Seyda Neen
16th of Last Seed, 3E 427

In the tiny port of Seyda Neen, three newcomers disembark from a small sailing ship, The Twin Moons. One is a tall Dunmer, good-looking, with an air of one long-experienced to an outdoor life. Another is a Breton, likewise attractive, dressed in a long, voluminous dress, with a backpack slung over their shoulders. The third is also a Breton, on the shorter side, thin, and smelling of herbs.

In the harbor are a number of other ships, including an Imperial naval vessel and about a dozen small boats that make up the local fishing fleet.

The weather is hot and muggy, and mosquitoes buzz aggressively.

The trio head down the dock to Seyda Neen's Census and Excise Office where their names, occupations, and reasons for landing on Vvardenfell are taken down by the local administrator, a Breton named Socucius Ergalla. A rather bored soldier from the Imperial Legion stands guard, and a young Breton man with his long hair in a pony tail sits at a desk, writing.

Ergalla is balding and business-like, though not unfriendly. "Welcome to the Gateway to Vvardenfell," he says in greeting. "Make sure you show your papers to Captain Gravius before you leave the offices. I'm afraid Seyda Neen does not have much in the way of services. You should probably to head to Arrille's Tradehouse to get your bearings before continuing on your journey."


Socucius Ergalla in the Census and Excise Office

Captain Gravius proves to be a tall, physically imposing Imperial dressed in Imperial Templar armor. He reviews the group's documents and asks a few questions regarding their destinations. "Be mindful of the law, citizens," he says, and the three step out into the sleepy town of Seyda Neen.


Seyda Neen

OOC: Welcome to the game! This thread is for Balahal, Rayna, and Meranique. In your first post, introduce yourself and describe what has brought you to Vvardenfell.

Seyda Neen is a small settlement of mostly fishermen, tradespeople, and Imperial legionnaires. It is the first port of call for newcomers to the island. The major point of interest is Arrille's Tradehouse, where food, drink, and lodging can be had, along with a selection of trade goods.

Balahal, the somewhat rustic Dunmer that disembarked with the others at Seyda Neen that day, had endured a shorter journey than most.

He had boarded at one of the smaller ports near the city of Thorn in the region of Blackmarsh and even from the deck of the ship it was obvious to the casual observer that the area had fallen on hard times. There had been crowds at the pier, not travelers, but the unemployed jostling and vying with one another for positions as day laborers. The homeless had haunted the nooks and crannies at that port of call, begging, rummaging or just baking forlornly in the sun and the guards had looked hard and mean.

Balahal himself was poor, if his oft mended clothing and sagging backpack were any measure. He had come aboard with an unstrung recurve bow more suited for filling a stew pot than going to war, and he wore a knife at his belt, sturdy but simple, a tool more than a weapon.

The Dunmer had never to sea, and he joined those that lined the railings near the front of the Twin Moons to feel the fresh air lash at his long hair and to delight as the bow smashed the waves before them. Despite a little sea sickness, he had stared in mute wonder as the alien coastline of Vvardenfell loomed ever nearer in the distance.

With the shore came the heat, and the insects and the cawing of the sea birds. He disembarked with his pack over one shoulder, and looked around wide eyed at the new sights, sounds and scents as they were led into the Census and Excise Office.

Between the conversations with Socucius Ergalla and Captain Gravius, it was easy to overhear that the purpose of his trip had been "Immigration", and that he supposedly had family in the north that he had never met, that he claimed no Clan or House, and that he listed his occupation as "Farmer and Guar Herder"

He took a brief moment to retie his hair into one long thick braid which he hung over one shoulder as he waited in line, turned over his papers, thanked the Captain, then stepped out into the baking square of brick or waddle and daub buildings with their thatched rooves and peaked gables.

At the Captain's urging, Balahal made his way towards Arrille's Tradehouse with excitement in his step, where he hoped to perhaps get a cool drink, to learn a little about the lay of the land, and to plan his journey northward.

