It started, as all disasters do, with necromancers and shouting.

Cokey was mid-loot. Freelance necromancer—not evil, just perpetually annoyed—doing cleanup for the Mages Guild. She'd already blasted three robe-wearing cultists into a smoldering heap and was halfway through checking their pockets when the wall behind her exploded.

Faces charged through it like a battering ram with a bad attitude.

"NECROMANCER SCUM!"

Cokey shrieked and spun, lightning sparking. "Excuse you?!"

"Drop the staff, bone-bender!"

"You drop dead, rock-for-brains!"

Spells flew. An axe clipped her shoulder. One draugr got up and immediately lay back down. They circled each other like wet cats in a sack.

Then—

"LET ME GO YOU ROTTING SACKS OF BONES!"

The voice echoed from deeper in the ruin. Feral. Furious. Female.

Faces stopped cold.

Cokey narrowed her eyes. "One of yours?"

He turned toward the noise, eyes wide. "That's Maces."

Cokey blinked. "Is that a name or a weapon?"

"Both."

Another yell—metal crashing, something breaking, very specific cursing.

Faces grunted. "I'm going in."

Cokey raised a brow. "Alone?"

"You coming or what?"

Before she could answer—

"HAS ANYONE SEEN MY GUAR?!"

A mud-covered Bosmer bolted into the room, bow drawn, one sandal missing, looking entirely unfazed by the chaos.

"He answers to 'Stabby!' He ran off during a bandit chase and I swear if he's chewing on bones again—"

She skidded to a halt, looked at the scorched floor, the glowing elf, the angry orc, and the smoldering corpses.

"…Oh. You're busy."

"Perfect timing," Cokey said dryly. "Want to go save some idiot's sister?"

"I mean, I guess. I was already here."

Faces didn't wait. He ran.

They caught up with him mid-punch. He'd already flattened one skeleton and drop-kicked a second when they reached the altar where Maces was chained—still shouting, still fighting, one foot planted in a necromancer's groin.

"Maces!" he bellowed.

"TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!"

"Untie her!" he snapped. "And don't tell her I was worried."

Cokey zapped the chains loose. The Bosmer handed Maces a spare dagger.

"I don't know who you people are," Maces said, grabbing the loot off her captor's body, "but thanks. Now buy me a drink or get out of my way."

At the tavern, they dropped into chairs like veterans of a war they never signed up for.

Maces helped herself to Faces' drink. Cokey ordered something expensive. The Bosmer stole bread from another table. Faces was still bleeding.

They stared at the pile of loot they'd unintentionally earned.

"So…" Faces asked. "How're we splitting this?"

Cokey sipped her wine. "Who says I'm splitting anything?"

The Bosmer shrugged. "I'm just glad my guar's outside and not chewing on corpses."

Maces picked up a gem and grinned. "This one's mine. I bit the guy for it."

Before another argument could break out, the bar

keep looked up, looking very tired.

"Uh… right. So… what was it you were ordering again?"