[center][i]Part three of the Windhelm Sewer trilogy, featuring[/i] [@MacabreFox].[/center]
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Those healing hands felt warm and dry, they gave Farid ever so slightly the respite from this damp sewer. Out of the corner of his eyes, Farid saw the giant serpent dead, slayed by Leif's two-handed weapon. He didn't see how the Nord took down the snake, as he was busy tangling with the Argonian. Nevertheless, Farid felt relieved knowing such a vile creature would no longer roam the undergrowth of Windhelm. What the snake whisperer said prior to their fight troubled him somewhat. Was she planning to unleash her monster up on the streets? From the lack of vermin down here, it seemed like the snake did a good job "purging". Gods know what it would do upon helpless citizens. Leif said he knew varieties of snakes in Skyrim, but does he know the oversized ones? Probably not. Basilisks frequent the badlands of his native Craglorn, no way in Oblivion could one slither so far. This particular snake must of been an import, maybe even grown unnaturally.

Thinking about the bigger helped eased Farid's mind off his pain. While Leif started mending his wounds magically, Farid slouched down against a barrel on the platform. The openings reattached themselves reasonably well after bursts of golden rays. This was as much as Leif's restoration could do, since the wounds no longer close significantly. Farid will have to heal the rest manually, which wouldn't be too much of a tall order. However, what troubled him was the creeping poison. He drank half, no, probably a third of the cure before losing the bloody thing. His innards eased before but was now biting back with a vengeance. Unlike poisoning the limbs, poison to torso meant one could not merely amputate the affected appendages and be on their merry way, lest the person wish to remove several vital organs. "The cut's fine now." He grunted to Leif. Lifting his jerkin to check, the wounds were indeed manageable. "I need something for the poison." 

When Farid lifted the hem of his leather jerkin, sure enough, the wounds had closed, but as Leif soon discovered, he had not been cured all the way. At least for the time being, Farid was alive. An idea blossomed in his head as he remembered promptly that there was a potion of Cure Disease in his potion holster at his hip. With swift hands, he discovered it was still intact, and had not been broken in the fall into the sewers. He breathed a sigh of relief and extracted it from its leather bindings. The glass felt warm in his clenched hand, as it had remained close to his body, and therefore, his body heat had made it so.

Sometime ago, Ander made his way back into the cavern. The prisoner's face was caked with excrement, and his already rotten smell fared five times worse now. Farid was interrupted by Ander clattering around the platform. "Don't touch it!" Farid suddenly barked. His reason? Ander almost picked up the Argonian's flute. His command was obeyed, and Ander wandered off to another direction. "Bloody coward." Farid sighed. His deposition towards Ander fell lower than ever. If there isn't a big stash of gold as promised, well... "We should have fed him to snake." 

Leif chuckled quietly at his comment about feeding Ander to the snake, "If we did that, we wouldn't get paid, no?"

Once a thief, always a thief, Ander proved the old saying true when he snatched a bound notebook. "This might help." The prisoner extended his find to Farid. 

"A journal?" Farid cocked his head quizzically, he's really in no mood to hear the rambling of a mad lizard. He lazily flipped to the middle, expected lines of delusion. Except he found no such passage. In fact, he found symbols belonging to an unknown script. "What is this? Doesn't look Daedric." He guessed. Flipping back to the first page, Farid found familiar characters of Tamrielic writing. "I should start writing in Maormeri, master taught me to keep secret." Farid read aloud. "Maormeri? Isn't the lizard tongue Gel, or something like that?"

With one hand curled around the potion bottle, Leif tipped his head at Ander's discovery, a journal hinting some cryptic language called Maormeri. For some odd reason, it sounded vaguely familiar to him, without much other thought, Leif pressed the potion bottle into Farid's hand, "Here, this might help, though I'm not sure how much good it will do. It's a potion of Cure Disease, made it myself. If anything, it should slow the process of the poison spreading." As he sat back onto his haunches, he wracked his brain for any information on Maormeri. Hadn't he heard it in some ballad that someone sang on [i]The Courtesan[/i]? He clasped his chin with one hand, and played mindlessly with the braids on his goatee.

