Belisariius, Rihad Keep

They had long since come inside the keep, seeking shelter from the heat outside but found that the castle was not much better. Sitting in silence, the three men waited for the meeting to end and eventually, after a surprisingly short amount of time, the doors banged open and figures began walking out. The Ra'Gada were at the head and Belisarius could have picked out the High King from a mile away. Tempers were clearly running high amongst everyone as Belisariius could feel the tension between the groups.

Though no Knight showed his face yet, the three men waited patiently nearby, looking expectantly to the doors. When the man came out, they would not ambush him with questions but wait back. If war had been declared, it wouldn't be long before a force like the Order would be sweeping the area for mercenaries. It was how they operated and men like Belisarius and his army formed the bulk of those types of armies. It was how he and his brother held advantage with getting hired by the Knights. It would be getting on the side of the Ra'Gada that would be difficult but Justin had prepared for that.

As they waited, a figure in fine Ebony armor walked up to them as they waited and inquired if they were mercenaries as well. Belisarius took a second to regard the Dunmer and the eight men behind him with curiosity. They all stood well armed and armored, and all were Dunmer, which gave away more then would meet the eye. Belisarius could see that they wanted to impress the Knights by wearing their full armor and weaponry to the meeting. He felt sorry for them in a sadistic kind of way, smiling internally at how they must have suffered in the heat. He didn't even want to imagine how ineffective they would be in battle in the desert climate.

Belisarius and his two companions wore no armor by comparison, and only plain clothes. They were clearly warriors however, each with their own weapon at their side and Dalvus with his proficient magicks.

"Indeed we are." he answered with a short, polite bow. Vhosek nodded and Dalvus gave a small smile to his kinsmen. "You must be terribly hot in all that armor." he remarked lazily, not really paying attention to the men. He had seen the egos of many self-acclaimed warriors before and something about this Dunmer seemed to shout "egotistical" but Belisarius didn't let it bother him, nor did it let him underestimate him.

Vhosek stood by uneasily, hand resting unthreateningly on the hilt of his sword while Dalvus looked around the area with a mix of anxiety and amusemant at his fellow Dunmer. He had seen men (and mer) like these Dunmer before out in the sandy deserts, and had seen the swift nomads cut them down like they were no more warriors then they were children. He hoped that the Knight Commander could recognize that as well, because the Dunmer mercenaries did cast an impressive shadow over his unarmored friends.

Athanden, Rihad.

What appeared to be the leader of the small group of men replied to Athanden with a short bow, "Indeed we are." The man looked Athanden and his men over, "You must be terribly hot in all that armor."

Athanden let a small grin break across his face as he replied "It is a bit hot outside isn't it? However we've grown quite accustomed to harsh weather, Vvardenfell isn't a very forgiving place." Athanden let out a small chuckle. He looked the men over taking in every detail, all three of them were dressed in common clothes which surprised Athanden. "Ah I almost forgot, I am Athanden Orethi, Commander of the Crimson Blades." He said as he gave a short bow. "And you are?"

OOC: Once again sorry for the tiny post, it's late and I'm exhausted.

(double post)

~Kraven Desselius & Shavaash Opress, Rihad~

Night was eager to birth upon Hammerfell. Rihad was getting darker by each moment of passing. Kraven Desselius stood near the edge of the water. Many people walked between the docked ships, either carrying crates or simply conversing among themselves. After speaking to a few citizens, Kraven learned from the sources that the man who bought Praxede’s sister was a wealthy nobleman who bought many other slaves for labor around the house. He was known to be brutal and harsh, as opposed the understanding slave master. That alone have Kraven and Shavaash a chance to pursuit their goals with increased enthusiasm.

Shavaash panted heavily from his training exercise with Kraven, his fur moist and warm from the continuous spar. As he took a moment to seat himself, Kraven kept thrusting his spear forward in a movement, as if he was impaling an imaginary opponent. Thrust forward, pull back, forward then back. This process continued for over three minutes, with Kraven reciting the words scripted in an ancient weapon of legendary power.

“Lightning in the hand. My point bites deep. I end the chase. Even the mightiest are unmade by my touch.” Said Kraven as he pierced the heart of an imaginary foe.

Shavaash sat himself down as he glimpsed a few robed men riding horses gallop past them, disappearing onto a corner of the streets in Rihad. They perhaps were someone of great importance, which reminded him of the slave’s sister.

“Girl still slave,” he said “We have no plan.”

Kraven wiped beads of sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. He set his spear down and leaned over the dock, washing his face with the warm water of the sea. He dipped his head into the ocean’s water and washed his hair.

Shavaash watched as Kraven took his time to bathe himself and he simply scoffed at the scene. Kraven took notice and smiled back at Shavaash.

“I do not need to lick myself to stay clean,” chuckled Kraven.

“Easier for Khajiit.” he smiled “Not for Imperial.”

Kraven decided to answer Shavaashe’s original question; The freedom of the young slave girl.

“We must liberate the young woman and deliver her to her sister, Praxedes. If we break into the Master’s home, we can perhaps escape with her and the other slaves he may possess.”

“A dangerous plan that is,”

Kraven took a seat beside Shavaash at the end of the crates near the edge of the water. He rested a hand onto his friend’s shoulder and cracked a faint snicker “We live in dangerous times, my friend.”

“Another way,” Shavaash nodded.

Kraven scratched his chin, imagining various fatal scenarios unfolding before his thoughts. He quickly found himself fantasizing of slaying the slave owners and the guards, then heroically bashing the front gates with a single kick and hijacking a ship full of slaves to freedom. But that was as far fetched. A malformed plan it was. Kraven was not destined to be gallivanting after imprisoned slaves bound to the chains of servitude. But fate always had other plans for him.

“We must be subtle then. There has to be a way to be successful without getting directly drawing much attention.” Kraven said, although he doubted it to be truth. He had no political status, no elevated position of power, no high influence of authority. Kraven was a lowly man with a wild gift and a wonderful life of battle and hunting. That was all he ever wanted. Yet, the thought of how different the outcome of any situation would be if he was a noble always caused him to wander off into the deep thoughts of his mind. There had to be a way. There always was a way. Kraven thought about it for a moment and then he finally realized a way he would be able to free the slaves without the risk of setting the guards after him. After giving much thought, Kraven walked up and asked Shavaash to join him for a nightly walk in Rihad.

~Draken Decumus Vladmirius, Sentinel~

Draken Decumus Vladmirius awoke from his slumber. The day had passed away and the night had came forth with it’s glorious darkness. He kicked away the sheets of his bed and sat up from his crossed-rest position. He stretched his arms, yawning. The dreamless sleep he had was not as he had expected. There was no nightmares that plagued him ever since he was born. It was a soothing rest. And no disturbances from anyone.

He made his way to the balcony and opened the doors, parting aside the dark curtains that kept the sunlight’s rays from entering the room. Outside was a wondrous sight to behold; The vast sea of the Illiac Bay sparkling under the stars in all it’s grandeur. More ships arrived, and as far as Draken’s eye could see, a very large battleship of extreme quality. One had not seen in years. It appeared that Sentinel was preparing themselves for a battle. The silent night made Draken contemplate on his recent failure in Cyrodiil, particularly Chancellor Ocato’s death. He was warned about the threats and the plots, yet he did nothing to prevent them. Ocato was in a high position of power, his strings could have been pulled with proper speech to the ears. Now, what worth is a dead pawn?

