[Josee Leach]

Continue on from here folks.

Approved by Rex

[herrade]

Fara, fort Hraggstad

Fara felt relieved when Lyrial started throwing her weight around in the same direction, even if it seemed like Brogan was about to try incinerating whoever contradicted him. Seems like the bastard is more eager to torch his own troops than the Stormcloaks, maybe because they're not supposed to fight back. Like a door. For a vaunted battlemage, I didn't see much mojo out of him. The edge wizard that Lyrial has dispatched made a more impressive show... Fara relaxed when Brogan finally accepted Lyrial's position, though she was still wary. She didn't know him enough to tell if he was a vindictive sort, but even her limited experience with Legion discipline was enough to know he had plenty of ways to make his displeasure known.

The argument was further stopped by a newcomer, who introduced himself as General Tullius's unofficial errand boy and mayhem sorter. But his intervention did little to endear him to Fara. Disobedient soldiers would have been routed way before getting three quarters of them killed. But the man's rant had her wondering whether keeping officers from the Great War around was such a good idea. Damn, he and Brogan seems to be on the same page, thinking that a good soldier should be able to slit throats while whistling an happy tune and go his merry way afterward with nothing but the satisfaction of a a job well in his hearth. Just like Potema's army of undead and daedras, who blindly followed her lead until complete destruction... Aki's been there but as far as I can tell he isn't like that. Maybe that's an officer thing.

As the man left, Fara couldn't help but make an obscene gesture at his back, though she kept it out of sight from Brogan. I thought we were there to simply clear the place from bandits. What's the point in holding that frigging ruin ? It's sitting in the middle of nowhere, on a poor excuse for a road that's leading from nothing to even less. We'd probably be better off wrecking the thing completely to keep some unwanted guests from sitting in it and call it quit. Wasting a garrison here would makes tonight's bloodbath even more stupid. And give the Stormcloak at neat little packet of Imperials to polish off if they're even halfway skilled at siegecraft....

When Brogan left to chop some wood, she made the same gesture at his back, muttering loud enough for Lyrial and Aki to hear. “Damn moron just leaves to pass his nerves on some piece of wood, just when his magic would have been needed for our wounded. But maybe he's too fond of getting peoples killed to know a thing about healing magic... Let's sort out and patch up our wounded first, then the Stormcloaks. With that cold, the dead aren't in any sort of hurry. And speaking of wounded, I won't be of much good if leave my leg unnatended”

Fara stopped her muttering to take off her right greave and have a look at the wound, revealing a mess of sliced wool and coagulated blood where the javelin had left a nasty cut in her calf.

[Spaceman]

áki

-Fort Hraagstad-

áki slunk away from the main group as soon as the battle dragged itself to a close. He heard Fara and the magess arguing with Borgan, heard some other beaurocrat show up, but he didn't feel like talking, or arguing, or any of those things.

What the [censored] am I doin' here.

He gazed idly down at a dead Stormcloak. In many ways, áki sympathised with them. He was no friend of the Empire and its dogs, that was for sure.

After all, he had seen his friends burn alive beneath the White-Gold tower, seen mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, people with families, die in the streets of the Imperial City. Not their city, not a city of Nords, it wasn't Solitude or Whiterun they died for, but for a foreign power, in a strange, alien city, in a nation a thousand miles away from home.

What angered him most about the Empire, of course, was the arrogance. What gave Imperials, sitting in their gleaming cities far, far away, the right to dictate the lives of men they'd never even see, in a country they may never even visit, with a culture they did not deign to understand?

No, áki had no love for the Empire, but he fought for them all the same, for reasons his own.

He wasn't above looting, of course not, in these times every little helped. But he was too tired, and the pain was too raw now his adrenaline was dying down.

So instead he plodded off away from the main courtyard, finding himself a chunk of rubble to sit on. He felt cold now, shirtless as he was, the sweat and blood across him cooling and drying. But he made no effort to rise.

****************

Farcha

-Whiterun-

Farcha blushed at Aeden's reaction. It wasn't her fault nobody had armour in her size, and it annoyed her to see people react in such a mocking manner to her attempts to fight. Have I not got as much right to fight the dragon as anybody else?

She raised the bow as he commanded, determined to prove him wrong. Perhaps in a poem, or a fair and just world, she would have hit the target. Instead she missed by a wide margin. This was due to several reasons. She lacked the upper body strength to properly pull back the string, and when she did pull it back the pressure on her arm was so much she let it loose without taking time to aim, to relieve the building strain.

A smiling elf approached, saying:

"As a master archer I can give you two tips, my lady, one don't aim for the bulls eye and two. don't listen to any advice Aedan gives you".

This angered Farcha even more. She was in a foul mood, and didn't care to hear silly jokes. She threw the bow down on the ground.

“I have no need for a bow anyway, a bow is not my weapon. My father fought with a spear, so did my grandmother. I want one of those.”

[Brandon Bernardi]

(Approved by Rex)

Aedan... Longstride Manor - Muster Yard...

Aedan watched as Farcha loosed the arrow and it soared past the target. Aedan smiled a little.

"Well, no one was a master marksman on their first shot." he muttered. He looked over and saw Vanion approaching, a large grin on his face.

Oh no. Please not now...

"As a master archer I can give you two tips, my lady, one don't aim for the bulls eye and two, don't listen to any advice Aedan gives you." he said, jokingly.

Aedan gave him a harsh stare, but Farcha's reaction was far more energetic. She cast the bow on the ground.

"I have no need for a bow anyway, a bow is not my weapon." she declared "My father fought with a spear, so did my grandmother. I want one of those."

Aedan's face contorted into a mixed expression of anger and thought. He looked over at Vanion, before changing his expression to a smile.

"Farcha, this here is Vanion, who serves as Ned's Housecarl. Further, he's been so kind as to allow our Argonian friend, Only-He-Cleans, to share his room with him. And I'm also certain that Vanion will probably want to see Ned round about now." he grinned. The look on Vanion's face was priceless, and he ran off screaming "My lord! Something terrible has happened!"

He kept his happy facade for a few moments longer, before rounding on Farcha. "And my father and his father before him, and all the men of my line have wielded Sunstrike, but you don't see me swinging a greatsword." He managed to keep his voice calm, not wishing to escalate the situation. "When the dragon does appear, what do you intend to do with that spear, hmm? Will you hunker down behind it and try to stab up at it? This thing isn't stupid, not from all the accounts we've heard. This thing can fly Farcha. It's not going to want to skewer itself on a spear, so what will you do? I don't think you have the strength to throw one."

She looked livid now, and Aedan sighed heavily as he sat down on a nearby stump. He looked down at the ground for a moment.

"I don't want to be a cold, hard bastard you know." he said, his voice softening "But if that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I will do it." He looked up and met her gaze, those brown eyes staring back at him.

"I've really stuck my neck out for you on this one Farcha; letting you fight. If something happened to..." He found he couldn't even say the words and he slammed his fist on the stump "I cannot let that happen! I will not!"

He rose to his full height. "I've been responsible for one woman's death. I'll not be responsible for another." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Here's what I propose. For now, pick up that bow, and keep trying. You can't expect to be an expert on your first shot. And later - assuming we survive - then I will teach you what I know about spear craft, does that sound fair?" He smiled "Please?"

[Tiff Clark]

Vanion Greenleaf, Whiterun, Whiterun Hold

Vanion stood still as a statue, a look of pure horror on his face. He slightly quivered, "You said what?"
He suddenly turned around and sped off towards the battlements, he cried out "My lord! Something terrible has happened!"

Ned turned around, a confused look on his face. Vanion looked about, making sure that lizard wasn't still about.

"My lord, the world is ending, where all in danger."

