"Honorable Man-beast!" It was a greeting more customary for Ree'Ja to endure than Hukral, though he had received his share of beast-like titles. Blue eyes turning to regard the stranger who addressed him, the Nordic knight found himself perplexed; a state of mind he did not enjoy. "I sat that war out, and Indeed would love to hear your stories of battle and triumph so that I may then tell them as my own. Since then I have done nothing but am still in need of women and ale." Hukral pursed his lips in a thin line, a vain attempt to conceal his displeasure at such a statement. For him, it was less the glory of his own triumphs that mattered, but the idea of someone stealing the thunder of another. Nords were a proud folk, and his father wise; he'd been raised to think that accomplishing nothing in your life was still better than stealing the accomplishments of others, which in a Skyrim alehouse could get you killed quick.

"I have only recently come to Fort Sutch and seek entertainment and a place for my manservant and slave." Hukral's eyes caught sight of the dark figure some distance behind the stranger. He was dressed in desert garb, which was the first thing Hukral noted. The second was a familiarity about the Dunmer. He got the feeling he'd seen the figure on a battlefield somewhere. "I am the commander, and you are now appreciative!" The proclamation startled Hukral out of his thoughts, focusing entirely again on the man before him. Appreciative I think not...

"You know I'm not terribly convinced that they are one, listening to us, and two, the imperial legion." He paused to examine his apple after this slightly, well, odd statement. After a moment he shrugged, bit into it, and spat out a piece. "No, I do believe that our dearly beloved garrison commander is preoccupied with laziness."

Hukral waited a few more moments, to ensure the man was finished and to process what had just been said. But, you are the commander... Hukral was not a diplomat, or any sort of skilled orator. He wasn't sure what to say, other than what he did say. "Sir, I am not sure I follow what you mean."

Ree'Ja's ears perked up, as the fur on the back of his neck stood up more than usual. Partly due to the keen senses of the beast, and partly the keen awareness the feline always sought to maintain, he got the feeling of being watched. Slowly the Khajiit turned around, resting one clawed hand on the paint horse's neck to keep the beast in place. His eyes narrowed as he searched through the tall grasses of the fields. He could see nothing, but the feeling never left. A nagging feeling in his mind, like a flea that bit often in places unreachable.

Ree'Ja watches others, others don't watch Ree'Ja The khajiit brooded, growling lowly in his throat. It was a soft alert to his companions, a warning call to alertness.

"Burn me!" Anglor swore, leaping past startled Bosmer, trying to keep the carriage in sight. Even with the success of the initial attack, the main objective was still careening down the road. However, with almost no guards left to protect it, their targets would be defenseless. If, that is, he could catch them. "Don't just sit there, follow that coach!"

Anglor's near-two hundred elf company followed him through the treetops, disregarding the shouts of the men below as they flew through the leaves. They say that the better part of a Bosmer's life is spent in the trees, and not a one of Anglor's rangers missed a step as they chased the carriage. However, despite their sure-footed speed, they were no match for horses in a frenzy.

The Bosmer captain's breath came in ragged gasps, even for a fit young wood elf like him the chase was not easy. And yet the coach was nearly out of his sight, the horses still pulling along at a breakneck pace, and showing no signs of slowing. Anglor swung to a hard stop on a thick branch, swearing furiously at the coach's escape. His second in command came to a rest beside him, panting just as badly, along with the rest of the company.

"We can't catch them like this sir. We'll just have to hope they come to a stop soon, and track them once their horses tire or the coach topples." The professional tone of his lieutenant infuriated the Bosmer further, but even Anglor could tell he was right. There was no helping it.

"Fine, we track the round-ears. Send a group back, to deal with the rest of the guard and deal with the clean up. The rest of you, follow me; we'll have these fools by nightfall."

OOC: The floor is yours

Fort Sutch

The various soldiers on the fort's wall eyed Andrethi distrustingly. He was considered a "guest" and was for the most part allowed to roam. Being traded for a box made things quite peculiar although for some odd reason he trusted Lucretia. He had spent the better part of his time at the fort watching the air with unfocused eyes. Just then his eyes became the most alert and he could look upon the many unseen things in the airily realm above them. Spirits, demons, whatever others liked to call them, they had their own methods to be. Once in a while however the paths of mortals and of the other world will cross, while some mortals intentionally choose these paths such as the necromancers. Necromancer...the word had a particularly sinister sound to it and yet it was something which Andrethi did at once practice.


The Ring, Draconarius Ouroboros

I am Andrethi's closest companion since the day his father picked him up I was with him, when he was left as a child at the Mournhold Sanctuary of the Morag Tong I was with him. How could a ring be speaking with you, you are asking? Is that more important than what I am about to share? I think not, and there will be time for that later. Instead for now I will tell you a bit about Andrethi, or his Forester name, Serosi 'Of the Sanctuary.' Some say be begot is epithet due to his ability to remain unharmed in the art of the Dunmer's ancestral powers. Others say that he was called thus for his service in the Morag Tong. And others still say that it is due to his serene eyes. My master truly is the most beautiful dagger of Boethiah who, although passionate in the kill, is as quiet as a noble lady in the presence of company. His youthful appearance, a face far too memorable for an assassin, is as unimposing as his hand is swift with a dagger. I would know, I sit on his right hand, my Wolf's jaws agape at my Dragon's tail, as a symbol of his life.

There are many who wonder what an immortal would do with necromancy, this art of moving souls from one plane to another. This story starts with Andrethi's first love, an elven woman by the name of Anrel who cared for him as her little brother until he was old enough that they cherished each other's as lovers. Because of the head master at the sanctuary and Serosi's ocular ability he was betrayed and in the end also heart broken. Now he hardly can remember Anrel's face although he still sighs deeply at the sight of beauty with the yearning that once embraced him. Even so he has remained as chaste as a loyal widow of youth and beauty could remain perhaps out of sorrow and perhaps out of honor or a mix of the two and has left many tear eyed love struck maidens in passioned pain.

It was after he had left Mournhold that the monster named Vott approached Andrethi with an offer. The giant of a vampire, Volkihar by lineage, although some have erroneously claimed Quarra, brought Andrethi to meet with The Ordinator, and master of the Khojmari. This Ordinator shared with Andrethi a secret. A technique he called "The Shadow of Fire" and said to him that just as fire frees the essence of whatever is being burnt, there is yet another fire that confines this essence. He was of course speaking of the Void and how to wield it. Vott carried such a void at the end of a staff and by nature this void formed a sort of massive blade made of ice. The Ordinator wished to be able to touch upon this Shadow of Fire with his bare hands and mold and form it as he pleased. He saw that Andrethi had the eyes to do such a thing and took advantage of his heart brokenness to draw out the cruelest and self destructive intentions from within my master.

