Rithe, Back Alley, Rihad


Even with the uninvited guests Arethan replied to Rithe,

"Killing Serosi isn't required of me, not now. So you say that you're part of this institution, which plays its part in Dunmeri politics? What's to say that wasn't just a slip of your tongue?" Now Arethan turned his attention to the Bretons "You're not going anywhere. Stay here or I'll blast your soul into Oblivion."

Rithe decided that it was in his best interest to answer Arethan's questions now and not cause more tension by waiting. "I am no longer aligned with any organization of man or mer. I deserted the Tong years ago, like I said I do not serve any mortal. I swear to you that I am not here to cause you harm." Rithe hoped he had sounded convincing, the escalating tension within the group could only go so high before the streets of Rihad turned into an all out brawl.

Just as Rithe was beginning to think how nothing could get worse than having a paranoid group of powerful people not trusting him and two uninvited peasants making his situation worse a rather flamboyant Breton entered the conversation with a sharp whistle. Wonderful, another one to get in the way of things.

"Oh! Good morn, gentlemen, m'lady! Please, could one of you please... please... tell me this is the right way to the Talon Inn? I have been wandering around this infernal city for nearly an hour now! I fear I am running dreadfully late! Damn that Argonian! Talos have mercy on me for what I shall do to that disreputable beast if ever I find him! I'll tan his swindling hide and make shoes of it! What a miserable, miserable city. I can hardly believe anyone lives here willingly..."

This is getting too suspicious, three Bretons coming out of nowhere and confronting us....something is definitely awry.... Thought Rithe as he looked at the new Breton. He turned to Arethan concern deep in his voice,

"Arethan, I know you do not trust me but something is not right here and I fear that we will all end up killing each other if something is not done about this situation." Rithe scanned over the three Bretons once more, taking in every aspect of their physical and emotional appearance.

"It looks like some kind of scam or set up to me, I say we bind their arms and gag them. Take this conversation to a more secure location as to avoid anymore uninvited appearances."

EDIT: fixed some major typos

Back Alley, Rihad

This situation was growing increasingly bizarre, with three Bretons having entered the discussion seemingly out of nowhere. First the woman bumped into Alaudis, which was odd but not terribly suspicious, but things definitely took a turn for the odd as a second Breton, this one a male, climbed out from a pile of crates and barrels, apologizing for his conduct and his sister's and asking to leave. Arethan and Rithe had answered him with a litany of threats, although Swims hadn't felt the necessity of adding his own to the mix, since the two Dunmer had sufficiently intimidated the young man. But now, with the entry of a third Breton, seemingly unrelated to the first two, dressed in the most ridiculous Colovian finery that Swims had ever seen, the situation was becoming downright surreal.

"Oh! Good morn, gentlemen, m'lady! Please, could one of you please... please... tell me this is the right way to the Talon Inn? I have been wandering around this infernal city for nearly an hour now! I fear I am running dreadfully late!" said the incoming fop. Alright, this is absurd? Am I dreaming? And do I look like a local to him. Swims would normally have been furious at the appearance of three completely unwanted visitors in a business dealing, but at this point, he was too confused to feel his ordinary bitterness. However, with the most recent guest's newest comment, his rage would come back in full.

"Damn that Argonian! Talos have mercy on me for what I shall do to that disreputable beast if ever I find him! I'll tan his swindling hide and make shoes of it!" Swims-in-Shadows' confused reverie came to a sudden and abrupt end, replaced by his former silent rage. As much as he tried to tell himself that he was above the rest of his race and no longer needed to concern himself with the attitudes of others, blatant bigotry such as that struck a nerve deep within him. It took a great deal of discipline for the Argonian bandit to avoid lunging at the absurdly-dressed Breton, although he did place a hand on his dagger in preparation to draw it.


"What a miserable, miserable city. I can hardly believe anyone lives here willingly..." continued the newcomer, although Swims was barely listening anymore; he was focusing on a good angle to lunge at the man if the situation came to blows.

"Arethan, I know you do not trust me but something is not right here and I fear that we will all end up killing each other if something is not done about this situation. It looks like some kind of scam or set up to me, I say we bind their arms and gag them. Take this conversation to a more secure location as to avoid anymore uninvited appearances." said Rithe. Who cares what you think? You're just some pompous Brotherhood fool who doesn't even know his own order of assassins.

"I suggest you turn around and leave right now. Nothing for you to see here." hissed Swims-in-Shadows at the new Breton, his anger barely concealed and his hand on his dagger.

Outskirts of Rihad
Lysandra

Two more men approached; this was shaping up to be quite the reception. One was dressed like a desert nomad and from the way he spoke Lysandra guessed this would be one of the two khans that had pledged allegiance to the High King. It didn't much matter to her if this was the leader of the Barca or the Ayuub tribe - both were even worse barbarians than their settled kin to her. Of course, as usual, the battlemage wouldn't speak her honest oppinion, especially if what she had heard of the nomads' short tempers and swordarms eager to draw weapons was true. Having spent a lifetime lying to people, concealing from the khan how she felt about him was no great challenge.

"You honor us with your hospitality." Lysandra had to admit, his Cyrodiilic was much better than she anticipated. Wasn't it that one of the khans had served in the Legion for some time? If this was the one, then it would've explained the fairly good grasp of the Imperials' language. "Our men require water, food and rest. I assume the King will be glad to accommodate our needs and allow us time to properly prepare before our appointed meeting."

Before she could respond, the second man approached as well. Though dressed as something of a monk, he didn't seem to possess much in the way of wisdom as far as Lysandra could tell from the initial impression, being quick to throw around orders and words like 'disgrace' and 'disgust'. Truly, if this one is an Ansei as well, the heathens must be running short of men. You'd think it takes what little brain these barbarians can possess to conjure up a spirit-sword, but apparently any idiot can do it. On the exterior, however, these thoughts didn't manifest - she merely smiled slightly, undeterred by the rather hostile and disdainful way the third Raga spoke.

"Of course," The battlemage chose to focus on the presumed khan first, by far the more pleasant - and probably more dangerous, in spite of the fact the other newcommer might've very well been an Ansei, just like the High King's messenger - of the two. "Quarters and supplies will be provided to the High King's retinue, I'm sure the king will understand your need to rest and recuperate before meeting him. If you wish, then, you can be escorted to your arranged quarters. Of course, we hope the High King and his closest will honour the court of Rihad by taking up residence in the keep."

"That being said," Lysandra turned her head slightly to the other man, whatever smile she might've kept up while talking with the nomad gone from her face. "I hope our honoured guest will not be offended if I question his presence - out of pure curiosity, obviously - in a diplomatic meeting if he refuses to speak with citizens of Rihad."

Rihad

The Elden Yokeda fixed the cuffs of his long coat and reached within to remove an extremely elaborate mask, its visage a jeweled falcon. He placed it on his face, it was uncustomary for a Ra Gada to show his face outside during diplomatic situations. An age old custom involving the polite courtesy of revealing information about yourself without being asked. The Falcon was the Ashir family symbol, the forehead of the mask branded the famous (and sometimes infamous) symbol of a sword impaling a Crown, representing the unity of both factions. The symbol showed a lot of Haroun's beliefs, finally the materials. Orichalc being the most obvious showed Haroun has paid homage to his Yokudan roots, and cared much for his people's history. Adamantium showed him to be a warrior, and the ruby eyes showed his status as a veteran, having seen bloodshed.

His voice, slightly muffled by the mask broke the silence, "Rihad's King has been known to be stubborn, but I do not see him forgetting Ra Gada tradition and custom, Forebear or not."

His voice was indifferent, this King had shown his opposition the moment he claimed to represent the three breadbasket lands of Taneth, Rihad, and Roseguard. The three most outspoken Forebear populations, and the three wealthiest. Rihad had long prospered through trade from the Hunding bay, as well as that from Anvil and the Brena river. It was easily the second wealthiest city state in the time of Thassad. Followed by Stros M'kai and Elinhir.

