Delphine considered going out and trying to find a dear or a rabbit. Her magicka was returning and she thought she might manage it. Hunting was easy when you could enhance your vision during the night, creatures tended to freeze, believing themselves hidden. She gave it up. Missing a meal would not be fatal but who knew what might be wandering around out there in the dark. Laying back she extended her hands to the flame, allowing it to warm her.

“Well let us just say I have expenses,” she replied, then paused for a few minutes.

“My whole life I have had mages telling me ‘you are so talented Delphine’ ‘you just have to knuckle down Delphine’ and the like,” she said bitterly.

“What they really meant was they will teach you the good stuff when you pony up the coin,” she continued.

“The best equipment, the best libraries, you need rank in the guild to get those things and they certainly make you pay till you bleed to get it,” she complained. There was a surge of bitterness as she recalled every time she felt she had been about to make a break through the door had been shut in her face until she could scrounge together a few more septims to pay for what amounted to an organized extortion.

“Luckily I hit on a brilliant solution and borrowed money from the Thieves Guild, figuring once I moved up the ranks I'd have magik that could make the coin back. Problem is behind the fees, there are just more fees,” she growled.

“As you can imagine that is going well,” she went on with a wry smile.

“And then I saw you, a thief from some place else stalking the streets and I thought, Delphine why not fight fire with fire for a change?”

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."

Delphine wrinkled her nose at the smell of wood smoke and burned flesh. The worst of it seemed to be coming from the docks where columns of black smoke still rose lazily. Gulls circled lazily on the resulting thermals in unusual numbers. What was attracting them did not bear thinking about. There were few people in the street, though eyes peered out from doorways and windows. Somewhere a man was sobbing, a savage heartsick sound that made Delphine flinch.

“How did they breach the wall do you think?” Amal asked as they headed towards the center of town. Delphine twitched her nose slightly and scowled, the subtle but unmistakable scent of void salt tainted the air.

“Daedra,” she said shortly. Amal cast a sideways look at her.

“Really?”

“Really,” Delphine confirmed. They passed into a small square where several armsmen in the livery of the Baron of Holbine were attempting to defend a wagon against a dozen or so townsfolk. A shower of debris and rubbish struck upturned shields and the armsmen scuttled away, surrendering the prize. The townsfolk swarmed up onto the wagon and began tossing sacks of flour down to their fellows. The soldiers milled around for a few moments and then slunk away, unwilling to put their lives on the line for the food. Delphine wondered if they had been in town when the slavers struck.

The town hall was one of the few buildings in Keogria made entirely of stone. It was built around an ancient abbey of Dibella with a large central tower at the center of two crossed halls. What once had been cloisters were now gardens that featured carefully tended apple trees. The city guard, never a large body and more accustomed to taking bribes from merchants and busting up drunken brawls, were there in force. Most of them looked to have had a rough night and several of them bore bandages or visible bruises. They eyed the two adventurers with flat unfriendly eyes but made no effort to stop them as they crossed the lawn and entered.

Marcel Gross was sitting at a desk, his three hundred pound bulk all but concealing the abused stool beneath him. His bald pate shone and his fatty neck spilled over the side of a stained velvet doublet. He looked up at Delphine and Amal as they entered and narrowed his piggish eyes. Undeterred, Amal tossed the bag of ears down on the table top with a wet slap. Gross reached out and opened the bag then paled with disgust.

“What is this?” he demanded.

“The bounty on the mine, we cleaned it out of goblins, and an ogre,” Delphine declared proudly.

“An ogre? Surely you…” Gross reached in and pulled out the dinnerplate sized ear of the troll and went a shade of green. He thrust it back inside and began routing through a desk. Finding a key he stood and half waddled over to a large iron bound chest and unlocked it, counting out coins with deceptive agility. He turned and bounced a leather pouch on his palm and tossed it onto the desk. Delphine checked quickly, earning herself a glare from the alderman who was already sitting down and going back to his paperwork.

“Get out of my sight,” he wheezed and waved a hand dismissively.

____

“Are you going to pay your thieves or your mages?” Amal asked as they stepped out of the town hall. Delphine jingled her pouch enjoying the very temporary clink of septims. It was almost physically painful to think of what she could accomplish at the mages guild with such funds at her disposal. She could get access to alchemical texts and equipment that would allow her to do all manner of wonderful things.

“The Thieves Guild,” she said reluctantly, “on account of the fact that my magic will work better if I still have my thumbs.”

“What about you, have a bender planned?”

Amal looked at her, stroking his chin as a grin slowly formed on his charmingly masculine face.

