ooc: wrong character sheet...
Keeping pace with any horse? A load of horse manure is what that is

"Let's go!" As he gave his horse a little kick.

OOC: Edited out because of confusion. Sorry if I caused any problems.

EDIT: edited out for time paradox.

OOC: Hey, I haven't left quite yet... nor explained how I intend to move. I am waiting for Peleus to post first.

OOC: Well, this RP is getting very confusing. Some people already left, some are still drinking. I hope I know what to do.

IC: Wrothgar watched with concealed disgust at all the vermin that wanted to play warriors. Were there any real soldiers among them? Or am I going to my death because I chose to cast my lot with these?

Wrothgar took his belongings and went for the door of the Inn. He walked to the stables and chose a horse for himself. A bay horse, on stirdy legs. Not a fancy beast but it will do its job of getting him to the battle more or less rested.

His own mule, standing in the stables close by, made a soft, disappointing noise.

"Sorry, old girl," he said kindly to the animal, came closer and gently stroke its head. "You would not be safe where I'm going. If I don't come back, you will belong to old lady Venicia. She will come to pick you up in the morning."

Wrothgar turned to the horse he would use for the trip to Skingrad. It looked calm enough - horses usually smelled fear men gave off before a battle and these lot had plenty of that.

"Well... Let us see where this road leads to."

OOC: I also commented on that time issue... I think it comes from Amontillado being everywhere at once. I assume you are implying that you left with everyone else at the end of your post?

IC: Jitorr followed Wrothgar as he left the inn, trying not to fall behind at the slow pace. The Nord walked to slow for Jitorr to jog or run beside while upright, but Wrothgar's stride was significantly longer than Jitorr's, partially because of the large height difference, and also because Jitorr's legs were short compared to his body. He resolved the issue by occasionally taking a double-step to close the distance between them if he started to fall too far behind. The khajiit respectfully kept his distance from the Nord when he entered the stable, stopping just inside the entrance to the structure. He ha

He was surprised when he observed the relationship between the Nord and his personal mount, since he had been unaware that it was possible for humans and their mounts to form a mutual emotional bond. However, he also observed that his view wasn't entirely incorrect, as demonstrated by the way almost everyone chose their horses based on the way it handled, with the exception of the bosmer's choice to use his own horse. Of course, it was understandable that the wood elf would have a stronger bond with his horse, as they seemed to empathise with animals. Jitorr presumed it was because they had roughly the same intellect and sophistication.

When the nord left, Jitorr dropped to all four limbs, so that he could keep pace with his mounted comrades. At the slower trot the party was moving at, he kept pace by moving both limbs on each side of his body in unison, so that both left pawss moved at the same time, followed by both right paws. This kept kept his body steady, so his head did not bob as he glided over the terrain. Though his limbs moved extremely quickly, the motion was gentle and smooth enough to hardly tire him. He kept a safe distance from the other party members' horses, mostly to avoid the spraying mud the horses kicked up. He really hated rain, as it made the land miserable and came with no benefits.

Orik shook his head, thinking to himself that the Khajiit was probaly a drunk that strayed to far. Dropping the blade to the ground, Orik looked around for his dagger. Seeing it on the grass, the wanderer walked over to it and lifted it up, sighing deeply. The corpse of the man he killed was starting to smell.

"Nasty thing." he said as he walked toward the edge of the forest, when suddenly from behind him....

"AGHHHH!" The all to familiar scream of a imperial struck into the ears of all creatures in, and around the forest. Orik turned around to see the imperial charging at him, his blade raised and flailing in the air!

"Oh for the love Mephala!" Orik kicked the imperial in the stomach, making him keel over. Swinging his foot into the imperials face, he heard somthing pop.

"Aghh!" the imperial screamed, dropping onto the ground and gripping his face, "You bastard! THE LEGION WILL HU-"

Orik shoved his dagger into the imperials neck, so that he would not draw any more attention then he already likely had.

"Great, just great!" Orik muttered to himself, looking at some blood stains on his pants. "I just cleaned these!"

OOC: Let's keep this simple people, good guys assemble at the road next to the Inn and leave. Unless I'm sorely mistaken, Peleus did not leave, merely said "let's leave". If someone of the good guys group has already left, edit that out.

My char mounted his horse and then Scow wrote something about my char leaving. So I guess mine left.

so are we gone or not

OOC: No, we haven't left yet. It looks like we're about to, though.

