Nero couldn't hold back his grin any longer, and it beamed across his face. He quickly caught up to pace with the Argonian and whispered as quietly as he could,
"Perhaps... 'sir' it would be beneficial to bring the mercenary along. His talents may be of use and if nothing more, he is expendable. What do you say, Lies-in-Shadows?"
Nero wasn't so above himself as to relieve command for a bit. He was as jovial as he was sadistic. He turned to look at the mercenary,

He can tell that something is amiss. A regal looking officer obviously leads the dull.

Nero carefully shrugged, readjusting the dark pauldrons that bore little weight, as well as allowing his ride on the destrier to be a bit more comfortable.

"I will supply him with better equipment when we next make camp, sir." Nero was getting into the spirit of the masquerade and almost saluted the argonian before smiling and looking back towards the able-bodied man.

If nothing more, you can pose as a hired hand yourself. Nero Faustus, the funded sword. Tangy on the tongue.

Slings-His-Knives, or 'Lies-In-Shadows', looked at Nero, and whispered back quickly, "If I had known he was going to be with us for any longer, I would of picked a better name." Slings-His-Knives smiled back, and quickly turned his horse around. He galloped backwards to catch up to the new recruit.
"Mercenry!" He yelled. "Prehaps it would be better if you join us instead, and don't worry about your equipment, the breton deviant over there shall provide you with what you need when we next make camp."

He smiled, thinking about how Nero was a very curious person. Inviting a mercenry to accompany him, just because he feels like it, and making his deviant guard, become his commander. Things would get a lot more intresting soon if Nero could keep coming up with such 'spur of the moment ideas'

Can I still join?

OOC: Sure.

IC:

Nero once again let his mind drift away, this time focusing on less carnal idea's and more aesthetic.
Nords love hair, facial hair. Beards. Some may not like beards. Especially mustaches. Yet some do. Just as some people like soup; a hearty sight for the weary and the optimistic, although others may not prefer soup. Would they starve in turn? Yet, if you put soup in a beard, it becomes universally distasteful. If only we could agree on more important things. Sure, war and pain aren't always tolerated, yet we endure them. Peace and love are supposedly 'universally beautiful' and yet we're in war. Look at us hypocrites. Odd. An absence of normal, abstract, yet white. Pristine but tarnished...

Once again re-focusing and gazing towards the mercenary and his pseudo-commander.

OOC: I'm sorry... something about this rp just hasn't clicked for me yet. It's likely because finals are approaching, and I've been put into a position where I am forced to create my own quests for my character. Right now, my inspiration is at an all time low.

Two month following the Siege of the Imperial City, Twenty years after the Oblivion Crisis

We are pleased to announce that the Regent Ocato has finally let loose word that they are preparing for a large scale attack; to finally rout the forces from outside the walls of our beloved Imperial City. And while we hope for the best, we must always be on our watch. And in a turn of events, the strange cold seems to have stopped at Skingrad, not progressing as many of the scholars at the Arcane University predicted. Of course, we will always keep you updated, and may Talos guide us.
-The Black Horse Courier

Hey this is really awesome can i join? (i no its kinda late) Pleeeease?

Edit: spelling

OOC: Feel free. Anyone is free to join at anytime.

Name: William Eriksson

Race: Nord(father)/Breton(mother)

Age: 26

Class:Sailor/Mage

Faction: Empire (Navy)

Rank: Lieutenant

Equipment:
Brigandine with symbol of empire embossed in the leather (Standard Naval Issue)
Knee high leather boots (Standard Naval Issue)
Nordic steel Cavalry Sabre (made by father)
Nordic steel spear (also made by father)
Grey Destrier named Ysmir (Offspring of his fathers old Legion horse)