Cuthbert's Tap n' Tack was a coastside tavern, popular amongst the outerlying villages that counted on Keogria for commerce and trade. The building was two stories and well furnished, its construction wrought of the local redwood timber to grant it a crisp look. The door was framed by two oblong pillars that showcased twin trees, and inside the round tables and comfortably fashioned chairs were the most inviting in forty kilometers. Amal whistled a jaunty tune as he hopped onto the porch and walked in through the open door, vaulting over a fallen table and placing his rump down on a barstool. Delphine had followed, struggling a bit more to get past the numerous small obstacles in the way, but making little noise or complaint. It appeared the slavers had hit Cuthbert's rather hard, likely figuring it was the best place to assail. Drunkards were easily pickings, particularly when they did not expect an attack from the damned sea.

Amal tapped the counter rhythmically and expectantly, his whistling growing more attention-grabbing, as if to call a barman. Delphine checked behind and under a few tables to make sure there were no bodies, before pocketing three septims she had found lying on the ground. She deigned to finally join him, glancing left and right as she sat.

"Amal..." the pretty breton remarked, as if she were about to reveal something untoward.

"Hmmm?" He looked at her.

"I don't think anyone is working today." She temporized, and gestured around them. Amal turned around and looked, and then rolled his eyes, smacking his forehead.

"Forgive me, I had forgotten they were on holiday." He quipped, and pushed the barstool back, only to vault once again. This time it was over the countertop. Well, vault was not exactly the right term, because he did not even use his hands, hopping like a rabbit. She parted her lips to say something, but decided against it. Amal landed in a crouch, and rose from behind the counter with a bottle of Brambleborough Ale. He clapped it onto the table, and then delved back down as if he were diving into another mine. Next, he rose with a small casket of Rorikstead Mead and some Fellmoor Wine, followed by a dark bottle of Cyrodilic brandy. On the floor, Amal noticed a small puddle of blood under his feet. The tavern really had experienced some bad luck. Fortunately, it was good luck for the two of them.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" She asked, finally getting the urge to at least voice the opposition. Amal had busied himself with opening the larder, pulling out bits of cheese and spiced bread.

"We don't have to drink here," he said, but sighed when he saw her face. He could not blame her, she wanted to get out of trouble. Looting after a raid was not uncommon, but still. He shrugged. "If we get caught, I'll pay the tab. But let's get to the mezzanine."

The two adventurers ascended the stairs with armfuls of food and drink, and to their surprise, they found the chairs and tables up there relatively untouched except for a few scattered cups and books. It was almost a mirror of the main room, save for a few bookshelves more for aesthetic reasons than any pragmatic useage of reading material, and a thick balustrade overlooking the bottom floor. They placed their loot on the central table, Amal kicking aside a fallen chair so he could comfortably sit next to Delphine as she placed herself down.

"Now, pick your drink," he bade her, and when she did, he grabbed his own, and the two bumped their bottles together in victory. "What say you to a drinking game? Have you played Truth or Drink? I cannot remember which games cross provinces."

Delphine settled into the chair with a sigh. She felt the elation of victory, and was even enjoying the unusual sensation of not being screwed out of her pay but the taste of ash and blood on the air was an unpleasant companion. Reaching down she took the bottle of Cyrodilic brandy and slugged from the neck. Doubtless this was an offense against excellent liquor but Delphine had always taken her booze where she could get it. With the Empire in chaos and the rise of pirates, slavers, and bandits the stuff was much more expensive than the apple brandy the Bretons made. She took a long drink and felt the burn of it in her throat, it was smooth and rich with the subtle taste of the apricots it was distilled from. The vapor coming off it made her eyes water pleasantly. The bottle was pleasant to look at, a soft brown glass with a cast seal of some distillery in some place called Bravil.

“We play truth or dare here,” she told Amal, “but I suppose we can drink in stead of dare.” She held up a finger and took another belt of brandy, gasping and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It did seem to be helping with the taste.

“Why did you come to High Rock?” she asked bluntly.

“It is a nice enough place all things considered,” she said, making a gesture that mentally encompassed the destruction wrought by the pirates.

“But people that come here from afar go to Daggerfall, or to Wayrest, must be a story as to how you ended up here.”

"When the oblivion gates opened, one ended up bursting forth in the very center of Skaven. I was a young boy, but old enough to remember. I was orphaned after that, and learned to steal and eventually..." He tried to find a kinder word for it. "...kill people, and I ended up in a bandit group a few years ago. We called ourselves the red talons, or Rahid did, but he always had ideas too big for his ability. Anyway, his second, Behoon, ended up betraying us to a lord whom we recently robbed. He lured my fellows and I into a trap. They all lost their heads, but I escaped, beat Behoon to death with their heads, and then left all the remains on the mat of the lord's bedroom."

