The first Dwemer fight went swimmingly. By Edith's standards, this first fight scored fairly high. The veterans most performed as expected and the newcomers pulled their weights as well. Hell, even the potty girl Raelyn did something useful besides hauling shit buckets (and that's definitely a plus over Dough-Boy). Even though she was somewhat of an optimist among the company leaders, Edith had prepared her grim face the moment she saw scores of Dwemer machines. No one died. One got her leg skewered and another got his face mauled, but both were in stable conditions, more or less. Upon dismantling the last automaton, Edith ran a quick assessment of the group. Elmera had the fight taken out of her for certain, and the new Dunmer would be relegated to watching the elevator. Leif was pretty screwed up too, but the Nord man could see, hear and speak despite the tangle of charred and cut flesh. It would be up to him to decided whether he will join Elmera or the rest.

The rest eventually proceeded down the only hallway. It was poorly lit with intermittent Dwemer lamps and branched out in opposite directions not far away. Upon closing distance to the junction, it was clear that one way was buried under a ceiling collapse. The other way, however, looked like it had been cleared out recently. Edith immediately thought back to the dead Dunmers from the entrance room. Those two were dressed in torn up fur and tattered cloaks, none of them had the conspicuous burnt bone armor that Dumhuvud described. So that meant the shadows Edith saw creeping down the junction were likely something else, or perhaps the Armigers learned disguise. Either way, the next hallway had more lighting than this one, and as the shadows sharpened into four humanoid shapes, Edith waved everyone down and quiet.

"I tell you, it's nothing." A woman with Dunmeri accent spoke. "Probably just a draft down the entrance; we've cleared out the machines already."

"You're right." A male Dunmer voice came. Along with him, the footsteps seemed to halt beyond the turn. "I swear the boss likes to watch us hirelings sweat. Damn Ashlanders, can't even understand what they're saying."

"And who are you to complain," an Imperial man spoke up, "at least you're dark elves. You should see the way he looks at me, like I'm a horse to be slaughtered. You, I mean, the Ashlanders do eat horses, eh?"

"I'm about sick and tired of you mouths." What was assumed as another Dunmer man ordered the rest. "How about I take what you said to Dalas and see what he thinks?"

"Yeah, no thanks. I'm good now." The Imperial backed down. "We're just here for the coins, not worth the trouble. Though I don't know why you're here, aren't you related to the Hlaalus or something?"

Puzzled by their conversation, in Cyrodilic nonetheless, Edith looked to her group for ideas. Several rounds of whispers and nods yielded the solution of sending Do'Karth to negotiate with the strangers. But as soon as Do'Karth made himself known, the four opponents instantly launched three projectiles at him. A knife, an arrow and a crossbow bolt all flew towards the Khajiit. All three missed, somehow making a spectacular flyby on the sides of Do'Karth's head and between his legs (the bolt dangerously close to his genitals). 

"How did they all miss?" Edith gasped in disbelief.

"How did we all miss?" The opposing four asked similar questions, exchanging surprised looks. 

At this point, it was obvious a fight was at the point of no return. The supposed Hlaalu man, who was the best dressed in a orange robe, ordered the three individuals clad in miner cloths and mismatching iron to attack. Discrepant outfits also translated to armaments, as the Hlaalu held a dwarven crossbow, but his comrades wielded only low-quality bows and short blades. Their momentary confusion and the false assumption of Do'Karth as the lone intruder should be sufficient for the numerically superior mercenaries to overwhelm.
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/w0XWwEk.png[/img]
[i][b]On the island surface...[/b][/i][/center]
Niernen chased after Madura. As soon the journalist mentioned something about Do'Karth, the beaten sorceress took off with a renewed sense of vigor. Who knew one Khajiit nomad could be so popular? Not Ashav and Hargjorn. Regardless, now it's only two human with an elf who looked like he hasn't been able to stool for a week straight. Well, for all Ashav and Hargjorn knew, the Kamals might have actually tortured Valen with a fiber-less diet. The man looked really on edge, and it would do to give him some outlet. 

The mysterious cutter was just that. It was bonemold and cohesive bonemold. It was a ship of recent manufacture, and clearly had been sailed not long ago. The question for Hargjorn was who could have left it there. A ship this size should have at least a half dozen crews, and could accommodate up to twenty. "This is no sailor, it's a nest o' sailors." Hargjorn observed. From a distance away, it looked like something was moving on it. With the fog not yet clearing, no one was certain what, if anything moved at all. Upon closer inspection, there still lied ropes, banners and a lever system for loading. The boat measured just over thirty meters, with Ashlander markings. 

"Ashav, Valen and I will check behind." Hargjorn planned. "Have a peak topside." He pointed to a ramp. As Ashav walked on the deck, Hargjorn took advantage of the low tide to wade for a hatch on the aft. It turned out to be only half of his height, therefore, going in was messy and done with sword sheathed. Dark, stinky corridor the width of only one person greeted the Nord sailor. In the split second it took for him to adjust to the dimness, one hooded assailant charged out of a cabin with knife drawn. Hargjorn barely braced in time to keep the blade from his neck. However, he was now pinned against the wall and knife inching ever closer. 

"No, please, help!" Hargjorn cried out, hoping desperately his attacker would back down, or someone could pry this rude fellow off him.