Rethan Andrano, Wayrest.

"Sheogorath! Damn it!"

Rethan grinded his teeth as he felt the unpleasent sensastion of small fangs piecing his flesh. The small vipers had leaped out of no where it seemed, taking Rethan by full surprise. However, this man or rather, creature did not appear interested in finishing him off, and fled the scene along with his posse of serpants.

Ripping off the remaining serpant attached on his cheek, Rethan felt small drops of blood trickle down his face. The bites had left a mark running down his cheek, though it was not too deep. With his blood still rushing through his veins, Rethan immediately rushed to check on Parthia, who still laid lifeless on the bed.

Carefully, Rethan picked up her head, pulling her body up towards his. Nudging her shoulders gently, Rethan attempted to wake her. It was clear he held no knowledge of healing, and thus was unaware of how to act. Should he go get a healer or stay and wait til she wakes up? In truth, he was still not sure of what he had just seen. Was it a vampire?

Ev?lyn, Wayrest.

Ev?lyn hungrily drank in the words of her mother, absorbing every bit of advice she was offered. She took note of each word spoken, and set herself to remember it. It was almsot exciting, and for perhaps the first time, she began feeling like an heir, like someone who would become the queen.

It was thrilling indeed, but Ev?lyn was no fool. Despite her young age, and often naive mind, even she knew it would not be a piece of cake, but she found comfort in what her mother told her. The nords posed as the biggest threat, and would have to be faced with fierce strength, and heavy numbers. Though Ev?lyn felt aprehensive towards the Aldermi, even if they were staying more low key than the nords, she did not feel entirely confident towards them.

"Of course mother, you are a busy woman after all. Thank you...for everything. Despite what you may think, you are a woman I have always admired. I am proud to call you my mother."

Ev?lyn rose from her chair, her small lips curled into a smile. Bowing to Elysana, she took her leave, making her way towards her own chamber. She had much to think over, but would first take the time to write everything in her journal.

OOC: Trying my best under the circumstances.

The two swordmen squared off, their eyes burning with intent as they gripped their weapons ready to strike. As if before tasting wine they both appriciated the moment of silence, the scent of it all if only to better enjoy the fight to be. The wind blew slightly just enough to bring new breath between the two, the spirit of sword edges danced and watched it would seem as the two rivals remained as silent and still as stone. Only the ruffling of their coats, the shift of their hair were the signs that showed they were no statues.

And as fast as lighting could strike, Tudor shifted forward, his boot half an inch above the ground with the moment until it stomped the ground which at the same time signaled his blade to come down across Andrethi with a sure intent to kill. The skilled Dunmer managed to drag away the weapon just in time with the forward curving shorter saber of his left hand and came around in a horizontal swing with the longer blade in his right. The same intent to kill was thwarted by the graceful spin of Tudor, Andrethi matched the movement and for a moment they were back to back, their blades just out of reach of the other's flesh.

They both stopped as if each had something to say, but nothing was spoken. What could be left to say that wasn't already said or will be said with the edge of blades. The few seconds seemed as hours as neither made a move. As quickly as it had begun it was now at a stand still, a pause to remember or forget. Neither had any other thoughts or goals beyond the other's death. The world were spectators to be ignored, irrelevance a heart beat if there could be such a thing.

"Death will take you here today..." Tudor grinned and awaited Andrethi's response.

"Not before he takes you." And with that Andrethi pushed off swinging his right arm wide almost catching Tudor's eye with the curved tib of his saber. Instead of a bleeding gash Tudor was left with a smile, his eyes widened as he came forward swinging from below and then stabbing. Each move was gracefully guided away from flesh by Andrethi who's foot work and swordsman ship was just as skillful. When an opening showed itself Andrethi stabbed forward with the longer blade. Tudor spun around against the blade rolling with the sharp edge not against it and came within Andrethi's defense bringing down his blade violently downward as quick as a falcon ready to tear a dove asunder.

Instead the shorter blade caught the strike at the base of the blade diverting it away instead of matching strength for strength. Tudor spun again this time crouching down and swinging across nearly taking out Andrethi's legs below the knees. Instead the crisp slice of air was heard under Andrethi's leap and as he landed he swung downward at Tudor only to have his strike diverted as well. Tudor usually used only one hand with his blade when on the offensive allowing him a bit more speed but would use his other hand against the blade in order to guard.

Edwinn

Edwinn finally came to a man seated on a fine crafted wooden chair, and the first thing he noticed was the man wore a fur scarf on his face, covering his mouth and wrapping around his head. Edwinn didn't think much of it however, as he walked into the room a little before stopping at a respectful distance, the two Knights flanking the sides, while Gauvin stood a step behind Edwinn, eyes darting around nervously.

He was on edge, as he clenched and unclenched his left hand, chewing on his bottom lip, but stopping for fear of cutting himself with his new fangs. He didn't see why the Nord needed a scarf, as it was pleasantly warm in the hall, but he figured the man simply had a head cold or some such. Or he did figure that, until the man moved his head slightly, his hand making quick signs to a short and stocky Imperial to his side. The scarf rippled slightly, and though he wasn't learned much on magical items, he made a guess that the scarf was more then just a normal scarf.

The scarf, plus the fact the man used sign language was odd, but Edwinn didn't have time to put it together at the moment. He bowed, as did his men, as the Khnyaz welcomed them to the city.

"Thank you for recieving us in times such as these." he said professionally, trying to make it seem like nobody actually knew he was a vampire. "To bring visitors into your grand Halls in uncertain times speaks volumes of the generosity and open-mindedness of the Nordic people." he said, still maintaining a professional but warm tone, the hint of a smile playing on his pale lips.

"I come with word straight from the mouth of my Lord, Francis de Guiralle, regarding the continued good will between our cities. Despite recent happenings." he said, letting those last words hang in the air for a few seconds, glancing around the room.

"He hopes that trade between our cities will continue, as well as friendly feelings and even the sharing of information across the land." he explained. "Long has trade been going on between Farrun and Northpoint, and lately we have noticed an obvious decrease in this trade."





Edgar

The atmosphere was relaxed and casual, as music was struck up, and wine poured for all, while the fire crackled merrily, bathing the room in a warm glow. Edgar sipped his wine, as the King spoke of the lands around them, and asking how Northpoint fared.

He didn't miss the reference of the "northern kingdoms", but he let it pass with a smile and a wink.

