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S2: On Patrol, On Display.

"Damn....where have you BEEN all my life" A gravelly tone spoke, a scaled humanoid peering around the corner, dark in colour, red of face and headscales. He wiggled his clawed black scaled fingers with anticipation, before busying himself with adjusting how coarse shirt and and sack cloth trousers, a frank attempt to dress up mud into pottery at most.

"Otumeel, I really don't think that's a good idea" A female of the same species spoke in a hushed manner, keeping the conversation in a small circle, or one would suppose triangle, gathered beside a shop called The Dividing Line, a rhythmical metallic hammering from within. The lady Saxhleel wasn't dressed much better mind you, with her green scales and orange banding meshing well with her green blouse and canvas skirt. A rather familial closeness with a third argonian would lead an observer to the correct assumption she was the partner of the other male.

"You realise she's part of the Legion, right? If they don't have time for my rats, they don't have time for you, Moist One. Listen to Bejeen, I doubt the _kaj_will be interested" The other male said, a similarily red focused Argonian, although lacking the heavier dark colours of his friend. A bow was slung around his shoulders over a simple pale green shirt and darker green trousers, complete with strapped quiver of arrows on his back. A large rat was hooked onto his belt, dead from arrow perforation.

The focus was obvious, as many other groups were skirting the area by the front gates, the stranger kin leaned against front stonework of the Great Chapel of Zenithar. Indeed kin, but as the bow wielding argonian had referred to in their native tongue of Jel, the argonian was indeed giant.

With rust-coloured scales on her head, neck and tail much of the rest of her was covered. Clad in piecemail armour, consisting of chainmail, sewn patches of leather and clad in Imperial Legion armour plates, she looked more mercenary than soldier, but bore the emblem of Akatosh on her shoulders and chest. A greatsword fitted with a massive handle was sheathed to her side, rather than back as was the custom for most anyone else, as she had ample room from hip to ground for the five foot blade and half that grip; indeed, it still seemed a little small for her, standing over double the height of even a particularly large orc. The fact it was attached to no less than three belts to encircle her proportionally narrow waist completed the ensemble.

"Kaoc, Weebam-Na, you can go count your scales. I'm gonna go extend a claw, demonstrate my trusting azeez smile and offer her a place in my nest. I guarantee I'll be exchanging a ring by weeks end, the lovely thing looks lonely, probably sick to death of dryskin anecdotes of supposed superiority wearing that uniform....hehe, maybe I'll help her out of it, hm?" Otumeel winked at the couple, puffed out his chest, and sauntered towards the huge female soldier.

"He's either gone even more thick-shelled than normal or maybe I didn't realise his egg spent too much time in the shade" Weebam-Na sighed and shook his head.

"Or he's just a fucking idiot" Bejeen snorted, briefly making it seem like she had dusted her hands of the matter, although the couple got closer to each other as well as to the corner of the shop as morbid curiosity took hold.

The towering argonian, known as Quill-Weave, was keenly aware of being a centre-point for the local residents. It was everything she feared her allocation for the Imperial City-Leyawiin route represented, as the area stuck between Elsweyr and Black Marsh had an understandable density of her kin and those of her friend and even bigger giantess, Katia.

The shoddily dressed Saxhleel man did have a surprisingly firm footed approach, considering most everyone else was understandably afraid of her at first meeting. As a whole other race-argonian relationships weren't strong to begin with, although far looser with their own kin; Quill hoped though that the casual wink he offered wasn't going where she thought it was.

"Hey" He let his natural rumbled utterance attempt to articulate his intent; the flutter of his heart, his recently discovered attraction to a woman who outmassed him by over ten times and could likely take an arm in place of a...more conventional appendage for the opening, he was wholly willing to attempt both.

"Uh...hey" she gave a milder response, although size rather than volume made it clearly audible to her new companion. Her voice had a typical Saxhleel rasp to it, as per the species vocal chords and muzzle, although her size gave it a powerful quality that Otumeel could swear he felt in his bones. He also noticed through the rather form fitting leggings she wore revealed the curves-on-curves of a woman with an athletic inclination; He had to adjust his trousers again.

