Lord Valgus Umbrox looked about the vast, circular table at the aged faces and greying hair of the council of elders. They listened intently as one of their number lay before them the issues and options of the Empire in the usual, dull, monotonous tone. Valgus allowed his mind to wander. He knew nobody would care if he listened or not ? the circular table was a misleading symbol of equality. The council had a firm and rigid hierarchy, be it an unofficial one, and one that Valgus was squarely at the bottom of. He was merely a face to fill a seat. Years of hard-word and diligence had got him nowhere, no respect from the older members, and no feather in his cap ? just the same old council seat and a complexion beyond his years. And now the Empire crumbled beyond the palaces white walls, and these foolish old men just sat and talked. One man could be far more efficient.

And things were about to change. Everything would change. Valgus thought on his new allies ? the Dissenters. He hoped the information he had supplied to them on his fellow nobleman, Janus Hassildor, would be enough to bring about the Count's swift and untimely demise. As soon as this meeting was over, he would head for Skingrad. He wouldn't miss that for the world.

Cyrus's sword stood stabbed in the ground as he sat on a bench, asleep, outside the Grateful Pass stables of Skingrad. He was still waiting for the others to show up, and also as the news of their plan reached him he was excited to begin his first task as a commandment. For several years he had spent his life as a pirate, but ever since that night where his crew was attacked and captured by a guards boat near Hammerfell he had made very little money. Now was a time to redeem himself after all these years.

Cyrus's eyes still remained closed, but soon the sound of the gates opening and young vintage farmers talking and laughing after a hard days work, sprung Cyrus back to reality. He looked around and the sky was orange with the glow evening. The sun was setting and he almost slept through it. He then quickly sprang up from the bench, and murmered to himself......

"Well then I guess it's showtime", then picked his sword and followed the farmers inside.

Name: Sharp-Teeth
Nick Name: Sharpy
Age: 35
Race: Argonian
six: I would love some.

Appearance: Sharp-Teeth has a regular argonian body, but more of a bluish-green then a dark red. This is because of his use of magic, which changes the blood that flows through his veins. He also likes to eat blue food, so that probably has something to do with it. He has spiny ridges over his scalp, and a stout snout, with, who would of guessed, sharp teeth.
Misc. Appearance: He has a burnt-in skull on his chest. The usuall sign of necromancy...and he thought he was cool. He also has a feint glow upon him...
Height: 5.5..
Apparel Worn Most Often: A dark blue robe, and a dark blue hood, cast over his red eyes. It is not enchanted, but it does have gold stitching.
Armor: Iron armor with an etched Argonian head on the chest, and a helmet that looks like a bronze replica of a wolf.
Other Apparel: Swimming Underwear

Eye Color: Red (Argonian)
Hair Style:Spines
Hair Color:Er....White?

Skills: Mercantile, Persuasion, Illusion, Destruction, Blade, Heavy Armour, Necromancy.

Weapons: A Necromancy staff, and a blue, steel sword.
Equipment Sack: Fanny pack that carries seven battle axes. Ok, it's an equipment belt, and a rucksack.
Miscellaneous: None.

The Heroes or the Dissenters?: Dissenters of course...
Rank?: Commandant

Why are you there?: Sharp-Teeth doesn't like people in general. He just likes to disturb the peace. However, there is his lust for power and destruction. Oh, and that dream of becoming Emperor of Tamriel.
Background Information: He was born in the Black Marsh, got into the wrong group, and woke up in Cyrodill with the smell of rotting flesh on him. That's all he remembers.

Note: I didn't see gender up there, so for the record, I'm Male.
When do we get the six?

Luc approached the castle gates at breakneck speed. His horse was panting and wheezing as Luc spurred it on. It finally stumbled and fell about two arrows flights away from Skingrad. Luc lept off and withdrew his sword quickly and in the same motion slit it's throat. Luc dashed backwards, avoiding the spray of blood. He muttered, "Silly animal. Should've went faster. Now I have to get a new one." Luc wiped the horse blood off his rapier with a spare rag.

After he finished cleaning the blade, he began surveying Castle Skingrad. That old vampire Hassildor is resting in there. Too bad he has only a few guards in the castle tonight. I'll wait here while the other Dissenter agents show up. I'll need them in order to get through there. Luc grabbed a bottle of Nightshade poison on the rapier while he waited for the others.

