Ev?lyn, Wayrest

With a trembling lip, Ev?lyn listened to her mother pour out her soul. It was almost not to believe, never had she had heard her mother speak like this. Ever since a child, she was used to seeing the queen, the strong woman who demanded respect in whatever movement she made. Even by just sitting still, Elysana looked royal. Not even for a moment did Ev?lyn disbelieve any of her mother's words. There was something she saw now, something she had never seen before, possibly because Elysana would never show it.

Biting her lip with force, Ev?lyn continued to listen, not wishing to interupt her mother. So many things she had been desperate to hear, and now...now she was actually hearing them. A part of Ev?lyn wondered if this was just a mere dream, if so, what a sweet dream. As cruel as it may sound, Ev?lyn almost enjoyed watching her mother speak with pained eyes, not because she wished her mother ill, but because this was perhaps the first time she had seen her mother act like a mother, instead of a queen.

Waiting til Elysana finished talking, Ev?lyn took a deep breath through her nose, her tongue attempting to grab hold of the scattered words in her mind.

"Mother I am almost at loss for words. All these things you have told me...oh how I've longed for you say them! I always thought that perhaps you did not deem me worthy to take over what you have built. I know now that was wrong of me to think, and I have with regret done things which I should not have. When you kept it all for yourself, I assumed it was because of me. That I was perhaps not the true heir you desired."

Ev?lyn's expression mildened as she looked across the room, gazing into the face of her mother. "I shall not lie to you, not after all that you have told me. Had you left to Daggerfall before sharing these thoughts, I would most likely stay in your place just for the sake of wearing the crown. But now...no, I would never stay just for that. As for Tud- I mean...the Marshall, I would like to go in order to contribute to our kingdom, but I have no intention of letting him court me if that is what worries your mind. Even I know he is not suited for that."

Had Tudor requested her presence? Upon hearing it, Ev?lyn's heart almost skipped a beat. She had always been infatuated with the Marshall, though there lied little trust in the man. A handsome, strong man he indeed was, but Ev?lyn wondered if he held her mother more dear than she. It was also no secret, that Tudor was acquaint with her own sister. Though Ev?lyn wished to get out of the castle for a change, she was unsure whether or not this was the right time.

Also, she was unsure what to say further. If she stayed in Wayrest, would her mother believe her to be a traitor? And what if she instead left with Tudor? It was a dilemma, that was for certain.

"I will leave it in your hands, mother. For I do not wish to become a throne robber in your eyes. Perhaps I wouldn't have cared earlier, but I do now."

Ongar

Ongar sat in his private quarters within his barracks. His two Orchish bodyguards murking around in silence.
"Grogan, get a messenger to Rurik, I must see him as soon as possible."
"Yes sir."
And Grogan was off in an instant.
"Bazur, tell me, how did you and your brother end up here, in the North part of High Rock, if your father is Burz gor-khash?
"We have relatives in Orsinium........I left, and my brother followed. Our father sent us away, because he had to work, deal with the guild."
"Well, I have to get to work, lock the door and come with me, I am sure we will see your brother around soon enough. We need to check on the soldiers, for Rurik will not be happy if my units are not in order, and I have 3000 of them to take care of, like little children."
"Haha." The Orc laughed, and Ongar was off.
Ongar walked down one of the halls that consisted of the Warchief's private quarters in the barracks. He gleamed over at the walls, with beautiful paintings on them. He proceeded down the stairs to the bottom floor.

Ongar looked around at the soldiers. Some of them were drunk, and were arguing and throwing food, and acting like uncivilized people.
"Attention!!!"
"yeaasirrr." One of the drunk soldiers wailed, as some of the others were still laughing.
"Attention!!! I don't want any yes sir's or noise, shut up when I am talking to you. Rurik wants us to act like decent people, and you are all full of it, and if this doesn't stop, then my ass is going to take the payment, and then I will take the anger out on you! You are professionals! damn it! Now, all of you take your damn silly drunk asses, and go back to your quarters, if you are going to waste yourself, then do it where it doesn't make us look like damn barbarians."
"But-"
"You just damn heard me, now go. And if I see another drunk Nord when I get back...."


Ongar took out to the streets, they were crowded with Bretons and the other foreign peoples that lived within Jehanna. They entered a tavern, the same one where they had met before. Ongar walked up to the counter, and glared at the Breton standing behind it.
"I want a pound of boar meat. Here are twenty-five septims."
Bazur followed behind him, "A pound of Venison with that also."
Shortly they were sitting down, eating with two other Breton citizens. Ongar looked over at Bazur.
"Ha, I bet your brother is going to be back and wonder where in Oblivion we are. I didn't tell anyone where I was going."
"Ha,"
One of the Bretic citizens looked over, "Are you one one of the officers? The messenger that talked to Rurik a few days ag, and entered the war council with the others?"
"Bazur, I hate publicity..........'

The other Breton got up and left, and the three talked for some time.

"Bazur, we need to be heading back."

They made there way through the busy streets of the large city, and back to the barracks.

OOC: I just don't feel it today

Wayrest

Elysana looked up to meet the eyes of her daughter. Such a formidable woman, always straight-backed and proud, it seemed almost out of place that respect glimmered within her eyes. Respect mixed with worry.

"Evelyn, if I am honest with you... I'd rather you stayed. Not because the Marshall requested your presence, but because I feel you can do much good here, and that this is the only way you will learn to lead. Remain in Wayrest and wield the full might of the Crown as if it were your own; I would hate to see it had gone to waste in the absence of us both, fallen into the hands of a usurper not even of our blood!" The very idea of it reminded her of her gods forsaken half-brother, and her nostrils flared and her eyes flashed at the very thought.

She calmed herself, however, and continued on, "Evelyn, I want this Kingdom to be for you after me, and as my heir, I see that it is long overdue that we... share..." the word clearly pained her- this was a very hard thing for her to do, a very difficult thing for her to let go of. "But I don't want you to fall into what I was. Evelyn, already you can hold your own at the court. You don't ever need to be a... well, a plotter, such as I am. As a true leader, you can wield power by force of will and not hidden machinations." Elysana's gaze suddenly became sharp and poignant. "You do not need to conduct yourself in such a manner as might be unfitting for a Queen. But this means," and she stressed this as much as she could. "That you must think things through." She bit each word off, ringing with clarity. "Mind over heart, Evelyn, though... you might actually listen to yours sometimes." Her smile was sad.

"I will still leave the decision to you, Evelyn, but heed me now, and heed well; A Queen must sacrifice her fancies and often her own personal happiness for the good of the people. This, my daughter, I have never forgotten, and this is something that it is hard for one so young to fully understand. The burden of this will not be your problem until you are Queen yourself and I rest with a dagger in my back, no doubt, but nonetheless you must conduct yourself in preparation of this; not tarnish your name or reputation, not set yourself up to be disliked by the people, who matter the most."

She wondered briefly if she should explain more clearly, but she would not. All this was Evelyn's decision... but her actions and decisions would show how fitting a Queen she might make, a Queen to replace and rise above what Elysana had been. A queen with a heart and not just a body and cunning mind... Elysana thought.

But... if while I am gone...

If she does not conduct herself rightly...

There are always Anwen and Brianna.

The thought did not please her. But with so much heart in Evelyn... she might well make mistakes of a different kind to her mother. But with the same end result, if Tudor's reputation is anything to go by...

The Queen of Wayrest did not know whether to laugh or cry at the thought.

Wayrest
Inn

Golden serpentine eyes watched down over Parthia as she slept. Her face was slightly blushed from the drinking as she lay on her back. She was covered not only in her heavy cloak but linen covers causing her to sweat slightly. The one who stood beside the bed watched with a thin mouthed smile on his face. His skin was as pale as the moon and his hair a similar silverish color. He was the same one that had spoken to Corsica at Fort Banesworth, the invisible guiding hand of the Batrani. If he was the hand, surely Parthia would be his dagger, the unknowing accomplice to be manipulated with what some would call his "magie de sarpe."