After he had gained Azura's Star the plan was to corrupt it into a black soul gem, something others had tried and failed before and something which my master succeeded although I would not tell the likes of you how just as a servant would not give away the techniques of his master's painting strokes but will let you gaze upon the final result. At the last battle in the War of the Wolves, Andrethi, having corrupted Azura's Star and casting a mass spell of mysticism upon the battle ground, he absorbed soul after soul of the fallen men fighting. He did not hold these souls however, simply pulled them across the air by the Void which Vott carried and with a final cut the Volkihar along with my master's eyes drew out the Shadow of Fire. Seeing exactly what this power was, Andreti aimed to strike that terrible Lord Vott, down with it but without knowing the full extent of the Void's strength he ended up losing his own memory although nearly severing Lord Vott's ties to our realm.

Soon after that my master ended up in the care of the gentle spirited Varulae, gods rest her soul, what a terrible death she had suffered at the hands of that most terrible queen, or so it has been said. For now my lord hides amongst another war that has little to do with him, biding his time and awaiting to strike back at the Queen for her betrayal. He walks with feet too soft to march and hands too gentle not to hold another's and a face too beautiful to remain unkissed. Had I been born a woman i'd have been his right hand even more so than I am now but cruel fate has kept me only as such. And thus is my master's nature although many think harshly of him.

...

Andrethi clenched his gloved right hand for a moment and looked down at his ring briefly before turning his gaze toward the new comers. He recognized them from the war in Sentinel, just outside its walls when the massive Dwemer construct struck the Legion lines. What a liberating feeling it had been to ride amongst the soldiers so feverishly brave with arms in hand. Before he could be seen he lifted the veil scarf to the garb he wore covering his face. His attire of dark grey was fairly simple, the ends of the robe reaching down to his ankles and his sleeves just past his knuckles. But why were they here?

The Gold Road

The carriage was quickly becoming unsteady as it thundered down the Gold Road. It seemed to be guided by some malevolent intelligence, for it seemed to purposfully hit every large stone that pitted the road. After a short time, and a mile up the road, the carriage reached the maximum punishment, and one of the wheels snapped off of its axel. The wheel gone, the carriage collapsed onto its side, taking the horses along with it. And it moved no more.

Don Miguel Lluis Umbranox. the Estate of Lord Drad

"My lord Fafnid," the Don stood from his chair again, rubbing his sore leg as he moved to the flap of the tent, "I grow tired of this place. I cannot compete in the joust, or the melee, so my purpose in being here has dissapeared. What say you and I make a brief visit to the fort north of here, and fully take the mettle of the man my parents have installed within in?"

Sentinel, Jewel of Hammerfell

Frandar, Lord Defender of the Capital of the new Hammerfellian Kingdom, and Godfather to the Elden Yokeda himself. A large man who towered over all, with a long black beard streaked in the center with a white-gray, his trademark. He stomped in his ceramic armor, blue and gilded with ancient Yokudan engravings dotting all over. His retinue, other warriors of the Kingdom tried their best to keep up with his pace. The halls of the Palace of Sentinel were a maze, confusing and daunting to the most familiar of servants, but he knew exactly where he was going.

The door to the warm opened enthusiastically, awaiting him were men in extravagant robes fitted with feathers and exotic colors, their faces hidden in Jeweled masks representing different beasts.

"Mongati HoonDing Tiavo, Yokeda No-Shira." his deep voice rumbled through out the room. It was a very formal greeting. The HoonDing Guides us, all others Make Way, Noble Yokeda.

They returned the greeting. Another door opened soon after and everyone in the room stood. Through the door walked a woman robed in red, her curly hair, outfitted with jewels, resting in the hood of her dress. Her face was beautiful, her eyes filled with a ferocity that only the A'likr could produce. The woman was the Princess of the largest Nomadic tribe in Hammerfell, and Queen of what used to be multiple Kingdoms in Hammerfell. As warm hearted as she was, she had learned that politics requiered a cold, and calculating mentality.

She was only a few monthes into pregnancy, but Frandar noted this child would be large, and a difficult labor.

Whatever doubts she may have had in taken over the Kingdom for her husband, she showed no signs. Anyone in the room could be studying her carefully, to examine her strengths and weaknesses as a Queen.

"South Army is in position, as are the Aldmeri Dominion. Emmisaries have been sent to Anvil to discuss conflict, but no word has reached us as of yet. Lord Mansel, may I ask the situation in Rihad?"

A man in the jeweled mask of a Lion stood, "Yes, my Queen. As of now the South Eastern Triumvirate ruling over Taneth, Roseguard and Rihad have been extremely busy mustering there militia's into professional forces. Anvil's finances, and equipment provided has been substantial. No immediate signs of aggression, but Rihad has been keeping a close eye on the developing conflict in Cyrodiil. Signs are that they participate in conflict if the Empire gets involved.

The Queen svcked her teeth, "The Empire cannot afford another war, the Last War of the Wolves could prove to be there eventual destruction, whether it be through land or finance, there former allies will turn on them like wild dogs. What of the true threat?" she said this last sentence coldly. Frandar's eyes narrowed.

"My Queen, if I may." he said cutting off Mansel from answering.

He looked around the room before continuing, noting the gargoyle like statues and massive map of Tamriel twenty meters in length and width on the massive stone table, different colored sand marking different armies.

"The true threat will only be aided if we truly crush Anvil in this conflict, I do not propose total war with the Princedom. We cannot sacrafice South Army's manpower while other wars within our province rage on."

It was true, Anvil was meant to merely be Force Projection. Not an all out war or invasion. What had Haroun have planned? Roxanna could not help but agree. Sentinel was currently at war with the Lady of Pain, a Legendary figure from even Yokudan times. Many believed the assassin who struck the High King with an enchanted arrow was sent by her. Entire patrols moving through out the Sentinel badlands were found mutilated, and entire companies of Armies vanished.

"Already ahead of you, my Lord Frandar. Emmisaries have been sent." She said with a smirk.

The Leadership of Sentinel always seemed to work of their own accord, everyone else followed orders.

