I hesitantly push the door open. The warm, stale air of the inn envelopes me, pulling my heavy feet forward before I can convince myself to turn back. The tavern looks just how I remembered it from all those months ago. Minus one mercenary lazily drinking by the fire.

I force the vision from my mind, adverting my eyes from the empty chair to the greasy in keeper resignedly preparing the tavern for the day. He looks up at the sound of the heavy door and glares at me, obviously irked that he has to deal with a customer this early in the morning, and turns back to setting up shop. My spine stiffens at his rudeness and I stalk up to the bar, the negative energy from this morning's encounter fueling my actions.

"Kleppr." I demand flatly when he continues to ignore me. I drop a healthy bag of gold on the mead stained counter.

"Oh, come on in." He says with feigned courtesy, acting as if he only just noticed my presence. He gives me a crusty smile as I continue to glower, staring happily at the bag. "The Silver-Blood Inn has plenty of strong drinks and clean rooms."

"Oh, I'm sure." I say dismissively, untying the bag and pulling out a worthy amount of coins. "These coins here say you know some interesting things about the Forsworn." I noisily push them across the wood in his direction. "Is it true?"

His helpful façade crumbles, leaving a look of disgust on his face. His eyes flick towards the coins as if they were vials of poison I was asking him to drink. "And why would you think I know anything about those damned savages? What are you playing at?" His hand moves under the counter and grasps something. By the reassured look in his face I can guess it's a knife. "If you're not going to pay for the Inn's services you best leave."

I flare my nostrils and scoop up my coin, about to stuff it back into the bulging bag and storm out. But I can't leave, not until I get something.

"I'll get a bottle of ale." I snap, flicking five pieces at him. There are more people at the inn, and when they wake up maybe they'll be more willing to answer my questions. He collects the scattered coins and brusquely places the bottle in front of me. I uncork it and move away from the counter, sulking near the untended fire.

There are two empty chairs, their stone frames none too welcoming, near the glowing embers. It's cold and dark, and I feel that sense of loneliness once again creep upon me. I take a sip of the ale, trying to push the memory of our first meeting away.

The thin, semi-sweet liquid feels almost foreign in my mouth, and as it settles into my empty stomach I realize just how hungry I am. Biting my tongue, I debate if it's worth sacrificing my pride to go buy more food from Kleppr. And then maybe try to squeeze more information out of him.

"Kleppr," I say, trying my best to sound sociable. "I'd like to order some breakfast."

"Alright," he growls, cleaning a spot for me to sit. "What would you like. Got venison, beef, goat, rabbit, stews…"

I shudder at the thought of bloody meat, my recent misadventure with the cannibals making me feel nauseous, and slide into a bar stool. "No thanks. Do you have any sweet rolls, crème treats?"

He rolls his eyes and from the food storage pulls out a platter with the fattening goods. "They're not fresh, but'll still cost you."

Slapping a few coins on the table, I pick up the glazed biscuit and attempt the shove the entire thing into my mouth. Nearly choking, I swallow it down with a swig of the buttery ale.

Kleppr grunts at me and turns away, clearly disgusted by my glutinous behavior. "Hey, Kleppr," I manage around a mouthful of food. "What do you know about the Silver-Bloods?"

"They own this city and the table you're eating at, so try to keep it clean."

I take another drink and clear my throat. "Do they own more than the city, for example, do they control the mines?"

He begins to scrub the other end of the counter and growls, "They're not called Silver-Bloods for aesthetic purposes."

"So what about the Reach? Do you think they've got control over all of it?"

"What are you getting at?" he demands grouchily.

"Wouldn't they have the power to stop the Forsworn?"

"Dammit!" he yells, slapping the rag hard on the wood and sending a gross spray of dishwater (for the second time today) over me. "What in oblivion is wrong with you?" I vaguely hear the door open behind me, but I no longer care about making a scene.

"All I'm saying is that if they have control over the mines, why wouldn't they want to stop the Forsworn from attacking? Why would they choose to ignore a threat to their investments?"

"Are—are you insinuating that the Silver-Bloods are allowing the Forsworn to live?" Kleppr yells, face growing purple. "You're either mad or trying to get yourself killed!"

"Ahem."

We both turn towards the newcomer, faces red and wild. A little woman shrugs off a green hood, revealing a head of short, tidy blonde hair and a golden, triangular tattoo covering her nose. I immediately recognize the markings as a traditional Breton style.