And now I play Sliver Legion! With this on my field, all my Slivers get +1/+1 for every other Sliver on the field!

B'vehk! That means-

Yes! Through the power of friendship, all my Slivers are now 12/12s! More than enough power to destroy your pathetic band of cardboard warriors and you!

No!

Yessss! Pew-pew-pew, pew-pew-pew! Your forces lie in tatters! And you know what that means, don't you?

I have to take you to Vvardenfell for free on my ship...

You pinky-promised~! Hehehe... now I am one step closer to learning the arcane secrets hidden in ashlander fashion!

... bloody skoomaheads... All right, come along then. This game's stupid anyways.

---

Meranique startles awake. What a weird dream! Was that a memory, or a fanciful imagining? What are memories, anyways? Wait! The ship! It is not rocking! Could it be that they have reached their destination? WAIT! He's on a ship! So it was a memory after all! Huzzah!

Meranique leaps to his feet, corset creaking as the sudden exertion stretches it for the first time that day. He reaches over for his fiery orange wig from the hammockside table, carefully positioning its curly locks so that they frame his face just so, then opens up his powder box to touch up his makeup for the public. Satisfied with the reflection in the little bronze mirror he packs his possessions up into his travel pack and makes his way to the deck, just in time to hear the ship's mate announcing the arrival at their destination. "Yes! Just as planned~!"

The Breton was a bizarre sight. The dress adorning his lithe figure was of a construction and finery that could befit a particularly exuberant princess; a short crinoline and petticoat gave a flare to loosely-tied flowing fabrics that billowed and raved as the wearer ran, while higher up a lacquered leather corset and ruffled blouse produced a tight and tidy core, only for his garb to puff back out again for the shoulders, then cinch tight again under leather bracers. He ran on three-inch platform shoes and frilly linen socks. Despite the fine craftsmanship of the outfit, it was dyed in commoner's colors; reds and browns with a few stitched-in strips of yellow to provide accents in just the right places.

And if one was not already convinced that the breton lad had strange tastes in fashion, he also wore a Khajiit-ear headband atop his cranium while making no effort to disguise his regular human ears.

Meranique jumps off the ship and carefully navigates the boards of the meager little Seyda Neen dock with a series of smaller, deliberately placed hops, punctuating each one as he does. "Doot-doot-doot... doot-doot... doooo- aha! Yes!" He throws his hands skyward as his shoes touch terra firma. "Meranique has traveled the Twin Moons and conquered all of Plankland! All according to his ever-growing schemes, mwehehehehe. And now for the next stage of the plan, to meet the Ashlanders! Onward!" He spins around and points a finger towards the gate that segregates the dockyard from the rest Seyda Neen. He pushes at the gate but it does not budge.

"Um, this way young miss," a very confuddled guard tries to direct the mad Breton.

"Oh, right. Paperwork. The next stage of the plan is paperwork! Onwaaaaard!" He whizzes past the guard who flinches back in fear of catching some kind of mental illness, pointer-finger first.

---

"Name? Ummm, uhhh... oh no! Meranique doesn't remember!"

"Was it Meranique?" the put-upon census worker asks. He can feel his already barely-there hairline receding further by the moment.

"Oh! Right you are! Wow you're smart, mister! Meranique's name is Meranique Ariettes Vivienne de Beauchampierre! No, spelled with a- yeah, like that! Traveling Couturiotheurge Extraordinaire! Here to study the marvelous merging of fashion and function of the Ashlanders!" He answers any remaining questions with the same gusto as all the the others. "Arrille's Tradehouse! Will do! Thank you bunches, mister~!"

"If I may ask, where is that accent from?" Socucius Ergalla feels like he is going to regret asking, but he has never heard a regional accent quite like hers... his? He doesn't even know.

"I picked it up while learning to make saltrice cake from rabbits on Secundus!"

