance. At her hips was a long, violet skirt of linen, reaching to just a bit above her ankles, double-belted with two standard brown straps over a royal blue sash with silver dangling pieces. On her feet, reddish-brown boots- the height of which could not be discerned due to the skirt, but easily enough to keep sand out and keep her feet in. Covering her arms were long, rich-brown leather gloves, held up at her bicep by golden armlets. Covering the whole of herself was an external robe, or perhaps coat, falling to about mid-calf in length, with long and drooping sleeves, and thoroughly maroon in hue with S-shaped floral patterns embroidered in silver thread along the rims. Completing the look, a royal blue headscarf, veiling her nose as mouth as well as a fair part of her hair.

There Zirani stood, prepared to face down a new client. The man, a small-but-cocky Imperial, approached her with a light in his eye. He walked, silently, quickly, his chest puffed, failing to intimidate the woman opposite him. He asked for his bottle, his precious bottle, and she reached into her coat and extracted the very formula he sought. Well-refined skooma, fresh from the bottle, made with the finest moon sugar. The Imperial twitched and reached for it with shaky hands, but with cat-like reflexes Zirani pulled it away- asking for her due payment. He asked for a taste, she did not comply. He got angry, she grew cautious. He began to reach for his knife, and she pulled off her right glove, armlet at all, holding it in her left hand as she protracted her claws and held them to the man's neck. He froze, fear in his eyes- and determination in hers. Slowly shifting his stance, he pulled out a small purse- which she snatched. Handing him the bottle and sending him on his way, she retracted her claws and decloaked briefly to slip the long glove, and armlet, back up to its prior position. Another deal done, another day won.

Smiling, she returned to her nearby office. Walking along the streets, she packed away her coat and headscarf into her satchel- revealing her proper attire underneath and her identity to the world, not that it mattered much anymore. Nobody could really prove anything, and it was her personal opinion that nobody ever paid attention anyway. The guards were always too busy doing literally anything else to track down some low-level skooma dealer, right? Whatever the case, her door was just around the corner. Turning in, and going through, she was greeted by the cool air of the building's natural ventilation- the water trickling over windows now and then, the wind caught in the attic, and the organic shade of the building itself. All quite comfortable. Going below the ground to fetch a quick drink, she chugged a refreshing bottle of sweetened rosewater- before grabbing a couple more bottles of the good stuff and heading straight back out again. There were no more 'appointments', and this day of days there were no new shipments nor stock to keep track of particularly. She simply left the building, locked the door, and headed to the dock for a slew of reasons- perhaps to find a new customer for her illicit trade, perhaps to make some friends for her legal trade, or maybe just to enjoy the sights and sounds for a little bit. It was, more or less, a free day after all.

Heading down to enjoy the sights and sounds, Zirani soon found a simple couple sitting by the dockside, one against a crate with a lute, the other fanatically praising such. Apparently, the other had enjoyed a song from the musician as of late. Ducking beside a wall, at least briefly, she listened intently at their conversation- and understood, essentially, the gist of what was going on. It was about this time that she revealed herself and approached the two-

"You are wrong, friend," she said, dropping a few of her recently-acquired coins for the Dunmer to have, "Mercantilism is an art. A performance!" she exclaimed, with a crude habit of talking with her hands as she continued, "You put on a show for your customer, you intimidate them or you flatter them, you catch their interest in some way- and then you give them a hook, a grab, a pull. They might try to barter, and you play a sweet game of tongues as you guide them to a point of satisfaction, all while they see themselves in control. Certainly, the choice is theirs in the end- but it truly is the equal to fine music and beautiful painting when one's silver tongue sails on the wind!"

She smirked, "You have done it yourself, no?" Zirani asked, her feline eyes narrowing slightly, seeming almost to pierce one's very soul, or at least attempt to do such- "Are your wares in truth the finest, especially in contradiction of your own proclaimed humility? Is this city as fine as you claim? It is a city of luxuries, certainly, but I don't know if I'd call the very people so fine! Ah, but that's the game, no?"

With a small chuckle, she relaxed herself a little- "Speaking of luxuries, that is my very trade here. Like this one," she pointed to Romana, "I have likewise been around. And, if perhaps either of you wish to explore the exotic fineries that Rihad has to offer, you need only ask," she concluded, patting her satchel.