"New here, huh?" He bunched his fists and thrust both thumbs to his chest "How about you let Otumeel give you a tour of Leyawiin, marsh-sister? The least this one can do for a beautiful red-evening-shaded lady such as yourself. Very distinctive! Heh, anyway; I don't know anyone you might want to arrest, although you might get into trouble yourself if you're not careful; I think you might have stolen-" Quill raised a hand, interjecting quickly and in a rapid pace before she felt the urge to heave.

"Sir, your offer is appreciated but I'm going to ask you not to continue. I'm on duty, I'm just keeping the peace and awaiting my superiors" Quill sighed and looked away; she hadn't been waiting long, and was told it could take an hour, though suddenly wished she'd found a more secluded spot to wait.

"Of course, of course. I wouldn't want to interrupt you on duty, but I know your patrols stay the night, so how about when you go off duty? If you're still interested in keeping the peace, maybe you could help slow my beating heart? I know a clean spot of the Lower Niben that's perfect in the evening sun, and I'm willing to spend every moment of it watching something even more perfect" He winked up at her, although she was still looking away, growing visibly more disturbed with every moment.

"I'm real flattered, but I'm already involved, thanks" Quill sucked in a deep breath and hoped a sufficient hint was dropped. She couldn't remain totally still though, standing upright and looming over him even more. His eyes went wider, his smile flattening as he looked her from patchwork boots to finned crested head, earning a heavy sigh.

"Oh, well, he must be a lucky one. Only a true marsh-blooded fellow should deserve-"

"She"

"She... what?"

"'She' must be a lucky one" Quill-Weave sighed and looked down to him, straight in the eyes.

The overall stance of the man deflated, tail slapping on the slightly muddy grass as the reality sank in, he immediately clasped his hands together in an apologetic pleading.

"I'm really sorry, Marsh-Sister. I swear on my mother's egg-tooth, I didn't mean to be-"

"It's fine, just-"

"No, please! I beg for the chance to set things right. Tell you what, we- uh, me and our fellow Saxhleel kin" he gestured behind him, to a couple of sheepishly waving argonians hiding by a blacksmiths. "we heard of the whole Imperial City business, about how one of our swamp-sisters had a major hand in saving the empire. Only natural, right? Did you hear about Black Marsh? Back home we pushed those daedra right back into their portals...." He stumbled a little with his words as Quill weave sighed and rolled her hand over and over in an attempt to speed him up.

"Uh, but I digress! Let me apologise for my foolishness and buy you dinner and a mug or two of theilul at the Five Claws. Real nice place, Witseidutsei's a real Hist-blessed cook, not like those dryskins in their fancy place around the way. Oh, and it won't be just me, we can have a kin get together, celebrate the great Quill-Weave! Might even get that stick-in-the-mud Tun-Zeeus to leave his shop for once?" He smiled earnestly.

Quill-Weave looked at the establishment which was adjacent to the blacksmiths. In a town layered with mud and dirt, it was surprisingly clean looking. She then looked at the couple, who had slowly begun to approach as Otumeel beckoned them.

"Does she have trodh? Really hard to get them where I live- ahem, used to live" Quill tilted her head down to the dark scaled man again.

"Sure does! Got a supply line in from the homeland now that those hellish gates are gone" Otumeel gave a thumbs up.

"Well...." Quill was already convinced; it sounded very tempting. She wasn't really offended in any way by the flirting ultimately; quite the opposite, having spent her first month of meeting new folk around giving her a wide berth and looking like they were about to 'sprout a mudtail'. In a land where argonians were already outsiders and looked down upon, sometimes honest-to-the-nine compliments and dumb pickup lines, however gag inducing, were a welcome change of pace. It made her feel normal, a rare commodity.

"Hello, miss. I'm Weebam-Na, this is my wife Bejeen. It's a real pleasure to see one of the Saxhleel earn the respect of the dryskins for once. Finally gave us an excuse to get one over'em, even if the butt-lickers- ow, hey!" Weebam-na winced as Bejeen elbowed him in the gut.

"Pardon my husbands lack of tact, Marsh-sister, apparently he's forgotten that our heroic kin here happens to be a friend of a khajiiti, yes?" She gave her partner a squeeze on the shoulder, an affectionate but firm gesture for him to shut up.

