OOC: Added the numbers for my minor cities as well. Nothing important, just keeping things in order.

Edwinn Gastin, Old Gate

Edwinn sat at his desk, reading the note from his Lord that had arrived via birds. It was a useful way of sending messages between the two cities, but that was the extent of the birds range. As he finished the short and simple message, he put it to the side as he collected his thoughts and thinking of the pointlessness of the journey.

He was a vampire after all. A creature of the night and one who people didn't normally consort with, and a meeting with the ruler of Farrun might turn bad when his conditions was discovered. But he desperately wanted to get out of the Castle, and way from the people in the town who were constantly questioning his absence. He wasn't that bad looking, only slightly pale, and his "eyes" were supposed to be delivered the next morning.

He wanted to prove that he could still serve his Lord, even with his new condition, so he decided with a grimace that he would personally see to this task. He knew it was important, especially since word was filtering in that leadership in Farrun had recently changed, which would explain the sudden slow of the trade between the cities.

Now that he thought of it, he realized what the east was now capable of, with two cities possibly under Nordic control. Jehanna was for sure, but the rumors of Farrun weren't entirely reliable yet, and he would have to see for himself. If the Nords really had gained such a foothold in the east, and if they had an ambitious leader as well as the support of the Kings in Skyrim, High Rock could soon know war from the east. And from a dozen other directions.

He knew the land was in turmoil, as he personally thought Wayrest's grip on the rest of High Rock had weakened after her husbands defeat in the east. Suddenly Wayrest didn't seem so immortal after all, as the various Lords of the land now know Elysana can indeed bleed.

He just shook his head, knowing Francis was correct in remaining "loyal" to Elysana at the moment. But he knew his Lord well enough that if a good chance came by to increase Northpoint's power without putting the land at risk, he would seize it in an instant. But these things were not of his concern at the moment, as he called for Froulrund to prepare a group of men for the journey.

--------

A short time later a small force had assembled outside of the cities east gate, including a score of Northpoint's infantry and a dozen Knights of the Deep, with Edwinn and his youthful advisor, Gauvin Manille. Edwinn sat on his horse, heavily cloaked and hooded, though he knew the sunlight wouldn't affect him as much in the sunlight at this point of the infection he was still uneasy about being in the public like this.

Very little was being said as a few families of the departing soldiers stood around, saying their good-byes, as well as Froulrund who was receiving some last minute instructions from Edwinn. They were going east to the coast, where they could take a small ship across the bay to Farrun, saving them many days of travel.


Edgar Gaerwing, Road to Camlorn

The small company of Knights rode easily along the finely paved roads, passing small farmsteads and greeting the peasants who waved their hats to them, as well as allowing the children to come and admire their fine horses. It was a fine day in central Northpoint, as the sun was covered by a few clouds, but clouds that didn't threaten travelers with rain and allowed it to be a cheerful day.

The Knights didn't even have their armor on not fearing anything in the lands so close to Northpoint's heavily patrolled roads, and indeed they crossed the path of a few patrols of soldiers, all at ease in such peaceful parts of the land.

They had a long journey in front of them however, and once they reached Old Gate and beyond, the safety of the road could not be guaranteed, nor could they expect a particularly warm welcome in Sharnhelm, their neighbors to the south whom there had always been a slight rivalry with. Such was the problems in High Rock, as friends could soon become enemies over a single acre of land or a mile of fishing ocean.

"We're diplomats..."

"...of the Aldmeri Dominion..."

"...heirs of the First Empire..."

"...and former masters of High Rock."

"We've come on a good will mission..."

"...wishing to open up trade relations..."

"...and to keep open a line of discussion."

Parwen and Uurwen traded off of each other as they spoke. Their voices were soft and had only a slight accent. The language of High Rock was based in part on elven speech so learning it was rather simple. They remained still, their soft round faces more visible now as they leaned their heads back, awaiting a reply. They had been informed a Psijic had been sent to Wayrest, that may or may not be a problem. There were two Psijic Orders, as different as day and night. Which would be of use to the Dominion.

(OOC: Busy all day ill post for the rest tomorrow.)

