[h1][Center]With Friends Like These…[/Center][/h1] 6th of Midyear, 4e208 Gilane, Hammerfell Three Crowns Hotel, Gymnasium So, the Reachman says to the Argonian… [hr] The halls of the Three Crowns were eerily quiet at night. It almost seemed to be a hotel only in name, but Latro supposed that after the Dwemer killed the beating heart of the entire fucking Empire and set the world ablaze in a bloody return of iron-fisted rule and slaughter, people tend to put vacations on hold. He moved through the halls unimpeded by even a fly until he stood, staring down the stairs to the gymnasium. Even now, he could hear the movements and breath of someone there. The only person who seemed to ever make constant use of this room, and the only person he trusted with the task he had on his mind tonight. He held the piece of paper that had been left on his bedside table to his eyes again. [i]Tonight,[/i] it said. A single word that only held meaning to Latro, a meaning that weighed down on his chest like boulders. He crumpled the paper and tossed it down the stairs, following soon after. He stood in the threshold to the gymnasium, watching Jaraleet for a time and half-expecting him to say something like, ‘I could hear you from down the hall.’ As much as he was getting used to people being arrogant when sneaking up on them failed the Argonian said nothing, just the rhythmic in-out of breath as he hung from a bar bolted to a wall, hauling himself up and then down repetitively. Finally, Latro spoke, “I have a request.” “Hmmm? Must be something important.” The Argonian replied, stopping his exercise routine to approach the Breton man. “So, what’s this request that you have for me? No one’s awake right now, so when I heard you coming I half expected it to be a Dwemer agent….or someone who works for our gracious host.” The Argonian said quietly, pausing for a second to cross his arms. “Whatever brings you here must be something that troubles you greatly….and that you don’t want the others to know about, no?” Latro nodded, easy smile on his lips. Or at least as easy as it could be, given tonight’s things to do. “Raelynn was kidnapped by the Dwemer agents. I’m sure you’ve seen her lately.” He shook his head, remembering how she was in the infirmary, “Well, I know at least what race at least two of these agents are- Khajiit. The one that took Raelynn and the one that came after me a couple days ago.” “The one that came after me gave me two choices.” Latro held up two fingers as he spoke the words, he wiggled his forefinger, “I meet him when he beckons me-” then wiggled his middle one- “Or he tells the Dwemer where we all lay our heads at night. [i]Here.[/i]” “You’re the third person to hear about this from me. The only others are Raelynn, when she healed me from the wounds that the Dwemer agent gave me, and Sora.” His finger brushed the hilt of the Dwemer sword she’d gifted him, “Now you, as well. My point is...” Latro pursed his lips, “I’m going to meet him. I need someone with feet quiet as mine to come with me. I want to hear what he has to say, and if he tries to take me, he won’t know you’re there. Might be we get to do the interrogating.” He said, “If not for Raelynn, if not for me, then just do it so we know that much more about our enemy when the time comes.” “What say you?” Jaraleet was silent for a second before smiling at Latro. “I will help.” He said, nodding at the Breton. “It is troubling that these agents are so easily able to find us, and so we must take steps to resolve this issue.” The Argonian continued, moving towards the staircases that led out of the gym. “Let me grab my weapons and I should be good to go. Then we can have a...chat with this agent.” The Argonian said before beginning to ascend the stairs. “I shall meet you at the entrance of the hotel, alright?” And with those words, the Argonian disappeared from Latro’s view. [hr] It was only a few minutes before Jaraleet returned, clad in his armor and wearing the same cape that he had worn during that fateful day when they had captured Nblec. “Let’s go.” He said quietly, waiting for Latro to start moving before he began following at a slight distance. Latro nodded, hoping to all the Gods there were in the heavens that Shiburi wasn’t following them this whole time. If he saw Jaraleet following him, things could get complicated. Bloody complicated. Much to his relief though, his scanning of the rooftops and the shadows on the streets