Ned just looked at him, "A argonian has been in my room, in the household, in the city, in the hold, in the..."

"Vanion!" said Ned putting a hand up, "Enough, I have some explaining to do"

[Austin Suggs]

LYRIAL

-Fort Hraggstad-

Lyrial subsided as the argument was ended, although the slight clench in her jaw and glint in her eye suggested she was far from surrendering her own opinions.
She did sigh and let her shoulders sag as Brogan left, however, wincing slightly as she did so. She nodded to Fara, a girl she was already viewing as a much more valuable asset than Brogan.
"I'll help see to the wounded," she said, before nodding after Aki, "You go and make sure he gets a long tunic or something on, else he'll catch his death out here."

Miq'a, meanwhile, had begun moving amongst the downed and dead. From time to time she would bark at a nearby legionnaire, signalling she had found someone still living. Some Stormcloaks she found were already past all hope. These, instead, she breathed in the face of, causing their eyes to roll back and lose all focus, before a swift bite delivered the final mercy. While she was similar to her mistress in many ways, Miq'a was also a long standing servant of the Shadowsong's. And she was no stranger to how these things went.

[Matt Terry]

Fara, fort Hraggstad

Fara used the skinning knife she had used on the Stormcloak chieftain to cut away the fabric, wincing as she removed the bits stuck in the wound. Once done, she rummaged through her pack until she had found both her flask of moonshine and a small waterskin. She also picked up a needle and some thread she had packed for that sort of situations. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Fara first cleaned the wound, then poured some of the moonshine. She finished up by sewing the wound shut, before wrapping a piece of cloth and putting back the greave. A few careful steps told her the needlework should hold, even if each step sent a small spike of pain. Not longer needed them she stored back what she had used into her pack.

Now that she was able to walk without endangering her leg, Fara started her work. Looking around she spotted Aki sitting on some ruble, looking fairly beat up. Remembering Lyrial's suggestion, she moved to her last kill. With Aki having rolled the man away from her, she was able to pull out his cloak. It was a fairly hefty affair, almost a whole bearskin with the head still attached to be used as a hood or helmet decoration.

She walked to he old man, dropping the armful of fur in his lap “Hey take that. I know you nords are fairly resistant to cold, but you're going to catch something if you stay like that. And if the cloak isn't enough, just get your backside closer to whatever it was that's burning along the west wall;” She pointed at the smithy, turned into a raging pyre by the fire arrows Brogan had opened the attack with. “But I've got to leave, there's enough wounded over here to keep me busy until dawn.”

With a resigned sigh, she returned to the grisly business of sorting out the wounded and providing what care she could. With Lyrial's magic to repair the worst damage, she focused her care on the men with wounds that weren't life-threatening but prevented them from helping. Cleaning and sewing bad cuts, splinting sprained articulations and similar tasks. A job that ended too soon for her peace of mind, at least as far as the Legion was concerned. Once done she turned her attention to the Stormcloaks, though she focused on keeping the men alive and giving their wounds a chance for recovery rather than making them able to move and act. There's uncomfortably more of them alive than us. I'd rather not let them tempted to do something stupid.

[Nuno Castro]

(OOC: Lemme know if I should change this)

Only-He-Cleans - Whiterun

Into his scaled hand went a white horn, and he gripped it, his emerald fingers molding around it. Only-He-Cleans quickly nodded his head and put the horn over his neck as Ned gave him his orders and words of encouragement. The Argonian turned and jogged off, running to the western tower. The white war horn bobbed and impacted against his chest, softened by his fur parka. It was made like all Nord things, a work of rugged beauty and utility. It was fairly large, but lighter than it looked. As he jogged through the scurrying guards, the faint scent of elf entered his nose. The same elf that lived in his room with him. No time to track him down, of course, he had orders to follow. Cleans bounded up the stone stairs until he reached a vantage point where he could almost see the entire western part of Whiterun Hold.

He peered over the ramparts and his eyes surveyed the landscape, scanning the dark tundra for movement, for light. The fields, otherwise populated sparsely by small collections of tall pines, seemed barren. No lights, no movement. The occasional howl of one of Skyrim's fierce wolves reached him from the wilderness, though Cleans judged it may have come from the thick forest in Riverwood's direction. His eyes were instantly drawn to the sudden appearance of a flicker of light. The light seemed distant and small, but it soon grew to a large line, moving along the roads at a quickened pace, weaving and bobbing as it went like one of the electric eels that slithered in the muck in Black Marsh. Torches. It must have been the reinforcements that Ned Longstride spoke of. He swung the white war horn off his body and held it firmly in his hand, ready to blast when he could tell who the group was. It was then that he noticed that moving among those with torches were several, smaller people, huddled together and being herded by the torch-wielders. Refugees. His sharp eyes could just barely make out a pair of red almonds in the face of the one leading the group.

"Must be that 'Irileth' Master Ned spoke about. 'Irileth' does not sound a Nord name", the Argonian muttered to himself.

He placed the horn to his lips best he could, and blew. Two quick but deep bellows came forth.

As they neared the city, they cut through the small farm allotment that was placed just outside of Whiterun, not bothering to stick to the roads. They were in a hurry.

[NAtIVe GOddess]

(Approved by all parties... I think...)

Ned... Whiterun - Plains District...

Ned looked about as the preparations were nearly complete. He looked down at his regal, yet modest attire; he'd have to don his armour before long. He heard a high pitched voice before him, and he grimaced as he turned to the only man - or mer - that he knew the voice could belong to.

"My lord, the world is ending, we're all in danger." Vanion shouted.

Shut up Vanion, shut up. Ned thought angrily, as though the wood elf had only realised the doom that was upon them now. The people are already frightened without you making things worse...


Ned met him with a hard, silent stare.

"An argonian has been in my room," Vanion continued, apparently unaware of Ned's impatience "In the household, in the city, in the hold, in the..."

Vanion... Ned mentally growled, quickly losing his cool.

"Vanion!" he shouted, using his battlefield voice that had never failed him before. "Enough!" When the Bosmer suddenly went silent, Ned sighed to himself, raising a hand. "Enough, I have some explaining to do." And thus, he recounted the events of the following day, of how he had brought Farcha and Cleans into his employment. He of course hid the fact that he had bunked Vanion with Cleans to spite the Bosmer, using the 'not enough room' excuse, which was technically true. Once he was finished, Vanion gave him a slight grin.

"Oh, well. I think your brother might fancy the Reachwoman." he chuckled.

"Yes, your not the first to suggest that. We've all noticed he's got a soft spot for her." Ned said, allowing himself a smile, before suddenly turning stern. "Not a word to Aedan on the matter, you hear me?"

Vanion nodded in reply

"Good. I'd suggest you head to the Bannered Mare. They might need your help." Ned added "But I'm not forcing you to it. Go on." He smiled "Off with you."

For the next hour or so, Ned wandered through Whiterun, making sure everything was ready. He passed Bjorn and Caius a few times, who were likewise commanding troops. Targon was discussing something with Kodlak; he guessed the pair were looking for weak points for the Companions to plug.

Uuuuooooommmmm. Uuuuooooooommmm.

Ned snapped his head at the sound of the warhorn, it's deep solemn tone echoing across the city.

"Cleans..." Ned muttered, making a dash for a gates. As he approached the gatehouse he heard a guard speak to a member of the militia. "Go get the Thane." the old guard said. "Open the gates!"

A few guardsmen pulled the gates open, and there was the clattering of hooves as the reinforcements cantered into the city, some garbed as Hold guards, and others militia. Among them were civilians on foot, covered in soot and looking frightened and weary. Aside from a pair of archers, a strong looking smith, and a mercenary, none of the civilians looked capable of a fight. Ned was concerned with the number of wounded among them. Men were beginning to dismount and attend to the wounded.