“Never again,” Draken said to himself in a soft whisper that filled the quiet. Recently, he had taken steps to protect himself, learned tricks people wouldn’t expect of his kind as Order. He expanded his influence as well, anything to empower himself. Unfortunately, fear still steered his decisions. Case-in-point: Scrambling after his sister for her support. Case in point: Betraying Janus Hassildor’s interests and, in effect, betraying his own ethics. I lied to myself, Draken realized. I thought I could skirt the edge of both worlds without suffering the consequences.

Well, the consequences were now apparent through his situation in Hammerfell, with the rumors of war and conflict. Exist in one world or the other—Knights of the Nine or Yokudans. Trying to bridge both forces was an invitation for disaster, a collision of interests and agendas that had already pinned him in the middle. Draken finally recognized that a choice existed, a choice he needed to make. While the nature of the decision allowed for a spectrum of responses, the real question was simple enough. Where do you stand? Is it with both feet in the Empire? With the Yokudans? Or one foot in each domain and damn the consequences?

The Knights of the Nine offered power and upward mobility. More importantly, it offered security and privilege for its members, a very attractive prospect for someone drifting further from the current era into the uncertain future. The Yokudans, however, fought the status quo and tried to change a stagnant and sometimes fetid system. They almost represented hope among the people, a belief in a better society, a better future. What attracted Draken to the Yokudans was that they fought to shape tomorrow rather than regret its arrival. Draken also found the Yokudans attractive because of his sister, even though that was no longer a viable reason for affiliating with them. He had to protect himself--protect his hard-earned investments--but whether that included his sister was another issue altogether.

Draken decided to go for a moonlit stroll around the city. The night was young and beautiful as the women that walked beneath it. He read the latest edition of the Pocket Guide to Sentinel from a man named Crixus. There were many events to distract the population from the daily squabbles of the Yokudans, and Draken wasn't going to lie, they were curious. The food exotic and the plays were beyond peculiar and strange. Everything was interesting, the people itself were beautiful and succulent, especially the women. He admired from afar their milk chocolate skin, so delicious...so tempting. Yet he composed himself for the better. This was Selenu territory, or atleast it was centuries ago. Much could change and he was ignorant of current Order affairs in terms of rival tribes.

As he wandered the streets, many people looked at him with either faint smiles or frowns. He knew they were suspicious of him. After all, he was an Imperial. Maybe Draken's clothing also increased in the staring. It was his clothing; Red Velvet blouse and a Red Velvet garments covered his body, his shoes were made from the gold trimmed quality, but far more expensive than the regular Cyrodilic brand. They knew at first glance Draken was a nobleman from Cyrodil and there were many hard feelings on the Empire and it's supporters. Ignoring the glances, Draken wandered around the Imperial Palace grounds. Perhaps that was a place of interest. He looked around and made his way to the palace, not entirely sure they would grant him admittance.

Rihad, Montblanc's Estate

Bomilkar stood in the relatively lavish office of Andre Montblac, smoke from his cigar filled the air of the office, the sweet scent of tobacco was a luxury that Bomilkar had little time to partake in and the smell was intoxicating. "These contacts, your certain of their loyalty?" he asked, pacing back and forth of the office as he contemplated their next move. War was fast approaching, and then they would truly be in his element; in fact, it was already well under way. North of Taneth he had ordered one of his trusted companions and brothers to stir unrest between the Knight's and their tribal allies, who had raided as far as the breadbasket land's of Gilane, his Yokedaship. Already the dead were mounting up as tribal wars criss crossed the borders, nearly unhindered by either side who could truly claim no sovereignty over them, though it was often Imperial and Knightly funds that filled the tribal coffers and supplied them with arms.

Walking over to Montblac's desk Bomilkar eyed one of the fine cigars. "May I?" he asked, waiting not for a response before snagging one of the cigars and lighting it, adding to the thick smell of smoke to the room. Taking a deep breath he inhaled the smoke, letting it's rich flavor fill his lungs before letting the smoke escape through his nostrils, followed by a hearty sigh as he waited for Montblac to reply.

Moment's later a knock came to the door, followed by Crixus who appeared dressed in his finest Cyrodillic robes, made in the Colovian fashion."I find my presence would be best served here, in Rihad, under your supervision Lord Montblac. Emissaries are in short supply and with those loyal to the Empire fleeing the city, we could use more representation in Rihad's council." a thin smile could be seen behind his beard as he straitened his robes, placing a scribes pad, ink container and quill in one of the side pockets.

Sentinel Palace, Sentinel
Ruhk, Xerxes and Roxanna

"Look's like you two have alot to talk about" Roxanna gave a soft smile, looking at the two men before breaking away from the group and heading to the door. "I'm afraid I have to leave you two men to this, I'm late in meeting the Anticlerian Delegation at the docks. Haroun would be upset with me if he knew we were keeping honored guests waiting." motioning with her hand she urged her two companions on. "Come with me, I'm certain I shouldn't be wandering the streets alone and with you two with me I'm certain that no one would dare come within ten feet of me." she laughed to herself, opening the door that led from the steam room into the vast gardens that surrounded the palace, creating a greenhouse like structure that circled the palace on all sides. As the door opened steam from the gardens and the room met in a collision of climates, leaving a fresh dew like moisture on the leafs and her face. Gazing out the glass structure that housed the gardens she could see night begging to fall over the city with lights, lanterns and torch's illuminating the market around the Palace in a spectacular display of lights; already she could hear the celebration begining as the crackle of fireworks sounded off somewhere in the distance.

Stepping outside the glass doors into the plaza they were met with the vibrant life that now teemed through the Market. People of all walks of life mingled in the district, from Crown to Forbearer and rich to poor, all wearing a myriad of masks that stated not only their stature in society but also where they were from. Delegates from all over visited the city as well, from independent regions in Hammerfell to nations abroad to pay respects to the deceased Thassad III and to cozy up to what most saw as the new face of Hammerfell, which already encompassed the Iliac Bay cities as well as parts of old Yokuda.

"Shall we go?" she asked jokingly, walking into the sea of people. By the time they had reached the docks night had settled in full, the Dockyards too were teaming with men at work and visitors pouring into the city, a true nighmare for the dock authorities. It wasn't hard for the Anticlerian delegation to be spotted, their dress was easily identifiable compared to the natives of Sentinel, who dressed in ceremonial robes and other garb.

"My appologies for such a delay, I've been so constrained by the events of the day I lost track of time. Welcome to Sentinel, were honored to have you here." she said, approaching the men at the docks.

Belisarius, Rihad Keep

Belisarius regarded the man for another full second as he introduced himself, as well as his group of mercenaries. He felt he should know the name, but it sounded just like any other mercenary group he'd ever encountered in his life. He still couldn't get a read on the Dunmer, but he seemed... friendly, but Belisarius had met enough Dunmer to know better then to go by this one meeting.

He bowed in return to Commander Athanden. "Belisarius, mercenary extraordinaire." he said with a fancy hand gesture in the air. "This is Vhosek," he told the Dunmer, nodding to his Redguard friend, "and this is Dalvus." he finished, pointing over to his Dunmer companion.

Both men nodded and smiled again, but remained silent. Belisarius wasn't a hard-ass, but they had since learned it was best to let him talk when he wanted to talk.