Frandar stroked his fingers through his beard, placing his mask on as well. A falcon, although much less elaborate than the High King's, made of silver and engraved with an old Raga poem. The old Ansei signaled for all other passengers to follow suite, and they did so. A myriad of different cultural masks, made of ivory, ebony, porcelain, and steel, different animals, even daedra being imitated. Each showed hints of a man, and his station.

"Montblanc will handle affairs for the men, his estate is not far within the city." assured the High King's Godfather, Haroun himself simply nodding in return.

Tall Papa, let me be successful.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Montblanc

The man as well as four other representatives from the Shagun awaited within RIhad's gates opposite side of the Knights of the Nine, Andre Montblanc smoked from his tobacco pipe lost in thought on his Desert steed. He was nervous to receive the High King's men as well as meet the likes of Bomlikar Barca, a legendary hero in the Last War of the Wolves, and a famous warlord. The man was now a Yokeda, one of the few handful of rulers the Elden Yokeda trusted to watch over piece of the Empire. The men were Gods.

"Mister Montblanc, still no sign of the city's councils or aristocracy. I'm sure that fool of a King is fumbling around asking why the High King had arrived a day earlier than he had thought, this speaks volumes of the lack of unity and organization. If I recall this was the day estimated by Sentinel." the man was a thug. Cairo of the Shagun. He had killed many men, women, beast and mer in the name of his service. He was a skilled killer, but that was it. Montblanc dealed with these men only because they were assigned to him and it was not his job to complain.

"Cairo, if anything, the Knights of the Nine are sending a message to the leadership of the city, they run the show."

And that seemed a thought much scarier than a fool king being left in charge.

OOC: This won't take place simultaneously as what's going on in Rihad, but since it involves neutral territories and I imagine news travels slowly, I don't see it as a problem.

Taneth

Tarsius wasn't sure what do think; part of him was pleased that his superiors had a use for him and his knights, but he was never pleased knowing that some of his troops wouldn't make it back alive. But something had to be done, it was up to him to get it done. Over time, a number of caravans traveling between Taneth and the neutral city-states, had disappeared. But this time, it seems the attackers had gotten sloppy. Today, a man from a caravan traveling between Taneth and Scaven arrived in Taneth, claiming his caravan was attacked. He claimed it to be the work of tribal raiders, about a hundred strong, although was not able to give more information. Given no ransom demands had been made for any of the previous attacks, it was probable that they didn't take any prisoners. And when his superiors heard about it, they gave the task of stopping these raiders to Tarsius.

If he was going to catch them, he would have to draw them out. Since they preyed on caravans, it would stand to reason that a caravan would be the best way to draw them into a confrontation. They had one major advantage; they knew the strength of the raiders.

"Inform the men to prepare to departure. I want one hundred thirty knights and twenty archers, and fifteen wagons, all covered with canvas, and the required provisions, ready as soon as possible."

"Fifteen wagons? I think that's a bit much. I don't think you'll need that many provisions."

"Not for what I plan on using them for. But for our purposes And one last thing; in addition to arrows and rations, ask each of the men to take a hooded cloak if he has one." The knight departed to carry out Tarsius's orders. The Knight Commander then turned towards his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a dusty scroll, then grabbed a gray cloak hanging on the wall before exiting the room.

I hope that this plan works. If we fail, the raids will be the least of our problems.

Justaine Dalomax - "The Set Up" - A Back Alley, Rihad


He looked indignant. His facial expressions were flawlessly precise.

"Scam? Set-up? Bind and gag? Are you referring to me, you filthy peon?!"

Now he became outraged. His voice rose, and his nostrils flared.

"Have you the slightest inkling of who I am? I am Eduard Copperhouse, you son-of-a-[censored]! Twelfth in line to the Copperhouse Dynasty! You think you would bind and gag me? Preposterous! If you so much as lay one of your grubby little paws on me, dark elf, I will ruin you! I will ruin you, and your children, and your children's children... and your ancestors will cry to whatever gods might hear them that my wrath be sated, and that the suffering I bestow upon them might end. Bind ME?! You... you... I defy you to try, you tick-ridden knave! As if everything else this disgusting city had to offer was not bad enough... thugs in the back streets! This has gone too far! Whatever ill business you lot are up to, I am reporting it to the guards!"

And then he began to shout... at the top of his lungs... with all the genuine notes of alarm and fear laced throughout his voice.

"Guards! Guards, come quickly! I am about to be waylaid by brigands!"


Oh, how he loved the game...

Shavaash Opress & Kraven Desselius, Rihad's Underworld Slave Market

In the arena, combatants could fight with any chosen weapon that would match their style of fighting. Here in the slave market, however, was much different. Fighters were encouraged to choose weapons already presented for them, which ranged from war hammers to short swords. To Kraven's chagrin, spears were not available for him. Kraven was in the mood to test himself with the blade, so he believed he would do just fine without a spear. He wasn't proficient at it, but he could manage a few new moves that he acquired throughout his training.

The crowd began chanting Siriuse's name over and over, making Kraven all too confident in his own abilities because they simply never saw him fight before. For two reasons; From what Kraven could discern, the redguard Sirius was just a tavern brawler and had little knowledge of combat in terms of finesse, Kraven on the other hand was an esteemed gladiator and knew how to fight with the spear, the axe and the sword. Secondly, Kraven's senses and strength extend beyond that of an average person, that's not to say he is vulnerable from spells or silver weapons. Even steel and iron weapons can do considerable damage that can often be fatal. All he had to do was to tire Sirius out and hold out on the defensive, only then when Sirius has his fatigue and stamina down, Kraven would strike with powerful offensive blows. Stepping into the fighting ring, Kraven was side by side to Sirius, who didn't bother looking at Kraven due to an enormous amount of bitterness The announcer spoke into kraven's ear, asking him for a name. Kraven, wholeheartedly smiled to him and told him. The announcer spoke even louder this time, addressing the eager frenzied crowd the combatant that was expected to lose to Sirius.

"Today we will witness a hopeful that will try to best our man, Sirius!" he shouted "Kraven Desselius!"

The multitude of spectators spat and cursed at Kraven with heinous gestures of failure and contempt. They do not favor me, Kraven thought, not yet. He looked over at Shavaash and handed him his axe and spear, as he would choose to fight with the steel short sword. He looked back at Sirius and noticed he chose a silver long-sword short sword and a nasty-looking spiked club. Both combatants stood in the circle, both facing each other only a few feet away. The crowd was pvssyring and speaking loudly, some speculating on how kraven would die, others claiming Kraven would be simply beat to unconsciousness. Shavaash simply nodded to Kraven with a sign of respect and dignity. He knew who the true victor would be in this match. He felt it.

"Begin!" screamed the announcer, slamming his hand down as if slicing a piece of the air. Everyone around went wild, throwing pieces of food at Kraven and others waving their hands around in a jubilous dance. To most it would of been distracting, but Kraven could not afford to lose focus, especially now. The fight began, with Sirius attacking first with a series of rapid swings with both of his weapons, Kraven went on the defensive, without much choice. His only plan was to frustrate the champion until he became careless. The redguards breath came in grunts from his flaring nostrils as he tried to intimidate his Imperial opponent. Spinning his sword in a quick flourish, Sirius leaped high in the air and came crashing down from above. Kraven parried the attack but was knocked to the ground. He rolled onto his back and barely managed to get his short sword up in time to block Sirius' next slashing attack. A cacophony of metal on metal rang out as Siriuse's blows descended like the heat. Sirius's next attack came swiftly from the same angle with a swing from both his silver short sword and club towards Kraven's head. Kraven ducked down, dodging the weapons only by a few inches as it whipped past his head. His expression was as if he was holding his breath. Kraven spun around quickly as he expected Sirius to have had his back turned, but was disappointed to find out he was already turning his body for another attack. Kraven attempted to cut his belly with a vertical slash, but Sirius jumped back safely a few feet away. He counter-attacked with a down stroke of his silver short blade. Which Kraven blocked effortlessly, responding right after with a twirl of his body, slicing the air where Sirius's head should of been.

