http://www.gamesas.com/index.php?/topic/1170895-reinhardts-regiment-discussion/

Immediately post-Oblivion Crisis, Cyrodiil and the provinces were plunged into mass panic. Daedra had ransacked the realm, bandits were pushing their advantage and the decimated Legions and regional guard units simply couldn't take the strain any longer. While the more well informed sleuth knew that the barriers between Mundus and Oblivion had been permanently sealed, to the layman the threat of daemonic invasion was just around the corner, waiting to happen. Of course, this sorry state of affairs was sweet music to the men and woman of strong arm or potent will who inhabited the affected lands.

Two mindsets clashed here, with those of darker morals turning to banditry - the others of a more lawful inclination taking to mercenary work. Many would say the bandits were no worse than the mercenaries, who of course preyed on this manic mood of fear, by exacerbating existing rumours or even creating new ones in order to generate more business. This age was the rise of the mercenary band, purely in it for profit, and seeking to earn their living without the middleman taking his cut. The Fighters Guild survived as a viable business, but only after a painfully long period of reorganization and reconstruction. While the Blackwood Company had been a major thorn in the Guild's side, the myriad of new independent bands proved to be an unquashable hydra.

Most mercenary bands were destroyed during their first confrontation - more often than not, they were comprised of commoners who thought they were onto a good thing and wanted to try their luck. The survivors though - the strugglers and the killers - they found success and reaped the reward of bounties soaked in blood. Many successful mercenaries migrated south from Skyrim in this period of unease in order to take their own slice of the action. Reinhardt Red-Tooth was one of these who decided he was going to carve himself an empire in the security business, slash by bloody slash. After a period of freelancing in Cyrodiil in order to get a lay of the land and establish contracts and contacts, he put out the call. He would take on hirelings: for a small sum, he would train them into professional warriors, give them the best chance of surviving possible and cut them a fair share of group mission rewards. A lifetime of hard work, hunting and killing left him an expert in this art of death. This is the story of Reinhardt's Regiment.

Currently Active:

The Luggage; Reinhardt Red-Tooth.

Trannigan; Trannigan Drattmer.

The Master Thief; Juhanor.

Broken-Scale; Cordus Leon.

Glass Argonian; Fier-Rahn.

DarkZerker; Soren Snowe.

The Luggage can be contacted on Skype at jammi.08, in case of queries or whatever.

Crickets were chirruping in the swaying grass by the side of the road, presumably to salute the setting sun or somesuch. Reinhardt frowned. He hated bugs - they reminded him of bad times in Morrowind. The little bastards froze to death up in Skyrim, which was a good thing. Not so down here though; he was just going to have to get used to them. He turned his attention back to his surroundings, looking appreciatively at the forest around him. That was a little more like home. The trees were always different, but the forest's soul was always the same. You'd always be able to turn the same set of skills to a useful trade in a forest. Watching for tracks or droppings or the broken stems in the undergrowth. Tracking, hunting and skinning. All honest business, if boring. He ran a hand through his massive tangled beard contemplatively, hit a cluster of knots and stopped, glaring introspectively.

He climbed up onto the cart which was still parked on the road a short distance away. An old and tired looking paint horse was tethered to the reins. He pulled it about and took it off the track, having already checked that the ground was firm and level enough to take the weight. He parked it next to his band's improvised camp site. The Regiment was assembled around a huge bonfire which was roaring just off the side of the track, in an area one of them had cleared of dead leaves. Nothing like setting the floor on fire and roasting yourself alive in your sleep after all. All of their baggage and luggage was sat in the back of the cart. Many of them, save the most paranoid, were in casual clothes, with their armour stowed for ease of travel. Reinhardt himself was just wearing his Nordic Chain boots - they'd been loyal companions to him for many a years, and countless miles of slogging through wilderness had molded them to his feet.

He hopped down and walked into the firelight to appraise his group. They were freshly banded together, having never worked as one unit before. The next city they tracked into had a number of contracts waiting for them that they'd be voting on. That would be the trial by fire, so to speak. In a tone of voice as blunt as his Nordic face, he addressed them. He was a loud man. The sort of man who probably didn't know an indoor voice existed, let alone how to use one. "Good evening to all of you! Now, the last few hours have been busy to say the least! No doubt you've have the chance to swap names on the road, but I can tell you now, we are a team! If you don't like the idea, take it up with my complaints department! If you want to know where that is, it's at the bottom of Lake Rumare! If you didn't know already, I am Reinhardt Red-Tooth, long time mercenary and veteran of more wars and tribal conflicts than you lot have teeth." He had their attention now.

"It is my intention to make this body of men, mer, beast and whatever the hell else we have into the finest fighting body to ever grace the face of Nirn! If we all do our job, we all get very rich. That has always been an incentive enough to me. I suggest you all get to know each other then get some sleep. We'll be moving out at sunrise. Anyone who wants to help out with this," he jerked a thumb at the cart, "I'm all ears."

Trannigan was sitting by the fire talking to two of the members as the leader was surveying the camp grounds doing different things. He knew that he would be in for some suprises when we decided to take up joining the Nord's mercenary band, but Trannigan would have never guessed his first suprise would be such a good one. Among the various new faces that were around to try to join Reinhardt's regiment there were two familiar faces. Trannigan had travelled together before with a certain Khajiit and Imperial comrades before and he was very happy to catch up with his friends Cordus and Juhanor since their journey in Skyrim had ended.

Trannigan was busy drinking and catching up on old times with the two men when the leader Reinhardt walked up near the fire and spoke. "Good evening to all of you! Now, the last few hours have been busy to say the least! No doubt you've have the chance to swap names on the road, but I can tell you now, we are a team! If you don't like the idea, take it up with my complaints department! If you want to know where that is, it's at the bottom of Lake Rumare! If you didn't know already, I am Reinhardt Red-Tooth, long time mercenary and veteran of more wars and tribal conflicts than you lot have teeth." The Nord's voice thundered vibrantly as he spoke.

"It is my intention to make this body of men, mer, beast and whatever the hell else we have into the finest fighting body to ever grace the face of Nirn! If we all do our job, we all get very rich. That has always been an incentive enough to me. I suggest you all get to know each other then get some sleep. We'll be moving out at sunrise. Anyone who wants to help out with this," he jerked a thumb at the cart, "I'm all ears."