"So. Are we supposed to invite ourselves in? I'm afraid I'm not all that comfortable with the etiquette here, despite the Knights presence. We waited for quite a while outside before we found out we were allowed in here!" he exclaimed.

He felt no competition with Athanden, and the Dunmer shouldn't have felt the same about him. Mercenaries were certainly going to be needed by the Knights so the way Belisarius saw it, the two men would end up fighting together eventually anyways.

Rihad, Keep

Those ahead of him walked into the keep. Vorandaril did not observe any visual cue that they were called into the keep; perhaps he should follow if he wanted to be hired. Although he himself cared little for etiquette, believing he should strive to be above such silly mortal ideas of how not to offend someone, he knew the knights wouldn't be the same way. He would have to know more before proceeding. He floated towards one of the guards.

"Is the mercenary meeting open? May I enter the keep now?" His voice was heavily distorted and carried an unnatural echo, a result of his magically-sustained un-life. However, as few had even seen a lich, let alone heard one speak and lived to tell the tale of what they sound like, he suspected the guards would assume him to simply be using magic to mask his identity. Hopefully.

"The mercenary meeting should begin shortly, you may enter."

Pleased that his disguise had been effective, the Altmer lich used his telekinesis to open the doors, and promptly floated into the keep. Telekinetically closing the doors behind him without looking back, he proceeded towards a group of what appeared to be knights and mercenaries. One group was well-equipped, while another wore no armor. Perhaps they were naval mercenaries, or perhaps their group simply didn't wear their armor outside of battle. It mattered little, though, as Vorandaril silently floated up to the group. Now it was just a matter of waiting, an easy feat for one like him.

Montblanc's estate

Montblanc nodded to his Lord in reference to his fine cigars, and keeled back on his chair, resting his feet upon his desk. He stared at the mortar ceiling deep in thought.

"These sources are as reliable as one can get in Rihad, most of them owing quite a few favors while others have information they don't want others knowing about." he took a few puffs from the cigar before his office doors open and in strode Crixus.

"I find my presence would be best served here, in Rihad, under your supervision Lord Montblac. Emissaries are in short supply and with those loyal to the Empire fleeing the city, we could use more representation in Rihad's council."

Montblanc thought that he himself was in a dangerous position, yet Crixus definitely had a lot of sand. "I can do my best to keep you protected Crixus, but not within that keep, and not while you deal with them. Things will get ugly, from both sides....and I cannot assure your protection when they become desperate...I'll make arrangements with the city leadership."

Soon it would be cloak and dagger, bodies left in alley ways, and blackmail left and right. When the rules became open warfare, anything was bound to happen to Crixus. Yet a man of his reputation and golden tongue would also be the one to make it through this war unscathed.

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Sentinel

As the market paced abound with its usual bustle and business, colorful crowds from all over Hammerfell flooded the streets through alleys and buildings, wearing bright colors marking their clan and area while also carrying large masks representing animals, and parading through the streets in faux dragons and phoenix's that required a dozen men to carry.

Drums and horns were played constantly in merriment.

The Festival of Tha-Sa-Ad, he who defies oblivion, was underway.

Races, both horse and foot were taking place, contests of martial ability, dancing tents, and free plays at the Great Theater would be welcomed with a populace rich off of culture and victory. Soldiers would march throughout the city in parade, their armor and weapons freshly oiled and cleaned, young girls throwing flowers down upon them, and boys staring at them in wonder.

The Great cooks of the palace would make art with food, and perform dazzling feats in their kitchen, open for all to see. Flying cleavers, chasing ducks, and tricks with a knife that could make a rogue blush were the name of the game.

All eagerly anticipated the Ball and Fireworks that would last for the week.

It was truly a time for Sentinel to rejoice.

Sentinel
Raphael Perevier, Wilfred du Lombard

Wilfred and Raphael stood out quite a bit in the busy docks of Sentinel; Anticlerian fashion was rather distinct even among the other Bretic city-states - for example the scarlet caps very popular with younger citizens, which, though both young, the two delegates had forsaken quite a while ago; even now Raphael was wearing a fairly large hat with a small scarlet plume, while Wilfred opted for a more unorthodox dress choice, with a white turban wrapped around his head. The sight of a Breton with a turban was an unusual one, but the grand marshall of Anticlere found it to be quite practical. Otherwise, they were both dressed in clothes befitting of well-off Anticlerians - not untactfully showcasing their wealth, however not too humble either, with their clothing in general a bit looser than what might've been expected of Bretic noblemen from another city.

"Shall we proceed into the city, grand marshall..?" Raphael looked around, noting that night had already fallen on the city during the time it took them to leave the Mara's Hand, which was currently anchored in the port of Sentinel, dwarfing most nearby ships in size, its cannons imposing even in this otherwise peaceful (for now), lively port. The diplomat himself was quite eager to get to the palace of Sentinel; the comforts that majestic structure offered were almost legendary.

Wilfred didn't respond immediately, looking through the crowd. "No... I believe the Imperial family have been informed of our arrival. They will have sent someone to meet us." He adjusted the sheath of his rapier that hung from his side, more a habbit than an indication of expecting any trouble - Anticlerian officials were welcome guests in Sentinel and a rather common sight everywhere in the city, owing to their status. One unpleasant aspect of this was that Anticlerian organized crime, carrying the tradition of the assemblies of the labourer district of Anticlere overseas, was looking to establish itself firmly in the great city, from what the grand marshall had heard rallying support from similar groups made up of foreigners who didn't have Anticlerians' freedoms in the city.

"Yes, I was right. But unless I'm much mistaken, it is the Empress herself..?"

"I cannot be sure in the night, but yes, I believe you're correct, grand marshall. Truly an honour." Raphael rose his eyebrows. The two men fell silent as empress Roxanna approached them through the crowd with her retinue, while their own formed up behind them, being composed of half a dozen halberdiers and one of the battlemages of Mara's Hand, all of them comparatively lightly armoured - they wore only steel briastplates and a pauldron on their left shoulder, otherwise dressed to fit the occasion but of course much more humbly than the two delegates and a bit more practically as well. The only thing that separated the battlemage from the soldiers was that he, much like the Ansei of Sentinel, carried no weapon.

"My appologies for such a delay, I've been so constrained by the events of the day I lost track of time. Welcome to Sentinel, were honored to have you here." Roxanna greeted them as she finally succesfully navigated the crowd and reached the Anticlerians. Wilfred and Raphael responded with a bow, the diplomat bowing a bit lower and removing his hat, as was fitting for his lower station compared to everyone else present. As the grand marshall, Wilfred's status was at least equal to that of a Yokeda of the Yokudan Empire, and he could boast a bit of personal familiarity with the Imperial family of Sentinel.

"The pleasure is ours." Owing to his higher station, Wilfred was the one to speak first. "We hope our arrival has not interrupted any important business that the Empress of Yokuda and Hammerfell needed to attend."

"Our great captal Manfred Flyte sends his regards to the Imperial Family and regrets being unable to attend the Tha-Sa-Ad at present; he expresses hope he will be able to join during the course of the week, however urgent matters and negotiations with the King and Moot of Solitude currently demand his complete attention." Raphael picked up, his hat still in hand and his voice - void of the boredom that could be clearly felt just a couple of minutes ago.

