Alaudis Archen - Road to Lord Drad's Estate

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It hadn't been any more than a few days since Alaudis had met his new travelling companions, and within that short period of time, he had seen more action than in his entire life. As the band of highwaymen began to close in, his body began to quiver in fear, his mouth hung open lightly as his eyes darted over each member of the opposition, trying to pick one that he would stand a chance against. The only one that he would possibly have been a match for was the breton of the group, no doubt they would have a few similar skills. But before Alaudis could make a move, Arethan had already taken the initiative to attack his only target. What would he do now? Go for the orc, the Nord? Not a chance, they'd splice him in half before he even knew what would hit him.

As the chaos of combat began, the band of adventurers was entirely surrounded, and horribly outnumbered. Thinking desperately, Alaudis came up with only one thing he could do to aid in the survival of himself and his companions. They were closing in quick, no time to go for the bow, and only a fool would take out his dagger at a time like this. With open fingers, Alaudis extended his arm, his palm open toward the pair of imperials. A twirling helix of magical flames twisted quickly down from his shoulder to his reaching hand, and flew forth towards his target. As the energies exited his palm, they grew and spread, coning outward and completely enveloping the two. Their screams could be heard loud over the crackling noise of their melting skin.

While impressive, and rather effective, this kind of powerful magic would take a lot out of even some of Nirn's most powerful mages. Alaudis relinquished the spell quickly, but the imperials had been caught in the inferno long enough for their mail to be burned into their flaming skin. With only a bit of magical power left, Alaudis whipped the dagger from his belt. He was still terrified, but he did his best to keep calm. Even though they were seriously outnumbered, the small group possessed more than enough power to take down a few common criminials.

Fort Sutch

Thank Tall Papa. It worked... Arslan sighed in relief silently. Though the several moments before the Band responded were tense, Marsha and Ree'Ja were now moving in his general direction, attracted by his Lutemoth impression. Though they didn't seem to get the clue, the nomad wasn't putting that much hope into that aspect of his plan; that he had drawn their attention was enough. And Marsha comming along for the investigation also helped - he could address them in Yoku without being misunderstood.

He would have to move carefully, however, since the possibility of misidentification was there and a threat. If Arslan moved too suddenly, Marsha and Ree'Ja might respond with appropriate haste as well. He knew all too well that the Band did not have many friends scattered around Tamriel, or at least they had fewer friends than enemies; and then there was the fact they probably thought he was in Hammerfell by now, just as he had thought they were further into Cyrodiil. Both fell short of each other's expectations, but the Band was yet to realise that. So he'd have to go about this carefully; preferably act before they saw him. A wiser move than simply waiting for them to find me.

"Marsha!" Arslan didn't want to yell, neither did he intend to stand up so the pair could see him; he had already risked attracting the attention of the iron-men once and had no intention of doing so twice in quick succession. Hopefully his voice would be recognised without making enough of a fuss to attract more attention from the fort, which was probably already twitchy, what with the movement around it.

"Don't stop moving too suddenly, the iron-men might see. It's Arslan."

Fort Sutch
Hukral had wasted no time in drawing out his claymore in a single sweep, holding it beside his black stallion. He was already on battle-edge when Wikrun and Jassan reached him.

"What is going on, Huck?" Wikrun inquired quickly, his cane unlashed from his saddle. Jassan had a knife between his teeth and a second in one hand, the other holding the horse's reigns.

"I don't know. Where's Marsha and Ree'Ja?"

"Gone to investigate a strange sound." Wikrun replied.

"The one like a Redguard Warhorn?" Hukral asked, and Wikrun nodded, not bothering to wonder how Hukral made such a comparison.

"Whi dost batil alwis fodow us?" Jassan muttered over the knife in his mouth, letting go of the horse's reigns to grasp the knife and get ready himself. "I would like a day of vacation, or two. Ya know, relaxing on a beach, drinking cheap wine with hot wenches. That sorta thing."

"For you, that'll only happen on a Valenwood coastline. Wikrun, follow Marsha and Ree'Ja. We have to get out of here." Hukral responded, taking an authoritative tone. The besieging force was approaching fast and they were too large for even the Fort to handle, Hukral reckoned. Jassan and Wikrun hastily beat a retreat as Hukral turned to the man he had once been speaking with.

