Gottshaw Inn

Swims-in-Shadows ducked behind a tree as the northern section of Gottshaw Inn collapsed into a pile of rubble, using the ensuing dust cloud as cover to avoid being spotted by anyone inside the inn. He knew better than to charge in immediately after using the gauntlet; while it would take the confused and panicked inhabitants of the roadside inn by surprise, it was impossible to know the positions of anyone inside at this point or even how many people he was up against, and there was always the risk of further collapse while he was entering. He quickly deemed the risk of charging into an unsafe building against an unknown number of enemies too great for him at the moment. The Argonian squinted and kept his mouth shut, attempting to keep the irritating particles from interfering with his sight or breathing. He took a few moments before cautiously poking his horned head out around the large oak tree, trying to survey the situation inside of the inn. There was too much screaming inside the inn for him to be able to pick out any actual words, although the volume of it suggested a larger number of inhabitants than such inns normally had. He also spotted five or six shadows projected onto the dust cloud by the inn's bright interior lighting, and, thanks to the size of the inn, there was more rubble than he was used to, which would make it more difficult to enter. So far, Swims did not like how the situation was shaping up; a full out charge into the remaining portion of the inn would be a poor decision. He would have to clamber over more than five feet of rubble, likely losing the element of surprise in the process, and would end up facing five or six opponents, whose capabilities he was uncertain of. The sound of two more people entering the inn, their elongated shadows eerily projecting onto the dust cloud thanks to the inn's fireplace, cemented Swims' decision not to attack. Time for the backup plan, he thought.

Although the dust cloud was beginning to settle, it was still thick and mostly impenetrable to sight when Swims-in-Shadows dashed from his hiding place behind the large oak to an intact wall on the eastern side of the inn about fifteen feet away from the tree. Pulling a torch from his belt with his armored right hand and staying low, Swims quickly made his way towards a large glass window on the same intact wall. He felt a surge of warmth as the magic of a simple fire spell flowed through his right arm, igniting the torch. Although the spell was so simple that any common layman could cast it, it significantly depleted his meager reserves of magicka; he would be able to cast it perhaps one more time before exhausting whatever magical energies he had left. Swims slammed his chitin-armored elbow through the glass window, extending his forearm in a sidearm throw and pitching the brightly blazing torch into the intact portion of the inn in the same motion. He was glad he had chosen to collapse the bar portion of the large travelers' inn; with any luck the casks of alcoholic beverages would have broken and spilled onto the inn floor, providing quick and easy fuel for the new fire.

Titus slowly moved down the stairs and through the panicked patrons. They were screaming and trying to flee, both out of the Inn and up the stairs to the sleeping area. Titus kept calm as he tried to see through the dust; that was increasing in volume by the second.

"I need to do something about this," Titus thought as he cast one the few spells he knew. He ran his free hand across his eyes and a green mist appeared around the hand. Suddenly the world went blue and the darkness was almost as bright as the light.

Titus knew two spells for a situation like this from his days as a ranger, night eye and detect life, and in his drunken state he selected night eye. A choice he would not have made sober.

In his new found clarity Titus began to look for signs of motion. He was now in the middle of the Inn about ten feet from the bar area. The remaining patrons where behind him as he waited for whomever did this to make a move. Suddenly there was movement from one of the windows, Titus turned and fired a bolt. It proceeded to fly out the window and out of sight. Titus missed the torch that was thrown through the window, and because of that he was unprepared for what happened next.

Before Titus could even think about racking a second arrow he was blinded by and intense light. A light that was created even brighter by his night eye spell. Titus yelled in agony as he pulled his arm up to shield his face from the flames. A few stray embers caught Titus' arm on fire, and as the fire raged, Titus knew he needed to get out of the bar.

Now seeing nothing but blurs and spots Titus need to make a move, "Everyone out now!" Titus yelled in a loud, dry voice as he stumbled out of the Inn and collapsed to the ground still in a daze.

Gottshaw Inn

A loud rumbling woke the half drunk Antony Lucret. Dust scattered everywhere amongst the stable, it was a poorly built structure even for a successful roadside inn. Antony remained calm despite the screams and shouts from the inn. Within moments he could smell smoke and a thick and distinct shout "Everyone out now!"

Has the dominion already made their move? Antony's mind raced. What could this commotion possibly be? He drew his sword and sought mental clarity for not only battle but the use of the arcane as well. One could say Antony was a skilled spellsword of some sorts. The stables were full of horses from all different means of travelers. If the inn was on fire, he was sure they would all need their mounts in due time.

He proceeded, his rather lithe build tramping about in the dark, to unhitch the horses and open the stable doors. He led his own chestnut horse, Repetition, out the stable doors and into the courtyard to discover widespread chaos. People were running out of the inn and the whole opposite side of the building was crushed and the midsection set aflame.

Antony's chestnut, now startled, kicked and the imperial had no choice but to let go of the beast. It was unclear to make out in the night who was who but with his horse now running into the woods with his travel supplies he turned to the matter at hand. He began running for the group of people fleeing the burning building, a sizable group of all different folk. Many looked battle ready, which only stimulated Antony's impression they were under attack.

" What in Oblivion is going on here!" Antony shouted over the clamor, hoping a soul would answer.

Alaudis Archen - Gottshaw Inn
Flames erupted, and piercing screams with them, from the inn. The darkness was turned into brilliant light as the fire creeped along the surface like death upon the spilled bottles of alcohol and became an inferno. The patrons ran, some on fire, nearly all screaming. The noise of shattering glass shrieked as a dunmer woman dropped from a window on the second floor. He could not see her any longer after she fell as the fire and smoke kept him from seeing anything but the scorching flames erupting through the broken wall of the inn.

As a spit of fire flew forward, Alaudis brought his left hand in front of his face to shield from the heat, and his arrow instantly flew into the ground. There he stood, mortified at the disaster he was witnessing, his heart beat against his chest faster than one could fall from Dive Rock. The heat was unbearable, even from the road, and he felt as though his chainmail would burn through his clothes and melt his skin. He felt that he had to do something to help, but he was frozen in fear.

People scrambled from the inn, some jumped on their horses and rode away. Alaudis would do anything to know exactly what had happened, and why. Most of all he wondered what the chances were that this would happen the moment he was passing by. His thoughts were broken by an Imperial who ran up next to him. He was clad in steel armor, and he wielded a blade to match. Alaudis looked upon him, his face showing confusion and despair. He didn't know what to say, or what to ask, but it mattered not, as he could not utter a word. He simply gazed at the Imperial hoping for some sort of direction.