held no sign of him. Though, the Khajiit’s first impression was that of a man who could best him at anything, pop out of anywhere. Were it any more absurd, he half-expected Shiburi to be dressed in Jaraleet’s clothes with the Argonian nowhere to be found when he turned around. Thankfully, his fears bore no fruit, as Jaraleet was walking up to him from his following distance when Latro stopped. “We’re nearing the meeting place. You should keep yourself far enough away to be out of sight, but close enough to be in reach if I need you.” With that, the two separated. Beneath everything the past few days’ events brought, Latro took solace that bad memories of being violated as a whore in that Wayrest tavern weren’t the only ones. Ones of stalking the streets of Markarth, of setting up ambushes along the Reach roads, of being a knife in the shadows of halls his enemies thought were safe. He was no stranger to things like this, and he was sure Jaraleet wasn’t either. It was why he was his first choice. Jaraleet nodded in silence at Latro’s words, deciding not to answer to them as a measure of precaution. He was sure that the Breton would understand, after all he was starting to become keenly aware that the seemingly-delicate Breton man and him were very similar creatures. For one there had been his unhesitant backing of his suggestion to interrogate Nblec and now, looking at the way Latro walked, it became more and more apparent that the man was used to walking silently and infiltrating other places quietly, much like Jaraleet did in his line of work. He supposed he and the Breton should have a chat about that at some point, but for now it would do him no good to be distracted. They had a target to capture after all. Latro ducked into the alleyway zen garden, lagging at the last steps, stopping to focus on hearing any movements from inside. Nothing. Either he wasn’t there or he was waiting in stillness. The darkness gave the Khajiit the advantage, neither Jaraleet or Latro being able to see all too well. But any movements, even the slightest shuffle would reverberate off the walls. Even so, Latro stepped cautiously, silent as a graveyard wind. “I know you’re watching me.” He said simply. “I could sme-“ “You could smell me, perfumed soaps, choices. Fuck you.” Latro said, a face that told Shiburi he was in no mood to have a duel of cursing regarded the Khajiit as he dropped from his shadowed hiding place- more than a few feet up a wall, of all things. He didn’t make a sound as he dropped, not even his robes flapped in the wind. A muffle spell. “I’m here. If this is a trap, spring it.” “If this was a trap, you wouldn’t have even seen me. It’s good that you’re here,” Shiburi said as he stepped fully out of the shadows and into the moonlight. “I trust you didn’t come alone. I never said you had to, but I pegged you rightly.” “As what?” “As somebody who isn’t as frail and naive as you’d have everyone else believe. You were dressed as a woman because your features allow you to pass as one when I first met you. It was hard to pick you out but you always [i]walk[/i] the same.” Shiburi smirked, “Are you alone?” “Yes.” Latro lied, straight-faced. “Get to the point of all this.” “I will. Like I said, I was sent to Hammerfell before Tamriel all went to shit. I had a task to fulfill from some very important people. Your end of this bargain is to deliver a letter to someone named Hassiim. He and his brother, Saffi, are my friends. Or friends of the Dwemer.” Shiburi said, producing the letter from a pocket inside his robes and offering it to Latro. “You have gloves?” The Reachman eyed the letter with caution. It could be poisoned with paralysis or any matter of something more deadly. He’d used tricks like that before. He slipped on a pair of leather gloves before taking the piece of paper gingerly, aware of any small needles or just a fine residue of poison that could be activated by sweat or the oils on his hand. Shiburi smirked as if in appreciation of his forethought. “That’s it? You want me to be a fucking courier?” “For now. I need to know if I can trust you to do simple tasks before I ask bigger things of you.” Shiburi said as Latro’s face screwed up in annoyance. “I’ll say this. Keep those gloves on. Now go. He’ll be waiting at the docks. He doesn’t know the man he’ll be taking this letter from is a wanted terrorist, you’ll have an easy time.” Without word, Latro backed away from Shiburi, facing