High Chancellor Ocato, White Gold Tower

Ocato reached the bottom of the tower, panting slightly from going up and down the stairs so fast, as he made for the door, but was stopped as an incredibly dirty man stepped into the tower. His hair was long, but thin and dirt matted it in a thick layer, as his face was dotted with dried mud and dirt, and a slight smile showed many missing and yellow teeth.

Ocato glanced over to the guards at the entrance, receiving only a shrug in return, as he looked back in a little disgust to the peasent.

The man bowed lowed, before standing straight (or as straight as his hunched back would allow him) as he smiled slightly, fiddling with a dirty straw hat in his hands. "Chancellor Ocato." he breathed, looking down at the hat. "Such an honor to meet you." he said, extending his hand for a second before retracting it quickly, remembering with a grimace that he was not of Ocato's stature in society.

"What is it man, I have work to do?" he asked impatiently, a sneer on his face.

"Well my lord, it is rather serious news..." he began nervously, but he started talking as the Altmer scowled at the man's slowness. "It's the crops m'Lord. They are dying, and dying quickly." he explained. "Every farm around the city has reported a sudden decaying of all of their crops, and even a large number of the crops in storage are dying."

Ocato's scowl fell as it was replaced by one of pure shock. Crops dying? All of them? How could this be? He began to grow frusterated, as he clenched his fists, clenching his teeth and wanting to do nothing more than turn this pitiful man into a smoking hole in the ground, but instead he held his rage in check.

"Thank you for the news. You must go now." he said simply, pointing to the door as the man bowed again and hurried out of the room, obviously relieved he wasn't utterly destroyed by the Chancellor.

Ocato stood blankly, not making a move as a few soldiers who had overheard moved towards him, whispering many things between them. Ocato glared at a few of them, as he continued to stand still, his mind still not fully comprehending the matter at hand, simply because of what a problem he knew it would cause. He breathed deeply to calm himself, and walked swiftly to the door, leaving the soldier alone and confused.

He walked out into the sunlight, and began making his way to the Legion Compound, not caring he didn't have an escort of soldiers around him. At the moment, he would have welcomed an assassination attempt, just so he could loose the anger that was welling up inside of him. His plan was one of simplicity and one that would be wrought with frustration from the people, but rations needed to be ordered and so he was going to inform his Commanders to spread the word in the city.


Captain Borillus, Northeast of Fort Dirich

Borillus stood listening to the returned scouts report, frowning at the sheer size of the enemy force against him. They seemed to be a simple army of infantry, archers and cavalry, all balanced through out in numbers, and with decent enough equipment. Scouts had reported that the force to the north had not moved very far south yet, if they had moved at all, and this opened many possibilities for the Captain.

He could fight off the enemy at Fort Dirich, destroying many of them, and retaking the Fort that he had so foolishly abandoned. From there, many more possibilities presented themselves, but for now his focus was on the enemy to the south.

He thought for a second, thinking he should consult General Vallenturas first about it, but something stopped him. He wanted to prove that he could be more then just a temporary General. He wanted to prove that he deserved the position of General, and he set his jaw firmly as he turned to his under-commanders.

"We march back to take Fort Dirich from our enemies. We should never have left, but that is in the past. We march to within artillary distance than halt, drawing up our plans at camp." he ordered. "This shall be a day to remember friends." he said silently, as his men nodded, saluted him and went to rouse the camp into movement, knowing it would take some time to get up and moving.

Nord Army, Outside Bruma

The sun shone down in bright, warm rays upon the assembled army. Every fighter, both in the reinforcements and the forces assembled preceding their arrival, stood in marching formation outside the town's gates.
It was around Evening time now, but if they traveled at a full march, evidence of Dalkey's chimneys would be in their sight, and tomorrow, their new leader would be chosen.

The group rode towards the head of the army, Valh?ll, perched on a ragged, yet very strong horse of the Norlandshest breed with fur the color of the trunks of the large trees back in Skyrim, the trees that remained green throught every season, sturdy as the Nords and many times taller. To his side rode Soscean, riding a lightly colored Arabian mare, lean, muscular, and very fast. ?gmundr came up behind them sitting nobly on a great Hanoverian horse, an Imperial servant aged approximately Twenty summers chasing after him.

" Masta! MASTA! Please slow down fer me masta!? " Astius Catius was not a very educated fellow, which added insult to injury when it came to his masters treatment of him.

?gmundr simply rode on ahead as Astius ran after him, catching up as the three stopped at the head of the army.

" Ride back swiftly, check on Reynald's status. We march when he is ready. "

The militia captain had taken charge in nearly all situations since their arrival, ?gmundr do this, ?gmundr do that. Ordering everyone around like his peons.

" Of course, I will confirm with the Officers that everyone is ready as well. "

Although neither General would admit it, Valh?ll was -if more rough- more competent than his high born cohort.
The horses moved slightly, settling in a more comfortable position. Astius had receded back a ways, and Valh?ll sat in thought.

" What are your plans, old friend. " Soscean said, looking to his leader and adjusting himself in the saddle.

