Raelyn waved her hands in what would probably look like some mystic gesture at a chair. The sailors and farmhands around her ooh'd and ahh'd. "Bajibolo!" The men started, leaping backwards. 

Raelyn gestured to the chair, "Yordeck, if you please." Yordeck, a poor woodworker Raelyn had accosted into her venture, cautiously approached the chair in the manner one might approach a pit viper. He very gently sat down upon it, only to rocket to his feet in a yelp of pain. Raelyn placed a hand over her mouth, suppressing a laugh. The men around her kissed amulets of Talos and muttered some silent prayer of thanks.

One man, Jorvab, reluctantly handed Raelyn about twenty septims. Raelyn nodded in a haughty manner, "I hope you learned a valuable lesson about doubting the magicks a woman possesses."

Jorv protested, "But I don't see how you did it without producing some sorta, whats it called Yordeck?"

Yordeck said, "Rune, Jorv."

Jorv nodded, "Rune, right."

Raelyn winked, "A mage never reveals her secrets." Though she was sure that someone was about to discover her secret in a few moments and decided to use the excuse the Nine Divine had blessed mankind with at the very beginning. "Oh, excuse me a moment, I need to use the privy."

She sauntered off into a crowd of revellers. She had Yordeck, always the skeptic, yelling about  pins and cushions far behind her. She was thankful that she hadn't planned to stay in Dawnstar for much longer. She had heard a certain ship had arrived from a certain little birdie that fed on coin. This birdie roosted at the docks in the twilight hours of late afternoon. It was a very talkative bird.

--------

Gordo threw several sacks into the back of a wagon. They clinked and clanked. The terrifying Altmer woman who paid him had said that they needed to have the sacks in the back of the wagon soon, for they were to leave in haste. The wagon rider didn't seem to be too concerned about what they were doing. 

"Welp." he had said. "Not my business what they use my wagon for." and had continued smoking his pipe. Even when people fled  poured past his wagon away from Windhelm, he'd shrugged. "Nothing that needs worrying."

Gordo shouted, "This bad! Are the horses ready?"

The Wagon Driver looked at his two horses. One was on the ground, sleeping, the other standing though possibly also sleeping. It was hard to tell with horses. "Yeah, I suppose."

There was a splashing sound in the river below. Gordo looked down, seeing a wet Vurwe forcing herself out of the frigid water ahead of them, nearer the end of the bridge. Gordo shouted, "Vurwe, wagon ready it is!"

The...THINGS that were destroying Windhelm began pouring from the main gates. Gordo cursed, "Driver, go!"

The Driver lazily slapped his horses lightly with a whip. This took a few tries. The horses begrudgingly awoke, lazily rose and began a slow trot.

"Faster!" Gordo shouted.

"You can lead a horse to water, but it ain't gonna sprint there."

A crossbow bolt flung past the driver and into the dirt ahead. "Welp." he said. "I suppose I could whip them harder." He did so with somewhat more enthusiasm.

As they flew at a speed that was a little slower than a man sprinting to the end of the bridge, Vurwe was seen cresting the hill. Gordo held his right arm out, "Lady, grab!"

Vurwe grabbed at the mans arms. She began to be dragged along the ground. She screamed, "Gordo, pull me in you lazy lout!"

Gordo heaved, pulling Vurwe into the wagon. She immediately scrambled to her knees, brushing her dress off and pounced upon the bags. She untied it, revealing several bars of varying materials they'd looted from a smithery. She grinned the wide grin of someone who knew a nearby mercenary troop of under-armed warriors and overworked blacksmiths. 

---

They'd later stolen the Wagon while the rider was going to natures calling in some wood. They'd left behind one bottle of Alinor Vintage, a sum that Vurwe thought should be priceless to a man who lived driving wagons. The driver shrugged, "Welp, I guess I'll have to get my wagon back." He flicked his right hand and it crackled with power. He walked along what he hoped was a path worn by humans and not bears.

---

At the festival, Vurwe was busy talking to some local historian about the Dark Brotherhood. "So." she said in a hushed whisper. "They just kill people? With no payment?" The man shrugged, "Some think the payment might be the act itself, but surely they must have some income."

Vurwe leaned in, "Have they ever killed, lets say, a Duke?"

The man looked side to side, then whispered, "Some say they killed Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Really?" Vurwe said.

"Possibly."

Vurwe considered this. "Think I could contact them?"

"Well, I can't tell you how to do that, but! There's some tales going around about the practice. Why, I have this book..."

Vurwe ignored him and gestured to Gordo, who was singing in a uncharacteristically beautiful voice and playing some rowdy Nordic diddy. Unfortunately he degenerated to his malformed Tamrielan as he spoke, "Gordo don't want to go! Music make drunk women want Gordo!" he gestured  at his huge, rotund form, "And who wouldn't? Gordo handsome!"

Vurwe looked at his troll-like face, "Me."

Gordo frowned, "You not good friend."

"I'm honest. Would a friend lie to you?"

"Yes."

"Well I won't. Now lets hurry, I heard the mercenary company returned. One of those degenerates has to know how to summon a Dark Assassin guild. I bet they kill eachother for sport."