Ev?lyn, Wayrest.

"Her Majesty the Queen desires your company, Highness. She wishes to meet you in her royal chambers. She is just concluding her discussion with others."

Ev?lyn nodded briefly at Emmen, watching him as he walked away. Her mother's manservant was an odd one, never showing signs of any emotion. His face remained neutral, and it could easily resemble the face of a dead man. Ev?lyn could feel a shiver run down her spine, she had always been slightly cautious around Emmen. Of course she knew he would not do any harm to her, but she could not comprehend how her mother desired for him to be by her side.

Though not quite suprised, Ev?lyn felt curious as to what her mother wished to speak with her about. Despite many mixed feelings towards her mother, she still admired her, even though she did not fully understand, or agree with her actions. Funny thing how strong one can feel towards his mother, no matter what she would say or do, one couldn't help but love her. It was the same in Ev?lyn's case, but she by no means regretted any of her former actions.

After closing the door behind her, Ev?lyn took the time to comb her long hair, adjusting it into a neat twist which she then fastened with a pearl brooch. It had always been a joy to experiment with her looks. Ev?lyn loved trying new gowns of the latest fashion, as well as hair styles. She was particularly quite fond of Morrowind's taste in clothing. One of her most favorite skirts was in fact a most exquisite golden colored skirt, decorated with layers of silk and other fine colored fabrics. It was wonderful indeed.

In fact, it was one of her biggest dreams to be in Morrowind one day. Of course it was impossible now with the turbulant times and all, but still. There was something quite appealing about that country. Despite having her step uncle, and step grand-mother living there, she knew all too well that Elysana was not on good terms with Helseth, and thus there was little chance of her being allowed into the lands.

Shaking off her thoughts, Ev?lyn gathered herself together, taking a deep breath in as she made her way towards her mother's grand chambers.

--

"Mother, it is Ev?lyn. May I come in?"

No response. So, it would seem her mother was not in just yet. Opening the door, Ev?lyn went inside, taking a seat on one of the velvet dressed chairs in the room.

The Nord gave his Bretic colleague an eloquent look, and both the men shook their heads slightly. They both understood that what had just occured signified the man was ill... Perhaps very seriously ill. The kind of ill you never got rid of. Both had heard enough tales as children to know who suffered under daylight; and both knew that this man was likely important in Northpoint. They would not stop him entering the city, and let him gain an audience with Vytatus regarding the trade matters he was sent here with; however, the Breton would gain an audience with the Khnyaz too. They had been instructed to report anything unusual... And this, obviously, was one such unusual thing. Unusual, and perhaps even useful. Who knew what use could be pulled out of this.

Without waiting for the four messengers to enter the city, the Breton gateguard took off, moving swiftly in his armor through the crowd. He quickly disappeared into the mass of people, undoubtedly headed for the castle, something that was obvious both to the Nord who stayed, and most likely to the messengers as well. And if the guards' suspicions were correct... Then the head messenger might not have liked that a whole lot.


Manfred

Sighing, the Flyte of Anticlere rubbed his temples, staring at the wooden door in front of him for a moment. The twin elven sisters had just left, having been granted permission to walk around the town freely, so long as no one found them on the walls. Manfred was glad the unexpected meeting had ended; he had far too much in his head right now, mostly due to the fault of the divination, to attend to diplomatic niceties. The fact he had just agreed to join the Dominion did not help his mood as well, and that became obvious as soon as he sat down on his chair in front of the Psijic again, the Lord's face looking twice as old as it was.

"I don't like this one bit..." He grumbled silently, eyes closed and still rubbing his temples. Manfred wasn't speaking to Gosic as much as he was speaking to himself. "Not one bit. The Dominion is not likely to agree to such things like an allied state on their border. For them, it looks to be a vassal state or nothing. Anticlere may just be delaying the inevitable... But hopefully, their armies will come to a halt when faced with the other duchies. A lengthy war can be hoped for, maybe far enough not to come to our walls... And maybe Anticlere can come through unscathed."

"Do you agree to my decission? Speak freely, for your Order has done so for thousands of years without fearing the wrath of rulers." Manfred suddenly looked at the Psijic, speaking louder and much clearer than when he just sat down after the meeting with diplomats.

"Well..." Parthia's eyes gazed up at Rethan and then down at her folded hands, her delicate fingers alternating in the other's embrace. "...I mostly specialize in restorative magic and of course the bow...although I don't have one with me right now." Aside from that she was quite a capable alchemist specializing in poisons, as well as armed and unarmed combat, a bit of alteration and her own magic passed down from her father. Taking another gulp of the drink she seemed to be taking in quite a bit of it fast. Her body leaned towards the right, by now sitting almost shoulder to shoulder with the Dunmer. Her long auburn braid hung off of her right shoulder next to him leaving off a sweet scent.

"Where are you staying?" After taking another drink she pushed aside the empty cup and placed her head on her arms after she folded her arms over the table. She had her head turned toward the right seeing Rathan out of the corner of her eye. A small smile krept to her lips as a soft giggle escaped her mouth. By now her finger tips and toes began to tingle from the drinking and her nose and cheeks were flushed. She didn't weigh much nor was she used to drinking. Somehow she still managed to pronounce her words well although her speech was slightly slower.



"I don't think he has any intentions beyond his current position. He's quite content with simply being able to boss people around into breaking other people. I have no problem going with him to the east of course. Aside from his inner circle i'm not sure how much popularity he actually has. In any case it is as you wish, as a woman he hasn't taken to bed, i'll be more than happy to keep an eye on him." Corsica remained respectful throughout the discourse. When she first arrived at the Queen's court less than a year ago, generally this sort of discussion would have happened between her and Varulae, but Varulae's attention has been much more focused on Andrethi with each passing month.

Just then Corsica heard Evelyn entering. She made no attempt to turn around and remained focused on the Queen. Quite a show would soon unfold. Even Corsica was curious although her cool calm attitude wouldn't show a bit of it.

Gosic

The ancient man allowed Manfred to clear his head, vent his thoughts for a moment before he himself chose to spoke. The Psijicc sat in the luxurious chair, taking in its plushness on his old back. He leaned a moment after enjoying the quick reprieve, "My lord, I do not believe allying ourselves with the dominion is in your's, and Anticleres interest. And I do not believe the dominion will simply conquer all of High Rock like they had Elsweyr. The dominion faces many threats, they have to maintain garrisons while invading and conquering. I believe there power is not yet absolute enough to openly threaten you, and we both know those were the same women who had attacked one of your guards, the divination had made it so. My guess, there intentions had been less then honorable when they first arrived, and after anolyzing things a bit had decided to meet with you personally."

He reached into the sleeves of his cloak, warmed his frail hands for a bit.

"The manner in which you worded yourself had not put you in a position of subservience to the dominion, why you could declare neutral treaty, and while that may put you in a furthering downward spiral with Wayrest, she would not attack you for fear of further provoking the dominion, and the dominion would do like wise. In order for that solution though Anticlere would need something all the others want...and would fear losing. At least while their busy elsewhere. In all cases, I do not recommend aiding the Dominion in their conquest, or joining them. With Anticleres resources, your close relationship with Hammerfell...I'm sure you would find ways of prolonging the Dominion's struggle against the other baronies without putting you in the open. A covert way of fighting. As a humanitarian I abhor war and would normally try to prevent it at all costs, as your advisor I would tell you that a few bags of gold and steel for the enemy's enemy can take them places." Gosic smiled softly. Anticlere could remain unscathed, and when the time came, could be the deciding blow in High Rock's fate.

-------------------------------------------------------------
Raven

"I'll make sure to check on those wares double time then." she said flashing a pearly white smile. The beautiful agent examined the original list of papers, names. Names of men, and a woman who had connections with what was left of the rebellion. All had the knife work put on them. A delicate hand reached into the crate once again, examining the new envelope which rested within. She read what was written for her eyes, and hers only.

Dwynnen and Camlorn....the other players. She'd need only a small team, and herself. When the Lord himself issued orders, she had to make sure the operation was performed thoroughly and without Anticlere's involvement being known.

