BLADES

The Decapitated Order...



During the Oblivion Crisis, many of the Blades' greatest members were lost. Grandmaster Jauffre was lost due to wounds gained in the Battle Of Bruma, and his best agents, Baurus and Captain Stefan, died in the Imperial City when it was lost to the Daedra. Agent Master Orsnius of Hammerfell was crushed under neath rubble during the assault on Orsinium, and Agent Master Rexxar of Elswery was captured and quatered by dremora just south of the border with Cyrodiil.

To sum things up, not only was the Septim Empire left without a leader, so too were the Blades. The Blades, once the emperor's best agents, now run unorganized, unable to accomplish much on their own. The Elder Council have decided to allow the highest ranking officers of each province to meet in Cloud Ruler Temple to elect a new Grandmaster. Each province is sending one to three agents to this election, which will consist of four candidates.




The first candidate is me, Uther Eldern, Agent Master of High Rock. The second one is Sickle-Tongue, Agent Master of Black Marsh. The third and fourth ones will be filled by a player hopefully, if not, then I will create an npc for each. You can have one of several roles: an agent working for a candidate, a bodyguard, an assassin, or one of the Blades from Cloud Ruler hosting the election.

RULES:
1. Anything obvious that I don't mention here.
2. I don't really have any limits on cursing, gore, or sixuality, just no posts that consist of: I [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] cause she was just soo [censored] [censored].
3. What I saw is law.
4. Try to not have too many one liners, though short entries are fine if they are detailed enough.

CHAR SHEET:

NAME: Uther Eldern
AGE: 26
RACE: Breton
GENDER: Male

CLASS: Spell Breaker
FOCUS: Combat

EQUIPMENT: A set of blades armor and a silver falchion named Weaver.

SHORT BIO: Uther was born to a wealthy family of High Rock, and had no trouble procuring the training needed for a military lifestyle. He joined the Mage's Guild for a short time to learn how to absorb spells without harming himself. He joined the Blades soon after, first as an informant for a skooma gang, but when that went sour with his discovery as an informant, he became a full agent.

Sounds good but will the assasins be assasinating the blades?

NAME: Tymvironr

AGE: 21

RACE: Nord

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Knight

FOCUS: Combat

EQUIPMENT: Standard Blades Armor, minus a helmet, and an Akaviri Dai-Katana.

SHORT BIO: Tymvironr was born to a noble family in Skyrim. About a month after his birth, his parents were assassinated, and Tym was sent to live in Cyrodiil with foster parents. He grew up in Bruma, not knowing of his old life, not knowing until he came of age, when his 'parents' told him. He then went back to Skyrim to become a Knight. After alot of training, Tym deceided to become a Blade, to protect the Emperor of his adopted land. It was his way of paying Cyrodiil back for his living there. Having distinquised himself in the Battle of Bruma, he became one of the top candidates for the job of the new Guildmaster.

OOC: You need to tell exactly what position you are. And yes the assassins will be striking at the blades, more on that later. You can also be a blade trying to murder an unfavorable candidate.

Name: Wrothgar the Cautious
Age: 54
Gender: male
Race: Nord

Skills: heavy armor, blunt weapon, armorer, block, speechcraft, alchemy, hand to hand

General Appearance: strong, tall, muscular. Used to be the cream of Skyrim's fighting force, but his age has taken away some of the fitness; still an able fighter. His skin is worn by the long life of living outdoors, fighting for survival. His body is full of scars, but his face is without them.

Personality: unlike most Nords, Wrothgar is somewhat of a legend among his kin since he marches into battle with his wits collected and calm. Capable of great concentration, he is not fooled easily. Like most warrior races of Tamriel, he considers dying with personal dignity and honor more important than living without them. Feeling fear will shame him, therefore he will go to great efforts to cleanse himself of that shame with even more heroic efforts. Respects equal and stronger warriors than himself, despises cowards, protects the weak (if he has a good reason). Kind to children, respectful to women. Strangely for a Nord, he dislikes strong liquor as it makes his mind clouded. He has had many lovers but has never married and fathered no children (not to his knowledge). He likes to lead men, but only to a certain number; he is not interested in becoming a general.

Clothing: he dresses plainly but warmly. No point in dressing in rags. A brown cloak with a hood to protect him from cold and rain.