"It is good to hear of Camlorn's good state, especially in times like these." he said, raising his glass slightly. "Northpoint fares well, having made it through another winter by the grace of whatever gods might care!" he said with a chuckle. "The current events to the east have affected us, but we shall make through it. We are not simple folk, even so far north." he said with another laugh, taking a pause to sip his wine again.

"And no mountains can stop a wily old man like me!" he said, laughing yet again. "The young ones here didn't shut up once about the weather though. Damn near drove me insane with their constant mutterings." he said, shaking his head, though a smile played on his old face.

He paused for a moment, taking another sip of his wine, before moving onto business. "We are sent here by my Lord, Francis de Guiralle, in hopes of good will and strong trade between our cities." he said, waiting to see the Lords reaction.

Vytatus

"My Khnyaz assures you that he has no intentions to sewer friendly ties with Northpoint now that her Lord sends a messenger inquiring about this matter. Tell your Lord that we appologize for the small number of merchants that have passed through your port over the past few weeks; he must understand that we were uncertain who would hold us for allies and who - for 'barbarians'. My Khnyaz is very pleased that at least Lord Francis has been willing to look past the ridiculous amount of superstition surrounding the Nordic race, and expresses hope that other Lords will follow the most noteworthy example he has set. The fact that the previous ruler of Farrun had no time to explain the established friendships of his city due to his immediate retirement" Aelius smirked. "also does not aid us."

"However," Aelius took a deep sigh of faked despair. The man was enough an orator, though, for the sigh to sound sincere to all but the most experienced ears in such matters. "However my Khnyaz is afraid that trade will not be able to grow back to its former glory fully until the feudal lord of Northpoint, the Queen of Wayrest, can be convinced to accept the fact the Nordic Confederation has a legitimate claim to some of the lands of High Rock that have belonged to the Nordic Empire in the past. Should this inconvenience be dealt away with, the merchants of Farrun will pay the port of Northpoint as much attention as before, if not more, yet for now they must sadly be restricted to mostly trading with the ports of Solitude, Dawnstar and Winter Hold. Of course, the war may drag on for a long time... My Khnyaz leaves a possible solution for your Lord to find, not wishing to insult his intelligence that was already displayed by your presence here."

Vytatus leaned back and sighed silently, his scarf shuffling even at this slight activity of his mouth.

Parthia slowly awoke, dazed and confused. She had remember nothing of the incident, her last memory falling asleep peacefully. The moment she realized she was undressed with Rethan near her she felt like slapping him, but as she almost did she saw the bite wounds on his face. She gasped, her body pulled away unsure of what was going on.

"What's going on!? Where am I?!" Parthia pulled her legs close to her to hide her shame and tugged on the bed covering toward herself. Her sun kissed skin blushed and at the same time seemed irrelevant as Rethan stood there wounded.

Edwinn

Edwinn new exactly where this conversation was heading, and he was starting to grow slightly uncomfortable. He glanced over at he scarfed man, then back to the man speaking, shuffling from one foot to the other, as he wondered what he should do.

He ignored the last statement and instead backtracked a little. "Well, how could we consider you 'barbarians', when Northpoint herself has a rich Nordic heritage and culture, more so than any other city in High Rock." he said. "Except Farrun and Jehenna of course, who lay on the borders of Skyrim itself. Or perhaps who now lay in the borders of the great nation." he added slyly, knowing full well that Skyrim had "liberated" the cities from High Rocks grasp.

He paused here, not for long, but for a few seconds as he considered the direction the conversation had begun to turn. The Nords were offering full trade, back to its original glory and beyond, if only Northpoint would do one thing. They wanted them to secede from High Rock. To renounce Elysana, and throw in with Skyrim and its cause. He glanced back at Gauvin, but the man was still looking around nervously, oblivious to the situation around him.

Edwinn sighed, thanking the gods silently that his condition hadn't been brought up. Perhaps it didn't matter to the Nords. But that was secondary. He knew Francis was not particularly fond of Elysana, having sent the most minimal help to the east against the Nords. He also guessed that Elysana wasn't happy about Northpoint's contributions to the effort in the east, perhaps even thinking them traitors to High Rock.

He knew well enough that Francis would split eventually from the Queen. He could see it in the man's eyes, and in his mannerisms to the Queen over the last few years, and his obviously wavering loyalty. He just wasn't sure when his Lord wanted to make the split known, for timing would be crucial with it.

"While my Lord opens his arms in friendship to the Nordic people's, he must also make sure to not hug them, fearing his Lady, Wayrest, would grow jealous and upset at him." he said, glancing over to the scarfed man again. "My Lord offers you friendship and trade, but unfortunately, cannot offer you more.... At the moment." he finished, letting those last words out slowly and with great emphasis. Nothing had been said, officially, but the offer was on the table now, and Edwinn waited patiently to see the result, knowing his Lord had given him full confidence in the matter.

Vytatus

"By their free will, might I add. Had Skyrim not been provoked, and the peoples of Jehanna and Farrun not pleaded to save them, we wouldn't be here now." Aelius responded calmly to the border comment on Farrun and Jehanna's state, watching Vytatus' gestures carefully from the corner of his eye. The Khnyaz of Farrun had not been feeling odd and powerless due to his shortcomming - which was, in fact, his greatest strength - for a long time now. At first, it was uncomfortable, being completely reliant on someone else to voice your words, but now it was as natural for him as talking. And besides, Rurik could make out what Vytatus said, and that was the main thing that mattered ever since the invasion began.

Watching Vytatus gesture for a few more moments, Aelius nodded to the Khnyaz and began speaking again. "My Khnyaz is most satisfied with your response. Word will be sent to the Velikiy Khnyaz of Jehanna informing him of this turn of events, and the message will be spread amongst the merchants of Farrun that Northpoint is open for trade once more, now that any uncomfortable suspicions have been dealt away with... Of course, your Lord is welcome to visit my Khnyaz, or Velikiy Khnyaz Rurik at any time he sees fit. Perhaps even with a large retinue fit for a great Lord. That is up to him to decide." The hint was rather subtle, but unless this man was a complete dimwit, he'd understand where Aelius - or, rather, Vytatus - turned towards with the retinue comment. Military aid.

And if he doesn't make a clear decision fast... Vytatus smirked under his scarf. One pleasant bonus of his condition was that he could allow himself an open face expression. We can always spur him onwards by mentioning the fact we happen to know one of his most trusted messengers, as it would seem, has been struck by a terrible illness... One that's tolerated by very few.