Legio Falco

Scores of sky piercing pikes streamed across the Colovian land from the west as they approached Fort Sutch. They were drawn up in battle formation with the Crossbowmen marching in spread formation ahead of the pike and halberdiers. The fort further west was left but not undefended and the baggage train was kept hidden there. A number of villagers had been recruited to do basic manual labor such as digging or cutting down trees. They had no ideological goals in the conflict, and simply liked the weight of money in their pockets. The weather itself seemed calm and mildly warm. The plan was to set up a forward camp toward the west of the fort, build some minor defenses by night fall and begin in the morning with the actual siege itself. A letter declaring Legio Falco's intentions had already been sent to the garrison commander.


To whomever it may concern,

Legio Falco has come under contract of the Kingdom of Sentinel in their conflict with "The Sovereign Host of Anvil" and by this contract are obligated to occupy Fort Sutch. We request the immediate disarmament of the fort of all personnel and the disbandment of all troops present. All who comply will be given access toward their homes. "The Sovereign Host of Anvil" should consider this a a declaration of war but should know as a mercenary company, hostilities on our side will cease once the contract is fulfilled or rendered void.

Signed,

Lucretia Alexandrina Ducale

OOC: Short crappy but we have to get SOMETHING going.

Fafnid, Lord Drad's Estate

Fafnid nodded in agreement as he watched the young man rise from his chair. He was clearly hurt though the Nord suspected his pride may have taken the brunt of it. Or not. He still hadn't been able to put a label on the Prince, and while he at first seemed brash and over-confident, he also seemed to have a level of reason and basic sensibility. "Sounds like a plan."

He nodded back to his men, and Granis and Otus rose silently from their seats and took off. Granis would return after giving the orders to Horund and Kollroy to return to the camp and get Asolf to begin organizing their men to march as soon as possible.

Don Miguel Lluis Umbranox, Outside Lord Drad's Estate

It hadn't taken long for horses to be procured for the Don and his Casa d'Equitació, the forty-man party that accompanied Anvil's heir whenever he left the city-proper. The Nords, to, had had their horses watered and rested. The two companies formed a rather contrasting group. The men of Anvil, with their short and well-trimmed beards, and generally smaller stature, clashed heavily with the larger and wilder Nords. If any of the Anvilians had any apprehension regarding their northern cousins and allies, they kept it to themselves. Don Miguel was already showing signs that he was not as tolerant as his parents.

The Don's horse was brought out last, a beautiful gray gelding suited for a pleasurable ride. With some minor difficulty due to his leg, Miguel swung up into the bejewled saddle. After he adjusted his foot in the stirrup, he shouted to Fafnid, "Tell me, my lord, how many men can you hope to bring down to aid us in this conflict?"

Fafnid, Near Lord Drad's Estate

Fafnid sat atop his horse as he waited patiently for the small group of men to assemble and get ready to leave the estate. Granis had returned swiftly after sending the two guards and Otus back to the Nordic camp with the orders to begin preparing the men. Pending the approval of the Elders of course but they had expressed their extreme confidence in Fafnid to procure a deal and that they would support it almost unquestioningly. He of course had already discussed troop numbers and such before leaving and so Asolf merely had to receive the official letter from Fafnid, get the Elders approval and the troops would be ready as soon as possible.

He was brought out of his thoughts as the young Prince addressed him about how many troops he would be giving to the cause. "As I said before, I am unwilling to leave my people unguarded in the camp we have established but in total, we will be providing roughly eighty-five hundred fighting men, plus baggage. Do not sneer at the number for it includes the finest of my warriors and is indeed nearly our entire fighting force from the column, good Prince."

Anvil

Montblanc shuffled through the crowds of people, looks of distrust and anger flashed him all around. He dressed like a Breton, in Imperial tailoring, and moved as a pure blooded Ra Gada. Of course they didn't trust him. His Kingdom was attacking their own. He would seek to avoid unnecessary blood shed, but that could never be done with Anvil's influence in Rihad. The Skaven khanate could easily be crushed militarily, Rihad required support from the people. Sentinel considered the badlands of Skaven useless in terms of resources, while Rihad was close to both the sea and borders of other provinces, and key to uniting all of the southern portion of Hammerfell.

The crowded Golden city of Cyrodiil was a sight to behold, some said that the Anvil harbor at sunset was to die for. Montblanc hoped to enjoy the city without his current agenda someday. A large group of sailors flirting with the women passing by, the sound of a shipwright's saw at work, dogs barking and children playing. This place seemed like a more peaceful Sentinel. He had stopped moving when his boot touched the wood of the harbor, shortly after a Breton sailor bumped into his side.

"My apologies...hic..." he stammered before staggaring away. Montblanc did not reply but looked toward the ground, a letter awaiting him.



The rest of the letter was a series of names, none Ra'Gada, almost all were Breton. Cut throats and thieves most likely, men who could be used as tools. The Shagun were not at there strongest in Cyrodiil, Redguards moping around would be no good once the racism war naturally brings would start.

------------------------------------------------------
The Colovian Planes
A young Redguard paced through the grassy planes of Colovia, a silver Yatagan with a hilt and sheath of bone at his side. He wore a fox mask whose muzzle contorted into a vicious snarl. Pearl fangs protruded viciously, it was a warning. Everywhere he went, he was two steps behind. The Dunmer with those demonic eyes, he was said to be with one group then another, then alone. Everywhere he went trouble followed, people died. This trail led Azrael to Cyrodiil. Following Legio Falco, mercenaries of some repute.

His viridian cloak concealed what was not by his beast mask. It was the mask of a tracker, a hunter, but not the true mask of Azrael. One of the most prodigous Ansei Stros M'kai had ever produced, part of a Legendary group of brothers, the extremely young man had to hide who he truly was. In Hammerfell he was a celebrity.

The Ansei was only hours behind the mercenaries, once word of the Dunmer with demonic eyes reached him, it did not take long for Azrael to put two and two together, it was the assassin of Thassad III, fallen High King, and the murderer of his brother.

Don Miguel Lluis Umbranox, Outside Lord Drad's Estate

"eighty-five hundred of Tamriel fiercest warriors, and you expect me to sneer?" The Don of Anvil titled his head back and laughed loudly, "Never in one hundred years would I think to do so! You Nords didn't create Man's first empire for no reason."

