Disclaimer: I stole a bunch of stuff from Wizards of the Coast and Bethesda. I'm not making any money off of this.

Chapter Two: Zeke

Marcus sat at the table in the small bar and opened the book again. It seemed Miroban was indeed a different sort of place. There were races that lived in Miroban that Marcus had never even heard of; three of them, in fact.

The first, the Kitsune, seemed similar to the Khajit, but instead of being kin with cats, these people were related to foxes. They seemed to be highly highly intelligent, and adept as both mages and swordsmen.

The second, the Nezumi, were not so highly thought of. The book detailed that while most prejudices were completely unearned, the fact that the Nezumi were related to rats hurt their standing in civilization. Nezumi, it seemed, occupied a low spot on the ladder of Miroban society, and often lived in tribes in the wilderness, if only to protect themselves from prejudice.

The last race, Orochi, was also minimally trusted, but it seemed that there was a cause. The book explained that the Orochi, the 'Snake People,' as they called themselves, were related to Argonians. They had venomous fangs, and were considered to be excellent archers and fighters. However, they were also, apparently, savages, who usually attacked any who, either accidentally or on purpose, wandered into their territory. Orochi were rarely welcomed anywhere outside of their natural habitats, and no one else was welcome in.

Marcus took a long drink of his Sujamma. He had almost forgotten how good a nice tankard of alcohol could taste, it had been so long. He swore to himself that, if it were ever to arise again, he would die fighting before being thrown into prison again.

When he had left, the guards all stared at him, wondering if he would try to get revenge on them. They all knew he was highly trained, and as he put on the iron cuirass and greaves he was left, and strapped the katana to his belt, not a single one of them took their eyes off of him. He was generally treated worse than the other prisoners, for the simple nature of the crime of which he was accused.

When he finally reached the town of Cheydinhal, he considered buying a new weapon. He was accustomed to katanas, true, but in Tamriel, the weapons were used almost exclusively by the Blades. He decided to keep it, and spend money instead on beer, a night soft bed, and perhaps the company of a woman.

As he read on, he discovered with some surprise that katanas were actually quite commonplace in Miroban—in fact, it was wondered if they were designed there. That was no doubt why Jauffre had left him one; so he would not be more out-of-place than he already was.

He still had no idea how he was to get there, though. Travel would take almost a month in a boat, and he didn't have nearly enough money to buy one. Not to mention, he would need a ship big enough to accommodate supplies for such a trip, but there were no trade routes to Miroban, so no ships would be heading there.

He put a few septims on the table for the drink, and stood, putting the book in the pouch on his belt that also held the letter from Jonathan, Paladin of the Throne. He wandered outside, and inwardly tensed as two guards sauntered past. One of the men nodded his head at the former Blade. "Good day, citizen," he said, in a deep Imperial voice. Marcus nodded back.

Calm down, he told himself. You're an Imperial man, in an Imperial marketplace. You've done no wrong. No one here suspects you of anything.

As soon as he heard that, he heard a woman shouting in his direction. "Catch him! He's a thief! Stop right there, you scallywag!"

He turned, thinking the woman was talking to him, and was nearly bowled over by a lithe Bosmer running past. "Sorry!" he yelled, before turning into an alleyway. The two guards Marcus had seen a moment before thundered past a second later, and stopped in the alley.

"Crap," one of them said.

"I'm not goin' in there," the other replied.

Marcus turned the corner to see that the alley was a dead end, but in the center of it was an open manhole. The thief must have gone into the sewers.

"Whaddaya say we flip a septim for it?" the first asked.

"You can flip all you want. I still ain't goin' in there."

The first one sighed. "All right, come on." They walked past Marcus back into the marketplace.

He walked over and looked into the manhole. He almost gagged from the stench emanating from below. He grabbed the cover and pulled it back over the hole, cutting off the aroma. Suddenly he heard a soft thump. He turned to see the Bosmer getting up from a crouch.

"So you were on the roof?" Marcus asked.

"I wasn't going to go in there either," the thief replied. "Name's Zeke."

"What makes you think I want to know the name of a thief?"

"What makes you think I'm a thief?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "The fact that you were running from a woman who was calling you one, and two guards were chasing you."

He scratched his head. "I suppose that is damning evidence. Still. Could've been a setup."

"I'm fairly certain it wasn't."

"It wasn't. So, you aren't going to tell me your name?"

He had to admit, the little mer had charm. "Marcus."

"Marcus, you don't look like you've been here too long. Why don't I show you the sights?"

"Are you going to pick my pocket?"

"Maybe."

Marcus shook his head and sighed. "Why not? I don't have any other plans for the day. But if you try to pick my pocket, I'll cut your hand off."

Zeke laughed. "Great! I'll show you the hottest underground card game in the city. Follow me, and you won't go wrong!"

