Alaudis Archen - Rihad, Alleyway

---

The situation in the alleyway quickly went from bad to worse, the population sparse to crowded. Threats and insults were hurled, only to be retorted by those they were directed at. By this point, Alaudis was fuming. He had been accused of being on the same level as cutthroats and killers. He found a feeling of personal contempt for Rithe, being both a killer and an accuser, he even maid Swims look like a saint. It was getting harder and harder to keep his cause in mind despite the fact that he had no desire to keep some of the company he found himself with. While he had no trouble with Arethan or Servyn, and Swims was becoming easier to handle day by day, he was not sure if he could handle making a companion out of a murderer.

Try as he might to speak up in his defense against the accusations of Rithe, he was quickly cut off by someone else. Every time he opened his mouth, he was cut off, which only continued to add to his anger. In the end, he realized that all he was doing was making himself look like a glibbering idiot, so he shut his mouth and glared at the company who had joined the likes of Arethan, Servyn, Swims, Rithe, and himself. His eyes were ablaze with utter fury, and he felt that given one more prod or poke to his person or his psyche, he could not refrain from throwing blows. He placed a few fingers deftly onto the handle of the silver dagger that was safely tucked into his belt, and stood brooding with anger in silence.

Kraven Desselius & Shavaash Opress, Rihad Slave Market.

"Shavaash thinks Kraven should of killed him"

Kraven Desselius stood in a corner, urinating pleasantly, he smiled as he let go of his bodily contents.

"This one thinks Kraven should of killed Sirius" Shavaash sounded concerned.

Kraven shrugged his shoulders and led the way to the slave pens where they held the servants to be sold. He wasn't in the mood to kill someone. Sirius deserved the honor and victory of his battles. But Kraven required septims for a more noble cause that surpassed the pride that came along with being named champion of an underworld pit such as this. It was survival of the fittest and Kraven did not hold any grudges against the redguard, providing he did not get in his way.

"My friend. We have nothing to worry about. We won't remain here for too long. I am not with absent thought on this matter"

"Redguard will seek revenge. He champion for long time. He be back"

Kraven raised his hand to try and silence his friend as he approached a slave pen. Inside the cage-like pen was a young female that looked in her mid twenties. She had brown hair that was cut at the sides, rendering them short. Her eyes bespoke sorrow, her face and body was full of dirt and grime. Beside her cage was a khajiit male, with a similar expression on his face. He was younger than her, possibly in his teenage years. And next to him was an Argonian woman with green scales over her head and back. She was curled up in a sleeping position, oblivious to her surroundings.

Shavaash whispered something into Kraven's ear and caused the Imperial to nod. Kraven stared down at the young Imperial girl while Shavaash spoke with the vendor. Taking a few steps forward, Kraven knelt down to get a closer look. The young woman, fearful for her life, scurried as far as she could back from Kraven. He stood up and looked at the redguard vendor, a middle-aged man with white hair surrounding the sides of his head while a thick bald spot remained in the center, causing his head to give off a shine.

"How much is this one?" Kraven looked down on the Imperial woman.

"A thousand Drakes. Five hundred for the others" The redguard man said, continuing his conversation with Shavaash. Kraven scratched his chin roughly ad began thinking. He removed a sack of gold from his pocket and held it out to the redguard, but without handing it directly to him.

"Why is she here?"

The redguard began caressing his white mustache "Her father was some traitor. He was killed and she was brought here to be sold. You may want to buy her. She can clean, cook, and she is yet untouched by a man. If you wish, we can negotiate a discount"

Before Kraven could answer, a Dunmer came into the scene. He was not unique for a Dunmer, he had all the Dark Elf qualities. The red eyes, the gruff voice and the dark ashy skin. He had a pony-tail that fell back to his neck. He carried himself like a nobleman and a wealthy entrepreneur. Arrogance and overindulgence radiated from him life stench from the body of a corpse. He stepped in and raised his hand, smiling widely in a grin that made Kraven sneer. Behind the Dunmer noble were three heavy orcs. Tall, muscular and mean looking. One of them stared at Kraven with a hungry gaze as if he wanted to crush him there that moment. The other two looked around, making sure no one wanted to pickpocket or assassinate the Dunmer.

With a voice equally as annoying as his attitude, the Dark Elf spoke "I think a discount would be unnecessary. Very much so. I will pray full price and even offer a few extra for supplies"

Kraven's teeth clenched tightly. The Dark Elf clearly was foolish to spend so much money. But Kraven realized that he was very wealthy, not caring to squander gold on worthless slaves. People like him gave Kraven a hateful feeling. It was people like him that gave Kraven a hard time years ago. The redguard vendor was about to speak until Kraven interrupted him like he was before.

"I arrived here first. I have the gold with in my hand."

The Dunmer cleared his throat and chuckled sarcastically "I did not see a proper transaction. The vendor has yet to accept the sack of gold from you"

Shavaash got closer to the Dunmer, enabling all the orc bodyguards to rush into action. They stepped in, surrounding the Dunmer and making a sort of wall that impeded Shavaash from approximating any further. Kraven held his friend by the shoulder and continued speaking with a low and humble voice.

"He was just going to," Kraven frowned.

The Dunmer soothed his bodyguard and walked closer to Kraven, a smile in his face that tempted Kraven to react with violence. "You see my unfortunate fellow. I by all means deserve to purchase this fine young lass. I can afford the supplies, the trapping to clothe her body. The food. When you...when you can't so much as to own a shirt."

Kraven was not moved by the unmistakable insult to him. His response was calm and collected as the others. "I was not aware that the well-being of the slave was in the interest of the merchant"

"Ah, bu----"

Kraven cut him off "Hold your tongue. I arrived before you and your ilk have. I will buy these slaves."

"All of them?" The redguard asked.

"Yes," Kraven said sincerely.

"Hmph" the Dunmer said, leading his ilk away from that slave area in pursuit of new slaves. Kraven smiled to himself and finished his purchase. The redguard pulled at reluctant slave girl, further locking her slave binds. She emerged from the slave cage, feet and hands both locked, impeding her from making a proper escape. Minutes later, the redguard retrieved the male khajiit. Unlike the young woman, the khajiit was more acceptable to his capture and was far more submissive to his buyers. Perhaps he was feeling more relieved that his master would be a fellow khajiit or perhaps he knew what would happen. The latter being unlikely. The argonian woman was roused from her sleep and shoved outside to be sold. Tears fell from her eyes and onto the ground, but she said no word of agression.

Shavaash looked over his shoulders and saw the Dunmer noble and his orcs nearby. The Dark Elf stared angrily at them both with a hateful gaze that did not bode well. If someone discovered they were buying slaves and freeing them, it would cause trouble. While not being a full crime, if raised by individuals such as that noble Dark Elf, it would be an awful risk. Forcing his gaze away from the Dunmer and his bodyguards, Shavaash saw yet another threat. A broken and bruised Sirius being attended to far off in the underworld market. A woman carefully wrapped his wounds with a white fabric as he drank a potion for healing. Like the Dunmer, Sirius also glared hatefully at Kraven and Shavash. Barely a week and they already had made two enemies.

Kraven retrieved the keys to the binds and let the slaves away from the slave pens. The three servants all had their heads down in submission and sadness. Kraven led them outside to the ports of Rihad, where he left them with Shavaash. He later returned with two jugs of water and loafs of bread over it. The slaves all looked at each other and then at Kraven with a confused look. Even so, they probably thought they were being fed to have strength for hard labor. But both Shavaash and Kraven knew that wasn't the case. Lowering himself to his knees, Kraven unlocked the slave chains for each of them while Shavaash handed them the bread loafs.

"Your free. Feed yourselves and go about your lives."

The Argonian woman smiled widely and hugged Kraven. With a word of thanks, she quickly left with her food and a jug of water. The khajiiti male was speaking to Shavaash in his native dialect, a grin on his face that displayed his greater gratitude. With a few more minutes lingering, he finally left. Only one remaining was the young woman with brown hair. Kraven regarded her with curiosity.

"You are free. Forge your own path. You no longer are a slave,"

The woman did not smile or say a word initially, but she chose to stay there and eat her bread. Shavaash and Kraven decided to leave her but she made a sound with her throat to stop the two saviors in their tracks.