him until he finally sank back behind the wall obscuring the zen garden from the streets. After a while of walking away at a hurried pace and feeling his thumping pulse in his neck, he heard Jaraleet fall in step behind him. “That’s what he looks like. Did you see?” He asked his compatriot. “I did, yes. I’ve already thought on how we might capture him.” Jaraleet replied quietly to Latro. “I also overheard the conversation between you two, if you’ll pardon me. I must say that I agree with this Khajiit.” The Argonian said quietly, easily keeping up with Latro. “There’s more to you than meet the eyes. I suspect you and I are much alike Latro, or am I wrong?” “I wasn’t always a bard.” Latro said, “And I had no doubt that you had something to hide about yourself from the time we set out on that mission together. Not many people kill without blinking.” His eyes scanned the streets for watchmen, or Shiburi himself, “First things first, we deliver this letter. If Hassiim really is a friend of the Dwemer, I’d take him in place of Shiburi if we can’t get him.” Latro said, “But, no, Jaraleet. You’re not wrong, and with your tight lips about yourself, I doubt you’d let anything I tell you to slip, no?” “Hmmm, it would be best if we could capture the both of them, but if this Hassiim really is a friend of the Dwemer that makes him a much more valuable target.” Jaraleet said, nodding slightly at what Latro said next. “Yes, of that you can be assured. All that I ask, of course, is that you do the same.” “After this, we won’t be able to tell the others anything about what we’ve done or talked about tonight. This never happened.” He said, “Shiburi told me to keep these gloves on, so I wouldn’t doubt this envelope is laced with poison, likely deadly.” After a while of walking, Latro finally asked, “So, how do you know the things you do? Poison, interrogation, killing. Not just any type of person remains calm on nights like these or on assignments like that day with Nblec.” Latro had his easy smile, “Fact for fact, truth for truth. You’re the first to have to answer.” “So be it.” Jaraleet said, letting out a sigh in resignation at the fact that he was the one to have to reveal his secrets first. “The An-Xileel were the ones who gave me my training, they were the ones who endowed me with the knowledge of how to interrogate a man, how to kill them. Same with my knowledge of poisons, but that isn't something as uncommon as you might think when one lives in a place like Argonia. You could find elders who have much more knowledge than me and who haven't held a blade in their lives.” The Argonian said, shrugging slightly before speaking again. “Your turn.” “So you’re an agent of Black Marsh?” He said, looking his companion up and down with interest. What the Argonians wanted in Cyrodiil or Hammerfell, Latro didn’t know, and he felt a supreme curiosity niggling at the back of his mind, “Sora knows this, no one else but you and her now. We’ll keep it that way, though.” He began. “You’re not wrong saying that there’s more to me. You’re not wrong saying that you and I aren’t all too different, either. I learned how to wield axe and knife together, to set traps and raid in the dead of night from my Clan’s warriors in the Western Reach. When I was but a boy, I found myself in the Eastern Reach- in Skyrim.” He said, reluctance holding his tongue, and a bit of guilt too, “It was there that I became Forsworn. I was their knife in the dark, a poisoner. All times must change, and I saw my fellow Reachmen embedded in Markarth hunted and hanged. All but me.” They continued walking for a short while, nothing between them but the soft winds of a Hammerfell night. Soon enough, they’d made it onto the harbor and standing on one of the docks was a lone Redguard, idly smoking a pipe. Latro could smell the tobacco on the breeze as he ducked behind a building, out of view. “He’s only expecting one. Maybe I can lure him here and we can capture him.” With that, Latro rounded the wall and began his walk towards Hassiim. Every step set him more on edge, his throat growing drier and heart beating faster all the way up to his throat. He stopped for a second, took a calming breath and continued on before raising his hand, “Hassiim!” He whispered harshly. “Shut up and get over here.” Hassiim waved his hand towards himself, beckoning Latro. When they were finally standing face to face, Hassiim held his hand out, “You have the