Wilfred

"I will be honored then, sir Geoff, to welcome you to the halls of Eastwood. Were you not under such a hurry by the orders of your Lord, I would invite you and your companions to stay until tommorrow - the day of my wedding. Alas, I understand you will not be able to attend, so it will be my pleasure to offer fresh horses for four of your men. Along with a letter to the gate guards - they would have a hard time passing in the case they had none, for, due to obvious sad reasons, my Lord was forced to increase the vigilance of the guards at his capital." Wilfred motioned for the group to follow, nodding barely noticeably to one of the knights (who was, along with his comrade in arms, observing the companions of Geoff with blank faces, already accustomed to the fact most found their weapons and armor very odd). The man returned the nod, and quickly gallopped off towards the castle to warn the servants and cooks to prepare a suitable meal for honorable guests.

Turning his own horse around slowly, Wilfred watched as the knight hurried off, the second one falling slightly behind him out of respect. To think that only a year ago, Wilfred would fall back like that when he would ride with Meniel... I wonder where's the scheming bastard now. Most likely dead. The young noble frowned, remembering the previous Magister. Even several weeks after his escape, it still seemed a bit strange that Meniel turned out to be a traitor. A childhood friend and the brother in law of Manfred... How do these things happen?

Camlorn

Osric stood in the shadow of an alcove, listening intently and interceding occasionally as Beric dictated the letter to Dwynnen. Hundreds of feet down, in the city below, almost oblivious to the bristling spires of Camlorn Castle, people went about their daily lives. It was a distracting sound. One wanted to go to the window and look down at the city, instead of listening to an old warlord poorly dictating a letter. Ah, well... Beric was always one to lead men to war. He isn't made for these times. Thanks the Gods that he has sons who run the realm.

Soft fragrances in the air mingled with the salty sea wind. Salt was everywhere in this god-forsaken tower high above the city. The masonry was slick with salt water and cold at all times. Cruel winds haunted the higher rooms, and guardsmen rarely frequented the tops of the walls; they kept to walking the curtain wall and peering out through the windows. Besides, this city is safe. There's been no intrigue in years. The feel of the upper rooms was unpleasant. It puts Beric's realm in perspective. My lands are in Wrothgaria, nestled between the dark dells and green river-valleys. Now I'm by the sea, and all I see are farms for miles around beyond the city walls. Compared to Wrothgaria, this may as well be Daggerfall or Wayrest! Shows Camlorn will come to prominence soon enough.

"Alright, its done now Osric," Beric nodded. His brother was a quiet man, less of a Cassivel and more of their mother. There was less love between them than there might have been, but it could hardly be helped. Beric rose from his oak chair and set his shoulder against the wall. He leaned and looked at Osric with his intense eyes, waiting for a reply.

Osric stepped out of the shadows and brushed something off of his maille. He checked to see if his sword was at his belt and nodded. "Very well, m'liege. The party and couriers are gathered, there are fresh horses..." Osric gestured vaguely, his lips set and his jaw square. His eyes trailed around the room and he took the sealed envelope from the king's hand. "I hope to reach Dwynnen before the week's end. If I see Abattarik, I may fetch a cage of ravens to take with us, so I might send messages back."

Beric nodded. The air was thick and sweaty and salty. It was unpleasantbeing in the high chamber for much longer. The walls were cold stone, free of any hangings or decorations. Only a square table and a wash basin were present. "Very well, Osric. Godspeed!"

Gosic the Psijicc
A kind smile crept to the old man's face. His arms immediately retreated to his sleeves. He nodded to the Lord, following him within the residence. Unsurprised by the presence of the Lord, and within his element Gosic was the perfect ambassador to a celebrity of Highrock.

"Well my Lord, since you are undoubtedly of aristocratic origin I will assume you were given minor education on Arcane principles, even with basic understanding you may not understand. The order has determined the state of Anticlere, as well as other states within the realm of Highrock as vital to Tamriel's future. Events in the upcoming months will undoubtedly effect Highrock, your realm, and the other provinces. I take it you are familiar with the Thelelazar Functional Form of Boroba Thring's Major Term divination? Forgive me, I have forgotten High Rock still embeds its knowledge in Galerionic principles. Imagine...a Clinger Trans-Temporal survey. Your name, as well as your land's name has been spoken by the players of a grand game of chess in which the pieces are kingdoms and Empires. The divination itself was very clouded, and for a moment of clarity, we were able to discern that Highrock would be the next stage of this game." the long winded explanation may had been a bit over the top, spending a century with none but other geniuses of the craft.

Sometimes one would have to see for himself.

"I can perform it for you if you so wish. Basically my Lord, the order has seen enough of your past and actions to discern you may be able to help bring a prosperous age to Tamriel, which is what we desire." Good men kept in power, bad men weakened. It was the Psijicc form of balance, which meant Good filled the whole spectrum of power in the realms, and evil was too weak to gain any. Not so much as balance as much as maintaining their view on how the future should be. This Lord Manfred was Iron handed, and hardened by war but was a good man.

Jehanna

Alfngar whistled and shook his head thoughtfully as Oleg spoke of the Thu'um and how it broke the gates of Jehanna. "Gods' blood! Who would have thought it?" he murmured, more to himself than Oleg Mer-Spear. "The Greybeards come down from their mountains to fight for the armies of the Nords. It's as if the old tales were coming true. What next? Giants? Dragons?" He chuckled and shot a piercing glance towards the older man. "The Old Nordic Empire?" He shook his head again.

At that moment, the young knight chanced to hear the sound of thousands of booted feet, and glancing out the open gate, beheld the approach of his uncle's army, footsore but smiling, their banners flapping cheerfully in the stout breeze. When they were still somewhere near two hundred paces from the gate, an imperious shout of command went up and the ranks came to a halt. A small group of horseman continued to approach at an easy trot. Alfngar could make out his uncle in their midst.

The youth, his thoughtful mood instantly banished by this arrival, crossed the crowed boulevard in two bounds and stood grinning foolishly besides the gate. As the Duke and his retinue approached, Alfngar bowed languidly, saying, "My Lord Germanicus, welcome to Jehanna." All he got for his foolish antics was a cold stare from his uncle, who rode straight past him. Pulling his mount to a sudden stop, the Duke dismounted and tossed his reins to one of his staff.

Though Germanicus had never met or even seen Jehanna's new Velikiy Khnyaz, Rurik was hard to mistake. The Duke approached him at once, gave a quick, awkward bob of the head for a bow and said, "My Lord Rurik. I am Germanicus Odoacer, Duke Karthwasten. I bring with me under my command twelve thousand loyal soldiers of Skyrim to pledge to your service for the remainder of this war. Please accept our services."

Lord Francois Gautier, Lord's Manor

The Lord's Manor sat just behind the Citadel, which housed the various servants, Knights, and important buildings. Half-building half-castle, it was a building all its own, with its own wall seperating it from the main Citadel, and two large towers topped with Mangonels just behind it. Built solely for the purpose of Francois lavish personal quarters, and several rooms for his close friends, and guests, the manor is of course heavily guarded. Knights roam the hallways, guards walk the edges of its gardens, and simply to enter that sector of the city one must pass two large guard towers, manned by a medley of guards and knights.

Although feeling secure against assassins locked behind many doors manned by many trusted guards, Francois worried about the Nords, and the other Bretic rulers incessantly. Any threat to his power would be destroyed, unless they be too large to do so, in which case he would negotiate for his survival. But Francois wanted to do more than just survive, he had to thrive. His thirst for power would not be sated until he ruled from the Bjoulsae to the far side of the Wrothgarian mountains. If it meant mistreating his people, backstabbing allies and double-crossing friends, so be it. Even his own wife was not safe.

The Lord stood from his chair in his private study, pacing back and forth, muttering incoherently to himself. Stopping and rubbing his chin, an idea made its way into Francois' head.

Lady Anne had no heirs, and no kin to speak of, her father having died off several months ago. If he could be rid of her.... he would have complete control over Gauvadon, and Aleine. From there he could expand into Norvulk and Wind Keep, and slowly conquer all the lands leading up to Evermore, and when the time was right he would ride his knights into the keep and conquer that as well! Beyond that... Well he could only imagine the immense power he would have. Enough to form his own magnificant Kingdom!

All i must do is kill that wife of mine and it will all be possible. It must look like an accident of course, lest the people suspect something.

Grinning, Francois strode across the room, filling his goblet with wine and sat back into his plush velvet chair. Soon.


Ghalib al-Suhim, Aleine, Poor District

Lanky children in ragged clothes and with unwashed faces darted across the dirty streets, junkies lurked in alleyways, and women stayed close to their men for fear of being [censored] or otherwise befouled. The youth turned to crime, joining gangs and becoming pickpockets simply so they could feed their family. The Poor District of Aleine even had its own six trade.

The Lord sits in a lavishly furnished manor, wasting more food than he eats, sipping on wine and garbed in only the finest robes, and meanwhile the most heavily populated sector of the city looks like this.