[Zanera]

Abadol gro-Malok
Rihad Dockside
By the Dunmeri Musician

---

It seemed a couple of people had sprang up and were jovially interested in themselves as saleswomen and merchants. The Imperial women was highly modest with money. It'd probably net her higher-paying contracts if she threw her wealth around some, at least that was Abadol's philosophy, but then again, a pickpocket was just busted and throwing one's wealth around would be a mistake at the moment. The Bosmer...no it seemed to be one of those hairless Khajiit now that he really looked, well, they were trying to be a salescat. Their tongue was slippery and were looking to sell, but Abadol had already bought the merchandise he had wanted today. Now he would spend on leisure items.

Abadol dug through his shoulderbag, looking for his coinage. Finally, he pulled out two septims and stretched his hand out to the Dunmer like the Imperial woman had. "A fine song from a fine singer. It's always nice listening to some new songs every once in a while. I'd give you more but most of my income is what you're doing right now, except with a little more savagery and flair."

[United Human Planets]

Siona The Sly
Rihad Docks

Siona looked the nord up and down again, her eyes lingering on the Dwemer attunment sphere in his hand. She weighed her options, trying to decide if she wanted to expose all her hands now, or try and wheedle her opponents down. She got the vibe from the Nord that he was headstrong and hearty, a classic of his people. However, she couldn't get a vibe on his intelligence, leaving her feeling a little out of her element. If he was stupid, excellent. But if he was secretly hiding a wealth of knowledge under his wild hair and beard, then she may have a harder time convincing him.

In the end, she chose to go with the third option. Just keep pushing the shopkeeper for what the worth was on the Attunment Sphere. It was a bold move, as if it turned out to be far more than she had, she would put herself at a disadvantage, but she hoped she could buy herself some time to figure out who she was dealing with.

"Look, I see what your doing here," she said, keeping her voice casual and flirty, "but before I make any kind of commitments, I really want to know the spheres worth. Im not trying to make any rash decisions here, Im sure you understand."

[Insaeldor]

Khamil at-Fatd
City Guard
Rihad

“By Onsi, I wish I was out with the army at Elinhiz.” I sighed a bit harder. The immense boredom of sitting in the guard barracks was worse than death. When you join the guard you would expect something to happen, aside from a few thieves getting round up and the minor brawl getting broken up it wasn't much to think of. Lay around the barracks and hope something happened.

“that's easy to say.” Arid chuckled slightly while he sat down at the small wooden table in the center of the room. An older man, been around for awhile.

“I'd rather be baking in Craglorn that sitting on my ass here in town.” my response fell on deaf ears. We simply sat there for a moment in silence. A few minutes maybe. The silence was broken by sound of the door opening and the sounds of the city flooding in, only to be pushed out by the closing of the door. It was Kamisi and Guul, back from street patrol.

“how's everything out there?” Arid asked then inquisitively.

“Fine, more issue with thieves over at Gilyn’s shop.” Kamisi’s sounded just slightly fatigued.

“That Hlaalu merchant? Those damned things he hocks aren't even worth stealing.” Arids for broke out in a light laugh as did Kamisi and Guul.the two striped off the thickest parts of their armor. It was time for me and Arid to go out. He geared up, nothing more than just a set of scales armor and a Scimitar. We donned our Tyrian colored robes underneath to signify our role, as well as our shield with the city insignia. We got up and headed out the door into the streets.

The roads of the city with thick with people. This deep into the city you really only saw redguards, the docks were another story and that's where we were heading. But first we got stopped by a few beggars, Arid was passive about it, seemingly not concerned with the fact that these men were clogging the street. We were only a minutes from the barracks and already these filthy beggars made it difficult for us to even move through the streets.

“Alright get up and get out of here.” i used my shield to push them so they'd get up and get moving.

“what have we done?” the old beggars voice was old and frail.

“We can't have you guys clogging the road up like this” I brought my shield up to my chest and used it to move them along.

“I’m just here sitting down, you don't have the right to tell me where to sit.” the beggar more angry now.

