The door slides open, and Krosa nearly steps back in shock and hears Brynjolf gag. The stench no doubt originated from here. There's blood and bones scattered everywhere, some even arranged into what looks like a body on an altar in the middle of the room, most thrown into a pile on the side. The rejects. What's more disturbing is the fact that the candles were still burning. How recently was he here? And more importantly, When will he be back?

She steps inside and goes to look at the shelf, finding it filled with embalming tools. Next to the shelf, tucked a little behind the altar she sees a basket full of skulls and another with what seems to be flesh. Her stomach churns. She turns to look at Brynjolf. Looks like he's having a similar reaction. Just as she thinks that he turns around vomits in a corner. Krosa refrains from pointing out that that'll surely let the killer know someone was here.

"Shit." He says after straightening. "I was not expecting-" He drifts off, taking it all in a second time. Krosa's sure he's turning green again, but he manages not to throw up a second time. He walks up to the altar, a disgusted look on his face. Something catches his attention, and he picks up another bound book. He opens it, looking even sicker than before. "It's-it's a list of… ingredients," he says, cringing, "and how to...prepare for the ritual. There's also some sort of poem. 'Star-scrying to the edge of ice-mind. Look to the lights where the souls dance, revealing a time when a spark will revive when the rotted unites under most skillful hands." He turns the page, brow furrowing.

"What does the next page say?"

He closes the book. "Soon."

Krosa scoffs and nearly rolls her eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

"It's just-it's so-" Krosa shakes her head, knowing what he'd think if she told him. And, she's trying not to talk to him.

"Oh, come on, lass. Now I'm curious."

"It's just so dramatic." She says, giving in.

Brynjolf laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"We find a room full of dismembered body parts for some sort of deranged ritual and the first thing you say is 'it's just so dramatic."

"It is." What's his problem? Krosa thinks, taking the book from his hands and tucking it into her belt. She should have brought some sort of pack. Who knows what else they'll find here.

"There's a basket of skulls right there, lass. Are you going to scoff at that too?"

Krosa rolls her eyes. "What do you want me to do? Scream? Run away? Vomit?"

"All of those are normal reactions." He says defensively, crossing his arms.

"At least I'm not the one laughing."

"Hey, I'm not the one who summed it all up with the word dramatic."

Krosa scoffs again "What word would you have used?

"I don't know. Disturbing? Messed up? Horrifying? I can think of more if you want me to, lass."

Krosa rolls her eyes and does one more sweep of the room. "Let's search the rest of the house." She says, exiting the room. Brynjolf follows, and she closes the panel behind them. "You should go keep watch," Krosa suggests, heading for the stairs.

"What? Why?"

"The candles were still burning. He may come back soon." He didn't notice?

Brynjolf hesitates for a moment before saying "Alright, lass, let me know if you find anything."

He exits, and Krosa lets herself relax, just a little. After a moment of gathering herself, she goes up the stairs to continue her search, alone. Krosa comes up with nothing of note or worth and soon finds herself outside. Brynjolf's leaning against the wall next to the door. It's started to snow lightly, and Krosa looks up, a small smile on her face. She actually likes the snow, at least when it's not up to her knees and blizzarding all of the time. She sticks her hand out, catching a few snowflakes in her palm.

"Find anything else, lass?" Brynjolf asks, interrupting her thoughts with a smirk.

"No." Krosa tears her gaze away from the sky and drops her hand. She starts walking towards the Palace of Kings. A haughty name, in her opinion. Which reflects well on the people in it.

"What now?" Brynjolf asks, walking beside her.

"Now we go talk to Jorleif," Krosa says, dreading the encounter already. She doesn't know why, but that man rubs her the wrong way.

"The Jarl's steward?" Brynjolf asks, stopping.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Krosa asks, stopping as well, wondering if he was caught thieving by him or something.

"You have little faith in me, don't you lass? I never get caught." He continues walking, catching up to Krosa who stops him.

"How do you know him?" She asks, not wanting a scene if there is something between them, recalling what happened the last time she was with him.

"I wouldn't say I know him, but I do know of him."

"What have you heard about him?"

"Nothing more than rumors that contradict each other. Dealings with unsavory peoples here and there, odd deliveries, the usual things you hear about people in high places. If there is any substance to the rumors, the Stormcloaks aren't as righteous as they claim themselves to be, well at least no better than the Imperials."

"So you don't like either side?" Krosa asks, not sure why she's so curious about it

"On the contrary, lass, I like both sides." Krosa looks at him questioningly."You see" He continues, "all the soldiers and guards are too focused on the war, and don't have time for dealing with petty thieves like me."

"Apparently it also means they don't have time to stop murderers from roaming the streets," Krosa says, then starts walking again.