"Obviously." Ergalla isn't sure why he bothered. "Go on through. Next?"

---

"Is this a skooma pipe?" Captain Gravius asks after inspecting Meranique's bag for contraband.

"Yuppers!"

"These are illegal, actually."

"Oh, no no it's okay!" Meranique quickly corrects the Templar. "It belonged to my great great granduncle! It's his lucky pipe, an antique! See how pretty it is?"

Gravius eyes him skeptically, then appraises the obviously new and obviously well-used pipe. "Well then I guess you can have it back when you leave," he says sternly.

"Awwwww..." Meranique deflates. "Now I'm not lucky anymore, though..."

---

Once he has been censused and excised, Meranique spreads his arms to the swampy air of the Bitter Coast. "Meranique made it! Yay!" he announces loudly to the town. The town stares at him and some muttered impolitenesses are flung his way by the native dunmer. A mosquito flies inside his gaping mouth, making his eyes bug up. "Ack! Pooey! Pleh!"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:48, Sun 21 Aug 2022.

Rayna had gotten up early. She was already on deck as The Twin Moons pulled into port, ready to make her way down the gangplank and explore her latest home. The last year or so had been difficult; Rayna had spent more time traveling than not. From Solsthiem to the mainland of Morrowind, almost to the Blackmarsh boarder, and now back up to Vvardenfell. So much of her trip had been by boat that she was all too accustomed to its sway on the waves -- and eager to walk on land again. To pick flowers and gather moss, to catch butterflies and cut mushrooms from cavern walls...and to experiment with the new ingredients she was sure to find.

Throughout the journey, Rayna had been quiet and kept to herself. Now and then her night terrors hit; she tossed and turned, even screamed from time to time. But at least when she was awake she was never a bother. Rayna dressed in simple clothes, usually a faded blue dress. Most of her things had remained in her quarters throughout the journey, but as they gathered to disembark Rayna was laden with traveling gear. A few belts held several pouches, many empty by now, with an old sickle tucked in her belt for harvesting. Her backpack looked relatively new, as did the crossbow strapped to its side; not so much the well-used fishing rod also strapped to the pack.

---

"Rayna -- Rayna Stroud," she said, when it was her turn to stand before Ergalla. "Umm...Alchemist, I guess. I'm an immigrant from -- no, no, not High Rock. Solstheim. Yes, I'm sure. Uh-uh. Yes, that's right. Oh? Okay, I'll look for Arrille's when I'm done here. After I see...him?"

Rayna looked unsettled as she laid eyes the armored Imperial. She felt awkward approaching him, but did so with her papers at the ready and eager to get through the last step of the process. "Yes, that's correct Sir--er, Captain, Sir." Rayna reminded herself to breathe. "Yes, that's correct, Raven Rock. I know it's just a camp. Well, no... We -- I mean I was a Ward of the East Empire Trading Company. Yes. Yes. Oh? Yes, I will... Uh, thank you sir, Captain, sir..."

---

It was still morning when Rayna made it through the Census office, but she felt exhausted from the paperwork and processing. A new life on Vvardenfell had to be worth an hour's inconvenience, though. Seyda Neen was...not as pretty as she had imagined it. Rayna looked at the handful of buildings and mix of people moving about, and sure enough, Arrille's Tradehouse was easy to spot.

Rayna made her way inside and looked around curiously at everything. She noted that she wasn't the only newcomer in the establishment. "Oh... Um, hi." Rayna said, if only in passing.

Seyda Neen has seen its fair share of newcomers. The tiny hamlet is usually only a quick stop before heading off to other destinations on Vvardenfell. But these three individuals are somehow different from the run-of-the-mill laborers and mercenaries who have made their way to the island, especially the curious Breton and his outlandish dress.