“You need to get move--" I stopped once the beggars spit hit my face. I forced him.down onto the ground and grabbed the handle of my swords, how dare a lowly beggar disrespect me, a symbol of law and authority, a pillar of order in the community. Just as I attempted to lift my sword from its sheath a hand gripped mine firmly. I turned to see Arid, his hand over mine. His eyes were piercing and his face like a stone. I backed off. I could feel that if I continued I'd have more trouble to deal with. Arid was just a damned fool.

“Will be on our way.” Arids hand went to my back and we moved along. I didn’t say anything, I had nothing to say. We separated as we made our way up the road to the docks. We stopped for a moment and looked out over the sea. The sounds of sea birds and people haggling. It was just past midday so this would proceed for much longer.

“You hear that?” Arid asked. I couldn't distinguish anything distinct for a moment. But then I could pick out a faint whistling sound, he grew louder as the seconds passed, multiple ones could be picked up afterwards. Me and Arid looked at each other, confused as to what it could be. Then a loud blast shook our bones and threw us down to the ground.

“By Satakal!” I yelled out as i saw this heavy rain of fire land upon the docks, everyone scattered like mice. I stood up with Arid as we stood frozen in fear. What was happening? Why was it happening? We couldn’t stand here and just watch it though, we had to do something. Me and Arid looked at each other, we didn't say a word but we knew we needed to do something. We were caught up in the wave of people trying to escape.


“Where's the closest gate?” I yelled out Arid as we were swept away by the tide of people.

“North, Its north.” he said panicked, I could see Hiryds Elixirs. That means we’d just need to cut through the north green road to get there from here. We broke free from the crowd and headed down the road, I stripped my armor and ditched my shield to lighten the load on my body. It wasn’t long before we saw the gate. Two guards, frightened and on the verge of panic.

“Open the gate!” I yelled to them. The just gave me a blank stair, looking as confused as anyone else.


“What if the Empire is outside the gates?” they responded, it stopped me I’d never thought of it. What if it was an imperial attack.

“So our choices are to die tired or die in a cage.” Arid spoke up.

“If we open the door those damned Legionnaires will flow in like rats!”

“And if we don’t will all die!”

“You’re not coming near this gate.” The guard said, the other one pulled his sword ready to defend the gate.

“Look, Look around you, the attack happened on the docks. If they attacked from the docks then they have ships, and if they have ships were dead weather or not we open the gate.” Arid pleaded. However it looked as if they weren’t going to have it. The one guard pulled his sword, It might have just been to scare us off, but it was enough of a threat to convince me that diplomacy wasn’t an option anymore. I quickly threw my sword from my sheath with strong pull. I got lucky and when I struck I hit the wrist and caused the man to drop his sword. Arid followed and struck at the other guard, the guard that had talked to us. He wrestled him to the ground. I turned to him and grabbed the keys from his belt.

“Open the gate!” Arid yelled, I ran the post where the gate wheel was. Unlocking the door to the room with only a wheel and a rope attached to it, reaching up into city walls. As I walked in i was pinned against the wall. It was the boy that drew his sword. Weak but still attempting to prevent me from saving the city. I turned around and threw him off of me. I took my sword and plunged it into the gap between his shoulder and his neck. I then made my way to the wheel, I was shaking due to the rush of combat I felt, this, this is what I wanted. It was addictive. I cranked the wheel which moved the ropes and opened up the gate.

Now the the gates were open the people would come. The rain of fire hasn’t stopped, its still going. The docks were ablaze, the smoke seen over the buildings of the city. It looked as if there was no single building still fully intact. The city was to be a crater, our only hope was that as many people as possible could get out and to other cities for safety.

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

Arvesa Vess
Rihad Docks

---

"From all across the other side of the continent, hm? Or well, it feels like, with how warm it is here and how cold it is there..." Arvesa gave a vaguely amused smile, shaking her head. "You may well be right, I fear! Battle seems to be an ever-present theme in their songs, and they are usually composed in such a way that they entice, or at least give room for, the audience to drink hefty amounts of mead - I think it's mead that they drink, at least. It matches the audience back there, I suppose. They certainly are intent on drinking their nights away, although when one is playing in a tavern of sorts, that can only be expected."

The Dunmer blinked as suddenly, the Imperial in front of her produced some coins, quickly handing them over. A welcome sight, naturally, and she smiled as she took them and tucked them away. "Thank you, thank you! It's more than enough, fear not. I'll keep your offer in mind, though. Perhaps I'll look through some of your wares later today, see if there's anything of interest among them...?"

