I came downstairs ready to break something.
Preferably someone.
My head was pounding, my ribs hurt, and my coin pouch was emptier than a drunk's promises.
And there they were — the girls — already sitting together, whispering like scheming guar.
Cokey was flipping a dagger between her fingers, looking like she was calculating how many ways she could kill a man without standing up.
Maces was frowning over some parchment like it owed her blood.
Dragonfire was eating bread like she planned to stab it afterward.
I stopped, crossed my arms, and grunted loud enough to rattle the mugs.
"Since when did this become a war council?"
Maces didn't even glance up. "Since we started talking about gold."
Cokey shot me a look sharp enough to shave a bear. "We were also discussing how much damage four idiots like us could dish out if we weren't busy punching each other."
Dragonfire grinned, mouth full. "Two dragonknights, one necromancer, one templar. Flame, lightning, healing, smashing. Pretty sure we could level a village by accident."
"Or on purpose," Maces added.
I grunted again. Part pride, part dread. "Don't give me ideas."
Before anyone could suggest burning down the tavern on principle, a voice croaked from the next table.
"This one hears the growl of warriors," said a ragged old Khajiit, grinning with teeth like chipped stones. "This one knows true strength when he smells it."
I squinted at him. "Smells more like wet dog and regret to me."
He chuckled like a bag of broken bones. "This one knows of a place. Hidden. Lost to time. Treasure beyond dreams. But..." He lifted a clawed finger. "It requires four. No more. No less."
Cokey narrowed her eyes. "We're not a team."
Dragonfire shrugged. "We could be. Kinda already are."
"We're not," I snapped.
The Khajiit purred. "Ah, but you are. This one sees it. Two flame-born. One walker of bones. One hammer of light. Fire and storm and steel and death. Together... unstoppable."
Maces cracked her knuckles loud enough to make the barmaid flinch.
I scowled. "Even if we were dumb enough to chase some dusty map, what's the catch, furball?"
"No catch." He smiled, lying like he breathed. "Only a favor. A small one. For later."
Dragonfire muttered, "Bet it involves Daedra."
Cokey muttered back, "Or smuggling moon sugar."
I stared at them, then at the Khajiit, then at the door.
I could leave. Right now. Walk away. Find a simpler life.
Maybe open a bakery. Smash a few customers. Bake bread with my fists.
Instead, I sat down.
The Khajiit's grin widened like a cracked mask.
He slid a greasy, crumpled map onto the table.
Four seals drawn in the corners. Xs marking spots that probably meant "death trap here."
I leaned back, arms crossed. "Say we're stupid enough to bite. Where's the start?"
He tapped the map.
"Deshaan. In the swamp. Under the ruins of a temple forgotten by all but fools and fortune hunters."
Cokey shook her head. "I don't like it."
Maces leaned forward, eyes glinting. "I do."
Dragonfire threw her hands up. "Vote says three against one!"
I grunted. "I'm not voting."
"You sat down," Dragonfire chirped.
"You talked first," Maces added.
"You're louder than all of us combined," Cokey finished, deadpan.
I rubbed my temples. "You're gonna get us killed."
Dragonfire beamed. "It'll be fun!"
Maces cracked her neck. "It'll be profitable."
Cokey smirked. "And it'll be your fault."
I looked at them — my sister, the chaos incarnate Bosmer, and the pretty High Elf death witch — and knew deep in my battered soul:
This was the worst idea we'd had yet.
I grabbed the map, stood up, and growled, "Pack your gear. We leave at dawn."
The Khajiit laughed as we stomped out — a rough, sandpaper sound.
Probably betting how long until we ended up dead.
Good.
Let him.
Some fools chase glory.
Some fools chase gold.
We were about to chase both — armed with fire, steel,
necromancy, and a complete lack of common sense.
And maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what we needed.
