Don Leon Sisemo did stand out in a crowd now, as he was sitting on a small plot of land amidst a pond, but still most people seemed to pay him little mind. That could be due to the fact that he gave off the air of a man who wished to be alone, who was contemplating and seeking peace. Casually every few minutes the middle aged man would pick up a small stone, running his fingers over it. Then with a lazy flick of the wrist he would send the stone bouncing over the still waters of the pond, under the wooden bridge nearby.

He had drowned out the sounds of people passing, and was focusing on the sounds of the natural world around him. The splashing of the water, the rustle of the grass, the soft chirps of birds in the vicinity. His eyes were calmly focused on the water, and the reflections of Cheydinhal he saw within it.

He could do this himself, he knew it. He could find a way to get that notorious cult in the palm of his hand and the information he needed. It would be a challenge, but Don Leon had not lived to his mid-forties and become the right hand man of the Count of Skingrad by skirting out on challenges. And that was his problem; he was in his forties. By the standards of adventurers, mercenaries, and spies he was getting old. Only a few more years were left in him before retirement reared its head and beckoned. Before his body began to deteriorate with age -even though that had already started, it would only quicken- and he would find himself completely incapable of accomplishing feats that should come to him easily.

Don Leon sighed. He was becoming the old coot of the business. His techniques were aged and out of style, being replaced by newer ways of thinking and methodologies of action. And now he was placed in a group setting. Somehow, this old dog would have to learn new tricks if he were to still be of use to this group, to the Empire, to his Count. Don Leon skipped another stone across the water, watching it bounce thrice before sinking.

And then he smirked, thumbing his hat up a little and rising to his feet. "A good old fashioned quest might be just what I need, indeed." He was chuckling at his own words when accepting the mission. This was going to spice up his life alright. It was going to train him into active service beyond 50. Ignoring the slosh of his boots as he exited the pond area and left water in his wake, Don Leon walked once more towards the castle, a little less uncomfortable and a little more complacent.

OOC: Sorry guys, was without internet access.
IC:

Lyssa frowned at the orc, not out of dislike, but pondering how to use him. Lyssa was a straight-forward woman, and didn't enjoy thinking in the spirals and twists that spies- and other politicians- seemed to prefer. But this orc, who seemed much more cultured than she herself could boast, seemed to have something of that knack.

Also, she could imagine he would be an ideal information gatherer. Anything coming from him would be unexpected. Coming from Sisemo, Lucas- or even Crow- it was considerably more conspicuous. Only Babur actually gave the impression that he wasn't a spy. This much, she could understand.

"...At your discretion," she said at last. "But I don't know that we'll have so much time to spare. Commit yourself to this thoroughly; gather useful information as quickly as may be. Most importantly, we need to be sure of the information we already have, because currently..." she managed not to look at Tobrecan. "...it's suspect."

Tobrecan stiffened at the comment from Lysia, crossing his arms across his chest. However diplomatic these council members were, Tobrecan could still tell she was doubting his information, even without a look. At first he felt hurt that those he had listened didn't beleive him. 'What reason do they have for their disbeleif?' Tobrecan thought to himself, feeling his jaw tightening.

However, he also realized that they didn't have a reason to beleive him either. Tobrecan leaned back against a wall, distancing himself from the conversation. He would let the others talk the rest of it out, only answering what was directed at him. He didn't want to seem to eager for them to listen, as they wouldn't beleive him at all then. 'They can take their time figuring it out' Tobrecan thought bitterly 'All they have to risk are Crow and Ocato's lives...'

EDIT: Forgot the italics

Captain Burd was dumbstruck. The revelation of the young Hero of Chorrol absolutely floored him. His brow lowered as his rage began to return, the boy really is in on the conspiracy, how else would he know what he does?

But as he moved to stand, one hand on the hilt of his claymore and a growl rising in his throat, Tobrecan looked directly at him, supplication and apology welling up in his eyes. The boy is innocent, Burd thought, his anger snuffed out like a chapel candle. Suddenly Burd remembered the dark elf who had rushed past him on the way to the kitchen, all but forgotten in his quest to find booze. An informant... could he have been of the brotherhood? Bah, not likely that they would reveal themselves. Burd thought.

"So, we have a mysterious benefactor," he mused quietly. He chuckled, still talking to himself, "This is turning into one of those pulp novels Yvara loves so much. Maybe I'll write her a book when it's all over."

Aloud to the others, he said, "I'm itching to resolve this issue as quickly as we can so that we can be off on our real quest. Whatever the plan is, my services are at your disposal, Lady Councilor."