"Longstride!" a voice called, and Ned saw Irileth, mounted on a chestnut steed, ride through the crowd and up to him. "I gathered as many as could answer. Around a hundred." Noting Ned's gaze she added "The refugees from Rorikstead. Most of the town stayed behind, but these ones made a run for it."

Targon strode up towards the pair, Irileth dismounting at the Thane's approach.

"One hundred swords to fight, Thane Targon." she said, bowing slightly. "And as many civilians."

Targon gave Ned a telling look. "I think the time has come to don your armour." he said.

"I think you're right." Ned nodded, equally grim.

"Irileth." Targon said as Ned strode back to the manor. "Get the soldiers ready for battle, I'll take these civilians up to the Bannered Mare, then inform the Jarl. Civilians, come with me!"

"Soldiers, with me!" Irileth shouted at the same time. Ned trudged up towards the manor, to make himself ready for battle.

******************

Aedan... Longstride Manor - Muster Yard..

Aedan couldn't help but manage a small smile when Farcha picked the bow back up and took another shot. Again, the shot flew wide. He gave her a reassuring smile and nodded, urging her to continue. She drew forth another arrow, and he could see her straining to hold the arrow back. This time, the arrow fell short and skidded under the target. Aedan could feel her frustration rising. He slowly approached the Reachwoman as she put another arrow to the string.

"If I may." he said, before placing a gentle hand under her bow arm and another one on her other wrist. "You just need to alter your positioning a little." He gently manipulated her limbs until they were in the correct positions, but kept his hands where they were. It occurred to him that she might feel uncomfortable being so close to her, but he was more concerned about her survival at that moment. "Now pull back on the string - that's is - and transfer the weight to your back. You know the phrase 'put your back into it'? That's where it comes from." He took a few steps back and watched as Farcha took aim. It was the longest she'd held an arrow to the string, and he could see her body shaking as the pressure became too much.

This time, the arrow left the bow with a satisfying buzzing sound, and the arrow soared past the target, closer than her previous shots. Aedan smiled to himself.

"Better, much better. Keep at it." He smiled. For the next hour, he watched Farcha practice in her too large armour; most of her shots flying wide - the helmet probably wasn't helping - but some of them hitting the wood around the target, skimming off the top or embedding themselves in wood that held it in place. She was getting better, not bad for a beginner, and he reasoned that she didn't have to be that accurate. So long as she shot in vaguely the same direction as everyone else, she'd do fine.

If something happens to her, it's on your head. Aedan thought. Her life is at stake here, her honour... your honour. You can't afford to loose any of them now.

He smiled sadly to himself. He began to hum the tune he'd been working on the night before as he watched Farcha recovering her arrows.

Ah, what's wrong with you Aedan? Had this been any other girl you'd have said no, regardless of whether honour demanded it. What makes her so special?

An answer to that question lingered in the back of his mind, but he shoved the thought out of the way.

Don't be stupid. You've just met her, you hardly know anything about her. Besides...

"She's too young for you." he muttered, though his mind told him that was a poor defence. He looked up, and hoped what he'd been thinking hadn't shown on his face, or if it had that she hadn't seen it. "That's very good. We'll make an archer out of you yet..."

Uuuuooooommmmm. Uuuuooooooommmm.

It was a sound he'd come to know time and time again. Aedan's hair whipped back and forth in the wind as he turned to the sound of the horns. His hand rested on his sword hilt.

"Stay here." he said, though it sounded more like a question than a command. He made his way down to the gates, passing Ned on the way down.

"What's happening?" Aedan asked his older brother, the taller, broader Ned pausing in his gate.

"Irilieth returned. Refugees and reinforcements." Ned replied. "Do you know who is taking shelter in the cellar?"

"Talen and Haldor are organising it now." Aedan replied. "They'll be down there before the sun sets."

"Good." Ned replied. For a moment there was an awkward tension between them.

"Look..." Aedan began.

"I'll hear none of it." Ned smiled, placing a reassuring hand on Aedan's shoulder. Everything was forgiven. Aedan smiled in return. "I'm going to armour up. You might want to think about doing the same thing." Ned continued as he made his way up the hill towards the manor. Aedan instead went down towards the gates, emerging near the markets. He could see Irileth with the reinforcements in the distance, moving men up onto the wall. Closer to him, in the market, were the refugees. Targon stood there also, speaking loudly to the masses, wearing a silvery briastplate, pauldrons, vambraces and greaves, supplemented by steel scales. His blade was sheathed at his side.

"You will be kept safe here, in the Bannered Mare." Targon said, his voice laced with the authority of man who was used to giving orders and who'd seen many battles. "If any of you have the strength and the skill to fight this dragon, head to the Longstride Manor, the big building with the grey banners. Someone will direct you from there."

Aedan had seen enough, and made his way back to the manor. He would follow Ned's advice, and prepare himself for battle.

[Bek Rideout]

- Nikolai -

Whiterun

Nikolai took a sip from his water skin, wiping soot from his cousin’s cheek with a dirty thumb. He assessed the city with suspicious eyes; he met gazes with a stern looking man that seemed to emanate authority. He inclined his head politely before turning away, trudging up the gentle incline he grunted, his sides ached. Turning to check on his companion he noted he looked much worse off, sporting a decent burn that he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from, bandaged or not. Nikolai adjusted his bow nervously on his back, his eyes darting around to inspect his surroundings. He had never intended on traveling to a large city, especially not one as large as Whiterun. At least the city looked slightly rural; he couldn’t imagine living in Solitude or Windhelm. A little too much stone for his liking. He received a few curious looks, flicking his fringe from his eyes he ignored them. He coughed, his throat feeling scratchy and raw.

The younger Lukka placed a hand on his cousin’s shoulder but Nikolai shrugged it off. He needed to keep a calm mind. He met a few frightened expressions of townsfolk; they were afraid, and Nikolai didn’t blame them. Surely the sooty and injured refugees walking through the centre of the city weren’t an encouraging sight.

Finally they reached a centre where a stern faced, strong jawed, grey maned man addressed the crowed. “You will be kept safe here, in the Bannered Mare." he said in a gravely serious tone "If any of you have the strength and the skill to fight this dragon, head to the Longstride Manor, the big building with the grey banners. Someone will direct you from there."

Lukka looked at his elder cousin, while Nikolai kept a neautral expression, crossing his arms and wrinkling his nose. He had already decided upon hearing - oh yes - he was a good shot and could definitely offer some assistance. Lukka nudged the platinum blonde.

“Hm?” The older turned to face his younger cousin, the boy smiled hopefully at the older, holding his arm out almost nervously

“Look at it Niko, my first real battle wound.” Lukka said quietly, his expression that of needless optimism indicating the large burn on his arm. Nikolai frowned, it needed re-dressing already?

“It’s not something to be proud of.” He sighed in his liquid silver, silken voice. Reaching out with long fingers he began to fix the bandages carefully, so not to cause the younger unnecessary pain. Lukka winced, more from the word than anything else, sometimes he just wished once, just once, that Nikolai could agree with him.

“You’re not going to fight are you Nikki?” He asked, Nikolai sighed, tapping his scarred cheek with his index finger.

“Aye, that I am...” He said flatly. Lukka blinked shaking his head, effectively wrenching his injured arm from the other’s grip.

“But you cant Nik!” He whined, he didn’t want to be left alone with these people. Nikolai put an arm on his shoulder.

“...I’m going to...” He said simply, softly. The ruddy faced boy pouted, Nikolai smiled gently and nodded, releasing him he turned about and began to make his way to the large Longstride Manor, his index and middle finger twitching slightly.

