Uriel's Heir

Chapter 2

(track: "The Nightingale" by Percival Schuttenbach)

DERKEETHUS BLACKWATER:

"Twenty gold," I bargain.

The man looks at me, narrowing his wrinkled eyes. "Fifteen."

"It's worth eighty," I say with anger.

"Then take it somewhere else," he offers, knowing there's no one else in town that would even be interested.

I glare at him from under my scaly seaweed colored brow.

"Fifteen," he says again.

I clench my jaw and hand it over. He gives me the gold coins and I take my leave from his presence.

That's when I hear, "Coins? Anyone?"

I frown and walk over to the barrels beside the Bravil tavern where Uren sits begging like a peasant.

"What are you doing?" I demand.

"What's it look like I'm doing? Getting us some dinner," he says like I should be offended. "Oi! I'll give you a nice kiss if you give me some coin!" he shouts to a lady passing by who quickens her pace after hearing that. "Stingy people," he scoffs.

"Have you lost all of your dignity?" I say with disbelief.

"You were the one who was supposed to get us gold. I had faith in you. How much did you get?"

I look away but then decide to just answer truthfully. "Fifteen."

He raises his ginger brows. "Well clearly I had my faith in the wrong place."

I roll my eyes.

"I told you we should have sold that silver to the traveling salesman he was practically frothing at the mouth for it," Roric tells me when he returns.

"Aye, so he could exchange it for more moonsugar? I'd rather not," I spat back.

"Your honor's going to be the death of you," he tells me with lifted brows.

Roric always had a taste for thievery, given his guild background. He's a tall young Breton from Hammerfell with slippery fingers. He's pickpocketed and fenced his way to... well the bottom. Where we all are. His dark beard and long dark hair match his sly personality and trade. We left Skyrim together, he and I. Looked for a better life in Cyrodiil. Boy did we miss the mark on that one. We grew up together. Both in foreign places far from home. Even though I wasn't born in Blackmarsh, people consider me an outcast for not living there. Argonians aren't looked down upon as much as Khajiits but we don't get a great welcoming anywhere we go.

Uren is... well a man we picked up here who said he could help us but... well we ended up helping him more often. He was tied into some crooked dealings with a group of Orc thugs. I'm not entirely sure if we ever ended up paying off his debts to them or if we just escaped...

The latter seems more likely.

He's a shorter man but an Imperial and citizen of Cyrodiil. He's got short red hair and slows us down when Roric and I try to travel at a fast pace. But we all look out for each other, I suppose.

"We can get a great meal with this. I can taste it now... half burned bread from the tavern that we argue our way into buying before it's fed to the dogs," Uren says with sarcastic daydreaming.