Northern Camlorn, Kingsland

Conwys led a long column of troops along the road. Their polished steel caps glimmered in the sun. Somewhere, about now, Uncle was probably disappearing out the east gate with the messengers to Dwynnen. Unlike his brother Blaise, Conwys had no lasting interest in remaining in Camlorn. His castle on the edge of the kingsland, commanded a wide region of the area, with numerous motte-and-baileys across the hills answering directly to him. Blaise's estates were rustic, near the woodland, with a largely self-contained populace with lords keeping to manor houses and little fenced villages. Besides, Blaise is looking for some Akaviri-descended mercenaries... Gods only know why.

With an easy smile on his face, Conwys looked north towards Wrothgaria. As the column jingled and jangled along with clinking maille and whipping pennants, he looked back briefly, distracted, but the mountains held him in awe. The mountains loomed over the Camlorn Plain, huge and snowcapped. Somewhere within, the mountain folk kept fastnesses at Meir Darguard and other places. Seems so far away. Conwys nudged his horse along the road and looked back at the laughing and singing soldiers. Such happy times would end be at an end soon, however Conwys wasn't about to admit it. It seemed that looking north for guidance, might be a good course, soon enough.

Anticlere Waterfront, City of Anticlere

The four Knights of the Raven guided there horses through the crowded streets of Anticlere, marveling at the opulence and wealth of it's citizens, but also disgusted by it, too. In Dwynnen, one did not flaunt wealth, for it was considered bad-manners. Decadence was certainly a word that could be prescribed to these people of Anticlere, not so in Dwynnen, for not even the lords of that realm, except perhaps their Baron, could match the wealth of the richest of these merchants, and certainly not one of Anticlere's lords.

The cobblestone roads were another thing that bothered the four rustic knights, for it was certainly not safe to ride one's horse along them, for fear of hooves getting caught in grooves.

"I like not this place," one of the knights proclaimed, "They look at us as if we were a side-show." This was true, for the people of Dwynnen wore their beards very long, compared to their neighbors, and were likely to attrack stares from the more "modern" realms along the Iliac Bay.

"Just grit your teeth and plow through them, and remember that these city folk wouldn't last a day in the wilds of Dwynnen." All four of the knights laughed at that, thinking back to their days when they would hunt with the Baron, camping out under the stars, and living like barbarians. In that, the people of Dwynnen and the Nords had something in common.

The docks of Anticlere were massive structures, extending into the Iliac Bay far enough that massive ships could dock and unload their cargon. The docks were oddly empty, however, possibly due to the fleet of ships that could be discerned from standing on the docks. Looking at the papers the gate guard had given him, the lead knight looked about for the ship named on them. The Farsight, it was called.

What a strange name, he thought before he finally spotted the vessel. Commanding his companions to stay put, the knight walked over to the to ship, calling out to see it's master. "Ho there! Tell the master of this ship that I want to speak with him!"

Camlorn-Dwynnen Marches

Osric led his men along the road and watched the rolling countryside with a spiritless interest as the men pvssyd and sang. The cobbled road was well-worn, but it was a reminder that High Rock was still a province of the Empire, if only in name. When Tiber Septim conquered High Rock, his Legions built roads to speed the Cyrodiilic medium infantry across the land. No longer did the Legion keep forts, but the local lords up kept the roads and Osric was thankful. To travel throughout central Bretony was a death wish without powerful nobility keeping things together. If it weren't for vigilance from Dwynnen and Camlorn, the roads would be overgrown and the paths haunted by highwaymen.

The last major castle in the kingsland loomed just ahead, only a few miles off. A stone keep above a bluff overlooking a typical Bretic moor, Castle Gyrfalcon flew the three golden eagles on green, the blazon of the Kingdom of Camlorn. The walls were always manned by archers, to look for any potential invaders or raiders, and the castellan's scouts anxiously watched the countryside, it was known. Dwynnen's position was just as blurry as Camlorn's, on the political table, but with any luck, Osric would be able to change things.

Camlorn

Blaise Cassivel strode the waterfront with a nondescript longsword swinging lightly at his belt. His long hair flew free, and the light breeze was pleasant through his silk shirt. Knee-high boots and leather riding breeches completed his attire. His spurs jingled a little as he walked along. The people he passed on the street took him for a foreign bravo, not an uncommon sight in Camlorn's busy port. The smell of salt was pervasive. Even the hot spiced meats that one could buy skewers of at the dock, smelt and tasted vaguely of fishy things.

Against the backdrop of a waterfront reminiscent of Leyawiin, people hawked all sorts of goods, but mostly fish.

"Swordfish, get your swordfish here!"

"Tasty shrimps, best in Bretony!"