"Beautiful Parthia, i'll make you my own yet, as I did your mother." His thin fingered cold hand stroked her brow gently, and down her cheek. The voice he spoke with hissed slightly. His appearence wasn't of any man or elf on Tamriel that much was for sure. With a sudden movement he gripped the edge of the covers and pulled them off fluttering them across the room. From within his robe he drew a dagger, an ebony edge that was straight except for the tip which turned into a dramatic but smooth hook. Gently he traced the side of her neck with the blade until the hook caught onto the collar of her cloak. The piercing sound of material being torn hissed through the room as with one swift movement the cloak was sliced from top to bottom across the front, both edges flinging to the side. Underneath Parthia had her ankle wrapped sandals and leather 'corset' armor wrapped around her stomach that hid some throwing daggers and the letter from Rethan.

For a moment his hungry eyes simply drank in the sight lustfully. His eyes were always hungry, for power, for knowledge, for lust, now more so lust than anything. Leaning forward his free hand carressed down her chest, his finger tips picking up the echo of her heart beat as the slipper lower and lower until finally his long fingers gripped the end of the threading holding the armor around her stomach and he pulled. The armor opened up revealing the letter from Rethan laying against her stomach. Without taking his gaze off of her the letter was retrieved and placed away in his robe.

"Hmm..." Parthia's soft voice murmured in her sleep as her limbs shifted slightly. The cool air was a noticible contrast compared to being covered up in so many layers. Her eyes fluttered slightly, blurred at first as she opened them she spoted the man standing above her. A slight grin was over his face and his golden eyes had black slivers as pupils. Was she dreaming? She had had so much to drink she didn't even realize at first her attire's state. "Who...are you?" Her speech seemed off and when she tried sitting up his firm cold hand pressed against her chest pinning her back down.

"Sen." The man hissed his name, a flicker of a serpentine tongue flickered across his thin lips, his slivered pupils widended dramatically and an incredible rush of fear clenched at her very soul. Parthia tried to scream but there was nothing. She tried to move but all her body could do was shiver, not from the cold but from pure fear. It reminded her of the Khajiit which practiced their fierce eye techniques when she was small. She had learned to cope even with that for the most part, but this was different. She felt completely helpless, her terrified eyes the only sign that she was alive.

"Don't move my beautiful prey." Sen taunted her, his cold hand gentle as a lover carressing. Normally he prefered willing servants. They could react, they could be heard, they could even struggle but silence was needed this time and of course there was always next time. Even so he could indulge a little bit afterward. "Business before pleasure, dear." His hand moved up from her thighs across her stomach and chest and clasped around her throat. His face neared to her's his eyes looking even more hungry. With his thumb he pulled open her mouth by her chin, and new level of terror cut across her soul as he opened his mouth revealing his fangs. A vampire? Perhaps. Parthia's mind no longer worked within the realm of logic, only fear. Gods only knew how she did not faint. The inside of his mouth was pure darkness for the first few seconds until two small glints of yellow appeared within.

Tears of fear flowed down her cheeks as a snake burst out of Sen's throat and into her mouth, forcefully slithering into her. She couldn't breath, she tried again to yell but nothing. She tried shutting her eyes and when she could not even do that much she tried as hard as she could to roll them back as if hoping to pass out but to no avail. She even tried to bite the serpent but nothing. All she could do was stare at the...thing above her as it smiled wide eyed and wider jawed smiling as he fed her this snake out of his mouth.

Finally just before she thought she would pass out from the lack of oxygen she felt the tail of the serpent pass through her lips and Sen pulling away from her smiling a fangish grin. Parthia could feel the snake crawl around inside of her, the notion made her feel sick. She couldn't even throw up no matter how much she wished for it. Her tear filled eyes were gently wiped away by Sen's cold hand while he maintained that same frightful gaze and sickening grin. What was to be next she had expected before hand but with such a frightful precursor who knew what could come next.

Sen reached to the front of his robe slipping it back off of himself and leaned forward with a knee against her hip and the other between her own knees which were pushed apart. For some reason her thoughts rushed toward Vincent. Perhaps this was some sort of punishment put upon her for having an affair with him. Her previous depressed state re-emerged actually dampening a bit of the fear she felt. Her body was embraced by Sen's cold form and for once the monster broke his gaze from her eyes. At that moment his embrace became even tighter causing her to cry out, but only for a brief moment before two needle like fangs pierced toward her heart. Her body went limp, her eyes closed and she fell into a deep sleep with her last memories being a cold rythmic embrace.


Wayrest
Training Courtyard

Tudor stared snobbishly at Andrethi not saying anything for a moment. There was a level of unspoken respect between the two for their martial ability but they could never see eye to eye completely considering the history that connected the two. They really were opposites in many respects and at the same time quite similar. One was aggressive, the other passive, one was of higher nobility, the other a servant although of some status to the Queen, Tudor was more out spoken and full of bravado, Andrethi was quiet and to an extent even unsure. Not having a past made Andrethi unsure.

"So it seems the Queen is going to Daggerfall to speak with the Dominion. She's going to take some of her elites while her Princess Evalyn may accompany me to the east. Her majesty has decided to split up her elites but has given me the choice. I can either take you...or Varulae." Tudor's grin became a bit wider, for a moment showing his teeth. Tudor was a wolf of sorts himself. "And I can't really decide Andrethi. On one hand I could use you in the east to command my light cavalry. You could speak with the nomads, I know you were a slave of sorts there in the past and picked up their mutters and groans they use. On the other hand lady Varulae is such a lovely presence. But don't worry, I intend to keep her quite close to me."

Nine out of ten times Andrethi would always ignore Tudor's provokations. But in such a situation he was up against a wall. This was what Tudor loved to do. Even though he talked down to Andrethi he recognized his ability and would do whatever he could to push him in order to test himself. "So?" Andrethi knew there was going to be an angle to it all.

"So since I couldn't decide I thought we could have a friendly duel to sort it out. If I win, Lady Varulae will come with me. If you win, then she goes with the Queen and you will be joining me to fight the Nords." Tudor drew his blade, a glistening silver long sword with a 45 degree curved handle. The blade widened in the direction of the handle balancing it for both slashes and thrusts and acting as a hand guard. He dipped the sword in the dirt infront of him and rested his hands on it as if it were a cane.

Without any word from Andrethi he drew a short scimitar like curved blade with his left hand and a longer scimitar with his right. He flipped the left handed shorter blade as a hook, it was a unique fighting style 'of the black mountain.' The sight made Tudor very eager.

Gosic

The Psijicc was in silent meditation, sitting cross legged on his bed. The room was luxurious and comfy, not too grand where on the brink of being gaudy or without tact. No the room had a subtle elegance. Hand crafted wooden furniture, thick downed comforters and more silken pillows then he could shake a cane at. The Wizard performed magics that the Mages guild could not grasp, only speculate about. His mind, linked with many others who had performed similar incantations to bind themselves so close. The secrets of the order were many.

"It is in my oppinion that Anticlere holds the key to stability in Highrock, the keeper being Manfred. So far he has only shown sincere concern for his realm and people, with no expansionist ambitions. The man is an able politician however, and I wouldn't underestimate his ability to hide any motives. He remained under composure as two dominion spies spoke with him...he knew of who they were, even when they arrived under false pretenses." Gosics voice echoed in a void like space of his mind, other gray cloaks occupied the space with him."

A young woman spoke out in response, her face passive. "The dominion? They have there eyes on Anticlere then."

"No, they had already seeked to intimidate Anticlere." An Altmer bellowed, he was chubby, but with a kind face, and energetic eyes. The woman continued speaking.

"How did Manfred learn of these spies....the divination you said you had performed?" Gosic nodded. They all sat for what seemed like eternity in silent contemplation before Gosic spoke out.

"Dorotea...have you arrived in Orsinium?"