Finished with bantering with Fafnid, the Colovian observed how slow his servants were going with disassembling his pavilion, and removing the furniture to be loaded into the carts. Since he didn't expect to be at Fort Sutch for too long, he had ordered that his goods were to be taken back to Castle Anvil straight away. But he had no inclination to wait around the estate while his servants did their jobs. Motioning to his steward, a lean Redguard with aquiline features, he said, "My companions and I will not be a Sutch long, Jons, but there are a few matters that need tending to in Anvil at once. I'm sending you back with the help, and I want you to begin securing more supplies and horses for the army."

"Is that truly neccessary, Don?" Jons replied with a quirked eyebrow, "The planting season has only just begun. If we commander their work-horses...."

"Pah! Tell the Provosts that they will recieve fair compensation, and if they still complain, ask them if they would all enjoy speaking Yoku for the rest of their lives."

When his steward nodded his understanding, Miguel resituated himself in his saddle, and raised his arm. Lowering it, he signaled their departure to Fort Sutch.

OOC: I'm tired. I played basketball for 5 hours, drove for 4, and it is almost 1 AM. Could be better, but it is adequate. I might do a post on some dream Arethan had later on, but not right now...please...

Ruhk Ahkbar, Raga Camp

"Yes sir, he's leaving as we speak."

The voice of Mehmet soothed its way through the soft, gentle air of Ruhk's tent, as the young man sat in a seeming meditative state; legs pulled in and crossed, hand to his chin. Amaru had settled himself into a corner, keeping his voice locked beneath his cage while listening to the two men with him converse on their substantial subject. The young Raga's brow buckled its way downward, as he closed his eyes for an exiguous amount of seconds, a habit he had caught from Amaru in the days of the War of the Wolves and the time that lurked after it.

"Who will command the forces?"

Mehmet's eyes were still centralized on Ruhk. It seemed his old body did its best to stay still as his mouth motioned from above his chin.

"You will for a time, young Ruhk. Your cousin may send another officer this way if he feels it is needed. Until the new man arrives, you are to proceed towards Anvil with the strategy that has been laid out. The High King would like for the operation to keep its head up, despite Hequd having to return home due to personal reasons."

Ruhk returned to his state of thought as he brought his hand up to rub his forehead. He then nodded back at the older Raga which sat across from him in the tent.

"Very well then. Ready your men to move my morning, Mehmet. Make decent time and we'll be at Sutch by nightfall at the very least. Send a scout to notify Sobotai of what has happened, as well as our men at Garlas. They are to continue with the orders they were given previously."

With that the old Raga nodded, and Ruhk motioned him with a wave. Once Mehmet had exited the tent, the ansei took a soft look at his young student, who would now command the Army of Sentinel.


Ruhk, The Next Day

The soldiers were now on their way to Sutch. They had risen early in the morning, making their way across the Colovian plains. However, they would not fight their enemy late in the night. Scouts were sent ahead to the areas before them, as well as to Sobotai and Dikembe. Perhaps by the time they reached Sutch, it would be occupied by Lucretia and they would be allowed a safe night's sleep.

Sobotai, Dikembe, Near Fort Sutch

Sobotai, Dikembe, and ten of the Raga nobles had camped the night before, but had made great timing during the day. They had arrived at Sutch just in time for the conflict; Lucretia's forces had already arrived at the fort, revealing their true intentions. Sobotai quickly found his way to the back of the large force, holding his Raga banner high. He continued to seek out the general's bodyguard, and before long he located it. He, accompanied by Dikembe and the other 10, a dozen in all, confronted the vanguard force.

"Greetings, I come from the Raga, on behalf of the Army of Sentinel."

Arethan Andas, Servyn Velothi, Just ahead of Brina Cross, Morning of the Next Day

Arethan's eyes opened suddenly in a cold manner, recovering from the previous nightmares. The sun shown somewhat brightly through the near-dense forest above them. He quickly looked over at Alaudis, getting up and then tapping him on the shoulder. He followed the same procedure with his other two companions. His voice seemed to be softer than the day before, but more urgent all the same.

"Wake up, Wake up."

Fort Sutch

It is them! Arslan's eyes widened. This discovery surprised the nomad, though he also felt relieved; his belief that the Band was further south by now was firm, but for once he was glad to be proven wrong. With a Heartlander and another figure that he couldn't quite make out addressing Hukral, not to mention the fort that he suspected was filled to the brim with soldiers, many of whom might've fought in the same war he was captured, he couldn't approach them now. But even though he had to keep his distance and avoid them for now - he was well aware that in this land they would spot him eventually if he got too close - the Ayuub could feel some hope and certainty return to him, if only a little. When they parted, the Band did not seem to know more than him of the state of this shore, but they weren't as likely to become targets if they approached Heartlanders.

And if they couldn't help him with information, then the nomad needed other assistance. For one thing, if he couldn't return to the Alik'r as soon as he originally hoped, Arslan would need a change of clothes, because even though most outside the Motherland didn't know of the Ayuub tribe, his clothing betrayed the nomad's heritage even to the unexperienced eye, since the dunedwellers' clothing was quite distinctive. Though the idea of abbandoning his one connection to the tribe that was far from him did not sound appealing, he could still keep his weapons; the ties would not be completely severed.

Watching as Hukral talked with the Heartlander - even if he couldn't clearly make out what they were saying (his Colovian might've improved, but not by much and distance was a factor as well) - Arslan noticed that Ree'Ja turned around and was now facing him, at least roughly. The catman might not've seen him, but during their travels of the pale-skin lands, the Ayuub was surprised to find out that the feline's senses could be likened to a nomad's.

He could avoid being seen if he kept his distance, but the nomad saw little use in this. If the Band disappeared behind the stone walls without knowing he was there, who knew how long would it take for them to come out and if they wouldn't have signed up with the iron-men, a possibility that would've been the worst option for Arslan - he couldn't seek their help then. Even if he had learned more of the mercenary ways by now, he still couldn't bring himself to work with someone who was actively aiding his enemy as well.

No, the Ayuub needed to contact them now... But how? The Heartlanders were too close for him to show up, not to mention that there was no telling if the Band would immediately recognize him. He'd have to give them some other signal - a noise of some sort was the only thing the nomad could think of. A noise that could make it clear to them that this was Arslan without betraying his immediate position to the Heartlanders or making it too obvious that this was an enemy of theirs. He was fairly good at immitating animals, but he couldn't think of any animal common to these lands that would make the source of this sound more obvious. Something from the Alik'r would make his identity clearer, but another risk - he had no idea what animals the Band had met during their travels.