It was a disgrace, the conditions these people had to live in. Ghalib hated Francois Gautier and everything he stood for. One day he would rid the people of the tyrant and treat them with the respect they deserve, a velvet glove on one hand and an iron gauntlet on the other. The Mamluk's had taken clothing, gold, drink and food from the Lord's personal stores. They would not be missed, many of the clothes had been discarded because they were "old", when in fact they were in near perfect condition. Vibrant colors rippled across the main street as the destitute and impoverished gathered around to recieve the Lord's possessions. A women came up and thanked Ghalib with her son at her side, wearing one of Francois' extravagant coats, cleanfaced and carrying enough food for him to eat for weeks.

Watching the many faces light up with joy as they recieved the gifts, the Mamluk commander turned to Khadir.

" My only regret, is that we can not do more. "

Manfred

So Anticlere... Anticlere is supposed to have a part to play in the grand game that is already in progress? How? By her wealth? We may not be any wealthier than most the other duchies now, but the trade with Sentinel brings much gold, and soon we could be even wealthier than Daggerfall or Wayrest. After all, our position is nearly at the very mouth of the Bay... If Anticlere was to become independent and strong enough to back her ambitions with an army capable of opposing even the Aldmeri Dominion... Then every city of the Bay further east would become completely dependent on us for their trade. Even Wayrest. Manfred scratched his chin, sitting down on one of the chairs.

"Please, sit, if you need to... And yes, perform the divination. I must see for myself."

'A grand game of chess'... Manfred quoted the Psijic in his mind. But what impact could we have on the fate of High Rock even, not to mention Tamriel? My greatest ambitions aren't anything as far-fetched as some of the other rulers'. I may desire lands, but not much of it - Anticlere is and always should be a coastal Lorddom, so that our trade could grow stronger over time. True, trade is important, as is diplomacy, but many would consider diplomacy second to war.


Rurik

Rurik jumped off his horse, handing it to one of the Druzhina that had amassed behind him. Around fifty of these heavily armed soldiers stood close behind Rurik; the rest were leading the commoners to the armories of Jehanna, where the Bretons would recieve weapons according to their professions before the war came. Hunters would get bows, farmers - spears... But for now, Rurik wasn't concerned with his fresh recruits. The fact that the Duke of Karthwasten had come to Jehanna with twelve thousand troops was quite the good news; it doubled the Nords' current force.

"Duke of Karthwasten! Allow me to welcome you into one of the two newest cities of Skyrim, my realm of Jehanna. Your coming is indeed welcome, and, I hope, first of the many... The Reconquest has merely begun. Honest men of the North willing to fight against Wayrest and whatever else may be waiting for us down there will always be accepted into my city with open arms." Rurik's voice was, predictably, rather loud, and it would almost seem the man was yelling to one unaccustomed to speaking with Nords of Skyrim. Usually, the voice aided Rurik, adding to the motivational value of his speeches, along with proving that he was truly born in Solitude, or at least in one of the cities of the northern coast.

"Your men are tired, obviously. I can offer you enough beds, food and drink in Jehanna for all of them... A brief respite before the war continues." Taking the hint, one of the Druzhina turned his horse around and headed off after the moving procession, intending to alert the cooks and barrack commanders about the arrival of a new force, and the need to accomodate them.

Daggerfall

She strode purposefully down the street, a slim figure, a tall slip of woman, and yet so imposing in the forcefulness of her movements and the dire omens of her attire. Her skin, a pale silver reminiscent of moonlight, was beautiful in its strangeness, her waist-length red hair a waterfall of blood. Her slender form was clothed in black dress of a kind that would hide gore when it inevitably fell upon it. A naked daedric cutlass bumped against her thigh, and a daedric atham? was strapped below her hip. Her entire left arm was encased in a single piece of dark armour, embedded with strange black crystals.

This was Veruise, a Princess by right, but known only to herself and the King of Worms. But this did not bother Veruise; hers was a mission far more important than mere politics. What did she care for armies or riches? She was on a mission to destroy a God.

One priest at a time... She smiled with such frost the air around her chilled.

She turned the corner, walking down a close alleyway with a dark gate at the end. In the distance, flowery fields and grey slabs could be seen. She pushed through the gate, and there, stood alone before the statue of Arkay, that ridiculous symbol to those who grieved that the world was in balance.

There were no mourners out this day. Too much had changed in Daggerfall, there was too much feeling of unease. And so it was only her, and the priest, his back to her, unknowing of his impending doom.

She drew her atham? and knelt, digging the ritual dagger into the ground with her Reap encased arm, head bowed and eyes closed tight. Her right hand, she held open as she summoned powers beyond the norm.

The air went deadly still, and suddenly only the priest's breathing could be heard, an uholy silence from which only he was immune. Veruise was perfectly still, her body not even rising and falling in signs of life. The priest continued his vigil before Akatosh's statue, but the silence stung at him in an almost physical manner.

He turned and started as Veruise rose, drawing her cutlass with her right hand, magic like black smoke curling around her blade and body, her breath coming out black. She fixed her golden eyes on his brown ones as graves exploded nearby, men and women flinging themselves with inhuman strength out of their death and into undeath. Gravedirt rained upon the heads of Veru and the priest, the stench of rotting flesh nearly causing the latter to gag, but Veru only smiled, her shoulders lifting as she breathed in deeply.

"So you've come for me at last, then," he said wearily.

Veru nodded.

The priest, who could only have been thirty, turned his head, taking in the horrors that had once been men as they crowded around him. He shuddered, but neither cried nor fled. "Surely you know that you cannot harm me with their unholy hands?" He raised his own hands, and the air around him shuddered and distorted, an odd dome, a shiver in the world, appearing around him. Her minions went to it, then backed away, then tried again once more, but for each time they neared his bubble they were repulsed, their bodies a little more worn than before.

She nodded again, and snapped her fingers. "Eldakhar, Morvhen!" she summoned. The dremora appeared in columbs of green fire, flanking the priest on each side. They promptly grabbed his arms, holding him in place. He reached desperately for magicka, but found it cut off. He was defenseless.

She strode up to him, peering into his face. Gently, almost lovingly, she ran the tip of her atham? down his cheek, scraping the cheekbone and jaw. Blood spurted, and the pain was so exquisite, he hardly had breath to scream.

She stepped back, admiring the effect of the gash on his face, wiping his blood from her own with the back of her hand.

"Y-you have... you have not... w-won..." he stammered, shaking so badly now that the words could barely leave his breathless lips. He seemed to take strength from his own words, and continued.

Veruise knelt, and with a sickening crunch Eldakhar helped the priest to kneel as well. Looking him in the eyes, she said, "I know how much you care for your balance. How much you believe that for every death their should be a rebirth, a place for new souls." It was the first time she had spoken, and her soft voice was a shock to the ears, a monstrous snarl more expected.

"I'm sure you believe that your death will create further balance. That this allows your unborn child her place in the world." She smiled sweetly, but it didn't reach her golden eyes.

The priest could only stare, agape. "No, you haven't returned to your pregnant wife since the second death, have you? You hoped that perhaps by abandoning them, you could spare their lives," her voice was so gentle, so angelic, so sympathetic, it made him want to scratch his own eyes out. What sort of vicious creature was she? What had spawned a monster such as this?

"I'm afraid that you never should have tried to pass on your line. I was going to spare your wife- what did she matter to me?- until your comrade Malthus mentioned her babe- oh yes, he spoke of her. I think it was in a plea for her life, but I forget." She tilted her head to one side.

"They are both quite dead, would you like to see?" she sheathed her dagger in the ground and drew two soul gems from her pack, both alight with human spirits. "They say if you press them to your ear, you can hear their screaming. Like a sea shell, isn't that funny?" she offered them to the broken priest before her, he sobbed and leaned away, his entire body shaking and drenched with sweat and tears.

"As you like," she said, returning the gems to her pack. "I only thought you might wish to say goodbye." She picked up her atham? and then lunged widly at him, digging the blade into his stomach and twisting. This time, he did scream. She whispered the soul trap spell, but nothing happened.

She sniffed delicately. Why can't I trap their souls? What protection has he put upon them, that I cannot steal them even when I have broken them like this? She returned her atham? to its strap on her leg.

Rising to her feet, she gripped her cutlass now in both hands. "Farewell, Priest of Arkay. The world is made more interesting by your death," she said, and then swung with all her might. The dremoras stood back, and by the time his head hit the ground they were both gone, engulfed once more by the green flames.

She turned and strode away, the undead collapsing to the ground as she passed, the dark spark that had fuelled them disappearing. The cemetery looked more like a battlefield now, with bodies strewn all around.

And that was exactly what it was.



OOC: I'll make a first post with Edrain later.