Sirius yet again pressed on with his relentless attacks, trying to best what seemed was a man who refused to be beaten. First he began stabbing attacks followed by aims at Kraven's legs and chest, then as the minutes passed by he began to be more reckless and sloppy, losing stamina as Kraven remained strong. Sirius came once more with a strike that tried to remove Kraven's legs from their place, and to no avail, as Kraven lifted his leg and at the same time pulled his head back to avoid the spiky club from piercing the side of his cheek. As they dueled, Sirius's breath came in rugged panting that showed that he was starting to get tired. Now was the time to fight back. Sweat was running down the crown of Kraven's head and into his eyes as he put his body through the extreme. He blinked away the stinging drops and redoubled his efforts this time around, carving the air before him again and again with his short-sword as he exploded into the offensive. But Sirius was not willing to back down, he responded to Kraven's attacks with aggressive moves of his own, battering away at Kraven's defenses. But the Imperial didn’t back away. He stepped forward with a quick thrust, switching his defensive form to the more precise and aggressive move. Sirius was caught off guard by the unexpected maneuver and was a second slow in recognizing the shift. His parry attempt knocked the end of Kraven's blade away from his chest, only to have it slice across his right shoulder, opening his flesh painfully. Sirius gasped in pain, his back exposed to Kraven's blade. The Imperial smiled and slashed at his bare back, making a bloody line starting from his traqezius all the way down to his sacrospinalis. Sirius landed on the fetid ground, using his hand to soften the fall. Kraven had won, but he had to make sure. Kraven's knee came up, fracturing Sirius's cheek and jawbone with a thunderous crack, knocking out the redguard cold.

The crowd of spectators were momentarily stunned by the Imperial's victory that they stood silenced a full ten seconds to register what just had happened. Then after they saw Siriuse's defeat, they erupted in cheer to Kraven. Some obviously swearing at the loss of their gamble. Shavaash Opress stood at the side, arms folded at his chest without a smile plastered on his face. The redguard had it easy. He looked around to locate the person he had placed a bet with. They seemed almost eager to disappear from sight, but Shavaash rushed to one of them, a bosmer male. He held his onto his shoulder with his powerful claws and cracked a sinister smile that clearly said : "Where is my money?"

The announcer grabbed Kraven's arm and lifted it up high, this time around he was greeted with many shouts of praise and compliments. He walked past the multitude of people as they congratulated him with smiles. Some were seen with regret and shame and even anger toward Kraven. He didn't blame them. But a gamble was a gamble and they risked losing at any chance. All he could do was smile back and find Shavaash. Now, since he had earned a bit of gold, he could perhaps free some slaves or find a person willing to join his tribe.

Servyn; Rihad Back Alley



As the Imperial began to speak and throwing threats at the group, Servyn turned to face him, drawing his readied hand. Just as the Imperial made a reference of race, Servyn's eyes lit up before him.

Bastard just won't shut his mouth. We've done nothing to break the law. There's no proof here.

While Arethan's expression grew much angrier, Servyn was more worried about the stupid bastard that had just come upon them causing any sort of trouble. Calm and contained, Servyn threw a spell from his hand. A form of white light raced through the air at incredible speed. A silent spell took its toll through the air. The man before them became silent, as Servyn or Arethan could hear none of the other words the man was uttering. Servyn chuckled as his facial expressions grew intense, but only his mouth could be seen moving.

Arethan, though furious, would not let his guard down to the assassin in front of him. However, with the Bretons remarks, Arethan's focus on who Rithe served was lost. The thought of this all being a diversion, with the Bretons accompanying the assassin, was possible in Arethan's mind. Then again, he figured it unlikely that the Tong would work with foreigners to bring him down. He did not take the Colovian's remarks well, as his face now heated from beneath his skin. The thought of the assassin being there to kill him was still possible; this might have just been a coincidence. The man would soon learn that one should not insult the one called Arethan Andas, the last remainder of Amalexia's Her-Hands. His voice began to rise into a sharp, angry tone. It would be apparent to any animal that Arethan was enraged.

"Do you know who I am? Breton? I am Arethan Andas, last of the Her-Hands of Morrowind!"

It was not often that Arethan gave out his identity, nor was it wise. However, that was Arethan's certain weakness: his anger and inability to hold things back when he was most displeased. In this situation, he had been just able to withhold his own wrath from the man in public. To attack him would be to break the law, doing nothing more than digging himself a hole in the blood stained earth of Hammerfell.

Servyn thought otherwise, as he approached the man he had silenced. He began by taking a straight jab with his right hand towards the man's face. The jab was just a diversion. Servyn readied the rest of his body for the man's hopeful defensive retaliation.

In hand-to-hand combat, Servyn's trainers from his childhood had taught him one key aspect: aim for the critical points, those being the throat, eyes, and crotch of an opponent. Hoping that the man would raise his hands, the Dunmeri brought his left knee towards the man's crotch, hoping the blow would connect.

Rithe, Back Alley, Rihad

The newest Breton to arrive became quite hostile at Rithe's suggestion to bind and gag the intruders, he began yelling racial slurs and insults at Rithe and the group,

"Have you the slightest inkling of who I am? I am Eduard Copperhouse, you son-of-a-[censored]! Twelfth in line to the Copperhouse Dynasty! You think you would bind and gag me? Preposterous! If you so much as lay one of your grubby little paws on me, dark elf, I will ruin you! I will ruin you, and your children, and your children's children... and your ancestors will cry to whatever gods might hear them that my wrath be sated, and that the suffering I bestow upon them might end. Bind ME?! You... you... I defy you to try, you tick-ridden knave! As if everything else this disgusting city had to offer was not bad enough... thugs in the back stre-"

However before the man who called himself Eduard Copperhouse could finish, or before Rithe could make a reply, Servyn cast a spell upon him silencing his ranting and raving. Then Arethan gave a sharp and aggressive reply to Eduard's off-the wall speech,

"Do you know who I am? Breton? I am Arethan Andas, last of the Her-Hands of Morrowind!"

So it is true, that would explain the gauntlet... Rithe thought to himself as he watched the scene before him unfold Servyn quickly approached Eduard throwing a punch at his face, however he also adopted a stance that suggested he was about to throw some form of a kick. Ahh so Servyn knows how to fight. While Servyn assaulted Eduard Rithe took the chance to try and persuade Arethan once more, he approached Arethan and spoke softly so that only he could hear him through the commotion,

"Arethan I am not Brotherhood or Tong, I am a servant of Mephala sent to aid you. I am not here to kill you, if I was I would have already tried. However right now we need to get this situation under control before it escalates."

Rithe felt nervous for the first time in a long time, if he failed to persuade Arethan that he was truly here to help him then it could mean the end of his life.

Justaine Dalomax - "Her Hand and the Errant Knight" - A Back Alley, Rihad



"Do you know who I am, Breton? I am Arethan Andas, last of the Her-Hands of Morrowind!"


Justaine would have laughed... had he not been silenced. Even still, he felt the spell slowly being absorbed by his body... replenishing his own reserves of Magicka in the process. Silence was a very clever spell, though. It had quieted him a lot faster than simply decking him upside the head would have, and likely prevented his alarm from actually attracting the attention of the guards. He had expected less... and, instead, found himself to be rather impressed.

And then Servyn made his move, leaving Justaine with the difficult decision of choosing between a knee to the groin or a swollen face.

Both were rather vital to him... but in the grand scheme of things, he decided to let the blow to the face go unchecked. For an instant, the world went white... and dazed, the Breton staggered backwards quite severely. The real pain came a split-second later, when the thankfully-diverted knee embedded itself into his stomach instead of his genitals.