"You'll be a svcker for some of these tasty octopus legs..."

Occasionally, something would catch his eye, like an interesting necklace of colourful pearls and opals, or an ebony trifle from an exotic, swarthy Dunmer. But today, it was mercenaries he wanted. The kind of men that others expected him to be on this street. A couple of disciplined Akaviri, katanas and tantos and kimonos and long names. All of that, yes.

Wait. Over there! The glimmer of lapis lazuli on a tall, Akaviri roundshield caught Blaise's eye. Those men were Syffim to be sure, Akaviri mercenaries with part Cyrodiilic and Bretic blood. Exactly the men I need... Carefully, with measured footsteps and a sardonic smile and a hand at the ring-shaped pommel of his estoc, Blaise sauntered over to the three men standing in a circle.

Way lost in Wayrest
"And I have no idea what blabbermouth just jabbered." Jassan shrugged from his tree perch, looking to Marsha. Ree'Ja had come closer now, and was sniffing the air near the nomad.

"I only got a bit of it." Marsha replied, frowning. "You can lower your weapon, we will not hurt you unless you try hurt us." Marsha told him calmly, the lightning that had gathered around her naginata now dissipating. She raised her left hand to recreate the ambient orb, only for another light to pierce the gloom around them, followed by the snapping of several twigs at a time and two shadows. The first shadow was the size of a man, and appeared from the fog quickly to reveal the Dunmeri summoner of the light, who carried it by a cane. Wikrun was followed by the massive hulk of Hukral, who looked around, saw the Redguard with a bowstring taunt towards Jassan, and immediately reached back for the claymore on his back, his aspis moving to block his front half.

"No!" Marsha's hand thrust out with fingers open, stopping the mountain of a man in motion. "He's not going to kill Jas, he's just lost and scared [censored]-less."

"Well, Jas does have that effect on people." Wikrun murmured thoughtfully, getting a 'hey' from the little Bosmer. "Has he said his story?"

"He was captured in battle in Lainlyn, and eventually escaped recently, about a week or so ago, and found himself here. He only speaks Yoku." Marsha explained. "Well, Yoku well, he does know some Colovian."

"Where's a source of water?" Hukral asked, with his shield now lax at his side and his arm far from his claymore on his back. Marsha translated instantly into Yoku.

Previously, Wayrest

Elysana walked out onto the battlements of the highest tower. She stood erect, her stance queenly, hands gripping the stone barrier tightly, wind pulling at her golden locks. All this is mine... she told herself, looking out upon her land. Mine and nobody else's.

But further away, she knew, the land that she had fought so hard for had been stolen from her. In her mind, all of High Rock should have been under her command, but the Nords and the damnable Dominion had been eating away at what was hers. What insanity! What foolishness! How long could they really hope to keep her people from her? She, the most beloved Queen in history?

She had no guards here with her now; they all waited at the bottom of the stairs. But behind her, she heard Emmen take a step forwards. She did not turn around. His arms slipped around her waist; she smiled, but said nothing.

"And what sits so heavily on her majesty's mind?" he enquired. She tensed; and Emmen immediately let go. He pays such close attention... she thought, revelling in it. What power his love gives me over him. He, who's loyalty should be to none.

He knew, of course, that she also shared her bed with men of her court. She assumed he was not stupid enough to forget that she slept with her husband, Lord Woodborne. But his love of her, it kept him loyal regardless. Jealousy hda no place in his heart when it might hurt his lady. It was so easy, it made her want to laugh.

"Emmen Dearest," she whispered. "Surely you, of all people, know this?" Her gentle flattery, raising him in knowledge and attention above her other lovers, was cleverly executed. But of course it was; she was Queen Elysana, and she was the best of the best.

Emmen, to his credit, did not come running at the sound of her distraught voice. That he did not set a flutter in her heart. This was what set him apart from the usual lords she took to bed. Emmen was without status, beyond that his job was to be cold and calculating. Taking his heart had been the most tricky of all her endeavours, but it had been worth it. Even now, he did not fawn over her the way men usually did. This kind of clear judgement gave him immense value.

"I know, my lady," he replied evenly. "But something more weighs heavily upon you. More than the betrayal of your people."

Yes, it does. Because she knew that things were not going to remain as they were. Whatever the Elves of Direnni's status might officially be, they were preparing for war. Because the savage Nords would know no better than to strike back, like slugs bearing arms, leaving a trail of dirt, destruction, and betrayal wherever they went. Because at times like these, who could she really count as her allies?