Trannigan simply looked up at Reinhardt with a grin, keeping himself seated, and spoke up. "What is our first objective sir?" His voice echoed with slight excitement as he asked the question. He would glafly have moved out tonight had the order been given, but he knew that it would be foolish to travel in the darkness while hauling carts and carriage animals.

OOC: Sorry if this turn kinda svcks, I've never been good with starts haha.

Reinhardt couldn't help but grin in return as the massive Imperial piped up. "What is our first objective sir?" There was enthusiasm to spare with that one. That was a blessing and a curse, seeing as the young and energetic tended to fight as if they were defending their virtue from Molag Bal. Conversely they were also more prone to taking risks and deviating from the plan. Enthusiasm was tempered into professionalism after a few battle scars however - he'd just have to wait and see if this one had already hit that phase. He cracked his knuckles for effect before continuing.

"Our objectives are threefold! Firstly we need to uncouple that mangy beast from its harness and tether it up to rest!" The paint horse glared balefully at him, as if it were offended. This may have been unnerving had he not eaten similar animals in a pinch. There had been nastier jobs in the past. "After all, a pack animal ain't no good if it's dead on it's feet! Same for a warrior, come to that." He paused for a moment, rummaging in his pocket for something. He eventually pulled out a scrap of paper.

"Objective two - slightly less immediate! We head for Chorrol at dawn, because there are a number of jobs waiting for us there! At that point, a body with a head for fancy writing would be useful! Bring your own quill, because I ain't bloody well giving you one!" His grin warmed a little more at this point. "Objective three is a little more abstract, if you get me meaning! No more of this 'sir' minotaur-crap! I like to think we've got the brains to actually remember each other's names, unlike those military misfits you see wandering the roads!" At this point he let a veneer of silence cautiously return to the clearing. Albeit temporarily.

"Now, I made sure to get hold of some high quality beef before we set out, so we'll have some good eating tonight!" To illustrate his point he strode out of the firelight again and clambered up onto the cart's flatbed. After a few moments of rummaging around, he hefted out a sack and heaved it onto his shoulder. Walking back he dropped it on the floor. The bag made an unpleasantly loud wet thump as it hit the soil - the sound of a lot of raw meat. "There's also some mead in there too. Bear in mind, drunk and disorderly is well and good when you're at rest, but! If you let that get the better of you during a combat situation, I will personally throw you in a river in full armour! Any questions?"

Juhanor - Campsite

Juhanor was greatly pleased to find that two of his old traveling companions, Trannigan Drattmer and Cordus Leon, had also made their respective ways to the small mercenary band known as Reinhardt's Regiment. As the three sat at a roaring bonfire, conversing about old times, the titular leader began to address the small group. After laying down a few "rules," the Nord explained that the paint horse that drew the cart needed to be tied up, and tossed down a large sack containing some tasty smelling meat. "This one isn't good with animals, guys," Juhanor spoke up, noticing that the paint horse was glaring at him with evil in its eyes, "so, uh, Juhanor will cook some of this meat, if nobody minds..."

Reaching into the bag, Juhanor pulled out a few hunks of the raw, bloody meat. He brushed off some of the more flat rocks that surrounded the roaring fire, and slapped the food on top. The meat began to pop and sizzle, and was soon cooked as close to perfection as one could get in the wilderness.

The Cathay pulled the rocks away from the fire, and let the meat cool for a few minutes before motioning to the rest of the group that the food was done.

Cordus was extremely happy to see Juhanor and Trannigan again. It had been a while since that expedition to Saarthal, and Cordus had figured that he would probably never see the friends he had made on that adventure again. But here he was, proven wrong as the three of them sat by the campfire and listen to the leader of the small mercenary band, Reinhardt, give instructions on what their plan was. Juhanor volunteered to cook the meat that Reinhardt had procured, and so Cordus piped up, “I’m pretty good with animals, dude. I’ll get Mr. Horsey all rested up.”

With that, he got up from his seat by the campfire and walked over to the horse. “Hey there, buddy,” he said with a smile to the horse as began unharnessing the horse from the cart. “I’m Cordus!” he said with a small laugh as he messed with the horse’s harness. “What’s that?” he asked as he put his ear next to the horse’s face. “Well, nice to meet you, Bill! We’re gonna have fun together, I’m sure.” With that, he finished unharnessing Bill, and led him to a nice tree. He tied to horse to it, and patted him on the back. “There you go, Bill! Have a good night!” he said, turning and walking away, smiling as Bill neighed, seemingly in response to Cordus.

Cordus took his seat again, next to Trannigan and Juhanor. Juhanor was seemingly done with the food, so Cordus leaned over and grabbed a small bite of the meat. He nearly dropped it though, as the meat was still very hot and burned Cordus’s fingers. “Ow!” he yelled as he shuffled the bit of meat from hand to hand before tossing it in his mouth. He gave a big thumbs up to Juhanor and said, “Dude, this is good stuff.” He sighed contentedly, then continued on, addressing both Juhanor and Trannigan,

“So, how’ve you guys been since Saarthal? You guys probably won’t believe this, but I’ve actually managed to get a steady girlfriend since then! My first since I was 17!” Cordus laughed as he thought about Elissa, the Breton he had started dating. They balanced each other. She was a mage, graduated top of her class from the Arcane U, and was already considered an expert on the Ayleids, due to her (and, recently, Cordus’s) various expeditions deep into untouched Ayleid ruins, even though she was only in her early twenties, like Cordus. He beamed as he continued on to Juhanor and Trannigan, “Elissa. She’s a mage, and really, really smart. I don’t know what she sees in me, but whatever it is, I hope she keeps seeing it!”

Reinhardt watched Cordus lead "Bill" the horse away and tie it to a tree. Some of the races felt a natural affinity for horses. Imperials and Bosmer in particular were good with them. For the most part Nords saw them as awkward at best and chewy at worst. There was the snick of a blade being drawn as the grizzled mercenary unsheathed his dagger. He stalked over to the hot-rocks Juhanor had been using as a frying pan and speared one of the cooked hunks of meat. "Good call on that one, Khajiit. If you can keep up the cooking, we'll get along just fine." At that he settled down on a nearby log and started to eat, letting the pvssyr of the others fill the air. The meat was greasy, but that was a good thing - that meant it was still fresh, as the juices had yet to drain away or dry up. The center was a tender pink - just right.