Armor: uses a full Dwemer armor with shield, reconstructed and polished by his own hands.

Weapons: a great two-handed silver waraxe on his back, steel longsword on his hip and a glass dagger strapped to his leg.

Miscellaneous: like most warriors, he distrusts magic and those that wield it.

Biography: born to a fierce warrior tribe in Skyrim. When he was a child, his tribe was attacked by a neighbouring tribe. He was one of the few that survived. He fled from Skyrim, came to Cyrodiil, joined the Fighters Guild. While performing a mission, he joined forces with a member of the Blades. After saving that Blades' life he was offered a chance to join the order. Which he did after a few years when he had a quarrel with the Master of the Fighters Guild. After the official Blades training, he returned to Skyrim and joined the regiments there, using a job of a blacksmith as cover. He slowly raised in rank; by the time of the Invasion he was commanding his own platoon. After the Invasion, he was one of the highest surviving officers and therefore the perfect candidate for the Grandmaster Title, although in his heart he dreads the chance of becoming the Grandmaster.

Name: Jorian Hirath
Race: Dunmer
Age: The human equivalent of 28
Gender: Male
Birthsign: The Lady
Class: Stalker (Sneak, Security, Destruction, Blade, Acrobatics, Light Armor, Marksman/Stealth/Agility, Speed)

Short biography:
Jorian was raised in the traditional ashlander ways, and quickly became a skilled hunter. He could kill his prey just as easy with a Bow, Blade or Fireball. One day, however, as he was hunting he came across a few newly liberated Khajiit slaves. He thought they were ordinary lions, who for some reason chose to walk on two legs rather than four, and he did what he does best. When he walked over to their corpses he accidentally stumbled and lost conciousness and woke up in a jailcell. Not realising what he had done, he panicked and one of his cellmates told him to stop. They later became good friends though, and his (Nordic) cellmate updated him on what was going on in the world outside the ashlands. When Jorian was released he wanted to experience what the Nord had told him about, but his recent activites caught the interest of the Dark Brotherhood. Their speaker contacted him and they promised him that he would see the world, on the condition that he did their bidding from time too time. He was intrigued as he had lost the respect of his tribe and had no way to travel. Not realising what the Brotherhood was all about, he accepted and was sent to eliminate a powerful Cyrodiilic politician...

Equipment: Standard Dark Brotherhood armor, although he can easily disguise himself as nearly anything not racial restricted.
Enchanted Glass Bow, enchanted Glass Shortsword.

Special abilities: Has high understanding of the magical school of Destruction. Can make simple potions.

OOC: Alright, let's go ahead and start!

IC:

Uther Eldern spurred on his white horse, Vira, as the shape of Cloud Ruler Temple arose in the east. On his flanks were two more mounted Blades, Julius and Renee. The group had traveled long and hard to reach this place, braving several bands of bandits along the way. Uther's Dai-katana, Renee's Katana, and Julius's bow had drawn many ounces of blood in those battles.

Uther tightened his grip on the reigns, hoping to reach Cloud Ruler by nightfall. This election for a candidate would be long and ardous, but it must end with his victory. At least, that's what his companions had told him. No matter, Uther had a crawling sense of impending danger about him, which increased more so with every gallop.

NAME: Oben Orden
AGE: 39
RACE: Breton
GENDER: Male

CLASS: Spellsword
FOCUS: Combat

EQUIPMENT: Blade equiment

SHORT BIO: Oben was a legioneer of great skill and he soon got into the blades.
After years of training and fighting he was elected Grand Master of Valenwood and due to recent events he came here to become the total grandmaster

OOC: Alright, All Grandmaster spots have been filled!

Myself: High Rock
Jaden: Valenwood
(NPC) Sickle-Tongue: Black Marsh
Peleus: Skyrim

Oben stares out into the distance where he see's a little bit of the temple he asks one of his blades Jorfure to borrow a spy glass for a better view

Uther and his group arrived at the temple in less than an hour, thanks to some wild horse-riding. They ascended up the stairs and into the main hall of the temple, after stabling the horses.

The Temple was filled with agents of all varieties, hailing from all over the empire. The tables were nearly all filled, and the uproar that came from one table was incredible.

Seems some here have a taste for the strong mead... Uther thought to himself, eyeing the table of Nords. After scanning the room, he and his companions found the High Rock table, where faster agents had already gathered.