IC: Fanier took a gulp of scotch from his canteen and took his horse near Wrothgar. "This road, eh?" Fanier asked. "Are you sure? From what Amontillado told us, the so-called Dissenters should have men all along the main roads."

He gave the Nord a questioning look, and took another sip of scotch.

OOC: Maybe I need to be more like my avatar: NO, to be BLUNT we have NOT left, mkay? That fixes allot, now doesn't it?

Forest I think a lot of us are outside
IC:

Amontillado turned his horse about on the road,

"Well now, lets be going!" He called.

OOC: Here's the post I edited out and slightly changed to fit the situation.

IC: Pilus was hiding under the stable roof as the rain pattered down. Damn it! I don't have a hood or cloak. Black Marsh was better than this. At least it was warm and sunny. Pilus thought bitterly. He saw Amontillado hurry out of the bar and disappear behind the spiked sides of the bar to appear on his own horse. He was talking to the damned Khajiit who said he could "keep up with a horse." Maybe I should trample him and see if he can keep up then. Pilus thought. Everyone was mounting the remaining horses or just getting outside. Waiting for the rest to join, Pilus sat on his horse with the rain creating a nice layer of mud on the road.

Yawning, Orik set his back on the wall of Skingrad, sliding down. He listened to the sounds of town life bustling around from the inside.

Suddenly, a Khajiit appeared next to him, armored in mithril, with two blades on his waist belt.

"Master!"

Orik jumped up, hitting his head on the wall, "Aghh! You bastard! Dont sneak up on me like that!"

Chucking, the Khajiit handed Orik a scroll. "Scout report of the night."

Pulling the seal off, Orik groaned as he began to read it.

To the scout master, we have detected what appears to be many mercanaries and legion hunters, coming for you.
Skingrad is in a state of panic from what we can tell, many riots between the homeless.
In conclusion, we have spotted a seemingly large group of people within a local tavern. It is advised that a order is given.

Sighing, Orik pulled out a quill from his belt. Licking it, he wrote down his reply.

Investigate the adventurers. Kill ANY legion and mercanaries. I expect a report by tommorow


Handing the scroll back to his messenger, Orik said to him, "I want you, to see if they cant find any vampire lairs."

The Khajiit messanger raised a brow, "Wouldnt it be fun if you let us kill off everyone in the castle. Rumor is, they have alot of vampires in there!"

"You are scouts, not barbarians."

The Khajiit sighed, disappearing amongst a Chameleon spell.


So, they know where I am now, eh? What ever, I will just spend the night ((Or is it day... I am not sure....)) at a local tavern, then be on my way.

Orik entered the -Murky Mire- with a sigh. Sitting himself on a seat near the counter, he eyed the patrons.

Three orcs, dwarven armor. Great. That spells trouble. Seems like eight mercanaries, legion. And, oh for the love of Mephala, a Altmer mage.

The bar owner walked up to him, "Need somthing?"

" A room." Orik replied, "One hundred gold if you make sure no one disturbs me."

"Cant help with that. But I can provide the room."

"Very well."

Orik passed fifty septims across the counter, noting that just about all the legion mercanaries, and the three orcs, were eying him.

"Say!" one of the orcs said, perhaps to loudly, "Isnt that the mass-murderer?"

Crap.

The eight legion mercanaries got up, wearing the usual legion raiment. "Yeh, word is you have ALOT of money on your head!"

The orcs followed, "Back off, whelps. This is our bounty!"

"Yeh right. My group of mercanaries have been getting work done since the NEravarine!"

"And my orcs, have been getting EVERY job done!"

The leaders of the two groups eyed each other, Orik slipping away.


Almost at the door. Almo-

The fugitive felt himself be grabbed by the collar! Turning his head, he noted the face of the Altmer mage.

"And just where do you think you are going, young one?" the mage said with a smirk!

Suddenly, a roar could be heard coming from behind him! The orcs and legion mercanaries were at each others throats!

"Get away from our money!" a orc roared from behind! The Altmer mage flung Orik into some shelves, plates and mugs falling all over the fugitive!

Just great! Orik thought to himself!

Fine, dammit. I fail, I fail again! Every god-damn time. I thought it might make it to the 2nd or 3rd thread, but this, THIS! Just like every time, I had so much planned, SO MUCH! SO MUCH!

Closed per OP request.