From the sound of things, three of them knew each other. He was surprised to hear of Saarthal however - the ruin supposedly under Winterhold was deeply ingrained onto the cultural identity of all the Nordic people. The hazy legends of the mythical Ysgramor were a staple tale of the northern lands. Saarthal in particular served as a warning against the trickery of the mer races and had led to the justly deserved eradication of the Falmer. The scholars of Windhelm never tired of their incessant and utterly futile anolysis of the stories and their meanings though. He had heard rumours that old king Snorri' had dug the place up, but he'd dismissed it as just that - rumours. He'd been too far away dealing with... matters... in the east to check the claims out.

What a coincidence. It seemed the Nine worked in strange ways. It was, he supposed, only fair that the local pantheon took the blame or credit for events on their own soil. Then, for all he knew, such reunions could be the doings of Shor. Or perhaps the mechanisms of far darker wills altogether. Only time would tell. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaned back a little and listened.

Fier-Rahn had been sitting quietly by the fire, listening to Reinhardt's orders. He had watched impassively as the orders were given, only nodding slightly when he was finished to show that he'd understood them. He saw as three of the mercenaries seemed to already know each other from previously and began chatting. He watched impassively, only allowing himself a small smile when noting the Khajiit's nervousness of the horse. The Khajiit then began cooking the evening meal, and when it was done he thought, Well, if there's a time to try to get to know someone it's now. I'll be fighting alongside them soon enough. He calmly walked over, sitting down on a large rock near the group. The Imperial who'd unharnessed the horse had begun talking about his girlfriend, and Reinhardt himself had sat down to eat with them as well. He attempted a smile, something his kind always had trouble with, but the message came across. He reached for the smallest piece of meat with his dagger, slicing off an even smaller palm-sized piece for himself. He didn't take any more, as he'd never had much of an appetite.

Reinhardt made a comment on the Khajiit's cooking, and after he had eaten his own small piece, Fier-Rahn had to agree. "Reinhardt is right. This is better than I was expecting, considering some things I've had to eat off the fire before." He looked at the three who were particularly chatty with each other, and asked, "So you three have worked together before this? In this Saarthal place?" While he still had the accent customary to Argonians, he spoke like those of the other races, as he found it gave his speech more clarity.

OOC: Damnit had the turn typed out once before but I forgot to hit the damn post button! :brokencomputer: :banghead:

Reinhardt told the group of the tasks, stating that the first immediate thing to do would be to get the horse ready to be tethered up for the night. Juhanor replied that he was not good with horses, then Cordus volunteered saying he could get the animal settled in. The Imperial walked over to the beast and went to work, talking to it as he did so. Trannigan watched what seemed like a converstation between Cordus and the horse, and he let out a chuckle and quietly said to Juhanor, "I never thought I would say this, but I actually sorta missed that man's oddness." He glanced over at Juhanor while he cooked and laughed again. Reinhardt then told of the other 2 things, and although he figured that the Nord was just being sarcastic about taking notes, Trannigan thought it could be a smart idea to do so anyways, it was also good for drawing out the layouts of areas.

"I can take care of the notes." He spoke up then hefted a small chunk of the cooked meat into his mouth. "I will need to buy the supplies when we get into Chorrol but that is no trouble at all." he finished noncholantly and kept eating the food infront of him. Cordus returned to the fire moments later and sat by Trannigan and Juhanor. The light haired imperial reached down with his hand for a piece of meat, then quickly dropped it with a loud "Ow!" escaping his lips. Trannigan laughed playfully and dryly said to his friend "The food is probably a little hot...." then Trannigan leaned back a little bit and took in the night time surroundings. Even though he enjoyed traveling through different parts of the world he was glad to be back in his homeland. He decided to return as soon as everyone parted ways after leaving Saathal so that he could take care of his mother until he was sure that she would be ok without his father.

Trannigan stopped thinking about being home when Cordus spoke again and told him and Juhanor about his girlfriend. Trannigan listened intently as the man spoke of her and Trannigan gave him a smile when he finished, replying, "That is great news buddy! I am happy for ya. How long have ya been dating?"

Before Cordus could answer, the Argonian in the group asked the 3 comrades "So you three have worked together before this? In this Saarthal place?"

"Yes, we did. It was a hell of a place. Every bit as breathtaking, and as eerie, as the legends stated it was... It was a journey that pushed many of us, me included, to our very physical limits but it was well worth it."

Reinhardt nodded. This Trannigan was proving to be an asset indeed. "Well, now that's the writing taken care of. You'll be drafting the legal contract that seals the job. I'd do it myself, but I've always preferred my axe to an ink-pot." He thought for a moment then realised some clarity would probably be required. "You don't need to worry about knowing the laws of the land. Just include a clause that allows us to separate the deed holder from his life, limb and property should he default on payment upon completion. Once both sides have a signature on it, we drop it off with the guard and Bormir's y'uncle - it's binding." He settled back on his log again, finding a more comfortable gnarl in the wood to ease into.

His voice rose until it carried across the whole group again, as he stroked his beard contemplatively, reminiscing on the past. "Those contracts are a fairly recent thing between merc bands y'know. Started up north back home when the local militias got sick of us burning down defaulter's houses when they tried to back out." He chuckled throatily to himself. "Those were the days. None of that arsing around with scribes. If they didn't give you your dues, you'd remove their fingers until they told you where their savings were buried." He chuckled again. "Still, this is for the best I suppose. More repeat business this way." He turned a piercing eye back on Trannigan. "So, you mentioned Saarthal? What did old Snorri pay you to poke around in the mythic First City, ey? Find any Snow Elves?"

At that he hauled himself to his feet again. "Don't stop on my account, I'm still listening." At that he stomped off to the cart, clambered up again and pulled out two of the bottles of mead he had stored in a crate. He took out the cork of one with his teeth and casually threw the other one to, or possibly at, Trannigan. "You lot can get your own."