"It would seem you are preoccupied with other matters, and cannot house my comrades at this time. May Talos bless you today." Hukral slung his aspis off his back and held it and the reigns of his horse before turning and speeding off after his comrades. They would be followed by a small group of the invading force, he reckoned, but the Band of Bastards had handled fifty bandits once. It was harsh, he'd rather not handle that fight again, but they had survived. Barely. Regardless staying at the fort was not going to improve their chances. And his duty was to his comrades.

Marsha paused when she heard the voice, as did Ree'Ja, both of their horses slowing down. Ree'Ja stared directly from where he had heard the voice, but Marsha, having less keen hearing, looked around. "Don't stop moving too suddenly, the iron-men might see. It's Arslan."

The voice was in Yoku, and she understood the words loosely, particularly the name. A smile, though perplexed, came to her face. "Do not worry. Iron-men are busy with an army." She responded, and Ree'Ja relaxed his posture slightly when he heard her speak Yoku. He recognized the language, though didn't know it, and knew Marsha only spoke it to those from Hammerfall. Particularly the tribal Arslan, a wild-man of which Ree'Ja had grown a slightly kinship towards. They weren't all that different, despite appearances.

"Ree'Ja knew he felt eyes upon him." The Khajiit purred, knowing Arslan would only get half of that.

Fort Sutch

"An army... That is welcome news." Despite his words, Arslan frowned, however he was merely hastily mulling over what this meant - he felt quite relieved. Not only because the iron-men within the fort would be too preoccupied to care about his noise, but also since that meant something was going on in the Heartlanders' home. What the nomad couldn't figure out right now; he'd need to think about it later. Still, any enemy of his captors was a potential friend. Perhaps this was why there was an army of iron-men heading down the road some moons ago.

It felt strange to be talking with someone again; for the past few days he hadn't heard a word uttered by anyone else but himself. Though the Heartlanders' shore was full of wildlife and Arslan always enjoyed listening to the voice of the land, no matter how it sounded, it didn't compare to talking with actual people. People who weren't hostile, no less, since the few people he had seen during his time wandering this land the nomad avoided, since all of them were Heartlanders and they probably would've either fled or attacked him on sight, given that it hadn't been that long since the War and memories were still fresh in his and probably his enemy's memory. And even if they did neither of those things, the Ayuub wasn't going to ask a Heartlander for aid; desperate as he was, he was still a nomad and an Ayuub.

"I thought you felt." He responded to Ree'Ja's comment, risking to rise slightly from the grass. Though he positioned himself behind Marsha and Ree'Ja's horses and the iron-men were distracted, Arslan was still cautious, keeping his back hunched. No matter where he went, the nomad didn't feel safe in this land, a feeling amplified by the proximity of the Heartlanders' fort.

"Are the others comming?" Peeking from behind the horses, Arslan saw that Hukral, Wikrun and Jassan all seemed to be heading towards them; however, he wasn't sure what the Band was planning to do. Hukral had been near the fort and though he didn't hear any response comming from the structure, he didn't know of what he spoke with the man who appeared not too long ago. "I would rather not watch the battle that promises to come and unless you hold knowledge hidden from my sight, you shouldn't wish to either."

IC: The Gold Road; Captain Anglor


Captain Anglor shook his head in disgust at the barely dressed human that stepped from the carriage. 'This is what we went through all that trouble for?' The man made an exhasperated exclamation, as if he hadn't heard the Bosmer just moments before proclaim himself for the Dominion. The female, however, seemed much more in control than her imbecile husband, calmly questioning Anglor.

"That is for General Sanyon to decide, human. We shall be taking you back to his main force, already on its way to your precious city," the Bosmer boasted. Still smiling, he began giving jovial orders to his elves, and in moments the foolish nobleman and his wife were placed in the Bosmer's bone-shackles. "Check the coach for anything valuable, and be quick about it. I want to have the humans back to the general before nightfall."