documents?” Latro nodded, completely unaware of any documents but continuing on with nothing but hope protecting him. And an An-Xileel assassin, “Yes. But I was followed, you have to come with me.” “Just give them to me, quick. We’ll part ways in a second, come on.” Hassiim said, his voice devoid of patience. Latro swallowed, “Fine.” That wasn’t exactly his plan, but it was Shiburi’s. He handed the envelope over, the paper exchanging hands and… Hassiim nodded at him. “Good.” Without incident, Hassiim tore open the envelope and revealed the contents inside- a folded paper. “Bring me to the alley?” Hassiim gritted his teeth and his hand shot for his dagger, but instead fell limp at his side as if the life in it vanished. “Wha-?” The Redguard stumbled back, looking around him in confusion before he crumpled to the dock. “I… you…” He fell completely still. Latro stood there, the absurdity and suddenness snatching his words away. After a moment, he leaned over to get a closer look at Hassiim. He wasn’t a corpse after all, the subtle rising and falling of his chest gave that away. Paralysis. Latro grabbed Hassiim by the collar and hauled him up, dragging him back up the dock and towards Jaraleet. When the Argonian arrived and lent a hand in carrying the Redguard, Latro shook his head, “It was a note. Paralysis poison, we have to bring him to the alley, the note said.” “Hmmm, it seems we might have stumbled on something bigger than we might have thought initially.” The Argonian replied as he helped to haul Hassiim’s paralyzed form. “There's bound to be more risk involved than what he had originally prepared for...but we could learn a great deal more.” He mused out loud. “What say you Latro, are you willing to risk more than we might have bargained for?” He asked the Reachman, he was after all the one who had come up with the idea of this mission of theirs. “I was neck-deep in it from the start, my friend.” Latro chuckled ruefully, “Shiburi might come after us if we foil his task this far into it, let’s see where this leads.” He huffed, grunting as he helped carry the dead weight of the Redguard back to where this all began… [hr] The Redguard crumpled to the ground at Shiburi’s feet. Latro and Jaraleet stood shoulder to shoulder opposite Shiburi, the paralyzed Hassiim between the two parties. It was a tense moment, a choking silence, Latro’s sweaty palms almost shooting for his sword. Then Shiburi spoke, “Damn good.” The Khajiit said, “Follow.” They followed the Khajiit, exchanging glances all the while. They had the advantage of numbers, but after Latro’s first run-in with the Khajiit, he was still a bit intimidated. He absolutely hated it. “What are we doing with him?” “You’ll see.” Shiburi said, “But in all honesty, you’d have to be touched in the head to not figure it out.” Latro shot Shiburi a scowl. After a while of walking, they’d made it to a house in the slums of Gilane, a run-down, destitute thing with boarded windows and a door that looked like it would fall apart under the stress of a particularly hard sigh. Shiburi opened the door after undoing an amount of locks protecting what looked like what nobody would want and disappeared inside, beckoning them in. Latro looked to Jaraleet with raised eyes and an expression that asked the question his tongue didn’t. He had been surprised when Shiburi hadn't made a comment about his sudden appearance, as if his presence had been a factor that he Khajiit had anticipated beforehand. “[i]Could he have known about my presence?[/i]” Jaraleet thought inwardly, frowning slightly. Between him and Latro he was sure that they could take the Khajiit head on and subdue him but if his presence had been anticipated, then it was likely that Shiburi had prepared well in advance for any potential double-crossing from Latro’s part. He helped Latro carry the unconscious body of the Redguard until they both stood in front of a house in Gilane’s slums. “We have to, if we want to accomplish our goal.” The Argonian replied quietly to the unspoken question that Latro had made to him. “You leave what is to come to me, if you'd prefer, and try to get information out of our other friend here.” Latro nodded at Jaraleet offering to do the violence for him. His morals were yet intact and that was something he took solace in. “Alright, then. Let’s go.” They both entered the house, Latro’s skin prickling, expecting a knife to the throat or a crossbow bolt to the forehead. When