That was when a Bosmer... no, a Khajiit, judging by how she had a tail, approached. She dropped a few coins, and Arvesa was quick to catch them, lest she have to go and pick them up off of the ground, stowing them away with the rest of the coinage she had earned so far today. The Khajiit that didn't look much like a Khajiit began speaking of how mercantilism, too, was a great performance, in a way an art of its own right, towards the Imperial lady that had approached her but moments ago. This came to an eventual end, however, with the woman praising her own business and her own wares - naturally. She shook her head a little. Arvesa never did like those cat-folk much, anyways, and clearly this one was, despite her lack of most feline features, just like the rest of them!

Instead, she turned her head towards the Orc that now made his approach, similarly handing her a fine two coins like some others had done before him. "Thank you, thank you," the Dunmer commented, again putting her hard-earned (well...) gold away as she continued, "you are a performer yourself, then? A bard?" She tilted her head, waiting for an answer, but that would not come.

Arvesa blinked, looking up at the sky as from above, in the distance, she heard a whistling noise, unlike any bird she knew. It wasn't a bird, of course - far from it. It grew louder and louder, joined by similar noises, and suddenly, something hit the docks. A loud blast overwhelmed her, and she was sent back against those crates she'd been comfortably sitting on and leaning against but a moment ago. "B'Vek!" She screamed out, cursing as she clambered up onto her feet. The sky above was filled with fire, raining down on the city as if Dagon himself had descended from the Deadlands once again, intent on destroying Rihad, now. Daedra or other invaders, there was one thing Arvesa knew for sure: she really, really would rather not die here, now, or really, any time soon at all.

As fires started to spread within mere moments of the impact of the first fiery projectile, Arvesa quickly gathered her things, fastening her backpack and lute to her back before quickly drawing that fine, fine glass sword of hers in a fluid motion. "Right! We need to get the hell out of here!" She announced, to nobody in particular, before dashing forwards, fast and agile, trying to make her way through the panicked crowds as they all seemed to hurry for what seemed to be the only way out, at least in their eyes - and thus, to someone unfamiliar with this city such as she, her as well. The northern city gate it would be.

[The Ik Ka Ek Akai]

Things seemed to be going...decently. It was impossible to know if a good impression had been made, because it was only a few moments later that some strange sounds fell from the sky, followed by violent quakes and a blazing inferno. Zirani watched in horror as the skies turned dark and red- and the heat of the town rose to scorching levels even in the shade. In but an instant, everything had come crumbling down. At the peak of her life, down to nothingness. The streets were clogged, and she looked to her sides- was this it? Was this the end?

"S'rendarr..." was all she could muster, in a choked breath, as she felt her limbs locking in place- refusing to move despite the heat and the quaking- perhaps even because of them. Zirani had never been one for prayers and gods, at least not devotedly, certainly not as much as she was to the Khajiit culture and lifestyle, but if there was ever a time to become as a nun, that time was right now. Vague senses of the gods flew through her clouded thoughts, but neither muscle nor mind would take action. She was truly paralyzed, trapped within her own body, forced to watch as a great wave of oncoming doom approached from the shore. And then, the people beside her ran- and it came to clarity that only a few seconds had actually gone by.

She ran, faster than she'd ever run before. Easily able to dart with her cat-like reflexes between people in her same position, she saw ahead a great blockage of people- a swarm, a crowd that would prevent any further advancement. In a split second, before she could even process what was going on, she began climbing the walls- using any ledges and holds she could to reach the top of the nearest building. Looking over the layout, there was a clear path to the north gate, or at least more clear than all the alternatives. Looking back at those on the street, she shouted, loud as she could, "Left!" before taking that very direction for herself, performing a great leap from one rooftop to the next. Perhaps Rihad was a fine city after all, if only for the sake of having flat-topped buildings from which she could observe and leap.

She proceeded to follow this step the whole way to the gate- shouting out for those below which direction was the most clear for new traffic, and then finding the next intersection at which to do so. This all ultimately led to the North Gate, still somewhat flooded but not nearly as much as one might expect- the wide exit allows a fairly free flow compared to the cramped roadways. Climbing down from her perch, Zirani met the ground once more and bolted through the gate.