What seems to be the town's main thoroughfare runs in front of the Census and Excise office. The street passes several dozen shacks and small houses before reaching Arrille's Tradehouse on the left. The building is a four-story wood and stone structure with a high peaked roof. and is perched on the edge of the water. On a wooden bench opposite the tradehouse, a young Bosmer male sits glumly, staring at the ground. A few bored Imperial guards mill about. Day-laborers walk past, busy with the day's work. From a side street comes the ring of a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil. Dragonflies zoom along the water's edge.

A few steps leads up to a wrap-around deck and then to the front entrance proper of Arille's. Upon entering, a door bell chimes. Behind a counter, a tall, handsome, golden-skinned Altmer looks up from his business ledger. Behind the High Elf, a stairway leads up to the third floor of the tradehouse. Murmured snatches of conversation and the clink of cups drift down from above.

"Ah, greetings," the Altmer says. "Come in, friends! Newcomers to Morrowind, are you?" He hesitates, briefly looking at Balahal, before quickly resuming his rapid-fire sales pitch. "The name is Arrille. Welcome to the most well-stocked shop on the Bitter Coast! We have weapons to keep you safe in the back country, potions to heal your hurts, and scrolls to get you safely back to civilization. I can even teach you a few spells, if you have the coin, of course. And if it's refreshment you're after, we have a fully stocked bar upstairs. In addition, beds are available for rent up in the attic."

Upstairs, a long bar runs along one wall. A shelf holds an assortment of alcohol, some tall and slender, others short and curvy. An older Dunmer woman stands, making an inventory of the bottles drinks. Next to the bar is a large board with documents posted as well as a dartboard with a couple of darts stuck in its face.

A half dozen tables are scattered here and there. At one, a pretty Redguard woman in a leather cuirass sits, jotting down some notes in a leather journal. At another table, an Imperial wipes his sweating forehead with a cloth. He peruses a number of documents scattered in front of him.

In one corner, two Nords are speaking heatedly with each other. One is dressed in a variety of Imperial armor styles, including leathers, chain, and steel, and he has the air of an Imperial legionnaire. The other is unarmored. Both men wear swords at their hips, and the armored Nord has a shield and bow leaning against a chair.

OOC: It is 10 am. Available drinks at the bar upstairs include sujamma, matze, shein, and comberry wine. Meranique is drawing quite a number of curious stares. Rayna, you notice a variety of fungi growing along the street and on trees and stumps. Some of it looks poisonous, but you're fairly sure all of these species could be used in alchemical or herbal concoctions.

Balahal, although still very much an Outlander, shared some kinship with the sun bleached residents of Seyda Neen. His hands were rough, his shirt was thin, and he looked like he could use a full meal.

He looked impressed by the Altmer's enthusiastic greeting in his own subdued way.

He perused as he made his way to the bar, then came up to it and took a look. "How much for a cup of matze?" he asked the older woman, still standing, as if the answer would determine if he took a seat or not.

He recognized Rayna from the Two Moons, and returned her greeting as she squeezed by in a brief press of customers. "They let you in." he leaned on the back of one stool. "Although I don't imagine they turn many away. Rayna was it? Alchemist?"

Meranique loves being looked at and showing off his body and his work. For those residents of Seyda Neen who seem receptive he even does a little twirl for them. Before too long though, the heat and humidity really starts getting to him. "Wow, I really should have worn something lighter," he thinks to himself, unaware he is blurting it out aloud. He takes in the local fashions of this sleepy port town, curious how the locals are dealing with the heat.

Once he has made what he feels is a sufficient impression, Meranique heads to the tradehouse. He walks with a hop and a skip, determined not to let the oppressive heat diminish his enthusiasm. "Doot-doot-doot-doot~" he goes has he hops the stairs two at a time before stumbling into the shop. He is shiny with sweat, corset creaking and artificial breast forms straining against his blouse as he desperately breathes in the cooler air.