A lutemoth was the first creature to occur to him; it was strongly associated with his tribe among those who knew something of the desert, since the Ayuubs were the only - or at least the only notable - tribe who could tame the massive dwellers of the desert. And if they'd heard them once, they would recognize the sound; a lutemoth's roar was a very distinctive noise, especially unforgettable when heard at night when one wanders close to a herd of the animals.

Sighing and muttering a short prayer to no god in particular, pleading simply for success, Arslan produced a low, booming groan that wouldn't be confused with any animal native to the Heartland. It was fairly loud, enough so for the Band - and probably the Heartlanders in the fort - to hear it, though of course not quite as loud as a true lutemoth, since a man couldn't easily replicate the volume the massive creatures were capable of producing when they required it. This was a fairly foolish plan - there was no telling if the Band had even ever heard a lutemoth, not to mention the nomad couldn't recall if he had told them that his tribe tamed them. The reaction of the men in the fort and the Heartlander talking with Hukral was another uncertainty. But he couldn't sit there and do nothing - the Ayuub needed to act now and risk having to flee if the plan failed, something he was fairly confident he'd manage to do.

OOC: Messing with Posting Template so bare with me everyone...
Dar'Karim; Farming Zone outside of Anvil; Sometime after Midnight

Dar'Karim and half of his squad moved silently through the soft dirt. The soil was filled with rich nutrients that supported the cabbage, carrots, and potatoes that were grown there, and the six men moved quietly through it, cautious not to squish any of the crop with their feet. It was the middle of the night, and the entire landscape was bathed in blackness. There was only a flicker of light about a quarter of a mile up, and that belonged to a farmhouse. The rest of the area was extremely dark. Dar'Karim felt the soil flatten beneath his boots, and he knew that he would leave bootprints. It svcked, but that was the reprimand of approaching a farmhouse through the fields instead of on the road.

Dar'Karim could easily make out most hidden of details with his Khajiit's night-eye, but he knew most of his squad couldn't. But it didn't matter, their eyes were accustomed to darkness. The second and third squads were assigned the duty of capturing every farmer that worked for Anvil. The fourth squad was defending the ruin in case anyone happened upon it, and, of course, the first and fifth were busy with their own worries at Fort Strand. Each of the second and third squad were cut in half, with five people in each squad. Dar'Karim was leading what was now known as squad 3A, and his lieutenant, Kalorter, would be leading squad 3B. Francois and his LT, Balan, would be leading the second squads. They were to raze the fields and houses as well as take the farmers prisoners. He was told not to worry about the families of the farmers, which meant that he was free to kill them. He would have captured them, but prisoners were heavy work. He didn't like the idea of having to go out of his way to feed the enemy, and keep them safe. There would be none of that.

They were at the house now, a measly house that looked like it had only two bedrooms and a living room. Dar'Karim didn't see any farm-hands' shacks around, so he guessed the farmer and his sons did everything themselves. They were probably very poor. Dar'Karim approached the front door, quiet as a mouse. The rest of the squad, wearing black robes as dark as night, and demonic masks to scare the farmers, approached other windows and doors. Another member of his squad flanked the door that Dar'Karim was beside. On the opposite side of the house, there was a wooden door that led into the house from the back. It was flanked by two people as well, and each of the last two were at a window.

He grabbed his crossbow from his back, and pointed it at the door. The squad were trained to begin to move in after the captain or lieutenant began their assault, and now they were all silently waiting. Dar'Karim nodded, and the man opposite to him first tried the doorknob. It was, of course, locked. Normally, he wouldn't have allowed anyone to check the doorknob, but he doubted severely that the farmers of Anvil had bodyguards staying up 24/7. The man opposite to him, a fellow Khajiit by the name of Ri'Shur, shook his head. Dar'Karim moved from flanking the door, to standing right in front. He took in a deep breath, and Ri'Shur nodded at him. Dar'Karim picked up his foot, and kicked the right edge of the door as hard as he could. The weak wood broke under the high pressure and it swung open with a large crack. The reaction was almost instantaneous, windows broke and another door was kicked in almost immediately.

Dar'Karim, followed by Ri'Shur, quickly entered the house. He looked left, then right, and didn't find anyone. He moved up and saw that there was a hallway to the left of the main room. There was also a hallway opposite to the front door, and after a quick hand-motion by Dar'Karim, Ri'Shur quickly went through that hallway. He heard a scream that sounded like a child's, then it stopped abruptly short. A shiver ran down Dar'Karim's spine, and a queer thought suddenly popped up in his head.

"War makes cowards of us all."

He continued onward, and went into the left hallway. There was a single door on the left side of the hallway, and he kicked it open. Inside was a musty room with a large bed. There were two people sitting up in their bed, illuminated by a lantern in the corner. Upon their faces were bewildered looks of confusion and terror. No remorse, Dar'Karim thought, and aimed at the wife. He pulled the trigger, and the bolt slung forward, hitting the farmer's wife right in between the eyes. She fell over with a life-like quality, hitting her head on the wall and finally slumping over and out of the bed onto the floor with a sickly thump.

The farmer, who seemed well aged, let out a dry cry. Dar'Karim grabbed a robe that was hanging on his belt and then yelled: "Found him!" as to tell the rest of the squad that the farmer was found and they didn't have to spend time making sure that the person they were intruding upon was the farmer. The farmer got up on his feet, and Dar'Karim tackled him to the ground. There wasn't much room between the bed and the wall, but Dar'Karim made do. He turned the aged farmer over on his belly, and set down his crossbow. He began to tie his hands, and someone appeared in the doorway. It was Ri'Shur, and he quickly went over to help. The farmer was struggling and crying, and with a quick stomp of his boot (lighter then normal to be true), Ri'Shur knocked his lights out. He grabbed a hankerchief and gagged the downed farmer, and then reached into his bag to produce a cloth bag. He pulled it over the farmer's head while Dar'Karim worked on tying the legs. Someone else, an Argonian by the accent, stepped in the doorway.

"House iss cleared. Two children, adolescent by the look of them."

"Good. Go ahead and get started on the crops." Dar'Karim said back quickly, without turning his head. The Argonian disappeared from the door.

