[Aqua-chan]

On deck the battle that had started with one monk and two guards had erupted into an all-out siege between the law and the unlawful. Eight guards, three from the lower levels of the ship and five from the inn, had gathered to help their now-deceased friends defend the vessel. Orsels was long dead, his body kicked off to the side in the chaos. Dwells-In-Thick-Marsh had taken to using an unorthodox weapon for a thief, his spear, and was using a curious stab-and-retreat technique he had learned from years of fighting in the Black Marsh while backstab-happy Alakkar had preyed on every unsuspecting victim possible. Sugar Lips Habasi hadn’t wanted things to end this way, but had taken out her bow and keenest arrows to launch unavoidable attacks from the treetop out of anger: she’d seen how the Captain of the Guard had spotted Aria and had thrust his sword into her side, killing Habasi’s best friend in a blind instant. Gods help the man who was now feeling the Khajiit’s perilous wrath.

Agridle shoved the trap door up with all his might, and even for a small elf the hatch flew back at a frightening speed. Habasi also saw that the local militia guard on the other side of town was starting to collect and rally.

“We have to go!” she shouted to Agridle, not caring if the other two subordinates heard her. She jumped from the tree and landed on the soft ground with a grace only a cat can display and darted north. The swamps were that direction, and no clumsy guards with heavy armor would be able to track them for long in there. Agridle, his wards in tow, followed deftly and together the four disappeared in the thick forests.

Alakkar had played one too many sneaky tricks that night and was eventually killed by angry Imperials. He’d taken out a number of them before his demise, but the only remaining thief, Dwells-In-Thick-Marsh, was still fighting a losing battle. He’d considered fleeing to the north like his allies, but that would attract attention to his comrades. There was one option left, and the marine warrior was perfectly willing to take it. He pushed a guard blocking his path away and b-lined to the stern, headed for the ocean. The plan was interrupted when a woman heaved herself up from the hatch quickly, then turned back to help another.

Things suddenly went awkward for Dwells-In-Thick-Marsh. It was like an obscenely surreal case of déjà vu, but more disturbing. He didn’t know that a mistake had been made, he’d been told it at that moment. By whom? A god? By Nerevar?

By the time the Argonian could connect his musings with reality again both the escapees had gotten on deck and were obviously confused. Both were women of Bosmeri descent, it seemed. The guards were chasing him still, he realized, and they would take no prisoners on this occasion. If the escapees were recaptured they would probably be killed on the spot as well. Dwells-In-Thick-Marsh did the only thing he knew to: he grabbed both women, their slender wrists both fit easily into one of his hands, and brandished his spear carefully in the other. He dragged them to the stern and threw them off the side first, not caring for tact or gentleness at that point. The guards were right behind him when he glanced back, then, making he wouldn’t land on either of the elves, Dwells-In-Thick-Marsh dove gracefully after them.

A few of the Legion guards threw their spears and swords at the three out of fury before realizing they had more trouble on their hands than what would at first be known. From the hatch another prisoner darted through, followed by a few more. Having been unshackled by a lock pick the Bosmer prisoners had left behind nearly all the convicts rushed through the exits of the ship, fleeing and running any which way and trampling those not fast enough. The guards were so occupied with detaining the criminals that they had lost track of the Argonian and his two wards entirely.