Dwynnen

Osric Cassivel and his company slowed their horses as they rode towards the town of Dwynnen. The ride hadn't been too long, whats more it had been thankfully uneventful. "Alright men, lets approach the town slowly. This could be easier if they see us and send guides to meet us," Osric said in an easy voice, more of a "please-do-it" than a "you-will-do-it". Osric's growing beard clutched his face with dark, furry claws in the cool air. His brown hair was oily and played about his face carelessly, which was a curse more than a blessing when he wanted to be presentable.

The old man pulled an apple from a sack and rested an elbow on the pommel of his nondescript arming sword, waiting. Suddenly a thought struck him. "Captain Aurane, set up camp back up the road where we can see the city but the city cannot see us. I'll want two of you eight other men with me..." He looked around and pointed at two men: "Senhyn, Aphren, you two will come with me into the city. The other six, under Captain Aurane, I'd like you to make sure the camp is set once we return and that the hounds are taken care of. It would please me, Aurane, if you would send a letter back to Camlorn, though for fear of being intercepted in these harsh times, it may not be best. I'll leave it to your judgment... Gods, its a miracle we weren't set upon by highwaymen..."

"Anyway! Senhyn, Aphren, with me. The rest of you, be off."

The three knights sat ahorse in the middle of the road in front of the town of Dwynnen, and waited in silence for word from within.

Edgar

Edgar barely looked back to see if his men were prepared to enter, when the man kicked his horse into a fast trot, and beckoned Edgar to follow closely. They passed through the cities gates, and through the throngs of people, parting them like waves parting to a ship, as they continued their ride into the city proper. Buildings in this area truly impressed the Master-Knight, as they all looked so finely built, as though everyone in this area was a lesser noble or a wealthy merchant. The people here were finely dressed as well, giving a clear indication as to how wealthy the city had become, and Edagr knew this was a city on the rise.

They continued their trip, passing from the new area into the older, more rustic areas, where the first buildings had probably been built ages ago by settlers and perhaps even before that with the Aldmeri. Edgar couldn't stop the slight look of awe on his face as they came to the Castle of Camlorn, a castle which varied so much from the normal fortresses that every city had. It was more like the founders of the city had decided to please their artistic side instead.

Even as they stopped, Edgar was looking around, taking it all in. In all of his years, for some reason he never made his way to Camlorn, and had never witnessed the fine architecture of the castle. He snapped out of his awe as a man came out from the castle, speaking to them.

Edgar bowed slightly to the man, and smiled back at Abattarik, bowing again, and waiting for the man to lead on.






Edwinn

Edwinn watched, heart racing as the two guards looked at each other pointedly, and without warning, the Breton took off from the gate, moving into the city swiftly, and eventually disappearing from sight. Edwinn glanced at the Nord, and back to Gauvin, who had a worried look on his young face. Edwinn guessed, knew actually, where the man was going, but he had no idea in what manner he was going for.

But Edwinn was a vampire, at least he was almost there, and few ever accepted vampires openly. Edwinn half expected a legion of troops to come a slaughter him on the spot, just because he was a creature of death. He hardly noticed that the Nord didn't seem to be blocking his path, but as he looked down at the man, he didn't see any threat coming his way, nor did the man seem to be blocking the road into the city.

He swore silently, and decided to test his luck as he moved his horse forwards slowly, his men following suit, and as the Nord didn't seem to mind, Edwinn continued on, passing the man with his mind in a jumble.

What did it all mean? he wondered. Do they want something with me? he thought. Or perhaps this new Duke will just want to slay me himself, so he can add "Vampire Slayer" to his list of titles. he thought, nodding his head as he thought this reason to be the most likely. He sighed as he trotted on, not really sure what to expect but he gripped the handle of his fine axe tightly for reassurance, and trotted on towards the castle in the distance.

THe streets were slightly winding, but he managed to make it to the castle in short time, and went right up to the entrance, pausing to see if anybody would come out to meet him.

The City of Dwynnen

Hywel was received by Dwynnen's North Gate captain in the gate house. Hywel was on his last wind, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. "By the Gods, lad, did ye sprint the entire way here?"

Hywel nodded, saying unsteadily, "Outsiders, sar. Mounted horseman coming from the northwest. We've been following them since they entered Dwynnen."

The gate captain's brow furrowed, What were outsiders doing in Dwynnen?. He left this thought unspoken, knowing that in troubled times, Dwynnen became something of haven, due to its remote locations, the forests forming a natural barrier against the outside world. "Hywel, you did good this day." Waving the young Breton away, the gate captain motioned to his underling, "get together twenty Saethwyr....we're goin' to go greet our guests."

"As you would have it, sar. It will be done in a trice." The underling saluted and left the gate house to the mustering ground.

"Iorwerth!" A slight scribe came in, "Send a message to his lordship, the Baron. Tell him that he might be having guests tonight."

Wayrest

The trip to Wayrest was utterly wretch for the four Knights of the Raven. Unused to the tossing of the seas, they were quickly overwhelmed by sea-sickness, and spend most of their time on deck, their heads over the side, their guts feeding the fish and creatures that lurked beneath the waves. So, when the ship finally made port in Wayrest's harbor, the four Dwynnites were the first of the boat, throwing themselves onto the land with great sighs of relief.

"By the Rood, one more hour on that stinkin' ship and I be thinkin' me stomach would have come up through me mouth!"

"So, we're off to the palace then?"

"Aye, the Baron made it quite clear that we are to tell Her Majesty his terms for his assistance in this feud with the Nords."

"What be the Baron's terms?"

The head knight looked at his friends, utterly solemn. "No more encroachment."

OOC: We aren't in Elysana's rooms.
IC:

Wayrest

Elysana gazed at Corsica thoughtfully. "I am glad of your confidence in this matter, Corsica, for it puts me somewhat more at ease," she paused. "But this isn't something I can be anything but vigilant about. Even if Tudor's intentions are not, he could be used or persuaded." Elysana gave a wry smile. "This, at least, I know very well myself."

"I would appreciate it if you went East with him, Corsica, and if you would keep an eye on him here, for my daughter seems rather good at slipping Parthia's sight, and I would rather like to be sure of their actions and relationship."

Elysana looked away, and murmured, "I don't know, Corsica. Do you think I am crazy to be like this? To distrust so many?" for a moment, she sounded very vulnerable and broken. She turned her gaze back to her elite. "I live in a world where even my own daughter is plotting against me. Where I had to fight tooth and nail to claim what was mine by birthright, and where every day an assassination attempt or plot by my courtiers is luckily thwarted. Truly, Corsica, I must be paranoid, for how else would I survive."

She shook her head. "I am retiring to my chambers now. Thank you, Corsica." Was she really that tired, that weak, that she would thank her elites for doing their duty? What they were paid for?

She didn't want to think about that. She strode out of the tower and down the stairs, into the main palace. Turning two corners, she came to her bed chambers, and she strode in confidently, seeing her daughter there. She closed the door quietly behind her, and moved to sit on a chair across the room from Evelyn.

Suddenly, she felt very vulnerable. She clasped hands that were beginning to shake together, so that her daughter would not see her weakness, and she hid the anguish from her expression, keeping it pleasant. So this is the daughter that does not love me... she could not help but think.

She spoke. "Evelyn, my daughter... I trust you are well?" Niceties first. Then, she would speak. I might as well pretend I have been a good mother.

Manfred

Manfred nodded slowly. "I believe Anticlere may have something everyone wants... But just how much does everyone fear to lose trade from Sentinel? Anticlere is the only port right now to which Sentinel is open, and that's a great luxury. But until the Ra Gada unite Hammerfall and come out of their isolation, direct help from the High King is unlikely, but at least we can expect weapons. The Roaring Walls of Anticlere... Would that be enough to discourage potential attackers? With our current army, unlikely." The Flyte of Anticlere trailed off, his mind wandering towards the idea he had been contemplating for a long time - a professional Anticlerian army, lead not by nobles, but by worthy... Auberon left him a good and changed military arsenal. Perhaps Manfred should leave an even better one in place for his son? And the navy... Anticlere's fortunes did not seem to be waiting for them inland. Although the current navy was good, it was old fashioned compared to the ambitions of the lord. Most admirals and captains were old men, like Charles, who were more merchants and stuck to defense on most cases. Younger, more agressive men with fresh ideas could take the navy and the city with it to new heights...

