[Aqua-chan]

If Feldrelo Sadri had ordered that the operation of liberating two faceless prisoners from an Imperial transport ship be done stealthily, one wouldn’t be able to tell by the way events unfolded that night.

Sugar Lips Habasi was there, directing her subordinates carefully as she was likely the only one who fully understood the gravity of the task at hand. Only two of the other five thieves were of her own troupe, the Bosmer scout Agridle and her closest cohort, Aria. She knew of their competence and how well they followed directions, but the other three would get in the way, Habasi thought. She’d asked Big Helende for her three best underlings, but unfortunately Helende’s scouts were so infatuated with their own skills that they’d easily lose sight of what was important. The Argonian seemed able and focused enough, but he was heavily outbalanced by the moronic Breton monk and self righteous Redguard that accompanied him. It would be a difficult thing to sneak past the guards with these clumsy idiots on her tail, and even harder still because Sugar Lips had no idea what she was looking for on the boat.

The excellent thing about Seyda Neen was that it was one of the heaviest seaports in the region. Ships always docked there, making a jungle of wood and dark corners for a careful sneak to hide in. Sugar Lips herself was lurking on the mast of the closest ship next to the newly docked Imperialists, unseen because of elevation. She knew exactly where Agridle and Aria were because they knew to signal her, but Helende’s stupid thieves were entirely lost in the dark and their motions unknown to the master thief. Stupid, stupid idiots.

The Khajiit and her underlings waited in the veil of night patiently, hoping for an opportunity to move and praying their counterparts didn’t make any bad choices. It could have been an hour before the majority of the guards on deck had retreated to the inn for the night in favor of a warm bed over their usual hammocks in the ship. In immediate view there were only two left on board, but there were likely many more within the structure.

Finally, Habasi decided the coast wasn’t going to get much clearer and gave a distinct hand signal off to Agridle, who followed up with the I understand gesture and left his spot from under the thicket of the lighthouse lawn. The scout moved ahead, bow set but not drawn, and merged with the shadows to begin the overtaking of the ship. Not long after that did the trouble start.

The door to Aurelle’s Tradehouse opened, shining beams of light from within out into the dark. A soldier came out, dressed in his uniform minus the armor, rambling something off to his companions on board the ship. Habasi heard his words clearly despite the distance separating them.

“Keep on your guard,” the soldier said, unknown to the thieves to be the Captain of the crew, “The locals say that there’ve been spies here for days, and they just disappeared from sight right before we came in.”

So, the locals had been their downfall, Sugar Lips mused. Four days of stakeouts and preparing all in vain because a few gossiping commoners couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Of course, there was still the worry for the scout Agridle - the Bosmer was quick and efficient, so he could have been anywhere on the ship by now. If he was within the levels then he’d have one hell of a time getting out.

Now, the Khajiit had the damnedest time trying to figure out why the Breton monk she was “borrowing” felt the need to make his presence known right then, and more importantly, why he felt that he had to attack the ship hands to get them to see him. Whatever was running through his head the green robed twit had jumped from his hiding place - he had chosen the concealed stern of the vessel to be his look out - and with an unnatural speed for a mortal, pulled himself on deck and rushed the nearest guard. Fists flailing maniacally and expertly through the air, the monk had, if nothing else, drawn all attention towards himself.

Sugar Lips looked down to Aria, still crouched in the untamed swamp grass, and delivered the same signal that she had previously given to Agridle. The female Breton, much wiser than her predecessor, took a swig of a prepared Invisibility potion and was gone a moment later.

The monk, Orsels Something-Or-Other, had maybe a minute to live at best. Two steel Imperialist blades stabbed and slashed at his unarmored body, slicing his pale flesh and gutting him slowly with each strike. The fool had tied the rope around his own neck, and though Habasi was no heartless master, she had no intention of helping him. The importance of their mission greatly outweighed the value of a single life, and if his last minutes could serve their purpose Habasi would use it to her advantage.

Meanwhile, Agridle was having a difficult time with just remaining unseen. He’d managed to slip past the guards down to the first level of the ship, but there was nothing to be seen there. There were three guards who had been chatting idly, but when shouts of battle and pain emitted above deck they were quick to get up and see what was going on. How they ran right past Agridle and not notice him being pressed against the wall was a wonder.

With the level suddenly cleared Agridle headed to the trap door on the other side of the room. He tried it and found it was locked. Luckily, the wood elf was nimble with the picks and probes that he always carried in his belt. His dark fingers shook slightly from the nervousness and adrenaline, not to mention fear of what kind of battle was going on above, but the silvery pick managed to trick the lock and the door was opened.

The stench that wafted up from the lowest breaches of the ship was agonizing, and nothing like anything Agridle could have ever braced himself for. Rotting food, human waste, and the smell of many who haven’t showered in weeks combined to create a force that would deter anyone from going down there, but Agridle knew his mission.

Twenty to thirty men and a few women were shackled down, hope lost from their faces until they’d seen the Bosmer approach. He had to put a cloth to his face to fight the smell and swallow hard to fight the frustration. Two prisoners had to be liberated, but which two?

“I don’t suppose any of you are named Nerevar?” he asked sarcastically, but almost every prisoner shouted out that they were. They were desperate for escape and willing to say anything he wanted to hear, he realized, and that would make things much more difficult.

“Listen up and shut yer mouths!” he ordered darkly, “I’m looking for somebody born under a certain sign. Starting here, and hurry up!”

The first man had been born under the Lord, and the next two under the Steed. The first woman was marked with the Tower constellation, and for a long time it went like that until Agridle came to a Nordic man.

“Come on, come on! I haven’t got much time!” the scout snapped when the man hesitated.

“The Ritual,” he stated simply, and Agridle’s heart jumped.

“Are you with anyone?”

“My brother. I will not leave without him,” said the man firmly, holding loyalty over his own freedom.

“Where is he?” Agridle followed the Nord’s pointing finger to the other side of the cabin. The family resemblance was uncanny in the younger man, and now there wasn’t a doubt in the wood elf’s mind. “I’m busting you both out of here.”

The shackles were simplistic in nature and only took a second to break. With one Nordic man freed and the other soon to follow, the scout felt obligated to know their names.

“I’m Irviin. My older brother is Reykiln. Why are you releasing us?”

“Because we need you for something,” was the curt reply before a thunder like clash from above caused everyone to pause momentarily. “Ah, yes. There’s definitely something going on up there.”

The two Nords were hardly stealth focused, so smuggling them above ship secretly would be impossible, though it seemed that secrecy was no longer a concern by the telling of the scream of death from overhead. “We’ll have to fight our way out. You stay together. I’ll be staying to the shadows and coming at them from behind-”

“Hey!” a voice interrupted Agridle impatiently, “Throw me that lock pick, will you? Help a sister out!” Indeed the speaker was a sister to Agridle. She was a wood elf like he, though much fairer and taller. To a mortal she may have appeared glamorous and agile, but from a Bosmer’s perspective she was hardly something to look at. Accompanied by her was another figure, but the shadows hid the companion’s face entirely.

“I don’t have time!”

“Just leave the pick and go! At least let some of us have a chance at escaping!”

Frustration and loyalty of blood forced him to oblige. He tossed the pick at her and it skidded on the floor, bypassing several people who unsuccessfully tried to reach for it before the Bosmeri woman received it. He knew he wouldn’t be reimbursed for the tool, but for some inane reason he felt that there would be more reward in the simple action than anything else.

“Let’s go,” he said to the unarmed Nord brothers, and they climbed the wooden stairs prepared for combat.