"I dOn'T tHiNk I lIkE tHe BiTtEr CoAsT vErY mUcH," he confides to the first person he sees. It happens to be Arrille, who gives a truncated version of the same sales pitch as the other two. "Spells?!" Meranique asks, excitement overcoming heatstroke for a moment. "Do you happen to have, like, a really low-powered frost spell? For reasons!" He is seriously considering casting Frostbite on himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:21, Mon 22 Aug 2022.

On the way to Arrille's, Rayna had been fascinated by the local mycology. She opened one of her empty pouches and collected a few samples to mess around with later! She also noticed the dragonflies darting about, and made a mental note to gather some later on.

---

Rayna offered a friendly nod to Arrille's sales pitch, but didn't stop to shop just yet. She headed upstairs and passively looked around at the gathered people, careful not to let her eyes linger on anyone for too long. She didn't want to be labeled a snoop the same day as her arrival. She noticed the notice board, but opted to get a drink before perusing the postings. "Sujamma," Rayna ordered. It was about then that she bumped into one of her fellow travelers.

"Oh, hello. I'm Rayna, yes," she answered. Rayna wasn't particularly skilled at conversation, but did her best to keep up. "Alchemist, yes. And something of a healer too, I guess... I mean, I can clean and bandage and that. Is there a reason they wouldn't've let me in..?"

The Dunmar shrugged. "I don't know, it seemed to me that there were a lot of soldiers and a lot of questions." he remarked casually. "My first time going through something like that." he riefly glanced to another stranger moving past him. "My first time here in Morrowind in fact." he had that almost simple, bucolic way about him, like it was perfectly normal to chat with travelers and complete strangers.

"What brings you here? If you don't mind my asking."

Rayna tilted her head, not quite sure what to make of the conversation. "Well, usual things I guess." She offered a half-hearted shrug. "New home, new life... Plenty of ingredients I've never seen before. You know?" She took a seat on one of the stools, needing an awkward 'hop' to do so. "What about you, um, Mister..?"

"Balahal" he nodded. "A similar story I suppose. Not much left for me back in Blackmarsh, and I've always wanted to see this part of the world. My Grandfather was from the northern coast, and he always spoke of it fondly." he shrugged. "Thought I might go and see it for myself."

He glanced about at the other patrons. "Was hoping to pick up news of the road actually, before I set out. Where are you bound?" he asked her.

Meranique Ariettes Vivienne de Beauchampierre is quite the fashionista, and he quickly realizes that the inhabitants of this sleepy village seriously lack any kind of fashion sense. Most of the inhabitants wear threadbare garments, many patched several times over. In fact, perhaps the only person he sees that has any sense of fashion whatsoever is Arrille, the High Elf who operates the village's one trade store.

"Yes, Seyda Neen isn't called the swamp fever capital of the world for nothing," Arrille says, smiling. "Not like the fair Summerset Isles. And I actually can teach you a frost spell. Frostbite is just what you need to freeze your enemies in their tracks!"

In response to Balahal's question, the Dunmer woman says, "Two drakes." She pours a glass of sujamma for Rayna and sets it on the counter.

Upstairs, the two Nords continue their heated discussion. "It's not right, treating that Wood Elf like that, and you know it," the unarmored Nord says.

The other sneers. "You should keep your nose out of Legion business, Raflod. That sniveling little fetcher doesn't deserve your sympathy."

"You're a right bastard, Hrisskar." Raflod scowls.

"Yeah? And what are you going to do about it, milk drinker?" Hrisskar smirks and turns away. He notices Balahal at the bar and wanders over to him.

"Haven't seen you around before, Dunmer. You new in town? Or just passing through?"


Hrisskar Flat-Foot

OOC: Rayna, please roll vs. Naturalist +2 for me. For every point of success, you find 1d6+1 usable fungi.

Seyda Neen's weather is similar to a place like Hong Kong or Savannah, GA. The Summerset Isles, home of the Altmer, has weather more akin to the Caribbean.

Rayna was about to answer Balahal, but was happy enough to sip her sujamma instead when the Nord butted in. She had no idea what to make of the man's question, but didn't look away either.