"Heh, it's fine, I've heard things about the relationships of our kin and the sand-steppers in this town. I guess you'll be glad to know that my Katia- uh, my friend Katia isn't much of a Khajiit, she was raised in Hammerfell, so she's.... well, different" Quill chuckled a little. It was the most relaxed she'd been in the month since the Three Giants debacle and frankly, after the years of her picking and choosing when to travel and explore for researching for her stories, the training, drills and patrolling had been only briefly interspersed with 'rest', huddled in stables or the occasional inn main room, albeit on the floor.

"Well, I suppose not all of the furred ones are bad. They're far and few between here though...so, about that little get together?" Otumeel stared with glee, having rightly clued in that Quill's resistance was falling; her arms fell from across her chest to hands on her wide hips and she took a slight step back so she wasn't having to stare down so closely. Everyone involved looks more relaxed in the blink of an eye.

"You know what? Sure. We have a patrol around the Lower Niben region, something about Black Bow Bandits or somesuch. My superior's just getting the details at the Castle Leyawiin. But we're due back here by nightfall and I've a few hours to myself. It'll be nice to unwind in some good company for once"

"Fantastic! A clearer stream I've never found, friends! Let's meet at the Five Claws at sundown" Weebam-Na nodded. Bejeen smiled at their towering new acquaintance and offered a wave as the couple shifted to leave.

"Friendly branches shade your paths, Marsh-siblings" Quill offered as her small party split up, going back to their respective business. A lingering smile felt nice on her muzzle, although spotting a few humans still staring from afar soon brought her back to a guarded stance, leaning back against the Chapel, the same sullen look resumed.

It had seemed a long hour; so, so long yet sun had barely moved from its spot in the eastern sky, but Quill-Weave, Imperial Agent, was on duty, so she simply waited some more.

A while later;

The sun had almost reached its zenith when Quill's Legionary companions returned. Two soldiers, Bolannus and Ancina, and Quill's handler, a mage from the Arcane University, a greying Breton named Arbeau Selete. Raminus Polus trusted her implicitly, and considering the weeks Quill had spent with him, as well as their rushed partnership during the Three Giants Debacle, he trusted her by extension.

The three soldiers and their spell slinger headed out of Leyawiin, the eastern city gates closing behind them. Bolannus cleared his throat.

"Alright, Auxiliary Quill-Weave. We've got a camp of these Black Bow scum that Count Maro wants dealt with. They've been actively harassing trading caravans rather than being an occasional nuisance" The Discens, a fancy name for a private, though technically an up and coming one due for promotion once proven capable, despite being the same 'Munifex' rank as Ancina, again a private.

Both had been deployed elsewhere when Katia and herself had been taking part in the siege. Probably just as well; Quill had lost a lot of concern about modesty thanks to that whole mess, but if she could avoid working with people who had seen her bare scales, mores the better. She also didn't mind her new uniform either, although she got the impression if anything got damaged she'd be paying with her own coin.

"Alright, sir, just tell me what you need me to do and I'll do my best" Quill nodded, taking smaller, gradual steps so as to not outpace the fully armoured pair or the more studiously dedicated, unathletic Breton.

"We know a location, but the layout is something we'll have to work on as and when we find it. That said; naturally I imply no offense, Auxiliary, but you're likely to attract their attention well before we spot them"

"None taken, I guess. I'm still expecting to be the centre focus of enemy fire" Quill rolled her eyes, hoping the armour was at least halfway decent. Bolannus ignored the mild whining and proceeded at a firm pace.

"So, the plan is that you and Madam Selete will branch off here. Head west and follow the bank. Myself and Ancina will follow the road. When you see the fort at the bridge, Fort Redman, hide nearby and we'll reconvene there, as the camp is supposed to be on the same side of the Niben, but across the other side of the bridge road from that location, and the fort should keep you out of sight. From there, we'll form a plan"

"Sir! Alright, see you there" Quill gave a salute as the two pairs seperated. She breathed a bit easier as she and the Breton wandered off the path, walking along the riverbank, reminding her of her little coastal trips back in Anvil. It was a pleasant day, if nothing else, and a fine one for walking if a bit humid. This suited the Argonian just fine, although Arbeau mopped her brow with a handkerchief.