Ghalib al-Suhim, Wind Keep

It was cold in these mountain passes, and today was particularily miserable with the rain now pouring onto the small group, drenching their cloaks. Ghalib had recieved word of the attack on the Legion compound yesterday. All had gone well so far, the Black Wastes, and Azura's crossing had agreed to become vassal's of the soon-to-be Ruler of Gauvadon and Aleine. The Ra Gada now trudged up the muddy road towards the town's castle on foot. He had snuck away from the Inn, trailed by the ever present Khadir and two Mamluk soldiers, Battal and Huri. Had any loyal to Francois discovered his intentions, they would likely inform him of his plans. Not yet.. Not until I behead him myself. The Keep of Wind Keep sat before them, at the top of a steep hill, nestled into the rock. It seemed much older than many of the stronghold's throughout High Rock, likely remaining from the times when hundreds of fiefdoms dotted the lands. Nonetheless, it looked more imposing than even some of the newest, grandest structures. These details were absorbed into his mind as Ghalib approached the large oak gates, A man in furs and chainmail, topped by a typical guards helmet and surcoat, stood on either side of the gate gripping a heavy spear. Casting glances to either side at the men wandering the hilltop, going about their duties despite the weather, he spoke to the guards.

" I seek audience with Harold Brault, Lord of these lands. I have official business concerning Francois Gautier, Lord of Aleine and Gauvadon. " Trying to be as polite as possible, a rashness crept through as he was anxious to return at once. The guard on the right, some trace of Ra Gada clear in his features, replied in Yoku as his more Breton partner scowled at him.

" Greetings, descendant of the Warrior Wave, I see you are a man of high standing, among the Bretons aswell as our own people. We shall allow you to pass. " Ghalib was clearly surprised by his knowledge of the Yokudan language, perhaps this one had more warrior in him than he had presumed.

" Indeed. I thank you brother. May Tall-Papa bless your path and Onsi keep your blade long. "

A few low shouts were exchanged as the gates creaked open, not from age, but from the sheer weight that was bearing down on the massive hinges. Once again the Bretonic guard scowled, as the one who had spoke gave a slight bow before calling another man to lead them to the Main Hall.

Within, the castle was rather cold and drafty, a consequence of its high altitude and mountainous location. The breeze that came through the windows, which were mere slits in the wall, ruffled his cloak slightly. Battal and Huri tugged their cloaks tighter as they looked around the passageway. The walls were nearly bare, holding a few tapestries and various things on display, such as weapons and fineries. The sound of footsteps, clicking from the guard leading them, and shuffles from the Ra Gada, came to a stop in front of a dark, slightly wet door that bore torches on either side.

Knock! Knock! Knock! The guard slammed a bronze handle repeatedly onto the door. As the damp lumber swung on creaky and slightly rusted hinges, another guard came into view. Unlike the other, this one wore finer equipment, along with several pieces of fur keeping him warm. Ghalib nodded to the man who had led them through the castle, bidding farewell in Yoku as he stepped into the room. The room was a sharp contrast to the rest of the castle. Braziers burned around the room, slightly more exquisite decorations dotted the walls, along with a rather fine tapestry above the large fireplace. Whereas the castle up till now, had seemed lifeless and claustrophobic, the grand hall had 50 ft ceilings and plants resting in pots and whatnot, including a small number hanging from the rafters. A glance to the left revealed a stocky man, sitting authoritively on a throne which, although less exquisite than the other Bretic rulers, was still rather elegant in its rustic nature. The man upon the throne eyed the four men curiously, shifting in his seat so that his mail clinked slightly. Ghalib took a few long strides towards the throne, bowing as Battal and Huri each took a knee before rising and taking a few steps back, eyeing the room warily. Khadir half crawled across the floor, coming to rest near his masters feet.

The man upon the throne was the first to speak. " I would welcome you to my 'fair castle' " he said, chuckling as he spoke, " but as you may have seen on the way here, it is not so fair. You know my name, otherwise you would not be here, but for clarity's sake i shall introduce myself anyways. I be Lord Harold Brault of Windkeep, and who be you? "

Not one to smile often, the joke brought a grin to his lips after the weeks of planning, and the weather outside. However redundant this man may have found it, the introduction was necessary, for he had not had much time to discover this particular Lord's name. " I am Ghalib al-Suhim, " the Ra Gada accent coming through clear in his voice, " You may have seen me and my company when we passed through your town on the way to Evermore. I have a difficult thing to ask of you. "

Nodding, Harold spoke, " Indeed. I did see you pass through. " Here is where his brow creased, " but what is this thing you must ask? "

" It regards my Lord, Francois Gautier. He has become increasingly greedy, and ignorant of the people. He has become a negative influence on the lands of Gauvadon and Aleine. Included in his deeds is the recent murder of his wife, in order to recieve more power over her lands. " The dark skinned warrior let out a sigh, " In these past days, I have come to the rulers of the lands north of here, requesting the same thing. The Black Wastes and Azura's crossing have both agreed to become MY Vassals, and i have won over much of Francois' army. I intend to restore the lands to their former glory, eliminate the massive gap between the social classes, and stand firm with Wayrest against the Nordic threat. When I return to Aleine, i should find Francois having taken Norvulk by force, and then i may begin my plans. I ask of you this, will you join me? Will you pledge your forces and allegiance to be used at my whim, for the good of the people, the good of High Rock? "

For several moments, Harold bowed his head in deep contemplation, summoning his son to his side and whispering into his ear. " My son, Hugh, what are your thoughts on this? "
" If what he says is true, it would be much to our advantage to embrace his offer with open arms, rather than turn against him and become trapped between two enemies. "

As Harold and Hugh turned to the Ra Gada, the Lord smiled as he gave his reply after what seemed to be hours. " Yes. "

OOC: Please excuse this FC; I'm assuming you won't mind me pushing you into the room so we can begin?
IC:
Wayrest

The servant bowed so low his nose nearly scraqed the carpet as the luminescent Evelyn swept out from the room. As the door shut behind him, he heaved a great sigh at Sam. "Well?" he asked. "What are you waiting for?"

The servant rapped rhythmically on the door, and an imperious voice commanded, "Enter." With that, The servant opened the door and pushed Sam through with surprising force, shutting the door soundly behind him.

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

Elysana watched her daughter leave with a face still as stone, but her stomach was curling and her heart crushed by an invisible fist. Was it possible that she, Queen Elysana of the Withered Heart could truly care what anyone thought? Could she truly crave her daughter's affection in this manner?

And yet it was so. Evelyn speaking to her in such a way, telling her she admired her... it was more than a mother like Elysana could hope for. There was little room for love, true love, in the Queen's heart. And yet that single comment had sent her absolutely reeling.