OOC:

18:43, Today: Rayna Stroud rolled 7 using 3d6.  Naturalist +2 (13).
18:44, Today: Rayna Stroud rolled 28 using 6d6+6.  How many fun guys?

:D

"I'll take a cup please." Balahal replied to the woman, fished out the drake's from his pocket and set them down.

When Hrisskar approached the Dunmer turned to him with a nod "New to Morrowind, but heading north as soon as I can get my bearings." he offered a hand. "Balahal"

The Dunmer woman takes Balahal's gold and pours him a glass of matze. Then, she goes back to her inventory of her stock.

The Nord takes Balahal's hand in a firm grip. "The name's Hrisskar. I'm in the Legion." The Nord leans against the bar. Lowering his voice so that only Balahal and Rayna can hear, he says, "You look like the dependable sort. Perhaps you can help me with a problem."

"See, there's this sneaky little Bosmer who lives in town. I suspect him to be behind a few break-ins in Seyda Neen. He's a slippery bastard, though, and I haven't been able to catch him at it. I know he has a spot he's been hiding all his ill-gotten gains." Hrisskar looks at Balahal for a moment and rubs his chin. "Tell you what. You find his hiding spot, and I'll, I mean, the Legion, will give you half of what you recover."

OOC: Nice mushroom haul, Rayna! Roll vs. Alchemy or Herb Lore to identify the different fungi and what they might be used for.

Balahal rubbed at his chin as the Legionary made the offer. It was a job outside his areas of expertise, but it was a job, and he was a poor immigrant with few prospects.

"Well I've no love for thieves." he noted as he mulled the idea over. "And I would be glad for the work."

He thanked the hostess, took a sip of his drink and nodded to himself. "I think I'll take you up on that." He agreed. "What else can you tell me? And where should I find you once I have something to share?"

The Nord smiles broadly, clearly pleased with Balahal's assent. "Excellent," the trooper says, clapping Bahalal on the shoulder. "The fetcher's name is Fargoth. Shoulder-length blond hair, about yea high." He holds up a palm at about five feet.

"He's as stealthy as a Khajiit. He usually makes his move at night. I've set out to watch for him, but he knows me, and that puts him off. You, on the other hand, he'd have no reason to be suspicious of. He's probably skulking around now. I can point him out to you if you like."

Poor swamp-people. If only there existed a cute boy who was looking for a new place to expand his tailoring business too. Ah well!

"I had swamp fever once! The muscleaches were really severe but the vomiting was the most memorable. It was a very intense experience, but it stopped being enjoyable by the third day. Three out of ten, would not recommend!" She smiles and giggles.

"Aha! Frostbite! That is the spell I was just thinking of! Have you made a visit in my ear? Are you an earwig? Teach me, earwig-senpai! Nownownownow~!" He flaps his hands in front of him with such vigor that it looks like he is attempting to fly without casting Levitate first!
This message was last edited by the player at 17:27, Thu 25 Aug 2022.

Rayna leaned in when the Nord did and listened to his offer. Her expression soured somewhere in between mention of the legion and details of the thefts. The look went away quick as it came, and she leaned back to contemplate the offer even as Balahal accepted. She glanced around the room -- possibly too obvious -- and leaned back in. "Alright... Point him out," she whispered.

OOC:
19:05, Today: Rayna Stroud rolled 12 using 3d6.  Alchemy (14).

"It stopped being enjoyable . . ." The Altmer looks at Meranique in puzzlement, as if the Breton had just remarked on how tasty a layer of loam is slathered on top of rat meat. "You are an odd one, ma- . . . er, si . . . ah, my friend." Arrille flinches from Meranique's wild movements. "I can teach you, but I'll need to charge you 400 septims. And it will take some time, depending on how quick a study you are."

* * *

Upstairs, the Nord grins when Rayna accepts as well. "I'll point him out to you now."