"Hello, Kleppr." she says in a soft voice, eyeing me suspiciously. She places a few coins in front of the barkeep. "My usual please."

He heaves a shaky breath, doing his best to calm his nerves, and pulls out a bowl that he quickly fills with stew. His hands still shake from his subdued rage, and as he spills the hot liquid for the third time he yells, "Bah! Frabbi, you take care of this. I need a break."

"Already?" a cranky, old voice yells down the hall. "You grow more worthless by the day."

"Just get in here and take care of the customers!" he then storms off and disappears into the master bedroom. Frabbi emerges from the hall, soot on her face and broom in hand, and quickly assumes her husband's duties.

With a huff, I slide from the barstool, slap a few more coins on the table, and stalk out of the tavern. I blew it again.

I look up at the bleary sky, wincing at the harsh gray light, and try to decide where to go next. That is, if I don't get rolled by some Silver-Blood mercenaries or guards due to my antics today. Suddenly I feel a sharp pain prod the leather covering my back. A firm grip steers my shoulder.

"Don't make a sound," the soft voice growls, "let's walk."

Well, that was fast.

XXX

My assailant forces me down a dank alley and backs me into a drainage alcove. I allow her (judging by the voice at least, I guess it's a her) to do so out of curiosity. I could have easily escaped, but that would've resulted in another scene and I was curious about what she wanted.

She spins me around and shoves the knife against my throat. A green hood shrouds her face. I smile inwardly at the weak disguise. It's the woman from the tavern.

"Why were you talking about the Silver-Bloods like that?" she hisses, eyes narrowed above the green cowl. "What do you know?"

"What do I know?" I manage, brows rising at the irony of the accusation. I slightly lift my chin from the sharp blade and amiably put up my hands. "Well, considering I was trying to get information, not much. I was just in a mining village that got attacked. It wasn't the first time and it won't be the last. I came to demand the jarl do something about it."

She pauses, eyes uncertain and clearly still unnerved by what she overheard. "What do you want from me?"

"Want from you? Well, right now to remove this knife from my throat." I nearly laugh, grabbing her thin hand, forcing the blade away. I twist her wrist and it drops from her hand, the cheap metal clinking noisily on the wet cobble.

Startled and holding her bruised wrist, she's about to run off but stops upon hearing my next words. "Lady, I was in the tavern long before you entered. If you think I've been following you or something, you're wrong. Hell, I thought you were following me up until now."

Pulling the cowl tighter around her head, the gold of her nose barely visible, she looks warily down the grim, shadowed alley. "Why were you accusing the Silver-Bloods of conspiring with the Forsworn?" she asks quietly, voice grave and serious.

I feel a nervous itch on the back of my neck, worried and suddenly feeling caught. Yes, I knew I hadn't been quiet about my suspicions back in the bar, but the way she distrustfully eyed me was unsettling. She knew more than she was letting on; she was simply testing me.

"I wouldn't go as far to say conspiring," I say carefully, similarly looking down the alley. "More like coercing." I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering if talking to her about this will end up getting me killed a lot sooner than my good ole partner predicted. But there's something earnest about her demeanor, something urgent. She needs to talk about this more than me.

The color leaves her face and her lips press into a thin line. "So you think that's what's happening, too?"

I swallow, spine stiffening and shoulders tight. "Yes."

"I work for the Silver-Bloods as a secretary, pushing papers, tallying records, and such." She confides with a shaky sigh, picking up the fallen knife and slipping it back into her shawl. "I've seen some curious things—heard some curious things—but never said anything. I figured it wasn't my business, so long as I was getting paid and my family was safe."

"And did one of those things change?" I encourage as she tensely drops her gaze, hand on her stomach.

"My husband—he—something bad happened with the Forsworn when he was younger, so he had always been wary of their presence in the city. They would kill, do acts of terror—,"

"Here?" I question. My face drops into a tight frown. "What do you mean here? In the city?" How could there be Forsworn living in the city? Why would they be living in the city? The people I knew lived off in the wilds of the Reach, attacking towns and people who wandered too close to their lands. True, they always talked of 'taking back the Reach', but after several failed, bloody attempt to seize Markarth they stopped. The Nords had nearly wiped them all out. My father decided to give up on the conquest in fear of losing all his people. In all the time I was alive, we never attacked the city, and I never even heard of agents terrorizing the citizens.