OOC: Further apologies for my absence; hopefully we can start the real action soon Oh, and Verlox, my next post will have my hostages arriving at Sanyon's camp, as soon as I figure out what all is going on war-wise. Cheers

Road between Brina Cross and Drad Estate

Swims-in-Shadows marched along with his new companions. So far, he had developed a strong dislike for all of them; Arethan and Servyn for catching him after the Gottshaw incident, and Alaudis for his morality. He hadn't said a word that day since he woke up (and the awakening had only deepened his annoyance), preferring to walk in silence. Since the subject of pay had gone over poorly the last time Swims had mentioned it in front of the Breton, and he didn't have much else to talk about, he had simply remained quiet. There would be plenty of time to speak to Arethan and Servyn about it when Alaudis wasn't around.

And it was thanks to this dislike that Swims still said nothing even as he noticed movement in the bushes off to the side of the road. A slight rustling tipped him off to the presence of living creatures trying to hide in the foliage nearby; whoever was in there was certainly trying to avoid notice, and, although they were likely well practiced at it, they were no match for Swims' training as a scout in Helseth's army and experience living in the Black Marsh. Still, while he stayed on his toes and prepared for a fight, he was interested in seeing how long it would take for his companions to spot the bandits. A good fifteen seconds after Swims first noticed the figures waiting in ambush, Servyn reached out in front of Arethan to stop him. Took long enough. A crossbow bolt flew forth from one of the bushes, striking Servyn in the arm. A surprising number of bandits emerged from the sides of the trail, and two of them, a Nord and an Argonian, were facing him and Alaudis.

Swims drew his spear and dropped into a defensive stance as Arethan spoke with the Breton, who seemed to be some sort of leader of the group. He didn't bother listening to the details of the exchange, although Arethan seemed to be swearing a great deal. Classy, thought Swims as he locked eyes with the spear-wielding Argonian in leather armor. He could hear a number of spells being cast behind him between Arethan and the enemy Breton followed by the enemies moving in. Alaudis launched an impressive burst of fire at the two Imperial bandits, setting them ablaze and screaming. Damn. Didn't know he was that good with magic.

He noticed the Nord and the Argonian charging at him and Alaudis, the Argonian prepared to stab and the Nord raising his axe high above his head. Perfect; just like I thought they would. Swims quickly dropped his spear, and, staying low, drew his dagger and lunged at the Nord with shocking speed in one fluid motion. The enemy Argonian, clearly taken by surprise by Swims cutting across the ground immediately ahead of him, attempted a stab with his own spear, but he was too slow; the spear caught the back of Swims' chitin armor and glanced off harmlessly. The Nord barely saw what was happening before Swims collided violently with him, thrusting his magical dagger into a joint of the steel armor with deadly precision. The Nord let out a bellow of pain as the blade bit into his hip, the enchantment sapping his life force. He collapsed with Swims on top of him, twisting the dagger as much as the bandit's armor would allow him. Swims-in-Shadows quickly spun around as the Argonian bandit thrust with his spear once again, this time a much better aimed stab at his heart. Swims' left hand shot out and caught the shaft inches away from impact, slowing it to the point where the chitin armor was able to stop it. However, the impact was still quite painful as the spear forced his armor up against his scales, bruising his ribs. Trying his best to ignore the pain, Swims yanked on the spear, dragging the other Argonian a little towards him, and aimed a kick at his ankle, knocking him off balance and sending him sprawling towards the hard ground. Swims released his hold on the dagger; the Nord seemed injured enough to stop being a threat, and prepared to use the gauntlet to fight off the prone Argonian.

OOC: Curiously wondering where your forces are at.


The half dozen or so Argonian Stradiots half expecting a ploy easily turned their nimble horses upon the realization of a counter attack and at once each released a bolt from their light crossbows. The lightly armored horses in spread formation easily avoided the trap while dealing their own blow to the enemy. Most of the Stradiots along with the ambuscadeers were lying in wait for a trap of their own. Legio Falco's own approach to Fort Sutch had halted and the troops were building light fortifications in a crescent shape toward the west of the fort. The camp itself wouldn't be set up until they had a level of defenses in case of an attack from within the Fort. Although such an attack could easily be repulsed, the idea was to maintain as many troops for the attack on Anvil as possible. The veteran soldiers, many former legionnaires had training to work fully armored and paid no mind, while they took turns with others acting as guards.