"My gratitude,"

"None required," Kraven said back at her, continuing to walk away.

"Wait!" she shouted, standing up "I wasn't alone. I have a sister, she was sold to a woman that lives nearby"

"How do you know the woman lives nearby?" Kraven asked.

"I heard her speaking to the merchant. She warned if my sister gave them trouble, she would return her. I don't want to burden you, but I cannot live without her. She's so young...so fragile."

Shavaash and Kraven exchanged glances and sighed. They were not freeing slaves for no reason at all, they had something in mind. They couldn't afford to free this slave without a reason. Or could they?

"That would be taxing. We cannot free who already been bought by other hands." Kraven took a seat beside her, with a long sigh, he said "But I will be able to aid in her freedom only after I have dealt with unfortunate curcumastances. What is her name?"

"Natasha Sebellius,"

"And your name?" Kraven asked.

"Praxedes Sebellius," she blushed.

"Very well, Praxedes. I will locate and liberate your sister"

"Thank you," she whispered.

Kraven handed her a few gold pices, the last that he had left. "Take this. Remain at an Inn and we wil do our best for the next day. If you would assist me in the specifics of her location, her appereance and age. It would greatly benefit us."

With a few more words, Praxedes spoke to Kraven while Shavaash remained on the lookout. Shavaash was not happy at what he had done only because it would cause trouble for them. Especially if the noble who had tried to purchase the Imperial would discover, it would make their lives difficult. Not to mention that Sirius fellow who was undefeated until Kraven stepped into the ring. Yet another problem to worry about. Praxedes told Kraven about the home she was taken to, as a fellow friend from the market had told her. Apparently, the house was near the south side of Rihad to the corner. Owned by a woman named Laneisha who was married to Klabes. Together they were surrounded by a minimum number of security which doubled for that very night as Klabes would go out for the night in a meeting with the aristocrats.

Somewhere between Skaven and Taneth

To Hasturbal's surprise the caravan burst into a flow of armored knights, pouring out of the sides of the wagons bearing swords and hatred for the men they now charged towards. "Better than I could ever hope for" he thought bitterly, bashing his sword even more feverishly against his shield before letting out another ferocious war cry. "Albed et Tauna!" the cry came as another javelin flew from his hand towards the charging warriors. A surge of captives [49] were then forced forward, trapped between the unforgiving knights who were driven by Hasturbal's merciless bloodshed and the falcatas at there backs; given no choice but death, they charged forward, howling and screaming like banshee's in the night. They would, for a little while, buy Hasturbals men some time and drain the knights of some energy. Above the charging captives shadowed a wave of javelins that would strike the knights before they clashed with the poorly equipped mock warriors.

Quickly Hasturbal surveyed the landscape around the camp in which they built. Two low bluffs shadowed the camp which set on the cobblestone road, and laying low on each bluff stood the other half of his force, twenty five warriors per bluff waited in the darkness upon the hills for the enemy to charge into the camp where they would be showered with javelins from both sides before drawing swords and engaging the knights in hand to hand combat. They would have to rely on their superior ambushing skills and mobility to best the armored tanks that came towards them, as there was no way they could best them on an open field. The chaos of ambush and darkness of night would be Hasturbal's greatest weapon against this foe.

--The Captives--

Calvin Surif was his name, a young Imperial of moderate good looks and physical fitness. He was twenty years old when the man they called Hasturbal burned his village and murdered his family and friends, and now, he stood in the darkness on a road he didn't know, covered in ash, stripped bare to a loin cloth and given a mere stick and shield to defend himself with. Prodded on by a sword at his back he weakly pushed forward in a mass of similar dressed and armed men that he knew nothing about, and ahead of them came their certain death. The chaos of the situation unsettled his stomach as fear took over, forcing him to vomit atop the cobblestone road as they burst into a run towards what appeared to be armored warriors.

Bearing his stick above his head he let out a cry as they inched closer and closer to the warriors in front of him. There was no escape, nowhere to run, if he broke from the group and took to the savanah he would die anyways, at least here he would die on his feat and at the hand of a warrior rather than slowly in the jaws of some beast that prowled the night. A knight now came into view and he swung his stick, the others likewise stabbing and swinging with there assortment of dull daggers and blunt sticks, each one fighting with every ounce of strength they had, or what was left.

Road north of Taneth

Tarsius led the charge against the foes standing against them. The Knight Commander cast a weak fire spell towards the raiders, a signal for the archers to fire. As the knights stampeded forward, a flurry of javelins fell down upon their front ranks. Although a few screams rang out, it did little to slow the charge. Nothing would stop them from delivering justice to these barbarians.

The archers drew their bows and fired a flurry of broadhead arrows at the enemy. Immediately after, the two enemies converged, the knights cutting their foes down like wheat. Tarsius led the way, hewing down these strangely weak raiders. How could these men have possibly overpowered those caravans? This seemed too easy, something that worried Tarsius. When something was too easy, it usually meant it was a trap. But it seemed their only choice for now was to kill these weak raiders.

Somewhere between Skaven and Taneth

Calavin's eyes winded with fear as the man beside him fell to the ground, his body erupting in a swirl of flames before his charred remains collapsed to the ground. Not long after the two opposing forces clashed with a sound like no other. Steel and flesh, wood and bone all came together in a collision of bodies and the sickening sound that it made was enough to make any hardened warrior cringe with disgust. The group of forlorn captive began to be cut down in no time at all, there lack in skill, poor weapons and absence of armor other than a shield made them quick work for the heavily armed and well trained knights. Blood quickly began to feel the road as more and more bodies crumbled under the weight the killing machine that churned forward slowly, only slowed by the bodies being thrown in their way. Calvin found himself teary eyed and frantic, swinging his stick at anyone coming near as those around him fell and he too soon found himself upon the ground, drowning in his own blood as blade slide across his exposed neck. The last thing he would see was a clear night sky and the figures of death fading around him as his eye sight began to fail and his heart stopped beating; deaths embrace had taken him.

---

Hasturbal watched as the helpless were cut down, butchered like cattle with little to protect themselves with. Hopefully this would embolden the knights, make them careless and drunk with their victory over these hapless nothings and hasten their drive towards perceived victory. One man stood out amongst the other shadows that were coming closer and closer into sight. A man who's bravery was to be noted and his death to be hastened, most likely the commander of the bunch. Hasturbal had noted the use of magicka in the short fight that they had just witnessed, a dispicable display and perversion of nature. These knights dishonored themselves by using the cheap warp of the natural order of things, something that infuriated him to no end.

"No honor these ants, too afraid to fight man to man, they hide behind these parlor tricks!" he growled. Hasturbals hatred boiled as he bidded his time, letting out third war cray as they began to come into the camp, his signal to spring the trap. "Tauna!" he cried, grasping the third and final javelin, bringing his shield to bear in front of him with the spear-like weapon at his side, as did the twenty five men around him who formed a shield wall across the road.

---

Fashi watched from his belly in the dirt above the road as the knights made quick work the forlorn's Hasturbal had sent against the knights. There death's were quick, but served their purpose, however gruesome it was. It wasn't the time for it, but Fashi had found himself noticing how different Hasturbal was sense the end of the War of the Wolves. Witnessing the Chasetown massacre had changed him, made him ruthless and bloody, inflaming his animosity towards outsiders and Imperial's in particular. These thoughts were quickly washed from his mind as Hasturbal gave the command to attack, just as the Knights collided with his shield wall on the road. Wasting no time Fashi and his twenty five warrior sprung from their hiding places, releasing as hail of of javelins from there position on the hill top as the other group on the other hill did the same thing. Just as the first wave left their hands they prepared another volley, watching the hopeful slaughter below.

Road north of Taneth

The first wave defeated, Tarsius advanced on the remaining warriors near the camp. But as they approached the shield wall, a rain of javelins came down on the front lines. One hit him on the helmet, unable to penetrate it but almost knocked him to the ground. He heard the screams of his troops as many were hit. His instincts had been right; it was a trap.