"Neutrality is a fair goal for us. So long as the Dominion's position is not very steady, we are relatively secure; it should be quite obvious that it wasn't my own wish that guided this 'treaty', and even if we're held a part of the Dominion by our own wish, the other duchies are more likely to be interested in pushing the Dominion back before starting on us. Gifts could do much to prolong the war... And so long as there is war, uncertain war, our position indeed is secure." Rubbing his temples, Manfred shook his head. He had to get some sleep to clear up his thoughts. "But for now, I believe I shall retire. The servants will be ordered to prepare you a suitable room nearby my chambers, should you wish to rest as well, advisor Gosic."

Standing up, he nodded to the Psijic, leaving the chambers. The first knight Manfred met was instructed to get some servants and prepare a permanent residence for the newest addition to Manfred's court. The Lord himself, watching as the knight hurried off to fullfill his wish, decided to take one last detour before the bed he so desired, and visit his son.


The guard of the keep's gates stepped forward, eyeing the hooded man and his companions suspiciously. It was evident that the Breton gateguard had already walked past, and was likely attending to Vytatus this very moment. However, this guard had little idea of the fact the messenger of Northpoint was a vampire; he only knew that the man was 'suspicious', something the Breton had whispered on his way past to report to the Khnyaz. Thus, the keep guard, another Nord, didn't know how exactly to treat the messenger and his retinue; the Breton had mentioned nothing specific, so apparently, he was to let them in...

"Your weapons are to be given up. You will get them back when you leave, that I swear on Shor's grave."

Ev?lyn, Wayrest.

Ev?lyn's eyes widened as she saw her mother appear through the door, taking a seat on the other side of the room. With a heavily beating heart, the young princess folded her hands together, resting them on her lap as she looked up at her mother. Her mother seemed so calm, her voice mild and gentle. It was agonizing. In truth Ev?lyn had hoped that perhaps Elysana would raise her voice at her, instead of acting so serene.

Pushing forth an answer, Ev?lyn replied, "Yes...I am well."

No...no I'm not well. Why can't I just say that? Why is she so...does she perhaps know? Is she just playing me, trying to find out if I'll blurt out something stupid?

Like a small child expecting to be scolded, Ev?lyn could not maintain eye contact. Instead she looked down, her fingers fiddling with her gown. It was rather embarassing, how she could not dare to even look into her mother's eyes. Inside, Ev?lyn could feel a sting. Perhaps her mother really did know of her doings. The queen had mastered at keeping a straight face, even in the most dire situations. This was something Ev?lyn could not do.

"Mother.." Ev?lyn cautiously began as she lifted her head slightly up, so that her mother could see her face, "There are things that concern me, and rob me of my sleep. After your capture...I've had more fears. I feel that I know nothing of what is happening, instead I am left to see my home being torn into different parts. I...."

Ev?lyn held her tongue. She cursed herself for being so weak, having blurted out her words without thought. It was pathetic, she could not even keep herself collected infront of her own mother. Her breathing was more rapid, her fair skin now more flustered. There were many things on her chest, yet she did not own the courage to say them. The only thing that awaited now, was the words of her mother.

Rethan Andrano, Wayrest.

Heh heh. How charming, the girl isn't used to drinking, huh? Red cheeks, glassy eyes...and what would you know, already leaning on my shoulder. How very amusing.

Offering a smile as Parthia rested herself against him, Rethan took another chug of his drink, his tankard now empty. Though slightly light headed, Rethan was by no means influenced, and was still in control of his actions and words. Nodding as Parthia spoke to him, it was clear that his suspicions were right. So she was skilled with a bow. Not that it was too suprising, however it was slightly unusual to find one who practiced magicka. There were fully as many bosmer spell casters, however they were not that much of a rare sight.

"How interesting. The school of Restoration, I am assuming you act as some sort of healer then perhaps? You know, the wife of a family member of mine, my cousin actually, wields restorative magicka and also uses a bow and arrow. Though she is a priestess, not a guard."

Peering down at Parthia, Rethan wondered exactly how effected she was. Though tempting, Rethan had no intentions of taking advantage of her exposed self. Not only would Ev?lyn have his head for it, it was not the way he rolled, so to speak. Though he had no difficulty in attracting the attention of women, Rethan was never was too concerned with dealing with them. If he ever did, it was just a one time thing, and then he moved on. A man such as himself, had no room for obstacles such as women.

"Where am I staying? Well...a little and there. Mostly at taverns though. There's something about the stench of ale, body fluids and heavily scented barmaids that just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

His tone was above all sarcastic towards the end, made obvious by his wide grinning. Brushing his fingers through the locks of Parthia's auburn hair, he continued the conversation,

"And what about you? Why are you even in Wayrest to begin with?"

Ludovic

The marketplace of Wayrest was a bustling place, where you could sell or buy many a thing, including, but not limited to a man's greatest secrets, or his life. Ludovic, however, was looking for nothing of great importance; perhaps a nice ring, or an exquisite shortsword of some sort. Something to remind him of the events at Baneswick, where he lived in the same castle as the queen for a whole week, and survived the siege of the nomads. It wasn't a particularly impressive deed, but in truth, the young Breton just wanted to wander around the marketplace to leave his gloomy thoughts behind, of what would befall him if the army left and no one had yet cared to asign him another unit.

It's been a couple days since I've submitted the request... Someone's bound to have noticed it by now. I guess the knights are all too busy having their plate cleaned, or ordering about peasants... Or scoffing at infantry... I have hope that all the knights in High Rock will impale themselves on pikes one happy day and we'll be freed of their idiocity. 'Superior troops'... My ass. Let's see them beat a Nordic schiltron with a head on charge. As if Woodborne's defeat proved nothing... And now we have to drive the stinking bastards off our lands, and I could bet my dinner it was due to the fact one of our heavy cavalry-held flanks lost patience, charged without order and died off. The captain's thought wandered to his touchy subject again as he looked at a nice amber ring.

"How much?"

"Five thousand septims, dear sir!" The merchant grinned happily. Ludovic sighed and shook his head, putting the ring down; the merchant's grin disappeared. "Well, then, sir, come again!" He yelled at the back of the leaving soldier, sighing silently.

'Dear sir'... At least I command enough respect to be reffered that without having a suit of plate for everyone to jump at me and call me 'my liege'. He allowed himself a small smile, continuing along the street in hopes to find a weaponsmith of some sort.

Wayrest Castle

It was odd to see the Queen in such a manner Corsica thought, but she pretended not to notice, and as always remained unflinching. It was interesting to see the nobility in such a manner. You'd think things such as that would only happen in story books. She decided it would be best to now go inform the Elites of their tasks. Kaasha and herself would go with Tudor, Varulae and Andrethi with the Queen and Parthia would be left alone. Perhaps she would be sent with the Queen as well if she came back soon. As she stepped through the empty hall way and turned the corner, a firm embrace around her body from behind. For a moment she tensed up but soon relaxed as she sensed it was Tudor.

"Ha, so you do have some sort of emotion even if you do hide it well." Tudor's warm breath brushed against the side of her neck as he spoke, his left arm wrapped around her across her tummy to her right hip holding firmly. His right arm wrapped around over her chest his right hand holding her left shoulder.

"What is it, Tudor?" Corsica sighed out her response in a bored manner as if not noticing at all she was wrapped in his embrace. She knew her former student and altough he was younger he wouldn't do anything stupid. At the same time she didn't want to further such a notion.

"Oh so cruel to me instructor, we can't simply enjoy each other's presence?" Tudor's forehead was pressed against her right temple, in reaction Corisca turned her head away slightly.