Background: Born to a Breton mother and a Nord father, William whilst physically taking his fathers height, took his mothers Breton-ish outlook to life and devoted his life to becoming a mage
Whilst he was very skilled at Alteration and Illusion his training was interupted by his forced conscription in the Imperial Navy, where he grew to the rank of Lieutantant due to his abilities as a sorceror. He was very well liked by the crew and became good friends with many of them. His fathers forced sword, horse and spear training made him able to kepp up with many of the other sailors physically as well. Well known in the Navy for his ability to drink even Full-blooded Orcs and Nords under the table, though not a drunk. Was born and raised in Anvil and will do almost anything to take it back from the Autocracy

Physical Description: Left handed, slightly above average in height, Long fingers perhaps suited better for some one whom played an instrument rather than a sailor, Pale complexion that refuses to darken even in the sun that experienced sailors face.

Personality: Quick with his spear, but much quicker with a smile or a joke, his fathers dissapointment hasn't dampened his cheery outlook on life, But is rather sarcastic and cynical . Does not engage conversation very much, but when he does it's hard to shut him up

Major Skills: Swordsmanship, Illusion, Alteration, Meduim Armour, Spear(manship?)

Minor Skills: Leadership, Sailing, Horsemanship

OOC: Sorry it took me ages to reply

IC: Tightening his grip on the spear that his father made for him on his 16th birthday, William wondered what Quintinius Verginix, His new commanding officer since he was drafted to the Legion, would have to say about
his latest mission into enemy territory 'my territory they stole it from us it's ours' he reminded himself, slip-ups like that would earn a flogging from the young officer. 'Slip-ups like that young Dunmer maid last night' he recalled with a grin, it may earn him worse than a flogging, but it was definately worth it.

Just as he'd cleared his mind of the previous nights frivoloties William stood in front of the diminuative (by any standards) officer and saluted him as was proper. Whilst listening intently to his mission (scouting out the lands to the west of the great Imperial city to make sure its defenses would hold against the scum of the Autocracy if they attacked from Skingrad) William wondered when they would finally be able to take back the lands of his birth and reclaim Anvil from the filthy betrayers.

As Claudius walked away towards the gates he heard someone shout him.
"Mercenary!" the Argonian commander yelled. "Perhaps it would be better if you join us instead, and don't worry about your equipment, the breton deviant over there shall provide you with what you need when we next make camp."
Claudius nodded and replied with " Of course commander, it would be an honour to serve under your command" he stopped and then spoke again " And don't worry about my combat abilities, i'm sure you will be most impressed ". He let out slight smile at how good he was at lying. Within the space of a few minutes he had entirely rewritten his character and who he was. Although he was sure he had foolen the Argonian, something about that Breton was making him anxious and uneasy. Lies-in-shadows mentioned that he would supply him with his equipment when they next make camp so he was sure to find out more about him then, something that worried him.

Claudius thought to himself as he stood there about what he would do to find out the information. It was obvious this army he was a part of was moving somewhere but where? This was something he had not found out yet but was sure to later on. He knew one of the commanders which was good enough but he wanted to find out more about him before he would report it. And finally he had found an army so there was no need to worry about that. The Empire had always known that there was bound to be an attack on the capital city soometime in the near future so perhaps this was were this army was headed. Everyone knew that if the Imperial City was to fall then so would the Empire. Yet an all out attack would be suicidal, a more likely approach would be to draw the Legions away by attacking elsewhere but even then the city would be near impossible to breach. Perhaps this army was heading there to join in the attack? If so how would Claudius report to his commanders about his findings and how would he sneak away. This was something he had to think about but he would deal with it when the time comes.

Slings-His-Knives was glad about Lucien's obidence, it would make his role as comander easier. He still felt unsure about his next move. He turned back to Nero, who was day-dreaming to himself again. "Come along then Lucien." He made his tone flat. He could almost taste the deception in the air.

Slings-His-Knives dismounted his horse as he walked back over to Nero, who had yet to be given a fake name, so he did not know how to address his old deviant. He felt in his coat pocket and pulled out his book. He turned behind him, making sure Lucien wasnt looking. He tilted it forward and out slid a knife. He tested the balance, before sliding it back into the book. Slings-His-Knives looked at the cover of his book. Bruma:The Last Defence. This was the first book that truly inspired him. He got it when he was sixteen, which was thirteen years after the Oblivion Crisis. It was a book written by the Champion of Cyrodil about Bruma's last defense.