He walked over to Tobercan, placing a hand on his shoulder with a smile and a wink, "I'll offer to keep an eye on the boy if you like. I have nothing to hide and no talent in subterfuge, and while I believe the young Hero of Chorrol has provided us with a boon of information, I understand that it appears to come out of nowhere and must be taken with a grain of salt."

As an afterthought, he added, "With that said, rumors and stories can often carry bits of truth in them and these are most easily exchanged over drinks and between friends," He stroked his chin slyly as he said this. "I'm well liked at the local establishments by now," He couldn't help chuckling to himself at these words, "Mayhap the boy and I should seek information there. Only a humble suggestion, of course."

With a disappointed sigh, Sid's shoulders drooped slightly, a somewhat downtrodden expression crossing over his features. It was becoming more and more apparent, even to him, that there may be very little that he could do to assist in the current situation. He was accustomed to negotiation, and, when that failed, combat; he knew sweet little about the arts of the rogue, sneaking about and spying on others. It mattered little, he supposed; between Don Leon and the Orc Babur, it seemed they had more than enough talent in that field. It simply bothered Sid to know that he could do nothing to help.

And so he sat there, silently brooding as the rest of the group made their plans to capture a member of the Dark Brotherhood. Hopefully, should the need for his own services arise, they would not hesitate to come to him for aid; surely he had made his eagreness to help clear enough. For the moment, however, he silently contemplated his own role in the drama that was unfolding before him, and how he might better acclamate himself to the part.

"At my discretion," Babur repeated in an is-that-so manner. "Very well madam, I will gather what I can in as little time as I can. And six eyes will work far better than two, as long as six eyes will not cause the alert of that for which they search," he replied pointedly to Burd, thinking to himself that even he thought that sentence was awkward. "As long as that that can be avoided, of which I have little doubt, my good man, there can be only good to have yourself and Mr. Tobrecan joining the hunt." Already he made a move to exit the room and head out into town, but he first paused thoughtfully. "But do not be so quick to discount the information of this gentleman," he added to the councilor with a nod to Tobrecan. "A shabby abandoned house sounds like prime real estate for our fine adversaries. Complete with poorly lit corridors, and evil dining tables, and nooks of questionable morality." As Babur made yet another move to leave the room, he paused once more, wheeling about on his heels to face Tobrecan. "Speaking of, sir, I would like to see this tenantless residence- that I may try to confirm your statement, would you direct me to this house?"

OOC: In the near future, Illusionary, would you mind if I created a briefly-included NPC for the purposes of the immediate goal?

Babur was just asking to be led to the questionable house of which the Brotherhood was thought to reside when Don Leon entered the room casually. He nodded briefly to Babur as he slipped past, moving over to the two victims of the poisoning and looking at the councilors. With a soft sigh he removed his hat and placed it on his stomach, before giving a curt bow.

"I have spent some time thinking, and have still not conjured a plan my Councilors may find suitable. Therefore, I offer my services completely to any plans you may have in the capture of these foul people." He returned from the bow to stand straight, but did not replace his hat.

"If I am needed, of course."

Burd was used to people talking in circles around him, but to hear Babur speak was more difficult to follow than any noble he’d met in recent memory. That level of etiquette was impressive, but coming from an orc it was extraordinary. It was hilarious to boot; to encounter such a demeanor from such an unlikely person would have been a riot under less dire circumstances. Burd’s memory drifted briefly to another orcish noble he’d encountered one time; Lord Rugdumph, he thought, that one could learn a thing or two from this one.

He decided that accompanying Babur would be more interesting than going to the tavern to get blitzed, under whatever circumstances.

“Well then, Master Orc, shall we be off then?” Burd said as politely as possible, trying to keep merriment from displaying on his face and only partially failing as the corners of his mouth turned up. “And pray, try to keep the conversations as simple as possible. I am but a humble soldier, unaccustomed to such high-speak.” He added, coughing back a chuckle. “C'mon, boy! Lead the way. Perhaps the Don and the good Captain would care to tag along?” he said, slapping Tobrecan on the back and eyeing the other heroes, trying to draw attention away from his thinly veiled childish amusemant.

OOC: Not a problem. In general, I'll allow players to conjure up whatever NPCs they feel are necessary. I don't want this to be harder work than it has to be; it's supposed to be fun, afterall.
IC:

Lyssa considered Babur's words. The Orc was well-spoken, and seemed highly intelligent- perhaps more so than she was herself. His suggestion that Tobrecan's information might be genuine cemented her own suspicions. She sighed heavily. No warrior enjoyed all this cloak and dagger business. She only wished she knew where it had come from... but that was no reason to discount it.