"It will have to be some other time. Right now I need to do some things, as do you." This time the woman was more forward in her tone although her body put up no fight. Tudor's arms slipped off of her and walked away.

"Yes, I do."

~ ~ ~

Wayrest Training Yard

Andrethi rode his horse about in circles around a target. The horse was one of the Deshaan, captured during the war in Hammerfell and sold up north as well as the bow that Andrethi he had. Both things felt familiar although he couldn't remember anything of the animal or the weapon. http://media.photobucket.com/image/mesmer%20guild%20wars/DagothReau/ArmorConcept/ch_director_mesm.jpg although he wasn't over doing it. Slowly he would draw the bow and fire an arrow in the circular rope ball stuck on a five foot tall stick.

From inside the far away gate he could see Tudor's dark silverish coat as he stepped out. He held his blade over his right shoulder and walked with his typical arrogant swagger, head raised, slightly leaned back and a devilish grin across his face. Andrethi slowed down his horse for a moment but then pretended to ignore him as he continued running about firing arrow after arrow into the target, this time with a bit more fierceness. It was no secret the two were rivals and had a mutual dislike.

"Get off your mount, dark elf." Tudor barked orders as if Andrethi was one of his soldiers. For a moment Andrethi considered loosing an arrow into the eye socket of Tudor and dropping him right then and there. Instead he simply ignored him. When he did not dismount, Tudor raised his hand quickly and flicked a burst of fire at the path of Andrethi's horse causing the animal to kick back almost knocking Andrethi off. Instead he quickly balanced himself and leapt off himself. He now stood across from Tudor but remained silent. Tudor's grin became a bit wider.

Wayrest Tavern

"Why am I in Wayrest? The past has brought me here, but perhaps the past no longer recognizes me and it's all a pointless chase." Parthia's tone seemed almost sad. She was know leaning against Rethan completely, her drink finished and her eyes sleepy and drowzy. With her head on his shoulder her breath easily smelled of her drink. Her small body had taken alot of it very fast. It was almost as if she had done it on purpose, she drank in a manner to forget. Being alone in the castle for so long perhaps made her all too willing to find comfort in someone else, anyone.

"Take me away from here..." Parthia had not even opened her eyes to speak. Her voice was slightly mumbled and her body shifted against Rethan's all the more with her comment. She was somewhere inbetween awake and asleep and if she was not being careful she would end up in an unpleasant situation very quickly. But perhaps unpleasant was what she was looking for, something, anything.

Jehanna

After the cessation of Rurik's war council, Duke Germanicus called a council of his own. His staff and commanders met in the anteroom of the chamber where he had been installed for his brief stay in Jehanna. The Duke kept his officers standing and strode up and down the floor in front of them while he spoke. Unlike the motley crew Germanicus had met in Rurik's council, these men were all were their uniforms and stood rigidly at attention while Germanicus barked orders at them or asked them questions.

"Anders!" he snapped at his quartermaster, a cadaverous Nord with grey eyes the same color as his hair. "Go at once to Jehanna's storehouse and requisition the supplies we need."

"Yes, sir. Do we have the proper authorization?"

"Yes, here." Germanicus produced a bundle of papers with Rurik's seal on them. The quartermaster saluted and left.

"Bjorn! Have the men been shown their quarters?"

"Yes, sir. The Velikiy Khnyaz's men been remarkably efficient."

"Good. Hand out pay tonight. Also ? a double ration of mead. Alfred!"

"Yessir!" A Breto-Nordic officer stepped forward.

"Find the Reachman Otto Lonnrot and have him organize his people into scouting parties. I expect said parties to have departed from the city by nine o'clock tomorrow morning. They will report back to the main force on the march. Aloadin!" He was now addressing his infantry captain, who was the only Redguard in his staff.

"Yes, sir."

"I will review the men tomorrow at ten. After that we will depart at once for Cloud Spring. Any questions?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Then you are dismissed. Goodnight, gentlemen. Alfngar, stay and talk with me a while."

The staff filed out, muttering to each other. Alfngar held back. "Yes, uncle?"

"Have a seat," the Duke said, and Alfngar did so. "Do you approve of our commander, the Velikiy Khnyaz?"

Alfngar grinned. "I should say so! He's a great man, don't you think?"

The Duke ignored the question. "Good. I am going to request that you remain with him and his forces as a special envoy from me." He held a hand out to forestall whatever Alfngar might say. "I do this not to deprive you of the action we might encounter at Cloud Spring. Rather, I have your interests at heart. Lord Rurik is one of the most powerful men in Skyrim, and with his patronage you may one day achieve great things." Germanicus found it painful to hand the boy over to Rurik, but what he said was true. "What say you?"

"I am greatly pleased."

"Good. I will speak to Lord Rurik on this matter tomorrow, then. And now, goodnight Alfngar."

Northpoint

"You may enter our fair city now, if you wish." The gate captain spoke warmly, and stepped aside to allow the Sharnhelm party entrance. "Lord de Guiralle should be in the Castle, possibly in the Grand Hall. Just follow this street all the way to the Castle, and you will find it with no problem!"

"Thank you kindly," Cadwallace said, but the captain was already moving off to attend to some other business.

The little group of Sharnhelmites moved through the gates. They could see Lord de Guiralle's Castle at the far end of the street and made for it at an easy pace. Cadwallace and Charles rode comfortably and confidently, having both been in the city before, but Livia and the servants looked around curiously. Though Sharnhelm and Northpoint were not far from each other, the Nordic cultural influence was much easier to spot in Northpoint.

Passing easily through the wide boulevard, the group rapidly approached the Castle. When they reached the Castle walls, the entire group dismounted and Cadwallace approached a guard.

"Hello," he said cheerfully. "I am Cadwallace d'Ardfert, son of Lord Brendan of Sharnhelm. I and my companions seek an audience with Lord de Guiralle. Could you please tell me where I might find him? Also, be a good man and tell my servant where to stable our horses."

Road Solitude-Jehanna

Lights flickered and danced on the snow, silent crunches heard everywhere as armored men paced back and forth, walking in circles, hammering tent pegs into the ground. Cloth shuffled as tents were being set up. The Nordic army was setting camp for the night; marching during the dark hours would tire them out, and likely cost a few lives as at times, the road approached dangerously close to the steep shore, and the rocky jaws of the sea were awaiting below, ready to smash those who would slip.

The messenger had been ridding as fast as he could to deliver the message to the King of Solitude, and request reinforcements. The King, satisfied with the successes in the west, decided to commit five thousand more men to join Rurik's victorious force, and aid in their push south to Evermore, and then west into the heart of High Rock - Wayrest. Of the five thousand soldiers, two thousands were the reliable Solitudian Heavy Infantry, the trump card against Bretic cavalry when used properly; a thousand Druzhina, one of the most priced troops in all of Skyrim; six hundred berserkers, the untamed, fearsome Madmen, matched in their frenzy and ferocity perhaps only by the Orcs; a thousand four hundred of Nordic archers, although not the best marksmen in the world, but armored heavily and armed with axes and swords to make up for that.

To lead these troops west, the King of Solitude committed another minor warchief, a veteran of the Nordic Invasion of Morrowind and the innumerable post-war skirmishes between the Redoran and the Nords - Skirgailo Mountain-Man, named thus for his many battles fought in the Velothi Mountains.


Manfred

The Flyte of Anticlere rolled on another side, trying to fall asleep. Although he was feeling exhausted, sleep did not come to him due to the great number of worries he had. I wish I could take them all out of my head whenever I wanted to... He sighed, blinking and trying to ward off the image of a ship from Hammerfall, which rose before his eyes for what must've been the hundredth time since he left his sleeping son to catch some rest himself. It just wouldn't go away... And it all seemed so real. The pvssyring sailors, creaking wood, crying seagulls... The salty smell of the sea, intermingled with the barely noticeable stench of gunpowder...

Thud.

