[i][b]Collab between Hank, Ink, and Dervs[/b][/i]

“You sure you don’t want me to take a quick look ahead, make sure there’s no hazards?”

Hector looked up at the sound of Daro'Vasora's question. His brow creased in thought and he observed the Khajiit for a few seconds while she flipped through her journal before replying. She looked immensely capable, decked out in supple leather gear and covered in pouches and her tools of the trade. If anyone were to scout out ahead, Hector would want it to be her, but he didn't like the idea of letting anyone out of his sight for too long. Not because he didn't trust them, mind. Hector believed firmly in the concept of 'safety in numbers' and a handful of different scenarios that would result in Daro'Vasora's untimely death flitted through his mind's eye; traps, draugr ambushes, unstable structures...

He decided to respond with a question of his own. “How much experience have you had exploring ruins such as this one, precisely?” Hector asked and gestured towards the barrow. His tone was inquisitive, not accusatory, and he kept his expression open and neutral. She'd mentioned that this wasn't her first rodeo, so to speak, but Hector did not yet know the specifics.

Daro'Vasora pondered the question for a few moments, closing her journal around her finger to save the page before turning to Hector. She'd figured he'd have questions about her credentials sooner or later, and she didn't fault him for wanting to know who he was working with. As so she replied with an even, unhurried manner.

“I've been doing this since I was seventeen, pretty much an adult by then. From there, I spent three or four years as an apprentice to my associate out of Imperial City and I've been running largely solo ever since, periodically partnering up if it seemed prudent. There's not much of Cyrodiil I haven't seen, and I've crossed over the borders of Hammerfell and Morrowind on a few occasions, small day trips away from roads to avoid attention. Skyrim's been on my plate for the past seven months, of which I've delved into four ruins that weren't traveler hot spots.” she said, grinding her teeth around the bone.

“Doesn't mean they weren't largely picked clean. That's the thing about this line of work; nobody tells you it's largely trial and error with very rare payouts. But what you do find...” she trailed off, smiling to herself slightly, taking a moment to reflect on the good fortunes she did have. “So long story short, I know Alyeids about as well as if they were still around, been in enough Dwemer ruins to know that clanking means you're in peril, and Nordic ruins are rather fond of some pretty sophisticated, if crude, traps and undead nasties that aren't fond of you stealing their master's goods.”

The Khajiit gestured to the barrow opening. “So if you're worried about me not knowing what to expect, don't be. I know what to look for, and I'd rather not have someone who doesn't step on something they shouldn't that I could have marked. It's why you hired me, Hector; I'm an expert for a reason. It's safer for everyone if I look ahead rather than the group stomping through like some obnoxious tour group.” Daro'Vasora concluded, offering her journal for Hector to look through. It didn't contain anything she hadn't already seen or considered truly confidential, and if there were, she doubted he was going to read it page by page to try and figure out her trade secrets. Her map, however, was a different story. It contained the potential locations of a lot of untapped ruins that she intended to get around to. “I know it's one thing to say I'm good and another to witness it, but I don't doubt that this will help ease your concerns.”

The Bosmer huntress they had tasked with leading them to the barrow in the first place chimed in, her tone not as thoughtful as Hector’s in the matter of the conversation. Her intersection in the conversation was sudden but perhaps not unexpected given the circumstances. “I may be no expert in dungeoneering, but it doesn’t seem wise to be stomping all over the bones of the ancestors without caution and without strength in numbers. If we are to undertake this task we need to leave bullishness at the campfire. Is this not an unknown barrow and not one ‘picked clean’ as you are familiar with?” 

Daro'Vasora raised a curious brow to the Bosmer, biting back a sarcastic retort and instead angling for logic. “Nothing wise about it, but there's a right way to do it and a wrong way, and just like nobody's going to criticize how you went about getting our meal, it's the same thing with what I do. Only instead of a group scaring off game or distracting your shot, a group's far more likely to step on a trap or wake up the Draugr. It's not unlike why the Legion uses advance scouts; a handful of talented individuals can do far more good for the unit if they can figure out what's up ahead. Besides,” she said, looking towards the door with arms crossed. “Ain't my ancestors. Way I see it, some rather rich and probably awful people had these places built to horde their wealth that could have been used by someone else and took away how many other lives to populate it with Draugr? Taking stuff that's going to collect dust for eternity and selling it has more historically significant value, anyways. Collectors pay a fortune for old artifacts, and I know quite a few people who pay top coin for good finds.” 

Sjara nodded, not contesting the point the woman had made; though it didn’t mean she liked it any less. For the Nord-raised Bosmer there was a smell about Daro’Vasora that bothered her, though she couldn’t quite place it. Her comment about the wealth in the venture was unsurprising given her profession and other mitigating factors. She didn’t trust her, sure, but if her skill as a dungeoneer was equivalent to Sjara’s skill as a hunter then she felt like she should be left to do what she set out to do. Sjara crossed her arms as she looked over the dungeon entrance with an unimpressed look of sorts. “Fair enough, but as you said, there is a right way and a wrong way. That includes being cautious in a hallowed tomb, ignoring that just to rub two septims together seems rash. But I’m just a veteran hunter, you’re the expert. What do you think, Sibassius?” 