Arethan Andas, Servyn Velothi; Gottshaw Inn

Screams emerged from the rubble, as horses neighed and jumped about in the stable. Cries rang through the night, colliding with the moon above and bellowing their way back to the earth. In response to the screams, the howl of a wolf was heard in the distance. Servyn stumbled onto the earth, as Arethan stopped and exchanged a quick glance.

"Hurry damn it! Get up! Get up!"

Servyn found his way up, before the two continued over the north west corner to the north wall of the inn. Smoke came from the rubble, sinking into the air. Dust flew everywhere. The night only made it more shady. Arethan looked about, trying to see anything inside of the rubble. He quickly opened his hand and cast a night-eye spell. Servyn saw this and did the same, but instead looked into the woods instead of the inn. Glass broke, as Arethan could vaguely see a torch fall to floor, igniting the debris. He heard someone shout over the dust, and a commoner ran out of the inn in panic. His leg was on fire, as he ran towards the stable to likely be trampled by the now disturbed horses. Arethan's steel was now heating up by the second due to the intense heat.

Arethan's eyes widened.

"[censored]! Get down! Now!"

He tackled his partner to the earth, as the fire caught the main source of alcohol under the rubble. A blast emitted from the rubble, as debris and shrapnel went everywhere. One particular piece hit another nearby commoner who was exiting the building. A piece of nailed wood shot above Arethan's head and caught the side of a tree as it passed by. The flames grew higher and higher, as Arethan immediately rolled away from the inn with his companion, doing his best to pull him up to his feet. Arethan scanned the area. More dust had gone into the air, and it was impossible to make out living figures except by the means of movement. He lifted his hand into the air, as he cast a detect life spell over him. Servyn stood by him, holding on to his shoulder and doing best to regain his sense. Arethan turned his head back.

"Detect life. Now."

Servyn nodded slowly, finally understanding what his friend was saying. He did the same as he was told, and within moments different purple glows appeared everywhere. People were screaming, running about; however, one stood alone by the east wall, as Arethan came around the north-east side, motioning for Servyn to follow. They kept their distance from the inn, and made their way beside a large tree. Arethan stood by it, leaning his arm slightly against it while Servyn crouched down. Arethan was still glancing at the glowing spots dancing about his vision.

"Are you alright?" Arethan asked, taking a quick glance at his friend to observe his well being.

"Yea, I'm fine." Servyn replied almost instantly, before squinting his eyes at the still glowing figure. He was able to make out the outline, and small horns sprouted from the top of the figure's head. Servyn lifted his arm and finger toward the figure, pointing to it.

"Arethan. Look. A lizard."

Arethan was the next to squint his eyes through the dust. He blinked quickly to make sure what he saw was true. He scanned the area, observing the differences between the moving glowing figures in his vision, as well as the now outlined figure who sat still. He quickly noticed some thing hung from his back, as well as a pointed object. He made out the horns on his head, before coming to his conclusion.

He's Argonian. Likely a spear. But why is he just sitting there and not running in panic? He's readied with weapons, just sitting about. The broken window is near him too.

Servyn quickly began to unsheathe his short sword in such a hard manner that a distinct metal scratching sound could be heard from there direction. Arethan immediately grabbed Servyn's wrist, holding it in place.

"Don't draw yet. Watch him."

Then Arethan realized the noise had been made, as he ducked as well. He looked at the mysterious still figure, expecting him to turn his head upon hearing the distinct sound.

Lucretia Ducale

North of Sutch

The army had peeled off of the coast itself and instead marched on the ancient roads that were once maintained by the Empire. The very same roads that would ensure quick movement of their Legions now ensured quick movement for their enemies. Lucretia eyed the age old Fort and all the signs of it's long history showed. There had been a major offensive by the Daedra here only a few years prior but was held back only with the help of The Champion. It would be of no surprise if the garrison had already saw them. But they had no idea of Lucretia's intentions although they surely recognized her company's banner, an outline of a falcon. The army itself remained about half a kilometer in distance of the Fort stopping in a long marching line suggesting there was no intent other than to pass through. Lucretia herself rode out in front against the advice of Da'Rasha who watched nervously from a distance although none could tell. It was these sort of things which garnished admiration for their leader and Lucretia knew and loved every moment of it. She rode atop a flawlessly black steed that shined like ebony armor while dressed in knee high leather boots that folded outward. They held her loose fitting black pants tight to her ankles. Along with that she wore a white blouse with long sleeves that slightly ruffled. Her hair hung loosely in the wind as the rode the horse forward nearing closer and closer to the fortified structure. Even though she was alone she was not unarmed and held a tapered bastard sword on her belt.

Approaching the closest guards the horse circled once in place and then stopped before she addressed them. "I am Lucretia Alexandrina Ducale, Captain of the mercenary company, Legio Falco. I wish to address the commander of this fort." Legio Falco had never been a Legion of the Empire, but it was the name that she baptized the company with considering much of it was formed out of unemployed legion veterans of the Summerset Wars. Lucretia was a bit of a problem child for her family. She was not interested in arranged marriages and ran away from home living in the wilderness where a group of Nordic bandits had captured and imprisoned her for months until she escaped. Not being able to return home she joined the Legions just in time to be sent off to fight against the rebellion in Summerset where she became renown for her hit and run tactics as well as her loyalty and caring attitude toward her fellow soldiers. Upon returning to Cyrodiil she infiltrated her own home and made way with an 'early inheritance' with which she funded the establishment of Legio Falco. From there remembering the Nordic bandits that had taken her prisoner she took revenge upon them by assaulting the migrating Nords in Colovia and after the city of Chorrol had spent enough and the Nords had bled enough she took her men to fight in Elsweyr where the Empire was withdrawing their forces due to the border skirmishes between the local Khajiit tribes and the newly formed Aldmeri Dominion. Legio Falco's involvement would be the decisive reason why the campaign failed on for the Dominion and in effect ensuring that full support would not be given to Daggerfall in High Rock where she would later that year prove that Legio Falco also had a capable naval force. Lucretia had a bit of a heroic reputation amongst many in Cyrodiil mostly amongst the Nibanese who in these times of Imperial failure and darkness upon the Empire, she seemed like a candle of hope.

Temporary Castellan of Fort Sutch

Up on the walls, the small temporary garrison of Fort Sutch had looked on as the force of soldiers marched a little too close to the the walls for their comfort. The castellan, a haggard fat man who seemed very much out of place in a military setting. He was only half-clothed, and a some wine seemed have to have dribbled down his juggle-chin, staining the linen tunic he wore. With great effort, he wobbled over to the winding stair-case that led up to the ramparts of Sutch, and collection of steps he damned with every extra breath he had, which weren't many.

Finally reaching the top after several minutes, he stumbled over to the edge of the ramparts, panting and weazing like a....fatman. Finally catching his breath, he looked down to see Lucretia.