The Nord leads Balahal and Rayna downstairs and past an energetic Meranique and a confused Arrille. Outside, gulls call as the gentle water of the Inner Sea washes in to the shore. The air is a mixture of the salt of the ocean and the more fetid sulfur of the surrounding swamp.

Leading the two around the tradehouse's deck, Hrisskar nods his head in the direction of a Wood Elf sitting across the street. Dressed in a rough woolen shirt and brown breeches, the short Bosmer sits on a bench, swinging his legs idly.

"That's him," Hrisskar says quietly. "He's a shifty one, so try not to let him see you. He gets up to his tricks after sundown." To the left of the tradehouse, a footbridge leads to more streets of houses. "He lives just across the bridge. Three houses down on the left."

"Good luck. I'll either be here at Arrille's or at the Legion barracks next to the Census and Excise Office. Come see me after you locate his hiding spot."

OOC: Rayna, you identify four different species of fungi. Luminous Russula is a short, squat, brown-and-green toadstool. Violet Coprinus is a tall, slender, light-green-capped mushroom. Bungler's Bane is a brown shelf-fungus that grows on trees. Hypha Facia looks very similar to Bungler's Bane but is slightly smaller.

All four have negative effects, and experimentation will reveal more. You're reasonably sure Luminous Russula could be useful in brewing a potion to allow a person to breathe underwater if you could find something else to combine it with. In the same way, Violet Coprinus could be used to allow an individual to walk on water. You're not sure if the other two fungi have any helpful qualities, but they might. Combining the mushrooms together into an alchemical or herbal concoction would likely have harmful effects (but which could be useful for more nefarious purposes).

Meranique spies the others who had arrived with him as they head outside, and waves vigorously at them. "Hi Balahal! Hi Rayna! I'm learning magick!" They likely remember Meranique as well. It was a small ship and he was extremely memorable. He had also aggressively socialized the both of them to the point of exhaustion, declared them friends, and then proceeded to lock himself in his quarters rocking himself to a delirious sleep while muttering about how much he hates ships. Declaring them friends is of course a very different matter from being friends, and that much at least the weird dressy boy has no control over.

He turns back to the increasingly befuddled altmer, giggling. "I'm a boy, totally and completely. I just got sick of buying mannequins to display my work on, so I made myself one! There are no downsides!" He leans in conspiratorially as he explains, as if sharing some kind of cheat code for businessmen.

"Wow, that's a lot of shinies..." he says, suddenly uncertain. He takes out his fine leather wallet (it has a big pink bow on the front!) and counts up his septims (rolled up into various packets for convenience). After muttering some numbers to himself, some of which Arrille swears are made up, Meranique apparently decides that he has enough to still eat with after. He hands over three paper-rolled bundles of 100 and two of 50. "Here you go! I'm a super quick study, I invented my own conjuration spell!"

Balahal shielded his eyes somewhat and took a long draw from his up as Meranique loudly called them out.

He then turned to Rayna "Alright, so it sounds like we are down to quarter splits." he told her. "I was going to watch his house, but that was before you volunteered as well...what was your plan?" He asked her curiously.

Rayna downed the rest of her drink and put two septims on the counter. She only waved when Meranique called out to them -- the fellow Breton was an oddity to say the least. Rayna was almost an exact opposite, being drab-clothed and shy, not to mention far less skilled at socializing.

Outside, Rayna nodded along while Hrisskar talked, and had nothing to add or ask before the Nord took his leave. When it was only her and Balahal, she gave an awkward shrug. "I don't know what's really going on here," she whispered. "If Fargoth is a thief, wouldn't the Legion want to return what's in the stash to its rightful owners? Not split it with us?"

Balahal thought briefly about the matter. "Because it solves their problem? Because they can't afford a reward otherwise? I'm not sure." he shrugged. "Just sounded like paying work. You think there really could be more to it? The guys an Imperial Legionary."