The lady shook her head slightly, "I'm afraid not, the roads bustle with activity and highwaymen do what they will...I have yet to see the Iron city."

Gosic understood and sighed, "I apologize but the link must now be closed."

Within a blink of an eye, the Psijicc was back in reality.

Knock, knock, knock

"You may come in, the door is not locked." Said a smiling wizard. The door creaked open, and a petite woman entered holding a limeware tray of writing materials, and books on High rocks current, and past affairs.

She curtsied to the best of her ability, and laid down the supplies on a lavish desk in the room. Now the Psijicc could finally do some work in the early, or late time (however you would word the dark morning).

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

Entering Dwynnen, a stagecoach with freshly replaced horses stampeded its way through the forest which signified the end of Anticlere. Inside were women sharing the black cloth and veils of the Sisters of Mercy, Stendar and Mara worshipers dedicated to their gods, and there gods only. They saw it as there duty to help heal all those in need, regardless of allegiance. To help protect the women, and their virtue were Knights of Stendar who usually traveled.

Wearing the clothing of those men were lightly armed figures riding on horses beside the coach. At their hips were holy books, and consecrated daggers. They had remained vigilant the entire night, but even there senses were beginning to fail them. Hopefully they would reach the heart of Dwynnen within the hour.

White Haven

Agilulf Calvino was one of Sharnhelm's finest infantry officers, a man Brendan d'Ardfert respected greatly and the man he had sent to Wayrest in command of Sharnhelm's division in Lord Woodborne's forces. He and some thirty companions returned to the city of Sharnhelm weary and shell-shocked. Hearing that the Baron could be found at White Haven, Calvino hastened there at once to offer up his resignation and his head.

Lord d'Ardfert met him with open arms and a bottle of fine Skingrad wine. Calvino knelt upon beholding the Baron and said in a choked, wretched voice, "My Lord, I have failed you and I have failed Sharnhelm. Take my life at once, for I am not worthy to serve you."

Brendan smiled at his friend warmly and extended a hand to raise him. "Come, my friend ? don't be so melancholy. I could not take your life if you lost me 10,000 men, so dear your life is to me. Rise, rise! We all make mistakes. Rise ? and tell me everything!"

Calvino rose as bidden, and followed Brendan to a little table where accepted a goblet of wine. He threw it back at once, and then gazed at Brendan with mournful eyes. "Alas! I have failed you, though ? there's no denying it!"

The Baron reclined in his chair and looked at the officer intently. "Tell me about it!" he ordered again.

"It was a disaster ? a total bloody disaster. Our force was made up of men from many separate cities, but there was no integration, nor even any clear communication between divisions. Central command was distant and inaccessible, and the orders handed down were muddled and incomprehensible. Organization was sorely lacking ? supplies were lost, orders were delivered to the wrong people and were often intercepted. No one knew where anyone else was. Once some Wayrest militia engaged us, thinking we were the enemy." Calvino leaned forward. "I tell you, I used to have the highest respect for Lord Woodborne." He shook his head. "No longer. He is not the man he once was."

"And the battle?"

"Battle? What battle?" Calvino laughed bitterly. "It was a route. They fell on us from behind ? we were marching the wrong direction, mind, and a horrible fog had rolled in off the sea, so you couldn't see anything. And then they came up from behind, and fell on us like the barbarians they are. And?we ran. There was nothing else for it. The men in the back were being slaughtered and so the others ran for it. The best news that I can give you is that most of our men probably weren't killed. But most of them were likely captured by those Nordic bastards, and those that weren't are either gone to ground or still wandering around between Farrun and Jehanna like chickens with their heads cut off."

The infantry commander leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "Did you know they have men that can kill with their voices? It's true ? I saw them! I even heard it said that they knocked down the gates of Jehanna ? by shouting!" He shuddered.

"Hmm?" murmured Brendan softly. "Say, Calvino," he leaned forward and met his friend's eyes thoughtfully. "I'm thinking of levying two thousand militia from White Haven and training them in the use of the pike. I wish you to train them. Do you accept?"

"My Lord?" Calvino swallowed. "I am, of course, at thy command?but I truly feel I have failed you. And the burden has fallen hard on me. I will train our militia, if you wish?but I have no desire to return to war. 'Glory,' " he smiled bitterly and quoted a Cyrodiilic poet, " 'is as ash in my mouth.' "

"Ah! Too bad! You know I can refuse you nothing! Take your leave, then!"

Calvino hung his head, but suddenly started. "My Lord! I know the man for your job! A minor Wayrestian noble, name of?ah, Ludovic?Medinuois. The only competent officer in all of Wayrest, far as I can tell. He commanded only a small unit, but he was efficient and well-organized. Should be well able to handle training a large number of men. He's loyal to Wayrest, but he's poor and lacks respect. Offer him good pay and honor, and I've no doubt he'll come to Sharnhelm."

Brendan stroked his smooth chin and said, "Then as your last duty for me, I'd like you to return to Wayrest and find this Ludovic Medinuois. Do what it takes to make him come to me."

Calvino stood and bowed, "My Lord, it shall be as you command."

Jehanna

The Duke, ensconced in comfortable quarters of the Castle Jehanna passed a fitful night, turning restlessly on his downy mattress. Just after one in the morning, he lapsed into sleep and at once began dreaming of the Imperial City, the still white city of his birth. At dawn ? having passed the last short hours of the night in the cool and winding alleys of his native city while marble busts of the old emperors watched him with accusing eyes and the Red Dragon Crown spoke to him from the seat of an empty throne, proclaiming solemnly in his father's voice, "You have betrayed the trust!" ? he awoke shivering and bathed in sweat. He tried for a while longer to regain sleep, but there was no use for it and, at last, he clambered out of bed and called loudly for a servant to stir the fire in the brazier.

While the servant did this, Germanicus dressed himself, pulling on a pricey tunic and belting it before flinging a cloak over his shoulders. On his briast he pinned a bronze broach in the shape of a dragon. This broach was one of his prized possessions, having been given to his father by the late and lamented Uriel Septim. For a while he stood at the window, smoking fine Hammerfall tobacco from his pipe and watching the sun rise over the spires of the waking seaport.

After a time, he sighed and asked the servant, a dark-haired Bretic youth, where he could find Lord Rurik. The servant shrugged, rolled his eyes insolently, and responded that he certainly wouldn't know.

Muttering curses against all servants who don't know their place, Germanicus stormed out of his room, strapping his ebon longsword at his side, and began searching for a guard to direct him. Presently he came across a Nord and asked him roughly, "Where can I find the Velikiy Khnyaz? I must speak with him."

Rurik

The Nord, leaning against his pike, gestured towards castle Jehanna. "Follow." He murmured, voice worn and sleepy - night watch was not a pleasant duty. Without waiting to see if the Duke of Karthwasten heard him and was intending to follow, the man slowly turned around, held back a yawn and walked off in the direction of the castle. He had seen Rurik earlier that morning, or that night more like it, and the Velikiy Khnyaz definately did not seem to be intending to rest. Sleepless nights was nothing new for the ex-raider, and now Rurik was often forced to stay up, laying out plans for the upcomming push, thinking about as many alternative ways the invasion might've went as was possible for a single man.

Having already grown accustomed to Jehanna, the Nordic guard led Germanicus through swiftly, although he never once turned to look if the Duke could keep up, being too tired to care for someone else than himself, no matter the station. Even if the King of Solitude would've walked up and told him to show the way to the gates, the guard would've treated him the same way as a simple citizen.

At the gates of the castle, the guard did not stop, finding his way through the courtyard, and into the castle itself. There, taking a few swift turns, and walking up a small stair, he stopped outside a rather large door. No noise came from inside for a while, before someone coughed and wood creaked. Then, the guard gave the doors a silent knock; when Rurik's voice could be heard from the inside, inquiring who was this, the guard held back another yawn, answering:

"Duke Karthwasten wishes to see you, Velikiy Khnyaz."