"What do you want," he called out in a voice that matched his appearance, "What business do you have brining an army here? I swear to Akatosh that our lords would be most displeased to see this!"

While the castellan was yelling down at Lucreatia, the soldiers also staring down at here were muttering under the breaths words that weren't particularily kind.

"We need no Nibenean trollops who don't know their place," seemed to be the common thread moving through them.

*

Elinhiir Eloisuus, a half-mile east of the Gottshaw Inn

The Altmer's elven boots clinked on the rough stone of the Gold Road. The skys was devoid of clouds, and Masser and Secunda shone brightly that night, reflecting off of the elf's golden armor. His hair, his helm being removed and carried in a ruck-sack, flitted too-and-fro in the light breeze that was blowing in off the sea to the west.

It hadn't been an easy week for Elinhiir, having lost his horse in a dice-game at Skingrad. He had lost most of his money, too, before the horse, and had been forced to leave the city after he couldn't afford a night's stay in the city's cheepest inn. That did not sit well with Elinhiir, who had ranted and raved over the past week, fuming that, "The insufferable lessers would dare to treat one of his kind like a common churl!" And he was still doing so, and his golden skin was mottled with rage's dark color.

"Oh, the audacity of that ill-bred, poxed-marked, tramp! Declaring that I, one of her betters, must either [b]sleep[/b] in the stables or 'take my business elsewhere'."

Despite lacking an audience, except for maybe a few animals intrigued by the irritated creature, Elinhiir continued to rant as if he one that was quite attentive to his thoughts. "The nerve of that woman! I damn man to firey Wastelands of Dagon himself! May their souls burn in the lavas-" The elf was cut short when, in the brightness of the moon-lit night, he saw what looked like dust and smoke rising into the air not far up the road. With experienced thought, he crouched down slightly, drawing his curved sword as silently as he could. Then, moving quickly, he began to walk exceedingly fast towards the smoke.

Bandits? No, can't be. No merchant would be traveling around at this time of night to even be caught by highwaymen. Perhaps rogue mages....Perhaps wanted rogue mages....Perhaps wanted rogue mages that have good bounties on their heads!

North of Sutch

The garrison commander looked like some imbecile they sent out of Anvil in this far corner garrison in order to save someone from some sort of embarrassment. Regardless of the obvious lack of respect Lucretia smiled and gave a quick bow. "Sir we mean you no trouble. We have been campaigning in the west and wish to head toward Leyawiin. I simply wanted to ask your permission to set up camp just north of here in the safety of your presence. I'd like to invite you to dine at our table tonight or if prefer within your fort. We've just hunted some boar and I've brought with me the finest brandy in High Rock." She maintained her composure hoping for the best. If she would be refused she'd have no choice but continue onward. She doubted that whatever meager force in the fort would sally forth and fight her full army though none the less she'd have to keep watch to the rear. A siege would almost certainly end in victory but at an uneven cost of man power and much wasted time.

Back amongst the ranks, Andrethi peered out into the distance like many of the other troops. Although not every pikeman in the company was a Legion veteran most were and although Andrethi hadn't been yet issued the heavier armor of his comrades many of the others assumed that he had been a veteran or at least auxiliary in service of the Empire. His weapon to use was the pike, something he was not quite used to but seemed basic enough. That is where the similarities with his fellow pikemen stopped. He wore a dark grey robe that reached down to his ankles although it was split on the sides and front and back allowing for easier mobility. Over his shoulders he wore another layer that went down past the middle of his back. Under it lay hidden a long curved adamantium and glass composite dagger of Dres make, both light and durable. Around his head he wore a turban covering everything but his eyes. Aside from that his hands were covered in leather and on the right of his hip he had a hatchet of crude make.

Temporary Castellan of Fort Sutch

"You'll get nothing from me, you Nibeanean tramp! And take your ill-gotten food elsewhere before I report you to the authorites for poaching our lord's game! If you want safe-conduct through Anvil, then you take your plea to our lord. He might be more inclined to listen to the poison that drips from your eastern tongue!" A cheer went up through the garrison as the castellan continued to berate Lucreatia and her army in language that made his chin jiggle, and his soldiers roar in laughter, both because of how embarassing it was for their commander, but also because it was gratifying to see a Nibenean getting her just deserves.

A few soldiers, however, saw nothing funny about taunting a woman at the head of a tough-looking army. One of them, an Anvilian of Ra'Gada descent, pushed his way up the stairs and to his commander's side.

"Sir, do you think this wise? If Lord or Lady Umbranox hear of this...."

"Pah," the commander spat over the rampart in disgust, "They are probably on their way to Skingrad or Kvatch by now."

"But what of their son? Don't you think he would be ....angry about this?"

"The Don?" The castellan hooted with laughter, his chin-fat jiggling again, and bits of saliva shooting out his mouth, "I don't even think the Don is capable of anger. A peasant dropped paint on his favorite horse, once! And what does that man do? He says he always wanted a blue horse. I highly doubt he would be upset if we berate an eastern [censored]."

"But-"

"No buts! You will remember who is in command!"

"But, sir," The Ra'Gada soldier flinched back in fear, but held his ground, "She does have an army with her....what if she takes great offence?"

"Then we'll light the signal fires and an army will be here in a week to rout these slovenly bastards."

Anvilian Messenger

Cresting over the hill that gave him an excellent view of the Brena River in the distance, the messenger was terrified to see that an army was standing near the base of Fort Sutch. To think that the damnable Red Guards would cross over into Anvil without even a declaration of war....Wait....Those aren't Sentinelian flags....

Reaching into his saddle-bags, he pulled out a spare white shirt, and tyed it to the short spear he carried with him for protection. Raising it high, he kicked his horse into a gallop, thundering down the hill to Fort Sutch.

It took him several minutes to get there, and as he grew closer he could make out that a woman was sitting atop at a horse at the base of the fort, and the commander, an ill-bred, disgusting man assigned their by Princess Umbranox, and soon to be relieved in favor of the Vescomte, was yelling at her in a most ungentlemanly manner.

The messenger slowed his horse to a trot as he came closer, and then finally to a slow canter as he approached the woman, stopping a respectful distance from her. He still held the shirt up, not letting it down until he was acknowledged.