A few hours afterwords Oben arrives and heads to the almost filled valenwood table

OOC: Please try to bulk up your posts a little bit, aight?

IC:

Uther was filled with dread just by the sight of the argonian candidate, Sickle-Tongue. His scales were dark as night, with splotches of red apearring here and there.His demeanor was dark as his scales, and he tended to always catch Uther's gaze when he scanned the room.

Uther noticed the third candidate, a bosmeri man, and started up to greet him, hoping to make an ally out of at least one of the candidates.

Walking calmly over to the Valenwood table, he held his hand out to the elf-leader, saying "Greetings. I am Uther Eldern, Agent Master of High Rock. I have come to make a friend in this unfamiliar place."

Tymvironr rode his snow white horse to the gates of Cloud Ruler Temple. He was a little late, but not by much. His horse, named White Darkness, neighed softly. Tym patted his nose and lead him over to a post where he could tie him up. Other horses were there, all of fine breeding. The gates slowly opened, and Tymvironr walked up the steps. Blades were guarding the walls, but other than that, there were no others. 'Probably all inside, waiting for the excitement to start.' Tym's blonde wind braids blew in the wind as he walked up the steps, Dai-Katana clanking against his armor with each step. He opened the doors, and everyone inside looked at him, some annoyed, some curious, others amused. "Sorry I'm late, I was held back in Skyrim, some business to attend to." He slowly walked over to a chair near the fire. Just because he was resistant to cold didn't mean he didn't like a good hearth fire. As he settled in, he gave the room a once-over. The other Blades had lost interest in the late Nord, and had resumed what they were doing. A few stood out, a Redguard, a Breton, an Argonian, and another Nord. Tymvironr deceided to strike up a conversation with the other Nord. He stood up and made his way over. "Greetings Brother, i didn't know Skyrim was sending another representative for the position of Grandmaster." Tym smiled, respectful of the elder man. He was taught to respect his elders, especially elder Nords. No doubt he was the more expierienced of the two, and a good ally to make.

Wrothgar was warming his hands after the long journey from the North.
Crossing the mountains has proven more difficult with every passing year. Not that the mountains were any higher or steeper. Nor was the cold any more bitter than before.
It was him. He simply found it harder to perform various feats now when he was no longer the youngest of men.
Maybe I am getting old, he said to himself, irony dripping from his words.

As his nature commanded, he scanned the surroundings with all available senses every so often. You can never be too careful, even in a stronghold such as this. There was only one motto of the goddess called Danger: unpredictability.
Despite the Tsaesci design, this place was simply another meadhall to him. It appeared more than half of the guests were already intoxicated. As usual he had no desire of joining them. Liquior clouds judgement, dulls the senses. The pleasure of it is not worth letting one's guard down.

The hall door opened and a man was allowed inside. He was a Nord. A young buck by the looks of him. A Blades warrior, judging from his armor and katana.
Wrothgar never cared much for the shiny armor pieces the other Blades like to wear. His position has always been covert, pretending to be a blacksmith in the town of Oakwood. He couldn't afford to own a too obvious piece of the uniform. His own huge war axe was propped behind him, leaned against a wall. His armor, a set of a dwemer suit, was wrapped in oiled wolf skin close by. The longsword was on his hip, the glass dagger on his ankle.
Not that he thought he would need them here. He just felt more secure with it.

The young Nord approached and took a seat next to him.
"Greetings, Brother. I didn't know Skyrim was sending another representative for the position of Grandmaster."
For being courteous enough, Wrothgar responded with equal kindness.
"Greetings to you as well, countryman. I have no desire to become the Grandmaster. Nearly to ensure that our leader would be a man of honor and strength as well as of cautiousness and wits. I will support anyone who I deem worthy of such a position."

Name: Adrian Steelhide
Nickname: Adrian the "Glory Hunter"
Race: imperial
Gender: male
Age: 37

Birthsign: warrior
Class: Shadow Blade Captain (Ex Blade)

Class Description: The Shadow Blades are a group of men who left the Order of the Blades to become mercenaries. Their Blade training gives them the military skill to win even the most dangerous of battles.

