The next morning was sunny and idyllic, much like it had been the past week. Amal remembered waking up to the sound of rain, but it had retreated like a thief before they woke up. The two had splint the earnings accordingly, and had made a fine reward for their work by Amal's reckoning, even before they cashed in the bounties. Lucrative, would be the imperial word for it. The bandit called it a fine night. 

Delphine had not deigned to ask about him, and so he did not speak on it. It was for the best. She likely knew she wouldn't like the answer, and he was wise enough not to bring it up. A thief was one thing, a bandit prone to violence was another. Still, he was surprised at how savvy she seemed to be, yet how trusting she was he would not stab her in the back. The rogue theorized she was desperate enough to trust anyone, and as much as he took advantage of people, he felt it was too much for him to do so here. Plus, admittedly he fancied her, at least as much as he could after one job. 

"The thieves guild does have blind spots." He nonchalantly added as they trekked through the woods, back to Koegria and their just reward. Red berries, yellow roses, and rootbulbs infested the forest path, Delphine picking them gingerly and going on small, educational tangents, spicing them with witty anecdotes of potion making that had Amal actually remembering the names of the various plants. Though she pointedly went quiet when Amal began speaking on her debts. They both had their specialties, he thought wryly. "It's operated by cels, ones that have very little to do with one another. It takes a little time for those looking for you to find you if you happen to leave the city, at least when you're not being followed or... escorted." He gave a devilish smile as if to suggest he might be a member, there merely to keep an eye on her. 

"Oh yes, I'm certain I've got my own handler and everything." She quipped, laughing. "Nice disguise, by the way. A dashing hammerfell bandit with a panache for dropping pies? Nefariously concocted. Maybe I should pay you my earnings now and consider my debts paid?" 

"If you did that, I might almost forget the charming part." Amal replied. The bandit was surprised at how easy it was to speak to her. Usually women were flummoxed by his manner. They made their way down a sloping hill, stepping over the grasping roots. Amal nearly stumbled, carrying the brunt of the loot and being unused to forests, despite his footwork and agility. Delphine helped him with a looped arm, giggling at his uncharacteristic misfortune. They broke the tree line in a playful manner, only for the mirth to turn to ash, Delphine gasping when she saw the sundered west wall of Koegria. Even Amal was taken aback, and he was no stranger to destruction. 

A multitude of smoke pillars rose amongst the half ruined town. Apartments and businesses stood next to homes and shops that had been burned or reduced to rubble by assumedly magical means. It looked all the more off putting by the smiling sun and the soft warmth that kissed the pair's skin. Amal watched as the arm of the Dibella statue suddenly lost its integrity, as if waiting for his eyes to watch the appendage shatter upon the ground. Immediately he knew it could not have been a military force or a rival lord. He heard no occupation, nor saw any picket lines or scouts. Most of the town was still whole, despite the damage. On the bluff overlooking the walls, the lone oak tree had burned to a crisp. Its emaciated form stark and black against the blue sky. 

"Stendarr's mercy..." Delphine breathed, looking to Amal. He placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded, reassuring her. Together, they made for the archway, the roughly hewd street untouched save for a dead horse, its stomach cut open. The brambleberries and bushes flanking the road ruffled, stained with crimson. Beyond the aesthetic damage and the steed, a lone figure sat beside the wall in the fetal position, clutching its knees. Delphine and Amal shared a look, and Amal approached carefully, stepping past the stinking corpse of the freshly killed horse and kneeling beside what he now recognized as a dark elf. 

"What happened, friend?" He asked, using the term to built some rapport with the fellow. 

The figure raised its head, bags under his eyes. His white shock of hair disheveled, and a scar on his cheek. Amal felt he recognized him from the other day, but he couldn't be sure. "Dun... Dunmer Slavers," he said slowly. "None I know. I don't know them... I would not do this."