As Darak Mashad disappeared back up into his shop, leaving the group to their own devices, Zaveed rose from his own floor pillow, strolling over to the city map to get his bearings. It didn’t come as a surprise that the city was made in a very orderly fashion, with neat streets, well-spaced buildings, and an obvious place for public structures. If one were to get lost, it would not be hard to find his or her bearings again and locate what they were looking for by using some obvious clues. Even the markets had some clear reason to them; Mashad Textiles was nestled in a cluster of similar shops, which was a part of a larger merchant quarter. The khajiit traced his finger along the various routes, finding the Palace, guard barracks, the prison, and other locations, committing them to memory the best he could. Satisfied he could navigate his way through the city, Zaveed turned to the others. “Seems only suiting that my rescuing prisoners from captivity is what started everything, so that’s what I will find myself doing.” He said, gathering his belongings. “We should probably coordinate our efforts, since timing can make or break one’s task. I will return later this evening, I presume we’ll have much to discuss about our time here. In the meantime, if you’ll excuse me…” he said, heading towards the rough-looking guard and out the door into the evening heat of the Helgathe streets that immediately enveloped him like a blanket.

The atmosphere was rather at odds with Zaveed’s reason for being in the city. Instead of it being the ravaged chaos of the warzones he had encountered in Cyrodiil, Helgathe almost seemed serene and relaxing. Even with the dagger strapped to his back, concealed by the flowing Hammerfell garb that were both comfortable and strange, Zaveed felt secure in the city despite his presence as an intruder who was intended to cause problems for the dwemer occupiers. Lanterns and torches lined the streets, and vendors still kept their doors open for the still-busy streets. The dim punctuation of music lingered as Zaveed walked, the citizens of Helgathe resuming their culture despite it being filled with invaders. Open-walled taverns dotted the landscape, giving the patrons the opportunity to enjoy the warm night breeze while enjoying drink and bread with friends. The laughter here was real; there was none of the tension Zaveed would have expected. A trio of dwemer guards marched past, offering the khajiit a friendly nod that he returned with a couple fingers pressed to his brow. It was peaceful here; was it really worth disturbing and bringing the war here?

Reflecting on what had happened in Imperial City, the answer was clear. No dwemer in Tamriel was expressly innocent in the crimes committed against Tamriel. As Zaveed left the market district, he recalled what Rashad had said about the protestors in the marketplace. It seemed the dwemer were fine with peace, so long as you agreed unquestioningly to their terms. It was something that clearly did not sit well with Zaveed’s sensibilities. After all, he was a man who often lived outside the law and carved his own path through life, not because someone told him he should. He’d had enough of living as somebody else’s pawn; he would not abide those who would kill to control. He’d helped kill an emperor who styled himself as a god; what chance did a bunch of sun hating ground elves have against that kind of experience?

It wasn’t long until he came across what, according to Mashad’s map, was the guard barracks. It wasn’t quite as ostentatious as the rest of the city, but it had a certain opposing charm to it. The two-story grey-whitestone building was largely protected by a 4-meter high security wall, concealing what happened beyond, and a heavy iron gate barred entrance to the compound, a pair of city guards posted outside of the gate. Around the second floor of the building was several balconies, including on particularly long one that wrapped around the South-East corner of the building. Without climbing the wall, Zaveed couldn’t determine much more about the structure than what he knew. If he were to take a guess, Doshin Ismal, the captain of the city guard, resided in the top floor, somewhere private and with a view. Most men in power didn’t dwell in underground suites. 

Taking a turn down another street, and it quickly became obvious what the building that was acting as the detention center was. A hastily-assembled but sturdy iron fence was placed around the front of the squat, one-story building. Unlike the barracks, the fence here had slits between the fences and all that barred entry was a simple guard house and gate on a swivel. Most of the guards were likely on the inside, and it was impossible to tell how much of it was underground. He ran a few scenarios through his mind, but he decided the best time to attack would be just before the changing of the guards, when the outgoing shift was most likely weary and just looking forward to going home after a long shift. His mind raced quickly, coming up with ideas. He’d need to find uniforms, amongst other things. But first, he had to take care of a few things.

It took fifteen more minutes of searching before Zaveed found what he was looking for. He stood outside the wall, as if working up the nerve, and waited for several more minutes before a duo of grinning dwemer guards came out, almost child-like yet masculine enthusiasm dripping off of them like musk. He’d found the place, all right. The khajiit opened the door to the brothel and was immediately confronted by the at-once familiar sights and smells that had once been as regular in his past as a bottle of wine. A buxom, scantily clad woman approached, tracing a finger down his chest. The Redguard woman, pushing 40, practically purred at Zaveed, immediately wondering how many khajiit they had in these establishment. “Well hello, handsome… we don’t normally see a cat, but we always take in strays.” She giggled an accentuated feminine sound. “But, it just so happens I’m feeling a bit feral.” 

Zaveed’s hand reached out, lifting the woman’s chin with a finger. His grin was his most charming. “And would you be the seductress who took in the two strays who had just left?” he asked the woman. “They seemed rather… contented.”

“That would be Alliwyn, one of our bosmer girls. She’s known to be very flexible… and good with her tongue.” A seductive grin crossed her still-fine features. 

“Ah, a bosmer.” Zaveed said. “I always preferred the taste of something close to home. Could this be arranged, my dear?”

“Most certainly.” The woman said, calling out the bosmer’s name. Soon, a lithe bosmer girl with wet, auburn hair came walking out, freshly bathed. A classy institution, if there ever was one. “Alliwyn, this gentleman would like to request your company. Such a strong traveller,” she said, tracing her hand down Zaveed’s well-defined arms. “But he’s feeling a bit homesick. Could you show him some of your Southern hospitality?” she asked. The bosmer girl smiled in a heart-meltingly sweet way, crossing the room towards Zaveed. The khajiit produced ten Septims from his purse, placing them in the Redguard’s hand before gently kissing her on the cheek. “You have my thanks, my dear.” He said, allowing himself to be taken by the hand by the bosmer girl while the other women, and some men, in the brothel watched with practiced, hungry eyes as he was lead down the corridors to a private room to the side. He was rather surprised at how clean and attractive everything was. Tiled floors and surfaces gave an air of opulence, as did the wooden blinds that let in just enough street light while candles illuminated the room, including the still-warm tub the girl must have been using before Zaveed’s arrival, and a rather large, plush bed with what looked like silk sheets. Doubtless, this wasn’t some dark, seedy dive that kept the alchemists who brewed cure disease potions in high demand. The girl closed the door and approached Zaveed, running her hand along his face. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with a khajiit…” she giggled. “I’d been rather missing your people’s talents.” 

“Of which I possess many of.” He said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “And you took care of those two dwemer gentlemen from before?” he asked.
“More than just them, but I always make them feel like they’re the only ones.” She admitted, raising an eyebrow at Zaveed’s posture and lack of advancement. He certainly didn’t lack for confidence. “And so… what services may I provide for you, my charming cat?”

The glint of gold flickered as a coin danced between Zaveed’s fingers. “Information.” He replied.