[I]It was an end to a rather fetching evening, one with a gentle breeze that seemed all too eager to remove the lingering humidity that had enveloped the city for quite a few days. The food, the drink, and the company were weekly comforts that made it all too easy to forget why he was here. Looking up at the sky, the stars were beginning to pierce through the shroud of twilight as the sun retired beyond the horizon, making it a perfect evening were one inclined to pursue romantic interests or even rest upon a patio and indulge in vices. It was a perfect evening, all considered, one he wished he could enjoy to the fullest.

The hovel’s door opened easily, there was no locking mechanism, and the inside remained open to any who might have desired access. More than once he’d found strangers sleeping on his floor or bedding, as was their right, but not once had he had any of his meager belongings disturbed. It cost little to afford his accommodations, and while they were rather humble, they were all that were required.

A metal tray filled with fire salts rested by the door frame with a wick still in place. Igniting the wick, he carried the wick to an oil lantern that rested on the semi-cluttered table in the single room hovel. Touching the wick in hand to the one in the lantern, a soft orange light soon saturated the room and he set the lantern down, causing an unfamiliar glimmer to catch his eye. A silver dagger lay across the hardwood surface of the table with a length of red ribbon tied with care about the grip. His face drew taunt and his pulse quickened.

It was time.[/I]

Do’Karth’s eyes sprang open and the now familiar ceiling of the warehouse that sheltered the company hung overhead, as did the sounds and smells of wounded and capable alike. The khajiit drew several long breaths, letting his chest raise and lower slowly as he reached to his eyes to wipe the remnants of sleep away. Looking to his right, Solveig rested soundly, a fresh water skin and a bundled cloth containing snowberries by her side for when she awoke. The khajiit had promised to look after her and return when he could, and he intended to keep that promise. Knowing sleep would not find him again for some time, he took the thick wool blanket he was using and draped it over the woman before gathering his things and setting out into the cool morning.

Finding a relatively comfortable position near the stairwell leading up to the marketplace, Do’Karth rested himself against the wall and found himself having a commanding view of Candlehearth Hall and the towering peaks of The Palace of Kings. Having secured himself some thick parchment and a flat sheet of straight wood for a pair of Septims and some assistance in carrying firewood, the khajiit decided there may not be many chances to mark his stay in Windhelm and so with a piece of charcoal he had sharpened to a point with a blade and used a small leather strip to make a grip, he began the cathartic process of sketching his surroundings. 

Some time passed, and an accurate and detailed beginning of the steps leading up to Candlehearth Hall and the general façade of the structure took shape and a dream-like quality, thanks to the smoky and uneven quality of the charcoal. Taking a moment to admire his progress, a sudden commotion broke the relative tranquility of the morning and people were rushing from, and to, the Gray Quarter and rather frantically. “What on Nirn…” Do’Karth muttered, recalling the argonians from yesterday hollering nonsense about their precious Hist. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so ridiculous with the way people were reacting. He sighed, raising to his feet. At this rate the Kamal were going to breach the gates and find most of the populace dead upon each other’s blades after turning on one another. 

The khajiit rushed to the Gray Quarter, forcing his way through the crowd with staff in hand. The sounds of a large skirmish were beginning to fill the air, prompting the khajiit to have the bystanders make way. He soon found himself amongst several of the guards and mercenaries as they moved towards the unruly and armed mob. Without thinking for his own safety, Do’Karth made his way to the edge of the brawl and immediately tripped one of the argonians with his staff and shoving the dunmer he was fighting with away from the fallen combatant. “Enough!” the khajiit bellowed. “Have you lost your minds? No one will be going anywhere if you kill one another!”