none came, he let out a long breath from his nose. He took in the space before him and found it surprisingly quaint. The table in the corner looked to be incredibly expensive and something straight from an aristocrat’s tea room, the accompanying chairs no different, if not mismatched. Around the barred windows were curtains that obviously held little purpose other than making the space more homely. The fireplace was going, firelight spilling out onto a fur pelt rug that looked to be from a big game animal. “I wasn’t expecting you to have a taste for the finer things.” Latro said humorlessly. “It isn’t mine.” Shiburi responded, “We’ll keep our friend here. His brother doesn’t know about what he does when he isn’t bending knee and bending over for the Dwemer.” He said, “It will take a while for him to break. But he will. You can do the honors-” he nodded to Jaraleet- “Since you’re so set on crashing mine and Latro’s bonding time you’d best pull your weight.” Shiburi gestured to a couple small crates opposite the chair he was using next to the fireplace, “Sit. It’s time I told you at least something.” When they took their seats, Latro wasted no time in loosing his question, “Who are you really?” “One of my names is Shiburi ibn Sev’Ahmet. That much is true and it’ll have to be good enough. I did come to Hammerfell- sent here- with a task to do.” He said before raising his hand to Jaraleet, “There are tools in the corner, get creative.” “A very important person visiting here soon must die by my hand. I was pressgang’d into Dwemer service, like I told Latro, but it’s only all the more better of a position for me to do my job.” Shiburi continued as he turned back to Latro, “One of these tiny goals I must reach in order to make sure this very important person dies and my mission is completed in full is that I know where Hassiim and his brother live, his activities, his [i]friends.[/i]” Hassiim was already beginning to stir, albeit in futility as Jaraleet bound the Redguard to the chair he’d been unceremoniously dropped in. “What is this? Who are you?” “Hello, Hassiim.” Shiburi rose from his seat, taking the one opposite of Hassiim at the table. Latro could see Hassiim’s balled fists shaking in rage, “My new friends here are going to help me ensure that Hammerfell lives forever a prosperous and autonomous nation-state.” “Sevari?” Hassiim said, teeth clenched. “Sevari is another of my names. The real one, actually.” Shiburi- or Sevari- shrugged. “I still don’t have clear answers.” Latro rose, fists clenching as anger took over his senses. He could feel the heat in his face, teeth clenching. Sevari only raised his hands, “I was pressgang’d, sure. But I wasn’t sent to Hammerfell to be pressgang’d. The Dwemer arriving suddenly muddied up the water for me, but the reason we are all here now was decided even before this Hammerfell-Volenfell business.” Sevari looked at Latro’s fists and smirked, “You really want to do that again?” Latro’s lip curled in contempt as he worked to control his breathing. It seemed every damned step forward only brought him more questions and he did not appreciate participating in these games if he didn’t know the prizes. Sevari reminding him of his beating didn’t help the matter. It was quickly becoming the obsession of a man who finally had a rival. “I want answers.” “The Poncy Man must remain as the sole opposition to Dwemer supremacy in Hammerfell. Your friend, this Poncy Man, has deals with important people far to the south.” Sevari began, “There was a time that the Poncy Man and his merchant guild reigned supreme, second only to the Caliph himself. The Caliph’s sons liked the Knife-Ears- and don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about-and their shiny gifts.” “The difference between the Caliph’s sons and their late father though, the heirs were willing to strike deals and appease the Dominion outright. The Poncy Man, though? The Poncy Man is a patriot to an independent Hammerfell, through and through.” Sevari nodded and then gestured to Hassiim, positively fuming just next to him, “Hassiim was one of the late Caliph’s most trusted spymasters, a high-level Officer in the Eyes of Ra Gada. Oh, how we have all fallen from grace with the appearance of the Dwemer. Isn’t that right, my friend?” “Fuck you, Sevari!” Hassiim screamed at Sevari’s beaming grin. “Hassiim works to find the sons of the Caliphate, the ones who survived, at least. Hassiim