She hated it. And she loved it. She felt so weak and vulnerable, it was pitiful. What kind of queen could be so foolish? she mocked herself, and yet in her heart she knew the answer; the kind of queen her daughter would make.

"Queen Evelyn..." she murmured, trying out the name. It left a strange taste in her mouth; bittersweet, a mixture of pain and pride that could never be reconciled.

Perhaps the hardest thing she would ever do would be to die. She had pondered this many a time. She loved the Crown, loved her people, loved her rule, far too much to ever die peacefully. It was too precious; she had fought too hard for it. Hopefully the anguish that accompanied her death might be lessened by a growing relationship with her daughter, by knowing that the kingdom she had put in place was ready for her decendants.

In this way, Wayrest shall ever be mine... she told herself, but doubts remained. Though selfless in many ways, in this Elysana's avarice was paramount.

She took a deep breath as a knock came to her door. "Enter," she said. Immediately, a man was pushed through the door. A young man, by Elysana's standards, though she judged men younger than they were to account for maturity. But he was a man to whom she owed a great deal.

"Samuel Ross," she said, sinking fluidly into her chair without turning. Her dark eyes were piercing with their calculating intelligence. When Elysana looked at you that way, you felt like you were a trinket she was looking to buy, and she was judging how much you were worth.

She inclined her head thougtfully. "I am glad that you have answered my summons. You pose something of a problem." Her smile was small and her eyes dark.

Jehanna

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

Germanicus halfheartedly stifled a sigh and took the seat Rurik offered. He knew that the Velikiy Khnyaz almost certainly knew what favor he was about to ask, but that made it all the difficult to ask. After all, though Germanicus thought and acted like an Imperial he had some of that famous Nordic stubbornness, and he was none too happy about handing over his sister-son and nephew to a man that he perceived as a potential political enemy. But now he was here and there was nothing else for it, so the Duke leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and spoke frankly:

"He's a good lad. A trifle overeager sometimes, perhaps a bit foolish at others, but a noble spirit and a great heart. Since the death of his mother, my sister, he is the only family member I have left ? and he is dear to me. I found him in the care of his father's relatives in Amber Guard when I came to Karthwasten, and since then I've done my best to teach him the proper ways for a man of our station." This last statement was tinged by a hint of irony ? Germanicus was perfectly aware that neither he nor Rurik had been born into the nobility.

"But I'm sorry ? these facts are irrelevant. What I've come to ask is? What I'd like to say?" The Duke sighed again and folded his arms reflexively. "That is to say ? I would like to place my nephew in your care and tutelage. I have done my best to teach him what I could, but I fear he has learned from me all he can. Now he needs a new example ? a man of the future. This is the favor I ask ? that you be a patron to Alfngar."

Northpoint

Cadwallace released his hold on the letter as the court mage magicked it out of his hand, and then waited patiently while the Baron of Northpoint read. Cadwallace had no idea what the letter said, but its contents apparently surprised Lord de Guiralle ? Cadwallace was quick to note how Francis' eyebrows rose incredulously. Cadwallace felt his own curiosity mounting, but kept his face impassive as Francis handed the letter over to his son to read.

"This is no joke?"

Francis' question caught Cadwallace off guard. He blinked a couple of times, still struggling to keep his face impassive. Behind him he heard Livia stifle a slight giggle.

"I assure you, there is no joke." He paused uncomfortably, completely unsure of what else to say.

Devil! I wish I knew what that letter says!

Somewhere South of Gauvedon

Between two bends of the path, the great road was intersected by a small, though swiftly running river. Over this river was built a narrow wooden bridge, wide enough for only one cart to pass through at a time, or up to 3 riders. At the northern approach, swinging high above the ground from a tall pole, a gibbet waited in silence.

This was where the thieves set their ambush.

The brigands' newly acquired cannon had been transferred--through much effort and much cursing--to a new cart, narrower than the first, so that when set against one rail of the bridge, a gap would be left on the other side wide enough for a single rider to pass through (Gaius, after studying the trigger mechanism on the first cart, had finally been able to replicate it on the second). Augie and brutus muscled it to the apex of the crossing, where Augie deftly broke one of the rear wheels with his club.

All three of the bandits knew their job, so without a word they took their positions. Gaius perched himself, cloaked, upon the cart. Augie crouched in the thick underbrush adjacent to the road, half-burying himself in leaves and branches. Brutus stood leaning against one of the wooden pillars flanking the far end of the bridge, lighting one of his hand-rolled smokes and laughing quietly to himself about Gods-only knew what. A thick fog soon rolled in, bringing with it an eerie silence.

Not long after brutus finished his second smoke, the travellers came. 4 robed figures, all riding tall black horses, came slowly into view. They held a steady pace, not slowing when they noticed the stranded wagon, until the two rear-most riders were halfway up the slope of the bridge and the first was only a few feet from Gaius' perch.

"Hail, traveller!" Gaius called to their leader, "Have ye a moment to spare in aid of a stranded pilgrim?"

The lead horseman turned to look to look at his companions, who looked to each other and shook their heads in unison. When he turned back to the cart, Brutus was already standing there, panting ever-so-slightly from the uphill jog from the other side of the bridge, but still smiling his terrible smile. Augie had also taken a position behind the pilgrims, brandishing an old spear and blocking their exit.

"No?" Brutus inquired with a raised brow, "have you somewhere more important to go? something more urgent to do?"

Instead of an answer, all that could be heard from beneath the hood of the horseman was a low, rattling breath. Brutus awaited a reply for approximately twelve seconds, then all hell broke loose.

Brutus drew his shashka in a fraction of a second, but the swift movement set the horseman into action as they tore off their cloaks and drew swords. Beneath their hoods, the figures were gaunt as The Old Fella. Red eyes bulged from their sunken sockets and needle-like teeth were laid bare by their receding lips. Their leader's ageless, starving eyes met with those of Brutus, and in that moment Brutus knew true fear for the first time. Fear not of this pitiful creature, but of time, and the fate he knew he could never escape.

A heavy bolt passed through the head of the second Vampire, sending a spray of crimson across the faces of the last two, who licked it desperately from their own faces with long, grotesque tongues. As they turned to flee, one of them was pierced through it's dead heart by Augie's spear, then thrown with great force to the side, unhorsing his companion.