"Divines!" she splutters, clearly annoyed by my limited knowledge. "Yes, in the city! He was obsessed with them, constantly searching for the heathens' motives. Everyone said it was just because their ancestors lost the Reach, but the guards still didn't like people asking questions. I thought they were embarrassed the pests hadn't been contained. But he…" She looks back up to me, shifting her baggy cloak. "He wouldn't stop investigating. The guards got angry and roughed him up pretty badly. I begged him to stop for our sake, and he did for a while.

"He came by one day when I was working late at the Silver-Blood treasury, worried about me being overworked and out so late. He," her eyes welled with bitter tears, "he wanted to help. I shouldn't have let him, it was against practice to let non-employees handle the papers but I was so tired. I don't know what he saw, but something set him on edge that night. He kept asking me about the Silver-Bloods and their mines, especially the ones they acquired after recent Forsworn attacks." She clenches her jaw and bores her brown eyes into mine. "I told him to stop, I told him it didn't concern us, that we needed to just take care of ourselves. He got upset, said he was taking care of us.

"He went missing after the most recent Forsworn act of terror. Kerah told me he started investigating who the terrorist was." She swallows hard, jaw trembling. "The guards later found him dead. Said he was the day's second Forsworn victim."

"Murdered." I reiterate, still very anxious about the Forsworn in the city. "You think the Silver-Bloods could have—?"

"I don't know!" she snaps, crossing her arms beneath her green cloak. "I don't know what to think. They caught the murderers, the first was killed and the second group sent to Cidna Mine without a trial. I've been trying to get an audience with the criminals, but they refuse to let me in."

"How long ago did these random acts of terror start?" I ask, interested in the murders myself. "And who is the man—this Forsworn—who your husband was spying on the day he got killed?"

"Oh, I don't know," she muses weakly. "Seems like forever. Maybe seven years? It doesn't happen too often but when it does…" she shudders, still bothered by the painful memories. "It shakes us to the core. These are people we knew, seen every day, invited into our homes. The latest one was a man named Weylin, he worked at a silver mine with my husband, well before my husband quit."

Weylin, Weylin…why did that name sound familiar? I pinched my brow, trying to recall where I'd heard it before. There was no way I could've met him since he died weeks ago after his little stunt. But still, I was familiar with the name.

"I never talked to him, don't even know where he lives," she continued, words barely breaking through my thoughts. "But seeing his dead body beside my husbands…knowing they spent every day working together…it's unsettling. How many more could be lurking in the city, waiting for their turn to strike?"

"I got it!"

"What?" she asks in a hushed, bewildered voice, alarmed by my sudden outburst. She checks the alleys again, still nervous we are being watched.

"I know who Weylin is, or well was." I whisper excitedly, feeling victorious for remembering the name. "I know I arrived after he was killed, but since I've been here I've been squatting in the Warrens."

"Why were you there?" she asks, scrunching her nose in disgust and eyeing me cautiously.

"I—er," I stammer, feeling my cheeks blossom, "I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself."

"Oh, makes sense," she responds sarcastically, crossing her arms. "I could tell you were laying low at the inn this morning."

"I was mad." I snap, waving the matter away. "But while I was there, I watched the other squatters and noticed some of them have built little rooms, and one of these rooms has the name Weylin etched into the wooden door."

"But Weylin's dead." She states flatly, not following my thoughts.

"We could go investigate his room," I explain, "See if there's anything that could explain why he killed that person!"

"You think—you think he was ordered to attack by someone?" she whispers darkly. "That the Silver-Bloods could've known my husband saw their documents and was pursuing that case? That the Forsworn have a stronger presence in the city than we thought? "

"Why else would your husband get killed over investigating him?" I say quietly, afraid of overstepping my boundaries. I didn't know this man; his death only added more evidence to my cause. But for this Breton secretary…he was her recently deceased husband, and it was obvious she was still mourning his loss. "Someone didn't want him getting too close."

"I don't know if I should get involved with your plans," she hisses guardedly, eyes flicking around nervously. "I've been careful, but I'm too close because of my husband. If there's someone really directing the Forsworn within the city, I'm sure they've been watching me ever since my husband died. Your methods seem too loud and brash, I can't risk getting caught."