The boat hit against the sandy beach, its passengers jumping out immediately. Dark-skinned men, armed with exotic weapons. Their clothes were flowing, intermingled with chainmail armor, but not the kind one found in High Rock. It looked more like armor of the Ra Gada. Most of the men were completely armored, yet wore clothes over the chainmail to prevent the armor from overheating in the harsh sun of the land they came from. That would not be necessary here, as they'd soon come to realize, for this new land was much more welcoming than where they came from - the sun warmed, but did not burn. The wind was soft and did not cut, shuffling the high grass and leaves of the trees that grew ahead. Water gurgled somewhere, trying to find its way to the sea.

More boats hit against the shore, and more wandering warriors climbed out of them. Their spears, scimitars and axes glittered in the sun, rays from the Great Magnus Hole playfully dancing on the tools of death. All the weapons were sharp and in top condition; all the faces were harsh and wary. These men did not come here looking for rest - they came here for a new home, they came to carve out a kingdom for themselves to live in amongst the original inhabitants of this land. They would succeed, or die.

"If a place is to be my new home, it must be pleasant to the eye and the spirit; it must calm me, and make me relish the taste of life." One of the men stepped forward, muttering this in a tongue that was never yet spoken on these shores. His weapons and armor were trimmed with silver and gold, denoting his status as the leader of all these warriors. Kneeling, the dark-skinned warrior buried one of his palms in the soft sand, watching as it flowed through his fingers. So much like his home... A single tear dropped.

"This will be my new home."

Suddenly, the sea and the sands rose and swallowed everything; shadows clouded the land, figures moving within them, embracing each other, whispering. The shadows whirled around, trying to hide what was happening; suddenly, a great noise pierced through, bringing light with itself. The shadows disappeared, giving way to the wooden walls of a fortress, and an army of many men, the wandering warriors of the sea, surrounding them.

A man walked out of the gates of the fortress, and the leader of the wandering warriors rode out to meet him. Like day and night, the two met, the man of the fortress quivering and uncertain. The warrior wanderer was as always - silent, imposing. Blood and scars marked both their bodies, yet the warrior wanderer paid no heed to his injuries, while the man of the fortress winced with pain with every step he took.

"My lord has a message for you, who call themselves Yokudans... He shall surrender every bit of wealth he has, every coin, every jewel will be given for you, if you turn back and disappear to wherever you came from!"

The warrior wanderer smiled slightly, more of a cruel smirk than a smile. "We came from nowhere. The land we called home is gone. This is our home now. We cannot turn back."

The man of the fortress wanted to interfere, however the warrior wanderer did not stop. "Tell your people to make peace with your gods, if you have any. Prepare for a glorious death in combat, if your people recognize this. The Ra Gada is at your gates, and it cannot be turned. You have been honorable opponents, and we shall treat your mortal bodies with respect."

Without another word, the man of the fortress turned around, heading hastily towards the gates of his home.

Shadows again swallowed the land, trying to hide the events that unfolded upon the mortal plane. Then, the great noise came again, bringing with it light, and the shadows relented, giving way to a great mass of men, charging towards the wooden fortress as a single being, every man and woman roaring the ancient warcries of their people. Horns were blown, encouraging the charging warriors, and disheartening their foes, for they were unlike any other horn that was ever blown in this land; the voices of the horns spoke of the great lands they came from, and the warriors that lived within those lands since the dawn of time. Whatever foe they met would not survive, the horns spoke; and even though their tongue was foreign, the men of the fortress understood the tale it spun, and saw their doom within it.

The battle boiled for long, locking the two combatants in a deadly dance; ladders were leaned against the walls, men and women rushing up them and felling any defender that dared stand in their path. Soon, with one last cry of a horn, one last yell of a soldier, the fortress was swallowed, no more. A great gust of wind rolled over the hills, plains and forests of this land, whispering the message to all in its path...

"Reich Gradkeep fell... Fell to the Ra Gada of Yokuda... The Warrior Wave of the West."

Manfred opened his eyes, panting heavily. Sweat was rolling down his brow. Slowly, he sat up, the memories of his dream still fresh, as if he had been there, when the ancestors of his peoples, all the Bretons in his land, were wiped by the Ra Gada, the Warrior Wave.

Or was it really a dream? Were the people defeated truly our ancestors..?

Climbing out of his bed, Manfred began dressing as fast as he could. There was a tale that the people of Anticlere had to hear, which would make it clear who was truly enslaved by the Elves in these lands. There was a reason other than trade why Anticlerians had an affinity for sea... And the Anticlerians would learn.

" So, shall we begin? " Gandalug said softly, letting the gaze from his lone eye sweep across the large room where many of his captains and the single High Priest of Malacath sit. The room itself was huge, made of grey stone with a large hearth with a roaring fire. Animal skins and trophys hung from the walls, and over the massive oak table hung a large chandelier made from the antlers of several dozen stags.

" Well, I see no objections so I will take that as a yes. " The General continued, motioning for a large map made from tanner leather. His son, Dantrag, who was standing behind his father, eyes full of malice and typical scowl in place, obliged his father by unrolling it infront of the elder Orc. Once he was through, he returned to his place off beind his father, trunk like arms crossed over his chest.

" Now, as you all know, this urgent meeting has been called because of the events of late. Our allie, Lord Woodborne, led a force east to crush the Nords. It would seem he only stirred up a hornets nest, as his force was destroyed on route. " Grabbing a knife from a silver platter he was using just minutes earlier to cut his steak, he began to point at several areas on the map. Many of the captains leaned foward in their seats to gain a better look, although the High Priest, Ludrug gro-Borak looked on with disinterest.

" On top of that, it would seem Queen Elysana has gone and got herself trapped in a fortress by a bunch of nomad scum from Hammerfell. " At the very mention of the nomads, many of the orcs turned their heads and spit on the floor in disgust or let out a low growl. The treatment of their ancestors and their grand city at the hands of the Sentinel so many years ago were'nt easily forgotten and still brought on a seething rage in many.

" That is why it is up to us to gaurd Waywest and her borders to the east. I have spoken to King Gortwog in private, and he will not leave our allies who have shown us friendship in the past to the wolves of the Nordic Confederation. We shal.."

" I've heard enough! " Ludrug shouted, slamming his right fist hard onto the table. Jumping up, robes dancing about, he continued his speech to a room who stared at him in surprise. This kind of outburst was rare for the grey-haired Orc, so for now, Gandalug allowed him to continue.

" Allies!? Waywest is not our allie! They simply use us as fodder, and we gain nothing. They say they are our friends, yet our people are treated like second class citizens. I have remained silent for far to long now, the truth must come out! " The old Orc now went to shaking his fists in the air, his light green cheeks turning several shades darker as he continued his rant.

" And who do we have to blame for it? Gortwog! "

" Ludrug. " The Generals voice was soft, yet stern.

" He is the bastard fool who would allie us with a people who think we are little better then dogs! We could be ruling a larger portion of Highrock by force had he not gone and took the cowards way out. This I have seen in visions from Malacath, himself! "

" Ludrug.....silence. " His tone was still soft, although it was growing in strength.

" He has turned his back on the old ways, on Malacath. No one turns their back on the Prince of Bloody Oaths! No one! This is why I call for Gortwog to be removed from his position as king, and to be replaced by one who would better serve Malacath and his chosen peop.."

A loud thud echoed through the hall as Dantrag's hammer came crashing down onto the oak table, sending a large crack down the middle and sending dozens of oak splinters flying through the air. " Silence! My father called for silence, Ludrug! I swear, if you open your mouth again I will grind you skull under the heel of my boot, dog! " The mountain of flesh and steel roared as he hoisted Judgement back up, letting to come to rest on his right shoulder.

Silence filled the room. So quite infact, that if a pin was dropped, all would have been able to hear it. All eyes were now focused on Gandalug, and what he might do next. After a moment of silence that seemed like hours, the General spoke once again, his single, dark amber orb full of sorrow at what had to be done.

" Ludrug, I've always liked you and have counted you as a friend. You know me, and now know why what I have to say brings me great sorrow. I understand you different views, but your talk of replacing our king is sedition. I will not tolerate treason, especialy in a time like this. Your sentence is death to be carried out here and now. "

The priests weathered face showed signs of fear as his eyes darted around the room, looking for someone to stand up for him. The room was in silence. He tried to speak, but all he could do is stutter.