Gladly taking the potion, Farid examined before uncorking the cap. It smelled like medicine, not that he was any expert in such fields. Anything would at help at this stage, as Farid started to feel poison burning in his guts. "I suppose we've gone too far for you to trick me." He joke. Farid always found humor a distraction from grim thoughts. "Here, to not becoming snake food." He faked a toasted and downed the liquid. He felt nothing change, nothing good or bad happened. Perhaps the potion takes time; he'll just have to wait and see.

"You Nords and your mustaches. Must be a pain cleaning them." He chuckled at Leif playing with his facial hair.

"Aye, now that I think about it, there was an ol' shipmate of mine, Halvar Rock-Jaw was his name, he sang some ballad that mentioned them, I can't remember it for the life of me. The man took me in at an early age when I left my parents home to prove my worth to them. He taught me how to write, and all sorts of other useful skills. If I can recall correctly, the Maormer, as they are called, are some type of Sea Elf. I have no idea where they call their home, or what influence they might have had over our dead Argonian mistress here, but the only way to find out, is to make it out of this shit hole, better keep a hold of that journal there, it might come in handy." Leif said with a slack-jaw grin. Rising to his feet with a push of his hands, Leif wiped his hands on his trousers, and then extended a friendly hand to Farid to help him to his feet.

"You've been around, eh?" Farid said, accepting Leif's help to get back on his feet. He still felt weak, partially from a 24-hour day and worsened by the ongoing poison effect. "Sea Elf? Never heard them bunch. Then again, I've never been on the seas much at all." He raised a eyebrow. "Sounds kind of exotic." Farid admitted. Sailing was something he wanted to try, a curiousity developed by decades stranded on arid land. He made a mental note to ask the Nord how he got around on the waves. But first things first, they're hitting no waves beside the splashing of sewage.

"You could say that," Leif began as a devilish grin played across his lips, blue eyes glistening under the dim lantern light, "I've had my fair share of women you know. Been everywhere the Sea of Ghosts would take me. From what I remember about the ballad, which isn't much, I'm just faintly recalling an impression, that whatever it is about these elves... didn't end well."

"We did it, the hiss is silenced!" Ander perked up from behind. This man must of made a habit to sneak up on people. "I cannot tell you how—"

"How you ran like cry baby?" Farid finished it for Ander. "You don't care if we die, that much is mutual. But if you can't make your skinny arse useful down here, you might just not make it out." Farid balled his hands into fists, staring daggers into the personified cowardice known as Ander.

Were Leif to interject upon the behalf of Ander, he would've called himself a liar to say the least, as he shared the same feelings as Farid. Ander had proven useless in the face of danger, and if he dared try again by running away, Leif would have no problem in tackling him, let alone maiming him. A poor excuse of a man; then again, Ander was a thief, and like all thieves, they only cared about themselves.

"I'm sorry." Ander eked backwards. "It's just the hiss, the snake-master, haunted my dreams for countless nights. You know I'll just get in your way."

Farid wanted to grab Ander's ruined collars, wanted to throw the bony Nord around while grilling him for being so much like a rat. He did the first, but as one of his hand seized the collars, a sharp pain shocked him from the sides, causing Farid to drop Ander down. "The poison's still around." The Redguard grunted to Leif. "This way, that's where we we headed before." He pointed to the passageway across from their origin. 

"Serves you right, shouldn't be riling up a poor bloke like him, he's too skinny to properly defend himself." Leif grunted, though he was still concerned for Farid. He certainly didn't want the Redguard to keel over down here. It was quite obvious to him that the thief wouldn't help out.

"Anything else you know?" Farid said to Ander impatiently. "And you better keep up, because I'm not hauling around." He added.

"No, nothing. And yes, I will."

Unsure if Leif preserved his torch, Farid decided to take the Argonian's lantern. He also picked up the flute with a rag, carefully storing the instrument (or weapon?) inside a thick pouch. Who knows, maybe having the poisoned instrument might help his future healers crafting the much needed antidote. As for the journal, Farid left it to Leif, who carried around larger bags. 