I clench my jaw angrily, genuinely hurt by her inference. Cursing Vorstag for the hundredth time this day, I force myself to appeal to her. "This hasn't been my best week, I'll admit." I say carefully giving her a genuine half smile. "But I want to help you. We're alone in this city—no one else has the guts to say what we're thinking or do what we're trying to do. Let me help you with your investigation."

She bites her lip, eyes locked onto mine. He hand rests thoughtfully on her stomach and for a long moment she says nothing. I'm about to plead some more when she finally nods her head.

"Ok." She breathes, closing her eyes. "But I can't work directly by your side. Rent room number five at the inn—no one ever rents that one because it's right by the crapper—and then go to the Warrens to search for evidence. A little later I'll meet you in the room and we can talk about our theory more." She pulls the hood back around her face and edges out of the alcove, back into the alley. "Wait several minutes after I leave before you depart. I will see you this afternoon."

"Hold on," I protest, reaching for her frail arm. "What if something happens and you can't meet me. I need to know your name."

She looks at my hand, which I quickly drop, and hesitantly raises her eyes to mine.

"My name is Rhiada. My husband was Eltrys."

XXX

I pat the papers in my pocket, paranoid they might disappear. Retrieving them from Weylin's room had been easy, but getting into the room not so much. Fortunately, I was able to appeal to the key master's better nature after fumbling over my words like an idiot. Something was wrong with me. I couldn't speak as clearly or persuade anyone. If I wanted to survive through all this, I needed to straighten myself out and stop worrying about my personal life.

I walk briskly towards the inn, trying my best to act natural while this new information is circulating through my mind. I mentally review the note:

Weylin,

You've been chosen to strike fear in the heart of the Nords. Go to the market tomorrow. You will know what to do.

-N

N. Who was this N? Though the information wasn't as incriminating as I hoped, it did prove that Weylin hadn't been acting on his own accord. The Forsworn, this N, defiantly had a foothold in the city. And if this N could be connected to the Silver-Bloods…

Perhaps Rhiada would know who this N was. If I could discover his or her identity, it would be enough to provoke the jarl to do something about the Forsworn problem.

"Hey!"

Against my better judgement, I halt my brisk walk and turn to the scratchy, angry voice. A dark, grizzled Breton in leather armor stands behind me, abnormally burly for our kind and with a red khokhol. He flexes his arms aggressively and stomps over, a hungry smile on his face.

"You've been digging around where you don't belong." He growls menacingly. "It's time you learned a lesson."

"I think you have me mistaken for someone else." I say in a low voice, hand resting on my sword. A few of the other citizens stop what they're doing, looking over at our impending fight. I glance at them nervously, worried about drawing attention to myself. Rhiada was right. I wasn't very good at keeping a low profile.

"No, I know exactly who you are. And I've got my orders." He rumbles, cracking his knuckles for dramatic affect. "And don't think I'll hold back because you're a girl."

"I'm not a girl." I reply venomously, finger tapping my sword. "And, quite frankly, I'd be offended if you did."

The Breton laughs, a feral sound, and he swings one of his meaty fists at me. I easily jump to the side, more concerned with the fact his boss—whoever he or she might be—was onto my investigation than the threat of being beaten to a bloody pulp. But the Forsworn couldn't have known I was investigating them yet, could they? I guess I'd been yelling about it back in the keep, but still. This was too fast. Something else, someone else, was involved here.

My thoughts turn to the Silver-Bloods.

He spins around, attempting to slug me in the gut, but I fortunately block it with my forearm. The force of the blow sends me staggering back, but I'm unharmed. He angrily shakes his bare hand, now full of split knuckles after connecting with my gauntlet, and charges at me with an angry bellow.

I almost bring up my wards; my hands are itching to use magicka or at least draw my sword, but one look from the nearby guard tells me that would be a bad idea. It wasn't a crime to brawl, but once weapons were pulled the guard was sure to get involved. Grinding my teeth, I wonder how I'll get out of this one. I flash the brute a nervous smile and take off.

He yells, pounding after me. I run up the steep stairs, slick from the sawmill's spray, and, panicking, choose left over right. Bounding through waterfall's forge and nearly toppling the orc smith, I slip on the wet cobbles and fall hard to the ground.