"Fall back, fall back!" At his command, the knights retreated, Tarsius guarding his colleagues dragging their wounded- and dead- from the range of the javelins. He looked up at where the javelins had come from; there were two bluffs overlooking the camp, obviously where the enemy was. It was fortunate that his knights all wore armor; their casualties would have been much worse otherwise. Firing a weak fire spell towards one of the bluffs, it flew past the attackers and for a brief moment, illuminated them. Tarsius cast another one, this one actually hit one of the warriors; although it wouldn't cause the man much injury, it didn't need to, as the archers now saw where they were stationed. Again drawing their bows back, they fired a barrage of broadhead arrows at the bluff.

"Bring the wounded to the back and bring the rear troops to the front. And keep your shields up, they're not done yet!"

oc: from what I understand, Haroun and a few of the delegation are now at Rihad's keep for the meeting? Ill post as such and edit if wrong, but it looks like thats where they are while the rest are at Montblac's estate.

Somewhere between Skaven and Taneth

"There armors thick, but cumbersome." Hasturbal mused to himself as his carefully laid trap was sprung and his enemy tested. Few lay dead on the ground before them with many others wounded, these knights would be a tough nut to crack. Even better, these knights sense of honor amongst there brothers was to play as a weakness, as Hasturbal watched them drag there wounded and dead back towards the wagon he knew he had to strike now, or risk them reorganizing and loosing what little edge he had over them. Breaking rank Hasturbal charged forward, his own group following close behind as they made haste towards the knights letting shreaks and terrible war cries that echoed into the night. On the eastern bluff the warriors too began to charge forward and around, attempting to cut off the retreating warriors from regrouping with their main force, throwing what was left of their javelins towards their enemy before drawing their wicked falcata's to prepare for the onslaught to come.

----

Fashi watched as the flame bolt flew past him, striking the man at his left who was knocked back, thanks to his now burnt shield that had blocked the blow. Soon followed a hail of arrows that killed few and wounded several others. "Tuwaka won't take us tonight men!" he shouted out in Desert Yoku, gripping his javelin as he and his men charged forward atop the hill in a loose formation. It was his attempt to use the night and chaos of the battle bellow to strike at the enemy archers that now fired somewhat blindly as they moved through the night.



Bomilkar and Amaru

"When the day comes..." Bomilkar said in a low hushed voice spoken in his native Desert Yoku "..the sword shall thirst no more for blood from this city. We should be as so thankful that Thassad has now passed so that he never has to watch his people prosttute themselves in such a way to these forign dogs. Come, we must meet with Haroun before the meeting starts."

The group made it's way through the city, following the predestined route layed out by the Knights of the Nine who now ran the city. Everywhere he looked he could see armored knights on the streets, archers on the roofs and banners of the Red Dragon hanging over nearly every shoppe and office. Zenithar was the major deity he saw represented throughout the city; several shrines and flags were placed throughout the city and around the docks as they passed, no surprise came to Bomilkar, Rihad was after all a city that worshiped wealth and commerce.

Finally reaching edge of the city after crossing both banks and maneuvering through the bustling docks and passing the magnificent temple that shadowed them, Bomilkar and his group reached a great bridge that led across the river to Rihad's castle. The hulking fortress and seat to the Rihad thrown was an intimidating sight. Tall wall and strong fortifications made it an almost impenetrable mountain by conventional siege means. The bridge being the only way to and from the castle that was situated on the opposite bank of the river, surrounded by the dense jungles of Cyrodill on all sides save for the narrow beach that ran along the coast.

"It'll take many men to break this." he mumbled to Amaru as they crossed the large stone bridge where he could finally see the delegations carriages parked. As they made there way into the small stable where they could holster their horses Bomilkar thought back to the day's of when his father was alive. Would he be proud at the man he had become? It was a thought that constantly plagued him, and one he didn't know the answer for. Already people of the tribe questioned his leadership and alliance to High King, who never cared for them until their warriors swelled the ranks of his armies, such doubts however, were not of correct thought for now.

Stabling his horse Bomilkar made his way through the grand gates just in time to meet Haroun and the rest of the delegation. "Apologies for my being late your highness, I pray I haven't missed the talks?"

Road north of Taneth

Another wave of javelins fell upon the knights, but it was less organized, and this time the regrouping knights were ready. Most of them were deflected either by shields or by the knights, armor, but they still took a few casualties. It didn't matter at this point; they had to finish this before the enemy either wore them down or withdrew. And Tarsius had no intention to let them do either. Now the enemy, either running out of javelins or simply eager to engage up close and personal, was charging that them. And now he saw the enemy from the cliffs running down towards them, no longer hidden by the darkness. Good, now maybe we can put them down.

"Left flank, engage the left group! Right flank, prepare to flank their center group! Archers, fire a few volleys at the right bluff! Everyone else, prepare yourselves!" He didn't know if anyone was on the eastern bluff but he wouldn't leave anything to chance. Furthermore, the enemy would soon be too close to the knights to safely shoot at them, even with most knights in armor. The knights, now regrouped from their earlier ambush, readied themselves. The archers began firing at the other bluff. As the nomads reached the knights, Tarsius' strategy was set into motion.

Tarsius cast a fatigue restoring spell and stepped forward, prepared to meet the leader (whom he was sure this man in front of the charging enemy was) blade for blade. As the two armies came together, Tarsius braced himself, readying his sword to strike at the man at the front of the pack. He would not get a chance to watch his strategy carried out, as he would be too busy fighting the man before him. I hope this plan works. And I hope I can take this guy...

OOC: Kyrill, do your next post at your little hiding spot. Not the best post but it is better than nothing. Ruhk's character sheet is on the first page in the spoiler.

Arethan, Servyn, Rihad

"Arethan. Rithe has come to aid you. None of these men and women are here to harm you. Fear not."

Servyn looked over at the man he had just bloodied, and then back down at the stone which had reappeared in Arethan's pouch.

The damn talking rock is creeping me out. No telling what any of these men and women will think of it. It's not our fault it follows us around everywhere.

Arethan looked angrily at the stone that had just interrupted him. He motioned for the bloody man behind him to follow, while turning to the Breton which had emerged from the crate.

"Lead on Breton."

Ruhk Ahkbar, Arrival in Sentinel Docks

"Sentinel. It's been a long while."

The sun above glimmered off the warm western waters as the wake of a dozen Sentilian warships collided with the dense wood of the city's harbor. Ruhk's own heavy ship had been surrounded by these six lesser juggernauts, finding its way into the walls of the capital's harbor. The young Raga stood at the edge of his ship, looking over what was the massive center of Haroun's now mighty empire. A warrior dressed in his own Admantium Lamellar came to face the young governor of Stros M'kai, nodding in respect.

"Your cousin will return from Rihad in the coming days. He's instructed you to enjoy the festival until that time; though Roxanna may wish to speak with you upon your arrival."

Ruhk nodded, turning his body to face his warrior comrade.

"And what of Amaru?"

"Amaru will return with the High King himself. He is to accompany you back to Stros M'kai after the festivities are over."

Ruhk nodded, waving his hand at the warrior and sending him away. He continued to look out at the beautiful harbor of Sentinel which lay before his very eyes.

It has been many a long while since I have seen this city in a state of pure peace. No foreign traitors at its walls, nor swords at its neck.

The naval captain approached and the young Raga turned to face him.

"Dock the ships and ready the men. We'll be making our way to the palace."

Stanet Terentius; Rihad Keep

Stanet Terentius took a deep breath as he stood outside the large wooden double doors of the meeting room. He already knew that the Redguard king and the rest of the delegation would be inside waiting for the king of Rihad, who was currently nowhere to be seen. Neither, for that matter, was Lysandra, although Stanet was sure she would arrive eventually. But it was a bad idea to keep Sentinel's delegation waiting for too long, and the duty had fallen to him to at least initiate some small talk, however awkward and tense. Besides, they needed to be shown that the Knights of the Nine were truly in charge of Rihad if they were to be provoked into war.

Stanet seized the handles of the great doors, and with a sudden pull, flung them open to the sides as he strode boldly into the room, his head held high. He was dressed in his full Orcish armor, without the helmet or the shield, which had been thoroughly polished by the castle's servants just that morning so that it shone brightly in the morning sunlight streaming into the chamber. Stanet carried no weapons, since they would justifiably taken as an open sign of hostility. Inside of the room sat a number of Redguards dressed in finery. Two more stood in the doorway, seemingly just having arrived. Stanet approached the chair across from the man he recognized as King Haroun, and spoke loudly and confidently as he crossed the floor of the negotiation room.