Before heading out of the cavern, he put the journal securely in his pack, which he had the sense not to leave behind before going dungeon diving, Leif retrieved the torch he had stashed away on one of the holds before returning to Farid and Ander, with a cocked sandy-brow, he put one hand on his hip, and asked, "Where to now?" He shifted around trying to determine which way was out. Assuming that the best idea was to head towards the inner city, Leif pointed at the possible exit.

"Maybe thataway?" He suggested, uncertainty clung to his voice. Starving to death down here, and leaving Sevine, not to mention all of the other un-wooed women in Skyrim alone, made Leif burn with a desire to get the Oblivion out of the damned sewer even quicker. What would he do if he died down here, and Sevine needed him? Well, he certainly wouldn't be around, that's for certain.

Farid let Leif take the lead, he himself stayed one pacing behind, not feeling too speedy and intend to keep an eye out in case Ander tries a fast one. They trekked through the passage, lantern and torch in hand. The sewage in the tunnels leading into the inner city was shallower compared to the palace, it also flowed. Farid wasn't sure whether the stench subsided, or the toxin got to his olfactory senses, or simply because he got used to everything. Rat screeches started to appear minutes down the tunnel, and the markings accompanied better maintained surfaces. Then, a series of metal bars came in sight. A ladder, leading up to slivers of light that seeped through an imperfect cover. 

The sensation of clean, fresh air, free of the stench that was the sewers prompted Leif to rejoice, as he stood, head tipped back, mouth agape, taking deep breaths, as if trying to cleanse his lungs of the foulness from their excursion in the sewers. "Ah! Fresh sweet air!" He exclaimed, swinging his arms up into the air. 

"Back on Divine's Mundus." Farid rejoiced when his head came above ground. Leif already climbed up above in, and moved the weighty cover aside. Climbing out of the manhole, Farid saw the streets brighter under morning light. At least the Redguard assumed it's morning, no exact way to tell with the sun concealed by ominous storm clouds. His eyes slowly adjusted to illumination. "Bloody hell, we've been down there a while." He looked between Leif beside him, and Ander scrambling up the ladder. He asked no one in particular. "We've been down on for what? An hour? It was pitch dark before the palace."

"Maybe more, I'd take a gander and say we were down there from an hour, to two and a half." Leif turned his attention to Ander as he pulled himself up to the surface, he certainly had the strength, and the energy to get his ass up to the surface. Regardless of that fact, Leif was more eager to be rid of the scrawny thief.

"Freedom!" Ander exclaimed as he emerged from below. "These streets, aren't they sights for sore eyes." The ex-prisoner sunk to his knees, touching the cobblestone like it was gold. 

"Watch out!" Farid warned. From one end of the alley they found themselves in, a trio of Argonians streaked by, almost stepping on Ander if Farid didn't move him out of the way. After encountering the snake lady below, Farid tensed just at the sight of scales. He went to draw his weapon but a detachment of guards came on scene. Farid eased his hands away, not wanting the guards to get the wrong idea. 

"Citizens, leave here at once." A guardsman commanded. This helmeted figure almost plunged into the manhole, and clearly felt no warmness towards those that might have been vandals. "For your own sake, there's a riot going on." The guard jogged on without a response.

"Riot, seriously?" Farid said. Suffice to say, he was kind of confused. Wasn't there a siege going on? Anyways, they needed to get moving, they need to haul Ander's sorry arse to his sorry friend. "Hold on," Farid searched around himself. In the stampede of guards and lizards, the ex-prisoner vanished into thin air. "Where'd—" At the same directions people came from, a raggedy outline resembling Ander was hopping away, Without second thoughts, the Redguard took off after it. He raced though alleys, dodging groups of riled up folks intend on ripping out each other's throats. His feet beat across bloody flooring as a boulder of ice touched down several blocks away. Finally, Farid caught Ander standing still. Ahead was the same rundown house where a shady individual requested rescue, now crushed to bits by Kamal's ammunition.