Cordus laughed as Trannigan asked how long he and Elissa had been dating. "Well, only a couple of months, but that's longer than I've dated anyone in a long time. You know, I don't think I've ever even officially dated someone since I was 17. Tons of one-night-stands, but no actual dating." Cordus stared off into the distance as he thought about that interesting point, and zoned out while Trannigan addressed an Argonian who had asked about Saarthal. Soon, Reinhardt also asked about Saarthal, saying, " "So, you mentioned Saarthal? What did old Snorri pay you to poke around in the mythic First City, ey? Find any Snow Elves?"

Cordus snapped himself out of his thought and laughed. "Well, we ..." Cordus paused, looking into the campfire confused. He actually couldn't remember how the expedition ended. He looked over to Trannigan and Juhanor. "I actually can't remember much of Saarthal. I remember up to when we fought that giant wormy thing, but after that, nothing! Weird ..." he said, standing up to grab himself a bottle of mead from the cart, before returning to his seat and beginning to strum on his lute.

"Well, only a couple of months, but that's longer than I've dated anyone in a long time. You know, I don't think I've ever even officially dated someone since I was 17. Tons of one-night-stands, but no actual dating."

Trannigan laughed a little and said to his friend. "I hear ya there, havent had many serious women in my life either save for a special few." Before he could say anymore Reinhardt interrupted to comment on Trannigan's saying he would take care of whatever paperwork might need to be done.

"Well, now that's the writing taken care of. You'll be drafting the legal contract that seals the job. I'd do it myself, but I've always preferred my axe to an ink-pot." He thought for a moment then realised some clarity would probably be required. "You don't need to worry about knowing the laws of the land. Just include a clause that allows us to separate the deed holder from his life, limb and property should he default on payment upon completion. Once both sides have a signature on it, we drop it off with the guard and Bormir's y'uncle - it's binding." He settled back on his log again, finding a more comfortable gnarl in the wood to ease into.

His voice rose until it carried across the whole group again, as he stroked his beard contemplatively, reminiscing on the past. "Those contracts are a fairly recent thing between merc bands y'know. Started up north back home when the local militias got sick of us burning down defaulter's houses when they tried to back out." He chuckled throatily to himself. "Those were the days. None of that arsing around with scribes. If they didn't give you your dues, you'd remove their fingers until they told you where their savings were buried." He chuckled again. "Still, this is for the best I suppose. More repeat business this way." He turned a piercing eye back on Trannigan. "So, you mentioned Saarthal? What did old Snorri pay you to poke around in the mythic First City, ey? Find any Snow Elves?"

Cordus spoke up first and laughed as he answered. "Well, we ..." Cordus paused, looking into the campfire confused. He looked over to Trannigan and Juhanor. "I actually can't remember much of Saarthal. I remember up to when we fought that giant wormy thing, but after that, nothing! Weird ..." he said, standing up to grab himself a bottle of mead from the cart, before returning to his seat and beginning to strum on his lute.

Trannigan let the bottle of mead that Reinhardt had tossed at him cradle into his hands, and he opened it to take a swig. Swallowing the gulp he then concurred with Cordus. "Yeah, I have trouble remembering some things after that arrow injury." He said and tucked his hair on his right side behind his ear so that Reinhardt and the other people he did not know yet could see the mark where the arrowhead struck into his cheekbone. "To answer your question though Reinhardt, it was merely a 'Do as I say because I am telling ya to!' type of deal at first. That is until our group finally managed to stumble upon the artifacts that the expedition had been searching for. (Though I am not sure what that is yet haha we havent gotten that far yet in that RP. :tongue: ) It ended up paying well enough that I could have lived the next few years comfortably if I had wanted to, but once I got back here in Cyrodiil I moved back to Bravil for a while to look out for my mother. I gave her most of the gold that I still had before setting off to explore again."

The first to reply was Cordus, the lithe Imperial bard. "Well, we ..." The bard stopped and looked into the campfire, appearing to be confused. He glanced over at the Imperial and Khajiit - Trannigan and Juhanor - that he already knew. "I actually can't remember much of Saarthal. I remember up to when we fought that giant wormy thing, but after that, nothing! Weird ..." After that he wandered off to help himself so some of the mead. When he was done, he settled down to play on his 'Fat Lute'. Reinhardt listened to Cordus and his music. Even if the man himself grated slightly on his nerves, the music was good. Made him nostalgic for home - most music did. Lutes weren't quite the same as a good old Winterhold session of quaffing and rowdy singing in a decent tavern though. Then again, when he came to think about it, the 'singing' was mostly attempting bellow lyrics louder than the man to your right, and the 'quaffing' was just spilling a lot of your drink.

"Yeah, I have trouble remembering some things after that arrow injury," Trannigan said over the soft melody. He tucked his hair on the right side of his head behind an ear so the others that didn't know him yet could see the mark where an arrowhead had struck his cheekbone at some point in the past. It was a fairly impressive war wound. "To answer your question though Reinhardt, it was merely a 'Do as I say because I am telling ya to!' type of deal at first. That is until our group finally managed to stumble upon the artifacts that the expedition had been searching for. It ended up paying well enough that I could have lived the next few years comfortably if I had wanted to, but once I got back here in Cyrodiil I moved back to Bravil for a while to look out for my mother. I gave her most of the gold that I still had before setting off to explore again."

The old barbarian snorted to himself. "Snorri doesn't know his arsehole from his elbow most of the time! Any Nord worth his salt knows that if you want something, you either seize it or have to expect to pay for it. Considering the amount of interest most of the 'bands have in Morrowind right now, he'd have garnered a much larger response with a definite reward. First rule of the business: never work for nothing." He took a long drag from the bottle. "Still, all's well that ends well. Sounds like you had a much better time of it than I did!" He trailed off into a sour silence. "Still... All's well that ends well," he repeated, bitterly. Reinhardt glared into the fire for a moment, reminiscing over history that should have been as dead and buried as the majority of the men involved. "Ver' generous of you with your mum though," he muttered as an afterthought.

Fier had listened to all of this wordlessly, taking great interest in their discussion of the ruins, as well as smirking slightly at Reinhardt's last comment. He replied, "Perhaps she got a little payment of her own, eh?" he allowed himself a small chuckle. "But still, I'm impressed you made it through Saarthal. The way some of the tales put it, the place is guarded by Ogres that can blast lightning out of their eyes!" He shook his head, and realized he was surprisingly tired. He had been wandering all day until he ran into Reinhardt, marching up and down the street looking for recruits.