"I am Sir Stanet Terentius, Knight Commander of the Knights of the Nine. Blessings of Akatosh upon you all." he announced before he sat down across from the Elden Yokeda. There we go. A nice, culturally insensitive comment that isn't outright hostile. If we can keep up stuff like this, we may be able to provoke them into starting the war.

"Regrettably, my subordinates seem to be running late. I apologize for that. Lysandra, whom I believe you met at the gate, has likely encountered some traffic, but rest assured she will be here." Stanet paused for a moment in order to leave some ambiguity as to whether his next statement was part of his apology. "The king of Rihad should be here soon as well." He wanted the Redguard delegation to assume he meant that the king of Rihad was his lackey, although the pause and the ambiguity were engineered to allow him to deny it if asked expressly.

"Anyway, I'm pleased to make all of your acquaintances." he finished as he reached out a hand to the Elden Yokeda, expecting a hand shake. Hopefully that isn't part of their culture.

[ooc] The tactic I emagined was that similar to the Battle of Agricourt, where the heavily armored French Knight's, while outnumbering the English warriors and archers, fell pray to their own lumbering image. Longbowmen took knives and teamed up against the knights as they attacked, butchering them by using their superior maneuverability to get around to the weak spots. They used mere knives, my men are using falcata, sharp edged swords used by the spanish tribes in Iberia and later Carthage that was adopted by the Roman Legions.



Somewhere between Skaven and Taneth

Fashi held his shield up as a shower of arrows fell upon his loose formation of warriors, killing a few unlucky enough to get caught in the hell storm and wounding far more. Regardless, casualties were light as the Imperial archers would have a difficult time tracking the fast moving warriors in such a spread out formation in the dark. Atop of the obvious disadvantages of the night, the archers would have to fire uphill at the warriors, hampering their accuracy even more. As Fashi drew closer and closer to the archer fire he knew he had to make his way to those archers and dispose of them before they could cause any more trouble. After that they could turn and hit the enemy in the rear flank and turn this battle decisively in their favor for good.

Below the rest of the force clashed in two epic collisions of shield and sword with Hasturbal's men fighting the knights in two groups, using their superior mobility to weave in and out between the knight's who were greatly encumbered by not only their heavy armor, but the brutal conditions of the environment. The Bull Warriors however carried nothing but shield, sword and javelin and had lived under the far worse conditions of the Alik'r their entire lives. Using a team strategy, they attempted to pair up with each other to use there mobility to overwhelm individual knights in an attempt to dispatch the juggernauts before moving against other opponents, cutting, stabbing and thrashing at the knights weak-points close to their underarms and knee's in mere attempt to maim their opponents. Death was not necessary to dispatch their enemy, simple cuts to their vulnerable tendents at the under arm and behind the knee's would bring the enemy down, or at least incapacitate him to a degree that would make him little threat until the battle was over and they would finish off those who hadn't bled to death.

Hasturbal found himself squaring off with what had to be the leader of the group of knights, a hulking beast of Imperial might and chivalry. Placing one foot firmly in front of the other, his shield in front of him and his falcata gripped tight in his right hand he prepared for the fight. A few quick foot movements and Hasturbal lunged forward with the speed of a wolf and might of a lion, using his shield in a swinging motion aimed to knock the knight in front of him off balance before swinging his falcata at a right angle at the knights sides. Now was the time for honor and glory, and a time for death.

OOC: Tidus are your guys north of Taneth, south of the mountains?

IC:

Rihad

He wasn't an Emperor or a King, nor a Lord or even a Chief. The individual cities had been run by local councils under the supervision of the Empire. Even so they had chosen Nasser of the Falls. A hermit and aesthetic renown among many of the Forebears for his wisdom and guidance. They hoped to appeal to Hauron in a non political manner. Wearing a simple brown robe the humble but dignified aged man sat in his seat placing his hands on his lap and smiled bowing his head at the others.

"So, I suppose i'm here to talk with you trying to solve this mess. What is it that I can do for you, Lord of the Western lands." His grey beard revealed perfectly pearly teeth as the old man grinned.


OOC: Well [censored] i've been hellava busy this last week. I'll post more these coming few days since I have off but i hope this will keep the story going along.

Road North of Taneth

Kalasan struggled to climb onto the lead wagon. It would have been easier if he hadn't been been hit in the shoulder by a javelin. The healer had managed to stop the bleeding, but had to focus the rest of her magicka on healing the more critically injured. At least he'd survive provided Tarsius' plan worked. But sitting on the ground wasn't enough; if he couldn't contribute to the fight, he could at least watch how the fight was going.

With his good arm, he manage to pull himself onto the driver's seat of the wagon. Much better, at least now I can see the battle. What he saw was grim; the nomads weren't losing any ground, despite being outnumbered. From the look of it, they were moving around a lot. However, their blades, while more maneuverable, lacked the reach of the knights' longswords, and Kalasan could see quite a few end up skewered by their targets' companions as they attemped to weave in and out. On the left side of the battlefield, he saw another group of the knights colliding with the enemy from the hill, likely the group that gave him his javelin wound. They were fewer than the center group, courtesy of the archers that they now were seeking to kill, but also faced fewer knights. The right portion of Tarsius' army was proceeding to maneuver around the enemy, flanking them on the right. It looked like the left side was too busy engaging the other enemy group to do the same, however.

At the center of it all, he saw the Commander, in combat with what appeared to be the enemy leader. If he's fighting then than who's going to tell the troops what to do? He yelled down at the leader of the knights forming the rear guard.

"Captain Teria, they need help."

"If the Commander needs us for anything, he'll give us an order, not you, Errant."

"That's just it! He's too busy fighting. It's up to you to make the call, and I can see what's going on up here."

"Very well, Errant, what do you see?"

"The enemy is moving around a lot, we need to stop them. We've go them on the right flank but our left flank is engaging the other group. Tarsius needs somebody to flank them on the left."

"Very well, Errant, I will trust your observation. All troops under my command, follow me!" The knight's troops followed closely behind the captain. Kalasan wanted to help, but with his injury he could barely raise a sword. Please, Commander, don't let us down. If they win, we'll all die.

---

Tarsius came face to face with the enemy leader. Before his longsword could come down, the foe bashed him with his shield and stabbed with his blade. The blow glanced off his armor, tearing his white surcoat. Tarsius regained his balance and swung his weapon at the enemy's arm, aiming to try and take out the enemy's sword arm while it was extended.

The enemy had some advantage, being more agile in his lighter armor, and being a nomad, he'd be able to keep moving for longer. But it would also be his weakness; any successful blow would wound him. There was one other factor that had not taken into account; at night, the temperature was much lower than the daytime; his armored knights could fight much longer in the cool night air than in the day. And while some of them were fatigued from the long day, many more were rested from the fact that less than half of had been walking at any one time.

Cyric, Morgana - Rihad

Frankly, Cyric was rather puzzled by the Mer's sudden agreement. He hadn't expected that anyone would actually agree to it, not after the less than encouraging remarks of the others in the group. Glancing at Morgana, he could see a mixture of fear, anger (most likely directed at him, no doubt) and nervousness. Cyric managed a comforting smile, which did seem to make her less jittery, at the least. Glancing once more at the group, Cyric had to supress a sigh, they weren't exactly the most inconspicious looking lot and he doubted that the haven would remain hidden for long if they were to just go walking in with attire like such. Clearing his throat, he spoke to the group

"Er, well then. I guess you'll all just follow me. Before we go though, it'd be best if we made ourselves a little less, well, noticable. I have a few spells that can change the appearance of clothing, so with your permission, I can cast them on you." After casting the illusion on himself and his sister, Cyric offered his services to whomever required the illusion. Looking once more over the group and feeling somewhat more confident of their ability to blend with the locals, he lend them through the sprawling streets. Setting the pace at a brisk walk, he led them through numerous alleys, through the wide avenues of more important and distinguished areas of the city, once through a rather interesting (Morgana begged to differ) Inn and finally he stopped them at a well-tended, though rather plain, house.