Free, at last! After jumping and leading for what seemed an eternity, she escaped through the sea of newly-made refugees and into the desert beyond. She wanted to flop down, to rest and catch her breath and her mind- the aches in her chest growing harder to ignore- but she instead kept walking- and soon veered off the road to the desert. A shame on her nice boots, but she needed more open, uncongested air- a cooling breeze to fill her lungs- and this is just what she got. In a few deep breaths, she looked back to the city- to years of her work, to all the people living therein now fleeing, to those who might not have actually made it out, and stared in shocked silence.

[Zanera]

Abadol gro-Malok
Rihad Dockside
Beside the Dunmeri Bard

---

"Yyyy-" Abadol said, resting on the first letter as he heard an odd whistling sound. In his experience, when he was caught in distasteful situations and heard ominous things, a bad thing was about to happen. He stood up and tried to plant his feet, but he stumbled over, catching himself from falling with his tower shield. Daring to look around as he planted his feet and other explosions erupted all around the docks, he saw that those mysterious ships weren't so mysterious anymore. Where they came from was irrelevant. There was no way for him to strike back at them, ships and piers beginning to sink or collapse into the harbor. Buildings quickly caught fire and bodies under collapsed rubble grew ever frequently.

It was untenable to stay, so he ran. The crowd was a major nuisance, but they were doing the same thing he was so he could not judge them. Explosion after explosion sounded through the city, reverberating off the city walls and towers, and people screamed with every close one. Abadol was old but he was still a stronghold orc with a tower shield and a orcish cuirass. He pushed through the crowd, nearly tripping himself up as well as countless other people. Wailing babies and crying women were heard all throughout the crowd, and whatever brave guards there were were helping the elderly out of there homes or shepherding the citizenry. None of them ran to the docks. Looking back, the docks were not in very good shape to engage anything that was over there, and he surely wouldn't either. Was it cowardice that he was running? He didn't think so, there was nothing to fight that he knew of, and it wasn't like the orcs had never been refugees themselves before.

There was one gate that he knew was open today, so he had ran for it. There were now hundreds of people trying to jam through it. It was only a matter of time until an explosion killed half of the dense crowd. The cat that had been by the Dunmeri bard had gotten ahead of him and had climbed up onto the walls of the city. They pointed to another gate and shouted, jumping off the walls and heading for the northern gate. Some of the crowd broke off and headed for it, and so did Abadol. He ran as fast as he could and shot out of the city, running along the wall and sitting down against it, huffing and puffing in the nice shade. He was as tired as a lion after the chase. The refugees seemed never ending as they went where ever they felt they would be safe. An explosion against the wall sent him bounding away as large masses of stone and mortar pounded the ground where he had been sitting. He checked himself. He had everything, had about as much as the people around him. He shook his head and started to walk along the road to Taneth with innumerable other people.

[Theodosiya]

Fallen Wastes
Hammerfell
Marius Lex & Jadezzar



Sands in boots, in backpack, in many places, everywhere. Alik'r are to their south away, and yet the mercenaries felt the heat and the sands. If it weren't for a lucrative contract to accompany a caravan from Dragonstar to Hallin's Stand, or rather, a chance to map the area in detail, they would rather go back to Dragonstar, or even cross the border to High Rock. Such thoughts plays in the mind of a young Cathay Khajiit mercenary, as he approached the "leader" of the "mercenary band" of seven people, which was cobbled together from few independent adventurers and mercenaries that happens to stay in a small inn near Dragonstar western gate. Sitting next to a rock conveniently shielding him, watching for any bandits, Reachmen or any other hazards, the man, a rather tall and muscular Imperial in his late twenties, memorized the lay of the lands, and think about how armies could pass through without the risk of being ambushed or trapped. "Marius, spotted anything? I want to talk with you" The Khajiit spoke with thick accent, but nonetheless still recognizable in commons. "Talk away, Jadezzar. At least I have something else to pass the time" Marius Lex turns his head toward the Khajiit. "I hope this trip is worthwhile. We've been moving all over Fallen Wastes and Craglorn by this point. The pay is good, but the prospect of being caught between Legion and Redguard forces isn't appealing. Tell me, why the Legion haven't penetrated deep into Craglorn and Fallen Waste? Surely there are Legions in High Rock that are being prepared to strike through Bangkorai?" Jadezzar sat next to Marius, who are trying to remember pieces of information he has heard from traders, guards and many more people. "If I'm not wrong, there is a force that's being directed against Craglorn from Falkreath, and Elinhir already attacked by The Legion last time I heard , hence why there's alot of soldiers being stationed in Dragonstar, and likely going to be reinforced with more soldiers from other cities. However, this sector is still quiet. Such a shame, because if The Legion manages to occupy this area, advance and later on besiege Skaven, they could isolate Dragonstar, and after those cities fell, secure Northern and Eastern Hammerfell. Afterwards, it's matter of time before entire Hammerfell could be reunited. Let's hope His Highness are smart enough not to antagonize the Redguards more than necessary, we still need their manpower and skills in future war against the Aldmeri Dominion" Marius analyze the situation. "Alright, but still, what we're doing next are going to be quite risky, and I still want to keep my head on its proper place" Jadezzar sighed. "Hope the Gods are on our side instead of theirs. Things could go either way. Mortals act, but Gods decide the result and their destiny. Oh well, let's switch place. Being a sentry is tiring, after all" Marius stood and walked away. "Get me something to drink, please. I'll have to wait here for quite a long time" Jadezzar shouted. "Yeah yeah, don't worry. I'll accompany you anyway" Marius shouted back, grinning while carrying his spear and shield.