The farmer was finally bound and gagged, and Dar'Karim picked him up. He threw the farmer over his shoulder, and began to carry him out of the house. He nodded at Ri'Shur, and he disappeared into the blackness. Dar'Karim continued with the farmer North, which they would follow until daylight. They wouldn't get to Garlas Malatar until the next day due to the fact that it was already too late. He looked to the East, and wasn't surprised to see a twinkling orange in the distance. A bit further north, and there was another twinkling orange. There were about three more of them in the distance, and when Dar'Karim turned around, he noticed that the roof of the house, which was made from grasses no doubt, was ablaze. The crops were starting to burn too, and he could see five shadows materialize out of the darkness. Not a word passed between them as the fires burnt down the crops and houses of the Anvil farmers.

Alaudis Archen - The Road (Past the Brina Cross Inn)

---

Alaudis stirred from his slumber as he received a firm tap on the shoulder. He had slept rather soundly these past few days, thanks to days filled with foot travel from morning to sundown. The travel hadn't been taking too much of a toll on Alaudis' young body, but it had made them all more than a little weary. Still being a young man, Alaudis would normally have a tendency to sleep late into the afternoon, but having responsible advlt companions had changed his schedule entirely. Wake up at first light, walk all day, sleep at sundown. The urgency would be sensed in Arethan's voice, and Alaudis' first reaction was to grab his steel longsword from beside his bedroll and leap to his feet.

He held the blade in a strange way, two hands despite it being a mere longsword. It was heavy for Alaudis, who had never swung a long blade in his life, and it pointed almost moreso forward than up in his hands. "What's going on, trouble?" Alaudis asked hastily, his eyes darting around the small the tent.

Area near Brina Cross

Swims-in-Shadows crouched by the cracked wall of the inn, moonlight shining on the forest around him and the torches inside of the brick and wood structure illuminating the space outside of the windows. Thanks to the brighter interior lighting of the roadside structure, the unsuspecting patrons of the small travelers' inn could not see out the windows; they had no way of knowing the danger that awaited them. While bandits were a problem in this part of Wayrest thanks to the Nordic invasion drawing most of the army away from the roads, none had yet been bold enough to dare attack an established inn before. And so it was that the few inhabitants of this modest inn simply sat about calmly and without fear. Although there were only four of them, none of whom were particularly skilled in combat or magic and they sat in an unlocked building, they felt as secure as could be.

After checking the window and noting that none of the inhabitants, who were simply a young couple on their honeymoon, a modestly successful traveling merchant, and the arthritic old man who ran the inn, posed any threat to him, Swims-in-Shadows loaded his light crossbow with a standard, non-magical bolt and set it on the ground behind him, several feet from the inn wall, then pressed his armored right hand on a prominent crack in the inn's wall. Slowly, he moved his left hand and the magical ring he wore on it towards the back of the gauntlet. After what seemed like an eternity to the nervous Argonian, the ring finally touched the gauntlet with a quiet clink, and the vibrations hummed through the gauntlet and the wall. Soon, the brick structure began to shake and buckle, threatening to collapse atop the old barkeep...

"Wake up, wake up." said Arethan quietly but urgently. Swims felt a tap on his chitin-encased shoulder, and he bolted upright immediately. He had long ago lost his bedroll and become accustomed to sleeping in his armor on the ground, and, still excited from his dream, rapidly scanned the area for threats. The Argonian noticed Arethan, and his adrenaline was quickly replaced with annoyance and disappointment. Damn, my favorite part of that dream was coming up! The dream was a recurring flashback to the first inn Swims had ever attacked, and it visited him every few weeks or so. It was a pleasant memory for him, and he was always in a good mood after it. However, Arethan's interruption caused him to sink back into the embitterment of the previous day, and he looked upon his three new companions with annoyance.

"Good morning, everyone." said Swims, slowly rising to his feet. Time for another day of walking.

OOC: A hundred apologies for the lateness of my reply, between school and cross country I have been too busy to keep up with any roleplay, nevermind four. However, I'll stick through this one, though my posting may be a tad sporadic. Sorry :shrug: Whoever's currently in charge of the Redguards, message me whenever you need my elves to move. Thanks.

IC: Captain Anglor stopped, smiling down at the broken carriage. Over half his force was behind him, he was not taking any more chances with the prisoners. With a call to halt he raised his bow, notching an arrow to his eye, and fired. The missile flew true, whistling through the air until it pierced the carriage door.

"There's more where that came from, humans! Just step out of the coach and you won't be harmed; you have been taken prisoner by the power of the Aldmeri Dominion. Comply, and you shall be paroled fairly; struggle, and you shall be put in irons!" Anglor stood with his hands on his hips, legs spread in a triumphant stance on a low branch. Above him came a mixture of cheering and cat-calls from his unit- many asked to see the human noblewoman; Anglor didn't care to silence them.

Don Miguel Lluis Umbranox, Fort Sutch

The Don could sense trouble as he and his party neared the fort of Sutch. His first warnings were the pillars of smoke, likely the last remants of camp fires, the second was the loud clamoring of a siege camp. He had heard that sounds before. Pacifying the forts of Anvil after it achieved independence had taken time, but he, leading his countries armies, had managed to secure and maintain the four great forts that existed within Anvil. Their former inhabitants, bandits, raiders, necromancers, had put up a good fight, but they had been no match for the disciplined regiments of the Principality's soldiers.

"Hold," Miguel called as he raised his hand to halt his party. "Gaston!" A dark Colovian man pushed his way through the crowded horses to his lord's side.

"Yes, Don?"

"Do you see that smoke?" Miguel asked, pointing to the black plumes off in the distance, "Something is wrong. I want you to go and investigate. If something has befallen the fort, you are to come straight back here, understand?"

"I understand, Don. But what do you think could have happened? Surely you don't think the Redguards...."

"If they have already penetrated this deep into Anvil, then things will be dire. But this doesn't seem their style. At least they would have the honor to tell us they're coming! Now, quick, make haste to the fort!"

As Gaston spurred his horse into a gallop, kicking up clouds of dust in his wake, Miguel wheeled his own mount to face his party. "Weapons ready, and eyes peeled!"

Band of Bastards, Fort Sutch
"What is it Ree'Ja?" Marsha asked, as she was the first to hear the Khajiit's low growl, being beside his horse. She kept her voice low and didn't move, to give the appearance from afar that no conversation was occurring.

"Someone watches. Ree'Ja feel it." The Suthay-Raht hissed back.