Sentinel, Bazaar

Jazbet of Kiel, a famous playwright and poet amongst the Ra Gada paced the lively streets of Sentinel. A dragon float dancing around him while citizens danced in the streets in wild merriment. He stroked his thick mustache, curved upwards at its ends, a bright white, in contrast to the black wavy hair atop his head. He wore clothes of Anticlerite fashion, a laced cotton shirt, puffed at the sleeves and loosened string from his chest.

His morality plays, tragedies and comedies would play all week, a great deal of coin was invested in making sure that the Sentinel theater would display his masterpieces at their best. His eyes wandered off to the palace, gazing its awesome splendor.

"How they rejoice in a sea of their blood, tis not their might that makes them fierce, but their insanity in times of strife." He placed a meerschaum pipe into his mouth, igniting it with a match before muttering off to himself.

---------------------------------------------
The Gates of the City of Sentinel

A caravan of stagecoaches and armed soldiers, professionals from Riverview cut through the badlands of Sentinel without error or problem. The cool night breeze a blessing from Tava. The soldiers did not wear ceremonial uniform, instead equipped as if prepared for combat, they guarded their Emperor, the Elden Yokeda.

A Vanguard urged his horse on ahead of the caravan, while the city sent its own patrol of Sentinillean soldiers, outfitted in lamellar armor, outfitted with spears and maces.

The Sentinel Guard spoke first, "Mongati HoonDing Tiavo soldier, your escort?"

Returned with a bow, "The Elden Yokeda himself, Sah."

The Sentinel patrol balked in shock and surprise, the King was not expected so soon. "Inform the men, pave the path."

Shortly after military drums and horns were played, it was a peculiar method, and an ancient one the Elden Yokeda had become fond of during the Last War of Wolves. The King had arrived.

Crixus closed his eye's briefly and nodded to Lord Montblac. "No man is blessed enough to see the hour of his death, given that, I intend to make every hour count until the ferryman come's to take me to the Far Shore's." his voice was calm, yet raspy with old age. The city of my mother appears just as cruel as the city of my birth Crixus thought bitterly to himself, his expression turning to a sort of grimace as he dawned on that thought. The anticipation he had experienced on carriage ride from Sentinel to Rihad had now all but evaporated, however, he did have one final thing to look forward too, something he had dreamed about ever sense he could remember being able to dream. "I will retire until you need me then, Lord Montblac, excuse me." he said, giving a short bow before exiting the room and returning to his suit in the estate.

Bomilkar waited for Crixus leave the room before turning back to Montblac and taking another deep, long drag of the cigar, allowing the flavor to feel his mouth and lungs before letting the smoke out large clouds. Montblac's expressions were easy to read, his distaste for his own work was not surprising and would bother any honorable Ra Gada who had to lie, cheat, steal and occasionally murder for the safty of the empire. Bomilkar was blessed in that his enemies would not come at him with fake smiles and knives behind their backs, but in a full on charge into battle where there was no lieing or cheating, just the thrill and honor of the fight.

"I'll leave with the refugees and the rest of our men inside the city tomorrow, we will pack light and with Tava's blessing we can make it to Sentinel by nightfall tomorrow. I'll let the High King know of yours and Crixus's intentions to stay in the city."



"Not at all, life without Haroun here in the city can simply be too demanding of a wife and mother." Roxanna jested lightly, turning to Xerxes and Ruhk. "Grand Marshal Lombard and Delegate Perevier, this is Lord Ruhk of Stro's Mka'i, Haroun's couisn, and this is my nephew, Prince Xerxes Barca." after the customary introductions were exchanged between the two parties Roxanna motioned for the group to follow her, a slew of guards now stood at attention as they joined with Empress and Anticlerian Delegates, carving a way through the crowd of people as they pushed and shoved with delight at the beginnings of the celebration.

"I wish Haroun could have been here to greet you himself, but the talk's in Rihad have pulled him from the city and his family." she continued to speak as they made their way into the High District where the festivities were beginning in earnest now. All around them vibrant displays and parades in honor of Thassad III danced around them, creating a sea of colorful and culturally unique masks and clothing. Again the sound of fireworks popping off could be hear as well as clamor of the recent morality plays that had been put on in the Grand Theater just recently, some talk even that the great playwright Jazbet of Kiel was in the city creating play's specifically for the great anniversary. Roxanna's thoughts wandered momentarily as they passed a effigy of Thassad hanging from one of the shops in the High District; what were they truely celebrating? the High King was murdered, brutally so and in such a horrid fashion the thought made her cringe. We're they honoring his memory? or his death? the two were distinctly different, yet in some ways the same. It didn't matter really, she knew what she was celebrating, even if it uneased her stomach just a bit.

"What's this you mention of Lord Flyte?" Roxanna asked at last as they now moved effortlessly through the district, quickly approaching the gates of the Market district, the grand Palace of Sentinel could easily be seen now looming over the gates and walls that separated the districts. "I hope everything well in Anticlere."

Stanet Terentius; Meeting Room, Rihad Keep

Terentius sat in an elegant wooden chair in the meeting room, idly musing about the upcoming war. He was alone in the room since Lysandra had declined his invitation to stay for the mercenary hiring process, and he planned to make the most of his solitude; opportunities to be without company were rare indeed for him. While Stanet was no loner or misanthrope, he believed in the value of occasional solitude. He quietly tapped his Orcish-armored hand on the side of the chair, the rhythmic pattering assisting his thoughts as his eyes stared off into space.

The Knight Commander pondered the logistics of such a war with the Yokudan Empire, realizing that conducting the forces against them would be no mean feat. A desert was not the ideal place for heavily armored knights to fight, especially against natives used to such brutal and hot conditions. The Knights of the Nine would have to rely on their local troops and allies more than Stanet would like. While extreme heat didn't bother him too much personally, since even the heat of the Alik'r could hardly compare to that of Oblivion itself, he understood that not all the men had the same experience in such conditions that he had. In any case, the war would be long and brutal; the local heathens were deeply entrenched in their religion and culture to a level that somewhat unnerved Stanet. How can these people have such a strong belief in their gods? I've seen Tamriel saved by the intervention of Akatosh Himself, and I still don't know if He would bother to help us with anything less than a Daedric invasion? How do we even know we're right to invade? Stanet's contented smile quickly faded, replaced by an expression of worry and consternation as his doubts about his faith in the Eight and One returned once again. He stopped tapping on the side of the chair, remaining eerily still as he recollected himself from the troubling thoughts. No! Such worries are pointless. These are questions for scholars, not knights.

As Terentius regained his usual calm, he heard voices outside the room. About time they show up. Rising out of his chair, he approached the large wooden double doors of the meeting room and pulled them open into the room. Outside stood a curious collection of mercenaries. A band of very well-armed and armored Dunmer caught his eye first thanks to their shining equipment. They had the look of competence and skill about them, even if their armor wasn't exactly suited to the climate. Stanet also saw a separate group of unarmored mercenaries of various races: an Imperial, a Dunmer, and a Redguard. While unarmored, they were armed, and Stanet could tell at a glance they were confident in themselves, and probably justifiably so. But the strangest mercenary of all was a lone Altmer floating a few inches off the ground. Good, we need more battlemages here. Something the heathens can't match.

"Welcome, everyone!" said Stanet magnanimously, a facade of confidence replacing the doubt he had been feeling but moments before. "I am Sir Stanet Terentius, Knight Commander of the Knights of the Nine. I trust you're all here for the mercenary meeting?" he asked, stepping aside a bit to allow them to enter while beckoning towards the empty chairs in the room. "Please, do come in and take a seat. Make yourselves at home!"