Brutus used the seat of the cart as a springboard, leaping at the lead vampire and swinging his shashka in a wide arc, aiming to take the creature's head clean off. The beast was quick though, despite its malnutrition, and Brutus was barely able to angle his body--mid flight--around the sword-point that appeared in his path. He collided with the patriarch shoulder-on, sending them both over the far side of the terrified horse, which promptly bolted down the far side of the bridge and into the mist. The two combatants were on their feet instantly and fell upon each other like wolves. Brutus took the offensive, forcing the Dead Thing down the bridge and past first the silent, still mounted figure of one of the dead vampires, then past Augie, who, out of the corner of his eye, Brutus could see throwing his spear mightily downstream into the thick fog.

Brutus did not fully notice or comprehend this; his mind was fixed fully and perfectly on those bulging, scarlet eyes.

The vampire stumbled.

Brutus' body moved unconsciously, stepping forward and driving his blade through the vampire's chest until the warriors' faces were only inches apart. The Vampire coughed it's last cryptic words, blowing dusty, long-dead air into Brutus' face. The Thing's grotesque, hairless head rolled forward, its forehead resting on the chest of it's killer. There it died for the second, and last time.

Brutus pulled free his sword and lowered the corpse gently to the wooden floor of the bridge before turning to see both his companions watching him. His smile returned, though now it looked strained at best.

"I see you two fared well," he laughed.

"We did fine," Gaius replied.

"Where is the fourth body?" Brutus demanded in a perfect exhibition of one of his many mood-swings.

"Dove over th'side an swam fer it," Augie chimed.

"And why did you not go in after him?"

"Im wearing dese damned 'eavy boots! I'd sink like a rock!"

Brutus considered this for a moment, staring off into the mist. "Is that why you threw your spear blindly off into the fog? To try and stick him?"

Augie didn't respond to this, making the executive decision that silence would be the best remedy to his surrogate brother's growing anger.

________________________________________________________________________


Hours later, after the three Bandits had taken all the possessions of the twice-deceased travellers, replaced the strategically broken wheel of their cart, and were headed home, they came upon a most peculiar sight.

As the road neared the river again, something dark could be seen caught in the bushes against the water's edge. Upon closer inspection, the shape could be discerned as a black-robed figure with a spear through its midsection. Augie looked to Brutus, who looked to Gaius, who looked back to Augie. None of them spoke a word.

Brutus looked up at Augie with what some might have mistaken for admiration. Augie never felt so proud in his life.

Rurik

Rurik nodded, although only partialy to Germanicus, as his suspicions were reaffirmed. So I was correct. That only works for me; if Skyrim is to become united, we must root out the Imperial influences on us, for as long as they are present, along with them supporters of the crumbling Empire will be too, and divide Skyrim further... We do not need that. The Kings of Whiterun and Solitude are already nearly at each-other's throat; if war between them errupts, Skyrim will crumble... A house divided into two cannot stand. We do not need Imperial supporters dividing our lands further.

"It will be my pleasure to teach Alfngar whatever I can, and act as his patron until he is fit to rule on his own. I asume, then, you will wish him to stay here and move out along with my forces, when Cloud Spring has fallen? And, speaking of which, I must inquire - when shall you be able to move out to siege the city? The reinforcements from Solitude may not have arrived yet, but I presume they will be here soon; we must move as fast as possible, display our prowess, to convince Evermore that surrendering would be in their best interests. The less men wasted taking cities is the more fighting Wayrest's army when we reach its gates."

Rethan Andrano, Wayrest.

"Are you always this ungrateful when someone saves your life?"

Despite his frown, Rethan's deep crimson eyes were filled with relief. Things would look bad for him should anyone enter the room now, however the Dunmer felt his stomach settle down when Parthia woke. But why was that thing over her like an animal? Of course Rethan had heard of certain creatures who feasted on women, but why go to someone inside a public area? Perhaps Parthia had more skeletons in her closet than he would have assumed.

Wiping away the blood on his cheek, Rethan stepped away from the bed, allowing Parthia to gather her decency. Fixing his eyes on a random spot in the room, Rethan replied,

"You're in my room. And now before you start screaming for the guards, you came here quite willingly. Drunk, but willingly. I'm not guilty of anything other than letting you use up my bed for the night. Anyways...I was just coming upstairs to fetch something, and that thing was sprawled over you. I'm actually not too sure what it was, but he wasn't too pleased when I interupted him."

Pausing for a moment, Rethan turned, looking straight at Parthia. "Are you alright?"

Raven stalked her way through Dwynnen's streets, dressed as a lady of the cloth. Her beautiful blue eyes scanning over the early morning denizens. Although she was tired from the nights travel she knew she had to fulfill her duty. She could get sleep later on in the afternoon as they made their way to Camlorn. The others had already began tending to the minor ill, providing potions for common sickness and disease. She simply traveled the market place and wharfs, listening to people speak. Supposedly there had been an influx of strange people, possibly refugees. Some men looked well off though, and thats what had made her suspicious, now would be the time for nations to make moves, kingdoms prepare for any seizure of power. Queen Elysana would have her hands tied up by now, and thats what made baronies try time after time to seize power. They believed the woman to slip eventually, and with skyrim and the Elven dominon, now would be prime time for that slip up.

"Ahhhr, a sister of Mercy? Now be the times we the people be needing you the most. Times of war...times of rebellion." came a voice from what looked to be a beggar, the man had clean teeth however. Perhaps he was a dockworker on break. Raven smiled kindly back and replied, "It is our duty to go where we are needed most, we will be heading to the north later on today to help the Sons of Skyrim and sons of High Rock who have been gravely injured in battle."

The beggar frowned at her statement, to which she replied, "It is our duty to help anyone who has been hurt, regardless of affiliation." He nodded back to her, "Aye sister, you have a far better heart then I. I'm afraid there ain't be enough like you in this world." She laughed through a smile, making him return it. The old man couldn't help her youthful charms, and revealed four missing teeth.

"May I ask why so many people are making way into this city from all corners?"

"Milady, regimes be changing. Nations be attacking, we get a good deal of folk from up north, looking to get away from their nordic masters, some away from their elven ones. This be our land, Bretons....and well, they look for brettic leadership. They say Menevia had just gone through some sort of blood filled coup...times is changing child."

Raven stared at him in disbelief, but knew she should have expected it coming. People would be dying for all sorts of reasons, and greed would be the prime motivation.

Sam was about to reply to the servant's question when he was pushed quite rapidly through the door. It was a forceful push he did not even expect the lean servant to be capable of exerting. Combined with the look of the room he entered, Sam was temporarily stunned. It was a degree of lavishness he was not accustomed to, and in fact never encountered. He'd only worked for minor lords and barons in the past, nothing close to a King or Queen.