Skills:blade,block,heavy armour,blunt,athletics and tactics

Focus: Combat

General Appearance:he has the build of a man who tries to be strong, but not too thick. Usually looks like this(minus the glasses lol): http://images.google.com/url?q=http://www.theimagearchitect.com/press_articles/FirstInFashionNov18-07_files/fashion%2Baccessory-glasses2.jpg&usg=AFQjCNFAzK2LKPKsioZZsuTth72_uCnEHw
Hair: (picture)
Height: Around 5"10
Eyes: (picture)

Weapons: an Akaviri katana, looks like this; http://eagleswords.com/library/OrnateDragonLordKatana.jpg
Armour: the Blades armour, but made of ebony and gold
Clothing: a black cloak, a set of black silk clothes for parties and a black tunic with long black pants (he loves black)

Inventory: 1000 gold from their last employer,maps of every major continent (Cyrodill, Morrowind, etc.),food and supplies on their boat

Personality: He loves a good fight and anything that makes him think hard. He loves to plan strategies and ideas to make his job easier, yet more entertaining. He is a arrogant man who believes he and his men are meant for glory.

Bio: After becoming a Blade at the young age of 20, he trained for five years under a blademaster to learn all he could about fighting. He was seen as a young prodigy, but was very arrogant and prideful. After he was promoted to blademaster at the age of 27, he decided to leave the blades and become a hero. He gathered other Blades who felt the same way and left the Cloud Ruler Temple. After he left, he went to Morrowind and learned advanced tactics form the renegade Blades there.
He has been a man for hire for 10 years, and planned to keep doing it until his death. But with the Oblivion crisis over and the spot of Grandmaster open, Adrian wants nothing more than to win this title.

The Shadow Blades: They are thirty well-trained men who would fight to the death for good money. They all may be mercenaries, but still uphold some of the Blade's sense of honour and integrity. They sail around in the "Black Dreugh", a black ship with two claw-like appendages coming out of the sides to ram other ships.


IC: Adrian and his band of ex-blades had finally reached the Sky Ruler Temple, where the leader of theses men was trained for battle. Twenty-nine of them were riding horses, and the last two were driving a two horse carriage with all their equipment stored inside. Adrian himself was already wearing his armor, the ebony and gold glistening in the light. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the cold air that entered his lungs. With a heavy sigh he exhaled, remembering his humble beginnings at this temple. Since then, he has become a warrior for hire, traveling the world to fight for money. The whole time Adrian has been trying to make a name for himself, and now the opening for Grandmaster of the Sky Ruler Temple has appeared. If he succeeds in gaining this position, all of Tamriel will know of his power.

When they reached the stairs of the temple, Adrian decided that only he would go into the temple. The others were instructed to go to Bruma and await his orders. He adjusted his helmet a little before he ascended the stairs, wanting to make himself seem more dignified than he actually was. Once he reached the top of the stairs he was hit with the feeling of nostalgia, thinking of the days he trained in that very same patch of grass. He stood there for a second before moving towards the main door. He burst it open as soon as he reached it and walked inside withou closing the door. "Hello everyone!" he exclaimed, "I have returned to claim the title that is rightfully mine! The title of Grandmaster!"

OOC: Euron Crow's Eye?

(He is a imperial)

He shakes his hand " Hi my name is Oben, i'm agent of Valenwood" He takes a gulp of nordic mead "Gosh this is strong stuff! hey here try this" he hands Uther a strange fruit and Oben goes to the restroom.(i'll try to bulk some more up but this comment i can't go too much into detail)

Tym nodded with a big smile. "Well hopefully I will be able to acquire that support, Brother!" he said, in a joking tone, but meant it. "I aim to become the youngest Guildmaster in the history of the Blades." The conversation was interrupted as a man in custom Blades armor opened the door, proclaiming he would be the one to become Grandmaster. Tym's hand instinctively went to his blade, but drew back. The man didn't seem like that much of a threat, especially with all the other Blades around. "The title of Grandmaster can only be bestowed upon a Blade my friend. You don't appear to be a Blade, judging by your armor." Tym turned back to his conversation with his fellow Nord. "My name is Tymvironr of Windhelm." He completely blew off the interuption the man had made. Tym may be young, but he still knew when to start a fight. This was not one of those places. Out of the corner of his eye, Tym caught the representative from Black Marsh, looking at the newcomer with a sinister look in his eyes. Tym blocked him out by changing position in his chair. Something didn't sit well with Tym about that Argonian.

