Speaking of kindly highwaymen, I take the iiberty of posting an encounter with one such that first appeared in a now forgotten thread.
We had begun investigating cryptic leads found in a recently acquired journal. One such deciphered missive, seemingly more straightforward than the rest, mentioned an object purportedly located somewhere near the northeast curve of Red Ring Road. As luck would have it, our only official commitment was a tax-warrant run to Roxey Inn. That could be accomplished en route.
So it was. We left the Imperial City on foot without either Wolfgang or Groucho in tow, a rarity for us, and marched straight to the Roxey. Tax collected, we headed east on the Red. Upon reaching the bend in question, very near where I planned to start our search, a Highwayman accosted us. Rather than spouting the usual "Your money or your life." doggerel he grinned broadly and greeted me warmly as Champion, offering assistance. "Well now," thought I, "there's hope for this fellow yet. Maybe he's not wholly committed to a life of crime and will see the error of his ways." I was not on duty and thus not required to bring criminals to justice. I resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt and leave him be.
That was the plan anyway. Vilja saw things differently. Blame it on youth. Blame it on rash impulsiveness. Blame it on whatever. It matters not. What does matter is that no sooner had I bid the khajiit good day than Vilja drew her blade and assaulted him. My first inclination was to join the battle, making fast work of an obviously over-matched adversary. Out came my sword. I closed on the prey. But it just didn't feel right. The man had done me no harm. Vilja had started this. Let her finished it if she could. I sheathed my weapon and resolved to remain a bystander.
Only, this khajiit was not so over-matched as I supposed. Not three double-headed ax strokes later Vilja's blade went sailing through the air to land with a clang on the road some distance away. The cat proceeded to pound the living daylights out of her. She took quite a trouncing, at one point herself being thrown into a nearby boulder. Unable to reclaim her sword (and I was not about to retrieve it) she instead relied on spells to survive, an advantage her foe did not possess.
The tide slowly turned. Little by little Vilja whittled the khajiit down, his health fading while hers, thanks to magical intervention, remained steady if low. The outcome became a forgone conclusion.
Enough was enough. I could not permit so worthy an adversary, who had proven himself the better warrior, to perish. I stepped forward, grabbed Vilja by the shoulders, and gave her a sharp dressing-down. She calmed almost immediately, as did the khajiit. We then parted ways, us leaving the road in search of that mysterious object, he returning to his place of concealment at roadside, an amused and bemused look on his face, there to lick his wounds and hopefully contemplate a return to the straight and narrow.
Our lead, by the way, proved false. If the object was indeed nearby we never found it.
Ah, but those were the days! Life didn't consist of nothing but ending patrols and delivery runs back then.
-Decrepit-