Fraius scowled at Don Leon. "There is apparently a plan to stake out the Dark Brotherhood's "hideout" which somehow we have become aware of. We are attempting to cement our information, via Babur. If you wish to help, tag along with them."

"Or," said Lyssa more usefully, looking between Sid and Don Leon. "Perhaps you two would be interested in coming up with a good plan for staking out their exit without being caught, and to catch them when they come out before they slip away. This is tactics, more than spy work, but it's quite important." It seemed she was more than entertaining Tobrecan's information now. With his simple reasoning and friendly advice, Babur seemed already to be winning her over.

Don Leon smiled, flicking his hat to puff out the cap more and straighten it. "My dear councilor, I am a decent spy... but it is tactics in which I excel most." He replaced his hat upon his head and nodded. "I will likewise look into this hideout. However, I don't believe I was present when the information was given." He had noted the councilor looking to Sid, the overly noble man that made Don Leon seem civilian in his manners.

So far, other than displaying more pomp and circumstance than he, Don Leon could see no reason why working with Sid would be a terrible problem; except for the fact that Sid seemed less inclined to Don Leon's art. A fact that could both boost and offset his own tactics. "But I am sure Mister Lucas could fill me in on the information while I prepare myself."

Don Leon turned to look at Babur, Burd, and the young swordsman. "When you return, if you could inform me of the general layout of the area around this hideout, it would be beneficial. I'll devise a few plans with which we could use to monitor the hideout." He turned once again to the councilors. "Would it be acceptable for me to utilize the High Chancellor's bedchambers?"

Byron was, quite frankly, bored. He had spent many minutes or perhaps even hours listening to these long-winded fools, he was a Noble, he shouldn't be subject to these trivialities! He scowled a particularly bitter scowl, his tired features replaced by scorn. He left unannounced, making his way out of the castle, giving the passing guards thin sneers as he walked down the path to the bridge. He leaned on it, sighing, had everyone forgotten the purposes of this adventure? Right now the next Emperor was in that awful and squallid place known as Morrowind, where savages and beasts riddling with diseases roamed. He spat into the river, causing his reflection to ripple until he could barely see anything of him.. or the gentleman standing behind him.

"Byron, nice to see you again" The deep throaty voice grunted, putting a firm hand onto his shoulder. Byron gulped, not daring to turn around, he needed to be very tactful in his verbal dealings with this swarthy voice "Get your hand off of me, you petulent fool!" He barked involuntarily. Well, tact and social grace just flew over his head, now all that was left was hoping he would have enough bones to find an apothecary or healer.

"Now now Byron, is that anyway to talk to the nice man you owe substantial amounts of to?" A second, more weasily voice said. The venom nbegan to rise in Byron's throat, his teeth baring. "Rowandel, you little cur, tell your thug to remove his hand before it finds itself burned to ash!" Byron was furious, this little Bosmer RAT was threatening HIM!? The Hero of Cheydinhal!? He snarled, trying to turn, which prompted the Orc grasping his shoulder to squeeze. Hard.

"Don't do anything moronic, if that's possible Byron. Just give me my Septims and I'll be on my way" The voice was growing nastier, and the Orc's grip was growing tighter, and Byron was growing more and more desperate. "I'll get your money Rowan, I swear, look, I'm involved in a big political quest right now! I'm finding the new heir to the Empire!" This was said a bit to loud, several of the people walking by turned and looked at him, then kept walking. "Just give me time!"

Rowandel pondered this, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Of course, Byron couldn't see this, all he could see was the red mist floating across his vision as the Orc's grip tightened again. "Fine, Byron, you have a month to pay, if you don't I will hire associates more subtle then my friend Graz'Uh here, but let me promise you this: They'll be MUCH crueler" With that, the grip was released and Byron fell to the ground, groaning as the pain started to reach its crescendo when the shoulder hit the wooden planks. By the time he managed to get up Rowandel was gone, and Byron decided the best thing would be to try and sort this Dark Brotherhood business out as quick as possible.

OOC: I hope nobody minds, but I'm going to make this a tad brief, just so we don't spend another thread in Cheydinhal.

Babur looked somewhat apprehensively at his two potential associates. He then shrugged and said, "Those who wish to gather information may, but as for myself, my foremost goal is to investigate Mr. Tobrecan's claim. I will look for a house that is both abandoned and in close proximity to a well. If I can find this, I will watch it from a nearby building where I will not be seen myself. I doubt that any of the populace will be of much help; more so from unwillingness than ignorance, I fear. Good day, gentlemen."