"Very well. Come in." After a moment, the Khnyaz's voice came, accompanied by heavy footsteps and a click as the doors were unlocked.

Wayrest Forests
Marsha laughed softly at Arslan's grumble. She barely caught it, but got the gist of what he meant. Leaning close, she grinned. "In this scenario... you are the invader, you know." She didn't have an expression of reprimanding on her face, but a jesting grin as she leaned away and grabbed a chunk of wolf meat from the stick Ree'Ja held. The Khajiit held the stick for but a short time longer, and then moved on to Wikrun when the Ayuub did not reach for the meat.

"Anyways, once we get to Reothern we'll tell the governor our success and hand him the amulets." Wikrun explained as he took a piece of the food. "We have a bit of a reputation-"

"-and Big-and-Intimidating over here." Jassan added, thumbing at Hukral's direction as the Nord bit into a piece of wolf thigh.

"-So he's not likely to question our work." Wikrun carried on, ignoring the little elf.

"We divide the money between us, so our reward is split into five portions. Then we stay in the town for a night-" Hukral continued.

"-to party like mad!" Jassan grinned.

"-rest and resupply for our next journey." Hukral also ignored the elf, though he did so with a smile. "We figure out a general direction to go in from rumors we hear in the inns we stay at. So, we rest and learn of our next job location."

"Ree'Ja wonders..." Ree'Ja finally spoke up, his feline voice rumbling. He sat on his hunches, chewed on some meat, swallowed, then looked at Arslan. "Will the rebellious one come with us? Ree'Ja's brother-in-battle was archer; we have lost him in Wolf War. Can rebellious one's skills replace?"

The rest of the Band had fallen silent at the mention of Christopher, their past member and only archer before the War of the Wolves. All attention was on Arslan now; would he stay with them, maybe even join them to the extent Christopher had, or would he leave at the dispersion of the fog?

----------------------------

Wayrest Castle
Samuel Ross inhaled, one more time brushing at his armor with silent clinks. He looked to the looming doors of the Castle Wayrest, for a moment finding them daunting. What would the Queen say to him? Why did she want him to meet her in her chambers? Elysana had a rumored reputation that none could truly verify; it made Sam even more unsure. How would she reward a man she did not even employ the services of?

Sure, he had helped rescue the Queen from the ancient Fort, but he had come across it by sheer luck. He had no idea it was the Queen within those walls; Furninan had simply said there was royalty there. And he alone did not save her; her court magi and accompanying bodyguards had done most of the work and Sam had merely suggested a route of action.

What kind of reward does a half-assed plan of escape garner you from a Queen? Sam had never worked for a Queen or King before. "I told ya boy... keep yer cool, let 'er do all the talkin'. Be courteous an' watch yer words." Furninan whispered from Sam's hip, and reflexively the mercenary clasped a hand over the large leather pouch. The instinctive motion flickered away as he recollected himself, brushed one ebony hand through his ponytail, and pushed open the doors.

The entrance Hall made the doors seem afflicted with dwarfism, massive staircases leading up to the higher levels and great pillars rising from roof to floor. Adorned to fit a Queen, indeed. Sam gulped. Great... where the heck is her chambers? Slowly, he began up the central staircase. Left or right.

"And who might you be?" Came a man's voice, making Sam jump and reach for his sword. That hand opened and thrust itself away from his sword when he noticed the speaker, giving a nervous grin. "Hmm?" One thick dark eyebrow rose on the Breton man's forehead, making his wrinkles of age crease even more. He was dressed in expensive trousers and a burgundy tunic, showing off some sort of status.

"I'm Sam... Samuel Ross." The mercenary elaborated, straightening himself with a clunking of armor. "I was summoned..." The man's eyebrow rose further. "By a servant of the queen..." Sam tensed, unsure how the next piece of information would be received. "To the Queen's Royal Chambers... she wants to speak with me."

"Apparently. New to the castle?" The man asked smoothly.

"Apparently." The breton sell-sword replied back with a grin, beginning to lax a little.

"You aren't exactly dressed for audience with her highness." He commented, looking over the soldier's shining yet slightly dinged steel armor but clean face.

"It was either this or plain cotton tunic and trousers. Figured her majesty wouldn't mind my armor being on." Sam blurted, then regretted it; that might have come out a little wrong.

"She probably would, actually. You look lost enough, Master Ross, without seeming so green as to attempt to approach a royal court in full battle regalia." The man's speech was smoothly chiding, making Sam cringe. OF COURSE. Blooming idiot! "I can provide you with more suitable wear in the servant's quarters, if you will follow me."

"Um... I ain't leaving my stuff there, you know." Sam shot quickly; he was young and brave, not foolish. The servant raised an eyebrow.

"Of course you are."

"No I am not... What if someone were to-"

"Are you implying the servants of Queen Elysana of Wayrest are thieves?" There was almost a hint of malice in the man's voice that made Sam instantly regret his words. He held up his hands in surrender, smiling sheepishly.

"In my line of work... can't be too careful." He admitted. The manservant snickered, before motioning for Sam to follow.

The mercenary tried, and failed, to remember the winding turns of the ordained halls as he was led through the castle. To him it all looked the same with such space. At least lesser lords, having less space to decorate, varied the decor and it was easier to distinguish. Instead this castle was so large that one decor style led into another, bleeding through, and it became hard to remember where one stopped and the other began; like getting lost in a forest of pines that is slowly morphing into a forest of oak. Where did one truly end and the other begin?

Finally they stopped, and he frowned, looking back. I hope Furninan tried remembering. The manservant opened the door and led Sam into the room. It wasn't overly lavished, but it was certainly far more decorated than he expected for a servant. His surprise must have been plain on his face, because as the servant moved to a chest in the corner he explained. "I'm one of the head servants of the castle, so I am given slightly higher up accommodations. It is hardly worth gawking over; the stuff is old and hand-me-downs from the royal family."

If hand-me-downs from a royal family is nothing to gawk at, you have your priorities mixed up mate. Sam thought, reflexively catching the small key the servant tossed to him. "Remove your clothes and accessories and lock them in the chest. I'll find you more suitable attire. The Queen is currently busy, so you still have time."

Sam looked at the key, looked at the chest, shrugged, and bit the key between his teeth as he began to undo his armor. No wonder I never bothered working for royalty.

Arslan

It took Arslan some moments to swallow the question Ree'Ja threw at him in Cyrodiilic; it was difficult enough to keep track of the conversation, not to mention actually interact. And interact on a touchy subject, too, as the nomad realized from the kind of silence that fell over the little camp at the mention of the lost archer. He recalled what Marsha mentioned about losing one of their own to the Ra Gada when the Ayuub had just met them. The loss of a comrade was not a light matter, this he knew himself; the Ayuubs, being Ra Gada, valued warriors highly and fallen ones would go with much honor.

"I have..." Arslan finally spoke out, picking his words with caution to avoid stumbling onto a wrong meaning with his limited knowledge. "I have not to travel." Understanding that this probably came off as nigh-incomprehensible, the nomad made a wide gesture around the whole clearing, then pointed to himself and shrugged. "So... I go with you... If yous agree." He tapped his belongings lightly. "Things good, I good with things." He pointed to himself again. What he was trying to say was basically that he was good at using his weapons.

For a moment, the nomad struggled to say what he wanted to; however, it was too complicated with his limited vocabulary, thus Arslan turned to Marsha, spilling out in yoku instead. "I am sad for your friend's passing; the best thing I could say not knowing your fallen friend is that he fell in battle, and now rests with warriors great, in peace with the sands." This was even slightly poetic; rough poetry for rough peoples, be they Ashlanders of far-off Morrowind or nomads from the Alik'R.

Ev?lyn, Wayrest.