So, for a brief moment, Sam just stood there, straightening himself and clothes and getting his bearing before Elysana addressed him. Sam turned to look at the Queen, and found her gaze piercing. anolyzingly piercing, as if she were measuring him up. Measuring him up to a greater degree than any woman had ever done before. He was used to women's gazes, sure, it happened on occasion, but he had never been looked at like the Queen was looking at him.

When she finished speaking, Sam didn't initially respond, instead taking on a curious expression. His head inclined in mimic of the Queen's, though not with insulting intent but more of a jest. How do I take that? He moved slowly to the center of the room, his expression still perplexed. I pose a problem, and I am unarmed... might be an issue. But I still have magic. But can that get me out of the castle with my stuff if [censored] hits the fan quickly?

"I... pose a problem, your highness?" Sam finally asked, trying and failing to eliminate the surely uncourtly smirk and perplexing look he was giving her. "If... If I may be allowed; What problem do I pose? And what do you plan to do about it?"

Jehanna

Germanicus stirred as Rurik nodded absently. "It will be my pleasure to teach Alfngar whatever I can," the ruler of Jehanna said, "And act as his patron until he is fit to rule on his own. I asume, then, you will wish him to stay here and move out along with my forces, when Cloud Spring has fallen? And, speaking of which, I must inquire - when shall you be able to move out to siege the city? The reinforcements from Solitude may not have arrived yet, but I presume they will be here soon; we must move as fast as possible, display our prowess, to convince Evermore that surrendering would be in their best interests. The less men wasted taking cities is the more fighting Wayrest's army when we reach its gates."

The Duke rose and bowed formally. "I thank you, as does my nephew. May the noble houses of Karthwasten and Jehanna be bound always."

He resumed his seat. "I will leave Alfngar in your capable hands. He will await your summons. As for Cloud Spring - my officers have already recieved their orders. Our force will be departing the city by midmorning, which should bring us to Cloud Spring by late afternoon or early evening. I hope the city will capitulate without a fight, but even if it seeks to resist, we should not be hard pressed to take it. I assume you will bring your forces to Cloud Spring once we've taken it?"

Rurik

"Indeed I will." The Velikiy Khnyaz nodded. "In fact, I intend to move out as soon as the reinforcements from Solitude reach us. We will stop shortly in Cloud Spring, which will have fallen by then, hopefully, before continuing on. We will link up with the Khnyaz of Farrun, Vytatus Great-Mouth, and his troops, and then the real push begins. The closer we get to Evermore, the more I suspect the Bretons will resist... Then, if we manage to capture it, I hope that the hostility of the Bretons will ease a bit, before inevitably growing even stronger as we approach to Wayrest."

"Hopefully, though, we will not need to go there. I think I may have a solution for such a problem." Rurik ruffled his beard thoughtfully, his glance sliding from Germanicus to one of the many papers on the table, a crumpled piece of paper, written full of words, many crossed out. For a moment, the Nord remained silent, staring at the paper as if it had the meaning of the universe written on it, before looking at Germanicus again.

"This is good new, then, that your men will be ready to march out soon. Is there anything more, Duke Karthwasten, or will this be it? I wish not to seem rude, but a few sleepless nights is not a good introduction for an invasion, and I would preffer to have a little rest..."

Edwinn

Edwinn listened to the border retort, and merely bowed in respect, the smile on his face showing he meant no disrespect to the Nords or their recent.... rewards. He himself accepted the fcat that Northpoint had a prominent Nordic culture, and he was sure they were doing the right thing in aiding the Nords in the conflict.

The next remark put him offguard, more then he had been throighout the entire meeting, and he had to work hard to keep his composure and not let his face reveal his thoughts. The fact that the Nords had already suggested military assistance was rather shocking, especially since the "war" had only just begun, and he was sure there was still much confusion about "sides".

He figured that Francis and himself could work that confusion into benefit for their sudden betrayal to Elysana. He bowed again, for no real reason and began.

"To even have our Lord make an appearance on good terms with the Nordic people's would not sit well with the more loyal subjects of Elysana and her court." he purposely left out the word 'Queen' to add the fact that they were no longer loyal to hte woman. "I believe at the time, it would be most beneficial to remain in the dark about this alliance, so Northpoint can get our 'eye's and ears' open without the wrath of Elysana."

He paused, not sure how to word. "I think we can be useful still in the way of gathering information on Elysana, before our motives are exposed and Northpoint is exiled from the Queendom that is High Rock."

He was not the best speaker, but he thought he got his point across well enough. They would not openly announce their support of the Nords until the last possible second, so that Northpoint could get eyes and ears into enemy cities, as well as begin the mobilization of her military.





Francis

Francis made no attempt to hide his frown as the girl giggled most inappropriatly in his court, and turned his attention to the boy. He glanced over at his son, and the simple look in his eyes told his son that he would take this girls hand in marriage, and the two lorddoms would be united.

As long as we see eye to eye on certain things. he thought, his thoughts on the situation in the east, knowing that Edwinn would deliver his message of good intentions to the Nords. However, with so many others closer by, he would need to make sure that Sharnhelm either supported the Nords, or whether there was going to be conflict in the future.

"Very well." he said simply. "Parchment and ink!" he instructed and a servant rushed over with those exact things, handing them to his Lord.

Francis began writing his response to the Lord of Sharnhelm, and the silence in the room was absolute. He wrote for nearly fifteen minutes before blowing the ink dry, and folding it neatly. He snapped his fingers and a stamp was brought, which Francis used to seal the letter closed.

"This is for your fathers eye's only." he said in a most menacing voice. "I will now if that letter is opened by anyone else and you do not wish to know the result of it." he said, handing the letter to his Mage who magically gave it to the boy.

"Is that all?" he asked impatiently, bringing a servant close to him, instructing him to bring the assassin to his throne.

Parthia seemed to be completely unaware of what had happened before she had awoke. The serum injected by the fangs had worked their way through her body melting away any memory of Sen. She quickly wrapped the cut cloak around her body holding the two sides around herself and kept the leather bit of armor with the hidden throwing knives under her arm. She had no idea what to reply and fell into dead silence as she listened to Rethan explain what had happened. "Are you alright?" What a strange question to her it seemed.

"I-I think so...but you aren't." Her voice seemed a bit shakey. The small delicate hand that wasn't clutching her clothing against herself extended and touched Rethan's forehead sending a burst of restoritive properties surging through him. Any poisons were rendered harmless and the wounds felt tingly as they began healing quickly. With that she pulled her hand away, her eyes wide for a moment before she fell back into a sitting position on the bed still dizzy with drink.


