Chapter 2 - The Unfortunate Shopkeeper

As Middas turned into Turdas, Azzan sat in his office again. He'd received Vilena's report on new recruits and Maralie was indeed on it. That was not the most interesting document on his desk, however. A copy of the Black Horse Courier lay on the top of the pile, with big black, bold letters spelling out "Assassination!"

Dire news for the Empire. Emperor Uriel Septim VII, as well as his sons, Crown Prince Geldall, Prince Enman and Prince Ebel, had been slain. All four of them. Leaving no direct heirs. Naming this a disaster didn't begin to cover the extent of it. Azzan knew, deep down, that it would mean unrest in the Empire for weeks, months, perhaps even years to come. In the meantime, there was little he could do but ensure that the Fighters Guild chapter in Anvil kept running smoothly.

He'd spoken to his guildmates that very morning, and they all mirrored his own feelings: concern, uncertainty, perhaps even fear. For the moment, day to day life had not changed, not in the chapter, not in the town. All Azzan could do was wait.

Setting aside the reports, the Redguard headed to the other side of the room, grabbing a bowl as well as some cheese and fruit. He sat at the small, round table beneath the window that overlooked the town square, gazing at the comings and going of townsfolk as he ate. For the most part, he performed his own chores, bringing up his own food, cleaning away the cutlery himself. Being head of chapter did afford for some perks, though, and Vigdis had apparently left him a bit of ham while he'd spoken with the others. He smiled. The seasoned Nord woman always enjoyed playing the mother bear to them all.

A sharp knock at his door drew him from his reverie, and when he replied "enter", the Dunmer recruit stepped in. Somewhat startled, he got halfway up before gesturing to the chair across from him.

She strode over and slumped into the offered chair, almost unceremoniously. Her gait had changed since last night: the confidence was still there, it was just... less controlled. She seemed tired, small, dark circles marring her gray skin beneath her eyes. He offered her some bread and ham, which she took with visible relief.

"Well, greetings to you too. I'm assuming things didn't exactly go as planned?"

"The rat problem," she said between mouthfuls, "was actually a mountain lion problem."

Azzan's eyebrows raised. "Mountain lions? Inside Anvil?"

She nodded emphatically as she cut off some cheese with her dagger. "In her basement, yes." She seemed to prioritize eating over giving her report and Azzan had to wait as she swallowed some bread. "And outside the city, but also in her garden."

Azzan sat back as he'd already had his fill. "They couldn't have just wandered in," he mused.

She shook her hair, sending small braids flying. "No. As it turns out, it was a matter of feuding neighbors. Qill-Weave didn't take too kindly to Arvena harboring rats in her basement and wanted to lure them out."

"Wait, she was what?" Azzan wasn't sure he'd heard that right, with all the crumbs flying.

She stopped eating at that, and looked at him blankly before one of the corners of her mouth twitched upwards into a crooked grin. "Are you telling me you didn't know? The rats... They're Arvena's pets."

At the absurdity of it all, Azzan threw his head back in laughter. Arevna had always been a bit of an oddball here in Anvil, but he hadn't suspected just how much. As he wiped away a tear, he asked, "so what did you tell her? Arvena?"

"Oh." She seemed almost surprised at the question. "Well, nothing, I suppose. I didn't think it was my place." She'd become somber all of a sudden. "The mountain lions are gone, as was asked. Let them sort out their issues on their own."

He nodded, as she sat back in her chair and asked, "so... What now?"

Azzan's lips curled into a smile. "Well... What are you doing tonight?"

That n'wah of a Redguard. Here she was, crouched and uncomfortable, sneaking around in the middle of the night. Again. All Maralie wanted was a decent night's sleep, but since she'd decided to head back to the Priory in Chorrol, she was in a hurry to finish this job.

Norbert Lelles had been forthcoming enough, and the contract seemed simple. Apparently, he'd been losing merchandise for months. Every now and then, he'd lock up for the night, goods would vanish and he'd replace them the next day. And the cycle would begin anew a few days later. How he'd managed to stay afloat all these months, Maralie could not even begin to imagine, but the merchant had had enough. To be fair, it was somewhat baffling. There would never be any signs of a forced entry, there were no windows on the first floor, and those on the second floor remained intact. Of course, there could be a host of different explanations: mark and recall spells, invisibility spells, or maybe just a really good thief with some chameleon armor.