Ev?lyn nodded towards her mother, knowing her words were true. Despite a slight wish to travel to the east, leaving the throne would be foolish. Though her sister would by default take the throne, in Ev?lyn's eyes this was not a duty her younger sibling could perform. And by no means this Ev?lyn had any intention of loosing her birth right. With this, Ev?lyn came to understand that she must stay in Wayrest. For some reason, her mother had decided to share what too, was hers, and this was something not to take for granted.

However, the timing was not the most ideal, not with the current state Wayrest was in. Ev?lyn knew should she have to step up, she might easily face turbulance.

"Very well then, mother. I shall remain in Wayrest, as is your wish. But mother, what would I do should you not return? I am unsure how to handle the going confrontation from both the Nords and Aldmeri, I need your guidance, more than anything.""

It is not only this that concerns me, I am still young, and should mother cease to return from Daggerfall, I could meet challenges from our remaining allies.

Rethan Andrano, Wayrest.

Half way down the stairs, Rethan came to a halt,

Sheogorath, I forgot to lock my drawer up there. Drunk or not, gods knows what that woman might find in there. Better go up to check.

Spinning around, Rethan made his way to his room, hoping that Parthia had indeed not found his folded letters. It was embarassing to think he had forgotten such an important matter. Picking up the pace, Rethan opened the door, his eyes growing wide from the image that greeted him. A man laid on top of Parthia, his body forced against hers.

Sickened at first, Rethan noticed how Partia did not react to his movements. It was clear this was not an act of passion, nor of consent. Parthia's face was lifeless, her eyes peacefully shut as the man clutched onto her limp body, svckling from her neck like an animal. It was a disgusting sight, a sight Rethan no longer wished to see. Drawing his blade, Rethan took a leap towards the man, griping his shoulder when he was within reach.

"You must be down right desperate, having to paralyze a woman to have your way. I suggest you remove your presence, unless you want to have a taste of your own blood.""

Jehanna

The Nordic guard strode quickly through the streets of Jehanna to the Castle, where the Velikiy Khnyaz had taken up residence. The Duke kept at the guard's heels, despite his fast pace. Fortunately, the streets were still deserted at this time of day, or this would have been somewhat more difficult.

Presently, they reached the castle, and the guard led Germanicus indoors, without presenting himself to anyone. After a few corners and a small staircase, the guard paused by a wooden door, and gave it a light rap with the back of his hand. The Velikiy Khnyaz called out from inside, asking who it was.

"Duke Karthwasten wishes to see you, Velikiy Khnyaz."

"Very well. Come in."

The door clicked as it was unlocked from inside, and as it swung open, Germanicus entered.

"My Lord Rurik," said he, bowing slightly. "I apologize for intruding at this early hour, but I wish to speak to you. It regards my nephew, Alfngar."

Jehanna, Ongar

Ongar glared over at the barracks. The gleaming sunlight, lighting up the streets, which were busy, as the civilians carried out their daily lives, with no fear of the large Nordic soldiers, that were everywhere. The cold air lurked, and with every deep breath that Ongar's Orc companion took, a rush of visible air sped into the air slowly like an arrow being shot straight into the sky.

The streets were noisy, and Ongar looked upon the many civilians. It seemed as if the invasion had not affected them, but Ongar knew it did, It has to affect them, they are all, all of them are hiding something, but they seem to not care in a way. As long as their meat is on their table.....

A view of the large barracks was coming into view. The air was cold, and even with the busy noise of the children, the merchants, and the guards. Many of them were starting to leave the streets, but he could hear Grogan's distinct voice rattling through the air.

"Ongar!!!" Grogan ran up to Ongar, they were now within a short distance of the barracks. "I could not get through to Rurik, the guards had cut part of the castle off, do to a meeting with the duke of Karthwasten, perhaps you could meet with the man some other time."

"Very well, you two round up the troops, and to meet in the training area. My men are not going to fight like a horse ass. Now, round them up, we are going to work on some formations and different key tactics in battle. Now, you and your brother go round them up, I don't...I don't want them to end up like my father...the citizens are starting to leave the streets, I will go meet with Rurik and the Duke myself, just gather up the troops, and go through there regular drills that you have seen me put them through to the best that you can."

Ongar strode down the street, ready to reveal what he had to Rurik.

Rurik

Rurik's room wasn't very large, nor very impressive. Its key features were a large bed opposite of the door, and a round table with three chairs around it in the middle. Currently, the table was covered in maps and letters, except for a small patch where a candle was slowly melting, providing at least some light to complement the rays of dawn seeping in through a small window. Rolling up some of the maps, Rurik gestured towards one of the chairs, quickly occupying the one directly in front of his guest's.

"Your nephew? Oleg Mer-Spear spoke quite well of him. What is it you would wish to discuss, Duke Karthwasten?"

Rurik, however, had an idea what was all this about. Letting an influential man grow your heir was a tradition of Skyrim; one that he had been subject to himself, in fact. After the young Nord had displayed no joy in exploring the Sea of Ghosts, his father instructed him to seek out the raiders with which Rurik would grow his first ambitions. If my suspicions are true, then Alfngar may be grown into a true son of Skyrim; as sad as it may be, it would be in the boy's best interests to keep away from his father, particularly the political views which, if rumors are correct, he has. No matter what befalls the Nords, it will be better than what's happening with the Empire. It'll be torn apart by hungry hounds, and even the bear of Skyrim will wish its share.


Manfred

A lone man scurried about the nearly empty streets of Anticlere. The guards he encountered would watch with interest as the rather well-dressed Breton ran in zig-zags along the streets, stopping at the larger doors. Over his shoulders were slung two large packs, along with a backpack; whenever he stopped, the man would take out a paper out of each of them, and hammer it to the door using the nails from a pouch that hung from his belt, and the hammer he carried with him. Under this enormous load, the man seemed to shrink, however such was the will of Manfred, and he had to carry it out.

Whenever the man would hurry away, some of the more curious guards would approach and read the papers. They were aligned in a pattern - at the top was the longest one, and below it would hang two smaller, nearly identical ones. All three papers bore the seal of the Flyte of Anticlere.

The first, and largest one, was a retelling of Manfred's dream, an explanation of the Anticlerians' heritage and their affinity for sea, and a call for all the citizens to realize the truth of that. Below hung two offers; nearly identical, they invited young men of proper education and with a love for either sea or land warfare to apply to either Charles d'Artagnan, the admiral of Anticlere, or to Wilfred du Lombard, in his absence - to Joseph du Guesclin, a cousin of the rather famous author, Voltaire du Guesclin.

In castle Anticlere, Manfred stood out in the balconry in which yesterday he observed the bustling city with his son, observing the incredible contrast between a sleeping and an awoken Anticlere. His heart fluttered slightly; soon, the city would awake, and his citizens would find the public announcements. Then he would see how the Anticlerians took to this new explanation of their heritage...

With a slightly sad smile, Manfred turned around and headed inside to prepare for Wilfred's wedding.

Jehanna, Ongar



The early morning sunlight still gleamed off of the guards heavy armor, the warmth from their mouths reacting to the cold mountain air. Ongar furrowed his brow, wondering why seemingly more guards than usual passed through the gates. As he approached the gates, a great noise rang through the empty streets as the massive gates shut, a large piece of wood falling in to place, successfully barring it shut.

"I request an audience with Rurik." The nord bellowed.

"My apoligies captain, he is busy at the moment, meeting with the Duke of Karthwasten."

"I wish to see him anyways, Preferably soon. Would you allow me in?" He said in the most persuasive voice he could muster.

"Of course captain."

The noise rang out again, the guard opening the gates with haste, fearful of the captain's scorn. Ongar passed through the massive gates into the castle, marvelling at it's beauty as he walked. Many items hung on display, or lay on tables in the corridors. Most notable a painting of a battle that had occured during the war of the Bend'r-mahk. A Nordic general could be seen leading his forces against a company of Bretons. Soon. Soon history shall repeat itself.