Those words turned to be untrue; hours later, after Marcus had lost almost half of the money he had, he told Zeke he was out.

"Oh, come on," Zeke said. "We can win it back. It's blackjack, man. Odds are with us."

Marcus shook his head. "He's stacking the deck."

The big Orc who was sitting next to Zeke stood and picked up a large wooden club that was laying on the ground next to him. "What!?" he roared, rage contorting his features.

Marcus pointed a thumb at the dealer, who was now flanked by a Redguard and an Argonian who had appeared from a back room. "He was stacking the deck, making sure that he'd get the winning hand. I thought he was for a while, but I didn't know for sure until last hand." The Argonian hissed, and the Altmer dealer grabbed at the septims on the table before running in the back room. The Orc made to follow him, but his progress was blocked by the Argonian, who threw a punch at him.

A Nord charged out of the back room towards Marcus, brandishing a twin-bladed battle axe. He plowed through the blackjack table, swinging the axe wildly. Marcus calmly sidestepped, drawing his own blade. He parried another blow, and then another, catching the chaotically swinging axe by it's blade and flinging it out of the Nord's hands.

Meanwhile, the Orc gambler was taking on both the Argonian and Redguard at the same time. He easily withstood their feeble punches, while dealing crushing blows to them both. The battle was over in seconds, as was Marcus'. Soon, both of the Orc's opponents were on the ground, and the Nord was against the wall, the katana against his throat.

"Leave," Marcus said. "Now."

The Nord needed no further encouragement. In less than a second, he was at the door, barely stopping to open it before rushing into the street.

The Orc looked at him and snorted. "Mercy."

"It happens. Do you know where my companion went?"

The Orc looked around. "No," he uttered finally. "Do you know where my money went?"

"No," Marcus sighed. He wondered if Zeke was in on the crooked game, and that was why he had left as soon as the fighting broke out. Marcus grit his teeth, nodded his head at the Orc, and left through the same door the Nord had just used. He drew his cape around him and began striding through the Imperial City night when he heard footsteps running behind him. He turned to see Zeke stop behind him.

"Hello, mate!" the cheery Bosmer said.

"Where did you go?"

He lifted the leather bag he was carrying. "Had to get our money back, mate," he said. "Plus some interest."

"How did you get that from the Altmer?"

He grinned. "Daggers in the back are great persuasive tools."

"Did you kill him?"

"Define 'kill'."

"Is he still breathing?"

"I'm not sure."

"So he's dead."

"Possibly."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Come on, Zeke," he said, and they strode off together.

Marcus searched for the Orc that evening, in an attempt to give him back the money he was cheated out of, but it was to no avail. "All for the better," Zeke had said. "More for us."

Eventually, they headed to a small inn and purchased meals. "So what's your story?" Zeke asked around a mouthful of venison.

"Not something I want to go in to." Marcus said.

"Gotcha," the mer said, nodding wisely. "Where you heading?"

"A place called Miroban."

Zeke tilted his head to the side, thinking. "Never heard of it," he finally said. "What province is it in?"

"It's not a city. It's a country. Or maybe a continent. I'm not really sure."

Zeke raised an eyebrow. "You're...not really sure?"

Marcus pulled the book from his pouch. "All I know is that I'm supposed to go here," he said, opening the book and pointing at a map. "And look for someone."

"Someone close to you, eh? Lost sister, or the like?"

"No."

"Can I at least have a hint?"

"No."

Zeke pursed his lips. "You can be really frustrating, you know that?"

Marcus smiled. "So I've been told."

"Well, old buddy, tell you what. I'll ask around, see what I can do. Maybe I can find a ship. A trip sounds nice."

Marcus' eyebrows furrowed. "What makes you think you're coming?"

"Marcus, I've been to prison once or twice, and I can tell when someone else has been there, too. And you've been there for a while, by my reckoning. I doubt you've been out for a week. And instead of running home to family and friends, you stay at an inn in Cheydinhal, which tells me that you don't have a friend in the world. Likewise, I'm sure you don't have a whole lot of money or favors you can use to secure passage to a place this far from the trading routes. I'm not trying to be rude, but it looks like I'm your only friend in the world."

Marcus snorted, then smiled. "Perceptive little guy, aren't you?"

Zeke shrugged. "Only sometimes."

"All right, you can come. If you can find us passage. If not, then I go alone."

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Meet me here at noon tomorrow," he said, and left.

Marcus shook his head and continued his meal. He honestly had no idea if the little mer could pull through or not, but if he did, that would just make Marcus' life that much easier. He finished his tankard of ale and paid for a room. He fell asleep almost instantly.

A/N: Reviews make me happy ;) If there's anything you want to see in the story, go ahead and send me an email at . Put in the Subject line, so I don't think it's spam and delete it on accident.

Peace! and I'm out.