Gottshaw Inn

Swims-in-Shadows ran back away from the heat of the growing heat of the burning inn; it was making his chitin armor uncomfortably hot, and there was no reason to remain next to a burning building while all of his potential targets escaped through the front door on the opposite side of the structure. His torch gambit had worked far better than he had expected; what was intended to frighten the patrons into abandoning the inn had become a deadly force in its own right. than Swims loaded his crossbow with a strength-draining bolt as he ran, intending to create about twenty feet of distance between himself and the inn before circling south around to the front to survey the situation and acquire targets. However, as he as he was about to turn south, he could hear the distinctive scratching of a sword against a sheath to his left, audible over the distant screams and crackling of flame due to its proximity. Although the dust cloud was impeding his sight, he could plainly see a tree trunk about fifteen feet off, which was closest to the source of the noise. Swims turned slightly to the left, intending to run around the inn the north way in a somewhat indirect path that would take him about fifteen feet from the tree and allow him a decent view of what was behind it. He called upon his Tower birthsign before following his plan, scanning for the faint purple shadows that indicated living creatures. Sure enough, two humanoids crouched behind the large oak and a larger number panicked outside the front of the inn. The magical effect vanished quickly, however, forcing him to once rely on his mundane sight and hearing to detect enemies. On the bright side, only the two crouched behind the tree seemed to be aware of his presence. At least they're not very stealthy. Can't even pull a sword without revealing their position. Still, they could be dangerous; I've met plenty of excellent fighters and mages who can't sneak to save their lives.

Swims decided to give the tree and the humanoids an even larger berth, and he dashed up a small hill to the humanoids' left and towards a boulder for cover, all the while keeping his head turned towards them to make sure they weren't slipping out from behind the tree to ambush him. If he could reach his preferred vantage point at the boulder, he would have a clean shot at them. If they tried to rush up the hill at him after he reached the boulder, he could use the gauntlet to dislodge it and send it rolling at them. The largest threat he could think of would be some sort of spell or projectile that they fired at him while he was on his way up the small hill, so he kept low and remained ready to dodge.

Montblanc, Cyrodiil, Road to Anvil

The horse trail was a mess of dust and wind, the horse's feet eating the earth beneath him. Its size belied its speed, its ashen hooves striped like a tiger gave away its breed. A Yokudan Pelsahir.

None were sure if they were truly horses, the creatures far too athletic and intelligent to resemble the very same creatures on this continent. Montblanc had spent a year's pay to purchase this horse from the Elden Yokeda's stables, and he was no poor man. During the short rest of Sentinel's reconquest of Hammerfell, it was rumored the Elden Yokeda himself flew a small number of Ships to the old motherland, and returned with odd items, armor, and animals. Rumors spread of old Yokuda, entering Sentinel's dominion, in the ever daunting quest of uniting the Ra Gada.

Montblanc sped his horse through the trail, Anvil could be no more than a few hours away.

"Nearly there Magellan..."

His mind had drifted off back to Hammerfell. He, as well as all the other pioneers of this new government had all shared one thing short of their heritage, their goal. The goal to unite there people and end the civil strife between the Ra Gada, and now they pursued that goal like mad men. The Elden Yokeda, a man well known for his appetites in women and comfort, had kept to the road. If his Army did not march, he spent weeks in a newly acquired principality, setting a new administration or organizing treaties for others to join.

His Queen, the Princess Roxanna from the Forebear Barca tribe (largest of Nomads in Hammerfell), proved to be a true administrator as well, though not as impressive as her husband. Her fiery temper became well known through out the Courts, she was a woman who had no qualm with expressing her views or need for political sensitivity. Now with child once again, after giving birth to a daughter less then a year ago. She and her brother, Bomlikar had garnered the support of Forebears who had clung to their mistrust for Crowns, and had gotten both houses to recognize each other as Ra Gada, though it is hard to replace that mistrust.

Montblanc smirked, And here I am, approaching the most deadly place for a Ra Gada agent....for this damned dream.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Anticlere, one week prior to Sentinel fleet debarking


A short, wiry Ra Gada waited, his waxed coat dripping water to the Castle floor. Raining in both Sentinel and Anticlere today...perhaps the world was weeping for their beloved High King. The Elden Yokeda was shot by an assassin's bow, enchanted with poison. The assassin was found, took his own life before they could make him answer. If it were not for the Lord Flyte, his quick handling of the matter by sending his best alchemists, the Elden Yokeda may have taken a turn for the worst.

In his hands he held a letter, stamped with the mark of Crown pierced by a sword.

He looked around the castle, occasionally hearing a monstrous groan move throughout the walls, it was rumored great magics contained this building, and a powerful beast roamed through its walls as if it were air. He gulped.

-------------------------------------------------------------------
Menevia, High Rock

The small inn shook under the stomp of the angry Shagun. He looked at his quivering messenger, cowering in fear behind a few mugs of beer.

"What do you mean he's gone?! Why didn't you wait?"

"He's already on the march suh!"

"To whom?"

"To Anvil..."

"But we havent even reached him yet...."

"I know suh...."

The Shagun was in disbelief. He hated working in Menevia, the Duke was not a pleasant man to work with. Now they had four crews serving up the Legendary Dragon Arms from the Betony foundry, Sentinel's newest acquisition of war science, standing in the dark. A crew with no army to join.

"Saddle them up, take them to the boats." The man nearly cried as he had to reach into his own pocket and removed a few gold coins....it had to be done if they were to catch the Menevian military.

"Just...just go." he said looking to the table in shame, there went his gold for the week.

Arethan Andas, Servyn Velothi; Gottshaw Inn

As the figure turned slightly to get the utmost glance at the two Dunmer, Arethan tapped Servyn on the shoulder, pointing at the back side of the tree. Both of them still holding their detect life, and Arethan holding a feather spell to reduce his armor's weight, they began to lift their bodies up slowly. While it made them more visible, it would give them more momentum to dash from the tree. The glowing figure in the shadows immediately began to find his way up a hill, staying low and agile. Apparently, he had seen them. Arethan crossed his fingers in a cross-like figure, which would signal one thing to Servyn: not to attack unless Arethan did. Perhaps it would have been a mistake not to attack so soon, but then again they had no solid reason to hold offense against this lizard.

Now, if he was to attack first, it would be different.

"Now."

As the figure bolted up, Arethan came out from the front of the tree, following behind the figure in a clear visible motion, despite the darkness among them. At the same time, Servyn came around the back side and to a side point of view from Swims. Arethan would likely draw every bit of attention, and Servyn would go unnoticed. Both readied small shield spells in front of them, barely enough to set any type of missile fire off-balance, thus rendering it useless.

Servyn continued his route to the side, using his speed to keep up with Swims the best he could. As he came out, he readied his teliknesses spell and fired it at a low angle. It didn't take much power to send hundreds of small pine needles, who were simply harmless and none-the-less annoying, straight in front of Swims in his projected path.

Meanwhile, Arethan readied his magic into his hand, prepared to return any missile fire that may provoke him.