Ahh I remember when i first got this, it was just after i learnt how to read. It was to teach me tactics. I never forgotten how much my leader did for me, and I shall never forget him. If i ever find out who was responsible for the atrocities at that village, I will torture them. they will wish they were dead

Slings-His-Knives had forgotten himself. He had his fist balled up extremely tight, making some of his scales fall off, and he also had walked to far infront of the others. He slipped the book back into his pocket, and tried to cover up his mistake. "Deviants, make haste! We need to be moving quicker if we are to make the deadline!"

He climbed his horse so the journey would not tire his feet out to much. He got comfortable and looked back at his 'deviants'. This would be a difficult journey for him.

Claudius acknowledged his new commander and followed him to his horse. Something about him didn't seem right yet Claudius couldn't quite figure out what. He noticed that the Argonian was fiddling around with something and was making it quite obvious that he didn't want him to see what it was.What is he doing? he wondered to himself but before he could attempt to see what it was he had moved away. Never mind, it must be nothing he thought to himself but out of the corner of his eye he had seen some of the Argonians scales fall of. What's up with this guy?

Not knowing exactly what to do he thought he would talk to this strange Breton character. He dressed like a typical madman and although his clothing was meant to be intimidating he just looked crazy to Cladius who let out a slight grin before quickly erasing it hoping no one would see. However he didn't know what to say to attract the guys attention so he just slowly walked over towards him and let out a slight cough hoping he would look. As stupid as it seemed to Claudius he was used to shouting at his troops when he wanted them to notice yet here Claudius was as a simple soldier who did not have the authority. If he was going to find out more about him then the only way was to talk to him...

Nero wasn't sure exactly what pride was. With very little to ever congratulate himself on, he lost that necessary emotion long before his own municipal mental health. Far from insane, yet, not quite on the right path. And now, Nero Faustus, Pariah of the Standartes was back - in the mundus, the mortal realms where he was, and where he has been, yet he felt a bit different; slowly his conscious began to reanimate it's withered attention back to its proper place. A warm feeling in his briast reassured him why he smiled subtly.
Pride.
A tantalizing, and invigorating sense of love, and adoration, mixed with a haughty ingenuity. A romantic idealization of what his pride had become.

And yet, a cough jerked his physical senses back into the world, looking over and seeing the breton, and slowly turning once again to see the argonian 'pariah' driving his small contingent of cavalry towards the road ahead. Nero happily steered the horse upon his own accord at this point and looked toward the accompanying mercenary.

"How are the Bosmeri clans faring?" Nero pushed his words in the direction of his accompaniment, and awaited a response. Without looking to the mercenary, and always keeping his eyes forward, watching both, his men, and the would-be commander.

After hearing a reply Claudius was struck dumb for the first time in a long time.
"How are the Bosmeri clans faring?" the Breton said to him. Why ask me this of all things?he thought to himself in vain. He tryed to conjure up a response in his mind.
" They are doing ....doing well now after I last left. It was a particularly bloody war...I seen many men fall. " he said in response. He let out a slight sigh after thinking it up of the top of his head and continued with more confidence "You may not think it but the Bosmer can be quite vicouse. Not that you would tell by looking at them haha" he laughed and looked at the Breton, awaiting a reply.

Nero was amused, he never was fond of Bosmer, and it made him quiver to think that such an odd, cannibalistic people could have possibly created the first Empire in Tamriel. However, he was still curious and he began to size up the mercenary quickly before following with another valid question,

"You look almost like an Empire-type,"

the words, like silk, came from his mouth elegantly, and without pause. A innocent question.

"...the heavy build, toned flesh. You have the looks of an Arena fighter, but the way you walk deceives you; straight and proper. I would believe you to have a sufficient background. Either your regal, or military, or a combination of the two."