The caravan leader, an old Breton man, lean half asleep inside his cart as Marius walked in front of it. He noticed that the other mercenaries are either asleep or inspecting their gear. He approached his pile of equipment and Jadezzar's, taking two empty bottle he found where they previously stopped, a bread and some dried meat. He then cleaned and filled the bottles and his waterskin with a water from a spring nearby, before returning to Jadezzar. "Bread, meat and water for the sentries" he shouted toward Jadezzar. "Huh, might as well eat, then. Thanks Marius" he smiles, as Marius cut up the bread and meat with his sword. They quickly ate up their lunch in silence and washed it down with water, before silently observe their surroundings. For quite a long time they stand ready, before the caravan leader, now fully awake, approached them. "Do you think it's safe to move now? I wanted to reach Hallin's Stand and then High Rock as soon as possible" He looked around before continuing "beside, if I'm correct, didn't you two have business in there?". Marius stood and nodded, then motioned Jadezzar to follow him. He then looked at the caravan leader, before he whispers "As soon as we reached Hallin's Stand, as in the contract, we must separate. What I and Jadezzar do after that isn't your concern, but I advise you and your caravan not to dwell too long in there, or around the border. Sooner or later, I believe that Imperial Legion will launch a second offensive from High Rock to open up a new front on Northern Hammerfell, ease the pressure on the Imperial force from Falkreath and to trap and isolate Redguards forces in Craglorn. If that happens, the situation would be chaotic, and things could be unpredictable. Understood?". The old Breton nodded, he had been a bodyguard to another trader in his youth, and seen and fought in skirmishes against the Reachmen. He knew that his wares are in risk of being looted, and concluded that what Marius says summed up what has been in his mind for some time. "So let's go, then, young man" he walked back to his cart and climbed inside. Marius hopped to a horse that has been lent to him by the trader, and signalled the caravan to move.

[Armenda]

serverus valgori.
the sea, followed by rihad.

---

"...if a marsh cat was killed by a fall from a tree, his relatives would take their revenge by toppling the tree, and shattering its branches, and casting them to every part of the forest..." - Antecedents of Dwemer Law.

He was on the deck now, sitting on top of a bunch of dilapidated, mossy crates, looking at the sailors go about their work. Of course, there weren't many sailors to look at - this was a small ship after all, one of the smaller Nordic ones - and so Serverus mainly focused on reading his book. Antecedents of Dwemer Law; he had bought this book a few months ago, when he had previously come to Hammerfell with his master. They had gone for a few days, to Sentinel - his master, an immensely wealthy merchant, was drawn in by rumours of a very lucrative shipment of silk for sale.

The rumors had turned out to be false, but they had not left the city until Serverus picked up the book, and until the Breton merchant (with his extraordinary talent in trade) made a profit - Serverus had carefully noted how his merchant-master bargained with the Khajiit caravans outside the city, buying their small shipment of spices and skooma for a very low price. They had then split up - Serverus was directed to the Thieves Guild headquarters, while the merchant had gone to the marketplace. They came home successful, twice as rich than they were when they originally went to Sentinel.