"Well, Quill-Weave, this might well be our last excursion together. You've shown no signs of the behaviors demonstrated during the Giants Debacle, and it's been a full month. Not that I haven't enjoyed your company, but the more I travel with you, the more I realise you're both perfectly capable by yourself, of course with your Legionnaires as backup, and doing well adjusting to your...um...condition, and the more I realise my best years are behind me for this travelling lark" She tucked the moistened cloth into her belt, producing a wineskin of water and taking a sip, carried on into a heavy few gulps.

"If you think so. I know it's been a while, but every time I stop and think about, well, this?" Quill waved her hands up and down her towering form. "I still keep hoping I'll wake up back in my house in Anvil"

"I know a year seems a long time, but hey! One month down, and it's a fine way to keep your strength and constitution up. On that note; have you experienced any aches or pains in your joints? Spine or tail?" Arbeau pulled a worn journal from a satchel, and a piece of charcoal. She flipped through a number of pages before settling on a fresh, untouched sheet.

"Nope, still feels like I'm normal. I know Raminus said we- hm, Me and Katia I mean, might experience a slowing of muscular function similar to the giants in Skyrim, but no; I have to keep watching my strength, watching where I step and keep walking slowly when on patrols."

"Fantastic; Last I heard, Ms. Managan was much the same. Seems that while the spell has worn off in terms of its latent and reactive mental components, the permanency still has a degree of active physical continuance. Well, at least not for you" She scrawled out the note, finishing just in time to almost trip over an errant root. Quill-Weave understood some of the theory Arbeau spouted, but she still felt Katia was the better one at understanding it.

"So Katia still keeps growing without that amulet, huh?" Quill stopped as Arbeau composed herself and replaced the book and charcoal, the Argonian looked out at the Niben. She remembered what Otumeel had said about having a swim, and she was sorely tempted. It had been at least a week since she had a proper dousing, much less in the closer-to-birth-home waters right next to her.

"Strange as it is, yes, whatever that spell was, it shows no signs of further weakening since the initial draining. Still, she seems to have taken to her duties well, and I know the folks of Anvil are still a little...upset at what happened, the rebuilding is coming along tremendously"

The pair carried on their journey, and after a half hour of walking they spotted their landmark; a tall, slightly broken down fortress, bridge across the Niben directly behind it. The pair approached cautiously, but thankfully nothing seemed present.

Some five minutes later, the familiar sight of the two legionnaires, ducking low, came in from the east.

"Good; we've confirmed the encampment, a short distance north of here. Let's strike while we have the element of surprise. We've seen six of them, so we need the two of you to engage while myself and Ancina flank. We'll go get in position, I'll trust you two to set things off. Auxiliary; make sure you protect Madam Selete. Alright, you have your orders!" Discens Bolannus and his quiet companion swung wide, back east.

"Well, guess we'd best get to it" Quill-Weave stretched briskly, already fairly well warmed up from the walk, and flicking an orange glowing sphere into being as she pulled across the ether; she wasn't sure why her binding magic was a different colour to Raminus', but he claimed it was a Nord-variant he'd picked up. Quill crouched down, Arbeau gently stepping on the thicker upper tail and grabbed a couple of looser parts of her uniform. The Argonian backed away somewhat, targetting an inwardly curved section of a flat wall and the round body of the fort proper, and sprinted at, then up, kicking and pulling at the stone wall for extra height, and gripped to the lip of the fort.

With a comfortable pull, they reached the top, the roof was broken in many places, thankfully the side section she'd picked seemed sturdy. Arbeau climbed off, and after peering over the trees, confirming the encampment of patch-work armoured bandits; no uniform, but all were differently armed and seemed to be enjoying lunch. In place, Quill-Weave finished the spell, the glow spread wide from her hand.

With a final pull, a cruel looking bow appeared from nothing into Quill-Weave's gloved hand, and as she drew the string, an arrow likewise nocked and balanced itself between her index and middle finger, ring finger also involved on the string for extra stability and grip. Quill's eyes narrowed on a target, a lookout on the eastern edge of the camp, and she steeled herself for a full draw.