"Nevermind that, kitty." Jassan interjected, pointing to the west with an obvious motion. "Smoke and clamor, sounds like an army camp." Jassan smiled, knowing that only he and Ree'Ja were likely to hear those sounds at the distance the group of four was from the fort. But the men at the fort likely could, and as the four mercenaries watched, they could see a man heading for the encampment. He had the look of a messenger from afar.

"Something's wrong." Wikrun voiced the conclusion they had all come to, as Hukral's giant form could be seen looking to the west as well.

And then a sound came across the grassland, a low and booming groan that sounded like a dying ogre. It rolled through the air with an unignorable roar. Ree'Ja's ears perked up instantly and he looked to the north, from the general direction of the noise. The others followed suit.

"That wasn't a war horn... not any I've heard before." Wikrun remarked with unhidden perplexity, furthered when he saw the light of revelation upon Marsha's face. "You've heard that before?" She nodded.

"It sounded like a lutemoth." She explained.

"A what-moth?" Jassan asked, and Marsha for once did not snap at him, but looked over her shoulder at the small elf contemplatively.

"A lutemoth. They roam freely in the deserts of Hammerfell, and usually sound deeper and louder than that... but that definitely had the characteristic groaning-roar." She elaborated, though the explanations left more questions than answers. "Why that would be here, though..."

"Marsha, Ree'Ja, investigate it." Wikrun cut in, bringing finality to the situation. "Jassan, we're needed with Hukral. Marsha, signal if anything goes wrong." Wikrun ordered without hesitation and they complied without argument; there was no set leader of this Band, Hukral just took the lead more often. Marsha and Ree'Ja turned their horses around and headed north at a trot, Ree'Ja swinging back onto his horse to get higher up and catch more scents in the wind. Wikrun and Jassan moved with a little more haste to Hukral's position, both keeping a weary eye on the fort on their left.

Fafnid, Fort Sutch

The trip north had been dull, to say the least, for the convoy. Not that he had expected any trouble from the Redguards at this time, but he found the land to be the same rolling plain after another as far as the eye could see and he began to long for the lush green plains and mountain backdrop of his homeland. He had fallen deep within thoughts of Skyrim when there was a sudden clamor amongst the mounted men and Fafnid had to rear his horse up to avoid running into Miquel.

The entire group of men had halted, and Fafnid didn't need to search long to find the source of their sudden stop. On the horizon he could see a pillar of smoke and could hear the sounds of many men. His hand dropped to the hilt of his trusted blade and he swore under his breath for not bringing his armor. He loosened the blade slightly and trotted over to Granis well watching the Don call up one of his own men.

"Thought you might be needin' this, old friend."

Fafnid turned his head and saw Granis was holding a light chain shirt in his hands. It wasn't Fafnid's, and he could tell the mail wasn't as strong, nor did it offer protection past his naval and shoulders. But it was something, and he was grateful nonetheless. He slipped it over his light traveling cloak and smiled as he tightened the leather ties.

The Don called for ready weapons and the three Nords answered the call with a song of scrapping steel as they drew their blades. Fafnid watched as the scout rode off towards the smoke, and he could feel his blood begin to pump faster.

It had been too long since his last fight.

Fort Sutch

The magnificence of such an army never ceased to impress Andrethi, especially now that he beheld Lucretia Ducale's 'Legio Falco' with her at the lead of it all. With the setting sun to their back the shimmering outline of their armor along with the long shadows they cast gave them an otherworldly appearance and Lucretia knew every bit of it that they looked impressive. She had often said that half of a fight was simply looking more capable than the enemy. If you break their will to fight, terrify them, they'll run and during the route is when the real massacre happened. Pikes, spears, halberds, long swords, maces, axes, crossbows, and all manner of invention which mortals create to destroy one another could be seen as present. The pike formations were often much more rigid and inflexible than the Imperial Legions but Lucretia mixed a combination of rigid phalanx form and loose mobile skirmishers, shock troops and light cavalry.

Who'd figure such a delicate framed elegant woman as Lucretia could so apprehensively maintain such a war machine. Stories of their vengeful deeds against the Dominion's forces in the deserts and jungles of the Khajiit circulated throughout Cyrodiil. They had become somewhat of a modern folk hero even, one of the last aspects to which the Imperials could look at and say that they were effective at dousing the fires of conquest and stopping the Altmer's 'Reconquest of the Heartland.' Some considered this attack by Lucretia against Anvil as a betrayal of Cyrodiil while many others looked at it as putting the upstart Anvil in its place and ceasing to arouse more anger from the Redguard King who had so terrifically defeated one of the last Legions of the Empire. There were even rumors that she planned to march her army into the Imperial City itself and proclaim herself Emperor and true heir of Talos Tiber Septim himself. That he had made love with her mother in his ethereal form and bestowed upon her brow his military brilliance. Lucretia never espoused such ideas but neither did she out right deny them allowing rumors such as this to circulate and allow her reputation to grow with victory after victory.

OOC: Darkom, I'm gonna leave the rest of this up to you after this post regarding the Anvil leaders.


The Gold Road

Dressed in nothing more than his light undershirt and chausses, Prince Corvus Umbranox scrambled out from the wreckage of his former transport. He had a dazed look on his face, and at first didn't really seem to understand what was going on, or even where he was. Blinking a few times, he seemed to come back to reality as his eyes slowly widened, taking on a look of terror and apprehension. "By the Gods!" he said, mostly to himself, "By what right does this affront justify itself by?"

His wife, however, who had made a much more proper, fully-dressed exit from the ruin carriage, seemed fully aware of the dire situations she and her husband were in. Remaining silent while her husband ranted. Looking down the road, she could make out the corpses of their slain guards, and her heart dropped. There could be no rescue, no news to reach their son.

As her husband's rant trailed off into midless sputtering, Millona Umbranox turned a steely gaze onto the leading Bosmer, asking very formally, "And where are we to be taken?"

Fort Sutch
Fort Sutch, and by extension, most of the areas around the Brena River, existed in a partial valley. Stuck between Corten Mountains on the Hammerfell side, and a sudden upswing in elevation on the Anvil side, the area was quite fertile, but not as inhabited or civilized as the rest of the Principality. In its way, Fort Sutch was the dominating feature on the plain, if only by virtue that it was taller than the small hamlets and farms that dotted the region. However, because of this, it was quite easy to identify things that should not be there.

Black smoke being one of them.