Winded and unable to focus, Justaine collapsed to the ground coughing and sputtering for air. The spell of silence had been fully absorbed, which in turn gave him the ability to groan out his displeasure.

"Nngh... urgh... now that was below the belt. If I didn't know better, I might think you were trying to impair me." He sputtered again for air, slowly climbing back up to his feet, before ultimately taking a moment's pause to hock up a mouthful of blood. He then spat it out against the weathered cobble of the alley, before turning the whole of his attention upon Arethan. The last of Her Hands.

"So... the rumors are true, then. There is still a Hand of Almalexia left. We'd... nrrgh... heard some stories... that there were still one or two of you kicking around. I suppose that means that Hasphiel would have won that bet, after all. A damn shame he's too busy being dead to collect the winnings."

Justaine spat out another gob of blood and winced.

It was right about that point where Rithe interrupted him.

"Arethan I am not Brotherhood or Tong, I am a servant of Mephala sent to aid you. I am not here to kill you, if I was I would have already tried. However right now we need to get this situation under control before it escalates."

Justaine listened intently to the man's words. Despite the disdain which he usually felt towards assassins... he could detect a certain amount of truthfulness in his words. Or perhaps the Dunmer cuthroat just had an equally skilled level of control over the tone of his voice? The Breton didn't know. What he did know, however, was that any moment now... someone was going to come along and see them all gathered there, and think that it looked awfully suspicious.

And then the situation would get very unpleasant for all of them.

So, without further hesitation, he corrected his slightly slumped posture and stood firmly. He would cut to the chase, here and now.

"So, then. Which one of you has been killing agents of the Empire, I wonder? Is it the Assassin? Maybe it's the bumbling sister and brother act? Perhaps it was the last Hand of Almalexia? Or maybe it was the Argonian! Wouldn't that be cliche'?" He paused, then, turning to face Servyn. "You look like you could kill a man. Was it you? Do you have their blood on your hands?"

It was ludicrous, he knew... but he was willing to return the favor of one poorly made decision for another. Arethan had exposed himself to danger out of anger. Justaine was honorable enough to take the same risk.

"The assassin is right, though. We can't stay here, or someone is going to notice all this commotion and get suspicious. Then we'll all end up in the stockades... or worse, whatever serves for a dungeon here."

Rihad

Bomilkar winced slightly at Armaru's response. A little less diplomatic than he had hoped, but it was true none the less. These knights, however, were the ones in power here, not the Forebearer King, his absence and the battlemages presence was all the proof he needed. "Your honored guest does not refuse to speak to any citizen of Rihad, however, because you occupy the city does not make you a citizen." his voice was a tad sharper than before, but little could be helped as he thought, it was the truth. "Do not take politeness for stupidity, we know where the coin and blood flows to here."

Bomilkar gave a short bow, if only for appearances before placing his own mask upon his face, a ferocious shield to strike fear and awe in the souls of his foes. Like the High King's, ruby eyes peered outwards to massive gates, outlined by black and white panels per side with horns jutting from the sides above the masks ears and with tusks from the mouths. On his right panel, a single white tear stood out, representing his most noted man he had felled in the War of the Wolves, a Prince of no consequence to him, a bastard child of the Queen of Wayrest. Atop his brow was a sword, pointing downward towards his nose with a crown gracing its hilt, a sign of his position as a Yokeda of the Empire and his title as Lord Regent of the Forbearer states, a position that seemed to have little sway around here.

Looking up at Amaru he gave a sharp glare, a messege he believed the Ansei would receive well. This wasn't the time for barbs and insult, but tactul persuasion and half courtiousies, that is, until they met upon the field of battle; something he knew would be fast approaching.

"Lead onward."





Somewhere Between Skaven and Rihad

Hundreds of tracks led southward, then eastward towards the grand mountains that shadowed the land of Taneth. A wide birth of horse hooves and foot prints, trampled out and over several times by Hasturbal's men to give appearance of a much, much larger force. In their wake they left a wide swath of death and destruction, farms and settlements wholly wiped off the map, marked only by the broken bodies of those who resisted and those who knelt in surrender, all but a few. Though only a hundred warriors marched forward through the tall savanna grasslands, it would appear as if an army of thousands, Hasturbal had made sure that the job was well done and carried with him around fifty men taken prisoner from their raids to hasten their work. By the time the sun had began to set, there work was done and it looked as if a great tribal army was running rampet through the lands of Taneth, and with no survivors to tell the tail, that's what everyone would believe.

"Fashi." Hasturbal demanded as they came to a clearing. The warrior quickly manifested with nairly a sound, the cool wind coming off the mountains gracing his roughed and desert scorched face. "Has the evidence been planted?"

A smirk came to his face as he nodded. "Spears, cloths and other supplies mimicking those of several nearby tribes has been left behind at the raided farms and caravans along the way. Should a scouting party come looking, they should find antiquate proof to place blame on these plains tribes and free us and the Khan from any blame."

"Excellent." Hasturbal marked, looking back at the men and prisoners that had gathered there in the clearing. "Prepare the captives, no time for rest, we head back to the road."

OOC: I'm introducing my second character.



Tarsius trudged along the road, trying to avoid getting any wagon dust in his eyes. It was hot and dry, and his metal armor only made it worse. It wasn't really worse than any other day, although being out on a trail with the intent of getting ambushed, it seemed that way. At first glance he appeared to be nothing more than a traveler, wrapped in a cloak. As did the rest of his entourage, or at least those that could be seen.

His plan was risky, although it was the only way to get the nomads to attack them directly. Otherwise they would either avoid the Knights completely or utilize hit and run attacks all the way back to Taneth. And Tarsius had the utmost confidence in his knights. And against an enemy that they could not retreat from or surrender to, he knew they'd fight as ferociously as possible.

All of the troops had been given a battle plan beforehand; or rather, they had been given a few battle plans. Tarsius had a rather unique approach to signaling orders in battle, and they all knew what his signals would mean for this fight. He only hoped the raiders' battle plan did not take into account the possibility of a caravan being filled with soldiers.

Up ahead, they were greeted with a terrible sight; the remains of a small caravan lay ahead, with animals picking at the corpses.

"Stop the caravan!" he shouted. The knights echoed his orders along the wagon train, carrying the words to the drivers who couldn't hear Tarsius over the sounds of the moving wagons and horses. The caravan strolled to a stop. In a much quieter voice, he spoke to Kalasan.

"Errant, check ahead, this could be a trap." The Redguard bolted towards the caravan, with little regard for stealth. A few minutes later, he returned.

"Commander, it looks safe to proceed. There are tracks, but whoever left them didn't stick around. Tarsius gestured for the scout to follow, then approached the lead wagon.

"Take this wagon ahead. I want to bring evidence back to Taneth." The horses started to pull and the long wagon headed up to the destroyed caravan. When Tarsius arrived at the scene he once again approached the wagon.

"Everybody out. I want to know what happened here, and if possible, who did it and why they did it."

The scene was grisly; the caravan was littered with corpses, most of whom were unarmed. The wagons were intact, as were their cargo; weapons. In addition, there were other items scattered around the place; weapons unlike those in the wagons, as well as some cloth, again, different from what any of the victims were wearing. "This wasn't a raid. It was a massacre." Tarsius spoke, angrily. "At least the attackers left behind evidence." The knights started to gather up the tribal weapons and clothing, putting it in their wagon. As the knights finished loading everything, Tarsius and Kalasan took one last look at the scene.

"Commander, I think we'd better get back to Taneth. From the look of those tracks, they outnumber us ten to one."

"That's impossible. The man who survived said there were around a hundred."

"What if he was lying? What if he was in fact a nomad deceiving us into coming out here with fewer men?"

"But if they could have wiped us out, why haven't they? They've obviously been here."

"I don't know. Perhaps the guide was telling the truth and they simply made their tracks look like there were more of them than there actually are."