He smiled, curious himself to find out more about the mercenary, he pet his horse along the edge of the mane and kept his face forwards once more, once again readjusting his pauldrons to be more comfortable.

Slings-His-Knives grinned to himself. Well i guess the conversation just got a bit more... intresting

"I have to agree with the deviant there mercenary. You walk seems proper, and most nobility don't go into mercenry work."
It was his time to test him, making sure he was for real. He couldnt put his finger on it, but Lucien just seemed nervous. maybe that a mercenry would gain money on a job, yet he still sold his armour in the previous city, Slings-His-Knives looked back at the two. Nero seemed calm and collected. was this man ever thrown off guard? or was there a piece of gossip he didn't know about? well either way, it benefitted Slings-His-Knives, so he didnt complain.

Claudius laughed at him being refered to as nobility.
"Nobility? Hardly. I was born to a blacksmith in the Imperial City slums and had to learn to fight from an early age just to survive"

Claudius thought he was getting pretty good at this and much of what he said was true "You say that I have a straight posture? Well I have travelled around Tamriel as you can expect of a merc and I have been taught much by people, even legion types" again what he said was true, or at least partly. Hopefuly enough to convince the Breton

"But what of you? You don't look a soldier. Your attire is different to the others and you don't have the look of a warrior" here Claudius was hoping to shift the interogation from him to this man and perhaps learn more

Slings-His-Knives was impressed by Lucien's Answer, and partialy surprised about how sincere it sounded. But this last question had him worried, as he was obviously very intrested in Nero.
Slings-His-Knives decided to try take some of the pressure off of Nero by answering for him, "This is my regiment," Slings-His-Knives said, as camly as he could "And in my regiment, uniform is not important, armour is. It doesn't have to match everyone elses, but it should protect you..."

Slings-His-Knives would of said more, but he could feel that Nero wanted to explain himself to the mercenry. Slings-His-Knives decided to let him do so, but also tried not to give the impression that it was Nero who shut him up. He was starting to enjoy this commander thing.

ooc: I am in the same boat as FC4 is/was. I must leave for now, may come back.

Once again the smile, the same smile that always reflected on Nero's face. The same, egotistical, rehearsed smile. A look to the Argonian revealed little, only that his sight was momentarily shifted. He nodded to the commander before looking back to the mercenary.

"What would you define as a warrior," the voice once again came out fluently, not exactly a question and not in the same jovial tone as before. Of course, it also seemed more defined but not in an aggressive demeanor.
"Is a warrior a man with a sword and shield, made out to be a brute, without a mind, who delivers pain with his tools, and deflects his own inadequacy with his own machinations."

"Or is a warrior a man whose luck has denied him the luxury of living free of violence. To be stuck with the idealism that a sword rivals the quill, and to be, with or without their conscious desire, stuck with the sword they've been provided."

Nero took a long breathe, not a sigh, but a break from his words.

"Sorcerers, wizards; thieves and agents, just as any knight or fighter - I would deign them all warriors in their own rights. It's not the tools, or the aims of a profession that defines its alignment. No, instead it lies within the professionals choice of how he harnesses his skill with that proverbial 'sword'."

And with that he took from his belt the flask of wine and a petal of nightshade; popping the latter onto his tongue before taking a momentous swig and replacing the small bottle. He reached up to his shoulders and felt his pauldron - hard, cold. Yet, slightly reverberating. His, was the only robe of its kind that he knew of. Specially constructed of some sort of crystal Flavian had apparently sought out just for his prized student. It was dark, and mostly opaque, yet still retained the shimmer of some strain of glass-like material.
Quickly looking towards the argonian in the lead, Nero spoke up once again,
"Dear Pariah, perhaps camp would be suitable after another hour or two of travel. No need for a rush. We are not expected in Skingrad for two days time. Our rests are out your leisure."
Nero stroked his destriers mane before continued his unaccountable gaze forwards.