My sheet

Almerion, basemant of the Gottshaw Inn





Something stirred beneath his frozen skin; rippling its way over his tendons and long dried veins, disturbing his slumber as it made contact with his blackened heart -- sending a torrent of vicious hunger throughout his body.

The vampires eyes snapped open, all coherent thought diminished, he had not fed in over a week. He shot to his feet, knocking stacked crates of ale to the stone floor of the Inns basemant. He had managed to stow himself away beneath the Inn unnoticed the previous night, a few hours before sunrise -- an unfortunate hiccup in his journey to Anvil, but necessary if he wanted to arrive at his final destination with flesh intact.

A deep unsettling vibration resounded through the foundations of the building, reverberating through his rib cage uncomfortably as masonry and wood crashed to the tavern floor above, splintering long floor panels above Almerion as if they where nothing more than twigs. Quickly, Almerion shot to the exit, the scent of blood driving him more than the prospect of survival.

He pushed against the trapdoor that exited to the rear of the bar area, but could only open it a few inches. Again, he tried, screaming in fury as the strangled starving beast beneath his skin clawed at his innards in bloodthirsty hunger. It did not budge.

Looking out Almerion saw a number of things, each one of them adding to the overall chaos of the scene. Bodies where strewn across the floor, pinned by the debris that fell upon them, quite clearly dead. Others moved feebly, stirring amongst the dust groaning for help while patrons stumbled and trampled over them in an attempt of escape. He pushed up against the weight pinning the door down for a third time, making a little more progress.

Just as he made enough room to wriggle free however, a blinding light erupted around his face as a torch flew out of nowhere and landed on the liquor flooding the ground, immediately igniting everything within the vampire’s line of site. A scream more akin to a Daedra than a human escaped his mouth as he fell backwards, his face blistering furiously as he batted the flames away.

The sudden pain and panic strengthened his hold over his mind, pushing the bloodlust to the bowels of his mind he began to think. Ideas began to form in his mind as he eyed the trap door. Drips of flaming Alcohol began to leak down, spreading across the floor toward him.

He reacted faster than even he expected, he felt a knot in his stomach untie and a flow of energy released, pushing its way up his dried and constricted gullet. A bright purple mist emerged from his mouth and nostrils, dropping to the floor in furious tendrils as they evolved from gas to light, shooting across the floor as they made impact. The light circled the fire now spreading through the basemant, keeping the stacks upon stacks of alcohol-laden crates safe for the moment.

The light pulsated more brightly still as Almerion focused his mind onto the stone and wood above the trapdoor, the light branched off away from the flame and moved sluggishly upwards, wrapping its way around beams as it travelled to the crack of light beaming through the slightly open door.

It finally made contact with whatever was on top of his exit, the objects pulsated and shone adding a purple hue to the scene that mingled and flirted with the bright orange and yellow flames. The floor above him groaned dust began to drop onto his silver hair as he slowly backed away into the corner.

At last, the weight of the burden spell was too much for the floor to handle, the collapsed stone and wood crashed through the splintered floor into the basemant, the fire spreading with it, igniting every drop of alcohol around him.

Almerion howled in pain as the flamed licked at his flesh, cursing his heightened sensitivity to heat, he ran. Diving on top of the fallen rubble like a predator on the hunt, screaming in pain as the skin on his right hand stick to the super heated stone, removing the top layer of his flesh within seconds. He jumped again, his ebony clad hand grasping the heavy wooden floor, and the talon like fingers piercing the wood as the vampire dragged himself upwards, kicking furiously with his legs against the punishing flames bellow.

Once he managed to pull himself up to the ground floor of the inn, he began to tiger crawl forwards, until there was enough room to push himself to his feet. He looked around; his eyes reacting horribly to the bright flames, he ran blindly towards the sound of running feet -- making a mental note to find whoever had started the fire and flay him and scraqe the blood from his exposed tendons as punishment, as he ran through the dust clouds and thick smoke.

He stumbled forward like a drunk, the alcohol fuelled fire made his skin tighten and split open as he moved, his papyrus like flesh reacting to the heat as if it was direct sunlight. Panic gripped his heart; it flooded its way through his body like a tidal wave of ice water. Then, just as he reached the exit, he felt a hand on his ankle.

“Please, help me!” A weak voice implored him; he looked down to see a wide eyes young woman, no older than eighteen, her legs crushed beneath a collapsed support beam. Somewhere beneath the pain and fear in Almerions body, a dark ugly head reared and sniffed at the opportunity.

Almerion bent double, hooking both his arms under hers. She screamed in pain as he began to pull, but he saw a desperate look of gratefulness behind her amber eyes all the same. He dragged her backwards through the inn, out of the door into the cool dark night. Completely ignoring the chaos around him, he moved quicker and quicker, dragging the crippled girl away from the safety of numbers, backing his way into the overgrown vegetation surrounding the inn, finding cover from which he could feed.

It took mere moments for her to realise what was happening, she screamed for help but the vampires hand came over her mouth, pushing down hard to stop any noise from escaping, save for insignificant grunts and moans as her broken legs where dragged over fallen logs and jagged rocks.

He dropped her to the floor; the grateful glint that hid behind her eyes had been replaced by a cold stricken fear as Almerion began to tear his clothes off. She assumed the worse, that she was about to be ravaged by the savage beast who saved her from a slow burning death. However, she was wrong, her fat would be far worse than she could imagine.

The skin on Almerions chest looked like it had been torn open by the talons of a great beast; gashes had opened up all over his body. He relished in the sensation of the cold air caressing his charred and burnt flesh, his head tilted backwards, staring into the starry sky -- mouth agape.

Then, he dropped onto the woman, her face froze in realisation as she spotted four elongated pearly white fangs headed straight for her sweat and ash covered neck. They made easy work of the cartilage and sinew as he shredded and tore his way to her pulsing artery, the fear making her heart pump faster and faster, only speeding up the process of which he would drain her. The hot sticky liquid burst into his mouth, he swallowed with pleasure and relief, feeling the blood sooth his starving innards and spread through his muscles.

Her body gave one last involuntary twitch as the vampire who killed her regained his composure, his now sober mind lamenting the necessary death he had caused, watching as the burnt skin slowly began to knit itself back together.

Anticlere

A Breton walked into the room, clearly a servant of Manfred's. Though Anticlere wasn't directly involved in the current war between Daggerfall and Wayrest, it was prepared for defense; politics in High Rock were highly unpredictable and all Breton rulers knew better than to let their guard down when there was a war in the province, a pretty much permanent state of affairs by now. The people of Anticlere, however, had learned by now not to let the looming cloud that was war get to them; Manfred was no exception, and though his military was vigilant in protecting the realm's borders, the servant didn't seem at all worried. If one were to judge by the man's fine, fashionable dress and the way he carried himself, it'd be impossible to guess that armies marched not too far from Anticlere's borders.