Wayrest

A brilliant smile, full of relief, dazzled across Elysana's lips. She relaxed briefly, her usually poker-straight posture softening, and the smile even touched her dark eyes. As small and subtle as these changes might have been... for Elysana, being this openly pleased was the equivalent of hugging her daughter, compared to the frosty way she did everything.

"And Guidance you shall have, my daughter," Elysana said. She realised she could not leave her daughter here with nothing, not when she had denied her the chance of learning anything of this, of gaining any kind of experience, previously. "You need to realise that this war seems to be very much a cultural one. Already the Aldmeris and the Nords are taking our land- but not by force. Winning back the love of the people is tantamount to recovering High Rock, and that, in many ways, is why I am going to Daggerfall. The Aldmeris seem to be taking this more subtly- they are pretending to be non-hostile, and are asking to be treated as would any foreign monarch. This is completely inappropriate, and yet their pretend peace will allow us to take liberties with them we might not have before- such as paying a visit to their..." her lip curled. "...new lands. An important thing to remember is also that, in a situation like with the Aldmeris, not everyone is going to support the change. There will be many non-mer, and maybe even some bretonfolk, who are feeling downtrodden by the sudden influx of elves- whose only interest is, by their vary nature, Dominion of Elves over others. Even the bretons must fall prey to this one day. Playing on this in any campaign is sure to upset the balance of power, and that is only in our favour. You must never ignore them, however; to make them feel like our back is turned is to invite them to strike."

"The Nords are more straightforward, though they too are taking our land by sheer culture in many aspects. We are at war with the Nords," Her expression was troubled, telling Evelyn that she did not want to hear about why. "We must face them with force, defend our borders. If an accord could be struck with them... but it will never be with me, or even you. Nordic stubbornness is legendary."

"Remember always to listen to those around you- The Marshall, The Advisors... all these will have useful things to say. A Queen does not rule entirely alone."

"Allies are perhaps the most important- Though Orsimer and the Khan are both now, at least, something of allies, I am beginning to see more and more that our allies need to be from within, not without. Our people are forgetting what it is to be High Rock, proud, whole and united.... none are helping us, all are becoming traiterous, not realising their doom. We need, you and I, to somehow regain the loyalty of those around us," she seemed suddenly haggard and old... much older than she had ever seemed before, as the weight of her subjects betraying her hit home. "We need to regain them, Evelyn, else all the outside allies in the world will not save us."

"And then..." she said, and a kind of steely strength returned to her. "And then there is always... you can always turn to getting rid of certain key figures, at a last- and only at a last. Assassination is unpleasant, my daughter, and leaves a very foul taste on the tongue and a taint on the soul. But sometimes, it is all you can do to maintain peace for your people, and it is quite safe, should you go to the right one."

She rose to her feet, signalling that it was time for Evelyn to leave, and all the openness of before- however faint it might have been- suddenly faded and she became all Queen once more, whatever was left of Elysana as Mother now disappearing as she returned to business. "Daughter, I must attend to other business now, there is much for me to put in order before I leave for Daggerfall. Please, remember my advice, and look after my kingdom well. If we do not get the chance to speak again before I leave, then fare thee well Princess Evelyn of Wayrest and... I'm sure you'll make me proud. You have not turned out so badly, daughter, though for the life of me I cannot figure out how."

OOC: Am I to take it The Queen and Wayrest are operating under a slowed time scale, and the BB can declare morning even though the day is yet done for Sam and the Queen? I shall make such assumption.

IC: Marsha looked at Arslan, her dark brown eyes seeming to gleam in the firelight. Maybe it was tears; maybe it was anger. There were times with Marsha where it was hard to tell, unless she was straight up angry.

"What did he say?" Jassan asked softly, respectful of the sudden silence of the rest and not annoyed, but genuinely curious. Marsha turned to the little elf, and not with irritable glaring, for once.

"He says he is sad for Chris' passing, and having not known him, the best he can say is he fell in battle, and rests with other great warriors at peace." Marsha translated roughly, from what she understood of what he said.

"He now rests with warriors great, in peace with the sands." Wikrun translated the last, most poetic point of Arslan's statement, with a soft tone. Warriors; it's always about dying in battle isn't it? Only a death count left behind to make your name for you. Whatever happened to truly accomplishments? Discoveries and newfound studies...

But I'm thinking too much like a Telvanni, and not enough like a Mercenary. He bit back his thoughts, knowing what the others would think of them.

"He died on the job; he died in the heat of battle. He took the enemy with him in his death, and though young and inexperienced fought like a true, brave soldier. My only regret is not fighting alongside him." Hukral said, looking into the fire that flickered its light off his armor.

"But we cannot dwell on the past, and I predict this fog to last through the night." Wikrun abruptly ended the solemness of the situation with his rising, and placing a hand over the fire. "I will take first watch." He opened his palm above the flames, small tendrils of luminescence weaving away from his flesh to reach towards the fire. Then he promptly closed his hand. The small tendrils whipped together, lashing out at the shield that contained the fire. Both fire and shield were extinguished, plunging the camp into fogged darkness.

Wayrest Castle, Servant quarters.
"I honestly can't understand how you put up with wearing this; it is crazily itchy." Sam exclaimed, scratching his shoulder through the exquisite blue tunic he now wore with silver-stud lining. He also sported a rather smooth and almost silky set of black trousers.

"You get used to the feel of the cloth after a while, Master Ross." The manservant replied with a small grin, but it was the largest one Sam had seen yet. Sam rolled his eyes, sighed, and proceeded to place his things in the chest. The manservant watched from the wall, leaning on it and folding his arms. He seemed to be anolyzing everything Samuel put in that chest, from the cuirass of steel, to the ebony gauntlet, to the large traveler's pouch. All of it was placed in gently, but particularly the pouch. The manservant's eyebrow rose, and he nodded towards the chest when Sam closed it.

"What's in that pouch you had, Master Ross? It is rather large, if you don't mind me saying." He commented, and Sam frowned. Lie... but make it a good lie; it's gotta be believable. Well, the last sap to find Furninan took the bait, use it again.

"It's a skull; of an undead mage. I had to slay him for a recent contract and take his skull back to my employer. He was supposed to arrive in Wayrest soon, but he probably got delayed by the fog earlier today." Sam lied, but any nervousness was canceled out by his confidence in the lie; it had worked before, he had no doubt it would work again. Only the best readers of men would note the signs. The manservant was good, but good wasn't always good enough.

"If you will excuse my saying, Master Ross, you mercenaries lead very strange lives."

"You are excused, because you are very true in saying that." Sam grinned, from both the success of the lie and the funniness of the current dialog. "May I see the Queen now? Or do I need special moccasins?" He jested.

The manservant again smiled faintly, looking Sam over. "I suppose you are well enough prepared Master Ross. This way." The man turned and left the room, and Sam followed, pocketing the key to the chest and leaving Furninan alone in the dark of a container.

"Figures I git left b'hind." Furninan mumbled when the room had gone silent and he felt no spirits present. "I always git left b'hind."

Arslan

Sitting still for a few moments after the fire went out, Arslan finally shook his head, trying to snap out of his thoughts. As the rest of his newfound companions most likely remembered their fallen comrade, so did he remember his past brothers-in-arms, fallen in skirmishes with horse thieves, smaller nomad tribes and the city-dwellers... How many fell before we rode to Vulnim? How many more dead will I find when I return; dried out drops in the stormy ocean, lost on the shore after the Warrior Wave fell? Trying not to think of his father, the nomad silently shuffled about his possesions, trying to make the most comfortable pillow possible from them and avoid cutting his head off accidentaly during the night.

When Arslan finally settled down, his eyes wouldn't close. As tired as he was, sleep did not come; instead, unwelcome thoughts of his tribe, his family did, like every night. He could remember every last moment until the Ra Gada fell upon the Heartlanders and their allies... Baibars blowing the Khan Horn. The wordless farewell of the warriors and their families... His mother was there too, and yet he was forced to leave her, for that was the nomad way. The silent creep through the Vulnim Gate, his father slightly ahead... The echoing footsteps of the Children of the Desert. The silent prayers whispered by every warrior. The last blow of the Khan Horn, the last warcry of the Ayuub Tribe... And then, the noise of a wave far more terrifying than any other - the Ra Gada, the embodiment of the righteous wrath of the Yokudans, strangers to Tamriel even after those ages, and yet children of it at the same time.