Jehanna

Germanicus smiled sourly as Rurik greeted him. He may not have known the Velikiy Khnyaz, but he surely knew his type. They filled Skyrim these days, from the lordly courts of Solitude and Winter Hold and Whiterun to the little hinterland towns like Black Moor and Dunpar Wall. They were the men who had designed the disastrous Morrowind invasion, with all their talk about "Reconquests" and the "Nordic Empire" and "Atmoran Superiority". They disgusted him, for they were pushing Skyrim ever closer to the inevitable declaration of secession from Cyrodiil, but he feared he could no longer tell if they were the reactionaries or if he was. He had done his best to stay out of their politics, but now that a combination of local pressure and genuine fear of the threat that the Bretons posed to his city had pushed him into this war, he would be damned if he was going to lose. And to win, he had to cooperate with Rurik and the other men running this invasion.

So Germanicus merely smiled sourly as Rurik spoke to him, and, when he had finished, said, "Excellent. We appreciate your hospitality." He turned to his staff. "Order the men to enter the city directly. I'm certain Lord Rurik's men will be able to show them to their accommodations." The Duke's voice was soft, in deliberate contrast to Rurik's shouting.

One of Germanicus' captains signaled the troops to approach, and they did so gratefully, smiling and pvssyring, and, much to the Duke's displeasure, breaking ranks, so that when they passed the city's gate they were more a mob than an army.

Disguising his anger over his troops' lack of discipline, Germanicus turned back to Rurik. "As for myself, I am at thy service, m'lord," he said, giving another awkward head bob.

"As am I," chimed in Alfngar, who had taken a position behind his uncle. His bow was deep and graceful. Germanicus turned to look at him with a critical eye.

"Ah! Allow me to present my nephew, Alfngar Farihair."

I will be helping Rurik in Solitude, and will command the heavy infantry, I have permission from the person from anticlere.

Name: Ongar Manheim
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Age: 28
Appearance: Tall, muscular, 200 pounds, 6'1
Equipment: Steel Nordic armor
Starting location: Jehanna
Background: Never new his Father, his mother died in childbirth. He was born in Whiterun, Skyrim. His adoptive father was a blade, and took him to Solitude to live with him there. He trained him in the arts of combat and war strategy. After the oblivion crisis, the Blades were no longer an order, and he went to join the Nordic alliance, He now serves Rurik in Jehanna, and commands the heavy infantry
Personality: Feels that he always has something to prove. Is humble, but does not hesitate to kill anything, doesn't trust a lot of people, goes with his gut. Will take risks, but is not that risky

Units: 3000 Nordic heavy infantry

Basic sheet, you said don't go in depth in the sheet, so I kept it basic, let's get started


sorry I posted got to get it approved

Rurik

Rurik eyed Germanicus judgingly when the man turned around to instruct his officers, although his glance was normal again when the man turned around. I've heard of this 'Duke' of Karthwasten... He's not one of the true Nords, more a Cyrodiil than anything. I don't know about his nephew, hopefully he can be changed during the course of this campaign for the better... Oleg seems to have welcomed him into Jehanna, I'll have to talk to him to see what the boy is like. For now, caution is due. Germanicus may yet turn his back to us and side with his crumbling empire, if that's truly where his sympathies lie. Rurik didn't like the man; but in wartime, the Nords of Skyrim would have to stand united against Wayrest and the rest of the Bretons. Only then they could make a push forth and break through the line that separated the Nords and the Manmer.

"It is an honor to meet Germanicus' heir... Rurik Far-Stride is what I am called, although I'm sure you know this already." The massive Nord nodded to the young man, taking note of the contrast between Alfngar's and his uncle's greeting towards the Velikiy Khnyaz of Jehanna. I will really need to investigate into this with Oleg's help... Alfngar seems like he would make a far better Khnyaz of Karthwasten, who would actually call himself that, if my suspicions are correct.

"I understand you had to undertake a long journey to get here; however, if you are not too tired, then I'd offer to accustom you and your nephew with the plans for this war. If you feel too tired to attend to this war meeting, however, I will be glad to delay it until later and instead offer you food, drink, and a bed if need be."

OOC: Just kinda changed some numbers around in my troop types.

Francis de Guiralle, Northpoint

The over-weight Lord sat in his silver throne, chin in hand as was his norm, and was deep in thought as he had been since the gladiator fight. Two Knights were flanking him, standing still and quiet, as servants and minor nobles made their way across the Grand Hall, attending to their own business. His eyes flickered to the main doors as a man walked through, but it was just a patrolling soldier, and the Lord returned to his thoughts.

He was waiting for Edgar Gaerwing, Master of the Knights of the Deep and General of Northpoint's standing armies, and Francis had a small job for him, just a trip to Camlorn to ensure good feelings between the two factions as well as heightened trade in these tough times. The man was perhaps Francis' most trusted advisor, right up there with Edwinn in Old Gate, and Edgar was his most loyal subject, having proven his fealty a dozen times and more to his Lord.

He glanced up again, and this time it was the man he needed, as the Knight entered the Hall in his full plate armor, sword strapped to his side, but shield and helmet not in the picture. Two Knights followed him, both armed fully as they marched behind their Master, who came up to the throne, and dropped to a knee, bowing his head to his Lord.

"Rise good Sir." Francis instructed with a smile. "How are you my friend? It has been a while." he asked. The Knights had been in the west, helping the local fishers with a goblin problem and had been gone for almost two months.

Edgar rose, as did his two Knights, and he smiled at his old friend and nodded his head in agreement at the length of his absence. "Those goblins were fine hiders." he remarked. "Must of chased them all up and down our west coast, fighting them in the smallest of skirmishes." he said, glancing over at the Knight on the left, a man who had accompanied him, and he nodded in agreement. The simple mission had been a long one.

"But we got them in the end." he finished with a smile. "May I ask why you requested my presence my Lord?" he asked hesitantly, not able to read the Lord's expression.

Francis remained silent for a while, but it was more to collect the many random thoughts that were flying around his head. "Not a large task, I assure you, but if you feel up to it I want you to be my emissary to Camlorn, leaving today if possible." he explained, moving his chin to rest in his other hand.

"Right after this meeting actually, if it's possible."

Edgar bowed low, a smile on his face as he came back up. "I would be honored my Lord, but what would be the meaning of the trip?" he inquired, resting his hand on the pommel of his fine blade.

Francis was about to answer but a small distraction, in the form of his son came into the room, nodding to Edgar and bowing to his father as he simply sat off to the side of the room, watching the meeting with interest.

The men looked at the boy with question but seeing no words coming from him, they turned back to each other, Francis clearing his throat. "Anyhow, I need you to gain a meeting with the Lord of Camlorn, I believe it is Lord Beric Cassivel." he looked over to his son who nodded in confirmation with a smile.

"I need you to play the peacekeeper here. With the Aldmeri Dominion moving in and the failed conquest of the east, things are beginning to fall apart, and there will be many Lord seeking to further their power, and I do not believe the Dominion will remain quiet throughout this. Why else ally Daggerfall?" he asked rhetorically, as the Knights and his son listened closely.

"Change is sure to come, and with change there has always been war and strife, and with war, true friends are difficult to find. But I need you to assure the Lord of Camlorn that we are willing to increase trade between our fair kingdoms as well as assuring strong ties of friendship between us for the troubles ahead. But do not make us seem desperate for the trade nor the friendship, for he will see an advantage, and I am not clear on anyone's intentions at the moment."

He paused for a moment, thinking of his most recent words. He looked over at his son, and he could tell they were thinking the same thing, as he looked back to the Master Knight. "And maybe you could find out where their loyalties lie at the moment, perhaps gaining insight to their... 'plans'." he finished, things starting to fall into place now. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be a major player in the upcoming event or not, but he also knew he might not have a choice.

He looked back to the Knight, and cleared his throat again as he realized he had gotten side-tracked. "That is all Edgar. Take what men you need, though I hardly need to remind you this visit is for good intentions."

Edgar bowed low again. "I shall take a half dozen of my Knights, and we shall leave immediately my Lord." he finished, bowing again before turning away and walking swiftly from the hall, talking with the two Knights at his side.

Francis glanced over at his son, who always had an opinion on his fathers political doings, but the boy remained quiet and smiling, leaving Francis to wonder what lay behind that obviously fake facade.


OOC: Would post for others but for work....

The City of Dwynnen, Barony of Dwynnen

Olwyn didn't often go into the city of Dwynnen itself, preferring the safety and comforts of his great fortress at Wightmoor Castle, but he had the feeling that since the majority of his forces were stationed behind the walls of Dwynnen, he might as well pay them a visit. So, accompanied by his Knights of the Raven, and fifty men-at-arms, the Baron of Dwynnen entered his capitol city.

Like most of the barony, the city of Dwynnen was nestled deep within the forests of Greater Bretony, and the people stuck to their traditions that had been around since before the times of Olwyn's ancestor, Baron Othrok. Due to it's remote location, merchants, while present, did not run the city like it's more urban neighbors of Camlorn, Anticlere, or Daggerfall. Instead, Dwynnen flourished by being a bread-basket around it's cities and towns, and also gained substinence from it's hunting industry. Herding was also a booming industry within the barony, especially in the more rural areas outside the city of Dwynnen. Some rulers might feel a certain shame that their realm was not as "modern" as it's neighbors, but Olwyn felt none of that, for he knew that Dwynnen's good, honest folk, would be just as corrupt and power-hungry as those in Wayrest or Camlorn.