[jessica robson]

Brogan the Tall, Fort Hraagstad, Haafingar

The funeral pyre burned with the heat of Oblivion, smoke rose up into the air. Both legionary and stormcloak were honoured, their bodies placed on the pyre to be consumed by the fires. Brogan stood atop the battlements looking out towards the Sea of Ghosts, he had been in a stressful predicament with his soldiers, it was the last thing he needed. Reinforcements would be at the fort in the morning, but would the Stormcloaks try something during the night. He looked to the east, something wasn't right. The air smelled wrong, a flock of crows were disturbed from their roosts. There was a bellow in the distance, a creature of myth flew out of the forest. The dragon was many leagues from the fort, it roared and unleashed a torrent of flame into the air. Brogan stood firm, the dragon was flying away from the fort. The soldiers started to whisper, or make prayers to the Divines.

"Don't worry men, it's going towards the Reach. We have nothing to fear, but keep a watch nonetheless" he said to them before leaving the wall.

[Samantha Jane Adams]

LYRIAL
-Fort Hraggstad-

The rest of the evening had been spent bandaging and healing the wounded, Imperial and Stormcloak prisoner alike. Lyrial felt drained, despite there having been no real trouble; Miq'a had seen to that, with any uncooperative rebels quickly obeying in the face of a growling spirit-servant in wolf form.
Now she rested on the forts wall, arms draqed over her knees as she looked around the remaining legionnaires and watched the funeral pyre.

And watched as the Dragon rose from the nearby forest. It roared, a sound that seemed to even the earth tremble. For a moment she swore the noise sounded like words, before flame erupted into the air.
The second time, though, there was no mistaking it. Even Miq'a cowered and whined as the words seem to split the sky.

"Ru, Joore! Alduin, In se Lok, Lein ahrk Okaaz, los stin! Ru, faas, draal! Lingrah nahl Alduin!"

Lyrial instinctively clutched the amulets around her neck, words failing her. She remained silent as the dragon flew onwards, towards the Reach, and was still wordless as Brogan left.
"'Don't worry'? That was a DRAGON," she managed under her breath a few moments later, "'Nothing to fear'? That thing looked big enough to...Divines above, we are either led by a suicidal maniac or a brain dead and feckless idiot..."

Miq'a whined quietly, resting her chin on her mistresses knee. Lyrial scratched the spirit servant behind the ear listlessly for a moment, before dragging herself upright.
"We have to get out of here," she muttered. "I signed up to fight rebels and others like them, not get killed by a halfwit. Besides," she added, glancing down at the amulets around her neck again, "Dragons...surely that is an even greater evil than the undead and Daedra. An evil that has to be stopped..."

[Tyler F]

Fara, fort Hraggstad


Fara was on the fort's wall, using a stone of indeterminate purpose as a stool. She felt utterly drained, yet there was too much to to to get a chance for sleep. Between the march toward the fort, the night fight, then the hard task of sorting out the dead, the wounded and their gear, she was awake only through sheer stubornness.

She was watching the forest, her hands moving almost on htier own to polish and sharpen her newfound blade. She had picked a few other things when stripping the dead of their weapons and armor. Dignity demanded they kept their clothes, but the Legion's never ending hunger for weapons and armor meant that whatever was usable was kept aside.

She had a small pile of things liberated for her own use, including greaves and pauldrons of a make she couldn't readily identify. They were made of steel, but of an uncommon quality, strong and light. She had also salvaged bits of mail and metal scales to both repair and improve her own armor. Once applied it would take her armor rather far away from what The Book said it should be light, be she was determined to use every inch of the leeway scouts got for their gear and then some...

Lyrial was nearby, looking at the pyre and looking about as drained as herself, though the battlemage hadn't helped herself amongst the liberated gear. Not surprising, she's nobility. Looting the dead is commoner's attitude. Ransoms, a defeated noble's weapons, armor and horse, that's the only fortunes of war a noble should help himself to. And of course let's not forget taxing the common rabble until they haven't two pennies to rub together. Though she doesn't seem that sort. But I hope those reinforcements are coming soon. The second they're here, I'm going to drink myself into sleep and do my very best to sleep until tomorrow. Preferably not waking up before noon.

That's when her attention was drawn to a flock of crows bolting from the woods. A sight which brought her bow in one hand and the rope in the other, starting to cord it before noticing what she was doing. She was barely done when the cause of the disruption first announced itself with a mighty bellow before showing itself. A dragon, heading southwest, toward the reach. She had only seen the creatures as pictures, but there was no doubt about what she was seeing. Though she was perfectly happy with seeing the creature only from afar. Legends are fine and good, but there's a lot of them that I'm not eager at all to meet. That scaly bastard is amongst them... But I' m afraid that sooner or later we're going to be sent after one. That makes me happy to be an archer rather than having to go toe to claw something as big an house...

She could overhear Lyrial's glum comments and couldn't help but share her feelings. Though there was at least a thin shred of a silver lining in that dark cloud, one she voiced to Lyrial. “Try to look at the bright side of it. If we get sent after one of those overgrown lizards and you present it as glorious and Legion-like, Brogan may use himself to bait the bastard. Best case it'll choke on him or get a lethal heartburn. Even if that doesn't works and the the dragon finds him a tasty delicacy, we'll no longer be saddled with the moron.”

[Queen Bitch]

Aerys Borne… Solitude –Outer Fortifications…

Aerys’s steed barrelled down the road, Solitude quickly growing as he approached the mighty stone city. In the darkness of night the city glowed with the light of fires, flickering within the night. The city came closer, and soon his horse was galloping between two rows of torches that illuminated the cobblestone road up to the outer gates. A pair of city guards stood under the outer gate, and made the motion to halt him. Aerys reined his steed to a halt. Herod, rather than slowly coming to stop, began to trot proudly, before rising up and flailing his forelimbs, bellowing loudly, before bringing his hooves down on the stone and snorting.

“Stop that you idiot.” Aerys barked to his steed. “You’ll start thinking you’re a warhorse next.”

“That’s a rather showy steed you have there.” one of the gate guards noted, a youthful lad.

“Him? He’s nothing but a foul tempered brute. Matches me.” Aerys replied, his tone astringent. “Aerys Borne.”

“Ah yes.” the gate guard nodded “Tullius’s lap dog.”

“You watch your tongue boy.” Aerys warned “I may not be able to command legion troops at will but Hold guards are a whole other matter.”

“He meant no offence.” an older guard said, stepping in. “He’s young. Of course, you may enter, Aerys. Tullius has awaited your arrival. Come with me.”

Aerys nudged his steed and followed after the older guard, giving his younger companion a hard stare as he did. As he passed under the outer gates he saw for the first time the rows of tents, belonging to at least two centuries of legion soldiers.

Typical Tullius. Doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight. He’ll probably want me gone first thing in the morning.

The old guard led him to what could only be the commanding officer’s tent. Aerys dismounted and strode into the tent. A man in heavy legion armour stood there. He was Imperial, his hair silvery and short, with a beard to match. He looked old, yet still strong and spry.

Another vet. This one’s seen a lot of action.

“Ah yes. Aerys, good to see you’ve returned.” the venerable man said when Aerys entered the tent. “Tullius informed me that you’d be coming. Centurion Maximus. Friends call me Max.”

“Am I your friend then?” Aerys replied, his tone bitter “Alright then Max. What else did Tullius tell you?”

“He told us to make camp out here. We have 250 soldiers – one hundred to garrison Hraggstad, another hundred and fifty to reinforce this Brogan’s company.” Maximus reported.

