Your choices make your life into what it is. Its like a finely woven piece of cloth. It is like the layers of clothing you wear. The poor and unfortunate wrap themselves with layer after layer of dirty and frayed fabric in hopes it will make it better. A rich man is given clothes made out of finest silk. But everything can rip, everything can tear. Even the strongest silk. It takes a bad choice, a step in the wrong direction at the wrong moment. And when it ripped, even silk frayed. And thread by thread, it would cheapen and ruin. Until it was just another dirty layer among many on the beggar. He had resolved never to become that person. Never fall to that level. 

And yet. He was currently ankle deep in sewage. He was pretty sure the fabric of his "silk" was well beyond being simply frayed and torn. Someone had tossed it onto a open flame and pissed on the ashes. With his spear in a tight but relaxed grip, he made up the rear of their little party. There was no way he would have a massive orc or a Altmer Vigilant behind him in a dangerous situation. He adujsted the strap of his shield. He had taken the money when offered, he had followed them for a reason after all. This group was driven, they were strange and they were varied. It would help take attention away from him as a individual.  And right now, that along with the money was the most important. And so, the once proud dunmer slogged through shit and filth to help a pair of brigands. But was he so much better. He had killed more then his share of people since deserting. He had forsaken any sense of actual honor on his journey. Like a wild dog, going from one place to another. He had killed a man with his own helmet simply because they had wanted a fight with him.

So now he moved in the dark, damp tunnels beneath the castle grounds. On a mission to rescue some fool he never met. He shifted his grip on the spear again. [color=ed1c24]"We should be right underneath." He[/color] stated flatly as he slowed his steps.