As the gates flew open, and Olwyn crossed over the threshold, he was met with commotion as the people of the city sought to make their ruler welcome, provide a lord with the greatest gift he can get, the peoples love and trust. Never one for pomp and ceremony, Olwyn still found himself responding favorably to the peasants, garnering even more cheers when he ordered his attendants to scatter coins into the crowds. Happy with their great lord, the people followed him up the lane until he reined in at the Market Square, where the city councilmen and provosts awaited him, clad in their best finery.

Stepping forward, a tall Breton knelt before the Baron of Dwynnen. "My liege, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you into your city. I am-"

"The Hetman, Gruffydd Maelor." When the Hetman's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, Olwyn couldn't supress his mirth. "You think it strange that I know who you are? Your family has kept my city well-run for generations, it makes sense that your reputation would make it to my ears." Motioning to one of the men that had accompanied him to come forward, the mounted knight produced a cup full of silver coins. "Put these to good use, my good man, and show me to my residence. Wightmoor may not be far away, but I desire to rest briefly and then have a tour of my city."

"As you command, my lord." Signaling to one of the provosts, Gruffydd ordered him to take their liege to the Baronial Residence, and see to his comforts, whatever they may be.

The City of Anticlere

The four knights that had split off from Sir Geoff had finally arrived at Anticlere, the walls and gates within site. "Why do you think that Geoff opted to stay with that Anticlerian knight and his lackies?"

"Probably so he could speak with Manfred of Anticlere himself." The knights nodded in agreement then feel silent as they approached the gate. Producing papers given to them by Wilfrid from the folds of his mantle, the head knight held them out to the guards at the gate. "We come from Dwynnen, seeking passage from your docks."

Gosic
Gosic accepted Manfred's offer and sat, letting out a small sigh as he did so.

"As you wish." he said in a tone which deepened and morphed as he spoke, immediately his eyes closed as he concentrated his mind into pure focus.

The room darkened until Manfred and the Psijicc were the only things visible, all else was black. Every surface which gave off any reflection began to grow a red hue, the crimson tint being cast onto the faces of those in the room.

All the reflective surfaces began to swirl around, as if made of liquid. Gosic began speaking in a liquid tongue unknown to Tamriel.

Eventually all the red swirling around the room began to snake itself through the air in front of the two men.

Swirling itself into a a large globe the size of a small child.

Casting his hands, open palmed, fingers spread to both sides, the Psijicc opened his eyes and began looking. He turned to Manfred, "The Jills do not enjoy others interfering into the possible currents of time. The darkness is to blind any who may attempt to scry."

The orb began to cast manifestations of demonic creatures...perhaps from Oblivion, but no Daedra....these were devils, who hated the Psijicc for forcing them to his will. They moved throughout the orb, painting a vivid picture of recent events, the Hammerfell Ships in Anticlere's docks, Manfred speaking with Gosic, masked and robed men entering the city, thousands fielded in combat spilling their blood on green fields, a woman who looked as if Royalty trapped by hundreds of men, a young man with an ebony arm holding a skull with glowing runes, two Altmer using a form of Aldmeri magic known as Terramancing, and a massive Nordic army. During each picture, names appeared, some not in a language Gosic recognized as the divination didn't recognize any language the diviner would be familiar with. It was simply seeing into the possible paths of time, never a specific tense, and you could never know what you would see. A divination was different every time, and Gosic saw a few things that did not make him happy. He would die. Not of age, his sorceries had made sure of that, but he would die in a way that the fates determined.

"Illixth alasilim cala." The orb disappeared, as did the veil of darkness engulfing the room. Gosic sat back down in his seat....tired.

"There were things I had not seen before....a bit about the Empire....did you see it?"

A troubling divination indeed. Manfred was chosen for his history as well as his land, Anticlere would become strategically important to maintaining High Rocks future, as well as the bays and the other kingdoms before it. If Anticlere would fall, many other Kingdoms, duchies, and baronies would as well.

The Psijicc was sure that this Lord Flyte would have no idea just how truly important his destiny was, and wasn't so sure if even the divination before him would make him think so. The best the Artaeum wizard could manage would be to keep the man in power, and help advise him. The man alone could be the key to saving Tamriel from total war.

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

The Imperial agent stalked through the busy docks and warehouses of Anticlere, overseeing day to day operations with other shadowy cloak and dagger types. Whenever she wasn't putting a name on a hit list, or personally carrying out knife work herself, she was arranging for contacts in other peoples cities, reviewing ship manifests and inventory to find spies or evidence of corruption, or attempting to topple rival governments. All in a day's work for an agent.

Sailors and dock workers unloaded crates which were taken to warehouses. She walked in the only one without a train of people heading into it.

Luxos, a brown skinned sailor who had performed some knife work for her in the past dropped a specific crate, marked as "VLNX". It was the only crate marked such, and she had been waiting all morning for it. They were late.

She nodded off to him before pointing to two other men to grab their crow bars and open the crate.

With gritted teeth, they used the bar to pry off the top, an assortment of diamonds topped the hay filling most of the crate. She knew better.

Her hands crept their way into the hay, and she felt for a stack of papers.

With a sigh of relief she grabbed what she looked for.

She removed an envelope, cut it open and removed its contents.

Her eyes scanned it for a few moments.

Looked like armies were on the move a lot sooner then Anticlere had expected.

Taking the papers, the gate guard lowered his crossbow slightly, holding the imposing weapon with his right hand while holding the letter up with his left. The letter was short, but to the point, and with Wilfred's family seal pressed into wax at the very end, proof that the letter was genuine. It provided not not only passage into the city of Anticlere, but also the order for the dock guards to let them pass onto a boat without the usual holdup that occured for those not born in Anticlere these days when trying to board a ship of any sort. Due to the new orders, most Bretic merchants were better off hiring Anticlerians to load their boats, which further added to the city's prosperity; of course, Manfred had made an exception for Ra Gada merchants and sailors.

"Very well." The gateguard finally mumbled, handing the letter back to the head traveller. "You'll need it at the docks too." He added, stepping aside and lowering his crossbow completely, allowing the four men to pass into the city.

Gosic
Gosic accepted Manfred's offer and sat, letting out a small sigh as he did so.

"As you wish." he said in a tone which deepened and morphed as he spoke, immediately his eyes closed as he concentrated his mind into pure focus.

The room darkened until Manfred and the Psijicc were the only things visible, all else was black. Every surface which gave off any reflection began to grow a red hue, the crimson tint being cast onto the faces of those in the room.

All the reflective surfaces began to swirl around, as if made of liquid. Gosic began speaking in a liquid tongue unknown to Tamriel.

Eventually all the red swirling around the room began to snake itself through the air in front of the two men.

Swirling itself into a a large globe the size of a small child.

Casting his hands, open palmed, fingers spread to both sides, the Psijicc opened his eyes and began looking. He turned to Manfred, "The Jills do not enjoy others interfering into the possible currents of time. The darkness is to blind any who may attempt to scry."

The orb began to cast manifestations of demonic creatures...perhaps from Oblivion, but no Daedra....these were devils, who hated the Psijicc for forcing them to his will. They moved throughout the orb, painting a vivid picture of recent events, the Hammerfell Ships in Anticlere's docks, Manfred speaking with Gosic, masked and robed men entering the city, thousands fielded in combat spilling their blood on green fields, a woman who looked as if Royalty trapped by hundreds of men, a young man with an ebony arm holding a skull with glowing runes, two Altmer using a form of Aldmeri magic known as Terramancing, and a massive Nordic army. During each picture, names appeared, some not in a language Gosic recognized as the divination didn't recognize any language the diviner would be familiar with. It was simply seeing into the possible paths of time, never a specific tense, and you could never know what you would see. A divination was different every time, and Gosic saw a few things that did not make him happy. He would die. Not of age, his sorceries had made sure of that, but he would die in a way that the fates determined.

"Illixth alasilim cala." The orb disappeared, as did the veil of darkness engulfing the room. Gosic sat back down in his seat....tired.

"There were things I had not seen before....a bit about the Empire....did you see it?"

A troubling divination indeed. Manfred was chosen for his history as well as his land, Anticlere would become strategically important to maintaining High Rocks future, as well as the bays and the other kingdoms before it. If Anticlere would fall, many other Kingdoms, duchies, and baronies would as well.

The Psijicc was sure that this Lord Flyte would have no idea just how truly important his destiny was, and wasn't so sure if even the divination before him would make him think so. The best the Artaeum wizard could manage would be to keep the man in power, and help advise him. The man alone could be the key to saving Tamriel from total war.

Manfred

Manfred's eyes widened as the pictures swirled in front of him. He tried to memorize each picture, although only three interested him truly, for he had already heard news of Elysana falling into a trap (for that was what he believed the noblewoman seen to be) and the fact that the Nordic Confederation had invaded Jehanna and Farrun.