OOC: sorry about the short post, I'm nearly brain-dead right now

Juhanor - Campfire

Juhanor nodded his appreciation towards the mercs who enjoyed his cooking. Least I'm finally putting my alchemy to use; hate doing so, though. "This one remembers that you were pretty messed up after the fight with the Wyrm, Cordus," Juhanor spoke up, "perhaps that has to do with your memory loss. Hell, remember the weird magic stuff that kept going on down there? That probably accounts for some of it as well..." Juhanor wasn't too worried about it; he knew that if something was worth remembering, it would come to him eventually. "More like draugrs and demon, Scales," Juhanor responded to the Argonian amicably, "although nothing was too powerful for our group; there was even a Nord who could shout fire and ice, if he so desired to."

"After the expedition, this one found another enchanter to take off the magic on the bow," he said, motioning to the ebony longbow that rested next to his pack, "otherwise, it probably would have shattered." Juhanor shrugged, then continued on. "Went to Solstheim for a short period of time, hunted down a few man-wolves. Nothing this one couldn't handle with these, though.... having silver battle gauntlets helped as well." The Khajiiti tapped his caestus together, making it clear to the others that the claws that once adorned them were missing. "The left claw was done by the time we left Saarthal, but the right had had a few more fights in it. Not anymore, though."

The Cathay rubbed a paw over his face, and went to get a bottle of mead. He tore the stopper out, and after throwing the cork into the roaring fire, took a long pull of the drink. "This one never cared for mead," he said, grimacing slightly as he downed the beverage, "too weak for Juhanor. Still, thanks for the drink, Reinhardt. Now that we've told you of Saarthal, how about yourself? Any good adventures lately?"

Reinhardt upended what was left of his mead then casually threw the bottle into the fire, still looking moody. "I've had a long career if that's what you mean. 'Good' might be pushing it. Illustrious and well paid? Sure. But every one of those septims comes with a pint of blood. Sounds like you guys went for the glory with Saarthal though." He paused for a moment, deciding which story to recount. Seeming to decide on one, his demeanour lightened a little. "Ever since the the War of the Bend'r-mahk, the Bretons and Redguards have had resistance groups warring against Skyrim. I've been on numerous raids from Falkreath to wipe out rebels near Elinhir. Even done a little pillaging around Jehenna. Been involved in most of the major tribal wars between the Northern Chiefs too."

He leaned back a little and pulled his left foot up on to his right knee. He slapped a symbol that had been engraved into the side of the Nordic Mail boot. "Won the full set of Mail as a reward from laird Sorkvild Ice-Veins during the siege of his fiefdom's castle, way to the west in The Reach. It belonged to his rival's champion, who I killed on the ramparts. See, by feudal right, the armour belonged to Sorkvild, so I accepted the armour instead'f payment. That was a three month siege. Two years later I'd been employed by the other side and was back to take the castle alongside sixty other mercs and a company's-worth of militiamen. Moral of the story? There aren't any. You work for where the money's at." He grinned to himself. "You know what they say: walk a mile in another man's shoes. I've walked several hundred in a dead man's boots." He guffawed to himself for a moment. Then a shadow drifted across the metaphorical sun, and his face darkened. Storm clouds brewed, laden with anger.

"I'm guessing most of you heard of Skyrim's recent pushes into Morrowind?" He nodded to the three heros of Saarthal. "I'm guessing that's why Snorri didn't keep his exploring in-house. His own household champions were off to the east killing elves, I'll wager. Of course, there was the bloody Oblivion Crisis. I was working with a scouting band under Igna Axe-Wife in Vvardenfell about then. We got pinned by Daedra and Dunmer scratch companies near Ald'Rhun once the gates started opening. That was hell on Nirn. The less said about it the better." He stood, a grimace on his face and walked away from the firelight to pace for a moment. After a minute he returned from the darkness with another bottle. "I think I've talked enough about the past for now," he muttered sourly.

"Ver' generous of you with your mum though." Reinhardt muttered as an afterthought.

The Argonian piped up then, saying. "Perhaps she got a little payment of her own, eh?" he allowed himself a small chuckle. "But still, I'm impressed you made it through Saarthal. The way some of the tales put it, the place is guarded by Ogres that can blast lightning out of their eyes!"

Trannigan sighed gently and replied to the two men. "Yeah well... it was the least I could do. While I was away in the ruins my father mysteriously passed away in his sleep. My mother was able to imform me the morning it happened because she is a skilled mage, and able to send telepathic thoughts to those she wishes to. Unfortunately me only being good with destructive magic I was completely unable to console her in any way until leaving the ruins and returning back to Bravil." He finished his drink off and sat the empty bottle down next to him. Staring at the fire he zoned out a little bit until Juhanor spoke up.

"More like draugrs and demon, Scales," Juhanor responded to the Argonian amicably, "although nothing was too powerful for our group; there was even a Nord who could shout fire and ice, if he so desired to."

Trannigan remembered Hjolifur with those words, the Nordic warrior who had the abolity to use the much fabled ability of Thu'um. Juhanor asked Reinhardt if he had any stories of his own to share, and after giving it some thought he finished off his mead and tossed the bottle into the fire. Trannigan listened carefully as the man told about the many battles he had participated in. He was quite a bit amazed to hear of Reinhardt's accomplishments, he could see now why those in Bravil who were looking for work were speaking so highly of the man, and he was already becoming a little glad that he decided to seek the man out. When Reinhardt's voice began to trail off as he remembered the more grim times of his past Trannigan decided to change the subject to tomorrow.

"So when do we head out tomorrow?" A rather stupid question to ask as they would probably just head out as soon as they awoke but atleast it did move the topic to something else.

"So when do we head out tomorrow?" Trannigan inquired. Reinhardt nodded in reply, but whether that was merely in acknowledgement of his speaking, or in gratitude for the topic change, it was hard to tell. The sun had set and Jode and Joan were climbing resolutely over the horizon. Somewhere deeper into the forest an owl hooted. Far outside the ring of firelight, something snuffled through the ground-layer of dead leaves and twigs - probably a boar sniffing out roots and mushrooms. The summer nights were usually warm, but it was still good to have the roaring bonfire.