"Divine's would only know what would cause those fools to riot at a time like this." He mumbled, getting out of the way so as not to be trampled. His gaze had been captured by the events of the Argonian's, followed by the guards, when he turned to look back at their group, he found Farid running away after Ander. That man sure could move quick when he wanted too! Leif tailed his Redguard companion through the alleyways, keeping close on him so as not to lose him in the hordes of people that congregated in unlikely places. The grey morning light, had turned to a darker overcast of clouds where rain fell in large, icy drops. Sandy-blonde hair turned to the color of wet sand, almost brown in appearance, as the rain came in slow, steady sheets. Sure enough, Ander led them right where they needed to be, but the sight before Leif and Farid spelled of disaster, as the Kamalian siege weapons had obliterated the structure in which his friend lived. This had to be the place, but from the looks of it, Leif doubted if anyone was alive inside. He grimaced as he gazed at the bone-thin man that was Ander, disbelief etched into his skeletal face.

"Wynn! Can you hear me? Are you there?" Ander screamed on top of his lungs, desperation and fear clear in his torn voice. "Oh no, no, this can't be!" Having closed in on the destroyed structure, Ander hurried after a body buried under multiple beams.

If it was appropriate, Leif would have face-palmed himself then and there, but of course, the circumstances at hand suggested that would not be helpful. It was a sad sight to see Ander in the state he was in, after being held captive in the keep, only to escape, to find his friend dead. Of course, Leif would have been upset were that anyone he knew trapped under the rubble. All of that sewage mucking for nothing now. He withheld an aggravated sigh, and inched closer to Ander as he tried in vain to find his friend. As he moved in to help, there was an arm poking up from the rubble along with a leg twisted in a most unnatural way. The only thing he could do, was to help lift the beams off the poor bloke buried underneath. Grasping a broken, hewn beam in both hands, Leif threw all of his weight into lifting up the beam, and shoved it aside. Moving methodically, corded muscles rippled as he cleared the area away from the trapped body. Glancing over to Farid, with sweat running down his face, dripping off the tip of his nose and mixing with the rain, he raised both brows as he knelt next to the crushed figure, and felt for a pulse, of which he found none. He would have to hold a mirror under the man's nose to be certain he was dead. He could be unconscious, but he doubted that in the least.

"Is this the guy? The one that was to suppose to pay us?" 

Tragic, sure. More so was frustration. Farid crawled through sewage, killed and poisoned by a hissing lizard just to find his payer dead. He stumped around the ruined dwelling searching for anything of value, which wasn't much, unless halved furniture were to count. The damage caused by the ice boulder made Farid appreciate the gravity of his predicament; if he were there minutes earlier, the  Redguard would have shared Wynn's fate.

Noticing Leif sweating away clearing the wreckage, Farid lent a hand in moving the last pieces. The Nord's finding was confirmed when Farid examined the body himself. This Wynn, despite heavily disfigured by wooden weights, matches the shadowy figure from yesterday. "It's him, but he ain't doing no paying." Farid answered disappointed. He took the liberty of looting the dead man; nothing of value save for an iron knife, a pack of lockpicks and a meager 17 septims. 

"What is this?" Farid stopped at Wynn's feet. Inside the left boot was a bulge, perhaps a hidden weapon? Farid wiggled the footwear off, flipping it over and a tiny cloth pouch dropped out. "Key." Farid recounted the pouch's content.

Ander strolled back at the sound of looting. The thief's eyes watered around the corners, he sniffled constantly to hold back the tears. Ander first looked disapproving at Farid, but just as harsh words began to formulate, Ander's gaze fixated on the key.

"Give it to me, now!" The thief commanded, every bit of his frail frame shaking with urgency.

"Easy, what are you on for?" Farid surrendered the key.

