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"Let me guess," Ganciele said, leaning back in his chair. "You lost at Nine-holes. Again."
Hrisskar grumbled as he took a sip of greef from his jug. It was late at night as the two sat in the nearly empty bar above Arrille's Tradehouse. Cicadas and whatever other freakish bugs that lived along the Bitter Coast of Vvardenfell droned endlessly outside.
"Some kind of curse, I'm telling you," Hrisskar replied, wiping his mouth with his forearm. "That's the fifth time in a row. I'm almost out of money."
Ganciele laughed as he took a swig of brandy. "I know a surefire way to never lose at Nine-holes. Want to hear it?"
"I'm all ears."
"By not playing in the first place."
Hrisskar rolled his eyes as he took another sip of his drink. "Very funny. You know, I wouldn't do it nearly as much if there were anything interesting to do around here. Or if we were paid more than a handful of septims..."
"What, you don't like being a faithful member of the Imperial Legion?" Ganciele smiled. "Dutifully serving the Emperor by being stationed out here in this dump of a town?"
"The Emperor can go kick a bag of rocks," Hrisskar said. "I never cared about honor or duty or some other milk-drinker ideal. I just liked the idea of having authority. Bossing people around while they could do nothing about it. But if I'd known I'd just wind up here, I never would have gone through with it."
"Then why not just resign?"
Hrisskar sighed. "I don't know where I'd go. And besides..." He glanced out the window and saw, in the distance, a scrawny Wood Elf walking along. "...it's not always boring."
Ganciele looked out the window as well. "Fargoth? I swear, you're the only person I know who's ever even looked his way. You get far too much enjoyment out of tormenting him."
It was Hrisskar's turn to smile. "You wouldn't know because you never speak with him. The way he reacts to it all is just hilarious. And I wouldn't call it tormenting. Just... teasing."
"He went up to Sellus last week and told him you filled his shoes with Guar dung... And that you stole over 100 septims total from him."
Hrisskar chuckled as he recalled the incident. "Well, too bad for him, he didn't have any proof. He should take it as a lesson. Learn to toughen up, ya know? You ask me, I'm doing him a favor."
Ganciele shrugged. Truth be told, he didn't particularly care. He was bored as well. The thought of going somewhere as exotic as Morrowind was certainly intriguing at first, though Seyda Neen had long since failed to live up to his expectations.
"A prisoner's being brought all the way from the Imperial City," said Ganciele, wanting to change the subject. "They're set to arrive in a few days. Or so I've heard."
Hrisskar raised an eyebrow. "Really? What for?"
"No idea. Sococius and Sellus were making an awfully big deal about it, though. Something about direct orders from the Emperor himself. They're going to be released, apparently."
Hrisskar smirked. "They're gonna wish they stayed in the dungeons there. Being in Morrowind is enough of a punishment in itself."
"Didn't you hear me? I said the Emperor himself ordered it. That doesn't just happen every day, you know."
"So what? It's not like it's any of my business."
"But what if it is? Remember the last few times there were strange characters associated with the Emperor? The Eternal Champion? The agent that vanished after the Warp in the West? What if this is something similar?"
"I think you've had a little too much brandy, Ganciele," replied Hrisskar. "You should be focusing on matters relevant to you. Like that missing tax collector."
Ganciele groaned. "You didn't have to remind me of that."
Processus Vitellius, the local tax collector, had gone missing recently. The two were part of a patrol that had been assigned to go and search for him in the surrounding area tomorrow morning. Ganciele wasn't fond of the idea of fending off scribs and mudcrabs in ankle-deep mud.
"Fortunately," smiled Hrisskar, nudging his head towards the window, "I have just the thing to take your mind off of it."
"I'm not going to go harass that little twig of an elf with you."
"Oh, come on, just try it once. You'll see what I mean. It's genuinely the most fun you can have around here. We'll shake him down for some extra coin, too."
"Oh, so that's what this is about," Ganciele sighed, swallowing the final drops from his bottle. "Alright, fine. But on one condition. We make a wager."
"A wager?"
"That's right. Just to make things a little more interesting. And because I know you'll lose."
Hrisskar's eyelid twitched. Just like that, the taunt had been successful.
"You're on," replied Hrisskar, cracking his knuckles. "This'll be a good way to end my unlucky streak. What did you have in mind?"
"We bet on how many gold pieces he has on him. Above 20, you win. Below 20, I win. How does that sound?"
"What?" Hrisskar yelled. "Only a noble would carry more than 20 septims with them. Especially at this time of night! Make it lower. 10!"
"Alright, alright, 10 septims it is. Now, if I win, here's what I want you to do." Ganciele drew his dagger from his waist and threw it onto the table. "My dagger's awfully dull. I want you to sharpen it for me."
Hrisskar blinked as he looked at the weapon. "That's it? You're not going to ask me for money?"
"I don't need any from you. After all, I haven't gambled all of mine away."
Hrisskar's other eyelid twitched. This was already entertaining.