wants to put them on the throne again and overthrow the Dwemer in the name of a Thalmor-appeasing regime of weakness and puppet-strings.” Sevari scowled then, hand shooting out and slamming Hassiim’s face into the table and creating a racket all the more violent in the stillness of the room, “I don’t like Thalmor. My friends south of here, they don’t either. You’re going to give me every name of your surviving connections and maybe I won’t have to yank your teeth out one by one. Speaking of teeth, I think I loosened a couple.” Sevari turned to Jaraleet, “Well, let’s get to work, shall we?” Jaraleet had remained silent as Shiburi, or Sevari as it turned out, spoke to Latro, making sure that Hassiim would be bound well enough so that he couldn’t escape unless he managed to, somehow, cut the ropes that had him bound to the chair in which he currently sat. “Let’s.” The Argonian said, tone cold, as he stood up and went to retrieve the assortment of tools that Sevari had stashed inside of the house. Placing the tools in plain view of the captive Hassiim, Jaraleet knelt in front of the Redguard before he turned to look at Sevari. “Do you want to start?” The Argonian asked, still not having the full measure of the kind of individual Sevari was and, thus, opting to act with a measure of caution. Sevari nodded, “Okay, Hassiim. Now is where you choose whether you survive or get thrown to the wolves.” Sevari leaned forward in his chair, “I know you were trained to withstand torture. That’s not surprising at all for a man of your former position.” “Do you know what the Bhaanu Sasra is, Hassiim?” Sevari asked. Hassiim didn’t answer, instead glaring holes in Sevari from his seat, “It’s the Thalmor puppet agency that silences dissenters and major criminals. I learned everything I know about this craft we share, fieldwork, cloak and dagger from them. I was good at what I did.” “At what I do. Let’s find out if my Bhaanu Sasra interrogation skills can hold up to the test of your torture resistance.” Sevari stood, cracking his knuckles by making a tight fist, “I always win in the end, Hassiim.” Hassiim laughed a cruel thing out onto the still, dusty air of the safehouse, shaking his head, “That’s it? I expected more out of you, Sevari.” “Pray to whatever God you Redguards have that you don’t see more.” Sevari frowned. “I don’t pray.” Hassiim scowled, leaning towards Sevari. Sevari took his moment, sliding a pair of leather gloves onto his big hands, slow and casual, stroking one of Hassiim’s bearded cheeks. “I suggest you start.” [hr] Latro stood just outside the door to Sevari’s safehouse. Where the Gilane he had known for the past few days was lively, clean, and beautiful this place was everything but. Prostitutes wandered about with their chests exposed, skooma dealers and skooma addicts both roamed the streets, mingling among each other as they are wont to do. After a couple hours of waiting, Latro had seemingly befriended a street cat. With its appearance and tolerance of him, he was reminded of Sora, and that at least brought a smile to his face. The two of them had sat playing with each other for the last half hour or so, but as all good things must end when Sevari enters the picture, the cat scurried off when the door to the safehouse creaked open. “We’re finished, come inside.” Latro nodded. Arrayed on the table was an assortment of cruel looking devices that Latro had not even seen before, onlynmade more crude by the blood caking half of them. Sevari busied himself with cleaning them, rubbing them with an alcohol-wet cloth. He talked as he worked, “Your Argonian friend is handy. I just might be starting to like the both of you. Neither of you seem new to this kind of work,” Sevari gestured to the crumpled mess that was Hassiim in the corner, “Speaking of work, I’ll need you to take him somewhere after a few days. Either one of you.” “We weren’t able to squeeze much blood from this stone, but he doesn’t know yet how persistent I can be.” Sevari said non-chalantly, as if torturing a man and reducing him to the most base and animalistic he could be was a nice hobby like fishing or sewing, “I managed to get one name out of him though, Khesh. Keep your ears open about him. I know I will.” “Sevari,” Latro swallowed, taking another step towards the Khajiit. “Who are you?” Sevari stopped putting his tools back in the pockets of his leather roll he kept them in. Turning around with his usual