"Perhaps, Errant. Either way they've proven very, very crafty."

"Amazing that someone that clever would be dumb enough to leave behind weapons and clothing proving who they...wait a minute."

The realization immediately dawned on the scout and commander. It was not clear whether the nomads were exaggerating their numbers or downplaying them, but it became clear that the attackers were too smart to have left evidence of who they were behind. It was planted.

"Let's go, Errant. We're heading back to Taneth. We need to speak to the survivor. Only then will we know what to do next."


OOC: And these blast points too accurate for nomads. Only [Yokudan Empire] Imperial raiders are so precise.

OOC: If it hasn't been long enough for a messenger to be able to ride across Rihad and tell Stanet that Haroun has arrived, someone tell me and I'll edit it out. I'll edit a post for Swims into this soon, or I'll make a new one if someone has posted again by the time I've finished.

Stanet Terentius, Rihad

Stanet stood on the outer wall of Rihad's keep, surveying the city below. The day was miserably hot and dry, and the light breeze was no respite from the conditions. He almost felt guilty for posting so many of his knights in full armor throughout the city's streets in full combat gear, but he knew that first impressions were vital and that any true crusader would be able to put aside his discomfort for a few hours to serve a greater cause. Besides, he wasn't asking them to do anything he himself; he was also wearing his full set of Orcish armor, which was becoming very uncomfortable in the heat. However, he had left his helmet inside his bedroom at the keep; there was no reason to wear it outside of a battle, especially on a day as hellishly hot as this one.

Assuming nothing had gone wrong, the Redguard king Haroun Hel Ansei would be arriving today. Early that morning, Stanet Terentius had posted hundreds of the Knights of the Nine in their full regalia along the route Haroun would be guided along as a symbol of the knights' dominance over Rihad. Their armor had been polished, and they all prominently bore the red diamond symbol of the Knights of the Nine on their armor and shields. The knights were a sight to behold, even if they were sweating miserably from the heat. There's no way that heathen king will be able to see them up close from his carriage, anyway. He just needs to know that we're in charge here.

The Knight Commander gazed down onto the Brena River and the city built upon it, seeing the domed mud brick architecture styles commonly employed in Hammerfell and the hustle and bustle of daily life. He could not, however, see anything in detail; there was no way of knowing whether the Elden Yokeda was late or if his knights were behaving in a suitably dignified manner, which worried him. Wouldn't that be funny? If the king's carriage hit a ditch or something and he's going to be delayed until tomorrow, and all of us just had to stand out in the miserable heat for hours for no reason at all? Stanet chuckled bitterly at how ridiculous this whole situation was, cursing the nature of preparations such as his.

"Hail, Knight Commander!" came a voice from the courtyard behind him. Stanet turned and peered down over the inner edge of a wall. A young Imperial, probably no older than sixteen, sat mounted on a horse below, dressed in the light armor of a squire.

"What is it, squire?" asked Stanet loudly and eagerly. If the Redguard king is here, that will give me an excuse to go back inside the keep and escape the heat. About damn time!

"Sir, the Elden Yokeda's carriage has reached the outskirts of the city!" responded the squire, breathless from the journey here.

"Excellent! Return to your post!" Stanet wiped the sweat off his brow as he began to walk towards the guard tower and down off the wall. Time to prepare for the meeting.

Cyric - Rihad ; Back Alley

Listening to the assassins speak, Cyric was struck by the surrealness of his situation. Before him stood what must be some very notorious killers, who, for some reason or another were working together and a man who called him self the last of Her Hand, whatever that meant. The Breton who had walked into the scene did not seem to be the most wisest, or at least, make a good impression on the assassins at any rate, the Dunmer decided to give the man a beating. Wincing slightly as he watched the man, his pity was interrupted by the words of another Dunmer,

"Arethan I am not Brotherhood or Tong, I am a servant of Mephala sent to aid you. I am not here to kill you, if I was I would have already tried. However right now we need to get this situation under control before it escalates." Cyric could feel his headache getting worse, if there was but one thing he knew about the Daedric Princes, it was that they were a very very cruel and unfriendly lot and by extension, he had found that many worshippers possessed the saem qualities, or at least, some degree of madness. His attention was drawn back to the now-bleeding Breton, who had begun speaking once more,

"So, then. Which one of you has been killing agents of the Empire, I wonder? Is it the Assassin? Maybe it's the bumbling sister and brother act? Perhaps it was the last Hand of Almalexia? Or maybe it was the Argonian! Wouldn't that be cliche'?" He paused, then, turning to face Servyn. "You look like you could kill a man. Was it you? Do you have their blood on your hands?"

"The assassin is right, though. We can't stay here, or someone is going to notice all this commotion and get suspicious. Then we'll all end up in the stockades... or worse, whatever serves for a dungeon here."

Mulling over what the man said, Cyric found that he was liking his current situation less as time went by. Perhaps he could earn some measure of trust to these somewhat shady individuals by leading them to a particular safe haven he had 'discovered'? Having the potential to have potentially deadly allies was a inviting offer and besides, if the assassins refused his offer, then theres no loss for him. Clearing his throat, Cyric said,

"Speaking of leaving, if you lot need a safe haven of sorts... Well, I happen to know of one. Of course, you're probably thinking that I'd be leading you into a trap, but." Cyric spread his hands before him, "I'd have nothing to gain, and everything to lose if I did try that."

Outskirts of Rihad
Lysandra

It is as I thought. This khan is the most dangerous of the three, and probably of much of the delegation as well; I'll have to watch him closer than the rest... Maybe except the High King himself, if what I've heard is true. The rest, these two Ansei included, are simple pawns that ended up at the centre of attention by mere chance.

"Occupation? No, of course not." Lysandra nodded, before the tiny smile returned - it seemed her face was incapable of committing to one emotion fully. Some who spent more time around her found it to be a simple curiosity, others thought it a bit unsettling; the battlemage herself usually spared more grudging respect for the latter. "Invitation, however? I'd say yes, at least such is the custom in much of Tamriel. Though the Raga are of different stock than the other Men of Tamriel, such things tend to be universal in nature."

The barbarian can think what he wants. Maybe he thinks that, having faced the Legion, he knows all about Cyrodils; in that case, he'll be sorely disappointed. I don't intend to make the Legion's mistakes and the Order didn't appear here out of thin air. Our heathens want us here - at least sure as hell they want us more than them. The Ruby Banner is a much more welcome sight in Rihad than Sentinel's new sword and crown.

When the khan gave a short bow - obviously made out of necessity - Lysandra returned the gesture. Perhaps the delegation might've thought it odd, since (at least back in the Nibenay) females of a high station were expected to curtsy; however, she never needed it enough to learn to do it properly, and even if she did, this company wasn't worth the effort. The best anyone might get out of her was the Legion salute - a fallback of sorts, reserved for those the battlemage respected immensely - or was supposed to respect, anyway - like the Divine Crusader on the rare occasions they met and, more commonly, the chaptermasters of the order who were charged with the administration of a province. Not 'province' in the Imperial sense - the Knights had their own method of division. Not many paid attention to the old provincial divisions of the Empire nowadays, anyway, as with most the Empire did or used to do; a sure sign that the Third Empire's time was past.

Gesturing quickly for her retinue to stay in place, Lysandra turned around and proceeded towards the city gates on foot. The knights that she brought with her were instructed to fall in when the whole Yokudan delegation passed, no matter what the High King or the warriors he'd brought along for this council thought. The battlemage herself didn't even bother to remount her horse, having completely forgotten about her steed in the midst of all this. Truth be told, though the Raga obviously felt animosity towards the order - and in some cases, apparently her in particular, whether because of what she represented as a clear member of Nibenese society and culture holding a position of influence in Hammerfell, or because they felt something was off with the battlemage - Lysandra herself felt completely at home.