"Don't you dare desecrate his body." Ander scolded Farid, and warning Leif as well. "And mind your own business." Was all the thief said before he went behind a half intact wall. Farid shrugged and followed , seeing Ander knelt inside a hearth, digging away pieces from the brick structure. What fascinating was that the bricks gave way easily, revealing a medium wooden case behind. Ander ducked back out with strongbox, inserting Wynn's key into a blackened metal lock in front. The box clicked open. Inside, a velvet purse sat beside a roll of parchment. 

Farid wasted no time snatching the purse away, reacting fast at the first jingle. At last, the payment for a long and winding journey. With Leif close by, Farid smiled as the purse lacing came undone. There was a miniature note on top, but below, [i]oh boy[/i], hundreds of golden shimmers blessed by Zenithar himself. "Jackpot." Farid claimed. Feeling joyous for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he began mockingly reciting parts of the note. "So: 'This is all the coins I can muster, not nearly enough to bribe even the greediest guardsman. I will try to find help for you. If for the odd chance you do escape, and somehow I am not there with you, please take my coins, it'll sustain you for months.' Heh." Farid read it out. All the while he felt celebrating, Ander still knelt with the parchment roll in hand. Suppose even Farid had a sliver of empathy, as he tossed down a handful of septims of Ander. Make no mistake, this sum could barely cover a room and a hot meal. The majority still sat in the purse.

"More on the back." Farid continued. "It says: 'Flea-Wool will arrive on the 4th; pass the documents to her. The Black-Briars would be very interested.' So, that suppose to be yesterday. This Flea-Wool could still be around the city."

"Flea-Wool, Lyssa." Ander recounted. The thief hobbled back onto his feet, leaning on the dusty hearth for support. "She never goes inside the gates, used to say there's a price on her head. She waits with darkies, as she called them. I think Dunmer farms."

"Oh." Farid said. "In which case, she's a goner. Snow demons steamrolled everything across the river."

"Sheo must be toying with me." Ander spat angrily. "Wynn and Lyssa, somehow I outlast everyone even being caught." The thief was clutching the parchments white-knuckled, as if he had a vendetta against the document. These people, apparently associated with the Thieves Guild, must of spent so much effort on an important steal. If Leif didn't bother asking what the document contains, Farid certainly would.

"What does it say?" Leif said, picking his way across to rubble to Farid, he had remained in place the entire time, watching with exhaustion as Farid uncovered the sack of loot left for them. At this point, with the rain coming down in gentle, grey sheets, he didn't care what happened now. However, the only thing he could think of, was getting home, and washing off the filth that coated his hair, and soaked into his clothes. Fortunately, the rain had already begun that process. From the sound of things, this thief, Ander, was tied in deep to things he possibly couldn't even begin to comprehend.

"Do you have to know?" Ander defended himself. Realizing the questioners were rather keen on getting to the truth, Ander unraveled the parchments. "Fine. It's a smorgasbord. Everything's from a year ago, so I'm not sure how much is, well, I'm not sure they're any good in the first place." The thief exhibited the foremost page, an outline filled with large headers and smaller paragraphs for explanation. An aged blue seal featuring a bear stamped the top right corner; the symbol of office. Below that, the text suggested unedited, but fine-handed print. The most obvious headers inscribed: [i]Proposal to the High King for Banning All Intoxicants[/i], [i]Possibility of the Thu'um Academy Constructed on Skuldafn[/i], [i]Injecting Military Grade Toxin into Gray Quarter Wells for Testing Purposes[/i], [i]Soul Trapping the Undesirables[/i].

Lastly, a tiny speck of ink dotted the page's end. [i]Birthday present for my boy[/i]; someone has a spoiled brat.

"Banning mead, whoa, I thought the Deadlands would freeze over before a Nord says it." Farid laughed wryly. "Thu'um, the dragon magic, eh? Someone read too many legends." It seemed silly, the talks of metaphysical shouts and the instruction of such for the average mortal. Then, there were something close to everyday happenings, something bound to hit home somewhere and some place. "Testing poison on the darkies, stuffing dirty criminals, no offense, Ander, into crystals. Leif, does this jarl have it in him?"