"The two Altmeri... Is it possible to know where they are specifically?" Was his first question to the Psijic, and the one he considered most important for now. However, the man with the Ebony Arm and a skull had also captured his attention... And the soldiers, dying in the fields... Could these be my men? Or are they Anticlere's enemies? Just how specific is this art of the Psijics, I wonder... Even if he could tell where those Altmeri are - which is the most important for now - it should be much harder to reveal something like a battle...

This divination rose more questions than in answered; however, the image of the ships of Hammerfall in his city's docks made Manfred grab hold of another idea. Was my choice to ally with Sentinel in the War of the Wolves the event that set Anticlere apart so greatly from the rest of High Rock that the Psijics would become interested in the whereabouts of my nation? Will it be a turning factor in the days to come? Those questions nagged the Flyte of Anticlere, not leaving him alone for a moment after they arose. However, the Psijic seemed tired; for now, it was best to keep to the one question he had asked.

OOC: Apology ahead of time. I wrote out a nice 2 hour long post but then I got a glitch and I lost it...i'm a bit behind so i'll just post something to get this moving along.



It wasn't long before Parthia had arrived at the inn dressed not in her red robe but in a brown cloak, her head was covered as for the weaponry she had brought in case it was needed.



The two elven sisters slapped their palms against the wall and the Orcish statues crumbled into piles. Their fun was over, they wanted to be found.

"We're here to speak with your lord."

"Take us to him please."

"We're diplomats of the Dominion."

OOC: Again apology for this just my head hurts and I don't have the motivation to re-write the whole 2 hour post.

OOC: Sorry that the post wasn't longer, but it couldn't have been possibly that long, just getting a quick jumpstart

Ongar arrived at the city of Jehanna, where the gate guard met him. "Who is it that comes to the gate of Jehanna in a time of war? Speak your name, Nord."
"I am War-chief Ongar Maulhand, and have been called from Solitude to meet with Velikiy Khnyaz Rurik, and to command 3000 troops, 1500 of which are in Farrun, now let me in this city to speak with the Velikiy Khnyaz, this is urgent!"
"Grant him entrance!"
Ongar walked into the city and went up the wall to the gate guard, "Where is Rurik? I need to speak with the Velikiy Khnyaz, quickly sir."
"He is headed for the castle!"
The gate guard turned to point to a large castle in the distance, and Ongar ran with a letter from the king in his hands. He ran for some time and saw many large buildings. He came upon some guards patrolling, "Do you know where Velikiy Khnyaz Rurik is? He is supposed to be near the castle. Quickly, for I have news from the King!" The crowded streets went into uproar as the citizens muttered things about the king,
"There." The guard pointed to a man standing in front of the castle, "That is Rurik."
Ongar ran to the Velikiy Khnyaz , "Rurik I have a message from the king!" He handed Rurik a letter. "The King has sent me to command 3000 of your heavy troops, 1500 of which are in Farrun, and he wants the area scouted by request!"
Ongar was ready for Rurik to respond.

OOC: once again sorry for short post, will have longer ones

Somewhere in Wayrest's forests
The snap confirmed any doubt for the three mercs, and Marsha whirled in place to face the source of the noise, beaded hair, bracelets, and anklets clinking. Already her naginata was crackling with electrical energy from her magicka, as she lit up the dense fog in an ambient glow. The orb of light that was once in her hand was now gone, replaced by the lightning. Her feet gently moved through the forest floor, avoiding the twigs their stalker had apparently not.

Ree'Ja and Jas were more immediate in their responses to the noise, and there was a whisper of breeze in a few trees; the only signal that the little Bosmer was on the move. Ree'Ja was still groundside, but had seen a brief glimpse of movement as their target made the fatal mistake, and was already prowling towards him not with swiftness, but with utter stealth.

Jassan, however, beat him to it. "Oh my, looky here folks!" The Bosmer chirped. His small form appeared upside-down from a tree just above the intruder, his slick black hair obeying gravity around his slender face, which was now twisted in an inverted grin. "We got ourselves a Redguard! What you doin' 'round here, man? You're gonna get yourself killed in these lands." He was swinging gently forward and backward, arms crossed over his chest and looking not unlike a large, burgundy bat.

"Jassan, what do you mean by 'Redguard'?" Marsha replied, following the sound of his voice through the fog, for once thankful he had that high-pitched, childish tone.

"I mean Redguard, of course. Ya know, chocolate skin? Dressed like Ree'Ja, all wild like."

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

Somewhere ELSE in Wayrest's foggy forests
"See anything?" A Dunmeri man asked, moving carefully through the rooted floor of the forest, occasionally tugging his green robe from the grasp of a particularly gnarled bush. He was well lit despite the gloomy fog, due to a glowing orb atop what looked to be a simple gentleman's cane. That light revealed a slim, long face, not unusual for an elf, and bright red hair held in a ponytail to his shoulders. Just on the edge of that radiance was a shinny form three times as large as the elf, from which the reply came.

"Nope. Damn fog." The man turned and stopped, coming fully into the elf's light to reveal a hardened face covered in a matt of blond hair. The light reflected off his suit of steel armor and the large bronze aspis hanging on his left arm, nearly blinding the Dunmer. On his back was a glimmer of steel; the pommel of a claymore.

"The light coming off you isn't helping much either, Hukral." Wikrun replied calmly, dimming the light on his cane. "Seriously, with how much you wear it, you'd figure it would've tarnished some."

"Always important to keep it in good condition." Hukral replied, looking around again, perplexed. "I would've sworn I heard a stream nearby, too."

"Perhaps a left at tree six would've been the right way?" Wikrun inquired, raising one eyebrow and smirking. "Who would have thought of carving numbers in trees." He murmured thoughtfully.

"There's a reason we Nords never get lost for long, even drunk." Hukral grinned back, but it was short lived. He reached for a canteen at his side and shook it, listening to the rather loud sloshing. "We won't last much longer with what we've got either. Some water-seeking spell would have been a god-send..." He hinted, but Wikrun folded his arms and sighed.

"Magic can't solve everything, Huck. Shall we head back?" Wikrun asked, turning around and brightening his magical torchlight. "Might want to investigate all that noise Jassan was making."

"It's just him whining, I'm sure." Hukral sighed back, lumbering after the dark elf with more grace than would be expected of a man of seven feet, though certainly loud enough.

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

Fort along Wayrest's Southern Border
"Ya've got ta be kiddin' me." Furninan snapped from Sam's side, the voice dampened by the leather pouch he resided in.

"Nope." Sam replied curtly, grinning like a stupid kid at a baker's shop. He was standing on the precipe of a small cliff along the river, nearly fifty feet over the water's froth, and looking to the west towards the Imperial Fort in the distance.

"At least take off yer armor!" Furninan cried, only to give out a prompt 'Oi' when Sam's gauntlet smacked into the pouch.

"No [censored], I ain't about ready to turn out like you." Sam snapped back, already removing the steel gauntlet that had done the deed. He undid the belt holding the pouch and let it simply fall to the ground at his feet, rolling a yard or so away from the cliff.

"Ow... Dangit... Son, ye'd be dead, not undead." Furninan corrected from the ground, ignored by the young lad as he undressed from his steel plates. Dressed down to a cotton tunic, pants, and leather boots, he searched for a sufficiently covering patch of bushes, hiding his equipment there. His silver dagger remained at his hip, however. "Never let yourself be unarmed" His father had always said. "An' how are ya supposed to rescue the lot o' them from five 'undred bandits with a dagger and clothes? How ya gettin' your stuff back? How ya getting them out? I'm thinkin' someone ain't usin' the brains momma birthed them with!"

Sam walked up to the talking pouch of leather and rapped it quickly with his finger, getting an equally swift reply. "Of course I have, and you're coming along." The leather belt went arund his waist again, and Sam moved back towards the edge of the cliff, looking to the west at the fort, then back to the water. His arms extended at his sides, up, and then in front of him, before he bent his knees and dived.

"I'm too dead ta be swimmin'!" Furninan screamed down the fifty-foot drop to the river below.

OOC: Have permission from Immortal to control the Altmer sisters.


"Whadda..!" The guard yelped, jumping back as the statues crumbled. His surprise only grew further, skyrocketing upwards when the two elves popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, and demanded - no, asked, to add to the strangeness of things - that he take them to Lord Manfred. Flailing his sword about wildly in panic, it took him a moment to regain his composture; when he finally reasembled what self-respect he had left, the man held his sword out before him, aimed at the two mysterious Elves, while trying to grasp the handle of his crossbow with the free hand.

"Wh- What the hell..?" The Breton managed to stammer, however before he could say anything else, one of the Altmer stepped forward.

"Take us to your lord, please."

"This is of utmost importance." The other added, stepping forward as well.

"Diplomats... Diplomats, right. Diplomats that climb over walls... What the hell, you'll still be taken to Lord Manfred under the suspicion you're spying. Right, arms where I could see them... And no more of this fancy rock throwing and statue raising!" The guard yelled, finally grasping his crossbow and pointing it towards the twin sisters. It lacked a bolt, but he didn't realize that, instead moving it forth slightly in an attempt to intimidate the two into moving. With a small smile - more of a smirk really - on both their faces, the two Elves complied.