With that, Babur departed. On his way out, he did not bring with him his scimitar; he would not be needing it, and he trusted the staff of Castle Cheydinhal to tend well to it. It then occurred to him how strange it was that they had not yet been graced with Count Indarys' presence. Then again, he supposed, he might have thought it better to avoid such a group of people making their temporary residence in the castle. But it was fairly irrelevant, so he shrugged the thought off as he exited the castle grounds.

Once in the main town, instead of wandering blindly, he purchased a quill, a bottle of ink, and a map of the city from the merchant Borba gra-Uzgash. The visit to the shop was very brief; almost rudely so, Babur thought, but there could have been little good to become of taking the time to talk. He scanned the map outside, sitting on a bench quietly. A number of empty houses could be spotted on the map, all marked as 'Condemned' or 'Fire Damage', or something similar. One of them caught his eye - it was between two other occupied houses, and a small well was outside it. It had no mark of previous ownership, merely a note near it that stated the building to be 'Unstable'. That might be the one, he thought. It was his best lead, in any case.

Another interesting facet came to Babur's attention when he made his way closer to where the house was located on the map: the Chapel was nearby. Chapels had high, stained glass windows. That might do well...depending on how cooperative the Chapel might be.

He came to the lane on which the house was located. For some reason, it gave Babur a sort of 'gut feeling' that it might very well be the home of Sithis' children. It was one of those houses that didn't seem just worn down by lack of tending. It was one of those places that seemed as though someone had gone out of their way to make look foreboding. More importantly, though, the chapel was indeed nearby. Looking up at it, he figured that he could see the house's entrances quite well from behind the image of Mara.

Babur entered the chapel as unobtrusively as he could hope to. A few of the priests of Arkay smiled politely as he entered, and one even greeted him with a "Good day, I trust you are well?" One thing Babur admired about the Nine was that their priests were almost guaranteed to be decent chaps, most of the time.
"Yes, thank you," Babur said to the greeter, approaching him. "If you would not mind, sir," here he showed his quill, ink, and map in his hands, "I am in the process of making a few minor revisions to the city's maps, and being as this is the tallest building in the city, would you be so kind as to allow me to get a view of the city from the upper rafters?"
The priest (or priest-attendant, Babur could not tell) looked a bit taken aback by the request, but obviously the rafters were not particularly sacred ground, for he complied amiably and showed him the way up (a thin stairway).

Situating himself so that he could overlook the abandoned house easily, Babur sat on his knees and spread out his map before him, first circling the abandoned house on it. He then sighed, and began his wait. He was virtually invisible from his perch, as long as it was daytime outside, and the outside world was only vaguely blue-tinted to him.

-----------------------------------------------

"...and take great care; no doubt the guard will be more alert due to the events of yesterday," said Ocheeva slowly. I swear, it is easier to give commands to a trained dog.
"Careful, right," repeated Laevus Improbus from the shroud of mystic darkness his hood provided.
"And take off that blasted hood before you leave. You're lucky Tenandril caught you last time. You are to appear as a commoner, not a fool going to a costume party."
The thickly build Imperial was silent for a moment. "But...then why did I get it in the first place?"
"We've been over this. It is for any time when you are *not* ambling about in public. To compromise the Brotherhood is to invoke the wrath of Sithis."
"...and what about the-"
"No, Laevus, you cannot wear the Shrouded Armour as you leave. Same rule applies. It will invoke the Wrath of Sithis."
"Well, can I keep the dagger at my side? It looks very nice."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it will invoke the damned wrath of Sithis!"
"He could just say it was a gift from a relative, you know," interjected the nearby Teinaava helpfully, earning him an ugly look from Ocheeva.
"No," she repeated, "it won't do to have you going about with a bloody dagger at your side. Keep it in a bag, or in a coat, or something. Just look 'inconspicuous'. Like I said, your mark is a local, so you won't be going far."
"Right!" Laevus said triumphantly. "And he will be leaving the city today, so I can wait for him outside the city, and then, well, you know."
Ocheeva raised her brow ridge, a bit surprised at the sudden success of the man's memory. "Right. Right you are. Now get going, and Sithis be with you," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand as she began to walk away. She was still dubious of LeChance's decision to invite Laevus Improbus into their family. He was a simpleton, but had just enough simple hatred in him to make for a half-decent killer. And he was easy to steer; all it took were the right words, and he could be rallied to just about anything he thought would work well for him. In short, he was just about perfect for grunt work. Not much else, though, she thought exasperatedly.