"Here we are, now, the owner had recently announced that he was hosting a party earlier in the week, so we won't look too suspicious entering." The owner, was of course none other than Nicholas Lemalf, a quiet gentleman who lived quietly and often hosted boisterious parties. Less publically, he was known as the Ghost of the Rose, though Cyric had no idea why he had such a silly alias. Nevertheless, having met the man once before in Sentinel, they had quickly struck up a friendship and as a sign of trust, they both offered each other sanctuary in each's respective homes whatever the circumstance. Glancing casually at his fellows, Cyric remarked upon a procession of rather important looking individuals,

"Well would you look at that,,," As the gaze of his companions was drawn towards the procession, Cyric drew an imaginary circle on the door and tapped it with his finger, the door emitted a barely audible click and swung back slightly on its hinges. Grinning at his companions, he swept his hand in a flamboyant gesture and motioned for them to enter.

"Just wait til you see whats inside" Cyric said with a barely concealed smirk, if there was one thing he knew about Nicholas, it was that he was very very successful, and by consequence, very very wealthy. Lemalf had told Cyric that his Rihad estate was very nearly the equivalent of royalty. Cyric didn't dispute the claim.

Somewhere between Skaven and Taneth

Hasturbals eyes widened as he withdrew his hand from the failed assault, but not quick enough. The knightly warriors silver longsword cut a grevious wound into his sun burnt flesh followed by a flow of stinging blood that now wet the ground at his feet. Letting out a growl in pain he drew back his bloodied arm and swung his shield at an angle towards the exposed neck of his foe where his helm and armor met. Taking advantage of the lull in time it would take the knight to bring his sword back to arms, Haturbal pressed his attack, he would not allow his opponent to recover.

Above the battle Fashi and his group of warriors halted as they saw another group of knights maneuver around the flank and press into the battle. "Cleaver bastards!" He shouted, ordering his men down the hill to engage them from their exposed rear flank. The warriors let out a cry strait from the depths of the Far Shore as they charged down bringing with them all the furry of the Barca, determined to see these invaders driven into the ground.

Rihad Castle, the Meeting Room

Haroun waited patiently in the room with his Godfather, a few ministers, Crixus and the like. While Rihad's own council waited on the other end. The men were wizened, and very senior in years to the Elden Yokeda. For that he honored and revered them.

The room was modest compared to most council chambers, accented with cozy hand crafted furniture made from cyrodiilian timber, a large mahogany table with plush chairs for a large council to congregate. Sunlight dappled through the rooms high vaned windows, casting golden rays into an otherwise unlit chambers. Pipe smoke filled the air as a fireplace crackled in its background.

Large carpets decorated the room, Forebear craftsmanship at its best. One depicting the original warrior wave making way for the to-tambu against the naitive Goblins and Altai of Hammerfell. The door opened as Bomlikar in his fearsome mask entered the room along with an old friend of Haroun's, Amaru. He grasped his brother in laws hand,

The High King smiled behind his own mask, "No need to apologize my brother. You have fulfilled your obligation and made it to the delegation just in time."

After a friendly nod to Amaru the doors quickly jolted open, a vigorous entrance by Rihad's eccentric Knight Commander.



Haroun's eyes narrowed behind the rubies of his mask. Worse than I thought. This one a blunt object rather than a precision razor."

The Elden Yokeda took the man's hand and shook firmly.

"Excellent, I wouldn't presume a mere knight to speak for the City. The pleasantries are mutual."

He wasn't an Emperor or a King, nor a Lord or even a Chief. The individual cities had been run by local councils under the supervision of the Empire. Even so they had chosen Nasser of the Falls. A hermit and aesthetic renown among many of the Forebears for his wisdom and guidance. They hoped to appeal to Hauron in a non political manner. Wearing a simple brown robe the humble but dignified aged man sat in his seat placing his hands on his lap and smiled bowing his head at the others.

"So, I suppose i'm here to talk with you trying to solve this mess. What is it that I can do for you, Lord of the Western lands." His grey beard revealed perfectly pearly teeth as the old man grinned.

[i]So, they have actually sent a representative for all the cities. This is welcome. And he would seem much more shrewd and agreeable. The High King found a respect for Nasser instantly, the man did not seem one intent on impressing, but from the manner in which he carried himself would take the mediation seriously. The Elden Yokeda returned the bow.

"An honor, Elder. I am the Elden Yokeda, Haroun Do Ashir, son of Thassad III, and Emperor of the Yokudan Kingdom." he stood from his chair, wishing to be seen as well as heard. He removed his face mask to make his presentation more personal and less formal. "I do not find our situation a mess, I must digress my fellow Ra Gada," he spoke in the ancient and traditional Yoku of the Ra Gada, much more formal and poetic than the commonly spoke Dune Yoku, "I find nothing but hope and opportunity in our meeting. Long has the rift between the No-Totambu and Warrior-wave caused grief between Hammerfellian city states, to the point where foreigners have been allowed to attack rival cities without fear of its sister cities reprisals. I do not come representing Crowns, I come representing our culture, and the wish and hope to unite our people. To end our own bloodshed that we cause amongst ourselves. And that is the goal of my audience with your council, to be one step closer to a prosperous nation without our own kind warring each other." he said this gazing into the eyes of the council, his own emmisaries, agents and companions sipping from water and nodding solemnly as they also assessed those in the room. None but the soldiers would eye the Knight Terentius, easily the biggest threat to peace, and easily the most disliked man in the room...so far.

Rithe, Rihad

Rithe quickly looked at Arethan's sack, an ominous voice emanated from somewhere inside.

"Arethan. Rithe has come to aid you. None of these men and women are here to harm you. Fear not."

What in Oblivion is that?.....Well at least it seems to have convinced Arethan. Thought Rithe as he eyed the sack that Arethan carried, trying to figure out what the voice could have belonged to. Then to Rithe's surprise Arethan responded to the young Breton,

"Lead on Breton."

This is peculiar... Thought Rithe as the young Breton started talking again,

"Er, well then. I guess you'll all just follow me. Before we go though, it'd be best if we made ourselves a little less, well, noticable. I have a few spells that can change the appearance of clothing, so with your permission, I can cast them on you."

Rithe looked over at the young Breton, still skeptical of why he was here, "I have my own ways of remaining unseen, just lead the way." Then Arethan's form began to fade and drifted away in a misty haze. Rithe observed as the Breton casted his illusion on the rest of the group. It's a good thing I don't have to rely on his magick, that spell could be doing more than just changing their appearance...I'll have to stay alert in case something happens.

The young Breton then lead the group through dozens of back alleys and main streets, through large crowds and then through a very interesting Inn. They finally arrived at their destination, it looked like a normal well kept house set off the street in a rather nice little niche of the city.The young Breton turned and spoke to the group,

"Here we are, now, the owner had recently announced that he was hosting a party earlier in the week, so we won't look too suspicious entering." The Breton then looked over to the main street of Rihad, Rithe also looked. "Well would you look at that..."

There seemed to be a large group of Ra' Gada making their way through the town, dozens of masked warriors guarded an elaborate carriage drawn by large and well kept horses. Must be some form of Royalty from the Yokedan Empire come to resolve the conflict

The young Breton. then walked up to the door and opened it with a spell, then motioned the group inside, "Just wait til you see whats inside."

Then just as before Rithe's form began to reappear with the same black misty haze, he walked up the the front of the group and approached the Breton,

"You go first, I'm not taking and chances." Rithe nodded his head towards the doorway, "And remember, it would be a very very bad idea to try anything suspicious."

Rihad Keep
Lysandra

Though she knew she was a bit late for the meeting, Lysandra wasn't that concerned about it. Terentius and whoever it is our heathens have chosen to 'lead' them can initiate their own stupid small talk. I'm not here to chat up the heathen king. Her patience was running noticeably thin, mostly the result of having had to make her way through Rihad, which was lively as ever with the arrival of the Yokudan delegation. Crowds were never the battlemage's thing; though blending in was sometimes useful, it didn't sit well with her being part of a larger mass, and the lives of common people always seemed extremely petty and dreadfully boring to her, nothing worth getting involved in.

"Ah, milady, you've arrived. I presume the crowds stalled you..?"