OOC: Life just gets better and better...

Vytatus

"Of course, of course. As my Khnyaz has said, your Lord is welcome to march out to war whenever he sees fit. I am sure Velikiy Khnyaz Rurik will be overjoyed at the news of any help from our Bretic brothers, in particular from Northpoint, with whom the Nordic Confederation has such strong ties, cultural and otherwise." Aelius nodded, stopping for a moment to look at Vytatus' gestures. Nodding once more, this time to his Nordic lord and friend, the Imperial resumed speaking:

"The Commonwealth of Jehanna and Farrun would particularly value any news of other possible allies, and reports of the military strength of other duchies that may be less willing to support our cause. And, should the war go succesfully for my Khnyaz and Velikiy Khnyaz Rurik, the King of Solitude will be informed of Northpoint's early alliance and strengthening of our cause. Should your Lord wish to go there, the Nordic Confederation would then, my Khnyaz is sure, be more than willing to welcome Northpoint as a souvereign member of the Nordic Confederation, with all the benefits such a position brings."

"Now that this matter has been settled, my Khnyaz asures you that trade will once again flourish between our two great cities under the protection of the navy of Solitude, and hopefully later the navy of the Nordic Kingdom of High Rock." Aelius' face was expressionless as he spoke. "Now, are there any other matters you may wish to discuss in the name of your lord? Because if not, my Khnyaz would be honored to have you and any members of your retinue you may wish to bring at the feast tonight, held for the succesful start of the war."


OOC: I asume this conversation is happening at the same time as the one between Sam and Elysana, i.e. at the evening of the day before the one (nearly) everyone is on right now?

Corsica had grown tired of watching the two fighters attempt to kill one another. She had over heard the whole bet coming from Tudor, that if he won Varulae would come with him to the east and if Andrethi won he would go in her place. It was nothing more than a lie. The two cut the air sundering the spaces between one another where if one or the other would have been just slightly slower, or faster, crimson would stain the earth.

"Tudor!" Corsica yelled out a bit angry. She lifted her hand casting a levitate spell on both of them rendering them helpless in the air. As both floated there still holding their weapons a drip of blood ran down Tudor's arm. Andrethi had wounded him. "What are you thinking going against the Queen's order? I saw everything." Corsica folded her arms and maintained her authoritarian composure.

"Just a friendly competition." Tudor kept his arrogant grin dispite the wound on his arm. "I need Andrethi to come with me in order to hire nomads. He speaks their language being their prisoner. They can either be a hassle to my force or an asset. The Queen doesn't seem to think about these things which is why i'm the one fighting the armies and she isn't." Tudor had made a point and the spell had worn off of them both. "Considering Andrethi drew blood he is the winner and obligated to keep his word."

Andrethi however said nothing. He seemed to be in a daze for a brief moment. The scent of blood overwhelmed his senses. He nodded in agreement realizing the other two were staring at him and then he walked away. Tudor didn't pick up on it. Only a handful of people had any idea of Andrethi's past. Corsica had known him in Morrowind by another name, one she was suppose to end in Hammerfell but did not, one that if he remembered she may have to end here if Parthia did not get to him first.

"Why don't you leave him alone?" Corsica hissed at Tudor taking a few steps forward with her hands on her hips leaning forward a bit as if scolding a child. Tudor did nothing else but smile even more. It was worded as a question but it was more of a direct order.

"You're the only woman who's ever pushed me around." Tudor raised a flirtacious eye brow prompting Corsica to roll her eyes and walk past him.


- - -


Andrethi stumbled a bit through the hall ways. His forehead dripped sweat and he felt dizzy. He leaned againt the wall with his forearm as he walked. Luckily no one was there to see him. No one other than Varulae. She knew his secret and took care of him. How could she not? She rushed toward him as he fell to his hands and knees. The pulse of his heart was so loud in his own ears he didn't even hear her. He simply saw a pair of feet move across the floor infront of him and when he looked up two hands reaching toward him to help him up.

. . . Later at night . . .

The night had been a warm one. A cool breeze blowing through the open door of the balcony washed over Andrethi and Varulae. It was the dead of night and yet it was bright out due to the moon's reflection. To Andrethi it was as if it were day, and yet pleasant to the eye. His ashen skin absorbed the light while Varulae's fair tone reflected it. Time seemed to have stopped as he watched his love sleep on her back. He laid on his right side watching her breath slowly, she was asleep. His finger tips traces the small puncture wounds on the side of her neck. Andrethi always felt guilty each time he did that but she let him knowing he would get sick if he didn't feed.

Briefly Varulae's heart beat changed as did her breathing pattern. Her eyes opened looking up at Andrethi and a smile wrapped itself around her lips. Her left arm slid under Andrethi as her right arm and right leg wrapped around him pulling him ontop of her in a deep embrace. Their legs interlocked as their arms held the one against the other in full content. His face was buried against the side of her face feeling her smile with his lips.

"Go to sleep." Her soft voice whispered and his eyes slowly closed. The scent of her long hair, the feel of her warmth against him, her soft hand running up and down from the back of his head to the back of his leg all made it easy to be at peace. If life was nothing more than being like this it would be all he would want.

. . . The next day . . .

"Two thousand Knights of the Rose, five thousand longbowmen, eight thousand voulgiers and 90 Mages Guild Alchemists is all Tudor is taking? That's a bit bold even for him." A man with bow and a kettle helmet under his arm remarked.

"Four thousand or so Orcs are suppose to be coming here today. The rest will be hired from the Reach from the cities, villages, and perhaps even some nomads from the south." Another soldier replied, this one weilding a voulga and armored in a mixture of padded cloth, mail and segments of plate.


OOC: Crap post but I wanted to get myself up to speed for now.

Anticlere

As sun climbed higher and higher up the morning sky, the city of Anticlere came to life. The warehouses were opened, goods flowing in and out; merchants opened their stores, haggling loudly with foreigners over precious goods. Blacksmiths and carpenters took up their tools; performers tried to earn their breakfast by plying their trade. Builders, loaders, sailors pvssyred at the docks at every free moment they got, just trading dirty jokes and made-up stories or discussing the news that had passed down from the middle class to them - the posters that had appeared overnight. This same discussion could be found on the lips of many a person in Anticlere, be they merchants sealing a deal or guards at the gates.