"Emmen," she murmured. "Bring me Tudor," behind her back, Emmen stiffened, and she could only secretly smile, knowing his reaction to the man. "The time is ripe for me to seek aid."

OOC: I'm not sure exactly how or when Elysana goes/went to Sentinel, so tell me about where she should be in the present, and I'll move on from there.

Manfred

"Tell your superiors that Anticlere is always open to trade and diplomacy. Our gates are only closed to those who would wish to conquer, for we wish to remain free while recognizing the freedom of others. The... unfortunate events that have passed over my land leaves my people suspicious, thus sadly, certain restrictions must be applied to all those who are not mentioned in the Law of Trade and Law of Travel; this applies to Bretons alike as your people, thus there is no discriminations. Bear in mind, however, that those who are foes of the Ra Gada Kingdom of Hammerfall, or those who do not recognize their sovereignity and independance, will not be counted amongst my friends, or the friends of my peoples."

As Manfred spoke these words, the image of the ships of Hammerfall arose in his mind again; the more he thought about it, the more he could see... Suddenly, he realized - the voices pvssyring aboard the ships were speaking a mixture of bretic and yoku, some sort of a hybrid language. The crewmen themselves were simply darker-skinned Bretons... What the hell? Was the first thing that came to the Flyte of Anticlere's mind. Am I just imagining it, or is this real, some sort of a progressing effect of the divination..?

"Do you have any sort of more specific message from the Dominion, or was this everything you were instructed to pass on?" Manfred's voice was calm; it didn't reflect what was happening inside him, although the slight pause between this and his response suggested that the ruler was deep in thought.


The captain of the ship stepped out on the deck, called by one of his sailors. The man looked like a simple hard-working man; although he was slightly shorter than your average Breton, his build made up for that. In general, he represented Anticlere's men at sea - while many of the merchants at the city herself might've been stuffed and arrogant towards outsiders, those of the middle class who took to sea or other, harder crafts would frequently become men more similar to Ra Gada in appearance than to Bretons.

"If ya need to see the captain, I'm he!" Leaning over the rail on the portside, the man proclaimed, looking at the men below. Odd folks, those. This note was mostly directed at their beards, which seemed Nordic in comparison to the man's own small moustache. Dwynnites, most likely. This sort of conclusion would seem obvious to most Bretons around these parts - of the nearby lands, only the Dwynnites would wear such clothes, or maintain such beards.


Arslan

Although he had lowered his bow, the look which Arslan gave towards the Dunmer mage could've killed all on its own. Mage. Thinking this, he grumbled something incomprehensible. His people - and not only the nomads, all the Ra Gada - feared Tamrielic magic. Few ever learned to live alongside it, and even fewer - to use it. He was suspicious towards his kinswoman as well for using it, perhaps even more so than the Dunmer, but she was his only tie to this group, thus for now, the nomad would have to live with it. But the ash-skin... The ash-skin has done nothing for me, and he may yet do something against me, like his kin at the War of the Wolves. And the Northman... He may not be one of the magi, but his peoples have never been liked by the Ra Gada - neither the city-dwellers, nor the nomads.

"Water? A stream runs there." Swallowing whatever comments he might've had for the Northman and the ash-skin, the nomad pointed behind him, towards the direction from which he came; the stream at which he shot down the wolf was there. "I drank from it; the water is good." Any water seemed about as good as the finest and oldest wine to Arslan; one born in the desert would always be biased when it came to water. It seemed muchly a miracle to him, that the pale-skins' lands were so overflown with water and greenery, when his own land was scorched and dry. The pale-skins don't realize how blessed they are in having this land. Instead of protecting it as one, they grow soft in their gardens... At least the Alik'R, while scarce, breeds tough people who know how to survive.


OOC: And now, for a break from all the 'srs bizniz'...

Meniel d'Malvousin, the traitor Magister of the Knights of the Flame

The walls of Daggerfall towered the small band of men. There were only slightly a dozen more of the armored men; they looked worn and bloodied. The horses upon which they were mounted were large coursers, bred for carrying knights like these men around; however, their current state made it even more obvious that the travellers had been riding for a long time now - the horses were exhausted, some of the knights were even dismounted, allowing to make the presumption that their horses had died of exhaustion along the way. Those dismounted looked no more enthusiastic than their mounted counterparts.