Arslan blinked. Muttering 'Tall Papa give me strength' softly, he rolled onto another side, uneasy sleep finally comming to the exhausted wanderer.

Edgar

Edgar and his Knights stepped into the room, a smaller room then Edgar had expected, but finely furninshed, with racks of no doubt, expensive wine on one side. A warm fire crackled behind a table, where the King sat at it's head, reading a map by lamp-light. Edgar had to admit the room was cozy, even with its lack of furnishing.

Edgar's guide, Abattarik, took it upon himself to announce Edgar, as well as introducing the King to the Grandmaster. Edgar bowed respectfully, before moving forwards to take the seat that the wizard had so graciously given him. The rather eccentric man hurried to gather drinks for the men, while Edgar reached forwards and shook the Kings large hands. He motioned for his Knights to remain standing at the door, as he turned back to the King.

Edgar bowed in his seat as Beric introduced him to his son, Blaise, and he turned back to the man.

"And a pleasure to meet you Lord Cassivel, King of Camlorn, master of this fine Hall!" he said politely, inclining his head, placing his helmet on the table next to him. He was in no real rush, and he felt the niceties should be observed if friendship was to be achieved.

"How does your Kingdom fare in these troublesome times? Good I would hope!"

He couldn't get a good read on the man, but he could sense if the man found all of this trivial and wanted to get to business or not.




Francis

Francis watched as three figures entered his Hall, two of them men of obvious nobility or high standing, and a woman, who also represented nobility. But he couldn't really figure out why a woman would accompany the men all the way to Northpoint.

THe youngest of the men stepped forwards and began introducing the members of his group. THe woman apparently was Brendan's daughter, and he seemed to recall her to be the youngest, though he truly didn't care. He didn't know the name of the other man, but he did glance over at his son quickly to see if he made the connection when the other man said "my father". Paurand certainly seemed slightly intrigued, but he hardly let it show, and to someone who had just met him, they could not have seen it.

Francis looked pointedly at his mage, but the man continued humming quietly and tapping his slender fingers, so the Lord cleared his thorat loudly, forcing the man back down to reality. He raised his eyebrows and glanced at the letter.

Hubert rolled his eyes slightly as Francis turned back, and the action nerely made a nearby guard laugh as he looked rediculous with no hair above his eyes. The mage took no notice as he muttered, and focused his gaze on the letter, as it floated from the young mans hand and into Francis lap, a slight purple glow around it, as the spell was released with a heavy breath from the wizard who only practiced that spell to reach heavy books out of his reach.

Francis smiled sarcastically to the wizard (though Hubert took no notice as he fell out of reality again), and ripped open the letter, tossing the envelope to the side as he read the flowing script:



His small scowl slowly vanished, as his eyebrows began to crawl up his forehead, his eyes moving further down the fine parchment. He read the man's signature, twice to make sure it was the same person he was thinking of, and looked up at the young man, then to the daughter, Livia; and finally to his own son.

He brought his son over and handed him the letter, sitting back and regarding the daughter. She was fine enough, and though it wasn't that large of a sum, it was still and handsome amount, and the joining of the two kingdoms could have possibilities.

"His son was now looking up at the daughter, a strange look on his face, but Francis had to care to his sons feelings for this girl.

"This is no joke?" he asked, a small smile on his face.



OOC: Crappppppppppppy.

Will post Edwinn after first period of the Flames game.

Camlorn

"Our nation fares well, Sir Gaerwing. Ever and anon, Camlorn survives the plights of the north, south and east. Our back is to the mountains and the sea, and our fist holds a heavy sword. East, there are none who seek us harm. North, the mountains protect us from the hillfolk... and the northern states. None may cross an army through the high passes without great risk. Many petty kingdoms separate us from the great powers around."

King Beric spoke definitively on Camlorn's strength. Abattarik and Blaise nodded in agreement. The logs on the fire hissed and spat and crackled. Abattarik and Blaise produced a mandolin and drum, and set to playing a merry air upon them. The atmosphere was relaxed, warm and welcoming. After pouring wine for all seated, the king passed them around.

"I would like you to feel welcome in my court, Edgar Gaerwing, and all the Knights of the Deep. I drink to our everlasting friendship. How fares the nation of Northpoint, and what brings you to my realm, so far from yours? The melting snows bring peril to my villages in the foothills! Gods know how you prevailed through Wrothgaria and have lived to tell us the tale."

The Barony of Dwynnen

"Mock not this land, Coastman. For just as it rose up and smote the Lich of Wightmoor, so to will it rise and engulf you, if given cause." Iorwerth's heart wasn't really in the threat. In fact, he was rather impressed by this bold Coastman, if not altogether convinced that he shouldn't receive a arrow between the eyes. He knew, though, that if any harm befell the King of Camlorn's brother under his watch, not only would his good name be gone, but there was a good chance that his lord, the Baron, would make the rest of his life miserable.

Raising his arm, Iorwerth signaled to his men to let their arrows fall to the ground, and he himself gave his bow to another of the Saethwyr. "You want to see the Baron, eh? Most people would have went straight to Wightmoor Castle. Tis a much safer road than this one to Dwynnen. But you Coastmen don't know much of our land, so I can forgive ye. Put down your weapons and we'll lead you to his Lordship. Refuse, and you can just go right back to where ye came from."

Wayrest

Inn

Sen was a bit angry for the disruption. Perhaps it would be better to leave Parthia untouched until later. Even so this welp behind him would do well to die. Sen turned around but what the Dunmer would see wouldn't be a face, but a mis match of smaller snakes compounded together. The next moment the serpents burst forward biting at him. Over Parthia now lay a knot of serpents on what seemed to be her lifeless body. Quickly however they dispersed crawling out of windows, through cracks leaving behind only the cloak...and no letter. What was left behind was the sight of Parthia who seemed unharmed and was breathing lightly. The two tiny wounds where she had been bit sealed quickly and in moments were in no way present.


OOC: Crappy post. Been busy.

Gosic

The robed Psijicc paced his way through the warm walls of Anticlere's castle. Sentries were the only ones to stalk around this time of day, minus a few other staff. The old man had the habit of waking when the world seemed to just awake itself. He imagined at this time a Blacksmith would get his fire burning, a fisherman would just arrive at his spot, and shop owners would unlock the doors to their properties.

The Psijicc thought to himself in these rare moments of tranquility. "The relationship between Anticlere and Hammerfell seems troubling. Stabilization in both the land of the Redguards and in this city would be required, but the simple fact the Lord Flyte has such a powerful ally who distrusts magic means we will not be able to place an adviser within their walls. Discerning the Redguard's true motives will be close to impossible. None the less, the relationship seemed honest and healthy enough. However in this world, friendships between powers rarely lasted. Eventually someone would become greedy, and seek to misuse there allies."

His hand rested on his pointed beard as he walked, a floating journal, quill, and ink floated behind him, scribbling down notes as he passed certain areas. It was an Air familiar, an elemental apparition not unlike the Atronoch, however less mundane and conventional...it was almost in every sense of the word...sentient air. Only scholars specializing in the field really knew more about them then the average person, which was not saying much. The elementals of Nirn were extremely complex beings of varying ages and power. Calling forth a youngling elemental could be done by your average talented Mage. However, casting a Primal elemental, of any type would require an individual of unfathomable power, and one who had devoted enough time to understanding the entities, and the science that compelled them. Such knowledge could take a decade.

Arslan

Arslan woke up right before dawn, so suddenly it seemed someone had shouted loudly right into his ear. His eyes shot open, and for a moment, the world was a swirling mess... Then, everything began taking shape. The trees, the sky above him... The noise of the running water in the spring not far off of the campsite, finding its way between rocks, dancing around or over every obstacle on its path to the ocean, the home of the Yokudans...