"Very well. In that case, if I win..." Hrisskar pointed down to his boots. The steel plating on them could hardly be seen beneath the veneer of muck and filth. "...I want you to shine these until they sparkle. Deal?"
"Deal."
"Then what are we waiting for?"
As the two made their way down the steps to the bottom floor of the tradehouse, Hrisskar couldn't hold back a smile. Every time he had shaken Fargoth down, the elf had never had fewer than 30 septims on him. He thought that immediately accepting Ganciele's wager would be suspicious, so he had asked to lower the amount as a means to avoid that. He didn't know where the little guy got all of his money from, nor why he always thought to carry so much money with him, especially if it was usually just taken away. But it didn't matter. What did matter was that he had a consistent source of gambling funds.
And that his boots were about to get a nice shining.
***
"H-Hey!" shouted Fargoth. "S-stop that! Let me go!"
As Hrisskar furiously patted the Wood Elf down, Ganciele stood to the side, twirling his dagger in his hand. "This'll be over quick," he said, bringing the blade closer to Fargoth's face. "So long as you keep your voice down."
Fargoth's black eyes were wide with fear, but there was still a twinkle of resolve within them. "I already told you, I don't have any money on me right now!" he said, much more quietly. "I stopped carrying any with me because you kept taking it away from me!"
Hrisskar was certain that the darkness was playing tricks on him. That he just couldn't see it properly. But no matter how many times he laid his hands against Fargoth's body, he couldn't find any sign of a money pouch.
"It's in his shoes!" he eventually said, growing desperate. "I know they are! Take them off!"
Ganciele put his hand on his companion's shoulder. "That's enough, Hrisskar. It seems that I've won our little wager."
Hrisskar threw Ganciele's hand away. "No, not yet!"
Moments later, Fargoth's bare feet were stuck in the wet ground as Hrisskar shook his shoes upside down. To his dismay, not a single coin fell out.
"Stupid elf!" he yelled, throwing the shoes at their owner's head before storming off. "Good for nothing at all!"
Ganciele ran after Hrisskar, leaving Fargoth alone to sniffle and wipe the tears from his eyes as he put his shoes back on.
***
A silt strider cried in the distance.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" said Ganciele.
"You don't have to tag along if you don't want to," replied Hrisskar.
The sun was slowly rising over Vvardenfell. In just a few hours, the two were supposed to meet the rest of their patrol and venture out into the wilderness. But first, Hrisskar wanted to make sure that he obtained what was rightfully his.
"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world," said Ganciele. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that you were an idiot."
"Yeah, yeah. Come on. He's always asleep at this time. Just make sure you're careful."
Just as he thought, the door to Fargoth's house was unlocked. The wooden door pushed inward, creaking ever so slightly. Fargoth was, indeed, asleep in his bed. His pillow was covered with wet stains. Hrisskar didn't notice that, however. He was too focused on rummaging through Fargoth's belongings.
"He's got to be hiding it somewhere here," he whispered. "No way he doesn't." He looked over his shoulder to Ganciele. "You find anything?"
Ganciele shook his head. "Your streak of bad luck just seems to keep going, doesn't it?"
Hrisskar was about to yell at Ganciele to shut up, but he stopped himself just in time. No matter how hard he searched, it looked as if his friend was right.
"He knew I'd do this, didn't he?" Hrisskar said, glaring at the sleeping Wood Elf. "I'd sock him in the head, if I didn't know he'd scream loud enough to wake up everyone in the settlement. He's hiding his stash somewhere else. I know he is!"
Ganciele rolled his eyes. "If you say so. Can we please get out of here now?"
Hrisskar glanced around the house one final time. As a ray of sunlight shone through a window, he noticed a green glimmer radiate from atop a dresser. Going to it, he saw that it came from a small but elegantly made ring. Supposing that it was better than nothing, he swiped it off the dresser, left the house with Ganciele, and closed the front door gently behind him.
"I still don't know where he gets things like this from," said Hrisskar, shoving the ring into his pocket as they crept away. "Were his parents rich or something? I've never seen him do any actual work."
"Who knows," replied Ganciele, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed them. "It is a nice ring, though. Might even have an enchantment on it. Could probably fetch a decent price from the right buyer."
Hrisskar took the ring back out of his pocket, holding it up to the sun. It was indeed a fine ring, a green emerald set atop a silver band, with Daedric letters engraved into it. But as far as he was aware, anything magical was a bad omen. The ring was of no real interest to him, then. But he wasn't at all inclined to return it to its rightful owner. No big deal. After all, he had his own hiding spot, a barrel in the Census and Excise office. Maybe he'd leave it as a little gift for the incoming prisoner. That way, Fargoth would never find his ring. And maybe learn a lesson in the meantime.
"Just so you know, you still have to sharpen my dagger," said Ganciele, twirling the weapon in his hand. "I hope you haven't already forgotten."
Hrisskar let out a deep sigh. He had, in fact, already forgotten