"I'll work from the left, you work from the right, okay?" Arbeau said, sticking near a waist-high wall, which Quill had thankfully left for her as the Argonian straddled most of the area with her low crouch. Arbeau's fingers crackled with lightning, and she concentrated it into a violent looking sphere. The massive conjured limb in the Argonians hands must have had a draw load of nearly a ton, the arrow itself literally the size of a modest javelin.

She pulled the string back until her unused thumb lightly touched a specific spot on the side of her head, inhaled a smooth, controlled breath, and loosed.

At a distance of some two hundred feet, against a stationary target, Quill-Weave had made similar shots before. On the other hand, balancing upon an uneven surface, crouched low, when her perspective of her targets essentially being firing at a child sized entity hiding in some bushes.

The arrow flew directly in front of the bandit, a well built Nord woman, and the distinct sound of a wooden impact sounded from her left. She caught her breath as a gasp in her throat and coughed loudly, standing, looking at where the blurred thing had landed, and saw nothing.

"The fuck-*cough cough*-" She looked around for any other sign that she'd witnessed something, and spotted a rather unusual knothole in a nearby tree. Was it a knothole? It was round, but there was splinters of wood, some sort of bored hole.

A scream sounded from the camp, and she turned towards it, sliding a chunky axe from her belt, when a peculiar sensation ran through her; a cold sensation, something pushing her slightly towards the tree, then a sense of weight.

Her legs failed her, and she attempted to gasp, only to hear an odd wheeze from her chest. The peculiar reverie she felt faded as her view tilted sideways, and despite still falling, it was as though she had impacted the ground a good while before she was horizontal. She finally looked down, not by choice but as her muscles failed her, and saw a great black spear, head thicker than her wrist, coated in her blood.

She mouthed 'no' with her lips, but the air couldn't trip her vocal chords, she landed on the floor at last, and marvelled as the spear vanished, blood along its length dropping onto the damp grass. Warm air, though cool by comparison to her insides rushed inside the cavity. Her thoughts traveled far north to her birthplace in Skyrim, to Windhelm, imagining how things had gone so wrong, why she was so far south amidst the scum beast-races and Imperial weaklings. Any regrets she held were soon pulled with her to the beyond, the last sight being two fully armoured Imperial Legionnaires approaching from the east, Imperial sigil on shields and steel swords drawn.

Meanwhile, in the camp;

A pair of slitted eyes peered through a tent-flap opening. They were a rather staggering shade of deep green, odd flecks of off-white blue strewn about, a star-like configuration. They watched, calm, as war-cries sounded, the smell of burnt flesh floated through the gap. The occupant winced slightly, scaled muzzle sneered at the scent, but didn't react to the carnage. They growled slightly to themselves, a male gravelly tone. He turned his back to the gap and scooted along the dirt, going deeper in.

He then broke his placid temperament as a crack of lightning sounded just outside the tent, and a body landed on the location he had been a moment before, smouldering and setting the material on fire. He then looked at his current arrangement. His single arm was tied tightly between his ankles, his bare clawed feet held firmly and anchored by his wrist. Even better, his sole left hand was clad in the hand section of metal gauntlet that covered his claws and was firmly wedged in the utter maze of hemp his kidnappers had arranged for him. His deep grey robes were otherwise shredded, patches of dark blue scales with purplish red tinged edges visible through the gaps, outside of his exposed tail, feet and head.

In the honest truth though, he was actually impressed at his captors' escalation. It only took two attempts to escape before they got wise and used enough rope to likely tie three prisoners. That wouldn't stop him from cursing the fact they'd also tied his neck to the arrangement, and his back was aching something awful though from the lack of ability to stretch.

Still, these issues paled by comparison to the rapid encroachment of smoke and fire that filled the tent. He flopped about with what little slack he could, thick tail slapping the dirt as he did to try and push himself away. He then fell onto his right side, groaning with pain as his missing arm, a relatively new attribute of his to the point it still shocked him that he fell further than anticipated, wasn't there to cushion him and he felt his ribs impact a rather lumpy pile of dirt.

"Ack! To Oblivion with my life right now! Okay old fool, be the worm..." he hissed and scraped his feet against the ground in hopes the mostly smooth surface had more imperfections to catch akin to the one digging into his side. Going was slow, inefficient, and it was getting uncomfortably hot inside. He barely registered the sound of two new voices in the camp, yelling something about why someone wouldn't die and for some reason the other seemed deeply perturbed someone would fight the Imperial Legion.