Before I can push myself up, my body lifts from the cobbles as I'm grabbed by the back of my armor. The Breton bully, with a lively laugh, slams me head first into one of the wooden posts. I grunt as I feel the force break my skin, blunt, heavy pain at first that quickly manifests into a throbbing heat.

"Dammit." I spit dizzily, mouth and nose running with blood. He drops me to ground, laughing like a predator toying with his meal, when a loud clang erupts by his skull and he crashes to the ground.

As he falls to his knees, holding his bleeding, sore head, I see the orc blacksmith behind him, holding a large metal crowbar and baring her crooked, yellowed teeth.

"No fighting in my shop!" she seethes, voice throaty and authoritative. Her black eyes flash to me. "You." She points the crowbar in my direction, causing me to flinch. "This ass bothering you?"

"Yes." I manage, wiping the slobbery gore from my bruising face.

"No shame in kicking him while he's down." She growls whacking the bar on his back as he tries to push himself up. "He'll think twice about bullying women."

I give her a sloppy smile and push myself up. Baring my teeth, I kick him in the side and drag him over towards the waterfall's trough. His protesting moans are silenced as I shove his head under.

As he splutters for air I pull his head up by the obnoxious stripe of hair, now floppy and wet, and demand, "Who sent you!?"

"Bitch!" he spews, trying to throw me off him. Without an ounce of shame, I slug him in his wounded skull and shove his spinning head back under water.

"That was me asking nicely. Now I'm mad." I growl in his ear after I pull him back up. "Who sent you?"

"Nepos!" he wheezes, clawing his hands on the slimy stone, trying to push his head away from the rushing water. "I was sent by Nepos the Nose."

Nepos the Nose.

N.

I run the name through my head. The moniker isn't familiar. "Who is this Nepos? Where can I find him?"

"He's just the old man who hands out the orders." The waterlogged Breton insists. "He told me to make sure you didn't get in the way. That's all I know, I swear!"

"I believe you." I say sweetly. I feel more blood from my nose trickle into my mouth. "But you still broke my face. I don't want to ever see you again." I shove him from the blacksmith's forge and into the spillway below.

He flounders dizzily in the low water, cursing and swearing to kill me, but I'm already on my way back to the inn. With a bloody nose and more information.

XXX

Quickly healing my throbbing face and wiping away the last of the blood smears, I quietly head into the inn and make for the back room Rhiada instructed me to rent. I'm surprised to find it locked for I had left it open for Rhiada to get inside. Figuring she was there and locked the door behind her, I slide the key into the lock and make my way inside, pulling out the papers and ready to tell her the rewards of my misadventure.

No one is inside.

Uneasily, I stuff the papers back into my side pocket and slip into the dark room. My hand lingers on the door, unsure if I should shut it or leave it open in case I need a quick escape. I spot a folded paper on the stone bed. I choose the former.

I approach the note, carefully eyeing my surroundings in case there is someone else in the room, and pick it up. I unfold it and read the brief, but clearly written, note.

I cannot do this, I am sorry. They are onto me. Please, follow your lead without me. I will do all I can from my current position, but it is best if we did not meet again.

Though it remains unsigned, I know it's from Rhiada. Cursing under my breath, I bring a small flame into the palm of my hand and burn her letter. I should've expected this would happen, especially after my nearly being killed this morning. Anxiously, I wonder if she met similar trouble. It was not a good sign she was this worried about the Silver-Bloods.

Feeling suddenly alone and exposed in the dim room, I retreat and lock it behind me. If someone really was onto Rhiada, this Nepos person that had his thug attack me—

Nepos. I clench my jaw at the name, the old man with the power behind the Forsworn. How had he infiltrated the city? Was he really working for the Silver-Bloods, or did he control them? Either way, he knew I was investigating them and probably had more agents monitoring me now. I exhale a long, frustrated breath through my nose.

Fine. If he was so interested in me, then maybe it was time for us to get acquainted.

I head out of the drafty hall, and back into the musky, now lively lobby, determined to find this Nepos. I'm sure someone in the city knows about him. Perhaps I could harass barkeep again or one of the midday drunks. Kleppr narrows his eyes, glaring at me. Or maybe not.

I head for the tavern door, thinking it best to get the gossip from the marketplace, when the handle suddenly pulls away from my hand.

Standing on the other side, bedraggled, downcast face suddenly looking as if it has seen a ghost, is Vorstag.