Closing his eyes, Arslan recalled clearly the dreams he had that night. How he descended on the Heartlanders and their allies nearby Lainlyn with the other Ayuubs... And then, a great dragon came, swirled around Arslan, grabing him straight off his horse and carrying him northwards... far, far northwards, to the lands of the pale-skins, their great stone walls and lush forests, the land where water was everywhere, where animals were so different from those of the Alik'R... Where the people hated Ra Gada like Arslan, who spoke Yoku and dressed in their traditional clothing. Where everyone spoke a strange babble instead of language; not even Heartlanders' tongue, something else.

Opening his eyes again, Arslan shook his head, sitting up slowly and silently. Still staring up, the nomad watched, slightly entranced, as the last of the stars slowly went out, eclipsed by the brighter sun. A different sun from that of the Motherland. He shook his head, looking down from the skies.


Ludovic

As dawn painted the city of Wayrest, bringing life to each and every building, even the seemingly static walls that stood guard over the city, the taverns of the city came back to life as well. In one such tavern, one of the more respectable ones in Wayrest it must be said, Ludovic Medinuois was forced to wake as well to the shuffling of clothes, clinging of bottles and glasses, and other noises of a waking tavern.

"Morrrrrning... already..? Grrreat..." Nearly stuffing his fist into the yawning mouth, the noble lifted himself up off the table that had served as a pillow for him. The young noble's ribs and chest ached where the haubergeon had pressed into them; one of his cheeks was red, what was undoubtedly wine dripping off of it. Ludovic's hat had slipped off to the side during the night, and his hair was a great mess; his clothes were wrinkled in many spots, and one of the wrists seemed stiff and lifeless, undoubtedly where his cheek had spent the night. His temples were throbbing painfully, his head felt as if it was split into two by a blunt axe; the cause for that needn't be searched for far away, as a nearly empty bottle lay turned over on the table, last drops of wine dripping out of it.

Yawning again, Ludovic looked around. Several more patrons of the tavern were sleeping at some larger tables; the ones that had awoken looked no better than his reflection in the window. For a moment, Ludovic was terrified when he realized his possesions were gone; however, he quickly spotted his rapier leaned against the chair, his money (and jewel) pouch hung on it. With a sigh of relief, he grabbed the bottle of wine, finishing off what was left and then rose, streching his hands and swallowing another yawn.

No one seemed to pay any attention at all to the young noble as he slowly gathered his possesions, strapping the sheathed rapier and the pouch to his belt again, ruffled his hair and then left with the solemn expression of a man who had spent his night in a tavern.

Ducking in a nearby alley, Ludovic leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples. How the hell did I get there? That was the first question he had for himself. He couldn't remember anything after he had decided to leave the shops alone and put off his souvenir hunt until later. I think... I decided not to go to the barracks..? And spend the night in the city... Because... because I was... annoyed. Yes, annoyed because... because... because my request was ignored... Request for a new unit. That's right.

A sharp pain hit him straight in the head. The young Breton groaned, closing his eyes tightly. Then... then what? A grat big void lay between the moment he opened the doors of a tavern and when he awoke in the same tavern after what must've been one hell of a night. Another sharp stab.

Perhaps it's best to put off thinking about what happened until later, and get on with thinking about the present. I'm a mess... I should find my way back to the barracks. Clean myself up... Get some sleep? No, I don't feel very tired...

OOC: Illusionary, if you read this, for all intents and purposes Elysana and Sam have yet to reach morning, we'll just trail behind and then skip back into sync with everyone else.

IC: The manservant led Samuel through more winding passages, nonetheless as confusing as the first set of passages. And this time, Furninan was not with him to memorize the passageway. Sam frowned, scratching at his collar.

These clothes itched something fierce; they were obviously meant to be worn on a more cleaned body than Sam's rough, barely cleanly form. It'd likely leave red rashes on him for some time. All for the sake of audience with a Queen. This better be good. But of course, he'd never say that to her face. It'd likely get his face removed.

Finally, they stopped, and the manservant bowed to Sam. "Master Ross, I implore you to remain here while I inform her majesty of your arrival. She is just down the hall, and will beckon your approach when she is ready for you." Sam nodded, and sat down on the bench, looking down the hall at the manservant's back as he approached an ornate door, standing with perfect poise. He knocked thrice before stepping back, always maintaining that elegant posture.

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Wayrest forests
Arslan was not the only one to suddenly awaken as if someone had shouted. Another form shifted in that small camp that lacked tents (the band had not bothered with them this night). There was a soft growling along the edge of the campsite, like a cat on the prowl.

"Huck." Came a whisper. It was a light toned, high-pitched voice. Like a child's. The form that had shifted shined for a brief moment, and then was dark again. The growling form turned to look at Arslan as he awoke, revealing a gleam of golden eyes.

"Huck."

"What?" Hukral grumbled back, rolling over with a clank of metal.

"There's something coming. Might be bandits." Jassan's voice whispered from above the giant Nord. Hukral frowned, turning again. "Ree'Ja smells them on the winds. They are upwind of us." He elaborated. Hukral nodded, rolling to his stomach.

"Wake the others." He grumbled, lifting himself to his feet with a groan of metal and man. In the early dawn light he glistened like crystal, the dew clinging to his steel armor. He wiped his eyes with the leather glove of his right gauntlet and picked up his aspis, the large shield glistening like he was.

"Marsha." Jassan had shifted to her in the shadows; if one had not paid attention to him specifically, they wouldn't have noticed. "Marsha."

"What you prat?" She spat, with her eyes still closed. Her brow furrowed.

"Tell Arslan there are bandits west of us, upwind. He ought to prepare for a possible battle." Jassan informed her, before patting her shoulder.

"Get your hand off me." Marsha muttered, and Jassan nervously smiled, removing his hand promptly before moving on to wake Wikrun. Marsha picked herself up quickly, the hand still on the ground closing around the shaft of her naginata. "Jas says there's bandits upwind of us, or something like it. Ree'Ja's growling along our border, by the sound he's making. Get ready for the worse." She told Arslan, looking serious. "Ree'Ja, any updates?"

"The new scent is on the wind. This one thinks bandits, but could be soldiers." Ree'Ja explained.

"With the Nords pressing on the East and the Dominion to the West, I wouldn't be surprised if the Legion is here." Wikrun commented as he rose to his feet.

"Or if villagers turned to banditry in desperation. I've seen it before." Hukral added. "We'll try to circumvent them and avoid confrontation."

Arslan

Nodding, Arslan grabbed his possesions quickly, feeling the familiar pleasant tingle of a battle approaching crawl up his spine. Although he had no horse, the nomad still made sure to fix his quiver as strongly as was possible; the sword was stuffed behind his waistband as well, instead replaced by the bow, since in any case, he'd have no use for a melee weapon at the very start - even in the thick forest, Arslan was sure he could prove himself a fine marksman. The fact he wasn't in a saddle didn't hinder him much; standing on solid ground wasn't prefferable, but acceptable.

"HoonDing bless my arrows, may they descend upon the enemy as wasps, strike them through any armor, through their skin, and find their hearts; bless my sword, so it cuts a hundred times sharper than a Heartlander's tongue." Muttering these prayers, he strapped his wicker cuirass on, thinking at the same time about the opposition he and his new allies may face.

Most likely poor, for a bandit struggles in wartime; I shouldn't expect many armor, and the present should be light. But what if they're not bandits? Then it might be more troubling. If they're Heartlanders lost after the War of the Wolves, they have one weakness - their faces are exposed. The pale-skins' iron horseman would be highly problematic, but then what would they do in such a place at such a time? No, if we face pale-skins, they're most likely poorer than the iron horseman... That means they may've sacrificed some armor to poverty, and where they're open I will sting.