Gaston, the warrior who had been sent by the Don to investigate this anomally, was terrified of what he might find as he raced towards the edge of the hills overlooking Fort Sutch. If the Redguard had already penetrated that far into Anvil....

No. Shaking his head to ward away the negative thoughts, Gaston steeled his soul to whatever was the cause of that smoke, be it Redguards, or marauders. After an hour, he finally reached the downslope, and found that he was wrong on both accounts. There was indeed an army attacking Fort Sutch, but it bore neither the banners of Hammerfell, or the chaos of a marauder camp. He sat at the ridge for sometime, his horse began to tap the ground in agitation. Brought out his thoughts by the rythmic tapping, Gaston whirled his horse around, suddenly fearful for another reason. He had stood at that ridge for too long, surely someone had seen him, and they might give chase.

March on Fort Sutch

A handful of the Argonian Stradiots had been kept in reserve by Lucretia to cover the flanks and rear as they advanced. These Nibanese born Argonians were skilled with the horse, hammer, spear and crossbow. Although they numbered five hundred in total, only about fifty accompanied Lucretia's army on their march. A group of half dozen or so of the Stradiots charged their horses up the softly rolling hill as they caught something on the sky line of the terrain. With an unhuman hiss the few signaled each other and they sped their horses on toward the hill, one was unrolling a net while the others gripped their cross bows.

OOC: Crap post I know. It's almost 4 and I got classes in the morning so bleh.

Fort Suthc Road

Miguel knew something was immensely wrong when Gaston came thundering down the road as if Malacath himself was giving chase. Pushing his horse a bit forward, out of the crowd his guards, he turned his mount so that his sword arm, his left, was hidden from view. Whatever was chasing Gaston, Miguel didn't want it knowing his was armed.

Gaston, on his end, was shouting at the top of his lungs that the fort was being attacked, but the noise of his horse's hooves crashing against the dry road made it impossible for him to be heard. His face, however, was a signal of it's own. Drawn, and pale white with fear. His eyes, a deep blue common to Colovians, were alight with fright and urgency. And as he finally came to a near-disastrous halt before his lord, the Don, the man was finally able to get his message across.

"My lord! You must flee at once!"

Miguel's eyes narrowed. "For what possible reason? Is the fort under attack?"

Gaston nodded his head furiously, gasping for air. "But not by the Redguards! I know not the banners they fly, but the force is large. Almost too large to be attacking a single fort!"

"That is-," Miguel was cutoff when he saw another great dustcloud in the distance up the road. "By the gods, man!" he yelled at Gaston," You were followed!" Wheeling his horse around to face his guards, twenty in all, along with the accompanyiny Nords, the Colovian prince bellowed, "To arms men! An assault!" And he spurred his horse to engage whatever foe dared to invade fair Anvil.

Between Brina Cross and the Drad Estate; Arethan Andas, Servyn Velothi

"Stop."

Servyn let out his hand in front of Arethan, as two pairs of boots skidded to a halt. The younger Dunmer took a glance behind him to find the Argonian and the Breton in their positions. Servyn's eye twitched as it turned its way over to his left, and his hand glowed a slim light in the cool afternoon. He began to mouth words with his lips, before letting out a slight whisper to Arethan.

"Arethan...the bushes-"

A bolt flew from the bush, blitzing its way into Servyn's arm just beneath his shoulder pad. The Dunmer's right hand acknowledged the injury nearly instantaneously, making its way up to grip his bicep in certain pain.

"[censored]" He said, nearly immediately.

Cold, red eyes came down to meet the sight of the wound, squinting in assertive pain as they looked angrily back up at the bush. Arethan's eyes did nearly the exact opposite, widening in surprise at where the bolt had come from. He quickly readied his detect life spell, as eight figures moved in to surround the group. A large Senche-Raht made his way in front of Servyn from the right, armored in light leather and carrying a one-sided battle axe. To his side was a lean Breton, who appeared to be wearing expensive Mithril armor. He only kept a shortsword at his side, as magic was probably his primary weapon. A large Orc, armored in his native armor, approached from Arethan's flank on the right. He held a large Orcish axe. Beside him was a Raga warrior, apparently endowed in steel plate and equipped with a sword. To the left of the group, two Imperials stood by, one male and one female. The female appeared to be an archer, wearing chainmail and being equipped with a bow. Beside her was the male, who in fact looked very similar to her. His weaponry consisted of a morning star along with a shortsword hanging at his side. He wore what appeared to be thin iron plate over light leather. Behind the group, an Argonian and a Nord approached. The Nord's apparel consisted of what was similar to the Orc's, minus the fact that it was Nordic steel instead of Orcish armor. The Argonian wore plain leather and carried a spear in his hand. The Nord held his place directly behind the Breton, while the Argonian held his opponent who shared his own native origin.

The group was boxed in in the main Imperial road. Arethan took a glance forward, but no one was in sight. There was no one to help them now. The Khajiit drew his axe first, before uttering his words.

"400 septims, and you're free to go..."

Serrvyn looked at the figure with astonishment.

"Where in the hell do you expect us to get that?"

The Breton smirked, before uttering his own response.

"Your steel clad friend here has it, I guarantee it. Hand it over you dirty bastards, or we'll make quick waste of you and be on our way-"

Dirty bastards? How dare him say that to me...

Arethan gripped the gauntlet over his hand even tighter. His eyes tightened and his muscles tensed. Anger latched onto his face, as he cut off the Breton.

I'm much more than just a dirty bastard. I'm Arethan Andas. That Pr*ck. I'll show him, damn Breton. Dirty Raht. You'll wish you never met me, you son of a b*tch...

"F*cking Breton. Take that little rat of yours and feed his fat ass-"

"Suit yourself, Dunmer, I guess I'll-"

"I'll give that dirty rat a bath, damn it, and I'll wipe your crooked nose clean, f*cker."

"Kill h-"

The Breton stopped in awe as the Khajiit readied his large two handed axe. A breeze of frost shot forth, and within seconds the cat's wrists were frozen solid together with the axe. The frozen foe moaned in pain.

"Ra'Khar hurts!"

"[censored]. Now!" The Breton uttered.

A bolt shot forth from his hand, channeling into Arethan's body. The Breton smirked.

"You're dispelled. B*tch. I'll burn you now, ignorant blasted-"

The purple glow was quickly absorbed into Arethan's gauntlet. Within his moments, his other hand flared up. Fire clawed at the Breton, who then responded with a matching spell of his own.

The others then moved in.