Still confused and quite jumpy, the guard headed down the stairs as well, although in his armor he struggled to keep up with the hurrying 'diplomats'.

***

"What is the meaning of this?" The Knight of the Restored Flame rose an eyebrow beneath his yokudan mask, grasping his scimitar as he eyed the two Elves and the guard with the empty crossbow suspiciously. The guard, who was still to notice the lack of a bolt in his crossbow, stepped forward, trying to stop panting in order not to make more of a fool out of himself than he already had. He especially didn't want that to happen in front of one of Manfred's personal guards.

"Those two," The guard motioned towards the twin Elves with his head. "Were captured on the wall. They say they're diplomats from the Aldmeri Dominion, and must see Lord Manfred. I suspect they're spies."

"In any case, Lord Manfred is too busy to accept anyone right now. He already has a guest, and has instructed..."

"Our mission is far more important than you realize." One of the sisters cut the knight off, with the second adding immediately:

"If you care for the safety of your land, you will take us to your lord."

"We are diplomats, be sure of that." The first one reassured. The knight lifted an eyebrow. First a Psijic, now this... Someone will lop my head off for this. He sighed, then drew his scimitar out of its sheath.

"Very well. But one wrong move, and off go your Elven heads."

Manfred

As the Flyte of Anticlere sat impatiently in his chair, waiting for a response from Gosic, a soft knock on the doors could be heard clearly in the otherwise entirely silent room. Shooting an angry glance at the wood that covered him from whoever was there, Manfred rose up.

"My appologies for this disturbance... I will make sure to deal with it quickly."

Quickly covering the distance between the table at which he and the Psijic sat and the doors, the Lord of Anticlere opened them, only to find no less than five of his knights, scimitars drawn, along with two twin Altmeri females, sisters presumably.

"What is the meaning of this..?"

Ongar arrived at the city of Jehanna, where the gate guard met him. "Who is it that comes to the gate of Jehanna in a time of war? Speak your name, Nord."
"I am War-chief Ongar Maulhand, and have been called from Solitude to meet with Velikiy Khnyaz Rurik, and to command 3000 troops, 1500 of which are in Farrun, now let me in this city to speak with the Velikiy Khnyaz, this is urgent!"
"Grant him entrance!"
Ongar walked into the city and went up the wall to the gate guard, "Where is Rurik? I need to speak with the Velikiy Khnyaz, quickly sir."
"He is headed for the castle!"
The gate guard turned to point to a large castle in the distance, and Ongar ran with a letter from the king in his hands. He ran for some time and saw many large buildings. He came upon some guards patrolling, "Do you know where Velikiy Khnyaz Rurik is? He is supposed to be near the castle. Quickly, for I have news from the King!" The crowded streets went into uproar as the citizens muttered things about the king,
"There." The guard pointed to a man standing in front of the castle, "That is Rurik."
Ongar ran to the Velikiy Khnyaz , "Rurik I have a message from the king!" He handed Rurik a letter. "The King has sent me to command 3000 of your heavy troops, 1500 of which are in Farrun, and he wants the area scouted by request!"
Ongar was ready for Rurik to respond.

Rurik

"A letter from the King of Solitude?" The Velikiy Khnyaz of Jehanna stopped, looking with curiosity at the messenger. It's too fast for the messenger requesting reinforcements to be back... And this is definately not the man I sent with the mission, too. Still, it was a letter from the King, and that had to be respected, and paid the proper attention. Although he had guests to take care of, the Nord trusted they would understand the importance of this, and the brief stop that had to be made.

Accepting the letter, Rurik skimmed over it. When it came down to reading, his skills were not top notch, being born into the lower class in Solitude; he had learned after becomming a commander of the band of raiders, yet Rurik still had much to learn for a ruler. Fortunately, his understanding of the Nordic writting was enough to make out the point of this letter.

"Very well... The contents will be discussed in the war council, which will be called as soon as is convenient for my guests." As Rurik spoke this, stuffing the letter behind his belt, he turned slowly towards Germanicus and his nephew. "Duke Odoacer? I still await your decission."

Somewhere in Wayrest's forests
The snap confirmed any doubt for the three mercs, and Marsha whirled in place to face the source of the noise, beaded hair, bracelets, and anklets clinking. Already her naginata was crackling with electrical energy from her magicka, as she lit up the dense fog in an ambient glow. The orb of light that was once in her hand was now gone, replaced by the lightning. Her feet gently moved through the forest floor, avoiding the twigs their stalker had apparently not.

Ree'Ja and Jas were more immediate in their responses to the noise, and there was a whisper of breeze in a few trees; the only signal that the little Bosmer was on the move. Ree'Ja was still groundside, but had seen a brief glimpse of movement as their target made the fatal mistake, and was already prowling towards him not with swiftness, but with utter stealth.

Jassan, however, beat him to it. "Oh my, looky here folks!" The Bosmer chirped. His small form appeared upside-down from a tree just above the intruder, his slick black hair obeying gravity around his slender face, which was now twisted in an inverted grin. "We got ourselves a Redguard! What you doin' 'round here, man? You're gonna get yourself killed in these lands." He was swinging gently forward and backward, arms crossed over his chest and looking not unlike a large, burgundy bat.

"Jassan, what do you mean by 'Redguard'?" Marsha replied, following the sound of his voice through the fog, for once thankful he had that high-pitched, childish tone.

"I mean Redguard, of course. Ya know, chocolate skin? Dressed like Ree'Ja, all wild like."

Arslan

Notching an arrow into his bow with incredible speed, the Ra Gada nomad aimed it at the pvssyring face of the Bosmer that popped out of the leaves above him. Damn these woods! If this were the Alik'R they would've never found me or known of my presence. Even the beast man wouldn't have smelled me so easily; the sands could disguise my scent to a degree. Arslan cursed under his breath, watching the elf's mouth move. Sounds came out, but they were so fast that, with Arslan's poor language skills, he only made out familiar words, like 'Redguard' and 'killed'.

"I no speak Heartlander good. Speak yoku?" He proclaimed, relatively clamly for a man whose life might've been hanging on a small thread. By now, he had already decided that, if the Bosmer wanted to kill him, that would've happened already. However, among the foreign-sounding tones, he made out one that seemed... different. He was accustomed to hearing Ra Gada voices, and after a couple of weeks without hearing one, he could've recognized one with his eyes tied, so long as he was close enough - that was one of the benefits of being a nomad. And if his ears didn't trick him, then the Ra Gada present might've spoken or at least understood yoku. Deciding to take his chances, the nomad started speaking his language, while taking a small and cautious step forward, to put at least a bit of distance between himself and the tree.

"I hear a Ra Gada amongst you! By Tall Papa, I mean no harm, but the pale-skins' lands were harsh, and you must understand why I did not show myself. I am a nomad of the Ayuub tribe, loyal to Khan Baibars, taken in battle by a pale-skin!" Praying like he never had before that the Ra Gada spoke or at least understood yoku, Arslan promised himself that he wouldn't go down easily in case these travelers turned out to be hostile.

Ongar glared, "Sir, I understand we will be having a council, but where are my troops? I do not want to reveal the king's orders just yet, until the council, which force commanders will be attending, the King has requested that I stay with you, for I am a warchief, and to send someone else back, we will discuss his orders in the council, but for now, we should wait for the different duke's response."
The uproar of the crowd had calmed down, simply because Rurik has simply put up the letter, and the civilians simply moved on throughout there day.
"Here Rurik, I will be back shortly, I am going to go down to the tavern and grab some food, I haven't ate in some time. Wait for the Dukes, and I will be back, I am sorry Arch Duke, but, I haven't eaten in many hours, as the letter was urgent, and I have not eaten, I will be back in 10 minutes."
Ongar walked off, and a thief like figure ran through the city streets knocking different citizens over. "Get him!" one said, "He has me jewels, my family jewels!" The guards took action, and were running behind him, when Ongar got in front of the thief, knocked him over, and slammed his Nordic marked silver longsword into the chest of the figure, who was wearing a mask. A crowd was emerging around the body, and Ongar took the mask off, as the guards watched nervously. The figure was an Altmer, Tensions rose in the Bretons in the crowd, Some drew there swords, and the street went mad as the guards intervened, the guards quickly killed two Bretons who were attacking them, and the crowd was still mad, but the guards pressed the Bretons in the crowd with their shields, and everyone proceeded as if nothing had happened. Ongar made his way to the tavern, it was a wooden tavern, crowded with people from the big city. He pulled out his nap-sack, got some septims, and knocked on the main counter inside of the Tavern, He pulled out 200 septims, and told the Inn-keeper, "I want 5 pounds of boar meat, 10 apples, and a bottle of fruit juice." (He doesn't want to get drunk before the war council)
"Okay sir, here is your change," the keeper handed him back 27 septims,
"Do you happen to have any blank parchments and some quills? "
"Yes sir"
"I want 7 ink quills with ink trays, and 15 parchments, thank you very much."
The keeper handed him his supplies, and he put them in his pack. He sat down at a table in the inn with another Nord and two Orcs.
One of the Orcs muttered to Ongar, "I saw you kill that theif, ha, the Bretons just will not realize there Nordic heritage," The Orcs were wearing Orchish armor, with ebony longswords, they seemed to be twins, the other one looked over at Ongar, "I saw you talking to the Arch-Duke, are you an officer?"
"Yes, yes I am, I am in command of 3000 heavily armed troops, infact, I am a Warchief, when I was younger, I participated in the invasion of Morrowind as a soldier and they promoted me, until the king sent me as a messenger, and another officer to add to the army. See, we think the Altmer are up to no good."
The other Nord looked over, he was an average citizen with regular linens, "I agree, they are up to no good, but I have to go, good bye."
The Nord got up and left, and one of the Orc's said, "My name is Bazur gro-Khash, and my brother's is Grogan gro-Ghash, we are the sons of Burz gro-Khash, of the Cheydinhall Fighter's guild, we are looking for a job, you know, personal guard type, well, you interested?"
"Yes, you guys are officially hired as my personal guard, a man always needs some Orc's behind his back, you two can come with me back to the castle."
"Alright, we got it." Grogan muttered. Bazur looked over at his brother, "Told you I could get us a job." And the 3 headed back to the castle, and continued to wait for the other dukes.