How funny it was, Serverus thought, to return to Hammerfell like this. He had first visited this land as the merchant's right hand man - he was a part of something, and he was someone - and now he returns to it as a refugee. He'd been enduring many sleepless nights on the ship, but thankfully, he realized, it wouldn't be long till they reached Rihad. The sun just began rising as they finally approached the port, Serverus noted, watching the big, golden disk rise from the usually deep, cobalt sea.

The city was quiet when they had arrived, and so Serverus had taken the opportunity to make his way into local tavern. A room wouldn't be a good idea now - he was planning to sneak past the border to Cyrodiil in a few hours, after all, perhaps join up with the Legion, or if possible, the Office of Imperial Commerce. Mundus, he had learnt, was not controlled by the end of some monarch's blade, or by a bunch of staff-wielding Altmer - the world was controlled by money, and the money came from the offices and the banks that dotted the world now. And if he wanted to control the world - or at least be very powerful, the best way to start was in those offices. He knows how trade works, and how law works - indeed, he believed, something great could be done.

He bought himself a drink - some exotic, cheap Redguard booze - and identified his surroundings. The tavern was a mix of it all - the afternoon heat was seeping into the cold, sandstone interior, while the tavern patrons rejoiced and drank. They spoke a thousand different words, in a thousand different languages, for a thousand different reasons - if only he had someone with him, Serverus thought. The city was interesting - he had only caught a glimpse of it in dawn, when the whole city was blanketed by an orange hue, and only a few of the more eager merchants walked in broad daylight, setting up their scarlet-clad stalls, loading and unloading crates from the morning's ships.

This was a merchant city, the kind Serverus preferred, and had it not been for the heat, he'd even consider living here. But alas, he truly did desire to go to Cyrodiil - it was, and always has been his home, even if he was a travelling man, and even if he had left the province decades ago. He'd just wait a few more hours, and it'd be a carriage to Cyrodiil - and if a carriage was too expensive, perhaps a Khajiit caravan. Again - how interesting - coming back home the same way he had left it. With cat-men and their wares.

He had spent most of the afternoon lazing away in the tavern - it had been a very uneventful few hours. Fortunately for him, three more patrons entered the room - each was more different than the other. An Imperial - the legionnaire kind - was talking with a Breton woman. They were being watched intently by the Argonian that came with them, and noting the brutish manner of the lizard, Serverus thought it wise not too pay too much attention.

He did notice, however, the Imperial conjuring a spell - it had a familiar hue to it; he had seen the guards at Daggerfall use it to find out vampires - and scanning his surroundings, before fixing his piercing gaze on the Breton. Serverus had understood what that meant, and thought it wise to leave now. He took his belongings, taking one last look at the trio, before walking out. His first step out of the tavern had felt like hell - truly, the city was scorching.

He tried to ignore it, and looked at the docks. They were a lot more lively now, he noted, and looked around. A Nord - towering over everyone else in the market, was talking with two women, a golden object bouncing up and down his hands. Serverus paused for a while, looking at the golden object - he had not seen something like that before, but it probably had something to do with magic (after all, only a Nord would disregard something important in the school of magic) - before shifting his gaze elsewhere. He spotted a large shipment unloading, handled by a very eager, young merchant - perhaps she could do with some of Serverus' experience?

No, he thought, it was time to go to Cyrodiil. The Imperial man, rucksack in hand, made his way past one of the gates - the North Gate leading out the city, he thought. A row of carriages were lined up against the city wall, most of them empty and without owner.

"By the Eight..." Serverus muttered - he was early. Very early.

But then he heard an explosion - the Imperial rushed towards the North Gate, his mouth gaping wide. Guards started yelling at each other - and the fighting each other - and it was evident that this was no time to wait for some carriage-owner. He could hear a distant crowd rushing towards the exit - he had to run, and fast. And almost with no hesitation, Serverus Valgori took one of the empty carriages - horses and all - and made a run for it.

He rode out of the city, out of the lands that surrounded the city, until he reached the roads that would lead either to Cyrodiil or to Taneth. Damn it, Serverus thought, damn it all, he muttered, as he turned the carriage towards the city of Taneth.