The Occupant finally got his head to the tent wall, and stuck it underneath the gap. He coughed briefly then inhaled sharply, sucking some dirt for his trouble but refused to gag, and forced his head a little further out, shifting about, then a tad more, and more. He managed to wedge his whole head underneath before he realised he lacked the leverage to pry the tent from its pinnings.

Including the fellow who had set 'his' tent on fire, two more of his captors were lying dead; one high elf blackened with magic, the Occupant chucked at the ever-enduring hilarity that the spellweaving yellowskins' weakness to their own strongest attribute, and the other, oddly dead from a huge gouge taken from his throat, bloodspray all over, but no weapon.

Musings quite over with, the Occupant looked about, watching a bloodied scene unfold. He rightly kept quiet and grew concerned trying to call for help would diminish his prospective rescuers chances by distracting them.

That said, he soon became totally distracted as he heard a heavy set of footfalls behind him. He twisted his head and saw a huge black silhouette standing over him.

"Now, friend, I'm not trying to escape! Could I trouble you for a rescue before I'm charred beyond use?" He immediately tried an exaggerated smile, the dryskins seemed to not respond to Argonian subtlety, especially without flapping ones arms around and practically dancing for emphasis.

The figure hesitated for a moment, before a decidedly smaller figure approached beside the first; a child, he thought? Here?

"At least pull him free" the voice; female, a human by the tone, yet the Occupant was deeply confused. She sounded like an adult, yet was considerably smaller than the other.

"Fine. Hold still and don't run; I'm almost as fast as a horse, and that's no lie" The huge figure, a deep contralto of a voice but with a feminine twang, lowered herself and a pair of red scaled hands that were easily a foot and a half long pulled the tent free as though it were nothing. She then lifted him as though he himself weighed nothing, and gently planted him on his backside behind an adjacent tent facing away from the action, and satisfied his current bindings would work, drew a greatsword from her hip with a rather crude grip, almost akin to a narrow shortsword.

He turned around in time to see the vast argonian woman chop down hard, the blade cleaved a panicked and already bloody Imperial bandit from shoulder to hip. The Black Bow bandits were to a one dead.

The former Occupant sighed as the danger faded and the adrenaline seeped away, he closed his eyes and relaxed, or as much as he could so bound. He drifted off even for a moment, having lacked sleep the last few days, only to come to with a male voice gruffly saying about 'pick him up'.

He didn't even need to look up as the heavy footfalls grew closer again, instead remaining in place.

"Well, old timer" the giantess huffed, recognising what the others of her party likely couldn't "I'd cut you free but we don't know who you are or whether you're one of these dumb bastards who got caught with his hand in the community fund"

"Marsh-sister, if you cut me free, it would be a few hours before this old spine of mine was ready to do anything except creak, crack and flatten out. I can barely feel my tail. I won't disparage you for not caring about an old crippled Saxhleel's state, just so long as you don't leave me behind" He peeked his eyes open and up, adjusting to the light again, and studying the female Argonian's features.

"Huh, a pretty one. Damn if they don't grow you girls big in Cyrodiil" He chuckled slightly.

"Have a name, Marsh-brother?" She said, before using her bloodied blade to start sawing the rope around his hand free, conspicuously leaving his leg bindings as intact as possible.

"Eyes-In-Stars, though Eiss to my friends; like frozen water but instead hissed, or abbreviated down on Imperial list " His little repeated rhyming introduction was a practised statement, it flowed smoothly off his tongue. He gasped with pain and relief in equal measure as his hand came free of the rope and he tried to straighten out. The sound of pops filled the immediate vicinity as he slowly unfolded, although soon found himself at an impasse.

"I uh...don't mean to tread the storybook stereotype backwards, Marsh-sister- I trust you have a name?"

"Quill-Weave. Friends call me Quill...uh...like the writing implement" She laughed a little as she tried to big up her own name to match wits.

"The writers sword in inken line, or protection for a porcupine?" He smirked. The smugness wasn't altogether unpleasant; again, Quill was reminded of how normal it was having someone crack wise to her.