Indeed.. What exactly are my plans. " I must be truthful with you Soscean, I am not entirely sure. For now, we march for Dalkey, inform Thangbrand of the happenings in Bruma, and wait. We wait to hear his plans for his new republic. I am sure that the our enemies conspire against us, and upon reaching Dalkey we will send a messenger to the remains of the Old Empire. Surely we can become at least temporary allies without a madman such as Fjorkvar at the helm of our command. "

Gates of Bruma

"What do you mean - watched over the carts?"

Reynald was in a bad mood. Only two thirds of the expected number of carts was gathered; it certainly didn't help that there was a surplus of food, too.

"The Nords had guards almost on every corner. Probably expected that from us..." Arthus shrugged.

"Very well. We'll just leave the food behind, then, it isn't our problem. Trim the load of the fullest carts right into..." Reynald looked around. Nearby the stable, off the road, was a dungpit, big enough for what he intended. His hand rose up, finger pointing straight towards the unpleasant sight. "There."

Of course, this was a shameless waste of perfectly good food, one that could've been put to use by the common peoples or the Nordic army; however, if Reynald couldn't have it, no one could. At least no one with a bit of self-respect left, who wouldn't resort to eating out of pits of horse crap. Arthus knew well how his master went about such business, so he didn't question this decission; after all, both of them knew full well that they had more than enough food to get by for at least a month. That was the way of the Company, and most other mercenaries - they'd gather so much food that on quite a few cases, they'd have more of it than the army they were serving under, and wouldn't have to face much consequences for it. At least that was true for the Company, for you didn't hire an entire small army of mercenaries if you had your own troops readily available.

This task was quickly carried out, and the Company of Anticlerians in the East was soon ready to march out, as Reynald reaffirmed the Nord who had arrived to check on their status. The mercenary general made sure to glance over his shoulder into the dungpit rather demonstratively when he spoke the words 'We're as ready as you can get', too - after all, what would dumping Nordic food into a crap pit be worth if the Nords themselves didn't know of it?

Nord Army, Road to Dalkey

The Anticlerians were indeed ready, their last preperations including a surplus of food dumped into the piles of horse dung. This did not bother ?gmundr much, it was commoners food anyway. His mind was quickly made up not to let Valh?ll hear of this. They had come to know each others personalities on the trip to Bruma, and his friend would be likely to kill every last one of these soldiers for the foolish wrongdoings of their General. Although the waste of food was not an outright enragement to him, it showed the contempt this Breton fool had for the Nords. That is fine, we will be sure to show them it is not wise to spit in the face of a bear.

" We march out immediately. "

?gmundr turned his horse to gallop away, thinking only that he wished the Mercenaries would step out of line, so the force positioned behind them may trample them into the ground.

The distance closed rather quickly, with the others soon coming into sight. As he trotted to the front, his servant rushed forward, polishing his boots, removing the little flecks of mud from his short ride. Smiling at the servants fervent attempts to remove every speck of dirt from his mount, the Skyrim noble nodded indication that Reynald was ready to march.

Valh?ll motioned for one of his men to move forward, blowing a large horn, echoing into the mountains and through the forest. Soon, many lesser horns rose up to meet it, the army coming to life slowly, marching in relative unison. Scouts and riders dispatched, the Generals, and Soscean, hoped to be camped outside Dalkey soon. Plans needed to be made, settlements established, borders guarded.


Andrelheim, Dalkey

Thousand of fearsome men, strong, disciplined, noble protectors of the kingdom. Warriors representing everything that Skyrim and the Nordic people have ever stood for, guardians of the North. But how to accomplish it..

The Company, Road to Dalkey

Reynald smilled an obviously fake smile at the Nord as he left, the smile quickly turning into a smirk and then a dull expression of boredom. In the back of his mind, he was already hatching plans how to break this contract after getting the first pay, in a suitably diplomatic manner of course. He had already decided that this war would be no different from others for him - the Company would squeeze any use it could out of all the combatants, before leaving swiftly. Supplies, money, equipment, even men could come out of this. The Nords had already lended them a suitable supply train, for now at least. If he was lucky, Reynald would be able to get in touch with one of the other rulers soon, and leave the Nordic Generals. Hopefully, to see to their own individual dooms.

For the meantime, though, they'd be allies. And efficient allies. As the blows of the Nordic horns sounded in the distance, Reynald lifted his hand up. The noise of a drumbeat rolled down the ranks of the Company, and, as Reynald galloped off to the very front of the formation, he could already hear the thousands of feet and hooves adjusting to the steady pace of the drums. The mercenary general lifted his eyes up to the skies, smiling confidentally - if the Nords had expected them to fall behind, there'd be an unpleasant surprise in stock for the northerners. Namely the fact that, since their times in Hammerfall, the Company could march along the old Legions and not look bad (or so Reynald liked to think to himself).

I would like to determine whether this Roleplay is officially Deceased or not.
If so, it will be closed, and we can all move on, if not, post here within the next couple days.

It has been fun but, i fear this wasn't good enough to last long.