"The great captal is ready to receive you." Though Manfred had been crowned king not too long ago, no one referred to him as 'your majesty' in his realm; the title of captal was too entrenched here and the ruler himself had no wish to replace Flyte of Anticlere with anything. So it came to be that the king of Anticlere was only so in the eyes of foreign messengers and visitors, who - at least the Bretons - found it quite odd for a ruler to have the crown of a king yet not be referred to as such. Anticlerians, however, were never ones to pay much attention to established traditions of the rest of High Rock.

Perhaps the messenger of Sentinel would be surprised that the servant didn't lead him to the throne room where Manfred usually received messengers. By now he had grown too accustomed to receiving Raga and saw no need to put on the facade of a traditional ruler. He received them while dining, inspecting his city, dealing with other matters of state and so on, but not as a sign of disrespect; on the contrary, it was a sign of his respect for the New Kingdom of Hammerfell and his friendship with Haroun.

The messenger was lead to a small room next to Manfred's bedroom. That was where the ruler of Anticlere spent most of his time now, and the room reflected it. Prior to his return from the Outremer after the War of the Wolves had ended, it was almost completely empty, asides from some wooden furniture; it was where his wife's maid lived before the brief civil war and her execution. Upon his return, the Flyte found himself avoiding the bedroom he shared with his wife, instead spending time in solitude in this room; it was quickly refurnished to reflect its new purpose. Currently, it consisted of a large table in the middle of the room, ladden with maps; a large map of High Rock hung on one of the walls, full of markers put there by way of magick; some reflected armies, some - rulers, others were agents of Anticlere. Cramped into one of the corners was an exquisite chair for Manfred to rest in.

The Flyte of Anticlere wasn't alone in the room currently, Wilfred being present as well. Since the young noble had married recently, Manfred didn't occupy nearly as much of his time as the monarch would've preferred; however, the time he could steal from Wilfred's bride he didn't want to waste, which was why, when the grandmaster of Anticlere's knightly order was about to exit through the door when the servant opened them, Manfred gestured him to stay. There was much that needed to be discussed; not only the war, but also the quite massive changes in the east, where the new grand duke of Jehanna, Rurik Far-Stride, seemed to have entrenched himself succesfully in his new lands. Even if it did not greatly impact Anticlere yet, there was potential to be exploited in this situation.

"My great captal, the messenger from the court of Hammerfell as you requested." With a bow, the servant turned and left.

"What news from Hammerfell? Is the High King recovering well from the assassination attempt..?" Brushing aside a document portraying the designs for the Royal Arsenal of Anticlere to make room for his hands, Manfred leaned on the table. His face betrayed worry; though he had a lot on his plate even without worrying about the affairs of Hammerfell, the Flyte of Anticlere considered Haroun a friend of his. That was why he didn't hesitate to send the best he could find in Anticlere to help treat Haroun; he knew quite well that Ra Gada didn't practice Tamrielic magick and though he had no idea about their stance on alchemy, he preferred to be safe than sorry.

Antony Lucret, Gottshaw Inn

Antony's breath could be seen, his pants of exertion already visible in the dark of night. A great amount of patrons fleeing the inn ignored Antony's call. Sa for one. A Breton stood not far from him, he stood covered in soot, no doubt from the now roaring inferno of what once was the Gottshaw inn. He noted that the man was still in armor and had a sword and a bow, a man of war. No doubt he knew how to use them.

" You Breton! I am Antony, you and I are going to find out who did this." He then turned to the fleeing patrons. " Any who wish to find the ne'er do well who has committed this act of terrorism. Follow Me!"

Antony turned, left hand ready to release torrents of magic, his right arm wielding steel. He charged off into the forest, where he heard even more sounds of commotion. Not even turning back to see who followed.

Anvil outskirts, near Whitmond Farm
Luis and Petrus rode amongst the fires of the thousands of militia and soldiers who were unable to find room in the city. It seemed only a temporary camp created out of need rather than intent, but it served it’s purpose. The two friends guided their horses in and out and through the maze of tents as they inspected the troops. The men seemed bored, but willing. The looming threat of war had united men who might have spent their whole lives in peace, scraping and clawing a meager living from the grassy Colovian plain. The Vescomte wore no badges of rank, and with the loss of his cloak, he now looked like a beggar who had stolen or found a wealthy mans suitcase. Luis was dressed well but not extravagantly, and to all who looked on, it appeared that he was the master, rather than the servant.

“Well brother, your box tells us that we can take whatever we need from this lot…What do you say, ten thousand men would do nicely.” Luis said happily as he rode. He was in a good mood and quite pleased to express it. The air was nice, but cool, there was a light breeze and he was riding in the sun with a good friend preparing for the greatest adventure the two would ever experience.

“The box tells me a lot of things, but It is the note in side that holds the real power.” Petrus smiled as he held up the symbol of his new power. “I think I’ll call him Rupert. Do you like that name?”

“Petrus I hardly think it’s necessary to name your box.”

“I was not talking to you, was I Luis. Don’t you mind Luis, Rupert, he’s a bright man, but he simply can get over his overt racism against inanimate objects.”

“Petrus, objects are not a race. They are objects…”

“And they have the same hopes and dreams as you or I.”

“ Can we please get back to the task at hand?”

“But Rupert is in my hand!”

“PETRUS!”

The Vescomte deTorroja rode in silence for a few moments. Then he stretched his back and neck, and begun anew, gravity dripping from his voice.

“Ten thousand is far too many men, that’s almost half our army, to guard what? A single fort to the north…it’s an unnecessary use of manpower. We need, 3 to 5 thousand men, tops. If the Yokeda sends his armies It’s probably going to be by sea. It’s faster to move, and Anvil is on the coast. Any force marching north to south would be a support column or diversion. They’d have to come through the Rihad road, which would be an incredibly dangerous choke point if they were counterattacked in the mountains. The only other northern road would have to pass by Chorrol. Everything in between is mountains and deep forest. The Empire isn’t in this war, but they certainly wouldn’t pass up a chance for a svcker punch into the flank of an old enemy. No, my bet is that they’ll land south of Anvil to link up with any help they can get from the Dominion and march a combined army north to take anvil from the landward side. If there is a northern column coming from Rihad, they’ll be there to cut off our retreat and ravage the interior supply lines from the rest of Colovia. No, Brother, we’ll be the last in line at the [censored]house.”

Petrus fell silent as they continued to ride. As his body rocked from side to side, he stared intently at the presentation box. Luis tilted his head to one side and stared at his friend.

“And what makes you believe all that?” He asked after a pause.