"Well, as I was saying, Quill-Weave, I dare say I may need my rescuer to carry me to safety if that's at all possible. As much as I enjoy a good walk through the swamps, I'd only be able to crawl, and well..." he gestured to his missing right arm.

"Right, sure thing, Eyes-In-Stars" She said, lowering herself and cradling him like a child before standing.

"By seed and spleen, you're comfortable. I could get used to this" He mused, laughing low.

"Already involved....Mara's mercy, everyone's desperate down here, I swear" Quill shook her head, failing to hide a smirk.

The journey back was a considerable amount less dramatic or confrontational, not to mention quicker as a whole. Between the approach, the planning, the fight and sorting out the mess and looting for 'evidence', it was early evening by the time they returned to town. Quill-Weave again got left outside the castle as they debriefed within.

They had relieved her of Eyes-In-Stars as well, no doubt questioning him. Quill had gone from a substantial lack of Argonian company, barring one specific individual in Chorral, who she was desperate to hear back from, to several, some would say too many perhaps, although Quill freely admitted being a writer hadn't exactly made her the best socialite. She had a following, sure; she wouldn't have been able to attend fancy dinners back in Anvil otherwise, although she at least had the luxury of stepping out for research or keeping ink to page and keeping the door barred.

Quill-Weave was aware of a gnawing ache in her stomach, but chose not to eat any of her travelling food out of hope for a good feed-up at the Five Claws. She sat on the ground, watching as a changing of the guard took place, several of Leyawiin's city watch kept giving her extended stares as she was growing increasingly used to. Once she received her own debriefing, she'd be free for the evening, even Arbeau had seperated off, going to the 'finer' establishment her kin had mentioned earlier.

The door to the main castle opened and a City watch escorted Eyes-In-Stars outside, directing him to Quill, who sat to and watched him approach in a slow, curved-back gait.

"Well, I suppose that makes me a free man, not that I have anywhere to go. I, uh, forgot to say thanks for rescuing me though" He extended his hand to her. She gently pinched it between her thumb, index and middle finger and let him do the actual shaking, worried about harming the smaller man.

"It's fine, all part of the job and all that" Quill released the gesture and sat back. "So, did you have somewhere to stay or know anyone here?"

"Ah, no, not really. I was aiming to travel to the capital, I have a friend there who I was going to trade with." He bopped his palm against the side of his head, frustration glossed his expression "Oh, kaoc! I don't suppose anyone found a case of bottles in the camp? Rather fine daedroth leather case at that, stamped with words in Jel"

"I think someone mentioned something like that. I didn't see it personally, but I'll ask around for you before we leave tomorrow"

"Oh, a thousand thanks, Marsh-sister. Without that I literally have nothing. I'd rather not be branded a failure so close to retirement. My daughter told me I shouldn't keep peddling curatives after, well..." he gestured to his missing arm casually. Not being in a bandit camp, Quill-Weave couldn't help but study the limb. It was chopped off high at the bicep, tender unscaled flesh visible at the stump.

"But I'm a stubborn fool, I guess. Anyway, don't worry about me, I'm sure I can find a corner to tuck up within at that temple. Thanks so much again, I'd best go and see if I can scrounge up a few septims for a bite to eat" Eiss smiled and offered a short bow, or perhaps he had a back-twinge, it was hard to tell. He started walking away when Quill-Weave cleared her throat.

"So I've been invited to a little Saxhleel gathering at the inn by the west gate. I'm being treated, and I already feel a little guilty not paying my way. Being this big does stump up a like-sized appetite" She patted her flat stomach, hoping the growl wasn't too audible. "So how about I spot you a room and pay for a meal? I'm on the Imperial City to Leyawiin patrol route, if you feel like paying me back, we can sort out something once you get there and sell those curatives"

"I couldn't! I owe you my life already, Quill-Weave, I didn't come to Cyrodiil to pan-handle my way through; I refuse to be part of that stereotype" He began to continue, until Quill weave sat up and rested a hand over his shoulder.

"I could just carry you around and force you to come, Eiss. You're new around here, but I'm getting a reputation for feeding and keeping strays" she couldn't help but grin at her own soft-touch failings of charity.

"Well, if you insist, I guess" Eiss chortled, and took a seat next to Quill-Weave.

It was going to be an interesting night.