“And how many will be escorting the prisoners?” Aerys asked, though it didn’t sound like a question.

“Prisoners?” Maximus asked.

“Brogan had a change of heart, albeit after a few of his troops nearly cracked a hissy-fit.” Aerys said, frowning in disapproval. “Don’t blame them. I saw less then twenty men able to stand.”

“What? You mean he’s already taken the fortress?” Maximus asked “I heard the rumour, but…” Then he paused as realisation hit him. “Out of a century he has how many men?”

“Less then twenty who can still fight, last I knew.” Aerys replied. Maximus looked taken aback, before calling to a legionnaire out side the tent.

“How much have you heard?” he asked the legionnaire.

“Everything, Centurion.” he nodded.

“Send word to Tullius. Report back with his response.” he said.

“Yes sir.” the legionnaire replied, looking slightly confused at the urgency in Max’s voice. Once the messenger was gone, Maximus leant on the table.

“This is bad.” he said.

“How diligent of you to notice.” Aerys sneered “Reckless and foolish, even if successful.”

“That’s not what I meant, although compared to what I’ve heard of Brogan’s prior career, this attack was a child’s finger painting.” Maximus replied. “We think we found the location of a major Stormcloak outpost in Haafingar. If word reaches them of the weakened forces…”

Aerys nodded. “One massacre was enough.”

“A century of men are positioned near the camp, just keeping an eye on it. But if the Stormcloaks mobilise, neither they nor Brogan’s men will be able to stop them.” Maximus went on.

Aerys spat on the ground and snorted, shaking his head in disapproval. “My old commander would have a thing or two to say if he knew about…”

The messenger returned with a rolled up parchment in hand, passing it to the Centurion. Maximus read the parchment, his eyes quickly darting from side to side. He looked up at Aerys, a slight quiver in his eyebrow.

“New orders. We’re moving out now.” he stated. He handed the parchment to Aerys, who scanned it over. The news was mixed; he didn’t know whether Tullius had given him a blessing or a curse.

“So much for sleep.” Aerys grimaced.

***************

The sun was barely rising on the horizon as Aerys moved along with the column, sitting astride his ill tempered roan. Maximus’s own century consisted of twenty Imperial lancers, heavily armed and armoured; fifty medium infantry, wearing studded legion armour and wielding blade and shield; twenty archers similarly armoured; five scouts who were even more lightly armoured, and five siege engineers, doubling as mundane healers. The other hundred and fifty soldiers were largely infantry and archers. Each man carried his own gear, and a train of pack mules carried addition supplies. One wagon was laden with supplies, while another few were empty – to take the prisoners back to Solitude.

At first they had travelled along the road, the darkness of night serving as their cover. But then they heard the beast in the night, and even spotted it – a big dragon. From then on, they had travelled through the woods, attempting to remain hidden. The dragon had yet to attack them, but its presence was always known, be it the occasional sighting or simply hearing its call on the wind. Now they could see Fort Hraggstad in the distance. Maximus halted the company well before the broke the tree line. Aerys however moved forward with the cavalry to get a closer look. They still remained hidden, darkness and the trees their ally, but had a decent view of the fortress.

Smoke still rose from the courtyard, and much of the stone looked scorched. A few men moved along the walls. The Imperial banner flew on the battlements.

“Right, no sign of the dragon, and the fort remains in our hands.” a cavalryman said. “I’ll sound the advance.” He rose an imperial trumpet to his lips.

“No! You idiot!” Aerys whispered harshly. “We might not be able to see it, but that dragon is still out there. If we go in, trumpets blearing, chances are we’ll lure that thing right to us.”

“Then what do you suggest?” the cavalrymen replied indignantly. Aerys thought for a moment, revising his former years in the legion. Then he remembered the two scouts he’d seen – the Bosmer and the old Nord. Aerys hoped that one of them would be awake and on the wall. He put his hands on his mouth, and made a series of bird calls. Two low calls, followed by two high. There he waited, hoping that someone would recognise them as friend, rather than foe.

***********************

Ned… Longstride Manor – Armoury…

Ned stood in the armoury of the Longstride Manor, putting on his gear. First went his fur under tunic, then a layer of padding followed by a long hauberk of chainmail. After this he placed his Nordic steel cuirass over his torso and adjusted the straps. He then when about fitting the pauldrons, cuffed boots and Nordic bracers into place. He wrapped his broadsword belt around his waist and tied in place.

“You might want this.” a voice said. Ned turned to see Aedan, holding a sheathed Sunstrike out to him. Aedan himself was also armoured; under his black, sleeveless jerkin he too wore a mail hauberk. Dark, unpolished greaves, vambraces and pauldrons protected his limbs. Around his neck, under his pauldrons but above his jerkin was a mail pixane, basically a small circle of chainmail that protected upper back, shoulders and sternum – akin to a very small poncho. His blade was at his side, bow and quiver at his back, and his black cloak hanging from his shoulders. Ned took Sunstrike carefully from his brother’s grasp, and fit it into place.

“It’s been a long time since I stood next to one of my brothers in battle.” Ned said. He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, Aedan returning the gesture. “I’m glad to have you at my side.”

“The Longstride boys, fighting on the wall together?” Aedan grinned “Dragon doesn’t stand a chance.” Ned grinned with his brother, before pulling him into a fierce, manly hug.

“Come back with that sword sheathed to your back, or laid upon your chest.” Aedan said, before they released the embrace. Ned nodded to his brother.

“Fight well, or die well.” he replied, moving past Aedan and out towards the hall.

“Wait!” Aedan called, and Ned looked back. “If something is to happen to me…” Aedan began, and Ned could tell what his younger brother was going to ask.

“She’ll be safe Aedan.” Ned promised. “My oath on it.”

Aedan nodded, satisfied with that answer, before Ned made his way through the various halls and out of the manor. He made his way towards Dragonsreach, thrusting the doors to the mighty hall open and seeing Thane Targon and Jarl Balgruuf, both clad in heavy armour of scale and plate. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the hills; night was coming. Balgruuf spoke first.

“Are we ready then?” he asked.

“We’ve done all that we can.” Ned nodded.

“Very well. Targon, give the order for the civilians and refugees to go to ground.” Balgruuf commanded.

“Of course.” Targon nodded, making his way out of Dragonsreach.

“Ned, get your men to their stations.” Balgruuf continued. “We have a dragon to fight.”

“Aye, my Jarl.” Ned nodded, following after his father. Ned strode out into the dim light of dusk.

Oh Jon. If only you could see us now.

****************

Aedan Longstride… Longstride Manor – Muster Yard…

Aedan emerged from the manor after speaking to his brother. He felt no more at ease however; his armour only made battle more immanent, the threat more real. He scanned the muster yard. Upon returning from the market, he’d told Farcha to prepare for battle in which ever way she saw fit. So while it didn’t surprise him when she wasn’t in the muster yard, he still felt uneasy. Ned had sworn his oath that she’d not come to any harm, but Aedan was still apprehensive about the whole idea.

He noticed that he’d started to hum the melody he’d come up with the night before. He sighed to himself; he’d probably never finish that song now – he’d still not found a decent way to end it, or a title to go with it. His thoughts were interrupted from a man striding towards the manor.

The stark contrast between his almost silver hair and pale skin compared to his dark and grim attire struck him first. Next was his gear – this was a man of the wilds surely. The out doors had weathered him, and his bow looked brutally efficient. At his waist hung a long handled smith’s hammer. He matched Aedan in height and build, but he looked far more gaunt in the face, and his features more angled. Aedan remembered where he had seen this man; he was among the refugees, and must have wished to join the fight. It looked like it would be Aedan who would be directing him. He looked like a good man in a fight, and knew exactly where he wanted him.