Tulune

Hundreds of warriors had gathered in Tulune, small trade and farming hub on the road from Illessan to Daggerfall. Lord Belzigar was the first of the Dominion to arrive with his forces, a few other regiments had arrived early that morning. If Illessan had decided to mobilize it's forces before Lord Belzigar could take Glenumbra, the fight would be almost hopeless without help from Daggerfall or reinforcements from the fleet in Herne and Cespar.

The goblins had taken up residence just a few hundred yards north east of the city, the locals and High Elvin infantry had taken up residence within the city itself. Ancalimon, in particular, had seized a local lord's manor along with his personal companions and associative underlings.Lord Ancalimon Belzigar overlooked the town of Tulune from a wide if not rather sturdy balcony. Velaran and Faradis stood behind him, Altmer knights clad head to toe in Elvin armor, the ebony broadswords and Elvin shields strapped to their backs, no doubt the rest of their equipment was somewhere near their white stallions. Rather handsome and sturdy twins, even in a Nord's regard, the two stood watch over Ancalimon.

" The fools in Alinor refuse to send more than a handful of nobles to deal with the Bretons, they are more interested in the riches in Elsweyr than in the magic's and artifacts that this land could possibly hold. I'm surprised they allowed use of a Sun Ship, the Admirals in Firsthold were most likely flustered in any command involving his Sun Ships." said Ancalimon rather vehemently. The twins standing just behind him looked startled, their lord had broken a rather long silence.

" No doubt any armies sent from home will be beast ridden: trolls, ogres, goblins. All fodder on the battlefield. They are no use to us in this terrain, the Bretons will swallow them with arrows and lances like the tides of Lillandril." added Faradis, the silver haired twin.

" The beasts have not been tested yet brother, they will surely strike fear into the hearts of the peasant armies here, no doubt any militia roused before we arrive to take Glenumbra will be as green as our goblins. I hear word that Juggernauts have been brought from the master trainers in Alinor. I don't know how many. Certainly they can't be useless brother." continued Velaran, the black haired twin.

" Sure enough in two days time we march, Glenumbra will fall under our arrows, our swords and the hordes we unleash upon them. May the shining trees prevail." finished Ancalimon , " Soon enough my friends, the fires of the Dominion will consume them."

Rethan Andrano, Wayrest.

Sheogorath. I could really use a glass of matze right now.

It had been years since Rethan had set foot in his mother land, Morrowind. In truth, he missed his home, but as things were now, he was in no posistion to return. The crisis had left its mark on the land, and with the temple disolved, Morrowind was in troubled times. It was no surprise that many of the Dunmer had packed and left, many leaving to the west, into Cyrodill. How ironic, that the Dunmer would go live in an Imperial country.

Rubbing his chin, Rethan read through the letter he had recently recieved. It was an odd way of delivering it, instead of sending servants like usual, this time the lady of Wayrest had sent a guard. Very peculiar. However, Rethan had recalled Ev?lyn telling him about a guard who followed her, acting as her body guard. An elf, if he remebered correctly. The cloaked woman who had approached him at the tavern was difficult to regonize as an elf, however small features such as her eyes gave it away.

Wiping away the stain of ale from the paper, Rethan's crimson eyes skimmed through the writings of his lady,

-Rethan

I have chosen to stop my plans. Guards are watching me, I can't keep making up excuses to visit my mother's room so often. Father won't speak to me, the healers say he is badly injured. He's changed, I have a feeling perhaps he worries that mother will be displeased with his defeat.I've noticed some of my mother's guards to be watching my movements whenever I approach the study room or the library, as if there is something I am not meant to find.

You and I both know what my mother is like. I know she is scheming, and I know how she is making her subjects stay loyal to her. Especially Tudor. I wish for you to lay low for a while, though keep trying to hear what the people say about the family. I will need supporters should my mother cease to return.

Yours truely,
Ev?lyn

So, it would seem she's become cautious, hmm? As she should be, the eyes of the guards are on her now. But why follow her even when she retreats to the room of her own mother? Surely that must mean something. Perhaps there is indeed something that is not to be found. And why would the lord refuse to see his own child? Wouldn't any father want to see his children after narrowingly escaping the clutches of death?

Rethan lingered on these thoughts for some time. So many pieces in this puzzle made no sense. Perhaps that is why he was intruiged enough to initiate an alliance with princess Ev?lyn. Maybe he was just going soft. The woman knew how to twirl men around the tip of her finger. That came as no suprise, considering who her mother was.

Snapping out of his deep thoughts, Rethan finished writing a new letter. The lady would most likely not be pleased with his response, but he did not trust her "guard" to deliver a more detailed letter he had intended on writing. No, he would have to meet her in person, but it would draw too much suspicion. Rethan looked at the guard from the corner of his eye. Parthia, she had called herself. Folding the letter, Rethan took the red candle from the table, dripping the melted wax over the middle of the folded paper.

"Here. It's urgent that you return this letter, as I am sure you understand."

Lord Francois Gautier, Lord's Manor

The Lord sat back in his desk, reviewing piles of parchment detailing amounts of gold, food stores, scouting reports, spy reports, and any assortment of information needed to run a city, and prepare for war. Curtains drawn, an array of candles cast flickering shadows over the medium height Breton standing in front of him.

" Cousin, I have found what you asked me for. " Louis Gautier brought his index finger down rougly onto a map he had thrown onto the desk. " In Evermore. Six Hundred, purchased by a local Baron to wok his fields. Should i prepare the knights to depart immediately? "

" Yes and no. Prepare a third of the Knights in the city, ready the wagons and have the guards load them with chests from my treasury. I want you to inform al-Suhim personally, him and his Mamluks will be accompanying you, his men will obey him when you purchase them back from this Baron. "

" Yes M'Lord. " Louis bowed as he turned to leave, his cousin giving him a wave of the hand as a Knight opened the door for him.

Within days he would have even more men at his disposal. Yet it still wasn't enough, with more available soldiers throughout High Rock that were yet to be located. With a heavy exhale, Francois stood up, the chair creaking a sigh of relief at the weight being lifted off its shoulders. Passing through the door, he beckoned for one of his many servants to approach him.

" Where is the Lady? "

" In Gauvadon m'Lord, her eloquence had a merchants dispute to attend to. "

" Send Sir Jean Fournier to retrieve her immediately. " Francois said hurredly as he picked up his pace down the hallway.

His voice trailing off and echoing down the hallways, he spoke in a prudish tone, his voice raised so the servant would hear him. " And after that i want you to personally deliver a meal to my quarters, a Lord needs his rest. "

Left standing in the middle of the hallway, the servant cursed his master and hurried off with a scowl on his face.

______________________________

Lady Anne Gautier, formerly Arnoux, stood rigidly in the merchants doorway, looking out into the streets. Merchants. Always squabbling over profits. Why can't they just live with their problems and save me the headaches. Anne felt a light tug on her dress, but chose to ignore it and looked straight ahead. After several more tugs, each one growing slightly harder and coming in greater frequency, the Lady quickly spun around, nearly hitting the servant.

" WHAT!? "

Frightened by the Lady, the servant barely managed to squeak out " Lord Francois wishes to see you in his Manor. "

Noticing the servants eyes were staring at the floor, the tried to regain some of her composure. " Tell the Lord I am on my way. " She then turned to tell one of her female servants to fetch her a horse for the ride between Aleine and Gauvadon.

Jehanna

The troops filed in through the gates laughing and trading friendly insults with Rurik's men who were assembled in the street.

"Heard you boys are afraid to move on to Evermore without us!"