So far, Rihad hadn't been entirely great to her; the battlemage oftentimes felt bored, despite being in a new environment, surrounded by people who knew next to nothing about her - people to whom she could appear as a different person than the one she usually acted as, within reason. This delegation and the council was like a gift from the gods - if she believed in such things, anyway, since as far as she was concerned the Order was merely an environment that operated on familiar rules which she could use to her advantage; you couldn't say Lysandra completely didn't believe in the gods, but it was more a 'contract' of convenience - she served the Nine and would offer token prayers out of habit when she needed something that was harder to achieve.

I suppose if Terentius doesn't screw anything up, this should go quite well. And if he doesn't get it into his head that just because I don't have the same rank on paper, I shouldn't be present in the meeting. I hope our leadership back home explained to him quite clearly what duties I'm here to carry out. That was true - while Lysandra didn't have the raw rank to be the equal of a Knight Commander, her usual duties weren't with the martial side of the order. She was something of a diplomat and quite useful when traitors needed to be found and dealt with appropriately.

OOC: Kinda rambled in this post, but I wanted to fit this stuff in somewhere and no time like the present. Delegation, feel free to skip to the gates or beyond, though I was under the impression Montblanc wanted to meet them.

ooc: Montblanc is more for the handling the logistics of taking care of the men , horses, and such as well as the ministers (except Frandar) as well as members of the delegation who simply will not be attending with Haroun at the keep.

TIME SKIP GO!

IC:
Rihad Manor

The inner keep was of Colovian design, set in place during Governor Richton's rule. Heavily fortified and situated within the heart of the city, intimidating whilst also impressing all gazers by.

Haroun and his men had taken much notice to the Crusader presence within the city, something with which none had discussed. Merely thought.

Infidels! I will quench the thirst of the Alik'r with their blood!

The voice was that of a child filled with malice. Many times it would change, confusing the High King.

The contemplative King stepped from his carriage first, attentive Honor guards flanking his sides, followed by his Godfather and the rest of his companions. He stood tall and imposing within his cultural mask, well dressed in Bretic fashion offput by his Yokudan headgear. Awaiting him was a carefully selected group of Ra Gada personnel, bearing the bronze half-masks of the Forebears. A short and stubby man dressed in brown clothes of Colovian make bowed reverently.

"Mongati HoonDing Tiavo! A great honor and pleasure your Majesty, the Elden Yokeda has not been to Rihad in twenty years, Rihad's sovereign offers cool winds."

"And I graciously accept. The Gods guide our hands and words today. History shall be made." the High King's voice was far from the distant tone taken before, his voice was absolute and sure. He appraised the group carefully, each person was a servant of some sort. The man greeting him was most likely the castle's main butler or caretaker. The gesture was one to provide comfort and a feeling of genuine goodwill, rather than sending cold blooded politicians to keep the High King on edge. No, this was a way to keep him amiable for the day's negotiations. Subtle and effective.
'
"Your majesty, I am Alonso Jarwan, the Castle's caretaker. I have been happily tasked with providing anything you and your party requires including quarters, cold drink and warm food. Please make yourselves comfortable."

An impossible request.

Athanden Orethi, Rihad

The light salty breeze washed against Athanden's face as the http://www.modelsforsale.com/listphotos/ZV9033.jpg moved across the bay. Tiny waves bumped against it's wooden hull as it crossed the wake of a larger ship. The sun was high in the air, it's bright light glinting off of Athanden's well polished ebony armor. He always wore his armor on business meetings, to him it seemed more professional than showing up in silk finery or other leisurely attire. The boat gave a slight jolt as it impacted with the dock, a few of the crewmen jumped out and tied the boat to the large posts that supported the docks structure. Athanden climbed out of the boat and onto the dock, his armor clinking as the oiled plates rubbed against one another. His eight bodyguards along with Aryn climbed from the craft after him, arranging themselves around him.

The bodyguards were more for show than practicality, Athanden could more than handle himself if a brawl were to break out. The group marched across the bustling dock as sailors, workers and slaves hustled around loading and unloading cargo onto ships. A myriad of different crates, barrels, and packages where stacked along the sides of the dock. Every now and then a sailor or worker would give the group a curious stare, however most of the people on the docks didn't even give them a second look, they were used to seeing heavily armed men walking through the streets of Rihad.

The group exited the docking area and into a large plaza on the South bank of the Rihad Bay, the plaza was filled to the brim with people shopping in the bazaar. However Athanden and his guards found it quite easy to make their way through the crowded mass of people, it seemed that a group of armored mer was an effective path making device. After making their way through the plaza Athanden spotted what he had been looking for, there walking past one of the vendors that had set up shop just outside the plaza was a small group of four men. They men wore chainmail shirts with steel cap helms, over their chainmail shirts was a white surcoat with a red diamond sewn into the front.

"You there, Knights!" Called out Athanden in his strong gravelly voice. The group turned around and looked at Athanden and his companions, they seemed a little shocked at first but then approached him.

"What is it you require sir?" Asked the knight that seemed to be the leader of the small patrol.

"You are a Knight of the Nine are you not?" Inquired Athanden. The Knight's face and posturer changed as he answered, his voice overflowing with pride.

"Yes, we are humble servants of the Nine and followers of the Divine Crusader."

Athanden grinned, "Good, I am in need of a meeting with the Knight Commander stationed in this city, where might I find him?"

"I am sorry but the Knight Commander is very very busy at the moment, the High King of the Yokedan Empire and his delegation are arriving today. You will have to wait until their meeting is over with before you can have an audience with the Knight Commander."

Damnit, I could be stuck here for days waiting for them to get through with their political crap. Thought Athanden as he replied to the Knight "Well that is unfortunate news. Would you mind informing the Knight Commander that the Crimson Blades Mercenary Corps has arrived and wishes to speak to him about possibly forming a alliance?"

"I will notify him when the time is appropriate." Said the Knight, his voice still ringing with dignity as he held his chin high.

"Thank you."

Athanden and his guards turned away from the group of Knights and began walking down one of the main streets of Rihad. Athanden's eyes landed on a tavern, he turned to face his guards and Aryn,

"How about a drink?" Athanden always tried to balance out his strictness with a little bit of leisurely fun ever now and then, he often would allow his men to wander the city for a few days before setting out again. However if you didn't return from the little vacation you ended up being left in whatever city they had stopped in, this however didn't happen to often. As the group filed into the tavern they took seats at the bar, one by one ordering drinks. Athanden himself bought a medium sized bottle of mazte that had been imported directly from Morrowind. Even though he had spend most of his life wandering across the entire continent of Tamriel looking for battles to be fought, his heart still resided in Morrowind. He uncorked the bottle and took a long swig from the bottle, the taste brought back memories of his life in Morrowind. He set the bottle down on the hardwood counter top as he turned and looked around the room full of patrons. Thinking to himself about what was going to happen in the future, in the war that would ensue after the tension between the Knight of the Nine and the Yokedan Empire finally reached it breaking point. He thought about whether or not he had made a wise decision on choosing sides so early. Athanden turned back around and took another long drink from the bottle. Only time will tell....

OOC: Short post, but such is the nature of conversations. Also, Asap, you started calling your character Arethan towards the end of your last post.

Swims-in-Shadows, Rihad

Swims-in-Shadows did nothing but watch in intrigue and curiosity as the events unfolded around him. He had assumed that Arethan and Servyn were calm and controlled, but the slightest insult to their race seemed to make them fly off the handle. Odd. They've been calling me a lizard the whole time, and I've never really reacted, but as soon as someone slights their culture even a little, it's physical violence? That might be useful to know later. Arethan had even revealed his true identity as the last living Hand of Almalexia in front of four complete strangers; quite the slip-up. Even the mysterious new Dark Elf, Rithe, had told Arethan of his actual mission, although the bit about him directly serving Mephala seemed a bit suspicious.