" Dantrag, do what you must. "

Judgement came fast, hurling end over end as the large orc sent it soaring through the air towards the old orc. The hit killed him instantly, crushing his facial bones and snapping his neck as it blasted him back to land in a broken heap on the floor. His face appeared to be nothing more then a bloody pile of mush.

A sick, twisted look of pleasure crept across Dantrags face as he retrieved his hammer that lay just feet from the Ludrugs corpse. " Nothing to say now, priest? " He chuckled, kicking the body with his foot, resulting in a sicking thud.

It seemed like the answer to everyones question has been answered. Orsinium would join the fight on the side of Waywest, enemys and traitors be damned.

Rethan Andrano, Wayrest.

"Funny how our fate can so suddenly lead us places we would never dream of on our own. Perhaps it is better that your past no longer regonizes you, after all, we do all change. I doubt anyone is the same being they were as a child."

Expecting some sort of answer, Rethan peered down, only to spot the rather drowzy looking elf half asleep on his shoulder. By Mephala, he thought, it felt as if he was rambling on to himself. With shifty eyes, Rethan made sure none of the other people at the inn were taking any notice of the two. No harm in at least attempting to stay subtle, even with a half drunken guard.

However, Rethan couldn't help but notice how sad Parthia's eyes were when she spoke, her ears almost dropping slightly. Though he couldn't tell if this was due to her being tired or drunk, there was something else in her voice which hinted that there lingered something painful for the young elf. Lifting his hand, Rethan lazily patted Parthia on the shoulder, feeling slightly sorry for the girl.

"Take me away from here..."

Rethan was taken back by her words. It was clear that her body was exhausted from the alchohol, obviously not being used to the heavy intake. But take her where? If he brought her back to the castle, she'd be sure to end up in a fair deal of trouble, not to mention he too, would recieve some harsh words from a certain someone. It wouldn't end well for either of the two. With that, it was clear there was really only one place to take the intoxicated woman.

Scooping Parthia into his arms, Rethan got up from the chair, slowly walking up the stairs and into his own room. The inn keeper had been quite generous after their little chat, and had agreed to let Rethan have a room reserved just for him. Oh the joys of his job. Though he wasn't aware if Parthia was even concious by this time, Rethan still decided to speak to her,

"I should tell you this now, I don't normally agree to take women up here who can barely stand on their own feet, but you'll thank me in the morning."

Laying Parthia gently down on his bed, Rethan pulled the linen covers over her, tucking it close into her body. The room was nothing out of the ordinary, just a small room with a single bed, a night stand, a chair and then the drawers. Simple, but it was more than enough for Rethan. Deciding it would be best for Parthia to not wake up with him sitting there staring at her, Rethan left, closing the door behind him.

Wayrest

Elysana watched her eldest daughter fidget, avoid her gaze, and speak her mind thoughtlessly. The girl was a princess- and a very fine one- but she was much more open and readable than her mother. It was this, more than anything else, which made Elysana so sure that Evelyn would make a great Queen one day, if only her future could be safeguarded. But Elysana had ever struggled to explain this to her daughter- always, she had mocked the weak-mindedness of others, the revealing qualities of those who spoke unguardedly. It was only now that Elysana truly understood how useful these things might be.

"My daughter," Elysana began, her expression unreadable. She took a deep breath, and tried again. Her expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Evelyn. Only throne-stealers need guard their words." Her words, as ever, subtly pointed out things without coming out and saying them. She looked at her daughter. "Understand... I am unable to speak my mind. Not completely," for a brief moment, her eyes betrayed an intense sadness, a weaker side she had never, ever shown her daughter. "I have made myself into something else. Please... do not interrupt me. I must get this all out, while I can."

"I don't regret my decisions to date," she said. "I only ever have done what I have judged is best for the Kingdom. But... Evelyn, you must understand. I have regrets about myself. I have made myself into a Queen, Evelyn, a Queen and not a leader. And see what this has gotten me!" Her tone was bitter, but she never once removed her dark eyes from her daughter.

"I... do regret how I have treated you, Evelyn. I do not truly know how to share, not when I don't trust the rest of the world to make decisions that will wreak havoc upon what I have built. High Rock was once even more divided than it is now, Evelyn! I have built a High Rock in which Wayrest is the centre, and done my best to enforce law and justice, but..." she broke off, and shook her head. She could not speak more about this.

"Evelyn. I understand why you lose sleep. You know too little, and this is my responsibility. You are a Princess, and my heir. I... have built a kingdom for you to rule without contest, don't you see? But I don't know how to share it. And it has taken me all of your life to learn to value what you are. Someone who can be open with the people, who can play court games and not become consumed by them as I have. Someone," and at this, her expression became unreadable once more. "Who does not need to use her body to get her way, but merely inspire loyalty in others. Someone who will one day make an honest and true Queen."

Finally, she looked away from her daughter- and this was the biggest sign of weakness within her, for Queen Elysana's gaze rarely faltered. "I am going to Daggerfall, my daughter, to confront the Aldmeri usurpers. I will not be going with much protection, and it may well be my end. Our Marshall," she said, making it clear that she knew Evelyn had some claim to him. "Has asked for you to accompany him East, that he might court you, no doubt. Go if you wish," she did not say what she felt about it; she had mentioned her hope for Evelyn to be an honourable Queen already, and she was in no position to judge. "But I would ask you to remain here, Evelyn, and act as Queen in my absence, with all my authority, and to become a Queen in truth should I never return." She did not look up, did not want to see her reaction. At this moment, she felt uncertain of her daughter. Uncertain of her intentions. Did Evelyn simply want the throne? Did Evelyn truly want her gone? Or would she see what complete and utter trust she was putting in her daughter, trust the likes of which she had never shown anyone else? Would she see that Elysana was not the villain of the kingdom Evelyn thought her; that she was risking her life to bring High Rock together once more?

There was no telling. Because Elysana was being more open than she ever had been before, more trusting. And that made her extremely vulnerable.

Edwinn

Edwinn gripped the handle of his axe tightly, almost like a mother might grip her child if asked to give it up. His axe was a part of him, and gave him a secure feelings, especially in times like this. And in situations like this.

But he saw no way of getting into the Castle without giving his weapons, especially after the guards discovered his true nature, and this mission was important for Northpoint. Not only was simple trade on the line, but also keeping on good terms with the Nords.

He glanced back to the three followers, and nodded grimly. The men began unstrapping their swords, as well as whatever secondary weapons they had, and Gauvin removed the three wands from the inside of his jacket. The boy was a nervous wreck, even with them on his person, but as he took them off, his eyes darted around quickly, as if he expected someone to leap from the roof and slit his throat. Edwinn sighed, and unstrapped the belt that held his axe, as well as the long dagger he carried on his other side.

The four men made their way to the guard, and dumped the weapons in front of the man, as they dismounted their horses.

Edwinn walked up to the man, holding the axe in front of him, but in a non-threatening way. "I don't want to see a smudge of dirt on this when I get back." he muttered, before placing the weapon on top of his shield. He turned away, motioning for the Knights and Gauvin to follow, and made his way into the Grand Hall, following the hall to wherever the Duke might reside. He felt vulnerable, and his senses were on high alert, in case treachery was afoot.


OOC: I'm not sure where exactly the Duke is, or what he might be doing, so when you post PFA, just assume my boys found you, m'kay?





Guard

The Breton leaned against the stone rail along the steps, watching as the expected party arrived, and standing as they drew closer to him. He stood upright, in a formal but not in a threatening way, his spear remaining leaning on the wall, and his hands easily at his side.

"You will find Lord de Guiralle in the Grand Hall, awaiting his guests." he said with a short bow. "Just through the main doors, and follow the hall to my Lord. As for your horses," he said, eyeing the fine animals, "Henry here will take them from you." he told them, indicating to another soldier that had walked up.