"We set out at dawn. We've still got a fair distance ahead of us before we hit Chorrol. We've got the worst out of the way, seein' as we're out of the Rumare sink and onto the highlands, but it's still best to get an early start. We should be there by midday." He took another long swig from his bottle. "Like I said earlier, when we get there, me and Trannigan will be off to secure our job options. The rest of you, you can help too. Try and drum up some trade. We're not knights - get that into your heads now. We don't help people for free, and we certainly aren't honest if it's not profitable. I want you to settle your business in town, then get to the taverns and stir things up a bit.

"Set people uneasy - make them a little more willing to splash out on security. Tell 'em Oblivion gates are opening near Leyawiin again, or bandits burned down a bunch of homesteads an hour north or somesuch. Enough to make folks fret, but not enough to draw massive amounts of attention to yourselves. Y'get me?" He looked around at them all to try and gauge what they thought of the matter. "Now, I'd recommended getting some sleep. Had enough pvssyr for now. Roll out your bedrolls and get some rest. I'll take the first watch." He looked around to pick someone else. "You, Juhanor, you're second watch. I'll wake you up in six hours. The rest of you'll have your turn some other time, rest assured."

At that, he stood again, his knees audibly popping. Turning, he left the firelight again, moving to perch up on the cart where he'd have a better vantage point. In half an hour, his eyes would have adjusted and he'd be able to see by the moonlight as clear as day.

OOC: Introductory Post

Soren Snowe

"Master Snowe, where are we right now?" One of the merchant caravans asked. Soren sighed. He hated when he didn't know something. They've been following the road to Chorrol for at least a good week now and after getting side tracked, they were back on track.

He turned around to see a mass of people following him, all of them merchants of course. Soren looked around and shook his head. "We're somewhere along the road to Chorrol. That's all I can tell you at this point...let's go," Soren said as the mass of caravans followed him.

By Akatosh, Sithis, or whatever, it's taking too long. Zoe was right when she said that the road was long...especially since I had to travel from The Snowe Temple to this place...I hope Zoe and my siblings are doing well in Chorrol...

Again, another farm, torched from the Oblivion Crisis, belonging to the quickly collapsing Snowe Family, was passed. Soren had to stop and watch the burnt crops swaying in the wind, the smell of old ash and the stench of war drifting towards the caravan. As the wisps of ash finally subsided at the same time the wind subsided, a wild shriek was heard.

Thirty bandits, the most organized anybody in the caravan's ever seen yet, rushed towards the group. All caravan guards drew their weapons but most were quickly silenced by the swords and hammers, only about ten bandits dying from the guards.

By that time, Soren already was in action. He drew his family katana and slashed through the bandits with the three highly trained caravan guards. At the end, all three caravan guards fell while almost all but 3 bandits fell.

They cornered Soren and proceeded forward. Soren drew his katana, shaking as the fatigue from casting his family spells showed on his face. The bandits smirked as they fought with Soren. Weapons clinked, sparks flew but as the battle went on, the bandits, who were ravenous with energy more and more so, while Soren was getting more and more weary. It was an easy game for the bandits as one impaled him in the leg.

Soren sighed and cast a weak fire spell before coughing up a bit of blood as one bandit kicked him in the gut...hard. Trying hard, he summoned all of his magicka and cast one family spell, a strong fast bolt of lightning that ripped through the armour of two bandits as the last one faced off. "A parting gift..." Soren whispered as he used up the last of his magicka to cast one last weak fireball. "from the Snowe family."

It seemed to do the trick, the fireball was just strong enough light the bandit's heavy fur armour on fire. And as he tried to put it out, Soren threw his dagger at the bandit, speeding up the killing process. But it was a double sided victory as Soren slowly began to lose consciousness.

It was almost time to wake the Khajiit for his shift. Reinhardt rubbed one of his bleary eyes with a ham-sized fist and peered out over the moon-bathed countryside. The bonfire had collapsed into glowing embers almost two hours ago, giving out a ferocious heat, but almost no light. A gust of wind danced through the cleared glade. Reinhardt turned his ear to it, hoping to catch a hint of any local wildlife, merely in the name of entertainment. Instead he found the distant chink of metal on metal, dulled by distance but amplified by the night. He was immediately alert and cautious. Combat, by the sound of it. He closed his eyes and half opened his mouth, searching for the sound again. After fifteen seconds, he picked up the trace once more. The clash of arms, almost certainly - from the sound of it, coming from somewhere down the slopes towards the lowlands. He opened his eyes and watched the area carefully, hopping down from the cart and stalking to a nearby hillock that would act as a decent vantage point. He could see nothing through the gloom. Then the clouds cleared, and almost half a mile below, someone let loose a tirade of fiery magicka.

He guessed it wasn't an engagement between the Legion and outlaws - criminals wouldn't pick fights with the law if they could help it, and from the sound of things the battle itself was occurring further down the road. Which meant someone traveling there had been ambushed, probably by bandits. Civilians, or smugglers. Either way, more likely than not valuable cargo - tourists and pilgrims tended to travel at day, while reckless caravans attempting to dodge the taxman would sometimes move by night. He assumed merchants, going off the intensity of the battle. Hired guards. Smugglers preferred to be discrete and chance it on security. He could hear the fighting relatively clearly now he was listening for it. Must have been a concerted attack, given that it wasn't already over. He made a snap decision and jogged back to the camp. Moving from man to man, he woke each with a tap on the shoulder, then the universal symbol for silence - the index finger pressed against his lips. When everyone was conscious, he started his brief, in what passed for a rumbling whisper.

"Get ready - weapons and armour. We've got trouble just down the hill - big fight goin' on. I reckon bandits have just knocked over a caravan, but if we head down now, we can intervene. Basically, we kill off any bandits and tell the convoy leader they owe us money. Alternately, we wait until the bandits have killed everyone else off, then finish the outlaws ourselves. That way we have a free caravan-full of merchandise to claim. We need a pointman to check it out." He nodded at Juhanor. "You seem pretty light on your feet. I'm nominating you, but sort it between yourselves. I want someone to nip down the slope just ahead of our advance and get an eyeball on what's going on." He turned to walk towards the cart, then paused. "Well, get to it then. We have a battle to fight!"