"I should be heading out now. Farewell." Wariel said. Although he was concerned with protecting the count, he was even more concerned with the knowledge the count possesed. From rumors he overheard in Skingrad would range from strange to normal, it was a well known fact that the count was a wizard. A powerful one at that. He decided he would buy a paint horse from the local stable. Paying the fee he noticed more guards than he had ever seen around the gate. The dissenters were seemed to be more active than ever in all parts of Tamriel. Could it have been possible the vampires that night were dissenters? Those questions would have to wait, as he had a job he needed to do, and that couldn't wait.

Link made his way over to the weapon tables, a wide array of silver weaponry was laid out before him. And the good thing was, he could take whatever he wanted!
Even though he would have preferred to stick with his scimitars, they were steel so they would be no good against the Count. Link ended up taking a curved silver short sword and a few silver throwing knives. They would be useful in both situations. If he was snipering, the knives would fly straight through the air at the Count. Or the alternative, Link was deadly with a blade, so the Count wouldn't stand a chance at close combat.
After his selection Link trudged back to his quarters, his trench coat flapping as an invisible current pulled it along.
When he reached his quarters he placed his two scimitars in the closet and put the silver short sword on his hip. It felt strange to wear another weapon at hos belt, but Link didn't take any real notice. Afterwards he placed two of the knives in his boots. (One for each.) One in each sleeve, one at his shoulder and three at his hip. He looked in the mirror. He looked...

Dangerous.

Outside, Ababael walked towards the stalls and mounted up. His horse, Toledo, was a lean creature. A little under-fed but kept well-groomed, his palomino coat shone in the moonlight. Toledo was a castle-bred palfrey, bred to canter long distances without stopping. Not possessed of great speed or great strength, Toledo could keep a good pace and outlast most other horses. Ababael tied his backpack to the saddle and untied his steed. He nudged it out of the stall and back into the open.

The dissenters still loitered about, getting supplies and weapons from the armoury, but a few had left already. The trees about seemed quite sinister in the dark, but there was nothing in the trees that Ababael himself couldn't scare. So Hassildor's a vampire? For true. Sure, there were rumours... I guess this changes things. B'vek, there were rumours that he had helped to wage the war on necromancy. But surely a vampire is possessed of necromantic powers too? Either way. The Shadow Lords want him out of the way... Easier said than done.

Toledo shot off at a trot and gathered steam before cantering away into the distance toward Skingrad.

Cyrus now stood under a large blanket of stars, and the castle of Skingrad gleamed in the distance with all its beauty. He wasn't to far now, and he only had a short walk to go. But as he paced across town, he then started to hear the shouts of angry men. Screams through the distance, and then he saw and army of tourches and angry faces march through Skingrad. Cyrus now began to make a run for the gate but soon it was to late. The Rioting gang had totally blocked out the road and covered the streets. Now Cyrus would have to back track and go around, but before he could turn he was then paralized by the sound of angry shouts of guards as they marched behind him.

"SURRENDER NOW OR PREPARE TO FIGHT", A guard barked at the rapidly approaching crowd. Cyrus tried to run away from the collision but then he felt the cold steel handle of a sword knock him on the head. He fell to the knees, and then realized that the guards thought he was with the rioters. Cyrus tried to cry out but his voice could match those of the angry crowds of people. He then figured his only way out of this was to stay on the ground and try to crawl out of the crowd to safety.

Before Cyrus knew the guards had just met up with the angry crowd of people and violence had already broke out as people drew their swords at each other. Cyrus found himself having a hard time trying to keep from getting hit in the crossfire and he began wading his way through the legs of people. He felt a guards arrow ment to hit another rioter go right into his leg. He ignored the pain and ripped it out. For a second he felt there was no way out of the crowd but soon in the distance he saw an alley way. He jumped to his feet and began to run, he was about there but then Cyrus tripped and was flung straight into the alley where he landed right on top of a beggar. His nose dug deep into his moldy clothes and he struggled to keep his lunch down. The beggar grumbled and woke up.

"wh..what who are you?"

"Oh well uh....", Cyrus shrugged

"Here take these 15 spetims and well pretend this never happened." Cyrus jumped up and ran away as fast he could as the beggar called back "Thankee kindly". He was still in shock that he survived that mess.

Edward straightened his red velvet suit, brushing off any specks of dust he found, and then drew himself up tall. Inhaling and exhaling once to steady his nerves, he looked about in as easy a manner as possible.

He'd reached Skingrad after a long, hard ride, and he'd left his horse to graze in a meadow outside the castle walls. He'd entered Skingrad the easiest way -- walked through the gates, as if he had every right in the world to be there. Changing into fresh clothes, he'd headed toward the castle. He was inside now, and waiting to hear back from the butler. He'd rethought his cover story, and reworked it just a little. He was an emissary from the mage's guild, sent by the arch mage, regarding urgent, private communications; these tidings were so confidential that few people knew he bore them, and he could only speak them to the count himself.