Lysandra hadn't noticed the man standing in the shadow of the gates of the keep. His attire was that of a member of the order and from his voice, she recognized this to be that same knight that she'd made note of just before receiving the Yokudans. Now that he wasn't wearing his great helm anymore, the battlemage saw he was an Imperial, though unlike hers, his face wasn't tattooed and some features suggested a Colovian. That's a shame. But at least he doesn't look too old, might still have enough drive for me to use, and Colovians are usually too thick to question orders too much. Reliable people who'd know the order here, that's what I need right now, not a second-guesser. Indeed, the knight looked quite young, slightly younger than Lysandra herself.

"Rank and name, brother?" She didn't bother to answer his question; though still rather laced with boredom, underneath this veil her voice suggested she wouldn't appreciate being pressed on the matter.

"Knight Aman Avidius, milady. Of Skingrad." The knight shifted slightly and generally looked uncomfortable, and Lysandra fancied she knew why - having still been a minor officer and a battlemage in the Legion back then, she knew of the scandal over the corrupt Watch officer, Audens Avidius. This man must be a relative, a cousin maybe? Or even brother? Regardless of which one it was, however, this didn't deter her much. If Aman was uncomfortable with the whole story, it could be used to make him push hard to try and prove that he isn't like that; maybe he was simply acting the part of being uncomfortable so as to avoid suspicion, but Lysandra didn't expect such a thorough act from a Colovian. Worth looking into, our knight Aman.

Nodding her head, the battlemage turned towards the keep. "Hm. The council has already started, then?"

"Yes, milady. The Knight Commander expects your presence immediately. The High King and his delegation has already arrived, as has the king of Rihad."

"Good." Not good. The heathen king will simply try to ignore us now, I hope Terentius can keep our heathens in check for this eventuality. I would've preferred it if the heathens had no clear head, but I suppose whoever was chosen to administrate Rihad is the one the heathens want to see. They want to keep thinking their kind still hold sway here and that it'll matter if they can impress some idiot in a turban with their 'honour'. Not impossible to play along. "If I'm expected there, I suppose it would be improper to keep the delegation waiting."

"One last thing, milady, in case the High King insists on carrying out the... negotiations" Aman smirked slightly. Even rank and file knights knew these talks weren't going to end with both sides agreeing on something. "in Yoku, a translator has been provided. I was told to inform milady he will be sitting two seats left from the king of Rihad and an empty seat next to him will be reserved for milady."

"Acceptable, I suppose." The battlemage nodded again, running her thumb along the tail of the dragon tattooed on her face. She turned to go, however looked stopped and looked over her shoulder before proceeding into the keep itself. "Keep yourself visible after the council ends. The order might have use for you."

"Yes, milady." Aman nodded, watching as Lysandra entered the keep. He wasn't sure what to think of this - on the one hand the Nibenese was an influential member of the order and leaving a good impression with her might've gotten him far. However, he couldn't deny she was also a bit strange; slightly unnerving, sometimes. The way she completely committed to playing out whatever role she'd chosen for herself - as the knight had seen during the reception in the outskirts of Rihad - seemed rather unsettling to him.

Lysandra, however, had stopped caring about Aman for the time being. Though the keep of Rihad was quite impressive in size and she'd never been to it before, the battlemage had little trouble finding the hall designated for the council - she just had to find the biggest bustle, which wasn't that hard. When she arrived, the doors were already closed and the Nibenese could hear talking inside, muffled by the wood; the meeting had begun.

Unlike Terentius, Lysandra wasn't in a hurry to make much of an impression on those attending this meeting, opening the doors gently and quietly. Likewise, she slipped inside without making much of a fuss; by no means did her stature seem humble, but it wasn't provoking either, an effect aided by the fact she was one of the few females present, if she wasn't the only one, and her frame wasn't nearly as imposing as those of the warriors within the delegation. Closing the door behind her, the battlemage bowed in the general direction of the leaders of this assembly.

"I apologize for being late on such an important occasion." Her voice was void of the boredom Aman could obviously make out just several minutes before in the courtyard. In general it seemed a bit softer than was usual for Lysandra - not that anyone present would know, since no one here knew her much if at all - but not exaggeratedly so. "High King; King; Knight Commander."

Road north of Taneth


Tarsius' sword struck the foe' cutting into it. Hopefully this will weaken his weapon strikes. But the enemy seemed unfazed, using his shield to strike Tarsius' neck. The blow staggered him, but Tarsius was able to step back, raising his own shield against what would likely be another blow. Gripping his sword, preparing to deliver a counterattack, he awaited his foe's next move.

---

Kalasan watched as the previously unseen enemy, previously shot at by the archers, attacked the knights' right flank. That's not good, not good at all. The right flank was forced to turn to their attackers. So there were more men up there. Fortunately, the knights' movement had done its part; the center enemy group was now unable to maneuver. They could still retreat, but so long as they remained, their numbers would quickly dwindle to nothing as their lighter armor became a liability.
The groups on the left and right were faring better; the left group was too busy engaging Tarsius' former left flank to threaten the rear guard now flanking the center group. The right group had trapped the right flank.
Kalasan turned towards the archers, ready to fire but having no target.

"Archers, our right flank is under attack."

"The enemy is too close, we may hit our own men."

"So move, they need help. And shouldn't your arrows just bounce off them anyway?"

"The leader of the archers sighed. "Very well. Archers, the right flank needs support." He led his men off the road and into the darkness to get a better shot at the enemy. In the very least, they'd provide a distraction. It was very risky, however, as the flank could not break to save them until the center group had been reduced to nothing.

OOC: By the way, Tarsius is wearing a mail coif under his helmet. Not that it'd do much against a strike from a shield.

Cyric, Morgana - Rihad

Cyric had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the, frankly, overly paranoid group. They probably blast little kittens for looking at them funny, he thought. Raising a eyebrow at the mer, Rithe, he supposed, judging from what he had overheard, nevertheless he swept through the door, where his eyes were assaulted by what must have been the most haphazard collection of furniture and decorations. Just looking at all the (admittedly) expensive objects that were placed in no particular order or sense throughout the room they were in, gave Cyric a pang of doubt about the sanity of Nicholas. There was a golden egg, perched upon a pillar which hung upside down from the roof, a velvet tapestry which depicted a hooded man, holding a rose, fleeing into the night and he noted that there was a collection of weapons that looked strikingly similar to those used by the Ra'Gada. Once his eyes had adjusted to the abrupt change in decoration, he scanned the room (though wherever he looked, the bizzare decor relentlessly assaulted his eyes) and noted two doors at the far end of the room, both leading in different directions and both bearing a garish banner above them. The leftmost door's banner simply said 'Bedrooms' and the rightmost door's banner said, 'Kitchen'. Not quite sure what to say, he nodded to his companions,

"Oh, um, well yes. Quite a place isn't it?" He glanced at the room "I wouldn't try to steal anything though, no doubt our host has done something to make sure his valuables stay right where they belong." Feeling somewhat nervous now that he had led them to the safehouse, he stood beside the entrance and waited for them all to enter.

Justaine Dalomax - "Bonds of Brotherhood" - Rihad 'Safehouse'



He didn't quite know why he had followed...

As they had made their ways through the city, he had once more re-assumed his guise as a Colovian merchant. Often times he would rush up to stalls filled with foreign wares and gawk admiringly. Others he would comment on how miserably dry the city air was. He so naturally fell into the role that, sometimes, he even caught himself looking down on others with that snooty arrogant smirk when he was not otherwise in character.

He would apologize, of course, and blame his father's elven blood for the occasional act of disdain...

Now, however, he was in his element. They were in disguise... a strange group of rather curious travelers. But at least they weren't a suspicious group of armed and armored warriors lurking about in the back alleys. It was a marked improvement, in terms of not getting arrested. Justaine had other intentions for his first meeting with the representatives of the Knights of the Nine. He also had plans to meet with the local representatives of the Forebears, should the opportunity be afforded to him. He could only hope that they would still recognize his credentials, because he needed access to information.

There wasn't much information coming out of Hammerfell anymore. Most of the agents were either too embedded behind enemy lines to report... or had switched allegiances the moment it looked like there was the possibility that the Empire might fall apart. He partly blamed himself.

Justaine could not deny that he had been a member of the vocal majority which had encouraged looser restrictions on those recruited into the blades. Many were former Legionaries who had proven themselves through service. Others were less scrupulous sorts, who had turned traitor in that darkest of hours. He felt the burden of guilt when it came to a great many things.