OOC: I think that Adrian would have been stopped by the sentries, don't you think? They would probably not open the door for a band of unknown warriors.

IC: "Well, hopefully I will be able to acquire that support, Brother!" the younger Nord said. "I aim to become the youngest Grandmaster in the history of the Blades."
Wrothgar smiled but it was only a superficial smile. As he expected, the young buck was a mouthfull. Full of spirit and very often spirits as well.

Suddenly, the door slammed open. The bulk of the sober Blades turned, many with their sword hands of their weapons.
With a calm gesture, Wrothgar reached for the hilt of his longsword. His leg muscles strained and flexed, ready to propel him towards his equipment. There would be no time to put the armor on, but the shield he might need.

"Hello everyone!" he newcomer boasted. "I have returned to claim the title that is rightfully mine! The title of Grandmaster!"

"The title of Grandmaster can only be bestowed upon a Blade, my friend," the younger Nord said to the man. "You don't appear to be a Blade, judging by your armor."

But Wrothgar knew who the arrogant man was.
"Adrian Steelhide," he muttered to himself. "This might get interesting."
And he said to himself: a man of honor can support only one candidate. Let it be someone really special or I'm quitting.

Uther stared in slight shock as the man pushed past him so quickly. He placed the fruit on the table and turned away, just in time to see some lunatic proclaiming himself a candidate. The man, wearing some strange pseudo-form of Uther's own uniform, must have had some kind of mental disorder to just proclaim himself like that.

But I geuss I can't judge everyone right off, eh? Uther stalked over back to his own table. Renee was sitting across from him, and Julius was on his left. Julius leaned over and whispered, "I think we might have five candidates for this position, sir. What are we going to do?"

"I'm not sure Julius, I'm not sure. Either way, though, it is getting late, and soon everyone will be in bed. Find me in my quarters after mid-night, and bring Renee. We need to do some sight-seeing, so to say."

Julius gave an affirmative nod, and returned to his mug. Something didn't sit well with this situation to Uther...

Tymvironr headed off to his room, fairly confident about the competition. He didn't know if he would win, but he would at least try. If he showed promise now, he would come back when he was older, more expierienced, ready to try for the place of Grandmaster once again. From his conversation with the older Nord, he found that his name was Wrothgar the Cautious (the Cautios part he picked up from some of the Blades that knew of him). Tym found his room, and opened the door, finding a nice room. Kindof small room for a Nord, but it would due. He put his traveling bag on a chair, and began to take off his armor. He easily unstrapped the now-familiar currais, and took of the boots, gauntlets, and grieves. He put on some clothes he found in a drawer. As he settled down for the nighht, his last waking thoughts were about the competition...

NAME: Roland Childe
AGE: 41
RACE: Imperial
GENDER: Male

CLASS: Knight

EQUIPMENT: A set of blades armor and Dai-Katana

SHORT BIO: Roland was born to a poor family in the heart of the Imperial City. Life was hard on Roland's family and by the time he was 6 both his father and mother were dead. With no one to care for him, Roland became a ward of the state and was soon shipped to Morrowind as a servant to a garrison commander. Roland's life in Morrowind was difficult but gave him an iron will and sense of duty. When he reached his 18th birthday his service to the Empire was finished, but to Roland it was the only family he had ever known. Roland spent the next few years being transferred from posting to posting, and slowly crawling his way up the hierarchy dominated by nobility. His military career was ended when he insulted a young upstart noble who served under him in Skyrim. The nobles father, a large stock holder in the East Empire Company, pulled every string available to see Roland dishonorably discharged. He was 32 years old and for the first time in his life, he was unemployed. He drifted from odd job to odd job, trying not to stay in one place for too long. A year after his discharge, he received a letter that told him nothing but to travel to Bruma and await further instruction. Upon arrival he was meet by a messenger who told him to travel along an unnamed trail. Roland was amazed to find a fortress at the top of the mountain and no less surprised to discover it was that of the Blades. Upon accepting an invitation to join, Roland once again used every fiber of his body to serve the Empire. He trained night and day, waiting for any challenge to the Emperors rule. That challenge came in the form of fire and death, and he was lucky to escape with his life. During the Oblivion invasion, Roland spent his time aiding Captain Steffan with securing Cloud Temple Rulers defenses. During the Battle of Burma, Roland watched as the men he had fought and lived with for so many years were cut down like grass in the wind. He lost his right eye at the battle and he was lucky that was all that was taken from him. He spent the next few weeks immobilized in Cloud Temple's infirmary. When word reached him of Martin's trip to the Imperial City, Roland sneaked away in the night to make the long trip home. But when he arrived he found his home in ruin. He arrived too late to save Jauffre and Steffan but he was witness to Martins transformation and Dagons demise. The crisis was over, but he still was not allowed to rest. The Blades were leaderless. On his return to Cloud Temple, he was thrust into a position he did not expect. The remaining Blades named him as their Captain, to keep the fortress safe until a new leader could be chosen.