Sentinel
Raphael Perevier; Wilfred du Lombard

"An honour." Wilfred and Raphael bowed when introduced to Roxanna's companions. The grand marshall was actually familiar with both names, and was certain he had seen Xerxes at least once; however, he wasn't sure what to think of him. Though only a couple years younger than the Anticlerian, Wilfred had heard disturbing rumours about the prince and his grudge against the Crowns and it was a topic quite frequently discussed by Manfred's closest, as the maturing of the Forebear leader was a headache in Sentinel and thus - in Anticlere. The two cities were bound quite closely together in spite of the relatively short duration of their alliance. Anticlerians took well to such a turn of events, while Sentinel seemed to need every ally it could get in the troubling times to come, even one as small as the upstart city-state, which had only recently started acting independently on the global political stage.

Wilfred signalled the Anticlerian guard to move after them as the delegation and the Empress with her retinue weaved through the crowd, approaching the Imperial palace. While the diplomat fell back a bit, du Lombard took a place closer to the Empress, smiling at her question.

"More than well, empress. Our Mara-blessed King has opened negotiations with the King and Moot of Solitude, however not on matters one might expect given the Nordic invasion of the Western Reach that was heavily supported by the monarch of Solitude." The war had soured relationships between Skyrim and High Rock quite a bit, though it could best be felt between the courts of Wayrest and Solitude, the two main players of the invasion. Anticlere, on the other hand, had stayed completely neutral, more concerned by the powerplay between Elysana and the Aldmeri Dominion, and could now benefit from this; the city-state seemed to have its destiny set as the mediator, first during the war of Betony, then again as the middleman in trade between Sentinel and the rest of High Rock, and now once more between Skyrim and the Iliac.

A dangerous position, but a beneficial one. Enough so to attract the attention of the Psijics. Wilfred's mind wandered for a bit before he squeezed past yet more people and could continue.

"I will not bore you with the details, especially since nothing is set in stone so early on in the negotiations, however Lord Manfred is confident that they will yield the desired results - the expansion of the Anticlerian Olive Oil Company into Solitude and the establishment of a trading colony in Solitude's territory. Our great captal believes that assuming more direct control of the trade with Solitude would produce the much desired secure and politically fairly neutral timber source, which would benefit both the rapidly growing industry of our city and that of the Yokudan Empire. Nordic wood is renowned for its firmness, it has served our eastern cousins well for entire eras."

"Not that I wish to imply that the materials from Valenwood are inferior in quality." The grand marshall's voice, however, was quite expressive, and Roxanna would have no trouble understanding what he meant. The moods in Anticlere were quite anti-elven following the brief Dominion direct interference in High Rock and while these matters were not yet spoken of openly in either city, it was a public secret that the Altmer of Summerset were not to be trusted.

Sentinel
In the Company of a King

The crowds in the street parted as if sliced through with a blade, the Palace guard, dressed in fearsome lacquer armor of a purple hue, the Tervola as they were called demanded respect and fear from all. They were swordsingers, remnants of the Order of Leki, the same order Haroun had belonged to. Sworn to serve the interests of the HoonDing, their brother in the way, and the future of their people.

Their masks were contorted devils of purple, jaded tusks leaving the ogre visage. Their steeds were midnight, their blades varied and exotic, as was common of all Swordsingers, they chose their own weapons.

Crowds celebrated and cheered as the Elden Yokeda's carriage paved its way through the city, the vehicle itself carved to resemble a dragon, detailed in ornate silver.

Inside...

Haroun felt relief and comfort within Sentinel, the excitement that came with spending time with his wife and daughter could not be quelled. He was dressed traditionally, wearing all white, detailed in gold. Layers of robe, puffed pants, and a top bearing his family's crest on the back were shown. His head adorned with a headband bearing the Yokudan symbol for infinite, a symbol of Sentinel's protector.

The sleeves were loose, a blessing thanks to the warm temperatures of his land.

Amaru beside him, obviously his friend would be pleased to see his own master, and Haroun would be pleased to see his younger cousin.

A stroke of his trimmed beard, and warm thoughts turned into sour expression. Roxanna would not take kindly to news of what was to come, she knew her brother but would likely have expected Haroun to be the sheath to Bomlikar's sword.

Roxanna, forgive me.

The military drums beat wildly to each other, the military's unique form of communication was legendary in the passed year, the enemies of the Yokudan Empire would go mad to the sound of the relentless percussion.

The carriage had arrived at the Palace. Finally.

--------------------------------------------------------
Sentinel
Amongst an Empress and friends of import

Azrael was a legendary man in Hammerfell, a prodigious man of the Shehai-Shen-She-Ru, and the leader of all Tervola. He was tasked with the protection of Empress Roxanna and Andromeda, with that he was privy to information no other man in the Empire would know, and tonight he was pleased that information would be the arrival of the Elden Yokeda himself.

He didn't get to enjoy the festivities, although he was but a young pup at 20 years old, he was tasked with a position requiring maturity and a strong sense of duty and responsibility.

He paced through the streets maskless, his wild hair jutting off in random directions with the wind guiding it, his armor showing who he was. No obstructions remained in his way. He knew his charge very well and spotted the colorful clothing and trademark tailoring of the Iliac bay, at the Sentinel docks. As he approached the Anticlere delegation and the Empress he bowed in reverence and respect.

"My Queen, Prince Xerxes, Lord Ruhk, Mr. Du Lumbard, honored guests." he returned from his bow to keep the moment awkward before offering a warm smile.

"I am pleased to announce the Elden Yokeda has arrived. He would be most honored to receive you at the Palace."

Character Sheet:




Cyrus, Stros M’Kai



Golden sparks streaked through the air as an adamantium blade struck a hardened steel shield and glanced off to the side. The wielder of the blade quickly recovered, spinning in a violent flurry at his opponent who once again raised his battered shield to guard himself from the attack. The sound of metal on metal echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings as the sword once again hammered down upon the shield. The blow staggered the shield bearer who stumbled backwards then managed to regain his balance as his attacker lunged forward again in a wild display of speed and agility, swinging both adamantium blades in vicious arcs. However this time the young man with the shield lunged forward to meet his opponent, swinging his own sword in a desperate attempt to strike his attacker’s flank. But to his surprise his sword met only the air as he lunged forward, and then there was another loud crash of metal on metal as both of his opponent’s adamantium swords impacted his shield. He tried to brace himself from the impact, but when he pushed his right leg back to steady himself it met an obstacle. His foe had dodged to the side when he had lunged and was now directly on his flank, there was no time to react before his legs were rendered useless by a quick kick to the back of his knees from his opponent. He fell forward onto the sandy ground as he felt warm metal slide next to his neck. He had been beaten.

Cyrus slid his blades back into their elaborate sheaths on his back; He turned to face his opponent then grabbed his arm and helped him from the ground,

“You fought well.” Said Cyrus as he placed his hand on his shoulder,

His opponent looked up at him, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, “But not well enough, how am I supposed to be a grand warrior if I cannot even win while sparring?”

Cyrus chuckled, “You are still young, and you have many years to perfect your talents. Even I did not achieve my current abilities overnight. Now go and clean up, your mother wanted you home before noon.”