Maybe it's a long shot, he thought. But it's worth a try. The rest of Dread's pawns will be here soon, and it won't make much of an impression to let them do the job instead of me... He sighed, waiting for the orc to come back. It was early -- very early, shortly after midnight -- but the count kept strange hours. He was a vampire, after all.

Distant footsteps caught his ear, and he looked up to see the orc returning.

The butler came out to meet Edward in short order.

"The count will see you right away, sir, he has some acquaintances of yours with him as well. They require your presence immediately, if that weren't backwards enough." With a sniff, the butler pro-offered an arm extended towards the stairs. "It's truly not wise to keep such an important man waiting, my good man. He has quite the schedule and rarely sees anyone." The butler stood, awaiting Edward's next move.

Cyrus stood at the foot of the castle. He was sure with all the time he took all the others had already gone without him. But that didn't really matter his job was to stay behind anyways as he was more of a "oh S*** all our other attempts failed" kinda of guy. If the guards caught on to what was happening they may try and evacuate the count from Skingrad and send every soilder they had at him. His job was to lead a small group of people to go straight for the carraige that carried the count out of Cyrodil, while at the same guards were distracted fighting off other dissenters. Cyrus was just told to make a straight Bee line for the count as soon as he began to leave the castle. He was to chase him down and kill him no matter what, his faliure was death and that would be the only thing that would keep Hassildor alive this night. Cyrus felt that wouldn't happen though as they had enough assassins already there was no way anything go wrong. Hell he probably would only have to sit here the entire time and do nothing. One reason he chose this job because it was easy since the likelyness of things turning really bad are that the count would have to be chased down are pretty low.

Edward blinked; there was no need to feign shock as he was genuinely shocked. "Acquaintances? Of mine? You must be mistaken," he returned smoothly. "The mage's guild sent no one else."

Then he smiled acquiescently. There's no way of getting out of this now, he thought. I have to see it through. But aloud, he said, "But, of course, we must not keep the count."

Artinus left swiftly, eyeing the other Heroes as they left, noting with a nod that while this was completely ridiculous, they might have a chance.

He arrived at Skingrad, and once within the walls he began walking to the castle bridge, keeping his hood on, as he had the feeling he was too late.

Whatever commotion was occurring around Castle Skingrad and the surrounding area was deftly avoided. Initially, Ababael had considered shooting past the lot of peasants and straight up the causeway, but with the trouble outside, they would not let him in. If the other dissenters had got to Castle Skingrad first and already been accepted entry, what would distinguish Ababael from the mob? I'll take my horse around... Ababael cantered down and into the valley underneath the causeway, and then around the base of the castle-hill on the south side, out of view of the city.

At the foot of the castle-hill, Ababael dismounted and svcked in the cool night air. His lungs quivered anxiously. A few quick glances shewed none in the area about, so Ababael took Toledo by the reins and led him towards the back of the castle. In ten or twenty minutes, they were up, moving quietly up the grassy slope towards the back walls of Castle Skingrad. The rise was sheer: natural cliff, an area of two or three feet to stand narrowly on the precipice, then god knows how much more of castle-wall up to the roof. Only a few windows here and there pierced the wall, and in the lee of two sloping walls, Ababael would be invisible to any watchers. No towers, on the castle or on the city wall, were positioned in a way to see him scale the wall.

The commotion between the city and the castle would surely prove an adequate distraction. The Dunmer tied his horse to a maple tree, then walked slowly and stealthily through the waist-high grass. From his backpack he produced the length of rope he found in the armoury at the rendezvous. With fast, deft fingers he made a loop at one end. Invoking the powers of his amulet, he felt magicka was over him like a gentle shower. He looked at his hands as they pressed against the solid rock, and they seemed to meld and shift colours into the cliff. Muttering an incantation as he did so, the Dunmer tossed the rope up into the air, and it continued up to the top of the cliff where it stuck fast around a boulder. Without the magicka, there was no way he could have thrown his rope that high.

Ababael checked his daggers were all in place, took the rope in both hands and put his feet onto the rock. In a matter of minutes, he began his ascent.

Jon arrived at Skingrad, when he entered the town he had allot to see. Angry mob was fighting the guards on the streets, not to mention they blocked the path to the castle.


A chance showed up! A side alley has become clearer, he casted a shield spell and rushed on the blocking mob colliding whit a peasant, and they both fell on the ground.


He started to crawl to the exit, when he finally cleared the mob, he made his way to the castle...

