Marcurio saw them arrive, the taciturn Human and the frankly, terrifying Orc, both boasting weapons on their backs that would easily crush him under their weight, the woman in armour that appeared to be made out of bone. There was no way that could be sanitary.

Blood was seeping through crude bandages wrapped around her right arm, and swore at the man when he moved to touch it. There were heated words, then the man rolled his eyes and ordered a room from Talen-Jei. The Orc woman stomped up the stairs ahead of the man, and he felt rather than saw her faltering attempt at healing magic and winced.

Some Orcs were good at it. But not many, in his experience.

It wasn't his business. Unless she had the coin to hire him. By the look of the big hairy man accompanying her, however, she probably had enough help as it was.

He busied himself with an ale for a while, jingling the few remaining coins in his pockets. He needed a job. He really needed a job. There was no way he was crawling his arse back to Winterhold to beg for charity and a place to sleep again. They'd make him give lessons. Or worse, they'd make him take lessons. He didn't need lessons any more.

Talen-Jei gave him a knowing look and he bit his lip. There was always the thieves guild, if Brynjolf would ever get around to forgiving him for that thing with the ice, but although there were a lot of things he was quite comfortable doing to survive, the guild skirted the edge of things that he wasn't quite ready to sink to…

A hand on his shoulder distracted him from his musings.

"The Argonian says you're a mage," the voice was deep and gravelly and spoke to something primal in Marcurio's nervous system. He swallowed and turned to see the Orc's enormous companion frowning at him with bushy eyebrows drawn tight in a frown.

"I am. Best in Riften, I'll have you know!"

"Do you know restoration?"

"Naturally, although my specialty is more on the offensive… if you know what I mean."

"Restoration is all we need." His arm was suddenly captured in a vice like grip and he felt himself being steered towards the stairs.

"Hey, hey, hang on! What about my fee…?"

"You'll be paid."

The Orc woman was sitting on the bed in the middle of the room, stripped down to a short sleeved tunic and fur leggings. He wasn't an expert on Orc health, but her skin seemed dull and darker around her eyes where it wasn't covered with purple tattoos.

She was no less terrifying up close than she had been in the bar.

Why were Orcs so tall?

Her right arm had what appeared to be some kind of teeth mark in it. Marcurio had treated enough wounds from bears to recognise that. He'd even been bitten by a bear himself once. Stupid things blundered around Skyrim as though it belonged to them.

This one looked worse than the one he'd got though. "Bear got you, did it?" he said cheerfully, pushing up his sleeves.

The Orc looked up at him with clear, colourless eyes. "No," she said shortly.

"Dragon, actually," the other man said, leaning against the doorframe.

Marcurio swallowed. "Dragon eh? Well, I'd heard they'd started coming back. Best to stay indoors no? Away from that sort of thing."

"Difficult, in our position."

"You're soldiers then?" he held out a hesitant hand and waited for the Orc to nod slightly before starting to examine the wound more closely.

"Companions," the man said, then nodded towards the Orc woman. "She's our new Harbinger."

Marcurio raised an eyebrow, then looked back at the woman. News didn't get to Riften from Whiterun that often, especially at the moment, and he hadn't heard that the old Harbinger had died - or retired, or whatever it was they did. "Do you have a name?"

"Urzul," she said wearily. "Urzul Gra-Jal."

"Are you from one of the strongholds?"

"No."

"I'm Marcurio," he said, trying his most charming smile. It never hurt to put the customer at their ease - sometimes it was even worth a tip.

She sighed.

"Can you heal my arm or have we wasted our time?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course I can." He called forth magic and watched as the skin and bone knitted itself back together. She must have been in considerable pain, he realised, but then Orcs were renowned for being tough. When he was done he stepped back and admired his handywork. The skin was smooth and dark green, no trace of a scar, and he didn't think he was imagining the easing of tension around her strange eyes and the return of some sort of healthy flush to her cheek.

"Better than new," he said, satisfied, then looked at the man again, waiting.

"Farkas, pay him," Gra-Jal said, turning to the bed where her ridiculous armour was resting. He eyed the armour again and blinked a few times. Very few things had bones that big. Mammoths. Sabre cats if you killed a lot of them.

Or dragons.

He didn't have time to follow that train of thought to its logical conclusion before the big man was shoving him out the door and pushing coins into his hands. It was enough to keep him going for a while, but not as much as he had been planning to charge and he opened his mouth to argue.

Farkas - if that was his name, growled at him and Marcurio felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Right. Ah… thank you, Companion," he said.

"You're welcome," Farkas rumbled.

Marcurio shook his head as he watched the man retreat back into the room. Some people had no courtesy, no appreciation for true skill. He jingled the coins in his hand then put them in his coin purse and made his way back to his room. Maybe some of the guild needed healing - he could do that without risking trouble with the guard, and they usually paid well.

The Orc and her Companion left the next day. He couldn't say he was too upset.