OOC I'm unable to post here for a while but I might be able to at a later date

The answer the Breton gave was most impressive to Claudius. He had twisted his words around with such ease and professionalism, it made Claudius think.
" Quite right, quite right; it is obvious that you aren't like the rest of these men. Something about you is different. You speak like a poet or a philosopher, a man who twists his words and makes people listen and think. May I ask your name if you would not mind? "

This was what he was waiting for, his feeling was right that this man was different to the rest. Looking around he could see that most of these soldiers looked dim witted and wouldn't have the wit to conjure up such an answer. The Breton managed to avoid his real question but Claudius was not so easily beaten. He would find out who this man really was yet.

The Argonian commander had said that attire is not important in his regiment yet what common man would wear such clothes? They were different from what the other soldiers wore and there was something strange about them. He took notice of how he constantly shifted and held his pauldrons in place. Also he spoke to the commander in such a strange and disobediant way. No mere soldier would speak to their officer in such a way, no man under Claudius certainly spoke like this. Something was definatly amiss.

Things are getting heated. Slings-His-Knives looked behind himself, to the duo. He decided to agree with Nero on the resting point. "Okay, well you are right deviant, we shall rest very soon, I know of a good spot up ahead." This was no lie, As he had found on his scouting travels before. It was by far one of his favourite places. This was because of the wishing well near-by. He found it so intresting, and he knew there were not many bandits in the area. Not that that mattered now, but it did matter before, when he was solo, or with only one partner.

"I've done some exploring in my time, and this is probably the best place to rest in a fair distance around us." He grinned, before stroking his horse. He reached inside his shirt, and pulled a small sack of his leather cuirass. he rummaged around inside it, and pulled out a treat for Walks-On-Air. He lifted his had infront of it's mouth, and let it eat. He replaced the bag back into his pocket and tried to decide on what to do when he got into Skingrad. He decided he need better armour. Slings-His-Knives decided to just sit back and listen to the other pair banter for a while until they got to there destination, unless he was brought into the conversation by Lucien or Nero.

Nero grinned. Not his usual smile, but a wry grin, to peel the shell from a crab.

"My name is Faust, mercenary."

Quick, deliberate, and innocent. Spoken without flaw, but concise. Truly giving away nothing but his own title. Yet, a name is nothing. What was Nero to worry? He figured the Mercenary would be suspicious, but what could he do. His questions didn't have to be answered and drawing his sword would most likely be his death; and n honesty, Nero didn't fear death, at least not of the physical variety. There were ways to escape the mortal coil if need be, but he never looked forward to testing them.


The sun was quickly setting, and the intense cold made everything struggle for life. From the deer, to the trees, anything within these woods seemed out of the ordinary.

"I agree, commander. We ought to sleep before too late, and rise early. I fear the weather will not be as kind as it had on the day's journey. "

He paused, as he looked towards the sky and made a mental note as the temperature slowly descended. He glanced quickly to the mercenary, not aggressively, but his gaze harbored no warmth. And with the same swiftness, he changed his attention back towards the path and pointed to the hill ahead.

"Besides - the saboteurs are very patient. No need for a rush sir."

He finally wiped away his grin, knowing his words would be interpreted strangely by both men. Slings-his-knives had yet to see the true nature of the Autocracy, and Nero was debating on telling him.

He will come to learn the value of companions, both the warm, and the cold.

Nero grasped his fist and raised it into the air, squeezing until he felt the blood in his hand beginning to well. Dark purple fumes seemed to emanate from his grasp, suffocating from the clenched fist before falling to the ground where a breathing, bleating Daedroth stand, his nostrils fuming from the cold. Nero muttered something undecipherable before the beast made it's way into the forest, hidden behind tree's garrisoned with fresh snow, the large beast made no attempt to cover his tracks, haphazardly trekking into the foliage.

"He will hunt while we warm our flesh."

He spoke carefully but with enough force to announce it's presence and intents. Again, that rehearsed smile played out across Nero's lips.