The adolescent boy gave a short bow to Cyrus and then headed off into one of the nearby buildings that surrounded the courtyard. Cyrus wiped the sweat from his forehead, and then walked over to a large door on the far side of the courtyard; behind the door was a well furnished house, Cyrus walked through a decorated hall and into the foyer where a young servant stood arranging an elaborate rug.

“Shamar, go and tell the shipmaster at the docks that I will be arriving shortly.”

Shamar nodded then said “Is there anything else you need?”

“No that is all.”

Shamar unlatched the heavy doors at the front of the house and then vanished from sight. Cyrus turned and walked towards a large stair case that led to the upper level of the manor, his footsteps echoing off the walls as he climbed the stairs. At the top he turned to his right, walking down a long hallway and then into a room on his right. It was filled with racks and stands of armor and weapons of every sort, from spears to daggers and leather to ebony plate armors. Cyrus untied the strong leather cords that held the sheaths on his back, then he gently set the elaborate swords upon a decorative carved wooden stand. Cyrus began to remove his adamantium lamellar armor and placed each piece carefully onto a polished mahogany stand. After removing his armor and weapons Cyrus walked back across the hall and through another door which led to a room with a circular bath in the middle, in the middle of the bath was another smaller bath-like structure about 3ft across. Cyrus walked over to a nearby wall, there was a depression set into it like a fireplace with a metal grate at the bottom, the heat from the fire in the kitchen rose up through the chimney like structure and through the grate. On top of the grate were seven large stones. Cyrus grabbed a nearby pair of steel tongs and one by one set the steaming hot stones into the small 3ft circle in the middle of the bath. Steam rose into the air as the water began to heat up. Cyrus removed the rest of his clothing and stepped into the warm bath.

30 minutes later

The day was still young and the harsh sun beat down upon the busy streets of Stros M’Kai. Cyrus and Shamar made their way down to the docks through the mass of people that crowded the street. The docks were bustling and alive with noise as workers loaded and unloaded cargo from the many ships docked there. Cyrus and Shamar walked towards one of the larger naval ships docked in the harbor, it wasn’t huge however it was definitely a force to be reckoned with. They were greeted by a few of the ship's sailors who took Cyrus’s luggage from him and Shamar and carried it to the ships cabin. Cyrus turned around to face Shamar,

“Take care of the manor while I’m gone, I should be returning in a week or two.”

“It will be done.” Shamar gave a short bow and then walked off back into the crowd of people. Cyrus turned back towards the ship and began to walk up the long plank and onto the deck. The first mate of the ship greeted him at the top,

“It it is an honor to have you aboard Captain. Are you ready to set sail for Sentinel?”

“Yes, we will already be late to the festival. I do not wish to waste any more time.”

Sentinel, Roxanna and Company

Roxanna laughed at Wilfred’s comment regarding Valenwood, dropping down to a slower pace so that she and Marshal could continue their discussion at a more leisurely pace. Summerset had been attempting to gain a foothold in the Empire’s timber market since the end of the war and the start of hostility between the Empire and the Rihad Confederation. “Just because they control the largest source of timber in Tamriel doesn’t mean they control the best” she reaffirmed Wilfred’s implied thought.

“That’s good news to hear about the Olive Company, the god’s have surely blessed both the house of Ashir and Flyte.” Roxanna replied, changing the . Ever sense Manfred Flyte had been released from Haroun’s captivity during the War of the Wolves Anticlere and Sentinel, really the whole Empire, had enjoyed a prosperous relationship that had made both nations very wealthy. The Anticlere Olive Oil Company had been one of the few non-raga organizations allowed to operate in more than just the Market and Foreign Quarter districts, making them one of the most powerful corporate entities in the Empire.

“It’s truly a shame Lord Flyte couldn’t have come though, there was something I was needing to speak to he and my husband about…” Roxanna trailed off as the group now approached the lumbering Palace.

"My Queen, Prince Xerxes, Lord Ruhk, Mr. Du Lumbard, honored guests." Came the voice of the young Azrael, a handsome young man in his own right, though far too serious for his age in Roxanna’s opinion. "I am pleased to announce the Elden Yokeda has arrived. He would be most honored to receive you at the Palace."

With that Roxanna’s heart seemed to skip a beat, though she hid it behind a strong face. Her body, however, shook with anticipation and excitement.

“Thank you Azrael!” she piped up, a light skip in her step. “Try and enjoy the festivities, find yourself a girl.” She winked, touching his shoulder lightly as she passed the young man and headed towards the Palace. “Look’s like you will get to see the King afterall.”

Leading the group of men passed the heavy, ornate gates of the Palace they came into the Grand Hall, a golden and sun drenched hall that bore glorious painting and artwork from all over Hammerfell and the Empire. At the far end of the hall lay another set of massive door that lead into the thrown room, which doubled as the Royal Court where all the finest lords and diplomats from everywhere came to grovel and pay respects to the High King.

“Empress.” One of the guards said, giving a bow as he and another man opened the massive gates. Again her heart fluttered as her husband came into view, sitting in his thrown surrounded by the greatest men of the Empire. Again, she maintained a strong face, not letting her emotions show through the strong fa?ade she put on in court, though inside, her soul was singing to see her husband alive.

“My King.” She said, kneeling before Haroun on both knees while keeping her eye’s locked on his. The intense stair between the two let her know that he felt the same way she did, all she needed now was to await his command to sit beside him.

Sentinel
Wilfred du Lombard; Raphael Perevier

"My Queen, Prince Xerxes, Lord Ruhk, Mr. Du Lumbard, honored guests." A young Ansei interrupted Wilfred and Roxanna's conversation just as the grand marshall was about to inquire whether he could carry a message to Manfred in case the Flyte of Anticlere wouldn't make it to the week-long festival. "I am pleased to announce the Elden Yokeda has arrived. He would be most honored to receive you at the Palace."

"Ah, most excellent!" Wilfred nodded, motioning the delegation to keep up as he hastened his step. "I wasn't expecting the High King would be able to return so quickly from Rihad, but it seems the Emperor of Yokuda and Hammerfell travels as fast as Kynareth's breath. It will be an honour to see him." While the Anticlerian was well aware of the tense relationships between the Knights of the Nine and the Yokudan Empire at present, he was confident no one would take offense at the comment. Anticlere was quite clearly not on the side of the Knights, but that did not mean they had to forfeit their religious beliefs, especially since Manfred wore a Mara-blessed crown and was the protector of the church of Mara in High Rock.

Given that they accompanied the Empress herself, getting into the palace didn't take long. In no time at all, they were standing before the Elden Yokeda, the High King of Sentinel and Emperor of Yokuda and Hammerfell, Haroun do Ashir. While Roxanna kneeled before him, Wilfred and Raphael merely stayed further back with their heads bowed; the Anticlerian escort had been motioned to stay behind in the Grand Hall, their presence unnecessary in the throne room of the Empire. It wasn't out of some wish to insult that the two delegates did not kneel, but because of tradition - there was an unwritten rule that all the nobles of the country abided by, reaching back to well before the times of Flyte rule, that nobles did not kneel, only bowed, no matter if they were before their own sovereign or the Emperor of Tamriel. Though it might've looked unusual to the Raga nobility, this was far from the first time Anticlerians greeted the High King, so the meaning of this was quite clear to almost everyone who frequented the court of Sentinel.

OOC: I added a few generic guys just because 3 mercenaries showing up didn't seem right, but I don't expect anyone to interact with them or anything.