"You can retrieve them from the Castle's stables later, and will find them to be groomed and fed." he informed, as Henry moved towards the horses, taking the group by the reins.

The other guard gestured with his hand out wide, and bowed. "Welcome to Castle Northpoint." he said graciously.


Francis de Guiralle

Francis sat in his throne, his fingers drumming the silver arms impatiently as he waited for these unexpected guests. He didn't see why they needed to "smooth over details" of that treaty. So far there had been few problems in the way that both kingdoms affected each other. Certainly, he had problems with his own people, but as far as he knew, both sides were living up to the treaty.

He had no idea what this message from Brendan was about, but he had half a mind to rip it up as soon as he received it. What intrigued him the most was it was his rivals son was the one who had come. For this reason, he had called his own son, Paurand, into the room, though the boy did not know that his "rival" was soon to be here.

His mage, Hubert, also sat nearby, the usual look of airiness and daydreaming on his face as he thought of how he could better his explosive concoction without blowing his eyebrows off.

A guard rushed in, bowing quickly. "They are at the Castle gates now, m'Lord." he said. Francis nodded and dismissed the man, as he assumed his usual bored position, head resting in his hand as his fingers drummed incessantly on the thrones arm.

Camlorn

Abattarik ascended the steps towards the door in two strides and opened the door. With a flourish, he indicated for Sir Gaerwing to enter. "My lord, the King Beric, awaits within." Here's hoping Beric treats this man well... Gods know that the king can be overbearing, especially in these times when war beckons. Perhaps I should sit in, as an advisor... Blaise isn't one to restrain his father much, no, that's Conwys...

The room was a small, low-roofed chamber with wine racks along one side, pegs along the other and a hearth on a raised dais behind the King's seat at the head of the table. The floor was luxuriously carpeted but there were no hangings on the walls. There was a simple charm to it, and it was very pleasantly warm. Two guards were stationed at a door across the room that led God knows where, and the king sat at the table, curiously observing a map by the light of an oil lamp.

"My liege! May I present to you Sir Edgar Gaerwing, of Northpoint, commander of the Knights of the Deep! And sir knight, behold! Lord Beric Cassivel, King of Camlorn and Phrygias. Here is a seat," the court mage hurried forward and pulled a nearby seat out from the table. He indicated to the knight to sit down. "I shall return briefly with refreshment."

Beric looked up and made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a bark and an order, "My thanks, wizard!" He put his meaty elbows on the table and reached a hand across to shake Sir Edgar's. As he did so, he indicated to this left at a younger man with something of Beric himself within. "This is my son, Blaise, a prince of the realm." Blaise sat there in a silk shirt which barely contained his broad torso, and tight leather leggings. A thin smile crept across his face and he inclined his head. "Hullo, Sir Gaerwing. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Dwynnen

Osric nudged his horse further along the road towards the city. Behind him, Aphren and Senhyn brought their horses up as well, though with more hesitation. Dwynnen was a poor, backwater district in High Rock, and the gently-bred knights knew nothing of these lands, so far from prosperous coastal Camlorn. The old lord was familiar with this country however. In his younger days, Osric wandered the land, from Daggerfall to the Eastern Reach in Skyrim. He had even been as far abroad as Morrowind and the Black Marsh... Or so the rumour mill said.

"Wait until they ride out to us," Osric ordered. His wind-cut face betrayed no emotion, he merely looked up at the baron's city, watching and waiting.

Castle Northpoint

"You will find Lord de Guiralle in the Grand Hall, awaiting his guests. Just through the main doors, and follow the hall to my Lord," said the guard bowing courteously. "As for your horses," he added, "Henry here will take them from you. You can retrieve them from the Castle's stables later, and will find them to be groomed and fed." Henry took their horses by the reins and moved off and the other guard bowed, saying, "Welcome to Castle Northpoint."

Cadwallace thanked him, and the group moved off, following the guard's instructions. Presently they entered the Grand Hall, where they were awaited. Lord de Guiralle sat at the end of the room on his throne, looking impatient and ill-tempered. He was flanked on either side by young man about Cadwallace's age (his son, Cadwallace assumed, though they'd never met) and a daydreaming man in robes with no eyebrows (who Cadwallace at once pegged as the court sorcerer).

Cadwallace and Charles bowed deeply while Livia curtsied (the servants had been left in the ante-chamber, their presence un-required.) "My Lord de Guiralle," Cadwallace began at once, politely. "How pleasant to see you again. Allow me to introduce my sister, Livia d'Ardfert, and our companion, Charles du Roman." Here they bowed again, and then Cadwallace approached closer.

"I come bearing a message from my father," said he, producing it quickly, and offering it to the Lord of Northpoint. Cadwallace knew the letter was the main reason he was here, though he hadn't the faintest idea what it said. The mines more or less ran themselves, and though Cadwallace had noticed some discrepancies between the two cities accounting that he was eager to rectify, that was hardly a matter to disturb Lord de Guiralle with.

The Saethwyr bowmen crept through the forests, their feet making only the most miniscule of noise. Nature itself concealed these men, the undergrowth and canopy hiding them as well as any invisibilty spell. Their bows, almost as tall as a man, and made from the finest yew wood in Dwynnen, were held in their hands, with arrows nocked, but the string not drawn, not until they were given the order to rain death upon these outsiders.

A man named Iorwerth lead this group of Saethwyr. A grizzled veteran, and a mouse of a man. In his youth he was mocked because of his small stature, but when he had proved himself by saving the mayor cousin on an occasion, he had managed to overcome his height, and became one of the city's most reknowned men.

It was this man that, after ordering his men to draw back their bows, stepped out to confront the interlopers. "What ye be doin' comin' into the Baron's land as bold as ya please? And no white flag? What kind of nuts are ye?"

Dwynnen

"Stay your horse, Aphren," Senhyn said with arm-outstretched. Just because Osric could not see the Saethwyr, did not mean they weren't there. The stout figure of Iorwerth, though they did not know his name, appeared from the undergrowth. Senhyn drew a steel-blue longsword from its sheath and held it outwards, pointing to the nearest bush. Aphren felt threatened, and held his reins, ready to cut a retreat back to the camp.

Osric dismounted slowly, taking his time. A piece of straw was set between his teeth and he chewed it contemplatively. His mud-spattered boots rose and fell as he walked towards Iorwerth, one hand clutching his sword-hilt as if it were his only possession, the other set to the side and back with palm open, as if leading along an invisible dog. The trees seemed sinister all around, as if even the land were against him, but Osric didn't worry. These damn backwater denizens... You'd think they'd realize by now that some men aren't frightened of the land like others. I'll be [censored] if I'm having this.

"I'm Osric Cassivel, brother to King Beric Cassivel of Camlorn. Isn't this a joyous greeting to me and mine? I don't care if this is Dwynnen. I don't care if you have customs, you and your - what do you call them? Saethwyr - need to learn some bloody manners. I'm here to see the Baron." Osric spat out the piece of straw and an eager grin surfaced on his stubbly face. "Might be I know you. I know your face and your name, I think. Can't remember though. Let me and mine pass! We are naught but travelers to your little barony... We are not an army come to kill you all." The grizzly old knight laughed, and it sounded remarkably like the crinkle of chainmail.

Vytatus

Vytatus Great-Mouth sat upon a slightly smaller variety of the wooden throne upon which Rurik sat during his war meeting. The throne was every bit as much Nordic as the man who sat upon it; the only really damage to Vytatus' image as a Nordic Nord of Skyrim came from the middle-aged, short, stocky Imperial who stood next to his chair, dressed in clothes that denoted a social status little better than an ordinary citizen, although his clothes, oddly for such a place, were of Nibenese design. Aelius Paulius, as the man called himself, met Vytatus long ago, when both were very young men in Bruma, although how Vytatus ended up there was uncertain. The two have been friends since then, although Aelius was always forced to serve the Nord, something he didn't pay much attention to.