“A little bird told me.” Petrus smiled and held up the box. “Rupert agrees as well. But then again, I don’t know if I’d trust him all that much…He has a bit of a drinking problem.”

Luis laughed out loud and shook his head in disbelief. It felt good to laugh, and it felt good to see the flashes of his old, intelligent companion break through the murky haze of the disease.

“Talos wept Petrus, I don’t even know what I can say to you.” He chuckled.

“You can tell me that you’ll be more than happy to assemble what I need. I’m going to ride to Sutch and prepare the current garrison for our arrival.” The Vescomte reached into his fine doublet and pulled out a greasy scrap of cloth napkin. On it, scrawled in ink were the dispositions of the forces that the Lord de Torroja required. “Excuse me Rupert…” He then pulled the order from inside the box and handed the whole packet to his companion.

“But how will the garrison know that you are the new commander?”

“Why I have already told them of course! You don’t think that I’d run off without doing that do you?”

“When on earth did you have time to send a messenger, brother?!”

“I sent Rupert, he is faster than any messenger, brother! I expect my forces to arrive in two days time or less!” With that the young man raked back his heels and spurred forward, down the road.

“Talos bloody wept!” Luis stared at the back of his friend as he flew down the road as if the very imps of oblivion were at his heels.

Alaudis Archen - Gottshaw Inn
As the Imperial spoke, the mortification in Alaudis' face turned into to joy. "Y-yes sir, we'll find out who did it!" He was now filled with excitement, his fear gone completely. As Antony charged off, Alaudis followed, keeping pace just behind him. He drew another iron arrow from his quiver and readied it in his bow. His thoughts raced, maybe now was his chance to make a difference, and maybe become a hero. He felt like he was ready for war.

He didn't exactly know where they were running to, or what he was going to find, but he suspected Antony had some kind of idea. With his bow in his hand and his finger holding the arrow, he reached behind him into his pack, and with some difficulty, retrieved his father's helmet. Alaudis placed the helmet onto his head, it made things a little more difficult to see, and things were bad enough with the dust and smoke everywhere. He thought for a moment, and swiping his hand quickly in front of his face, his vision in the dark turned into light with the power of a Night Eye spell.

Now as ready as he could be, he charged into the forest along with his newfound comrade, waiting anxiously for whatever lay ahead in the night.

Don Miquel, In the Lists, Estate of Lord Drad

Magnus the Sun was beating down heavily, as if it's rays reflected it's anticipation at the coming joust. The crowd had fallen silent, eagerly awaiting the waving of the flag that would signal the first, and possibly only, charge down the tiltyard. Each of the competitors, the Don and his opponent, had snapped their visors shut, and were awaiting the charge just as eagerly as the crowd. Miquel's own horse even seemed to reflect the brimming excitment, stamping at the ground and chomping at its bit.

The flag finally went down, and the crowd erupted into cheers as the two knights kicked their steeds to speed, and lowered their lances.

There were few things Miquel loved more than the joust. It was a civilized, honest way to test one's martial abilities against like-minded fellows. It was also a way to win a great deal of money, horses, and even win knights to your own banner if one could dazzle them with his own abilities. But two particular reasons really stuck out in his mind; his mother hated them, and he was good at them.

As the opposing knight drew closer, his lance moving, Miquel began to take aim with his own lance. He had a few choses, each had their own merits. The head was hardest to hit, but would likely dislodge or so disorient his foe that he would be unable to continue, but it was also dishonorable. He could go for the shield, easiest to hit of all, but he would need to break three lances upon it to take the day. Finally, he could aim for the chest, which had the chance to dislodge his opponent, but if it didn't, the knight would still be able to continue to challenge him.

With practiced ease, Miquel leveled his lance, the tip poised to strike the knight's chest. Both lances struck.

Miquel's own lance broke with such force on the knight's chest, that he rocked back in the saddle violently. However, Miquel's blow had come earlier than the knight's, and the force of it was enough to screw up the aiming of his own lance, which reared up with him, striking Miquel in the helmet.

The Don's already limited vision was then filled with the splinters of a broken lance, and he could feel himself falling. The sky was suddenly in his field of vision, and thought's of mild confusion were running through his brain. Then the impact of hitting the ground. Hard.

The joust was over. The Don had been unhorsed.

Perhaps it was her secondary plan that would require a bit of tact to pull off that kept her respectful to the imbecile, or the fact that the swinging white flag caught her attention. Lucretia eyed the new comer not much paying attention to the heaving pig hoping that this would provide a chance to avoid blood shed. She raised her expressive eye brows and tilted her head slightly at the man expecting some sort of reply.


OOC: Studying for an exam tonight and i'm not sure what much more I can post at this instance. As always I reserve the right to make crappy posts cause i'm the RP lord here and the boss of everyone here! So there!

OOC: Sorry, crappy post, but there isn't much for me to say.

IC:
Gottshaw Inn

Swims-in-Shadows saw the figures hiding behind the tree dart out from behind it, one heavily-armored man passing in front of the tree relative to him and following his trail, and the other heading out the other way but quickly disappearing into the dust and smoke and out of his line of vision. While being spotted and pursued by these two was bad enough, he could see two more armored figures charging around the side of the inn towards him and the two others; more enemies were the last thing he needed right now. The light from the large blaze now consuming the inn cast an eerie orange-red glow over everything in the area, but it allowed for decent visibility outside of the dust cloud. Swims noticed his steel-armored pursuer cast some sort of spell on himself, and, not bothering to try to figure out what it could be, redoubled his efforts to reach the boulder atop the small hill, staying ready to jump to one side or another in case he heard the sound of another spell being cast. However, his preparation to deal with the threat behind him distracted him from the path in front of him, and a jolt of shock ran through his nerves as he felt hundreds of pine needles fly up from the ground at him. They clattered off his armor and the scales on the side of his head harmlessly, although the force of them breaking against him like a small wave nearly sent him off balance. Thanks to his considerable agility, Swims narrowly managed to stay on his feet. Ducking behind the boulder and keeping an eye out for the other mage, he considered his options.

For some reason, they don't seem to be using lethal force. Pine needles? There are a lot of rocks and fallen branches around here that they could have thrown at me instead. Maybe they want to question me? Trying to fight them is a poor idea, especially considering that there are two more on the way... Perhaps I can try diplomacy, at least to get them close enough to use the gauntlet. As Swims was about to call out for parlay, however, a different, more devious thought crossed his mind. Those two others may not know them, and they certainly didn't see exactly what happened at the inn with all of the dust, flames, and smoke. They probably don't realize that I did this. A broad grin appeared on his reptilian features, and he called out loudly in Cyrodiilic to the approaching armored figures. "Help!"