Such was the life of a Blade, these days.


And then, as he found himself lost in thought, he stumbled across a memory. Hvitir... and the message she had received which cut their brief time together even shorter. They were all in danger, now, if the words on that crumpled scroll were true. He worried about Hvitir... but she knew the truth, now. His crew, on the other hand... he hadn't had the heart to tell them who he really was.

They trusted him. That was enough.

But now he'd gotten them all into danger, and lured them on a fool's errand right into the heart of it.

Before he could get any further along that line of thought, however, he suddenly became aware of something else. He had been gone from the ship for quite some considerable amount of time, now. He was very bad with keeping track of time... but he had known that it had been hours before he even ran into the small group with which he was now traveling.

He would need to check in with them, shortly... or at least get word to Scorsarin that the situation had changed again. Thank Talos he had remembered to bring his crystal with him, this time around... or he might well have had to make a mad dash across the city while his new companions weren't looking. He rolled the small crystal ball around between his fingers in his vest pocket for a moment, channeling magicka through it until he felt the familiar 'pop' of activation.

And then, he spoke out loud... but not to any of the others along with him.

"Scorsarin... are you still outside the temple district?"

Instantly, the Redguard's voice piqued. "Captain? Yeah, I'm still here... you told me to wait."

This caused Justaine to release a long hiss of held breath. "Excellent! I need you to hurry off to the docks and inform Vitella that the situation has changed yet again. My friends here were murdered, and there is no evidence here for me to determine why. The only witness to their deaths was a drunkard, and the only thing he remembers is the floor. Hasphiel had information about what it is we came here to find. Without it, there is very little chance of success."

Scorsarin was slow to reply. When he did, his voice was grim.

"I take it we are to prepare to set sail sooner than expected?"

Justaine paused in the middle of the pathway... just outside the entrance to a rather lavishly (if peculiarly) decorated safehouse, which he saw the others being urged to enter. Hesitating, he glanced down at the crystal ball and shook his head.

"As much as I hate to leave empty handed, only to need to return later... it is the only choice. Tell her to plot the safest course for Hnes Rax. The waters are treacherous this time of year... and our maps are still out-dated... but I have confidence that she will do her best. We need to keep along the coast, however. We'll be looking for a cave. I'll know it when I see it... but I haven't been back this way in years."

Scorsarin's voice echoed through the crystal ball one final time. "Right. I'll let her know right away. How long should we expect to wait before you get back?"

At this, Justaine glanced towards the open door into the safehouse and grimaced. "Can't say. I've made some new acquaintances. They might be able to help. I'll get back in touch with you once the coast is clear. There was a... minor altercation. Keep your eyes and ears open, though. At the first sign of trouble, get the ship out to sea. We'll meet at the rock I pointed out on the way into port. I might be out of communication for a few hours longer, or even all day, so don't be alarmed."

And with that, he severed the connection and returned the glassy sphere to his pocket.

No effort was made to conceal the conversation, however. Instead the Breton simply made his way in through the door and fell silent... gawking at the bizarre decor of what would be his temporary home.

There would be time for talk, soon.

:ooc: look at the map, and theres a place on the road between Taneth and Verkath theres a place with hills/bluffs on one side and the mountains north of Taneth on the other. That’s where I envisioned the battle.

Somewhere between Skaven and Taneth

Fashi and his men slammed into the knights with a fury like a hurricane battering itself against the sea side cliffs of Henes Rex. Blood splashed in his face as he slid his Falcata into the neck of one of the knights, jerking it out in such a manner it cleaved the man throat out letting a spray of warm blood into the face of the brutal nomad. A sharp kick to the groin of another knight would send him to the ground, followed by the heavy hand of Fashi’s sword arm into his skull. Around him the other warriors tore into their enemy, attempting to carve a path of blood and carnage to their trapped comrades.

Not long after engaging Fashi would feel a sharp pain rip through his shield arm and lower back as the hard and sickening sound of arrows pushed their way through his skin, forcing him to the ground along with many other warriors and a few knights.

“Their firing on their own men!?” Fashi growled, pulling himself up from the attack, adrenaline rushing through his veins like he had never felt before. A quick survey of the field around him he could tell there was no way they could win like this, they had to make-way a way out of this mess.

Meanwhile….

Hasturbal smirked through the pain of his wound as his enemy staggered back from his successful blow. Wasting no time Hasturbal pressed the attack, he wouldn’t allow for his opponent to recover, if he did, there was little chance he would survive the man counter. Hasturbal moved in close enough to make the man’s long sword an ineffective tool while dogging to the right and bashing the man’s shield with own while placing his right foot behind the hulking knights leg in an attempt bring the man to the ground. All he needed was to dislodge the knight from the fight so they could make their escape, like Fashi on the other side of the battle, he knew they couldn’t win this fight, but after all, they didn’t need too.

The Royal Palace, Bath Chambers

The scent of lavender and various wild desert flowers filled the dimly light room of the Palace bath chambers. In the center of the room was a sunken in bath tub, made of smooth marble with a large drain in it center. On one end was a glossy bronze pipe that spewed water into the large stone bowl, but his was no ordinary water, it was hot water, pumped from below the palace and heated by an ancient dwenmer machine of luxury that turned ordinary salty sea water into warm pure, warm bath. Along the sides of the rooms stood racks of dimly light candles that provided just enough light to see while the windows were covered with silky red draqes that gave off a rose red glow to the room.

From the large wooden door leading to the Palace hall’s emerged a soft, thin, and feminine figure draqed in fine bath robes, made in ancient Yoku fashion. Behind the figure came several handmaidens, each one different from the other in some way or another, who brought with them more incense and a bar’s of fine imported soap’s from Summerset. Dropping the robes from her milk chocolate skin the figure of Queen Roxanna do Ashir slipped into the warm bath and melted into the bubbles that now began to spring from the glimmering water as her maidens poured scented soaps into bath.

Her soft, soul searching green eye’s peered up towards the ornate ceiling of the bath house as he ran her hands through her long hair, dunking it into the water and setteling into a comfortable position on the opposite end of the pipe that spewed the luxurious steamy water. Above her played out scenes from ancient Yoku lore, most notably the vibrant creation of the world with images of Ruptuga in the middle, leading the way for lesser souls to escape Sakatal’s great hunger, the great snake itself wrapped around the room, it’s gaping mouth reaching out to swallow all in its path.

Only a few peaceful moments passed before the Queen’s lazing about was interrupted by the quite giggle of her little princess Andromeda, who sat by the edge of the tub, dipping her delicate hands into the water and splashing them about.
“Never a moments rest with you is there?” she mused aloud, looking upon her beautiful daughter with dotting and loving eye's. The reply was a resounding yes, squealing with delight as bubbles floated from the water and into her smiling face before rolling back upon her back, hands and feet kicking in the air.

The serenity of the room was broken yet again moments later as a loud knock came at the door. The Queens handmaidens quickly sprung into action, nabbing a robe to cover the Queen as she rose from the bath, water clinging to the delicate curves of her body.

“Come.” Roxanna called, tying the robes tightly around her. The door creaked as it opened, revealing the figure of a guard who stood at attention, his eye’s falling upon his lady’s figure. A moment later he spoke, breaking his inappropriate stare with a short apology and report of why he had disturbed her bath.

“Lord Ruhk Ahkbar of Stros Mka’i has arrived in the city my Lady, he’s on his way to the Palace to meet you.” He said somewhat nervously but was quickly dismissed by his Queen who thanked him for his service.

Not long after her maidens disappeared and reappeared with a http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j76/Titus-lord/medieval_dress_100898.jpg, fitted in the style of Anticlereian ladies of nobility. This one in particular she had picked up on one of her many good will missions to Anticlere, who had become the growing Empires closest ally and trading partner. The dress fit perfectly to her figure which made her smile as she smoothed the dress down with her hand's; quite a change from loose and concealing robes that were a custom among the women of the Barca. As her handmadiens attended to her every need she found herself looking out the Palace window and into the vast stretch of market place below, surrounded by walls and building's, stalls and shopping plazas, the city life had its luxuries but she often found herself longing for the open desert again. Something she feared she would never see again.