Notably, different than usual, Vytatus' mouth was covered by a fur scarf completely. Whenever the Khnyaz of Farrun would shift or move even slightly, that slight magical hue of enchanted items would ripple across the scarf. This was a standard procedure for the Nord during diplomatic meetings, as there was more of a risk for the Nord then that he would lose patience and speak without meaning to, as had happened on a few occassions earlier in his life. It was not a very good experience, and one Vytatus preffered to avoid living through again - even though it brought him no harm, others around him then would frequently suffer.

As the messengers from Northpoint entered the main hall, Vytatus made several quick signs with his hand. Aelius, observing carefully, quickly stepped forward slightly.

"My Khnyaz, Vytatus Great-Mouth, General of Rurik Far-Stride, Ruler of Farrun, welcomes you into his humble home, messengers of Northpoint."

Wayrest forests
"Reo-thern." Wikrun corrected the Ayuub, his hand going into the pouch bag he had slung across his body. The Cyrodiilic was broken, but he understood it. Removing his hand from the pouch, he held out a collection of items. They clinked like bone, and threads of bone fell from around his fingers. Three small amulets made of bones and skulls.

"We had to find something simple to carry that the Governor would accept as viable proof. Wikrun chose those trinkets... He'd have to explain why." Marsha told Arslan, and Wikrun sighed. Marsha turned to look at him.

"Every magician has items on their person that carry traces of their magic upon them. A... identification if you will. Mine is my staff; it bears the unique mark of my magic." Wikrun explained slowly, holding up his walking staff, the quartz orb that topped it gleaming opaquely in the firelight. He seemed to be choosing his words with unbearable caution. "These amulets bear the magical marks of the necromancers who used them. Heavily marked by Necromancy. Any Mage's guild member or court mage could be asked to confirm their ownership. And the reports of locals will further confirm our work."

"When the heck did you learn Yoku?!" Jassan wailed, awestruck. "And why didn't ya mention this during the war?"

"Especially during the war." Hukral added, with Marsha's nod. The Nord and Bosmer leaned forward. Ree'Ja simply lazily watched the Dunmer. Wikrun smiled nervously.

"I had to study it in my youth; along with Daedric and Aldmeris. There are texts in Yoku concerning their war magicka; specifically their ansei's, and the Shehai. Very few of them, and my teacher had to do some... illegal things to get ahold of them. But very interesting texts. So I took an interest in the language, and furthered my knowledge during the war." He admitted, looking a little ashamed of the fact. "I also read Yoku texts about their knowledge of Tamrielic magicks, and their distrust of it."

"So you know how to explain all things magical with Yoku words then?" Marsha inquired.

"To some degree. I know about as much about Yoku terms for magical things as you do for common Yoku." Wikrun shrugged, pocketing the amulets. "Regardless; I am only as fluent as Marsha, maybe less." Wikrun said the final bit in Yoku to Arslan, nodding. "Very exotic and interesting language."

"Can we please stick to Cyrodiilic? You know.... EVERYONE ELSE'S tongue?!" Jassan whined, rolling his wrist about the world as he said the last bit.

"Would certainly help me know what is going on." Hukral admitted.

"This one does not care." Ree'Ja nonchalantly shrugged, pulling the wolf meat off the fire and walking around the fire, holding out the stick of cooked meat for each to take a piece of it.

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Wayrest, suburbia
"He'd be that one over there, sir. Yep, the one with the ebony arm." The bartender told the servant who looked over to the man being described as Samuel Ross. He looked -at least by face alone- like your common hire-sword; rugged, tanned, playful and hearty-laughing. But what made the servant dubious was that he also had a nobility to him. That face was graceful and admirable. And he was covered in plate mail like a knight. In fact, even moreso in the fact he had ebony armor!

He couldn't possibly be a mercenary and afford that!

Nonetheless, the servant sighed and moved towards the table. "And the party afterward; oh man oh man, you haven't been to a party till you've seen a Dibellan dance at one." The man was saying, one steel boot propped on the table as he took a sip of his drink. One of the Nords he spoke with chugged his. At least he has the decency not to chug it. "The women; they are so fine, so... beautiful... it was like Dibella herself was there, in each one. The pure perfection. Let me tell you, I was glad my codpiece wasn't tight fitting!"

Typical commoner man. Obsessed with naked women. The servant thought, frowning. What did the court see in him that they summoned him? "I nearly had one of them too; she was taking quite the interest in me..." All the men leaned forward in anticipation. "But I had to go off on another job."

"Aw man."

"Blimey."

"Rotten luck, that."

"Oi! Miss, more ale!" One of the Nords proclaimed, holding up the mug he just emptied.

"I don't work here. I'm here for summons of one Samuel Ross." The Nord looked downtrodden, but Sam looked up, startled, and his feet -as well as those of the chair- hit the floor with a clunk.

"That'd be me, miss." He stood up promptly, smiling charmingly. She looked him up and down and gave him only a small smile back. Out of politeness. "May I ask for the reason and origin of the summons?"

Hmm... he can even manage courtly tones. Definitely odd for a mercenary. "The Queen of Wayrest, Sir Ross."

"Please, just Sam. I have no knighthood." Sam implored her, still smiling. "The Queen, eh?"

And there went the dignified speech quite quickly. "Yes, Samuel Ross, the Queen. She wishes to see you in the royal chambers as soon as you are available."

Sam's eyebrow rose, and she knew what he must have been thinking. The royal chambers. What man wouldn't think like that if they found Dibellan's irresistible? "I shall fulfill the wishes of her Highness, then." Nodding to her, he turned back to his drinking comrades. "Lads, it has been a great pleasure, but I must now take my leave of you! I have a Queen to discuss business with." He picked up his mug, raising it. "May your sword be sharp-"

"-and your arm be steady." The others replied, toasting and drinking to it. Samuel was the one who ingested the least of the drink, before turning and leaving for his chambers to prepare for the Wayrest court.

The servant turned and left the inn, heading back to the Castle. On the way she ran into one of her comrades. "Did you find him?!" The manservant of the castle asked, looking nervous. "I've been asking everywhere with no luck."

"Yes, Edwardo, I found him." She replied to the younger servant softly, patting him on the head. "You have to know where to go to get the information you seek; give it a few more years of service, and you'll learn." She frowned. "In the meantime, try to work on your other duties as well. Improve your performance or you'll end up fired before the year's end!"

"Yes, miss Cathrope. I'll get to it. Thank you for helping me!"

OOC: Too lazy to remake my post, noticed the summoner was supposed to be a guy... so I fixed that issue.

Arslan

The nomad released a silent hissing noise when the amulets were taken out, however the amulets of even-worse-than-usual Magi were quickly forgotten in favor of the fact the ash-skin could speak at least somewhat fluent Yoku, not much worse than Marsha's. He listened to the explanation of that which followed in Cyrodiilic with interest, trying to understand as best he could; it certainly seemed an odd way to learn his peoples' language. Actually, it seemed odd to Arslan that someone would have to learn his peoples' language at all - living all those years in a strictly Yokudan society, he couldn't imagine a Heartlander-speaking environment very well, although he didn't have the illusion the rest of the world spoke Yoku as well, as he had encountered Heartlander merchants and iron men in the past.

Arslan's thoughts turned again when Jassan began whining, from what the nomad could understand about the unusual amount of exchanges in Yoku; he smiled an angry smile, grumbling something in Yoku under his nose. Perhaps Marsha or Wikrun would understand that what he said could be translated as 'An invader's language is not the people's language', a proverb with which his father would answer the foreigner merchants' questions as to why couldn't they just speak Cyrodiilic, if only when bargaining.

The proverb, like anything associated with the Ayuub Tribe, brought back memories. Busy with trying to ward them off, Arslan took no notice of Ree'Ja's (his, actually, it was the arrow from his bow that had felled the wolf after all) meat. He wasn't yet hungry since his meal anyway; although it would've appeared as quite disgusting to eat raw meat to a pale-skin or any of the 'civilized' Men or Mer, it wasn't all that unsettling to Arslan. Meat was meat, and although he definately preffered it cooked, he wouldn't spit if offered it right out of the hunt.