When he came to stand alongside Farid, where he peered over his shoulder to read the contents of the scroll, all color vanished from his face. He even felt light-headed. [i]Injecting Military Grade Toxin into Gray Quarter Wells for Testing Purposes[/i], those words alone unsettled him. For Talos' sake! He lived in the Gray Quarter! But why, of all things, would they want to poison the wells? Did Thur really despise the Dunmer? Was there something even darker waiting to be uncovered? The rest of the contents in the letter troubled him more, [i]banning all intoxicants[/i], [i]construction of a Thu'um Academy[/i], and even more concerning, [i]soul trapping of undesirables[/i]. Leif knew that the roll of parchment paper that Farid held in his hands, contained ground-breaking information. Farid's question finally reached his ears, forcing his empty gaze up. He was still in shock over the fact that there were plans, or at least considerations to put these things into actions.

"There's always a possibility, Farid. We better not let this document fall into the wrong hands. I think we might want to take this to Ashav. He might have a better understanding as to what to do. Before we do that, let's get you to a healer. You know what..." He paused in his speech, eyes cast downwards at the broken pieces of wooden beams upon which he stood, "There is a Khajiit in our company that really knows his potions. We'd best get you over to him before you get any sicker, you could really drop dead at any second." His brows furrowed in urgency, but his eyes flickered to Ander.

Farid couldn't argue with the logic here. This mission was getting to the point where sick and tired no longer adequately describes his enthusiasm. Ashav was the big boss, the top brass of the company. Leave the decisions to the decision makers, Farid thought. He already got what he wanted; the coins. Plus, the poison was set to strike back. The sick gut-knotting in his stomach once again reared its malicious head, ready to undo the counter-poison potion. If those reasons were not compelling enough, Farid knew the guards might soon come investigating. Given his track record with Windhelm's law enforcement, another encounter has a good chance of turning sour. "You're right." Farid concurred. "This Khajiit better not leave stray fur in my antidote." He grumbled at the prospect of leaving himself vulnerable to a cat he barely knew.

"You better come with us at least." While he didn't like the idea of having the thief tag-along with them, it would be helpful for him to be present to answer any questions Ashav might have. For all he knew, Ashav might know someone of value that would want to prevent this from occurring, if it hadn't already happened. The information in the parchment wasn't trivial, and possibly would change the fate of Skyrim at hand. 

Ander raise his hand to protest, all the while sounding alienated from the mercenary pair. As dull morning light traced passed shattered roofs, bringing with them tiny raindrops, it became apparent that he needed to be somewhere safer. The thief kept his hand firmly around the parchment, not wanting to let go something he and his colleagues sacrificed so much for. Entrusting one's secret to hired swords does not appeal to wanted men, what that was what Farid interpreted as Ander's reluctance. The Redguard would have no of it. Time was running short. On the inside, vomit threatened to exist his throat, while somewhere outside on the streets, voices and footsteps drew ever closer. "I need a guarantee for my safety, or else-" Ander protested, taking a step back under surviving thatches. His back bumped into an aged barrier, sending dust particles all over himself. 

"Shut your trap." Farid seized Ander's collars. He started dragging the frail man in one hand, confiscating the documents in another. He towed Ander pass various obstacles, back out the same way they came it. Once outside, an undeniable nausea froze Farid dead in his tracks. As quick as he could, he handed both human and paper to Leif, then dry heaved for the better part of a minute. Nothing came out; the poison was designed not to be retched out. Because his innards now performed dizzying acrobatics, Farid barely noticed the ice boulder nearby. Normal ice would have been on its way to melting, but this Kamal engineered projectile abnormally retained all of its crystal lattices. At that instance, a thunderous crack resonated in the gloomy storm clouds, followed by electric branches of lightning. One lightning fork connected with the ice boulder, cracking it and flooding the entire city block with azure glow.

"Why do I get the feeling that this is just getting started?" Farid said on his back, having fallen in the course of sudden panic. He didn't get zapped, miraculous, considering such close proximity. Was it luck or divine intervention? Farid knew not. The better question would be; how long could his fortune persist?