"Yaar, no doubt they'll want us to go on down before and take Wayrest while they're holed up like kings in Jehanna!"

"Now, now fellas, don't be rude. These are the men who beat Lord Woodborne. After all, it takes some doing to win against a couple of Bretons with pitchforks!"

Duke Germanicus had just opened his mouth to respond to Rurik's invitation, when another Nord pushed his way past him and spoke to Rurik, claiming to be bearing a message from Solitude. The Duke shrugged slightly and stepped back, so as not to intrude on the man's conversation with the Velikiy Khnyaz, but he frowned internally. His army had intercepted Rurik's messenger to King Thian about halfway between Jehanna and Solitude, so he should only now be reaching the Nordic city. Certainly there had not been time enough for the King to send a response. But, after a moment's reflection, he decided that it was not his affair. Perhaps Rurik was receiving personal news from court.

The Velikiy Khnyaz wrapped up his conversation with the messenger and turned back to Germanicus. "Duke Odoacer? I still await your decission."

"I remain humbly at your service m'lord," said the Duke with frigid cordiality. "I should be delighted to attend upon you in a war council. As would my nephew."

Alfngar, in truth, was ecstatic. Though he had often attended Germanicus' councils, his opinion was never asked. But he had not supposed Rurik would ever invite him to one of his councils. He bowed deeply again to Rurik and said, "Indeed Velikiy Khnyaz, it would be a pleasure."

Wayrestian Forests
Jassan chuckled, still hanging upside down as the Redguard moved away from the tree and notched an arrow in his direction. Jassan's dagger was lightly held between his fingers, dangling. "Arrows will not help much." He said clearly and slowly, before shrugging; an odd motion upside-down. "As for yoku, I learned ([censored] you) and (I'll spill your blood upon the sands, Legion lovers) but I still haven't figured out what they mean. Though I have gathered the first one enough." He spoke the only two phrases of yoku he had heard -and remembered- from the War of the Wolves with a grin.

He began speaking again in what had to be Yoku though, as if calling out, and Jassan sighed. "I wish my animal communicating skills worked on animals like him. Would make things a heck of a lot easier."

Marsha, however, heard the voice, and immediately froze. A Ra Gada here, in High Rock? Why? Was he part of the rebellion? She listened carefully as she approached, memories of a past language of her people coming to her as words arose. Words she thought forgotten but had merely lingered in her mind unused. Of course... old habits die hard, but when mis-used, return just as stubbornly. His speech was broken, and she could only gather parts of it. She lowered her naginata as she approached, the long staff still flickering with magic. The sword gleamed, reflecting strobes of lighting around her as the blade crown of the weapon came to the ground, hovering over it, and she stood next to the tree Jassan hung from.

"Jas, hang upside down too long and you won't have enough blood down south to even pretend you have a dike." She shot at him, and the little Bosmer frowned, before retreating his head into the leafy canopy of the tree. Marsha spun her naginata so the blade faced the fog-filled sky, and planted the butt of the staff on the dirt, leaning on the tree. Jassan fell from the tree a moment later, the less than five foot wonder of an elf rising to his full lack of height and spinning a dagger in his hand lazily.

"My Yoku is.... Not good." Marsha explained, searching for the right words to use, and which tense to place them in, what conjugate... languages were such a pain. "But I understand most of what you said."

"What did dark skin say?" Ree'Ja inquired from a yard behind the Ra Gada, sitting on his hunches with his arms on his knees.

"He's not here to hurt us, had to hide himself from the Bretons; understandable. He's a nomad, of some sort of tribe loyal to someone, and he was a prisoner of battle. Rusty on the details, haven't used Yoku in awhile." Marsha explained to the Khajiit, before letting her brown eyes fall upon the nomad inquisitively. "Why are you here, if it is so dangerous in pale-skin lands?" She asked slowly in Yoku, though it probably came out perfectly accented, and just as perfectly broken.

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

Bjoulsae River
Most Imperial forts by a body of water have a dockside, usually hidden. Typically used for receiving small shipments of supplies, or on occasion a back-up means of sending messengers for aid when dire situations arise. Sam thought as he stroked along with the river current, sending him ever closer to the Iliac Bay. He was nearing the fort now, and began to stroke against the tide to slow himself down, searching.

I just have to find the entrance. A small, secluded cavern usually. Would look completely natural and- there! He smiled in his mind as he spotted the small cavern opening, the currents of the river water sloshing between the rocky sides. With the strongest strokes he could manage, he forced himself towards the cavern, only to miss it by a few feet. Cursing, he slammed into the rock wall and grabbed hold of the stones above the water, scaling it and rising from the river. Panting, the Breton looked to the cavern, and slowly inched his way sideways along the rock wall, before jumping into the cave proper.

The swimming within the cavern was much simpler, the river current negated by the stagnancy of the cavern. It took a good five minutes of swimming, though, before he found what he was looking for.

And immediately felt his plan crashing to reality. The docks were indeed there; but they were utterly ruined. Rotted, molded husks of plank wood and pillar rose from the water and extended from the stone platform, falling away but a few feet from the stone into nothing. There were three of these destroyed docks, and three boats. One of the boats was in the water, stern up, useless. The other two were laying on the stone platform and against the cavern wall.

Heaving himself onto the stone from the water, Sam went immediately to these two boats, hoping to Akatosh they would remain intact. He turned one of them over, to find it rotting as well. The other was a nest to rats, and Sam kicked one into the river in surprise and anger.

"So I have ah pool o' water in my skull now for nothin', eh?" Furninan commented, only to get a violent rap from Sam's finger. The mercenary bit his lip in thought, looking at the boats, and then turned and began up the steps leading into a passageway. A torch leaned away from the wall near the archway to this passageway, and Sam grabbed it, ran his left hand over the top, and fire sprung to life.

"Now, to find the way in."

Rurik

Although the Druzhinas were gone already, the Nords on the walls and at the gates were quick to return the insults, as such friendly exchangements were frequent whenever a larger Nordic force settled down somewhere, due to the fractured nature of Skyrim. Solitudians backed Solitudians, Dawnstarians were behind Dawnstarians, and so on.

"At least we got here in time!"

"Bwuh, loud words from someone who hided in Karthwasten 'till the gates were open!"

"Ya, routing Wayrest 's a walk in the park compared to garisson duties ain't it!"

Rurik, on the other hand, preoccupied with the events at hand, paid no heed to the usual noises of two merging forces of Skyrim; he knew this unwritten tradition all too well to pay much attention to the yells, or fear that arms would be taken up.

"Excellent!" The Nord boomed upon hearing Germanicus' and Alfngar's response, turning towards the Druzhina that accompanied him, still on horseback. "Assemble the war chiefs once more; tell them that reinforcements have arrived in the form of the honorable Duke Karthwasten and his nephew and heir, and their troops. They are to meet in the main hall of the castle immediately. Tell them also that a letter from the King - although not the one we are expecting, they'll likely understand that it is too early themselves - has arrived. It must be discussed as well."

With a quick nod, some of the Druzhina dispersed into various directions. It wasn't uncommon for them to be used like messengers by Nordic rulers, as the Druzhina were commonly used as peacetime staff by most Kings or Grand Dukes of Skyrim. The cavalrymen were, on most cases, gathered from minor nobility or heads of smaller mead halls, thus regarded themselves as an elite, and were of good enough social standing to act in such positions. They replaced huscarls, who were more commonly employed by ealdormen and minor khnyazi; there was actually a rivalry between the two groups of soldiers, since Druzhina regarded themselves as superior to huscarls. It was a different variety of the Bretic rivalry between mounted knights and professional (often mercenary) foot soldiers, in particular longbowmen.


Arslan

"I repeat - a soldier of their High King took me in the battle near one of the homes of the city-dwellers, called Lainlyn." Arslan responded, still refusing to lower his bow and put the arrow back in the quiver, even after the comment of the Bosmer, which he understood only so. The only parts he understood well of the whole speech of the tiny Mer were the sentences in yoku, which made a brief smile cross the nomad's face. If he had the chance, he'd make sure to instruct him to say that in the midst of Legionnaire veterans of the War of the Wolves.

"I managed to escape about a dozen sun-downs ago. But these lands are not known to me, so I am lost. There are no sands here which I would know, and Tall Papa has left me to rely on my own senses - it is a test of my abbility and my devotion to the Old Path." He continued spinning his tale. Tall Papa knows if they will believe what I say. If not, then I will pray to HoonDing to let me fight as one of my Forebears in the Ra Gada against the Pigmer when we first landed in the Motherland, and as my kin in the Ra Gada of the War of the Wolves. The nomad's heart was still beating faster than usual, and he was ready to let loose the arrow and hopefully land it into the Bosmer's face.

"I have learned much during the moon-rises and sun-downs during which I was free. The lands outside this forest are all touched by the pale-skins, they are flat and grassy, like an oasis. Many hundreds of pale-skin riders in the walled cities, who would find and capture me quickly in the fields, even if I could avoid them in the Alik'R. So I stay in the forest. Hunting what I can, drinking where I can."