"So, then. Which one of you has been killing agents of the Empire, I wonder? Is it the Assassin? Maybe it's the bumbling sister and brother act? Perhaps it was the last Hand of Almalexia? Or maybe it was the Argonian! Wouldn't that be cliche'?" He paused, then, turning to face Servyn. "You look like you could kill a man. Was it you? Do you have their blood on your hands? The assassin is right, though. We can't stay here, or someone is going to notice all this commotion and get suspicious. Then we'll all end up in the stockades... or worse, whatever serves for a dungeon here." said the Breton in the odd finery who had just been attacked by Servyn. Oddly enough, the man had seemed to recover from the blow to the face very quickly; he must have had some sort of special combat training, because any ordinary fop wouldn't have endured so well. That, and he was inquiring about the murder of Imperial agents and had shifted his tone considerably. Definitely not what he seemed at first.

"I had no idea that Imperial agents were even being killed. It's been weeks since I've killed anyone, to be honest." said Swims quickly to avoid suspicion. And it's really been that long? Damn, we need to pick a fight with someone soon.

"Speaking of leaving, if you lot need a safe haven of sorts... Well, I happen to know of one. Of course, you're probably thinking that I'd be leading you into a trap, but. I'd have nothing to gain, and everything to lose if I did try that." chimed in the previously eavesdropping Breton male, Cyric. While the offer of a safe haven was tempting, his explanation for the offer not being a trap was unconvincing. We still have no idea who you are and who you're working for, so you may have other goals. Still, if he didn't want to go with Cyric, he would have to propose a viable alternative.

"We're not far from the docks." said Swims. "We could make a break for those, jump in the water, and swim to safety. It couldn't be more than a few miles to get out of the city."

Rithe, Rihad

Swims causally replied the the Breton's inquiry about who had been murdering the Imperial agents,"I had no idea that Imperial agents were even being killed. It's been weeks since I've killed anyone, to be honest."

Then Rithe turned to face the younger male Breton that had been hiding in the crate, the young Breton had spoke n once again,"Speaking of leaving, if you lot need a safe haven of sorts... Well, I happen to know of one. Of course, you're probably thinking that I'd be leading you into a trap, but. I'd have nothing to gain, and everything to lose if I did try that."

That was really convincing, I hope he knows he's in the presence of very paranoid people..... Rithe thought to himself as Swim's added in his two cents on what they should do next. "We're not far from the docks. We could make a break for those, jump in the water, and swim to safety. It couldn't be more than a few miles to get out of the city."

Hmm that is a possibility, however I doubt the young Bretons could make it very far. Thought Rithe as he contemplated the situation. He looked up at the bloodied Breton who had accused them of murdering the agents, taking in every detail. His eyes stopped on the Breton's shoes, clinging to the side of his shoe were a few tiny crystalline flakes.

"You there, Breton." Rithe said as he nodded his head in the direction of the older Breton. His face was more visible now that the sun had risen higher in the sky, you could now make out his features, especially the dark symbol branded on his face. "You came here by boat didn't you?"

OOC: sorry for the small post, kinda used up all my creative juice on Athanden's post.

The City of Rihad

:ooc: btw, the Rihad Keep is separate from the city according to the map, it sits on the bank on the Cyrodill side of the river

As the delegation began to follow the battlemage towards the city Bomilkar gestured to the fifty mounted camel warriors waiting in the distance, who then began to follow behind the large delegation train as they entered the sea side metropolis. Bomilkar watched the knights carefully as they formed up in the rear, following behind his own honor guard of warriors, creating what was a massive procession of armored warrior's that would snake its way through the mass of awed onlookers until they reached the home of Montblanc, an imposing structure that could easily be considered a fortress in it own right. The tribal warriors fanned out, taking up positions along the perimeter of the keep of a mansion as Bomilkar surveyed and oversaw the security of the Yokudan safe haven while the High King and his minsters made their way to Rihad's Keep. Scanning the rooftops and side street's he pinpointed the knightly presence amongst them, watching the armored warriors that were posted along their route through the city and close to the Montblac's mansion.

"An impressive force they have." he thought. Knightly archers were perched high above the city atop of restricted roof tops and crusader knights and patrols pushed their way through the busy crowed and streets with an ever watchful eye for trouble. The Rihad City Watch and Guard were in little presence, only there to supplement the crusaders numbers and give a softer feel to the city that they held firmly under the heel of their heavy footing. If they attempted to do anything while the King was in the city, there would be no escape but this house; Montblac's home could be defended for a short time, but with no army or avenue of escape to clear the way, they would all perish, within time. Bomilkar's mind continued to wander as he paced along the perimeter of the home, a local stable nearby housed many camels, horses and carriages of the King's entourage, save for the honor guard, guarded by more knights. These men would have to be removed and there transport properly secured before they could attempt a run at the gates, but even then they would have to find a way to open the gates and survive the archers. A wave of concern and uncertainty washed over him, thankfully concealed by his mask; They were like wolves, dangerous, yet trapped and surrounded by blood crazed hunters who would seek to end them before they became troublesome.

Taking a noble white steed from the house stables, Followed by Amaru and ten Bull Warriors Bomilkar made his way through the city streets towards the towering keep on the other side of the city, glancing back as their only safe house faded into the hustle and bustle of the city.

Somewhere between Skaven and Rihad

A short rest had passed and gone before the group proceeded on with their journey. Hasturbal led a group of twenty five men towards the roadway along with the fifty prisoners they had captured. The group of warriors had been split up into three groups numbering in twenty five each with Fashi leading a group west and across the road and another on t he east side, a good way's ahead of Hasturbal's group. An hour would pass before they reached the road, a perfect place to set his newest trap. Quickly he put the captives to work, pitching a small camp right on the road in the fashion of many local tribes of the region. Animal skin's were tanned and stretched out from recent kills to create a myriad of tent's branded with symbols of the Shevir Tribe, a local barbaric group of raiders who had always harrassad these roads. Rumors of their barbarity and ferociousness had even reached the ear of Bomilkar before, giving Hasturbal the perfect cover for his slaughter throughout the land.

The camp was erected just before nightfall, the glowing light of campfires shimmering in the dark would bring any prying eye towards them; just what Hasturbal wanted. Moments later Fashi would appear out of the night, wearing nothing but his blade, shield, javillines and loin cloth. "My men our positioned not far from your camp, scout's report of what looks like a caravan heading back towards Taneth."

"What of the other group?" Hasturbal asked as he too shead his cloth's save for a simple loin cloth. Behind him his men did the same to themselves and the captives who were drenched with a sort of ash collected in small cloth bags from the places they had razzed along there journey. Several of the captives were white skinned Imperials who were covered now in ash to make themselves better resemble there Ra'Gada captors and fellow captives and were then slapped with mud and dirt. Most were given blunted spears and dull daggers, made to look like raiders of the Shevir while about ten of Hasturbal's men doned Imperial clothing and rags they scavenged from the caravan raids.

"Their shadowing the caravan from afar, using the night as cover. It shouldn't be too long until they arrive." replied Fashi, looking down the long winding road as it disapeared into darkness.

"We will be waiting then. Prepare your men, and await my signal." and with that, Fashi faded away into the dark. The plan was being set in motion.

Road north of Taneth

It felt good to ride in a wagon; it was one of those little advantages of hiding most of the troops in the wagons. Even so, Tarsius had made it clear that he wanted them all alert until they got back to Taneth. Until they were inside the city walls, they were at risk. While they hadn't encountered anyone yet, Tarsius only felt it was cause for more worry. His superiors would probably berate him for coming back with just some red herrings and a hunch, not to mention over-exerting the horses, but it was his problem to solve as he saw fit.

Up ahead the road he spotted a light. He couldn't make out what it was, but he didn't like it; no caravans were coming out of Taneth, and the Knights had insisted that nobody use this road until the attacks were stopped. Furthermore, nobody had passed them when they were headed towards the massacred caravan. He cast a fatigue draining spell upward, the orange bolt flying into the sky. It was a weak spell, but it was easily visible and served excellently as a signal. It would probably be noticed by whoever was up ahead, but it didn't matter; the torches carried by the disguised knights and the lanterns hanging from the wagons ensured the caravan could not be missed. True to form, the caravan slowed to a stop, the drivers recognizing Tarsius' signal. He jumped out of the wagon and spoke to one of the disguised knights.