There was the soft click of a key turning in the door's lock. She should've thought of that; there were also more mundane explanations. Maralie loosened her sword in its scabbard.

It was Turdas morning. Azzan's least favorite day of the week when he was a child. His father didn't like trading on Fredas and Loredas, it had been something of a tradition in the family. Turdas was just the last day of anticipation before those two favored days. He might not have liked lifting boxes and helping out with the family business when he was younger, but Azzan had to admit he missed it sometimes. Even if it wasn't actually the work and heavy lifting he missed so much as his father and sister.

He had very few memories of his mother. She'd passed away shortly after his sister Tierra was born. Azzan didn't really know what had happened exactly, since his father would not speak of it. Or of his mother. A quiet man, but nevertheless a shrewd businessman, his father had raised Azzan and Tierra by himself, teaching them his trade and giving them every shred of love and affection he had. There were many fond memories of a happy childhood spent in Rihad, despite the loss and hardships.

Tierra had been very different from their father: outspoken and mischievous. Just like Azzan, contributing to their father's trade had built up her strength. By the time she was sixteen and Azzan eighteen, she could best him more often than not in their arm wrestling matches. Their father said they were foolish when he saw them compete, but he always said it with a smile.

It was around that time his father was killed and his sister lost. A depressingly banal affair of an attacked caravan along the trade route between Elinihir and Taneth. The nomads had been extremely organized, their target clearly the valuable goods for the Blackcaster mages of Elinhir. There was nothing they could do. Their father tried to resist, took a blade to the gut and a club to the head. Tierra had simply been... lost. Whether she'd fled or been taken, Azzan had never known.

After that, Azzan didn't really have the heart to take up the mantle of his father's already struggling business. He'd sold everything they'd had and left Hammerfell behind. Skyrim and High Rock were too cold to his taste, so the Imperial Province seemed to be a natural choice. Kvatch was too large a city, so he'd settled in Anvil. And there was the Abecean Sea. He loved the sea.

Shaking his head, Azzan picked up his copy of Night Falls on Sentinel. He'd let himself daydream again and needed to concentrate on his work. As head of the chapter and resident trainer in blunt weapons, brushing up on his skills was a requirement, and he'd been told there were a few new techniques in the book. It was hard to stay focused though, as it seemed to be nothing more but a story of a woman hiring a mercenary in tavern. Azzan sighed and tried to concentrate once more. It would be time to eat soon, though.

There was barely a knock before the door to his office opened, startling him. Maralie stepped in, carrying a small sack and a haggard expression on her face. That was no excuse though, and Azzan's brow furrowed.

"Left your manners downstairs, Apprentice?"

She frowned, and he really thought she'd bark back an angry reply until her fierce expression melted away. "Apologies, sir, I haven't had much sleep. I brought some food to thank you for the meal yesterday, and to report on Lelles' shop."

As he nodded and motioned to the chair she'd sat in yesterday, he noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes had indeed deepened. The woman clearly needed rest. "Tell me."

Maralie sat and opened the sack, retrieving some crab meat packed in wax paper, radishes, apples and a couple of shepherd's pies. Those were definitely a welcome change from his usual meals and he nodded in thanks.

"As it turns out, the thieves had the key to Lelles' Quality Merchandise." His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Former employees," she clarified. "Disgruntled former employees, actually. Wouldn't come in quietly, so Norbert is going to have a bit of clean up to do. And locks to change."

Azzan nodded as they ate. It wasn't unheard of, but it did speak to Norbert Lelles' obliviousness. The contract had turned out to be a lot simpler than he'd expected, but he was sorry she'd had to deal with two nightly stakeouts in a row. Regardless, the job was done. "Well done, here's hoping he'll be more careful in the future. With these two jobs and the work you did for Burz, I'm authorized to promote you to the rank of Journeyman of the Fighters Guild."

She raised an eyebrow, cocking her head with a tired grin. "Journey... man?"

Well, that was a first. "Heh," he chuckled. "You're right, I should speak to Vilena, see if we can't have the ranks renamed. Journeywoman, then." She gave a small nod.

"I don't have any other contracts for you, right now, you should probably report to Vilena Donton in Chorrol."

The chair scraped the floor as she pushed it back and got to her feet. "Alright then, thank you, sir." Nodding once more, she turned away and as the door shut behind her, Azzan found himself wistfully wondering if she'd be back.