"Well, there is that," Brynjolf says after a moment, and starts after Krosa. "What about you?" He asks "What are your thoughts on this civil war of ours? Is there a side you prefer? My bet would be on Imperials."

"I don't have thoughts on the war or a preferred side."

"Truly?"

Krosa shrugs "It's not my problem."

"It hasn't bothered you at all in your travels? Most people that travel here find it all too irritating and leave for somewhere else, like High Rock, or sometimes more surprisingly, Morrowind."

"I haven't really noticed it all that much."

"You must not be the most observant then."

She shoots him an irritated look.

"It makes me wonder what your priorities are." Krosa rolls her eyes

"I don't have priorities," Krosa says, hoping he'll drop it. He's too nosy. She can tell Brynjolf's studying her again and does her best not to fidget under his scrutiny.

"Maybe that's the problem, lass." He says matter of factly. Who does he think he is? Krosa thinks, stopping to turn to him, glare in place.

"What is?" She asks, wondering if it'd have been better if she had just ignored the comment. He has a way of getting on her nerves like no one else she's ever met before.

"You don't realize that you do, in fact, have priorities." He says, taking a step closer to her, the snow now crunching under his feet.

"What makes you think you know so much about me?" She retorts, taking a small step backward. He's too observant.

"I don't." He says, and she's grateful that he stays where he is, but somehow he still feels even closer than before. "In fact, lass, you're one tough nut to crack."

"Well then, maybe you should do us both a favor and stop trying."

"I would if I knew what's good for me, lass. But I've always been a fool for a good puzzle." He says with mirth and something else dancing in his eyes.

"Maybe that's your problem." Krosa throws back at him, crossing her arms.

Brynjolf laughs, "Oh, believe me, lass. I know." he says, then starts walking. This time it's Krosa who has to catch up with him, and she does so, glaring at his back and wondering if it's worth it to shove him into one of the alleys piled with snow.


Krosa's been silent since their conversation, not bothering to pass him to lead the way. He can feel her glare burning holes into his back and has to keep from smirking. Part of him regrets pushing her so far and is surprised that she even still tolerates his presence after doing so. If anything good came out of his venture in the house, other than his banter with Krosa, it's learning that the Dark Brotherhood isn't involved. He was wondering how he'd have been able to convince Krosa to stop investigating if it was. She doesn't seem like the type that would let it go that easily. She may not think she cares, but it's as clear as day. The palace comes into view, crumbling like the rest of the city. As bad as people say Riften is, at least it's not falling apart like this shit hole. Plus, it's way colder here.

"Here we are, lass." He says, turning to her "What-"

"Stay out here." She says, then walks past him into the courtyard. Brynjolf doesn't argue. He stays near the entrance, finds a spot on the wall that doesn't dig into his back or feel like it will fall apart at any moment, and watches the people go about their day. It should be past noon now, he thinks, trying to find the light of the sun behind the clouds. It's still snowing lightly, and he watches as snowflakes land on him, remembering Krosa's face when she saw it. It's moments like that where he forgets he's dealing with the most difficult woman he's ever met. Though, it also tell me it's a sight she hasn't seen often before coming here. He stores that thought for later and focuses his attention on the hub of people going about their day.

I wonder what Aiden's up to. Brynjolf thinks, hoping the lad hasn't gotten himself into too much trouble. He spots Silda begging and picking pockets and wonders what she's heard lately, and if it'd be worth it to pay her price for the information. He doesn't have to wait much longer, soon Krosa comes through the entrance, not looking happy.

"How'd it go?" Brynjolf asks, straightening and trying to keep up with her fast pace.

"He told me to talk to a few people to gather more information on what we found."

"And who will we be talking to?"

"The woman who put up the Butcher papers, Viola Giordano, and a man named Calixto Corrium who owns some kind of curiosity shop. He might be able to help identify the amulet." She says, not slowing down.

"Calixto Corrium? I think I've heard of him."

"What have you heard?"Krosa asks, looking straight ahead.

"He likes collecting rare items. A friend of mine likes selling them to him. Either he's easily tricked, or he doesn't care. Some of the stuff I've heard he has sounds like rubbish to me."

Krosa stops and turns to him. "How do you know all this stuff about people?"

Brynjolf smirks "I have my ways." She turns around and continues walking, and Brynjolf's pretty sure he heard her mutter something under her breath, but couldn't catch what it was. I need to get better at that. They turn a corner, then another and Krosa stops at the second, rather large, building with a sign saying 'Calixto's House of Curiosities.'

"So how will we go about asking him?" Brynjolf asks as they come up to the front door.

"I was just going to show it to him and ask if he knows anything about it."

"Straight to the point. I like it."