------------------------------------------------

Babur, half an hour after beginning, gave a start at the sight of a figure wiggling his way through the creaky doorway of the gloomy house below. Once more fully alert, Babur leaned forward, quill readying to write a confirmation of Tobrecan's report. The man emerging was tall and barrel-chested. He was dressed in simple clothes, not particularly shabby or nice. After watching him nearly trip over a few fallen stones from what was once the house's yard wall, Babur observed the man scurry into the city, casting suspicious looks to anyone nearby, eventually out of his sight.

Babur paused before writing on his map. This man could very well be a common looter; he certainly seemed to lack any semblance of...well, inconspicuousness. But then again, there wouldn't be much there would be to loot from such a house that old. Shrugging, he figured it was as good a guess as they had to go on. He marked down the entrances (door and well) on his map, and headed back down the stairs, thanking the priest before heading back to the castle.

OOC: A bit crappy, but it is late, and the post was mostly to get things moving. I'll have Babur get back to the castle once anyone else posts their actions during Babur's absence.

OOC: Hooray, I was waiting for someone to leave! This will be short, but I have been waiting a while ^_^

IC: Fathis accepted a mug of ale from Ganredhel and then changed windows once more, going from the side of the house facing the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary to the front. After about twenty minutes he saw one of the members of the party of heroes, the unmistakable orc scholar. Fathis couldn't recall his name, but he knew he would prove a worthy ally one day.

The orc looked up at the sanctuary house, Fathis was relieved they had managed to find the correct one. The Gray Fox hoped the orc would do a better job of observing the house than standing in the street, and he was not disappointed when the orc entered the nearby chapel. Fathis could not tell where the orc went, but he saw there were few locations from which one could observe the abandoned house accurately and indiscreetly.

After waiting a few minutes to see if anyone had followed the orc, Fathis returned to his sanctuary observing window. After a little while, he found he had made the right decision once more when a large imperial in common clothes left the sanctuary. As he had expected, he was not wearing any weapons visibly to give away his vocation, but a small bag on his back gave him away with a small flash of light, unmistakably a dagger. Fathis had to suppress a laugh when he tripped over a few bricks, either the Brotherhood were hiring people so great at disguising themselves it put many of Fathis' great thieves to shame, or they were hiring trash. When the assassin looked around with a suspicious look on his face, Fathis knew it was the latter.

The imperial walked past Fathis' safe house and turned right towards the bridges. Fathis changed windows once more, waiting to see if his orc friend would report back to his fellows. He was correct in his guess again when the scholarly orc left the chapel, a parchment in one hand and a quill in the other. Fathis waited until he walked back in the direction of the castle, then he decided it was time for a short read then a nap before he continued with his plan. He needed to be in prime condition, and nothing was better for that than a short rest in a friend's house.

Byron regained his composure eventually, and watched as a large rather conspicuously inconspicuous Imperial barged his way passed Byron, giving him a dirty look. Byron would've said something, but he was still rather rattled after the previous encounter, so he held his tongue quickly. He decided that the best way to help would be to go back up to the Castle and lend the other guests his brilliant mind to work with while they found the rotten Poisoner who had been taking up so much of their time. He muttered to himself as he walked back up the steep slope to the castle, only looking up to glare at the Guards, who knew better than to stop him this time. He didn't tell the others, but the Guards hadn't believed he was here as a hero and had tried to turn him away previously.

((OOC: Short post, just an excuse to get Byron back to the castle))

Burd watched as the well-mannered orc walked out the door, seems most of our little troop would prefer the company of solitude when on the job. Contrary to what his status as Hero of Bruma would imply, Burd had always been a team player; he would not likely be alive today if it were not for his men. When the world began to be consumed by darkness, many of his comrades in arms had contributed more to the cause than he would ever have imagined. Many had made the ultimate sacrifice and the world would never know how it had been saved time and again, not by those who had returned through the gates of Oblivion but by those who had been left behind.

The ghost of Marcus Damascus floated to the front of Burd’s mind; That boy could have rightly been considered the real Hero of Bruma, His gaze involuntarily flicked to Tobrecan as his thoughts drifted away. The resemblance is uncanny.


The fiery visage of the Oblivion Gate loomed before them, blighting everything around it; the ground, the trees, the sky. It had appeared outside the gates of Bruma that morning and monsters had been trickling out ever since, coming to pound on the gates or attack any hapless travelers. Burd had gathered a platoon of his best men to go out and investigate; Marcus was probably his finest among even those.