frown, “The Thalmor sought to make an example of me back in my homeland for betraying them. By killing my brothers and I, they were looking to send a message to other would-be defectors.” Sevari folded his arms and nodded, “Now, I am a message to them.” [hr] Latro and Jaraleet shut the door to Sevari’s safehouse behind them. The walk back to their side of Gilane was quiet, filled only with the sounds of night bugs and breezes. Latro was the first to speak, “You’re an agent of Argonia? The An-Xileel.” He began, running his fingers through his loose hair, “Why are you with us now?” “Yes, that is correct.” Jaraleet replied when Latro said that he was an agent of Argonia, of the An-Xileel. “Believe it or not, it’s got nothing to do with my position as an agent of the An-Xileel.” He began speaking, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was stationed in the Imperial City, gathering information, when this whole….mess with the Dwemer began and I was caught in the crossfire, got stuck with a bunch of refugees making their way towards Skingrad.” The Argonian spoke, shaking his head slightly. “There, I joined the Colovian Rangers. Figured it was the best way to learn information about this new threat that had appeared out of nowhere.” “There, I met Raelynn and Gregor and found myself sharing a campfire with you and the rest of the group.” He continued on, frowning as he remembered what came next. “Then the whole mess with the Dominion occupation happened, and I decided to stick with you since I knew you folks.” Jaraleet continued on, pausing for a second to let Latro process what he had just said. “Once we had gotten to Anvil, truth be told, I wasn’t too sure on what to do. Until I got chatting with Alim that is, he mentioned something about an expedition to the Jerall mountains and about a machine you had found in some ruins.” He said, pausing yet again but this time to catch his breath. “Way I figure it, you and the rest of your group [i]know[/i] something about the return of the Dwemer and, thusly, you have the best chance of fixing this. It’s a bit of a gamble on my part, but there wasn’t much else that I could do. I doubt that I’d have managed to survive my trip back to Argonia by my lonesome with the Dwemer on the warpath and the Dominion suddenly making a move for Cyrodiil.” He said, letting out a sigh. “If you are worried that I will hurt anyone in the group, fret not. My interest lay solely on defeating the Dwemer, nothing more and nothing else.” He said, deciding to forego mentioning his desire to obtain their technology for the An-Xileel. “I promise you that no harm will come to you, nor to anyone else in the group, from my hand.” Latro nodded, “I was with the Rangers for a bit. Odd that I didn’t see you, but I guess given your career choices I can’t blame myself.” Latro chuckled. He listened to Jaraleet’s reassurance, “I should trust you. I, of all people, know the old saying that everyone sleeps. If you wanted any of us dead, they wouldn’t be here anymore.” “But forgive me if I sleep a little lighter than I already do.” Latro smiled. He dropped it and sighed, “What do you think of all this, An-Xileel? Spygames carrying out the machinations of two Empires against each other?” Jaraleet chuckled softly at Latro’s words, waving his words away. “There’s nothing to forgive, I understand you being cautious.” The Argonian replied easily, frowning slightly when the Reachman asked him what he thought of all that they had learned that night. “I think…” The assassin finally began after a few moments of silence. “That the river is leading our group through dark waters. We must be careful of what we do.” He said, shaking his head slightly. “It is an unfortunate truth but I fear that we might be surrounded by enemies on all sides. This...game that Sevari is playing, it would have happened regardless. The Dwemer are just an extra variable in an old game that has been played for a long time. And our little group, well, we are neck-deep in an important move in the game.” Latro walked alongside Jaraleet as they made their way from the slums. The night’s events had certainly yielded more questions than answers, each one erupting into more like fighting a hydra. Jaraleet was right, though. The game they were playing was not new by any means. He only hoped they chose the right side in all of this. He considered Jaraleet’s words carefully, sighing his breath onto the night breezes. “Fuck.”