Anvilian Messenger, Fort Sutch

Giving a respectful nod from atop his horse, the messenger took the chance to observe Lucretia before he started to speak. She was obviously Nibenean; that, along with the army at her back, instantly raised suspiscion in the Anvilian's Colovian bones.

"You are Lucretia, commander of the Legio Falco, are you not?" The messenger's voice was respectful, but not exactly friendly, "I can not say it is an honor to meet you. We in Anvil...at least outside the city, do not normally allow Nibeneans to tromp about with an army at their back." Reaching into his doublet, the messenger pulled out a folded piece of parchment, and gestured to the disgusting fat man who was still hurling insults down. 'If you are going to lay siege to the fort, tell me. At least then I won't have to deliver this message to that fat, pompous bastard."

"However, if you are not, then I will need to see you safe-conduct, issued by his Grace, Don Miquel Lluis Umbranox, heir to Anvil and Lord-tempore in this war-wracked time."

Enjoying your posts GD.

IC:
Almerion, Gottshaw inn





Blood dyed his white beard a bright crimson, dripping onto the pallid pale skin of his chest as he drew back from the drained woman, her eyes glassy, reflecting the stars and the crumbling moons in the skies. He pulled the soot covered tunic over his head, gingerly lowering it down his back over the still sensitive red raw skin.

His now sober mind was filled with regret, he usually avoided killing innocents when possible -- the lingering sense of humanity that he clung to from his mortal life was the only thing that kept him sane in his advanced years, unlike many ancient vampires who retreat into dementia and insanity, becoming little more than beats who prowl the country sides and caves dotted about the region.

As he moved away from the still warm corpse, he heard a cry for help just to the north. With a sudden burst of speed he moved, trampling over plant life and the nine knows what in his search for redemption. He had just taken one life, but it wasn’t to late to save another.

The silhouettes of the tree’s and figures surrounding the now blazing inn made it hard to navigate properly through the dense vegetation, but once he was close enough, shapes of light began to emerge. The closer they got the more solidified the shapes became, until at last, they took the form of an Argonian -- being pursued by two heavily armoured men of a race Almerion could not yet distinguish.

As he ran, his left arm began to vibrate violently as he called upon the reserves of magicka within himself, forcing the energy down into his hand. In an instant two things happened; the vampire was engulfed in a bright white aura as a green bolt of light shot out at a fallen tree. He dived onto the log seconds before the levitation spell shot it into the air, working in conjunction with the feather spell cast on himself, the vampire shot forward to the armoured figures at an alarming rate. In the split second it took to reach them, a second flash lit the area, bright purple as he reversed the feather spell and increased his weight by more than double with a burden spell.

He let out a beast like battle cry that would do his Nordic ancestors proud as he plumetted toward the two armoured figures, his arms held wide ready to strike on landing.


OOC: You can decide who he hits/misses wooly.

"That's fairly ungrateful of you considering the unit I was in and the unit many of my men were in were the last to leave Summerset and managed to burn down most of the Altmer Navy prompting them to accept a peace treaty instead of invading the gold coast. If that were to happen, people like you or the fat pig would be happy to have any Nibanean lead army tread as much as they would have wanted." Stopping for a moment to let the words sink in, Lucretia maintained her graceful composure yet the nobility in her had definitely shined with a bit of pride in her statement. "Read that letter to me messenger." She was curious what it would possibly have to say to the Sutch commander. Her next course of action may well rest in that letter. Her intentions toward Anvil weren't as dark as some would assume from a glance.

Anvilian Messenger, Fort Sutch

The messenger almost burst out laughing at the woman's posturing, wondering if all easterners were as haugthy as this one. But at least she was plain speaking, and there were fews things Colovians liked more than plain speaking.

"Be that as it may, senyoreta, you will find few friends out here in the country. Though if you were in the city, you might find yourself more welcomed. Or at the estate of Lord Drad; our lord, the Don, is attending a tournament there. I would suggest that you, and as few bodyguards as you need, go there to obtain a safe-conduct from the Don."

When the messenger finished speaking, and Lucretia's request to have the letter read to her came, the man almost doubled over in shock and offence. "You shall hear nothing contained in this letter, mossa, it is confidential. However, I will tell you that that fat bastard is to be replaced with a better, if not suitable, commander. He," the messenger pointed up the screaming fat man, "Is to be sent north-east to the Varus camp, where he will be aiding the Arcane Circle in studying Niryatar." The messenger grinned then, a bit of malice showing through, "I'm sure he'll love that backwoods post."

Bowing his head slightly, the messenger whirled his horse around. "Now, if you'll excuse me, senyoreta, I have an fun message to deliver. If I were you, I'd encamp your army closer to the border, and then you yourself should seek a safe-conduct from the Don. If you were to fail that....well, let's just say it would be a shame to see a pretty face like yours stuck on a pike."

OOC:

Made this thing short. Keyboard is missing 15 keys. This computer svcks.

Arethan Andas, Servyn Velothi

The lizard continued to run, despite almost being thrown off balance do to the pine needles. He quickly found his way behind a rock. Suddenly, two more glowing figures appeared from the inn, as the lizard grinned.

"Help!"

[censored]. He's a clever one. What in the hell is this? A joke? I swear. They lay one finger on me and I'll blast their soul back to hell with the biggest fireball they have ever seen. He doesn't know who he's dealing with...

Then. another shadowy figure emerged, who glowed a green aura, mixing well with the purple. The quick vampire made his way onto one of the stray logs in the area, before hurling himself into the air on top of it and echoing a large battle cry before he plummeted towards the earth toward the two Dunmeri.

Well, he's obviously not trying to be quiet...

Arethan, having already watched this man form his great acrobatic act, stepped aside as the man landed knee first to the ground, his fierce ebony claws plowing into the earth. Servyn rolled backwards and got a visible position on Swims, far enough to avoid any spear, but close enough to lay a good spell on the lizard. Arethan's eyes widened, as he gazed at the Nord's arm.

What in the hell is that?

With Arethan's arm now glowing a dim red and slightly visible, He lowered his hand to his waist, pointing it towards the ground. He backed up a few steps from the fierce man who had just lunged at them. Thousands of thoughts went through Arethan's mind, but all possibilities flew by quickly. Meanwhile, Servyn was charging up a moderate spell of his own, which would be aimed at Swims if he were to move. As Arethan was thinking, Servyn decided to say something.

"You damn lizard! Move your clever ass another inch and I'll blow your soul into that rock!"

Arethan's eyes took a very quick look over to Servyn's position, as he readied his feet for a possible fight that might come. Expecting the quick shadow to look up at him, his face turned to a confused state.

"What in the hell is going on here?"