He had shown great promise from the time he had first been commissioned into the service of Bruma. Though the boy was timid, he had a knack for facing down danger when it threatened the peace of the city; be it unruly tavern patrons or a pack of wolves harrying local traders. He often knew what needed to be done and did so with steadfast commitment until the situation was resolved.

They approached the Gate warily, only minor daedra had come out of it so far; a few scamps and a Clannfear or two. “Steady men,” Burd said, “You all remember what Zaire told us about how to close these blasted things.” A few of the men nodded, most simply looked ahead with determined expressions and set jaws.

One soldier stepped up to the screen of blood red light that filled the gate and touched it cautiously. Suddenly a burnt and blacked hand covered in scales and spikes shot out and grabbed him, dragging him into the glowing abyss kicking and screaming.

“We’re under attack men! CHARGE!” Burd shouted raising his sword above his head, and they all stormed into the gate. On the other side they found the smoldering remains of their comrade scattered all over the tainted ground. The dremora who had ended him was fleeing to the great and ominous sigil tower, clearly baiting them all to follow. They took the bait gladly, vengeance for their fallen compatriot clouding their judgment.

The battle was going in their favor until they reached the top of the tower and were ambushed by enemy reinforcements who pressed in on them from behind. Burd’s men were falling all around him even as they hacked at the Daedra furiously. A Dremora scored a searing hit to the back of Burd’s leg, its enchanted sword slashing through his armor like butter. He fell to one knee with a cry of pain. His eyes found Marcus, still cutting down his foes with gusto. “Marcus!” he cried, “The stone! Get the stone!” Marcus looked at him, his young features setting solemnly and nodding quickly, indicating that he knew what needed to be done. He parried a strike and slashed open his target. Then he started to run as his enemy fell before him, towards the beam of light which cradled the sigil stone. One of the daedra was readying a shock spell to intercept him and Burd flung out a hand desperately. “Marcus, look out!” he yelled. The boy leapt just as the spell hit him and was propelled forward with incredible force. Marcus’ body wrapped itself around the stone as he was flung into the column of fire, his hair and clothing immolating instantly. All was enveloped in white hot light for only a second and then suddenly the Daedra were gone and Burd was surrounded by the snow-covered hills of County Bruma once more. The charred and unmoving form of Marcus Damascus lay next to him still clutching the sigil stone.


“Well,” Burd said aloud, coming abruptly out of his thoughts, “Mayhap I will be looking for that drink after all, at least until Sir Babur returns from his scouting. Doubt I’d be able to do much help in the service of espionage anyway, I tend to stick out like, well… like a Nord!” He laughed boomingly at his little joke. Turning to the others, he said, “Anyone care to join, or will you all be taking leave to skulk in the shadows as well?”

Not waiting for an answer, he headed out the door to look for the kitchen and suitable alcoholic refreshment again.

Crow could hear everything that went on, but it was as if through a veil... the world around her, what she could experience, was misty and unfocused, drifting in and out of a sea of pain. Her every muscle was clenched, as if in a continual scream, despite the queer unconciousness state she was in.

And beyond the haze of reality, there was fire... fire such as she hated above all else. A great, flaming pillar of evil, with bizarre faces grinning maliciously at her, twisted through the light. The fire kept drawing her deeper... and she was burning... burning!

Cole had started to doze off, when a racket outside the window caused him to come awake with a start. He saw several feathers swirling on the wind, and a dazed and confused bird staggering about on the sill outside the window. Unsure of how long he had been gone from the group, he cursed himself silently and angrily pulled the silk sheath back over his arm, stood up and stomped out of the room. He brushed roughly past several servants, not bothering to apologize or even acknowledge their existence. The mercenary's previously somber and despondent mood had been replaced by his typical ornery nature, his feelings of insecurity and helplessness giving way to a far more comfortable impatience and smoldering anger.

It was a skill he had become used to invoking, subduing the thoughts and feelings that could jeopardize his life if he allowed them to take over. His anger was his ally, and it had served him well for quite some time. Now, he knew, he would need it more than ever.

He hardly gave the group a second look as he marched resolutely back into the main hall, not noticing that a few of the heroes had left. Placing his good hand on the pommel of his sword, he let out a phlegmatic cough and nodded to the councilors and the privateer, Don Leon.

"So then... what's the plan?"

"Our sociable Orcish friend has gone with several others to scout out the general area around the supposed hideout of the Dark Brotherhood, and myself and Mister Lucas are seeking to perform a guard over the area, unnoticed, to overcome any Brotherhood members leaving the sanctuary." Don Leon explained to Cole when the mercenary entered and asked about the plan. Don Leon looked at him, his cool eyes anolyzing him in a new light. A light of potential.