“Hail neighbour!” he said, gesturing for the man to head over to him. Aedan’s face naturally defaulted into the Longstride expression of seriousness as the man approached him. He looked young, too young to be so grim.

Like Farcha… Aedan thought to himself.

“I take it you wish to join the fight then? I am Aedan of Clan Longstride, son of Thane Targon of Whiterun.” Aedan even surprised himself at how lordly he sounded, though he didn’t let this show. “And your name is?”

[Samantha Mitchell]

áKI

-Fort Hraggstad-

He slept fitfully under the bear cloak that Fara had given him, even as the dragon flew overhead he slept. He had been exhausted by the days labours, his age starting to wear on his old joints. He was in pain too, the torture he had endured the night before still fresh, the scars he would keep for what little of his life remained to him.


áki writhed a little. First he dreamt of better times, of the only woman he'd ever loved, of the child he'd never known. He dreamt of the little house in Weye, and the Imperial ale. He dreamt of his companions, Forty-three nords, two Bretons, three Imperials, a Redguard and an Argonian. Then he dreamt of fire, and the reek of his flesh burning.


He slept fitfully, blearily waking from time to time before swiftly drifting back off into his dark sleep. He was essentially dead to the world, unable to hear the noise of the advancing legionaries.


***********************************************

FARCHA

-Whiterun-

Her tummy was beginning to hurt, she felt anxious and out of place. The armour was clammy with her sweat, and heavy on her shoulders, the helmet clinked and clanked whenever she walked. The strap of her quiver dug into her skin, and the bow felt too big in her hands.


She'd waited a short while for Aeden, fruitlessly shooting and missing at the target, becoming more and more frustrated as time when past, angry with herself for failing. When he hadn't returned quickly, she assumed he'd gone off to do something more important, Probably gone to tell his friends about the stupid Reachwoman who thinks herself a warrior.


A pair of warriors rushed passed, a tall slender Nord girl with a spear and a shorter man, bald with a ginger beard. "Oi! Girl!" the woman called, beckoning to Farcha. Awkwardly the Reachwoman pushed her helmet up a little so she could see better and clanked over. "Get yourself and that bow up to the walls, your no use to anybody where you are now!"


Farcha obediently did so, to be honest she was beginning to regret her decision to fight, and was feeling a little sheepish. She hoped that up on the walls the other archers might help her, and the dragon might keep its distance.

[oliver klosoff]

GM post #3
You wake up early in the morning, you go about the fort wandering around or maybe your training, but a series of bird calls grab your attention, you go out to see what it is.

OOC: Okay legion folk its now morning, Brogan post later on today.

[Dewayne Quattlebaum]

Fara, fort Hraggstad

Fara had spent what little was left of the night standing – or rather sitting – watch over the fort's wall. She had 'liberated' a few things more than the bits of armor she planned to use. Mostly a few fur cloaks, using one as a makeshift cushion and the others to wear. Which made her look rather like a small but well-fed bear, but kept her warm, if somewhat clumsy.

Assigning herself to that task made some sense as she wasn't exactly intimidating enough to keep the Stormcloaks prisoners quiet. Even if having them piled up in the fort's prison meant they had little opportunity to cause trouble. It also made her little suited to the task of carrying nearly two hundred corpses to the pyre. Opposing Brogan over the prisoners might have a little something to do with it too... Maybe it's the scout speaking but now that I think of it, how are we supposed to get some news about what the Stormcloaks are doing if we kill any we can get our hands on without even asking a single question ? If I get reamed for not obeying Brogan's order that may keep my bacon out of the pan. Maybe also the fact that expecting recruits who until tonight haven't done anything more violent than the odd tavern brawl or wringing a chicken's neck to be able to butcher the wounded is stupid. I've hunted for years and even mercy killed one idiot who got mauled by a bear, and I'm not completely sure I could do it. Let's not even think of how they would feel afterward. She shuddered at the thought.

While churning those thought into her sleep-fogged mind Fara chewed on some trail rations she had recovered from the Stormcloak's pocket. Dearly regretting that she had no been able to get inside the barracks to find something more edible from the supplies stored there. The mix of ground and dried meat, nuts berries and grain all pressed together might be nourishing, it was about as soft and tasty as an old boot sole after a forced march. It had the merit of keeping her busy but did very little to improve her mood.

Fara was pulled out of her maudling by an odd bird call at the forest's edge. She wasn't familiar with the local fauna but the hour didn't seem right. Even with dawn's light she couldn't see past the forest's edge who was calling, even if she hoped it was the Legion. That's the most likely, the Stormcloaks wouldn't come calling like that. They'd rather rush straight from the woods yelling at the top of their lungs. Our great leader would feel right at home with that lot. But I'd better be safe than sorry...

Raising two fingers to her mouth she issued a shrill whistle, strong enough to be heard over the whole fort and possibly indoors. She pointed the nearest soldier “Get Brogan and everyone up and ready. There's someone coming. Odds are they're Legion, but they're still in the woods and I can't tell for sure who or how many they are."

[FoReVeR_Me_N]

Brogan the Tall, Fort Hraagstad, Haafingar

Brogan was down in the dungeon, the Stormcloak prisoners weren't at all cooperative.

"Where are the others?" he asked, a young man was shaking, unsure what to say or do.

"I don't know" he pleaded, "I don't really know"

Brogan lifted his hand, a spark of fire came forth. The man screamed and started to ramble.

"There... down by the sea. Near Dragonbridge, two hundred of them"

Brogan was satisfied, he turned to see a legionary standing in the door way.

"Sir, the reinforcements are here"

"Fine I'm on my way, oh and make sure this poor sod is feed some extra food for good behaviour"

Brogan left the dungeons, he strode out into the courtyard and made his way to the walls, the bosmer Fara was up there.

"Have the reinforcements arrived?"

Dorlas Wolf-Bane, Wilderness, Whiterun Hold

He paced back and forth, waiting for news. It seemed he had waited for hours, but it was only a couple of minutes. He turned around, his mother was in the hall way.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked.

"I need the truth, mother" he said.

"You need to go, your life is in danger your destiny lies elsewhere in..."

"In Skyrim?"

"Yes" she confirmed, "You must go, a great evil looms on the horizon my son"

Suddenly down the hall there were voices and the marching of footsteps, "The Thalmor!"

"Go my son, before its too late"

Tears streamed down his face, he nodded and left the city.

*****

Dorlas sprang up from his bed roll, he was covered in sweat and he was afraid. He had the nightmare again, it had been plaguing him ever since he left Chorrol. He looked upon the sky, the sun was starting to descend. He got out of the bedroll and went for a walk.

[Roberta Obrien]

(OOC: Used actual Roman Legion ranks here. Approved by Rex)

Aerys Borne… Haafingar – Fort Hraggstad…

For a moment, Aerys and the cavalry waited in silence, watching and waiting. Aerys heard the sounds of a horse, and saw Centurion Maximus lope through the trees toward him, wearing a red plumed cavalry helm along with his heavy armour. Behind him came the remaining legionnaires, moving as quietly as they could – the mules were well behaved, but the wagons had some difficulty.

“In position and preparing to ambush are we?” Maximus asked, a curious look on his face.

“No, but I had to get their attention.” Aerys replied, forgetting that Maximus had been in the Great War and knew what that particular call meant. As the Centurion reined in next to Aerys, a shrill whistle called out to them from the battlements.