Around her the hustle and bustle of the Palace seemed rather mundane. Here the same people did the same things every day, guards were set on a set schedual, maidens and servants scurried about attending to the needs of her family and the Palace grounds, but it grew rather dull and constricting. Unlike in the desert, everything here was and would always be the same. During the hard months the tribe would have to find new oasis's as other dried out, and sometimes was forced to move the entire tribe from place to place as the need for grazing grounds and water became scarce or contested by other tribes. It was a different lifestyle, a different life.

"Have young Andromeda taken to her play room please." she spoke softly to Amani, her closest and oldest handmaiden. "And see that she's fed and bathed before the festivities start, we want to make a good impression, now don't we." her tone changed as she spoke in a far more childish tone, sroaking the young girls cheek.

"Of cource you highness." Amani said, bowing before picking up Andromeda and whisking her off to another part of the Palace. Roxanna would find herself walking down the long sunbathed halls of out Palace before reaching the massive ornate door that led out into the bazaar. As the door swung open she peered down to see the image of Ruhk, Lord of Stros Mka'i, and cousin to her husband.

"It's been far too long Ruhk!" she exclaimed, opening her arms to embrace the man she walked down the steps. "I'm sad to say Haroun isn't back from Rihad yet, but he should return soon enough, just in time for the festivities we hope." she continued, looking about the lavishly decorated market. Banners draqed upon every building and stall as well as flags flown high shouted of the glory of the recently deceased High King Thassad III, Haroun's father.

"If only he had lived to see this" she thought, her expression visibly changing for but a moment before it bounced back to a happier tone. "Come, tell me how you've been!?"

Rihad Delegation, The Meeting Room

Bomilkar took his brother-in-law's hand firmly, a warm smile behind their masks was exchanged just in time for the mood to be shattered by the pompous entrance of Knight Commander Stanet Terentius, a brute of a man who's insensitivity to the matter at hand was only matched by his perceived arrogance and stature. Bomilkar found his hand gravitating towards his falcata, already he wanted to cover the wall with this man's blood, a man who's honor was so painfully clouded by his either blatant disregard for proper conduct in the presence of a man who station was far above his, or his ignorance to the world in which he and his kind seemed so keen to call their realm. By the tone of Haorun's response, he could tell his brother too felt the change in the air and his contempt for the man.

"Excellent, I wouldn't presume a mere knight to speak for the City. The pleasantries are mutual." Haroun replied, as cool and in control as he always was, which was a relief to Bomilkar who was quick to anger and quicker to the sword. He knew of course, the pleasantries were all but an act for now, and everyone in the room knew that whoever they chose to speak for the Forebear's was a mere puppet of the Knights of the Nine. A great weight was placed on Bomilkar's heart as the old man by the name of Nesser came into the room, a great stain the man's honor was all he could think about as he spoke to the High King.

Unlike the High King, Bomilkar did not remove his mask in reverence, if only to hide the disgust upon his face at what the man was forced to become. A puppet, no, a slave to these dog's who would piss on the honor and family name of all who now fell under the undertow. However, he could not argue with what the King said and nodded in agreence with the rest of the room. He had seen enough Ra'Gada blood to last a lifetime, however, he relished the thought of bathing in Imperial blood.

Hvitir Frost-Marrow - "The Captain and The Lady Goldwinston" - Somewhere North of Rihad



Everything had gone wrong since the Emperor died.

She had spent her entire life in service to the Septim Dynasty, and then... they were gone. She had even met the youngest of the Emperor's sons, once, when she was a very young child. He had given her a flower, and smiled upon her affectionately. There were rumors that he was a highly unpleasant man, and that he harbored great resentment towards women... but there had been a -lot- of rumors regarding the heirs of the Imperial throne.

Chiefly among them had been the rumor of their illegitimacy... and that they were, in fact, a part of the plan set into motion by Jagar Tharn.

But that was a long, long time ago. Longer than she cared to think about.


Hvitir silently slid a bit further into her chair, staring idly at the hour-glass upon her desk.

She had stolen it from the "Insurmountable" before her final departure... when it was to be decommissioned from the Imperial Fleet and sold into the service of Leyawin. It had been the one thing that reminded her of her Captain. To think that she'd been so close to him, just hours earlier... only to let herself be torn away again by duty. Sometimes, she cursed her own loyalty.

Sometimes, she truly resented her sense of honor.

Somewhere, down below, there was an outburst of laughter. The soldiers were playing cards again, gambling away their hard-earned pay. She silently wondered what it was they had to be so happy about. They were moving further and further away from the port, and forward into the heart of danger. It made her want to barge down there, take those cards away, and remind them that they could all be dead in a moment's notice.

She was about to, in fact, when a strange cold breeze wafted through her cabin.

Blinking, she rose to close the window...

... it was sealed. From behind her, however, there was a hushed voice... accompanied by the sudden cold chill of a knife held to her throat.

"Do not move, daughter of Hircine... for if you see my face, your life is at its end. I have been sent to deliver a message. I have been granted passage by the wind, and when next you feel the breeze I shall be gone. In four days time, I shall return for your reply."

And then there was another sudden chill, and the strange presence was gone.

Her lips, which had instinctively parted to speak only to be frozen in terror, slowly closed. Trembling, the woman slumped to her knees and tried desperately to compose herself. He had known what she was. He had arrived in her quarters, without making a sound, and without her being able to smell him. She had felt the steel of the blade against her neck... and yet... she had not been able to see it.

It had been so sudden... so unexpected... that she hadn't even had the chance to begin feeling violated before the stranger had disappeared.

She clasped her hand about the signet ring of the Hunter Prince, Hircine, and bit her lip. Had the message come from him?

Her lapis gaze fell upon the weathered scroll which had been dropped upon the floor beside her.


Hesitantly, she reached out and grasped it

Road north of Taneth

A wounded knight shouted up at Kalasan. "Hey Errant, how's the battle going?"

"From what I can see, I think we're winning. But don't get too comfortable, it's not over." Kalasan was nearly shaking from the suspense; all he could do was watch and hope. They couldn't retreat; the enemy, aside from being much more mobile, were blocking their way to Taneth. They couldn't surrender, the nomads would just kill them. And the nomads would never surrender to the Knights. He could only hope that the nomads would break to fight another day; that was the only way this wouldn't end with the annihilation of one side. The good news was that he might get promoted if they made it out.

---

The nomad leader stepped towards the Knight Commander, attacking again with his shield and positioning his leg behind Tarsius' own. It looks like the enemy had taken advantage of how crowded the center of battle had become. The crusader could no longer balance and he fell back into a knight behind him. The other knights around and behind him rallied to his defense, raising their blades over him pointed at the leader, determined to keep their commander alive. Even in this dire situation, he was touched by their dedication. He let go of his sword and aimed his hand at the man in front of him; if he tried to strike a blow, he'd get a face full of fire; not enough to kill, but no doubt painful and, given the darkness that all their eyes had to adapt to, blinding. He had no idea what the foe would do next; the man was clearly bloodthirsty, yet intelligent. Tarsius readied his right hand while positioning his shield over his neck.

It's your move.

Rihad

"But Hauron of Sentinel. Why do we need to once more bow down to Crowns when for so long we've been disconsidered. I want to know from you, what is justice?"

Nasser's black eyes glistened with curiosity. As unkempt and scraggly as his clothes and appearance was, so were his eyes sharp and fierce, his speech eloquent, and his wit quick.


Aryon's Tower

Due to magic, the inside of the tower didn't seem to move at all even though below, the long metallic limbs of Dwemer design carried the tower along the mountain tops through the dense mist. Aryon and Andrethi arrived within a room, one that smelt of sweet shisha with sitting pillows aligned around a table and at that table, Crane, who breathed sweet smoke out of his nose. "My good friend, Elegant, how splendid to see you here. Do not worry, I am not here for the Morag Tong. Please, sit."

Crane had been a fellow student of Andrethi. He still referred to him by his mentor's name "Elegant" and "Crane" was not his actual name either but given to him by the same mentor. The three sat down while Crane took a few more puffs. Andrethi had tried shisha before and although he found the taste appealing, the feeling afterward left his lungs tired. He preferred instead the scent of it as others smoked. Aryon in turn took one of the long arms of the narghile enjoying the taste of sweetened smoke as well.


OOC: Geez and I was really feeling the mood to write and I get pulled away...