Trannigan awoke to Reinhardt tapping and shaking his shoulder, then lifting a finger to his lips for Trannigan and the others to stay silent. His eyes took a few minutes to focus from being in a sleep state and for the first few seconds Trannigan was not sue if he was actually awake or if this was just part of some dream he was having. After a few moments though clarity came to him and he looked over to the man who awoke him.

When everyone was awake enough Reinhardt said in a gruff whisper. "Get ready - weapons and armour. We've got trouble just down the hill - big fight goin' on. I reckon bandits have just knocked over a caravan, but if we head down now, we can intervene. Basically, we kill off any bandits and tell the convoy leader they owe us money. Alternately, we wait until the bandits have killed everyone else off, then finish the outlaws ourselves. That way we have a free caravan-full of merchandise to claim. We need a pointman to check it out." He nodded at Juhanor. "You seem pretty light on your feet. I'm nominating you, but sort it between yourselves. I want someone to nip down the slope just ahead of our advance and get an eyeball on what's going on." He turned to walk towards the cart, then paused. "Well, get to it then. We have a battle to fight!"

Trannigan slowly got to his feet as the man spoke, and as he listened to his words he quickly dug out his armor and began putting it on. When Reinhardt suggested that Juhanor scout ahead to see what was going on, Trannigan concurred. "I second Juhanor going." Trannigan said as he looked over at the Khajiit with a smile. "Your agile feet give ya more than a good chance at not being seen. I will follow behind and act as backup." Trannigan finished doning his armor and made sure it was all fit on properly, he then grabbed his longblade and drew it from it's sheath, ready to move out when the order was given. He could hear the faint sounds of the battle off in the distance and he hoped that they would get there before all the merchants were slain. He was not beyong scavenging certain wealth off of the dead but he did still prefer to be more respectful and spare lives when he could

Juhanor - Campfire

Juhanor's eyes snapped open as he felt a tapping on his shoulder; before he could reach for his weapon, however, the Khajiit saw that it was merely Reinhardt rousing the group awake. The man held a finger up to his lips, so Juhanor remained quiet as he waited for Reinhardt to explain himself. Talking fast, the Nord told the group that he had heard sounds of a ruckus coming up from the hill; probably bandits attacking a caravan, or so he thought. Juhanor listened silently into the night; he, too, heard the sounds of battle, although they were quickly fading. Guards are probably dead, thought Juhanor, too bad for them.

Juhanor perked up when he heard Reinhardt ask him to be point. "Gladly, boss," muttered Juhanor, "a night like this? The renrij won't hear this one coming." Juhanor placed a hand on the log he had been sleeping against, and using it for leverage, vaulted over the object and took off silently down the hill. Although both Jode and Jone were full tonight, Juhanor was easily able to stay hidden in the darkness; his acquired skills could rival those of almost any master of silent movement. The Cathay quickly reached the bottom of the hill, and rolled into a nearby copse of bushes before he began to examine what had transpired at the bottom of the hill.

Gazing into the darkness, Juhanor's natural night vision picked out two people still moving about; they were walking funny, though, as if they had been recently electrified. So, the group had a magic-user, powerful enough to seriously harm these two, from the looks of it. Surrounding the apparent bandits were a hail of corpses; at least fifty bodies were strewn about. A few were still moving; these appeared to be merchants. Just as soon as they moved, however, one of the bandits would send them to the afterlife with a quick stab or strangle. Renrij, Juhanor thought darkly, killing wounded like that. As he readied himself to burst out of the brush, Juhanor spotted another body moving on the ground.

It appeared to be a young Imperial male; he seemed out of it, though, almost as if he were unconscious. The bandit closest to the man noticed the movement, and began to shakily stumble over to the knocked down Imperial. Juhanor took this distraction to leap over the brush. Landing lithely on his feet, Juhanor snapped out a foot and hit the bandit under his arm, right against his chest.

Gurgling out a strangled cry for help, the bandit fell to his knees, and began to wheeze heavily, trying unsuccessfully to draw breath. Using the momentum from the first kick to spin around, Juhanor slammed another foot into the bandit, this time hitting him in the head and causing him to flop to the ground, as unconscious as the man he had been trying to save.

The other bandit, meanwhile, had been futiley trying to open up some of the goods that were stacked on top of the various types of carts in the caravan. His electrified body, however, was working against him in these endeavors. I suppose the lightning must have addled his hearing as well... thought Juhanor as he snuck up behind the fool. The Cathay stabbed out with his kukri, impaling and pinning the bandit's trembling hand against the side of the cart he was currently inspecting. The man, shocked at the sudden malformation of his grimy hand, shouted out in pain, and was beginning to turn about just as Juhanor's fist broke open his face.

The bandit dropped down as well, moaning silently as he feebly grasped at the blade that held his hand against the cherrywood of the cart. Just then, Juhanor spotted the other members of his party climbing out of the brush at the bottom of the hill; the Cathay called out to them as he walked over to help the unconscious Imperial to his feet.

"Guys, look what this one found," he said, lifting the man into a sitting position against the backside of another cart, "lots of corpses, some supplies, and two wounded bandits!" Juhanor lightly pushed at the unconscious man's shoulder, trying to wake him up. "Guys, that one over there is unconscious," Juhanor shouted, pointing to the shuddering fool on the ground, "and that one is simply incapacitated," he gestured to the other one, still tugging at the kukri that firmly affixed his hand to the cart, "this one thought we could get something out of them, if we're lucky."

"Gladly, boss," muttered Juhanor, "a night like this? The renrij won't hear this one coming." The large khajiit placed a hand on the log he had been sleeping against, using it to get to his feet before taking off silently down the hill. Trannigan followed behind, making sure to stay about 2 yards behind the cat since he was far less capable of being sneaky than Juhanor. Trannigan watched as his friend bound carefully down the hill, ducking behind a copse of bushes so that he could have some cover while he scouted the area. Trannigan stayed atop the hill, but layed his body low so that it would be harder to be seen incase anyone happened to look in that direction. He cupped his hands saround his eyes, trying to focus his vision so that he could see a little better in the darkness. Trannigan could barely make out many bodies laying about the ground, with other, armed figures scurrying around them. Trannigan couldn't be sure but it looked as if when any of the downed bodies would move at all, the standing figures would swiftly move up and stab at them. Seeing this angered Trannigan a bit and he gripped at the grass with the hand not around his eyes.

