The apartments and businesses were almost all two storied, roofs thatched and the walls made of local timber. They were jettied, where timber-frame buildings are built in the manner which an upper floor projects beyond the dimensions of the floor below. This has the advantage of increasing the available space in the building without obstructing the street, and also discourages would-be thieves and squirrels from climbing to the roof. They were little obstacles to Amal; in fact he found these buildings particularly easy to climb. Support beams, plenty of windows, no nets to halt progress. As the redguard shoved the last of his third piece of stolen vanilla custard pie into his mouth, he felt he could get used to Highrock. A land so quaint felt quite comfortable.

The town wasn't very large for a port town, but in all fairness, Amal was inclined to stick closer to more populated cities in Hammerfell and Cyrodiil for unscrupulous reasons. Even so, by his trained eye, he could tell only half of the people walking the streets were locals. Keogria had not entirely escaped the crisis and the plague. Immigrants like Amal had filled up some of the gaps, but this town could hold a few thousand more people if it had the occasion. 

He had taken a stroll around town, visited the docks for a short peek, moving past the central fountain in the square and jogging down the overgrown grass in the empty lot next to 'Southhill Seams' and 'Gorlan's Flagon.' The tavern was nearly barren save for a few regulars, but barmaids went back and forth cleaning tables and gathering more chairs for the stream of attendees likely to pour in once the lunchbell rang. Amal had kept to himself mostly. He was so used to being chased, he wasn't about to start off in Highrock poorly. Except when he began to get peckish, and realized he had precious few coins on which to purchase. Hoonding advised the Yokudans of old to overcome and persevere, and he would not need to worry about his reputation here as long as he did not get caught, right?

He watched from behind the awning of a window atop the tallest apartment he could find, spectating the town coming alive. The low trickle of bretons and imperials became a torrent of both local and foreign faces. A gaggle of khajit skulked together to set up shop near the square, looking around as if expecting someone to stop them. An orc and a nord carried barrels of mead from the docks to Gorlan's Flagon, nearly crushing a bosmer fellow who had been scampering across the cobblestones for some unknown task. Squinting, Amal spied with his keen eyes a board at the back of the square, with various pieces of used parchment nailed to its breadth. Bounties, he thought. Perhaps that could lead to some work. 

"You! Did you take my pie!?" Amal heard distantly. He popped his head up and whirled, pushing off the sloped roof to silently traverse himself to the opposite side. Below a hanging clothesline, he saw the plump Dunmer baker, and Amal never knew an elf could be plump! The one he had stolen from, both the tips and the pie. His crimson eyes blazed with suspicion as Amal watched him accost a pretty young Breton, though on second look, he realized she was armed for travel. The dunmer clenched his jaw, advancing on her, a carving knife in his hand. The girl bit her lip nervously. 

"I'm sure your pies are delicious, but I only just got here." The woman protested, but as the Dunmer approached, taller than her, she seemed to shrink in defeat. "[sub]I can take out a loan?[/sub]" 

Before the Dunmer could speak, the second half of his missing pie fell atop him from a three story fall. The Breton woman blanched at the last moment, jumping back to keep herself clean. For a brief moment, her eyes met Amal's, but the thief ducked back as the wet slap of pie hit the baker, and the Breton woman scurried away while the dark elf exploded in rage, obviously just as confused as mortified. Amal chuckled to himself, hurriedly sliding down the opposite side of the building to land nimbly into an alleyway, wiping off what little crumbs might have stayed on him. Beyond the shadows at the outside bistro, he heard two voices, one very familiar.

"Have you heard of the High Elves?" an elderly gentlemen asked. 

"Erm, I'm actually one of them, so yes." 

It seemed Aenarion was having a fruitful experience in town. Amal would speak to him, but instead he slipped into a different road, approaching the bustling crowd and cries of bread and cheese from a different direction to dispel suspicion. He sucked in his breath and strode with confidence, having the air of a hired sword as he approached the bounty board. A poor sellsword perhaps, with no armor or companions, but the way one carried themselves counted for a lot. He slipped past an Imperial playing the lute, trying to earn coin from sailors and locals with a mediocre tune, though his voice carried well, Amal had to give him credit. He clutched his purse when a nord passed by, a bit too near his person, and stepped over a passing Argonian woman's tail to check the bounty board. Odd, he thought. Most of these were simply announcements from the local baron. News that carried from distant baronies and duchies. One creased writ said Daggerfall had recently celebrated the marriage of their son Camaron to Lady Kelmena, the daughter of Duke Senhyn of Camlorn, suggesting a possible unified kingdom along the western coast of Tamriel. Well, he wasn't interested in geopolitics. There was another spelling out the various businesses in town, and a letter to the people by the Knights of Faraven, responding to their pleas for help in their mines. 

It spoke of an uprising of goblins in the east, giving the town their humblest apologies. Another pamphlet spoke of three warriors having gone missing in the mines. He found it all more than intriguing, and lo and behind, below that was a writ on bounties, and a clearance of the Koeglin Mine! 

"Four hundred septims?" Amal breathed, whistling suggestively. "And more for each bandit ear brought to the Alderman..." 

He glanced around, wondering if anyone was taking notice. It was his usual paranoia playing tricks on him, he thought. Until the pretty girl he had seen not minutes ago caught his eye again, approaching from across the square. Thinking she meant to speak to him about the pie, he grinned.