Approaching the gates of Skingrad, Valgus instructed his coachman to bring the carriage to a halt. He didn't want to attract any unnecessary attention, especially not with the unrest in the streets. He grabbed the dark cloak from the seat next to him and wrapped it around himself, before stepping out the carriage into the cool night air. He raised the hood and inspected his personal guards - they had been instructed to wear similar cloaks as the Lord himself. Leaving the carriage behind, Valgus continued on foot through the grand gates into the city of Skingrad, his guards following in his wake, their armour and weapons concealed beneath the cloth.

Valgus took in the smell of smoke and sounds of shouting and clashing steel. He allowed himself a smile - so the Dissenters were already at work. He wondered how many of the people he passed in the street were also Dissenters, here to incite unrest and kill the Count. He had no doubt his status would grant him access to the castle and an appointment with the Count, but he decided against it. Leave the assasination to the assassins, Valgus thought. He took a right into an inn, before ascending some stairs and settling on a balcony. He had a good view from here. Taking a seat, he watched the distant torch light of the crowds whilest his guards stood obediently behind.

Edward followed the butler as they headed deeper into Skingrad castle. He took careful note of his surroundings, and picked up every flicker of shadow on the passage walls or gentle footfall in an adjacent chamber. Did someone beat me here? he was wondering. Is that what he meant, by acquaintances of mine? One of those people that Dread picked out? Did he miss the mark and get caught? Did he spill the beans when they got him?

Then he frowned deeper. What if one of them was a spy? he thought. I could be going into my death right now...unless...

A slight, thoughtful smile spread his across his lips. Yes...yes, that might do it...

OOC: The Heroes have yet to leave the Inn in Weye, save for 1. I'll move the group once enough people prepare to leave/mount up etc. etc.

IC:

As Edward was led down a hall, an Altmer man in long blue robs rounded the corner.

"Ah, there you- what? This cannot be. Where is Fedaves Savel? What is this meaning of this!" The high-elf had gone from inquisitive to infuriated in the blink of an eye. His brows crinkled, he stared hard at Edward. He clearly knew what the mean bearing the message would look like, and his name. The jig appeared to be up, unless he could be inventive and talk fast. If even then.

OOC: i wonder how are you going to decide who succeeds with their plans?

Edward looked the Altmer squarely in the eyes without flinching, and said in a low, earnest voice, "I don't know who you were expecting, but, if you want to save the Count's life, you had better bring me to him with all haste. And for god's sake, don't blow my cover...if they find out I came here, it might be too late."

The Altmer blinked, the sheer earnestness of Edward's tone and manner slowly shifting his fury into confusion, albeit suspicious confusion. "Who are you?" he asked, his tone low. "What do you want? And who are 'they'?"

"Damn it man!" Edward snapped, "Did you hear nothing I said? Lower your voice, unless you want the count's blood on your hands!"

Luc strolled into the castle gates. He wore a smirk on his face as he surveyed the place. There were portraits of Hassildor all over the place. What a vain man. But then again, all vampires have egos. They always wore finery like they were some kind of royalty when I hunted them in High Rock. Smug bastards, but tough. Lucky I had that Mage with me.

Luc stood about for a minute, still smirking. After a while, his smirk faded away. Why in the world had no one approached him, Luc Bertrand the Third, already? He began frowning and remarked, "Well? Why has no one come to at least greet me already? Is this a castle or what? I've been in politer bars then this place."

OOC: Should olny control the Castle Skingrad guards and stewards or should I?

Artinus was observing the mobs actions, disdainfully deciding helping such bedlam would be a futile effort, and knowing that going through the streets would be nigh-impossible, he started climbing up the West Weald Inn's side, and leaped to the nearest tower, shimmying down to the wall, to begin his run to the castle on the walls of skingrad, fully aware he was running out of time.

OOC: I've lost track of what's going on, so this is just a post to get into Skingrad. I think I'll leave my character here for a while, unless someone approaches him or something important happens.

Darnmon made his way to the stables and to his horse, a fine, black stallion. He mounted it in a quick movement and took off on the road towards Skingrad. He wasn't going overly fast, because he wasn't worried or concerned by the events taking place there. It didn't matter whether or not the Count was assassinated, all that mattered to him was that chaos continued to spread. And that would happen, no matter what. It was inevitable. Somewhere along the road, several other riders fell in behind him. Darnmon took no notice of them.

The men behind him where his subordinates. They were nothing more than common brigands, but they had a sense of loyalty, and that was something hard to find in the Dissenters. They're all a bunch of snakes, waiting to strike at whomever and whatever will help them advance in rank the most. It's all about power, and money, and respect. I care nothing for any of it.