I, Crane

Colovia seemed so foreign to my red eyes. Hammerfell had more in common with Morrowind than Cyrodiil did with either, and having not been home in a few years i'd come to resent this 'Heartland.' In the west I had worked with my talents for the late Khan Chagatai before he was slain in battle by Sultan Seljuk. I would have remained to paint in the old Velothian style which had been brought to the Altai in the days of the Dwemer masters. Under Khan Chagatai I had remained in a dream like bliss where my day to day routine included illuminating the manuscripts for his great library, drinking tea, and then smoking shisha with wide eyed supple briasted maidens which I would later share more time with. My life wasn't all leisure, i'd often go on campaign with the Khan's armies from the west to the east rendering the images of our great Khan's victories against the other tribes, khanates and sultanates. I myself ventured out to battle itself killing my share of men, although this is nothing new to me, but perhaps that is what links me to why I am in Colovia.

My name, Crane, was given to me by my late master, the renown head of the Mournhold Sanctuary of the Morag Tong. Few people know or even stop to consider, but we Morag Tong are more than just killers. We're preservers of the old ways, not just of the feud system of the Houses, but also of the Velothian arts. I myself trace my lineage to the masters of Tear. The strokes of my pen brush upon the paper showing off the slender forms of our Prophet as he took the Chimer east out of the Summerset. The way I apply gold leafing to the Dwemer's armor when the Chimer first encountered them. The great battles fought between them and later the Nords of the north. All have been preserved in my hand so that the mind of my eye could direct my fingers to make the images which have been made for thousands of years. My master gave all of his disciples names with care and such affection that we'd prefer the new names over our old. My master is now dead.

"Depending on view, I suppose it is." Marsha responded with slight perplexity to Arslan's statement. War usually wasn't good news, though for the Band it usually meant some sort of contract was guaranteed. But it also meant death and destruction and lack of prosperity. A mixed bag Marsha decided not to open right now, and merely shifted her seat on her steed, motioning to Arslan once she saw him rising from the grasses.

"Hop on. We may need speed." She told him, just as a cantering trio approached.

"Hey, it's the native!" Jassan exclaimed as they approached, instantly noticing the hiding Ayuub. After all, it takes a sneak to know one. "Well... I guess foreigner would be the better term now... Anyways, Huck, what's the plan?"

"So... Arslan was the-?" Wikrun began, but Ree'Ja cut him off.

"Worry later, deal with army now." He growled, mounting his own steed. While he did hate riding -efficient riding put his legs in such awkward positions at times, and it felt wrong to not have ground beneath his paws- the horses were faster and had better endurance than he did for running.

"Ree'Ja's right." Hukral replied, pointing to the west instantly. "We'll head west. There's an Ayleid Ruin to the southwest of Fort Sutch, a half to a day's ride at most."

"Um... Huck, not to rain on the parade, but the army was coming from the WEST." Jassan interrupted, still having not sheathed his daggers and not even holding the reigns anymore. His horse seemed not to mind.

"Yes, but likely not from the coast, and there is not a reliable water source to the east for quiet some time, at least none of note on the map. There is the Drad Estate east of the Ayleid Ruins, and the Fort of Crowhaven to the south. We can find better shelter there." Hukral responded, not missing a beat. Jassan whistled as both Hukral and Wikrun led the way west northwest, hoping to go around the army.

"Someone's been studying the maps..." The Bosmer muttered.

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

"-I'll burn you now, ignorant blasted Dunmer!"

Within seconds, fire met fire. When the blows met, the fire continued to build on top of itself, as both mages added more and more power to their spells. Arethan was careful not to put too much power into his spell, for against the Breton's his own spell would literally explode, setting his face to ashes. He knew very well he was stronger than this Bretic mage, but at such a close range the damage would be inevitable to all. A glimpse caught the corner of his eye, as the two Imperials exploded into flames.

The Breton, that Alaudis, he might actually be useful. Seems I underestimated him.

Damn this, I'll put this Breton out of his misery-

His cold red eyes widened to his right, as a large axe swung towards him. It was the Orc.

[censored].

"Arethan! Set your shield!"