"Tell each wagon driver to wake the troops. And do so quietly. I don't know what is going on, but I'm not going to leave it to chance. Report back when done." The knight hurried down the caravan, passing the message to each wagon driver. Tarsius climbed back into the lead wagon. "Anyone seen my helmet?" One of the knights nodded and silently handed Tarsius his helm. A few minutes later, the messenger returned.

"All of the troops are awake. We're awaiting your signal to proceed, Commander." Tarsius case the spell again, sending the bolt flying into the sky, and the caravan started up again.

I fear that two well-thought traps are about to collide. I can only hope that the caravan survivor was telling the truth about their numbers.

Somewhere between Skaven and Taneth

A bright orange glimmer caught Hasturbal's eye coming from down the road. another caravan he thought sinisterly to himself. This was better than he could have ever hoped, as only the most daring and ballsy drivers would attempt a caravan this late at night. Truly, he was shocked that they didn't stop and camp for the night, but alas, it saved him the trouble of having to organize a baiting party, but even then he didn't expect one to be coming this late. The sound of caravan wheels started to become louder and louder as they appraoched, and by the sound of them they were carrying quite a heavy load. Thoughts of what rich's they held raced through Hasturbal's mind as he sprinted through the camp, helping arm and shield the rest of the captives who could barely stand after the long day of hard marching he had put them through.

"You stand to earn yourselves freedom and lives back this night." he spoke to the assembled mock warriors of farmers and serfs. "Ahead comes a caravan, filled with rich's and booty that will be more than enough to set you free. Aid in its capture, and you will be set free with whatever you can carry." a glimmer of hope gleamed in some of their eye's as the words slipped from his mouth. Others simply looked back at the sharp blades held at there back. Truly, there was little choice for these men, there fate had been sealed from the get go, none would survive weather they chose to fight or not, they had a purpose to play and when they were done, they would be free from the chains of this plane and its toils. One man stepped forward in defiance, attempting to strike weakly at Hasturbal with a dull knife he had been given only to have the crimson red of his blood splashed across the road and nearby tent canvas. Those who had hope of standing against them quickly faded away as Hasturbal turned towards the caravan again.

"Follow my lead, and you might yet live." he lied, stepping forward just out of the camp as he shouted out a war cray "Albed et Tauna!" he cried out in the savanna yoku dialect he had picked up over the past few months, followed by shouts from other warriors. A loud thumping of sword on shield rang out in a low beat. Grasping one of the three javelins he had strapped to the inside of his shield he gave a great throw, aimed at the outline of what appeared to be a caravan driver.

As the weapon glided from his hand and towards the darkness he looked up towards the western bluff that looked over the road and caught a glimpse of Fashi's eye's, gleaming in the firelight as they prepared to spring the trap.

come and get us he thought, grasping another javelin.

Road north of Taneth

As Tarsius approached the camp, it was clearly a fire. He could see movement, but could not make out more. The wagon driver was visibly worried.

"Commander, should you give the signal?"

"No, movement doesn't warrant attacking someone. I won't stoop to the level of these barbarians and kill anything that moves just to be cautious."

Tarsius' uncertainty quickly faded as one of them let out a warcry, audible even over the sound of the caravan. More shouts began and a thumping noise began to be heard, growing louder and louder. And now Tarsius could see men running towards the caravan. With weapons. Before he could give the signal, one of them threw a javelin at them. It hit the caravan driver in the chest, deflected by his cuirass but knocking him back into the wagon.

This is it. Tarsius raised his hand and cast a lightning spell into the sky. As the blue bolt shot upward and crackled, as if it had been coordinated, men and women poured out of the wagons like water, flowing towards the front of the caravan. Those traveling on foot threw off their cloaks. Every one of them was holding a weapon and wearing armor, adorned in white surcoats brandishing the red diamond. Tarsius put his helmet on and grabbed his shield, then jumped off the side of the wagon. He then thew off his own cloak and drew his silver blade.

"This is it men! Show no mercy to these barbarians!"

The skirmish had begun.

Amaru, Rihad

The Ansei watched as the foreign knights lined up before him, seeming to boast their shining armor in the clear sunlight of the Hammerfellian coast. Following beside Bomilkar, he looked about, taking the sight at a certain disgust. It was rare to see Amaru angry, even though he rarely let it influence his actions. He was able to withhold his inner honor and anger from every section of his soul and body, minus his pair of dark eyes, who beat away the sunlight from above them. He continued to ride from his mount, giving every knight whom he passed by the look of certain superiority. He would not let these foreigners intimidate him in such a manner, nor his masters or his comrades. He watched as Montblanc's mansion came into view up ahead.

Keeping his body straight, he turned his head ever so slightly towards Bomilkar. His voice was set in a low tone and very quiet, so that only his companion could here the deep words forming from his lips.

"When this shall come to war, each and every one of these trespassers will be given the sword."

He continued onward, his facial expression tightening at the sight of more knights which lay before him.

"If only Thassad himself could see this..."

Montblanc Estate

The Forebear spoke in Yoku, his own mask a plain white made of bone, with Yoku prayers written on its visage exclaiming the coming of a time for Ra Gada to stand together. It was ages old and written in the first years of Hammerfell's conquest. He spoke to the leading men of the King's escort. A good portion of them sweating and fatigued from the ride and heat. A good portion of warriors had left to protect the King, while the larger group of warriors would find rest within the estate.

Rosebushes and fountains of water dotted the courtyard, a rare display of prosperity.

A short minister of the Finance conversed with Montblanc's attendants while the man himself spoke in the poetic traditional Yoku, rather than the common Forebear tongue of Dune Yoku.

"There are more than enough rooms for the men to ground their gear, pray and wash up. While the horses can be fed and rested within the stables, Abigail, the estate's caretaker will be more than happy to take care of your beasts of burden. Our own security is minimal here, but the Knights of the Nine would not allow any civil unrest or rioting to threaten the delegation on so sensitive a day."

"What can you tell me of the Knights of the Nine...not of the organization but of those who lead them?" asked a large bearded bodyguard, unmasked and brandishing the very same armor as others. He carried himself different however, he was a leader during the Siege of Sentinel, Master Karoh.

"I believe you have already met Lysandra of the Niben, or at least seen her. She was the one who greeted your delegation. She's a battlemage, served as an officer in the Legion for a brief stint until the Oblivion Crisis. Bit of a wildfire that one, she's shrewd and will take advantages given. So the obvious choice would be to have all of us look the part and be little honorable Raga." he said sarcastically. He never got his people's aversion to taking advantages when offered, the honor he meant.

Karoh narrowed his eyes at the end of the statement, "A soldier than eh? Officer or not she should still be rough around the edges, no?"

Montblanc laughed aloud, "Nothing could be further from the truth, there is a reason Knight Commander Terentius used her as an escort to the Elden Yokeda. Like I said, she is shrewd and the perfect diplomat, she could turn a room for or against you if your not careful. To aid the High King our men must be on our best behavior and show the utmost respect while in Rihad. The presentation must be that of heroes, not imposing conquerors."

"And what of Terentius?"

"A two bit noble blood from the Cyrodiilian county of Bravil. The Shagun have all the dirt in the world on his family but without the right resources in Cyrodiil we can't squeeze him. However he's brash, young, and arrogant. Even so, he is no fool. There is a reason why the Hammerfell chapter has made him commander of Rihad, he's capable. However we have to expect the worst, sharp barbs and witty replies to cause silence seem like the daily flavor."

Master Karoh did not reply, simply thinking in silence. His men would post their own security within the estate grounds but were on orders to be in the best of behavior.