IC: It was a cold night as Roland paced the high walls of Cloud Temple Ruler, his left eye scanning the horizon, his right eye socket laying empty behind a thin white cloth that was wrapped around his head. He had put Cyrus and Fortis on watch, but he was restless and needed to get out of the great hall. For the past two days blades had been returning home from all over the Empire. The great hall had not been this festive in years, though the weight of recent affairs hung over them all still. The Blades sat leaderless and useless. The Elder Council had tried to elect a new Grandmaster, a spineless fool from High Rock who sat in the Councils pocket, but the Blades would not accept him or the Councils wish to control them. They served the Empire and answered only to the Emperor, without one they answered to no one. So a call went out, calling members back to their home, to decide for themselves who should be their leader. The outcome did not surprise him, the candidates did.

"What are your orders, Captain" Roland looked back behind him, and the warm face of Caroline looked back at him.
"Keep the watch and make sure no unwelcome guests are wandering around in the night. There is important work to be done in the next few days and I would rather not have any surprises." Although the treat of the Dagon's deadric army was long gone, member of the Mythic Dawn still lurked in the dark corners of Nirn. Once a Grandmaster had been chosen, they would be hunted down but for now there was more important things to be done.
"If you need me I shall be inside keeping our guests company."
"Yes Captain."

He walked from table to table, greeting everyone but watching them closely. There were a lot of people coming arriving and it would be easy for an uninvited guest to crash the party. He introduced himself to all the candidates, he was after all going to serve one of them by the end of the week. He sized them all up as he talked to them and the only one he watched with a careful eye was the Argonian Sickle-Tongue. Something did not sit right about him. After the introductions were made he retired to a corner of the hall, watching the party unfold. There were smiles on the faces of his brothers and sisters, this pleased him. He was afraid that recent events had hardened them all, turned their hearts as cold as his. To see them enjoying themselves showed him that the Blades would never die as long as one member still lived. As long as the beating heart of the Empire still lived, the Empire would endure. His concentration was broken as the doors of the great hall launched open. He immediately drew his Dai-Katana and launched himself forward.

"I have returned to claim the title that is rightfully mine! The title of Grandmaster!" Roland knew this fool at once. He was once a Blade who had served under him, a traitor to the very name. He betrayed his oath and left to sell his skills to the highest bidder. He had no honor and would never bear the title of Grandmaster while Roland still drew breath. Behind Adrian stood his 20 men who acted like they had strolled into a common tavern.

"What do you want done Captain?"
"Tell the traitor he can stay but his men are not allowed to stay on Temple's grounds. I do not care if they freeze outside in the cold, they can not observe the proceedings and are not allowed on these grounds. Also tell our friend to watch what he says."
"Yes Captain." Roland looked back over the room. The Blades sheathed their weapons and were returning to their conversations. They were all still on edge, Roland could see it in their faces and in the way their eyes shifted around the room. They would sleep with one eye open tonight, there was no doubt in Roland's mind. Sleep, there was a thought. The moon was even begining to return to her bed and before long the sun would emerge from over the horizon. The same thought appeared to be crossing the rest of their minds as well. At first a small number of Blades retired but before long the great hall was quite and empty, the silence a comforting friend in the dark as the fire slowly died down. His left eye gazed into the heart of the dieing embers, slowly growing dark as the shadows encroached. The next few days were going to be interesting, to say the least.

"What are your orders Captain?"
"Have a note written up and sent to the candidates that I want to see them in my room an hour after first light. Also relieve the current guard and assign Ferrum, Pelagiuis and Jena to duty. I am going to turn in, your in command Piner."
"Yes Captain."