Belisarius, Rihad Keep

Before the Dunmer could answer his question, the doors opened and Belisarius turned to see a man enter only moments before another man, dressed in a manner that showed he was a knight, walked out and invited them in. Belisarius turned to his companions and grinned, as he walked away from the Dunmer with a slight bow. He passed the knight who stepped aside to let them in.

The three men took seats at the center of the table and immediately got comfortable as Belisarius watched the other file in. He was sizing up the other groups of men who had entered, but he paid closest attention to a hooded figure who had entered before anyone else. The figure did not sit well with him, and he turned to Dalvus to find the Dunmer staring down the figure as well.

"Well?" he asked his mage-friend.

Dalvus shook his head to indicate to remain silent but the look in his eyes showed that the figure carried a distinct power about him that the magicka attuned Dunmer could sense. Belisarius nodded and looked around the rest of the room, taking note of about a dozen different groups of mercenaries who sought riches as well.

"I trust the discussions with the High King went well?" Belisarius asked the Terentius, trying to figure out where he recognized the name. It reminded him of his old days back in Cyrodiil and of his noble heritage but nothing struck a cord immediately. "Belisarius of South County Cheydinhal." he said with a bow, introducing himself by the title he would have, had he kept the land of his parents.

Introducing himself in such a formal way finally helped to click the mans name into place. He was likely a member of the ruling family in Bravil and Belisarius saw a chance to get some common ground between them to give him an advantage in the meeting.

Athanden was cut off before he could reply, what appeared to be the Knight Commander had burst through the main doors and welcomed them inside. Belisarius gave a short bow to Athanden and then proceeded inside. Athanden motioned his guards forward with his hand as he and Aryn walked into the large room, the guards took their positions a corner of the room while Athanden and Aryn sat at the table across from their new acquaintances.

There were quite a few representatives gathered in the room, however from the looks of them most represented smaller groups. Athanden eyed down all of them as he scanned the room for any possible competition, it seemed as if he and the group he had met just a few moments ago were the main players. Athanden turned to Aryn,

"So what do you think? Start high and work our way down or be modest and start as what we need?" said Athanden with a slight grin. He already knew the answer.

"They are an order of Holy Knights....I say we squeeze as much coin out of them without making them pop." Replied Aryn letting out a short laugh.

Athanden turned his attention to Belisarius who was now making small talk with the Knight Commander, he let out a short chuckle, Trying to butter up the commander before the meeting...smart man. Athanden allowed for them to finish up their conversation before he stood and addressed the room in a casual and friendly tone,

"Not meaning to be rude but I would very much like to get this meeting underway"

OOC: Squid & BM, you two just finish up with your conversation then say something about Athanden speaking up, it doesnt matter if its a few posts down the line. I just wanted to get as much as I could in before I go out of town. I'll be back Sunday so try and not do too much important stuff

OOC: No man hath a greater love than this, that he jumps up and down when he returns to the familiar confines of the Sentinel throne room.
IC:
Sentinel, Throne Room
The all too familiar throne room of the Great Sentinel palace, legendary. The architecture was breathtaking. The floor of the room was marble, with a circular design chiseled through each tile, filled with gravel. Through the center of the room flowed a stream of water, in a desert nation, water in court was a display of strength and power. The tradition reached every throne room within Hammerfell. The massive double doors leading into the room from the grand hall were golden, encrusted with gems, emeralds, sapphires, and rubies, engraved with representations of the original Warrior wave. Corners of the room were adorned with sun palms, while the center of the back of gave home to the Orichalc throne of the Yokudan Empire. It was green, with an orange hue, almost like jade. Dark leather lining the seat, beside it were too depressed seats. For his wife and daughter, his Empress and Princess. All made of Orichalc, the fabled material once thought lost in the Yokudan cataclysm.

Generals, ministers, diplomats of other nations, Tervola...all filled the room paying respects to the Elden Yokeda. A young man who wished only to see his wife.

Haroun nodded his head as he was greeted with gifts and invitations, his leg resting on his lap, his elbow on his chair's arm, and his chin resting on his knuckles.

One man in particular, a General Kong, a very wiry man in a black and red Devil mask, jeweled heavily approached the King with a seemingly prepared approach. He waited patiently until it was his turn for the Emperor to address him.

"General Kong, a pleasant surprise, I have not seen you in months."

The man bowed reverently, "Your Imperial Majesty, I was tasked to prepare and train WEST Army, and I had no intention of reporting until their effectiveness had been dramatically improved. I am proud to say that the Anticlerite aides have done nothing but improve discipline and skill amongst the Arbalesters of our army, and with the current focus on EAST Army and our loss of troops at their gain our infantry will be just as astounding in a month's time. I have prepared demonstrations to be met upon your arrival yet I had not expected your return so soo-" the King waved him off as Roxanna walked through the doors, his eyes focused solely on her, blurring out the other individuals.

Roxanna...

He stood from his throne somewhat excitedly, attempting to maintain some composure.

“My King.”

He smiled to her, at first nothing more than a political tool to help gain advantage in the oncoming fights he would face, but becoming something more. Yes a Queen, but more so, his wife.

He took her hand and raised her, offering a soft kiss before smiling. "Take your place beside me."

His eyes painfully drifted away before focusing on the men with her, at first he would appraise them with cruel eyes before they lit up in welcome surprise.

"Mr. Du Lumbard, always a pleasure. I hope to practice your language in conversation. How is the Captal Flyte and young Auberon?"

Sentinel Throne Room
Raphael Perevier; Wilfred du Lombard

Wilfred's back straightened as the High King addressed him, displaying clearer than usual that the young Breton was a military man first and foremost, his posture that of a soldier. Though he was the grand marshall of the army of Anticlere now, not more than a couple of years ago he differed little from the rest of the Knights of the Flame. The thought of the old order caught him slightly off guard, the magnitude of changes that had happened since then never failing to amaze, but the halls of the Emperor of Yokuda and Hammerfell were no place for memories.

"Emperor of Yokuda and Hammerfell, ever an honour." The marshall spoke in Bretic; though his Yoku was quite good (if accented), if Haroun wished to speak in his tongue, he was only happy to oblige. His Anticlerian dialect would be noted by anyone who spoke Bretic, consonants slightly softer than usual. "Mara has graced my great captal and his son with good health and fortune, I regret having to bring his appologies for not being able to attend the Tha-Sa-Ad from its beginning, however. As I have already explained to the Empress, negotiations with the king and Moot of Solitude sadly consume much of his time; he hopes to be able to arrive sometime during the course of the week, but as the High King knows better than anyone, rulers have little time and much of it falls outside their control. So, in Manfred Flyte's stead, I bring wishes of continued good health and prosperity for the Imperial family and their loyal subjects."

Looking at the High King and his queen made Wilfred's heart flutter slightly. They loved each other, he could tell that was clearly what lay underneath the thin veil of court ettiquette and 'proper behaviour'. Genuine emotion seemed ever so rare where politics were involved and tragedy, silent or more obvious - such as in Manfred's case, his wife's and mother's actions and the Flyte's resulting distrust for women known only too well to the court of Anticlere - seemed to be the rule rather than the exception. And the Imperial family reminded him of his own wife... She had been unable to come with him when Manfred informed him of the need for the grand marshall to represent the ruler of the city during at least the beginning of the Tha-Sa-Ad, but Anticlerians would travel to the celebration throughout the week, and she had promised to be there soon.