"If you could come with me, perhaps you could help. Mister Lucas, please feel me in on details of the information for this hideout as we go to quarters to prepare." Don Leon requested of the sailor beside him, before he turned away with a nod to the councilors and walked out of the room, taking a left down the hall, already a plan forming in his mind.

At the urging of their own Don Leon, Sid leapt up from his seat, a renewed spark of envigoration lighting ablaze in his bright blue eyes. "Absolutely capital!" he exclaimed excitedly, straightening his jacket as he made his way to the room's exit. He took one last glance to the Councillors and the others of their party, however, before he made his exit. "If you will excuse me," he remarked in a cordial tone, bowing deeply. "The services of Captain Sid Lucas are required elsewhere." Rising once again, he turned about, and quickly caught up with Don Leon, already well on his way through the castle's large, well decorated halls.

"What information we have on both the Brotherhood and their hideout has been supplied by our young friend, Tobrecan," Sid remarked to his Breton kinsman, marching down the hallway with a formal gait. "He was not as forthcoming with how he acquired the information, but he doesn't seem the deceitful sort. In any event, he assured us the Brotherhood was indeed to blame for the poisoning of the High Chancellor, and the lovely Miss Crow." He kept in step with his colleague, keeping his gaze focused ahead of him. "Apparently, their lair makes use of two entrances, both an old well, and a door that requires some manner of password to open. Their hideout itself takes the form of an old house, seemingly abandoned, near the graveyard."

Sid glanced at Don with an inquisitive glance. "May I assume you are formulating some manner of plan?"

Nodding, Cole followed after Don Leon and the eloquent noble that he had not bothered to introduce himself to, but whom Don Leon had referred to as Mister Lucas. He walked beside the two men, listening intently as Lucas relayed the information to Don Leon. He grimaced slightly when his biggest concern was confirmed: The Dark Brotherhood was behind the attack on Ocato and Crow. While he did not fear the demonic, cult-like status of the group like many did, he both respected and reviled their tactics and brutality. Whether through political connections or sheer skill, they had remained underground, killing from the shadows without ever being discovered. That such an extensive network of assassins was able to remain largely intact and operate smoothly was a testament to their power.

But at least he knew who the enemy was. That was reason enough to have hope.

Cole began formulating his own plans, even as he was sure Don Leon and this Lucas man were as well. Pulling his pipe from the interior pocket of his coat, he tapped it against his teeth contemplatively, his eyes beginning to gleam with ideas and strategies. He turned to Sid Lucas as he continued to walk with the two men.

"Did the boy say how many of the Brotherhood inhabited this hideout?"

Cole did not fancy openly engaging skillful fighters such as the Dark Brotherhood, especially on their own turf. Their plans would depend a great deal on exactly how many enemies they would be facing, as they would have no knowledge of the interior of the hideout until they were already in the midst of the Brotherhood.

Unless the young soldier Tobrecan somehow managed to pull that information from out of his ass as well...

Don Leon listened to the information given carefully, a small frown forming on his face. This information was worrisome. Two different fronts the enemy could evacuate from; two places to stake out.

And only three people to work with. This presented the greatest of problems. Don Leon knew he could do what was required, Cole likely could as well... but Sid was the problem. Don Leon looked at his 'wrench in the machine' as he asked whether or not Don Leon had a plan.

"Yes, I do have a plan, it is not hinging on the number of members in the Sanctuary either." Don Leon answered, looking to Cole as he walked. "Mister Cole, how capable are you with small armaments and your own fists? Likewise, Mister Lucas, to you." Don Leon looked to each of them individually before he stopped before a door, knocked three times, and with no answer tried the handle. It was locked.

"The reason I ask is because we will need to work with smaller weaponry or no weaponry, to accomplish my plan." He spoke as he knelt before the door, withdrawing a lockpick from his boot. He worked the lock slowly and carefully, listening for each click of the tumblers as he worked, mustache twitching. "We have been asked to stake out the hideout of the Brotherhood, not raid it. We have also been asked to apprehend any who leave the sanctuary. In order to accomplish this we must blend into the area, allowing ourselves covert viewing of the hideout. And in order to accomplish that, we must alter ourselves, and cannot be seen with large weapons." The lock clicked and turned in his gloved hand, and Don Leon opened the door, ushering them into the vacant room. It was a simple decorated room, a sitting area for the Count's guests. A fireplace sat dark and cold at one wall, and several chairs adorned the area around a lavish wood table. China cabinets held delicate statuettes and gems and china wear, but Don Leon went straight to the table and untied his cloak, tossing it casually into a chair and removing his gloves.