A collection of fools and greedy nobles. Nothing he wanted to help. But helping them served a higher purpose, and so he took his orders. It was the way his life had always gone. One day though, when they were no longer necessary, they might not be that fortunate.

He rode for quite sometime, but at a slow enough pace so that his horse wouldn't keel over from exhaustion. The men behind him rode similar horses, and were garbed in black leather with brown cloaks on, concealing their weapons and faces. They went straight past a Legion patrol, and the soldiers didn't even try to stop them. Eventually, he and the others reached the gates of Skingrad. He dismounted his horse and guided it over to the stable, then gave it to the stable boy, dropping a few coins in his hand for his service. His men did the same, though they had to pay for their own.

He walked inside the city, then turned to his men. He looked slightly upwards, listening with curiosity at the shouting and sounds of clashing metal. So it's already begun, has it? How convenient.

"I want you all to scatter throughout the city. Do whatever you want, so long as it doesn't attract the attention of the guards away from the riots. Additionally, I want at least one of you at each gate. I want to know if anyone happens to pass through the gate that isn't one of us and looks unusual. I want no interruptions of the assassination, you understand? None. Take out all... Inconveniances."

The men took off in different directions, and Darnmon made his way to the West Weald Inn, and took a seat in a corner, leaning into the shadows. A Dissenter would see an ally. Anyone else would just see a stranger that didn't want to be disturbed.

OOC: Sorry in i have bad grammar for the word rightcheoness

Nearly 30 minutes had passed and to Cyrus's suprise nothing had really happened yet and he was starting to get bored of just sitting here. He had just gone through every sea shanty he knew over 7 times and he was starting to run out of ways to pass the time. No one but other dissinters who were busy walking or sneaking into the castle had passed by him. And even they didn't have the time to talk to them. Even as he tried to start up a conversation they just pretened he wasn't there or just say "Go away Cyrus you may have nothing to do but I do". Even now Cyrus was starting find this job boring. He stood there a few more mintues till nearly 40 minutes had passed. But then he started to hear a small rustle in the bushes. Cyrus whipped out his sword, it seemed like he would finally be seeing some action here.

"REVEAL YOURSELVES", Cyrus yelled pointing his sword towards the bush.

"Uhh.... d... don't hurt us sir, were on your side", a scared imperial said as he came up out of the bushes with his hands up. He had brown hair and was wearing a full set of chain mail armor.

"Who the hell are you?", Cyrus asked the imperial.

"Were both your back up", another scared imperial said as he jumped out of the bushes with his hands up also. His black buzz cut hair shined in the moon light, and he too was wearing a full set of chain mail armor.

"Back up... Back up for what?", asked Cyrus

"Back up for the plan remeber.", the first imperial said with his hands still raised high.

"Really.... this is it?", Cyrus was still trying to process this sudden information.

"Yeah what'd you expect", replied the second imperial.

"Well I thought a small group would mean there would be about four or five of ya. Not you two weak ass losers. Hell have you two even killed anyone before?"

"Yeah of course we've killed lots of people before. Isn't that right Babbles." said the first Imperial.

"Yeah of course we have Jason", the second imperial replied.

"Okay then", said Cyrus. "If you've killed before come up and stab me then."

"Really are you sure....", replied the first imperial. "Okay then", the imperial slowly started to move into cyrus, at the same time cyrus just stood there with his arms crossed.

"Well come on hit me!", yelled cyrus impatiently.

"Okay okay.", the imepiral said now faced to face with the man he drew his sword... but before he could get it out of the holster Cyrus grabbed him and kneed him right in the crotch.

"ahh... ooo come on man that hurts.", Cyrus then grabbed him and put him in a head lock.

"Now tell me why are you here so early. The guards haven't even showed signs of supicious activity yet", Cyrus asked him.

"Oh ow.... well if you must know change of plans the sir. The Dark Lords have just recieved news that someone may be trying to foil our plans. And they want you to go back inside the city walls and find them. Now can you let me go this really hurts.", Cyrus released him and his mouth dropped. Someone already knew about their plans.

"Why do they want me to do it then?", Cyrus asked.

"BECAUSE YOUR NOT DOING ANYTHING!!!", the second imperial yelled.

"Really.... well then I guess i'll i have to go through the city again..." Cyrus said in anger.

"Oh and one more thing what's your names again?", asked Cyrus

"Oh well i'm Babbles", said the Imperial with the Buzz cut hair.

"And I'm Jason", said the Imperial with the brown hair.

"Babbles and Jason.... sounds stupid but alright then. Men lets go!!!"

OOC: I was under the impression the Dissenters weren't supposed to know about the league just yet?