Amongst all the life of a healthy trade center of the Iliac Bay, most of the citizens didn't notice a group of ships, slowly creeping towards Anticlere from the south. Dark-skinned sailors were on board, and cannon barrels shone, arranged along the broadsides, indicating Ra Gada ships. The guards didn't pay much attention to this - ships of Sentinel were frequent guests by now, and the Anticlerians didn't care much for the fact the ships were in larger number than usual this time.

What they couldn't know, though, was that these ships' purpose wasn't simply patrol. These ships brought gifts from the High King of Sentinel himself, to aid Anticlere in the war looming ahead. Ten bombards, weapons that made the walls of Sentinel so terrifying to invaders, with the appropriate cannoneer crews to opperate these engines. And not only that - five hundred more men were sailing towards Anticlere with the orders to stay there and join the army. They were armed with handguns, a new invention of the Ra Gada, fearsome, but experimental weapons.

One more man intending to stay in Anticlere was aboard one of these ships. A very powerful man, in fact - one of the legendary Ansei, masters of the Shehai...

The pearly white smile that was etched upon the Ansei's dark, weathered face was the first in a long time. In the distance, the port city of Anticlere could be seen, his destination on this particular trip. It had been a short, easy journey, with the ship gliding though the sapphire waters with a clear, azure blue sky overhead, but one he was glad would soon come to an end.

Leaning against the wooden railings, he tilted his head back and soaked in the warm, golden rays of the sun while enjoying the cool, salty sea breeze that whipped his mixture of black and crimson robes about. Life had been good of late, and he was determined to enjoy every minute he could.

" Sir, we will be arriving in port in less then a hour. "

" Good, thank you. " Dorion said, his voice soft like velvet, something that betrayed his fierce appearance. Flexing his slender, muscular fingers on his right hand for just a brief moment, he bent down and picked up a large, leather bag and slung it over his shoulder. It contained the normal robes of his order along with a few other items, one in particular he kept close to him all the time.


It was a scroll, edges torn and tattered from constantly being unrolled. Upon it was a drawing of a beatiful girl, perhaps of Colovian stock. He had it drawn up a few short days after the war from memory. It was also one of the main reasons why he jumped at the chance to travel to Highrock. He knew the land of the mongrel race was well known for its necromancers, and he was certain he would find her there, and with her, Raza. He had to be laid to rest, it was only fitting for a hero of his caliber.


He had went after them, stalking them through the bamboo forest as they fled for the coast. He pushed himself hard as he sprinted to catch them, stopping only to kill a few marines and a angry, scarred knight that stood in defiance shouting something in Bretic as he acted as a rear gaurd.

His yatagan worked fast that day as he danced around the knight, barely loosing his momentum as he sped past. The knight was down a second later, clutching his throat to stem the flow of his lifeblood. Still he was not fast enough. He watched in anger as the [censored] boarded one of the ships, her trail of abominations behind her. A khajit and what appeared to be a Breton noble traveled with her, and he knew that might be crucial in finding her.

Soon Raza. Once my dutys to Manfred are finished, I will find and free you. Then you will be free to travel to the far shores....

OOC. Sorry for the short post, super busy. Immortal, I will get to sending them Orcs down as soon as I can.

Elysana ignored Sam's mocking expression and the way he immitated her movements. The Queen continued to watch him, before saying, "A Queen is addressed as Your Majesty, not Highness. Highness is reserved for a prince or princess." Her lips quirked in the corners slightly as she thought, And its criminally ignorant not to have learned that before coming to meet royalty.

She continued to gaze at him for a moment longer, then said, "Samuel Ross. The problem you pose is... difficult. I have already compensated you for the... trouble of saving me." The word was directed to a Mercenary, and was not said particularly kindly, although the words themselves could not be insulting. "Any more would be an affront to my people; in this time of war, I have no money to give; it is for my people's well-being, Sam, for my servants, military and otherwise. The hardship, you see, must fall to me and not them." Else they'll all turn against me... she thought. If they have not already...

"The problem you pose," she continued. "Is what to do with you. Really, for what you have done, I ought to Knight you, send you to serve under one of my lords who could then grant you land if you serve well." She tilted her head to one side. "But you already have land, do you not, Samuel Ross?" She shook her head gently. "No, Knighting you could well fix my problems, but you would have to be a different kind of knight." She surveyed him carefully. "I can imagine that would appeal to your nature, to be so esteemed yet set apart, given the glory- as all mercenaries want- yet not held back by courtesy or tradition."

"If you were in my service, Sam, I could pay you as I pay any of my other knights; for the work they do, for the service they render. But a Knight is no temporary thing, not something you could turn your back on; you would be in my service." She fixed her gaze on him, and with such an intense expression on her face that she at once seemed innately royal and inhumanly beautiful, as if this expression was what she were always meant to wear. "Of course, as a different kind of Knight, you would not necessarily have to be in my service at all times. Certain lenience would be given. But when I called, you would have to answer."

"You see Sam, after what you have done, people will expect something more from you. Suddenly, you are my vassal, whether you have chosen to be or not. Your actions will reflect my own, but I will have no way of influencing that. If you suddenly run off to work for the Nords, or the Aldmeris, it will be a heavy blow to the morale of my people. It simply cannot be that you do not serve me. Of course, the choice is yours. But I am asking you to be something with responsibility, yes, but immense benefits. The glory, Sam, of being my unique Knight. A knight who serves me directly, and none else. A knight without the need to play at politics..." she smiled softly, but her eyes were intense.

Her dark eyes were like embers, smouldering, more dangerous than they seemed. "My Ebon Knight," she said, and smiled, the intense look leaving her eyes for a brief moment as she enjoyed the picture, remembering Sam's ebony arm. She sat back, serious, and extremely curious.

"What would you say to that?"

"I think so, but you aren't.."

It wasn't until then Rethan had realised he was still bleeding. The wound had been deeper than he had assumed, but when his veins were pumping with adrenaline, he had never noticed. Now that it had been mentioned, Rethan could feel a sharp sting. But before Rethan could even touch his face, Parthia had already leaned forward, her hands illuminated a captivating glow. Utterning words Rethan could not understand, he felt an itch run across the side of hsi face. When he touched the area, there was no cut left.

"Thank you for that. Perhaps you should become a priestess after all." Rethan playfully suggested.

For a moment, Rethan seemed unsure of what to say, he had many questions but did not think this was the time or place to begin asking them. An akward silence occured, and Rethan gazed over his small tavern room, frowning at the mess.

Out of the blew, Rethan boldly inquired, "Parthia. That...thing, do you know who or what it was?"