"Yet we still need to be able to apprehend the Dark Brotherhood, and this is where it gets difficult and dangerous. But I trust you each are capable warriors; I just hope the both of you are capable of concealment as well." He began to unbutton the sleeves of his shirt.

Babur returned to the castle, map in hand, and headed up towards the chambers with not but a nod to a passing servant. The guards seemed to be coming to recognize the guests, who moved about the castle quite frequently. He entered the room to find that several people had left. Fortunately, though, he did not have a long report to give, so it would not be difficult to explain it again to anyone who did not hear it the first time. So to the councilors and those who yet remained in the room, he said, "Mr. Tobrecan's report was accurate."

He spread out his map on a table and indicated the marked locations on it (the well, the door, the house itself, and the vantage point in the chapel from which he had observed, as well as some residences that might be good vantage points). "These are the entrances he described. From here," and Babur pointed to the chapel, "I watched a male Imperial emerge from the door entrance of the house; I have little doubt that he was a member of the Brotherhood." He looked around at everyone. "I am sure this has already been gone over, but just to reiterate: extreme caution is recommended here. If anyone has a plan of how to extract any information, let alone an antidote, from a Brotherhood member, they are far more resourceful than I. These men and women are fanatically devoted to their cause. To get anything out of any of them would require a new or low-ranking member; one that is likely to be slightly less devoted and to be missed by slightly less of his or her colleagues. We don't want the blighters to have a personal vendetta against us." Not that seeking to ensure the survival of one of their marks will do much less harm to our relations, but still, it would be best to keep it to a simple matter of business.

OOC: Is anyone else having difficulties posting? blasted thing is suddenly freaking out if I try to put up more than a sentence or two.

Sid belted out a haughty laugh in response to Don Leon's inquiry, regarding his prowess with unarmed fighting. "My good man, rest assured I am a most capable combatant in the field of unarmed fighting," he explained with his usual tone of pride and self-confidence. "Why, I don't mind telling the both of you I once managed to best an Orcish mercenary with these very hands, during a light skirmish off the coast of the Summerset Isles!"

Captain Lucas shot a glance over to the man named Cole, the Imperial of their trio. "Unfortunately, the strength of the Brotherhood within their vile lair eludes us," he replied simply, crossing his arms over his chest. "Our young friend Tobrecan was either unable to learn, or was unwilling to disclose, that particular bit of information." He managed a wry grin. "Of course, I would wager on the former, rather than the latter. He seems a reasonably trustworthy type, if I do say so myself."

With those two queries out of the way, Sid redirected his attention to Don Leon, preparing to make one of his own. "You speak a great deal of concealment, Don Leon, and I tend to agree. However, perhaps there is another way in which we might take advantage of such a tactic." He retrieved his glossy black crossbow from his back, handling the weapon with considerable ease. "Perhaps if one of us were to remain hidden, yet monitor the progress of the other two with a ranged weapon in hand, we might make an easier time of subduing these brigands." Taking one last glance at his weapon, he replaced it at his back. "I dare say I am an impeccable shot."

OOC: Sorry about that, Ezequiel. Probably Gears of War's fault...every time I hear the name Cole, I get a certain image in my head, you know? Fixed the post, by the way.

OOC: Not to pick nits, but Cole is no Redguard...

IC:

Cole rolled his eyes at Sid's comments, but held his tongue. Turning his attention to Don Leon, he watched the man work deftly to pick the lock of the door. He leaned against the wall as he waited for the privateer to gain entry.

"Don't forget, I make a living... and a damn good one at that... being an expert in the use of weapons. As far as unarmed combat..."

In a rare moment of humor, Cole held up his stump and smiled ruefully.

"...Well, I may be at a bit of a disadvantage, but I can still hold my own."

As Don Leon opened the door and entered, Cole followed suit, standing just inside the entrance, turning the small, dark-brown pipe in his good hand.

"And while I find it easier to remain hidden in the wilds, there shouldn't be any problem with concealment in a city of this size."

Cole was unsure of what exactly Don Leon had in mind, but the idea of having to lie in wait for their targets was nothing new to the mercenary. Although he was outwardly an impatient man and quick to criticize the slow-moving ways of most law enforcement, once a plan was in place, he became far more calculating and focused.

His concerns now were more about how well he could work in tandem with two men who differed so much from himself. He was a killer, not a spy or a diplomat. If push came to shove, the Dark Brotherhood would die by Cole's hand, rather than being captured.

Which was, Cole knew, the last thing Ocato and Crow needed...