The water was now boiling, and every few moments another potato was dropped inside of the pot. Normally, the Saxhleel would feel too exposed setting up such a camp. He usually cooked in the middle of the forest, where the fire was blotted out by thick oak and the smoke wafted through the parted canopy above. But here, in the old mer ruins west of Bruma, walls sufficiently covered most lines of sight to him, and he had long since made sure no one else had set up here. 

Once the potatoes were sufficiently boiling, he turned and checked on the caribou he had killed. He opened the beast's cut abdomen, and reached inside to feel for its stomach. Clawed hands brushed against a bloated are, and he knew he had found the correct chamber, one of the four they had in their stomach. Within, the flank cuts and tenderloin he had placed within were nearly thoroughly pickled within the multitude of vegetables the animal had eaten over the last two days. 

It was an old trick he'd learned among his travels, pickling meat into a dish within the stomach. It provided all the nutrients one needed, and it tasted well for even the Landstrider's picky palate. The moon was half concealed above, casting down a ghastly light on the ferociously marred Argonian warrior. Daixanos' tail flapped idly as he checked the food, and once it was ready, he poured the boiling water out of the pot and into a flask, and poured the stomach contents along with the beef he had inserted in there within the pot filled with potatoes. 

The pot was far from cool, but the Argonian's leathery and callused scaled gave him some protection as he began to dig in, maw first. If he weren't sitting cross legged (and if he wore no clothing) he could easily be mistaken for a Daedroth by his snout and the way he consumed his food. He needed to eat fast, however. He wished to make it to Bruma by morning, and that meant he had to leave before dawn broke on the horizon. 

Once his stomach was full, he cleaned his area and took the Elk into the wilderness to share with the forest. As he did so, he thanked the Hist for this bounty he had been given, and once more he looked east. His bow strung and his axe used as a walking stick, as he knew how much men grew wary if he carried it in any way that wasn't casual, he approached the outskirts of the nordic city as the sun warmed his scales, peaking over the mountains from behind him.   

The city was well built with stone, with roofs and architecure much akin to those he saw in Skyrim. It brought back a small melancholy to Dax, as if he felt the cold north was a home away from his humid and hot swampland to the south. Perhaps he would feel comfortable here, answering the summons for his aid in this new guild he had heard tell of. 

As he stepped through the entrance, a bored looking man at the ass end of middle age looked up at his clipboard. Dax cleared his throat. "Adventurer's guild?" he asked. The Imperial was about to ask who was entering Bruma when he looked up to see see a savage Argonian, armed to the teeth with skin the color of dried blood. While Dax wasn't oblivious to the man's surprise and trepidation, he played ignorant, because he truly didn't care. As long as the man didn't have a bounty on his head, he didn't need to be feared. 

"Adventurer's Guild?" he asked again. 

"T-that way, good sir. Have a nice day."