Servyn screamed at the top of his lungs, easily dodging the wounded Khajiit. Arethan then gave his fireball one final push before focusing every bit of his energy on the most powerful shield spell he could forge up. A blast of light came toward him, as he closed his eyes at the sight of its fury, bracing for impact. The flames began to eat at his shield, but before he could record any of the distraught heat pushing through to destroy him, the might flames flew to his right. He opened up his eyes to see Servyn to his left, arms outstretched, a full teliknesses spell pushing the air and flames in front of him towards the Orc. Dust flew towards the Breton, who was now coughing at the mighty waves of sand being thrown into the air. A gigantic grunt was heard as the Orc came into sight. He dropped his axe midway through his swing before falling to the earth to cry in agony over his native armor, melted into his own skin.

The younger Dunmeri then made his way into the abundant smoke, followed by a sound of metal hitting the old road. The dust cleared away, as Servyn laid his fist directly into the Breton's nose, cocking it to the left side. The Breton wrestled back, locking arms with the Dunmer. With a quick shift of his arms, Servyn's new opponent managed to push the arm against Servyn's injured arm forward, laying a tough punch into his throat. The Breton scratched at his side, quickly drawing his sword and slashing it towards the Dunmer. Servyn cocked his healthy arm towards the weapon just in time, catching the Breton's wrist in a quick motion. His hand jerked to the side, as the Breton's sword found its way bouncing onto the cold stone road. The Dunmer's fingers had found a gap under the Breton's mail gauntlets. Servyn smirked.

The Breton screamed, as a fatal electric shock shot its way into his body. He turned violently before falling cold and lifeless to the earth. Only three opponents remained: the injured Khajiit, the Nord, and the Argonian.

"Servyn, get ready. Push on my mark."

He knew what it meant. Arethan stepped down to a sizable rock beneath him, laying a burden spell upon it. Servyn then used his power to hurl the rock into the Khajiit's head, knocking him unconscious. They repeated the process with the Nord, before turning to see how Swims fared with his second opponent.

OOC: Gathering at Anvil. Where else would they be? Now we need to decided a way to settle this skirmish. This is pretty much all I can write without some heavy character (soldier) control.

Don Miguel Lluis Umbranox, the Fort Sutch Road

"Damnation!" Miguel yelled as a crossbow bolt went whistling pas his ear. A great cry went up in the air, and the sound of a horse thudding to the ground. Whirling his head for a split second, the Don noticed that one his knights' horses had taken the bolt, meant for him, in the neck. Unfortunately, he had his own problems to deal with before attending to his fallen comrade. Spurring his horse forward into the fray, his voice rose in the Anvil's battlecry.

"Déus lluita per Anvil!"

The cry was taken up by the other Anvilians, and with it they followed their prince into the melee.

Fafnid, Fort Sutch

Fafnid and his men spurred their horses on, each eager to show the Don their loyalty to him and his cause. They took the right side of the young Prince, and kept pace with him as they rode towards the enemy. Fafnid could hardly breath with the tight chainmail on but he hardly let it stop him as he let out a cry for battle in his own tongue, followed by his two comrades and as they drew closer he saw that their foes were lizard-folk which momentarily confused the Nordic leader. His confusion vanished in a sharp flash of pain in his right forearm and he watched, in slow motion, as his blade fell from his raised hand as his right arm seized up in pain.

A gout of blood spattered his pants as he drew the arm in tight, gritting his teeth in pain. He quickly brought the harness to rest in his weakened right hand, as he threw his left hand down to the saddle around his left boot and drew a foot-and-a-half long dagger from its scabbard. It was nothing fancy and certainly not ideal in this situation but as they drew in towards the enemy, he needed something and he would not risk his comrades safety by taking their weapons.

He singled out a pair of the mounted enemies and made a deft move of his dagger to direct his companions attention to them as he adjusted his horses direction. Little did he know, another bolt had flew out towards Conrad, and the Nord had attempted to duck but had fallen off his mount as he over extended himself. He lay still in the tall grass next to the road, quite hidden but quite unconscious from the high fall. Fafnid didn't know it was just him and Granis now but if he had, it probably wouldn't have mattered as he let out another great bellow to let the Argonian riders know that their worst nightmare had arrived into their lives.

Lock please. Maybe opened up at a later time.