“As good a sign as any.” Maximus nodded, turning back to his troops and motioning to move forward. As the infantry and their baggage train began to march forward in a long column, seven men wide, Maximus and Aerys surged forth with the cavalry, the twenty or so horseman breaking the tree line first. They rode across the open terrain between the forest and the fortress at full gallop, moving in a v formation, with Maximus in the middle, Aerys next to him. The riders at the end of each wing held a banner, black with the red legion dragon, snapping in the air. By the time they’d reached halfway the infantry had broken the tree line, and the sound of their disciplined marching could be heard. Maximus raised a hand and the cavalry fell into a column formation behind him, two horses wide, and turned the formation towards the gates. The cavalry pulled into a trot as they rode through the gates and into the courtyard with the clattering of hooves, the chinking of armour and the snorting of horses. Aerys gestured for Maximus to follow him, and they rode over to a young legionnaire, the same one that Aerys had made look after his horse last time he was here.

“You know the drill boy.” Aerys said as he dismounted. “Look after them for us.”

“Yes, of course.” the legionnaire nodded, taking both of their horses as Maximus and Aerys crossed over to Brogan who now stood at the foot of the stairs to the walls.

“Maximus, at your command sir.” the aged warrior began.

“Another veteran. Good to see you still wear the armour.” Brogan commented. “What rank do you hold?”

“Centurion.” Maximus responded “Pilus posterior.” - meaning that he was at the second highest level of seniority that one could achieve within the rank of Centurion. “Forgive me sir, but what should I call you? I’d rather address you by your rank, rather than just ‘battle mage’.”

Ah, a true gentlemen. Aerys thought. I thought all gentlemanly officers retired or died.

“Tribuni augusticlarii.” Brogan replied with a smile.

“A military tribune.” Aerys nodded thoughtfully, though it was clearly a satirical feint. “Not bad.”

“Only four other men out rank me, and four others match me. In Skyrim that is.” Brogan said at Aerys’s snarky remark.

“I feel sorry for those eight men…” Aerys said. As they spoke the infantry began to march through the gate, their boots tramping across the courtyard.

“As I promised; one hundred infantry to hold the fort, fifty to escort the prisoners.” Aerys announced, without any hint of satisfaction “And one hundred other men to command, with the Centurion and I to assist.”

“I have our orders here.” Maximus said, reaching for his belt and drawing forth the rolled up parchment.

“Give it here.” Aerys said bluntly. “I think you’re troops would appreciate hearing their orders from you rather than me.” Even if the offer was generous, Aerys managed to make it sound unappealing. Maximus nodded before heading back to organize the men. He divided them into his own century and the garrison force, leaving the other fifty men in a group of their own. Then, he took the fifty escorting troops with him into the prison, to start loading the prisoners into the wagons – bound for Solitude and judgement.

“Tullius presents two courses of action, your decision will be sent back to him with the prisoners. We have located a large Stormcloak camp in Haafingar, near Dragonbridge. We have a century of men keeping an eye on the camp. Should you so choose, we shall combine our forces with theirs and destroy the camp.” Aerys explained “Last we heard, some two hundred Stormcloaks permanently garrison the camp, though we don’t know how many there are now. Or, you can lead our little force to Morthal, and support the frontier. The choice is yours.”

“How long do I have to make this decision?” Brogan asked, mindful of the prisoners being led out of the dungeon and being herded onto wagons. A few mules snorted and brayed, but otherwise there was an eerie calm.

“Until they’re all accounted for.” Aerys replied “Oh, and one more thing. About your performance here.” Aerys’s expression went very serious. “Let’s just say Tullius was a little disappointed at how you handled the situation and frankly, so am I. He thought that such rash action was beneath a man of your station. That said you took the fortress very quickly, allowing us more time to rebuild the place and to get a garrison going here to guard the road to Solitude. So, he has agreed that you will retain command of your troops.”

Aerys didn’t sound enthused as he said the last part, but his voice did contain a slightly smug aura when he said “However, to ensure such a mistake doesn’t happen again, he’s stationed me to keep an eye on the situation. Consider me to be your evaluator from this point. If I like what I see, we’ll get along just fine. Also, Tullius has given me permission to command the troops to the same extent as a low ranking Centurion. It’s all written here.”

He handed the parchment over to Brogan; he knew that the battlemage would be less than happy that Aerys was tagging along. That made it feel all the more amusing, though Aerys didn’t smile once.

“Maybe you want to discuss it with the men first? Gods forbid that you should give them order they don’t agree with.” Aerys suggested sarcastically. “Just let me or Centurion Maximus know of your decision, sir.” He bowed mockingly at the last part, before moving over to the Centurion.

“Aerys, could you take my century and have them rest outside the walls?” Maximus asked. “I dare say, this courtyard is somewhat smaller than I remember.”

“If I must.” he replied, before shouting “Max’s century, take formation outside the gate. Apparently a few of us are claustrophobic.” Max’s century started back out the gates, the cavalry clattering along. Other legionnaires were loading prisoners and unloading supplies from a few of the mules and the wagon. Those legion soldiers who had already been at the fort barely moved at all.

Aerys looked over and saw one legionnaire sitting up against the wall, a few pieces of looted gear around him. He looked too tired to move as Aerys crossed over to him, stooping down to pick up a round steel shield. It had a few nicks and scratches, but was otherwise in good condition.

“Can I have this?” Aerys asked in a tone that implied he was going to take it regardless. The legionnaire nodded wearily. Aerys slung the shield over his black cloaked back. His splintmail chinked as he strode back over to his horse. He clambered up onto his steed and watched as the legionnaires loaded the prisoners while he waited for Brogan’s decision.

[Susan Elizabeth]

Brogan the Tall, Fort Hraagstad, Haafingar

Brogan had a decision to make, the reinforcements had arrived. Lead by a Centurion named Maximus, Aerys was among them as well. Either Brogan ordered his men to attack the Stormcloak camp near Dragonbridge or to travel into Hjaalmarch at the front lines. He didn't want to orders his troops out, they were tired and many were wounded. But he couldn't just say no, that would put him in a worse predicament. He made his mind up in the end.

"Maximus!"

The Centurion turned around to look at Brogan, "Yes?"

"Tell Aerys that I have made my decision. We'll join you in attacking the Stormcloaks and then we'll go to Hjaalmarch"

"Yes Tribuni" said Maximus with a nod. "I'll go and tell our friend"

"Fara! Get Lyrial for me, if you please" he said.

[Hairul Hafis]

Fara, fort Hraggstad

The incoming troops turned out to be the promised Legion troops, which filled Fara with relief. A feeling that slowly vanished as she recognized the armor riding in front of the cavalry. Don't fret, Fara, maybe he's going to drag Brogan back to Solitude. The sooner I'm out from under his thumb, the better my chance for living through that mess...

As the new troops moved into the fort, could hear the discussion going on. At first she felt pleased by Aery's comments. The attack on the fort had been rash, and most of all pointless. Merely waiting the whole night would have been enough to double their numbers and lessen the casualties. Even more so if the reinforcement had come with someone with the rank and brain to ditch Brogan's plan. If there had been a pressing need to clear the bandits out as fast as possible, I could have understood, but it seems we attacked merely to let Brogan gloat on how quickly he managed to take the fort. Maybe also why he didn't bother with more supplies than what could fit on our backs, to be there sooner. The Empire is supposed to be good with siegecraft and logistics, way better than the Stormcloaks. If Brogan is a good yardstick for that, it's a wonder the Stormcloaks aren't yet dead of hunger and exposure.