Hector had passively listened to the exchange between Daro'Vasora and Sjara while he skimmed several pages of the Khajiit's journal. Doing so served to assuage his concerns, as it quickly became apparent that she hadn't been lying when she said she was prepared and knew what she was about. He didn't speak until spoken to by Sjara, upon which the Imperial looked up, paused for a second and then cleared his throat. “I think that, while both of our concerns are justified, Sjara, we should give our friend a chance to do what she does best. If she speaks true about her abilities, and I believe you do, Daro'Vasora, I would very much appreciate not having to step in traps that otherwise could have been avoided. I am a man of many skills but dungeoneering is not one of them. Feel free to scout ahead and mark safe passage.” He smiled and quickly added: “But don't go too far. I want to be able to yell orders to you.”

Sjara nodded, not opposing the order given. “You heard the man.”

Having expected some resistance, if not outright rejection, for her proposal, Daro'Vasora found herself quietly surprised to find that that Hector was a thoughtful and considerate man in both appearance and action. He had listened to both points of view and decided based on merit, and perhaps willingness to trust. Daro'Vasora blinked in quick succession, composing herself given her newfound respect for the Imperial. If he was fair for all sorts of volatile personalities under his wing, he may very well be a natural leader. It endeared him to Vasorsa, who found herself rather driven to impress the man and show his trust was well placed.

“Rule of 3, boss; no more than 3 sections ahead and wait at doors to report. I'll never be out of earshot, I promise.” And she meant it. “I'll go gather some leaves to leave as markers. Nobody can miss natural greens in a place of death, I hope." Letting the statement linger, the Khajiit ground the ball of her foot in the dirt, working up to her question. “How long have you been doing this leadership thing for? You seem to have a knack for it. Most I end up partnering with tend to be a tad more... demanding.”

“Good. Leaves will do just fine,” Hector replied and nodded, and looked pensive after Daro'Vasora's question. “About fourteen years, I'd wager,” he replied, and then lowered his voice. "I was a captain in the Legions. I had a reputation for being [I]agreeable[/I], if I remember correctly. But don't tell the others just yet. I don't want it to become a problem that I was on the other side in the Civil War." He eyed both the Khajiit and the Bosmer with an austere look and it was obvious he expected obedience in this matter.

“For what it's worth, Hector, I'm from Cyrodiil too. From where I stand, you fought for the only side that mattered. You've nothing to fear from me; I'm not one to spread gossip. I'll leave it for the others to figure out, or for you to tell them. I'm just here for the job, not make your life difficult.” Daro'Vasora said, turning to carry out her assignment. As she passed, she touched Hector's shoulder reassuringly. “I trusted you to look at my private work. You can count on the same thoughtfulness from me in regards to you asking for trust in turn. You're in safe hands.” She promised, heading off to one of the handfuls of leafy trees in the clearing, sliding her journal back into its secure space.

“Gossip is for fools and bored nobles.” The Bosmer’s eyes narrowed as if remembering a significant moment of it, her voice less blade-edged as she contemplated the Imperial’s request. “The Civil War was a mess on both sides. As a native of Skyrim I saw firsthand what it did here. But you did what you had to do; it’s not my right to tell others you fought with the winning side, though I imagine they might put two and two together in time. Our group doesn’t seem to be witless.”

It was easy to forget that Sjara was a daughter of Skyrim and not a product of Bosmeri culture. Hector looked at her, really [i]looked[/i] at her, and saw the shape of the Nord within in the contours of the elven woman. “I resigned after Windhelm," he said quietly, almost apologetic, and rubbed his forehead. “I was there.” It looked like he was about to say more but the Imperial bit his tongue and averted his gaze. His steel-clad fingers traced the rough, ancient stone of the barrow’s door and his face assumed a neutral expression. “Thank you for the spoils of your hunt,” was what Hector eventually settled on and looked towards the campfire. “Come, let us enjoy the company and the fire before our quest begins.”

Sjara nodded before moving close enough to the Imperial group leader and moved her voice into a hushed whisper so only the two of them could hear. “I’m not sure if I trust her. She’ll [i]desecrate[/i] anything for a spare septim. It’ll bring the wrath of the divines upon us if we aren’t careful.”

Hector nodded slowly. Nord culture was a superstitious one and it made sense for Sjara to believe the same things they did, but he had to admit he didn't really believe any of the Aedra took an active interest in the events on Tamriel. Not anymore. "We will be respectful," he assured Sjara, his hand on her shoulder. He thought he'd seen the Khajiit's eyes light up when he placed his trust in her, but Sjara's words threatened to rekindle his belief in the stigma against Daro'Vasora's people. He shook it off. "I don't want to disturb the dead any more than necessary." 

With that, he smiled at her and walked away from the barrow's entrance to join the others by the fire, listening in silence to their conversation.