Juhanor meanwhile had been sneaking his way through the bodies, and as one of the bandit's was about to slay another innocent person, Juhanor quickly jumped out at the foe, kicking him hard in the chest and landing gracefully on his feet. He then quickly gave the bandit another kick to the head, sending him a few feet away and knocking the bandit out cold. Juhanor then swiftly ambushed a bandit who was rummaging through some belongings, he stabbed the man in the hand he was propping up against the cart and the man screamed out in pain. Show off... Trannigan playfully thought to himself and let out a light chuckle as he stood back up and carefully walked his way over to the carts, followed by the others.

The man pulled helplessly at the dagger still stuck in his hand as Juhanor called out to the others. "Guys, look what this one found," he said, lifting the man into a sitting position against the backside of another cart, "lots of corpses, some supplies, and two wounded bandits!" Juhanor lightly pushed at the unconscious man's shoulder, trying to wake him up. "Guys, that one over there is unconscious," Juhanor shouted, pointing to the shuddering fool on the ground, "and that one is simply incapacitated," he gestured to the other one, still tugging at the kukri that firmly affixed his hand to the cart, "this one thought we could get something out of them, if we're lucky."

"Exactly what I was thinking." Trannigan replied as he quickly walked up to the bandit. He yanked the knife from the bandits hand then proceeded to grab the man by his shirt collar, he pulled the bandit to his feet then Trannigan tossed the bandit roughly in the direction of his other comrades.

He watched Juhanor vault over a log, then vanish. It was as if he'd melted into the night. Impressed but not surprised, he left to grab his gear, the others no doubt following suit. It had taken all of three minutes for Rienhardt to haul on his armour, the heavy chain-plate segments being secured tightly in place. After that, he grabbed his axe from his own personal chest he had stowed on the cart, rapidly checking the cutting edge for notches with the tip of a soon to be gauntleted hand. The axe itself was something special - he'd obtained it after the disastrous raid on Vardenfall. The decimated ruins of his team had cut their way off the island and hijacked a boat that was sailing to the frigid wastes of Solstheim. They'd been pursued the entire way.

Stalhrim was an unusual thing - in a manner of speaking, it was an ore, in much the way ebony and iron were. It was different in it's appearance to any mundane metal or material however. It appeared to be made of pure ice, harder than any diamond and sharper than any blade. Inspection complete, he moved back to the mostly empty flat-bed and tugged a large grey tarpaulin out from between two sacks. Haphazardly, he threw the cover over the tiny wagon. It wasn't perfectly covered, and most of the wheels were still visible - but from a distance, it would look like just another massive rock through the darkness. At that, he moved back to where the fire had been lit. It was time to move out.

Trannigan had moved on behind Juhanor, holding back a little so his heavy armour's clanking wouldn't give the stealthy Cathay away. Reinhardt and the rest of the Regiment advanced a few minutes behind, arriving just in time to see Trannigan rising from the hillock he'd been watching from. They proceeded down the final slope together, emerging through the brush in time to see Juhanor mopping up after incapacitating two of the intrepid attackers. The feline then busied itself with propping up an Imperial victim, before noticing his companion's advance.

"Guys, look what this one found," he called, lifting the bloodied man into a sitting position against the backside of a cart. "Lots of corpses, some supplies, and two wounded bandits!" Juhanor shook the man gently, trying to wake him up. "Guys, that one over there is unconscious," Juhanor shouted, pointing at the inert lump in the dirt a few feet away, "and that one is simply incapacitated," he gestured to the other one, still trying in vain to pull the knife out of his palm. "This one thought we could get something out of them, if we're lucky."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Trannigan agreed. He purposefully strode towards the outlaw that was still conscious, tore the blade out, then threw the criminal onto his back in front of the rest of the Regiment. Reinhardt took that as his cue, twirling his axe idly as he nonchalantly walked over. The bleeding bandit attempted to scurry backwards on his elbows. Reinhardt firmly squashed him to the floor with a heavy boot then swung the axe down, slamming the business end into the dirt a few millimeters to the left the now very exposed looking throat.

"Evenin'. I've heard the roads are dangerous this time of year," Reinhardt said politely. "Now. You're going to tell me everything I want to know, or I cut you to bits and nail the pieces to the countryside. Understand?" The man nodded as vigorously as he could without moving his neck. "I'm glad we've got those pleasantries out of the way then." He removed the axe and picked him up by the scruff of the neck and proceeded to drag him towards the opposite end of the convoy. "Check for survivors and treat any injuries you can!" He shouted back to the Regiment. "Dead men can't pay us! I'll be back in ten minutes!" The prisoner gibbered and wailed, and on the way there struggled to his feet and tried to run away. Reinhardt still had a firm hold on him however, and yanked him back before slapping him back to the floor. "Try that again, and I kill you," he intoned solemnly.

Soren Snowe

Soren started to regain consciousness and when he came to, he saw a Khajiit helping him up. Before Soren could even question his sanity, he heard the Khajiit say, "Guys, that one over there is unconscious."

He groaned and looked around. Soren was still very tired and could barely even stand because of the sword thrust to his knee. But he could still speak. "Wh...what's going on?" Soren asked before stumbling away from the Khajiit. The Khajiit pointed towards one of the carts filled to the brim with weaponry, armour, and of course, the promised 4000 gold to bribe the guards in case Sylvia was caught stealing something again. This one thought we could get something out of them, if we're lucky."

Soren's eyes widened but kept a calm composure.

From the looks of this...the Khajiit is part of some mercenary or raiding group. No way they would've approached this caravan if they weren't completely prepared.

"Now..." Soren started to say, "would you mind telling me who you are?"

But before that could happen, the rest of the group showed up, at least what looked like the rest of the group. One Nord approached a bandit and squashed him with a heavy boot. "Evenin'. I've heard the roads are dangerous this time of year," He said. The leader Soren thought.

The bandit nodded vigorously as Soren smirked.

This group...could be useful, but Chorrol is where I need to go.

Soren approached one of the Nord's men. "Tell me you're one to help," He said, trying to get the pleading edge out of his voice.