While keeping her watch she turned a bit to better hear what was going on in the courtyard. And what she could hear wasn't good. She hoped fervently that Brogan would settle for Morthal, but that was very unlikely. The man's too fond of showing how good he's at piling the dead like cordwood to do that. I wouldn't be surprised if he ordered us to move right now and to assault the Stormcloak position the second we're close. I wonder what would be worse. The roads back to Solitude then along the river to Dragonbridge – two days at a good pace, one day and a night of forcemarch. Or else tromping south through trackless forests and mountains. I think I'd prefer Solitude, at least we might be able to pick some supplies and a bit of rest. But I doubt His Impatience would see it that way. Fara gave a quick look at the courtyard, grimacing in disgust. I bet the bastard indeed knows some restoration magic to keep his “I'm a tireless, steel-clad incarnation of Death that never stops'' going, and is self-absorbed enough to forget that we mere mortals need little things like rest and food since we can't magically freshen up.

To her considerable dismay, Brogan choose the Dragonbridge fight but made it even worse by eagerly proposing to also run to the second term of Aery's offer. Damn, he's got a lot to make up for. That means he's going to jump at any chance to get noticed, no matter how suicidal. Let's just hope he won't expect us to move through the swamps. If he does that, I think I'll desert.

To complete her joy, Brogan called her by name, asking her to go fetch Lyrial – ignoring the handful of his men still in the courtyard while she was on the wall. It sounded suspiciously like a reprisal for questioning the order to kill the prisoners, but she felt too tired to care. With a resigned sight she stood up, shedding the furs she had pilfered and taking the walk to the courtyard, on her way to the barracks. She paused in front of Brogan, her face a blank mask but making no effort to hide her sorry condition, with her damaged armor, only one damaged greave on and some dried blood still clinging all over since she hadn't had the free time to do more than a cursory washup with snow. “Sir, shall I order the men to gather with their gear while I'm fetching Lyrial ?”

Fara hoped her ragged look would drive Brogan or Aerys to let them some time to recover from the night's ordeal, she didn't care whether at the fort or Solitude, but wouldn't bet on it. With my rotten luck, there's been some fresh calamity somewhere that's not supposed to be know at my pay grade, and the orders will be like 'wipe that damn camp yesterday, even if you've got to whip the troops in position, screw getting some new gear or any kind of supplies'. And even if there's a bunch of fresh guys in Solitude that could be used for that.

[Bryanna Vacchiano]

Brogan the Tall, Fort Hraagstad, Haafingar

“Sir, shall I order the men to gather with their gear while I'm fetching Lyrial ?”

"Know need yet, still waiting for Aerys" he said with a grumble as soon as thought of that man.

"Unless our new friend advices other wise I hope we can leave tomorrow, but we better pray in case" he added.

He turned away from Fara and strode over to where Aerys was, Maximus was with him.

"Aerys, I've made my decision as I'm sure Maximus here told you"

[Lavender Brown]

Fara, fort Hraggstad


Fara headed for the barracks to look for Lyrial. Being the company's most skilled healer and with the worst of the wounded installed inside for recovery, she should be there. She didn't hurry, hoping to catch Aery's answer. That's when a really nasty thought crossed her mind. Brogan said only four men in all Skyrim outranked him – what's someone that high up doing chasing bandits in the middle of nowhere with a single century. It sounds like he's fallen out of favor and he's getting rotten jobs. Until he screw up enough to get booted out or get killed.

Seen in that light, odd things were falling unpleasantly well together. Like having Aery's men and supplies held back nearby for no good reason while Brogan's century had to make do with only what they could carry to attack the fort. It sounds like some high ranking bastard is setting Brogan for failure and we're catching the spills. Maybe he needs Brogan's slot free to put someone with a better ancestry, maybe it's because he svcks at his job but has too much repute from the Great War to kick out. Or maybe it's personal. And it may explain why the Stormcloak were waiting for us here. If the Dragonbridge camp turn out empty or heavily reinforced, it means there's a mole in Castle Dour. Unfortunately it won't tell if it's aimed at the Legion in general or Brogan in particular. But if there's really someone who wants Brogan's scalp badly enough to tip the Stormcloak and wit enough clout to screw his orders like that, I wouldn't surprised if he had 'interesting' postings up his sleeve for the men under Brogan's orders, to tidy it up neatly in case we notice something inconvenient.

I really need to discuss that with Lyrial, she's certainly better informed about what's going on in the Legion. And she's a battlemage like Borgan, maybe she heard things about him. I hope it's only the lack of sleep speaking, otherwise, we're in trouble. A lot of trouble.

[Jessica Colville]

LYRIAL

-Fort Hraggstad-

Lyrial was indeed in the barracks, although all the wounded seemed to have been tended to already. Most were either still asleep or propped up and dozing listlessly, while the less injured remainder were mostly working on patching themselves up with canvas bandage and poultices.

The young battle mage was to be found slumped in a corner, still fully clothed and propped up on a pile of sacks and loose bedding, with a bed-roll as a pillow. She had her arms folded, a spare cloak draqed over her, and her face hidden by her hood as she slept. The only actual sign of life was slow, steady breathing.
Miq'a was curled up nearby in wolf form, and it was only as one got closer that it became obvious the spirit creatures eyelids were actually transparent, resulting in an unblinking watch-dog. The spirit servant looked up as Fara approached, before rising and nudging Lyrial in the shoulder with her muzzle.

The young woman awoke instantly, head lifting so her face was visible and eyes snapping open immediately. It took a few more seconds for them to actually focus and actual waking to occur. It was fairly clear she had not turned in until the wounded were dealt with, judging from the bags under her eyes and a mild haunted look. Although that could simply have been the shadows and the girls gaunt face; it was a little hard to tell given the light. Not to mention the spectacular bruise from the fight with the shaman the night before.
She blinked a few times, before nodding to Fara. She opened her mouth, stopped, grimaced and reached for the water skin from her belt, taking a few swigs and coughing with her head turned away. She rubbed her throat idly, waiting for the Scout to speak first.

[Blessed DIVA]

Fara, for Hraggstad barracks

Fara found the barracks a rather disordered mess – with close to two hundred peoples piled inside to wait for the Legion combined with the fort's previous emptiness, normal furniture had given way to piled supplies and makeshift beds in every nook and cranny. And wounded men using them, most still asleep and the rest doing light chores like changing their bandages. Soon she found Lyrial, though she had first spotted the familiar. Who went to wake up his mistress as soon as he had figured out that Fara came for her.

Judging from her look and the wounded, the young battlemage had spend most of the night on her feet, but seemed to cope adequately with the battle's afermath. I haven't had a mirror to look at me, but I doubt I look much better. More used to blood and gore, less sleep, that's probably a tossup. Though she seems the sort that wakes up fast and clear, it could be a lifesaver if what I fear is correct.

'Brogan asked me to fetch you to the courtyard. The reinforcement have arrived and there's a new mission coming. You remember last night's bastard ? With the fancy armor and the horse ? Sounds like Brogan's performance has general Tullius 'a little disappointed'.' Fara reproduced Aerys's tone perfectly, making it obvious she was quoting.

'To get it short, he's got offered a choice between two jobs – Picking extra men from from the reinforcement and join with other troops to clear a Stormcloak nest near Dragonbridge, or move with us to watch the border near Morthaal. Guess what, he took both jobs, probably to make up for his screwup.' Fara's tone made it clear she wasn't thrilled at the idea. 'So we're supposed to move tomorrow, unless sir 'soldiers are monsters' advises otherwise. He's tagging along to watch Brogan's performance and make whatever 'suggestions' seems necessary.'. While speaking Fara absentmindedly scratched Miq'a's head like she would have done with a dog. 'Crap, I'm starting to babble. So basically, Brogan wants you in the courtyard, I'd say the sooner the better.'

While both of them (and the familiar) were on their way, Fara spoke in a low voice 'Oh and when we have both some time and no ears around, there's something I'd like to discuss with you. I hope that's just an hare-brained delusion from lack of sleep, but it explains too much things to dismiss easily.'