Adria does love Raga celebrations and plays. Wilfred smiled, more to himself than to anyone in this room. But this isn't the time, Wilfred... Isn't the time.

Sentinel Throne Room

Haroun smiled at Wilfred's response, the man was capable. A young soldier when Haroun had first encountered him, on the battlefield. The young breton's Lord had marched against Haroun in the Last War of the Wolves, was captured and had become one of the rarest things in this world, a true friend. The Elden Yokeda had done many terrible things and was thought by his enemies to be a calculating and ruthless machine willing to do whatever must be done for more power, but Haroun would halt his entire Empire's expansion and put his ambition and own life at risk to aid Manfred. The true alliance between the two nations only made both more prosperous however, the Yokudan Empire's refusal to trade with anyone and its xenophobic foreign policy made its wares and trade an extremely valuable commodity, something only Anticlere could oblige.

It was odd that only a bay lay between Anticlere and Sentinel, yet visits from both city's leaders were rare.

The High King replied in Bretic, accented but far better than his Cyrodiil, "The leaders of the world's grandest Empire are but slaves to its administration. I am pleased to hear of Manfred's progress in diplomacy with Solitude. It is a subject that has been discussed and in want for months." he eased backwards into the seat of his throne before appraising Du Lumbard once again. The man was capable, and as Anticlere's Grand Marshall would be the next best thing to discussing diplomacy and recent events within the Empire.

"I'll arrange rooms for you and your men. Our attendants will tend to your immediate needs, I trust you will be joining us for dinner and the night's festivities. There is much to be discussed." the last part was emphasized and serious. War was no stranger to Sentinel nor Anticlere, but the Knights of the Nine were a legendary order, and if reports from the Shagun were correct, the hand of Anvil itself may have been involved. Whether it be coin or not, Haroun was not willing to throw their involvement into the open. That would be a threat, that could provoke other Cyrodil cities into war, something which he wished to avoid.

Gates of Sentinel
Baibars Ayuub

The Tha-Sa-Ad, a great festival to celebrate the life and mark the passing of Thassad III, father of the current High King and through him - of the entire Yokudan Empire. Many influentials of the Empire and beyond would gather at Sentinel for the week, enjoying the festivities and using the time to get a feel for the new face of Hammerfell. Despite many months passing since the end of the War of the Wolves and the rise of Sentinel, many were still uncertain about the intentions of its High King and this was a good chance to mingle with the top echelons of Raga society.

A festival of the city dwellers, celebrating a Na Totambu ruler who overthrew another.

Strange are the threads of fate. My father, his father, and every Ayuub before that would have spit if offered to attent. And yet here I am, Khan of the Ayuubs, Father to the Tribes... Yokeda of the Empire. Who could have thought? An Ayuub, a Yokeda. A tribe born of Swordsingers, fighting with city dwellers to return a country we ourselves tore apart.

Strange are the threads of fate.

Baibars smirked underneath the flowing clothes traditional to his people. Almost immediately, his smirk turned into a sad smile and then - into a grimmace, but none could see, as the khan's face was obscured by a simple scarf, only his brown eyes clearly visible; nothing more was neccessary, however, for a nomad's spirit could be seen through his eyes. And Baibars' was a very troubled spirit, it had been so for the past several months. Ever since his own blood had started muttering against him, the chief warlord of the Ayuubs growing fiercer and fiercer in his anger towards the rest of the world by the day.

And yet, here I am. My own brother would tear my throat out were it not for the sacred bond of brothers and the khan and his warlord, and I attend city dweller feasts. I doubt that the fate of our ancestors when they sailed from Yokuda was more convoluted and unpredictable than mine and my tribe's.

The khan of the Ayuub tribe and one of the most influential officials in the Yokudan Empire certainly did not look the part. Despite his newfound status, Baibars still dressed like a common member of his tribe; extravagant clothes and jewelry wasn't the desert wanderers' way, they showed their status through finely kept weapons and trophies from hunts. One such trophy the khan carried with him at all times, a necklace from the teeth of a mantya-khourana, an item kept in their family for generations and infused with the power of legends and symbolism. Tales as old as the tribe itself attributed it to the legendary forefather of the Ayuubs, Sutbu, as the trophy from his first hunt in the Alik'r. Whatever the case, it had been worn by khans for generations and in spite of whatever his brother said about him, Baibars was not one to treat traditions lightly.

The khan's retinue was not much, composed of a handful of similarly dressed Ayuubs, sons from tribes closest to his family. Retainers, as some outsiders would have called it, though the Ayuubs themselves had no special word for these men, referring to them merely as 'sons'; for now, they were the personal guards of the khan, each a fine swordsman and archer. Later, they would marry, have children of their own and become khans of their own tribes, their sons taking their place alongside the khan of khans.

This Ayuub delegation of sorts, carried by their fine black desert horses, finally reached the gates of Sentinel, capital of the Empire and seat of the High King.

"Alik'r be gentle to you, soldier." Baibars spoke before the gate guard could inquire, pulling his scarf down. Reaching under the folds of his flowing robe, he produced the necklace, by now a symbol familiar in Sentinel, though not as the sign of the khan of khans as it was in the desert, but as the sign of one of the Yokeda. "Khan Ayuub, Yokeda of south Alik'r, comes to pay homage to the father of the Elden Yokeda."

Strange are the threads of fate.

Sentinel, Thrown Room

Roxanna's eyes stayed fixed on her husband as he rose from his throne and began to approach. With each step her heart raced faster and faster in what it seemed like an eternity until he finally reached her, taking her hand. "Take your place beside me." Haroun said as they embraced for a kiss, one in which Roxanna drew out as long as she possibly could before being pulled away from the union by the demands of Imperial court. Slowly she turned to face the men, standing at her husband's right as they began to speak amongst themselves as a feeling of relief and comfort overcame her at finally being with her husband again. As they talked Roxanna peered around the lavish room now filled with men and women from all over the Empire ranging from generals and councilmen to minor nobles and foreign delegates, one even from the Cyrodillic Empire it would seem. Men of note were the General Kong, a man Haroun had trusted to drilling the armies of the Empire into a real fighting force, with the help of the Anticlerian's of course, along with Roxanna's cousin Adonibal, ruler of Dragon Grove as well as Princes from Old Helgath and Gilane and the Yokeda's of the Empire, save for Bomilkar and the Ayuub Khan.

The comfort that once filled her being now vanished as Haroun and Marshal Lombard continued their conversation, the emphasis Haroun put on 'There is much to discuss' and the absence of her brother, who was never far from Haroun, unnerved her. "Where's my brother?" she whispered softly into Haroun's ear as he finished speaking, trying not to interrupt the conversation. "He's not in the room." she continued, persisting as she gently took his hand in an attempt to force him to answer her, the concern was clearly carried in her voice.

Inside she knew thing's had gone wrong in Rihad, it was to be expect, though it was something she had prayed against with all her heart every night that Haroun had been gone, and in fact, ever sense the so called Rihad Confederation had been formed. War was nothing new to her, it wasn't the war itself she feared, but the affect it was having on her husband; the effect the HoonDing was having on him. The nightmare's were common enough that it raised her concern, though she never spoke of them to Haroun, by his cries in the night she knew she didn't want to know, it was burden she didn't know she could help him carry.