Krosa doesn't reply, just turns to open the door. The room is full of shelves and displays wherever they can fit, filled sparsely with the artifacts. Either he keeps room for more, or he's trying to make it look like he has more than he actually has. One look at Krosa tells him she's also unimpressed.

"Ah! Hello there! Have you come for a tour of my House of Curiosities?" A man says, coming in from one of the other rooms. He pauses when he sees Krosa. "Aren't you the one helping the guards catch the one who murdered that poor woman this morning?"

"I am."

"I already told you what I could, but if I could be of any more help, all you have to do is-"

"Do you know anything about this amulet?" Krosa asks, holding it out. Brynjolf goes to examine the artifacts in the room, trying to hide his smirk. She's definitely not one for pointless conversation. He thinks as he examines a fork on one of the displays. A fork? Really? What's his story behind this one? The shelf next to it at least has a few exciting things, like a dwemer gyro and a strange looking pink gem in a fancy box. He's seen those gems often enough but has no idea what they are or where they come from. The light doesn't catch on them right, and he always assumed they were fake. I wonder if Delvin can tell me what it is and what they're worth if I brought one to him. He never bothered before.

"Let me see…. Ah yes." He hears Calixto say "This is what's called a Wheelstone. It's an heirloom symbol of power in Windhelm. Traditionally it's carried by the court mage. I would be interested in...acquiring it. If you're willing to part with it that is." Brynjolf looks up at them briefly, wondering if Krosa would take the deal, then goes to the next one, this one holding some sort of ratty old book.

"Shouldn't the court mage have it?" Krosa asks.

"Wuunferth? Bah." Calixto says lightly, drawing Brynjolf's attention from some sort of flute "It's purely ceremonial, and he has no use for it. Besides, I wouldn't want to be the one to give it to him. Gives me the creeps. They say he dabbles in necromancy." Brynjolf makes his way back to Krosa as Calixto continues "I would pay, let's say, five hundred silver septims for a piece like this."

"It's not for sale," Krosa says, taking it from him. "Do you know what kind of enchantment an amulet like this would carry?"

"What do you mean?" Calixto asks, and Brynjolf can tell he already knew about it. He most likely didn't want to mention it so he could offer a smaller price.

"I can tell it has one," Krosa says, narrowing her eyes and Brynjolf wonders if she caught on as well.

"But we don't know what it is." Brynjolf finishes for her. She gives him a look, and he smiles innocently, knowing that-

"Let me see that again," Calixto says, interrupting their silent banter, or what would have been banter if he didn't interrupt. Brynjolf tries not to be disappointed, they are after all, in the middle of an investigation. Krosa hesitates, then gives it back to him.

"Hmm. You seem to be right. I've never heard of a Wheelstone carrying enchantments, as I mentioned before it's purely ceremonial. It must have been added to it, presumably by Wuunferth… Hmm… I can't say what it's for, but I am willing to up the price for it. How about five hundred golden septims?"

Krosa takes it from him again. "Not interested."

"Surely it's not something you're attached to," Calixto says, voice holding something that Brynjolf can't decipher. "Where'd you find it anyway?"

"Thank you for your help," Krosa says, turning to leave.

"Suit yourself, but a piece like that is only valuable to collectors. Good luck finding anyone else who would appraise it that highly." Calixto says, his voice carrying a hint of what Brynjolf would call worry. Krosa doesn't look back, but Brynjolf does and sees Calixto glaring at her, a glint in his eyes that Brynjolf has seen in many people who would do whatever they had to do to get what they want. They exit, and Brynjolf closes the door behind them.

"He wasn't too happy to be cut out of a deal." He says as they make their way back onto the street.

"He'll have to live with it."

"The look on his face suggests he doesn't plan to."

"That's his problem.

"You're not worried he'll come after you, lass?"

"I'd like to see him try."

Brynjolf scoffs. "Usually I'd say you should be more careful, but after seeing you take down Hofgrir and then those bandits, I'm sure there's more than enough merit behind those words." Krosa doesn't say anything. What did I do wrong this time? He wonders, studying her as subtly as he can while walking beside her. Once they get back to the main square of the city, she stops and turns to him.

"Do you know anything about Viola Giordano?"

"Unfortunately, I don't, lass. Did Jorleif tell you where we could find her?"

"No, but I might know who to ask." She says, scanning the square for someone.

"Who?"

"Some captain she's infatuated with. I think his name is Captain Lonely-Gale." She says, brow furrowing at the name "I've never seen her, but he likes to complain about her, or at least a woman named Viola. It may not actually be her." She adds awkwardly.

"Well, lass," Brynjolf chirps, "there's only one way to find out." He doesn't see the look she gives him as he starts his way into the square, wondering how this day will turn out. It's been entertaining enough already.