He almost took a drink, but realized that would indicate he was lying or not answering in a satisfactory manner. He would wait, the night was still young. He saw her looking at him, and he shrugged. Despite the horror, he was charming about it. "I... well, I did not wish to lie. Anyway, I was tired of being chased and wanted to start something new, and so I headed north. I didn't have the coin to go by ship, and they also have those pesky lists. So I've just been traveling for half a year, until I made it here. Lucky for you too. Not often you get a handsome thief with skills like mine and he's looking for a partner."

"Now, let me ask you a probing question..." He said, pondering for a moment, before looking up at the ceiling. "What is your greatest desire?" He smiled. "No, I'm not flirting with you. Not yet, anyway."

---

Marcel Gross tossed a chair, the item noisily clanking against the wooden floor. He ran a hand over his sweaty forehead and sighed, vainly trying to calm himself down. The clearing of the mine was a good thing, he had to remind himself. But it had been a kick in the teeth when that bouncy girl and the redguard walked in and collected the money right after the town had been ransacked. It's one step forward after four steps back. He needed that money more than ever, but a deal was a deal, and he had to hand it over. Grabbing his pint, he set back down at his desk with an audible grunt, organizing his paperwork so he knew where he was next going to conduct the relief efforts when the front door opened.

A man wearing a black cloak stepped in, a nondescript short brimmed hat hiding his face. It was difficult to say if he was nord or imperial, or even breton.

"What do you want?" The Alderman asked testily, hardly looking up from his desk.

"Heard about the attack. Wanted to know if there was something I could do about anything else." The faceless man said. "Word has it the mine is infested with goblins. The lads and I can help with that, maybe."

Marcel groaned. "No, someone already got that today. Two of them." He flipped a page so violently it flew out of his pudgy hand.

"Just two of them? Interesting. And where are they?" The stranger inquired.

"No idea. Thanks for the offer, but that's all I got for you. Unless you want to find the slaver bastard." Marcel remarked, but the man was already gone.

"...Really?" Amal demanded the shock evident in his voice. He shook his head as though he couldn't quite believe it. Delphine waited long enough for it to be clear it wasn't associated with the game, then picked up the bottle and took a slug of the stomach warming brandy. She was about to ask another question when a noise downstairs interrupted them. Delphine stood up and peered down to see a non descript man in a black cloak on the ground floor.

"Hello up there," he called up.

"Hello yourself," Delphine called back down, exchanging a look with Amal. She didn't know everyone in a city the size of this of course, but she was pretty sure the man was a stranger.

"I think the bar is closed," she called. The black cloaked man shrugged his shoulders, the gesture revealing the curved hilt of a sword concealed by his cloak.

"And yet here you are," he observed.

"Here we are," Delphine agreed, her tone neither hostile nor exactly friendly.

"Mind if I come up and join you?" he asked. Delphine shared another frightened look with Amal. The thief was impassive, his face closed. Delphine wondered if bounty hunters might be tracking the Red Guard.

"I think we were just leaving," Delphine called. The black cloaked man drew a pouch from his belt and tossed it up. Either by luck or skill it landed on the railing, skidding a few inches before coming to rest without falling off. Delphine didn't touch it, the clink of coin inside was advertisement enough of what was inside. She didn't open it or reach for it just yet, there was always the chance there was a potion or some other thieves trick inside.

"What do you want?" she asked, her hand leaving the hilt of her sword for the first time. To her surprise the bottle of brandy was still in her hand and she took another mouthful.

"I'm always on the look out for people like you, people that can handle themselves." Delphine cocked her head to the side.

"This is a job offer?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"An interview," the black cloaked man replied. He moved so fast that even though she had the high ground he was nearly up the stairs before she could react. She threw out her palm and a bolt of lightning leaped between them, the black cloaked man flicked his hand up for a second and a shield shimmered into existence just long enough to divert the blast to left and right. The balustrade exploded and a section of the wall crisped in lines of black ash. Delphine hurled the bottle of brandy at him and called fire, the spilling brandy fireballed out in a shower of liquid flame. Wrong footed the attacker had to bring his shield back long enough for her to draw her sword and whip it up into a guard. The charged into her, his own sword appearing in his hand as if by magic, drawn back to strike. Amal hit him across the shins with a chair as he cleared the stairwell. The black cloak screamed in pain and went over in a sprawl that he turned into a roll. Delphine cast her hand out called ice, spreading the floor with frictionless ice. Whatever acrobatic trick the man had expected to play devolved into a graceless slide across the frosty conjuration, as he hit the end of the slide he sprung up, twisted around and raised his blade in a guard. There was an audible creak as Amal drew Delphine's bow back, having snatched an arrow from her quiver as she turned. He sighted down it at the interloper's heart.

"Seems like I have come to the right place," the man gasped.