Approaching the gates of Daggerfall, one of the men rode forward, pulling his helmet off his head. The steel had been hiding a once-handsome middle-aged man, the face of whom was plagued by wrinkles, scratches and sweat. Through all that, his brown eyes could be easily seen, gleaming slightly, a warrior's fire burning in them. Even now, when he was exhausted, a certain air of authority could be felt in the way he carried himself. This was Meniel d'Malvousin, once a loyal servant of Manfred Flyte, the Flyte of Anticlere, and still the magister of the Knights of the Flame, who had been declared outlaws by Manfred and replaced with the new order.

"Take me to whoever is your liege. Tell him that a man that goes by the name of Meniel d'Malvousin, and the remaining knights of his, seek a new master and wish to offer their swords to the King of Daggerfall in servitude." Meniel's voice as he spoke these words to the gate guard corresponded with his appearance - although it was hoarse and exhausted, a certain feel of authority could be noticed.

OOC: And from here he's yours, Dominion. Do what you want with him, Meniel's done his duty for me.

Daggerfall

A firm hand gripped Veru's arm. She turned, golden eyes narrowed, to face the source. The thick chain armour, to her, spoke of a city guard, though she was unfamiliar with the Daggerfall uniform.

"There was a murder, and gravedigging, in the cemetary," He said in a low voice. Veruise tilted her head to one side, her glorious red hair sliding across her shoulder like silk. The guard gripped more tightly, but Veru did not even flinch. "You had something to do with that," he accused through clenched teeth.

Veruise said nothing, only stared at him. He shook her roughly. "Answer me!" he snapped.

A frosty smile stretched Veruise' pale lips; the guard blinked uncertainly.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

"I can't answer a question you didn't ask," she said quietly in her breathy, feminine voice.

"So you think you're funny?"

Veruise only gazed at him.

"Did you murder that priest and dig those graves?!" The contained fury on the guard's face was fascinating. Clearly, he was unused to being challenged. That he had this much control was admirable. I will enjoy breaking it. Her face hid her pleasure at the thought.

"I murdered nobody. I am not a gravedigger." She replied shortly. The absolute truth with which she spoke the words put the guard off-balance- he was so certain it was her. Veruise's lips stretched in a very small, secretive smile. Veruise did not murder, for that suggested it was something more than an action, a task. She killed. She exterminated. She slaughtered. She did not murder- not priests, anyway, for they meant so little to her. And the bodies? They had dug themselves out. These distinctions in her mind would seem like nit-picking to anyone else, the line indistinguishable, but to Veruise, there was a great difference, and that is why the truth rang so clearly in her words. She believed it.

The guard's eyes were fixed on her own, perhaps originally looking for traces of a lie, but now caught, as many were, by the beauty that lay behind the danger, that guilty, forbidden acknowledgement, like when one is secretly awed by the pillars of flames in a forest fire. She was fortunate that this man was so in tune with the darker side of his nature, for his obsession with her beauty would give her power over him.

She turned, and he released her arm, still staring into her eyes. "Who do you answer to?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment, then said, "Our ancestors."

She frowned, and studied him more throughly now. He was a human, more specifically a breton. Did he mean man or mer? The mongrel creatures were so hard to judge.

"Summerset?" she queried. He nodded, and the acknowledgement sent a thrill through her body. The altmer, her father's race, her mother's land, a heritage she had never explored. "The Dominion, then, it has taken this land?"

The guard shook his head. "Daggerall has aligned itself with the mer. The rest of High Rock make their own decision. Or they would, if Elysana would let them."

Curious.

Veruise turned and strode briskly away.

"I'm sorry I suspected you, Madam!" he called after her, not quite sure why he cared that much, but she was once again silent and she turned the corner and then was gone.

Gosic

'The dominion had sent ambassadors eh?' Gosic thought to himself. Little would these twins know they had been seen in the divination moments before scaling the walls of Anticlere, attacking and harassing the guards.

They were more then diplomats, and Manfred knew it, yet he remained calm. Impressive. The Psijicc remained silent, sitting with his arms resting in their sleeves. His ancient eyes viewing the unusual dominion sisters. If the dominion sent diplomats as unusual and eccentric as these two then they were less professional then the order had originally thought.

Sooner or later, Manfred would have to make a decision. And Gosic believed the dominion would be a heavy part of the decision to be made.

Terra-mancing, the dominion had indeed been experimenting with new magics, a terrifying empire indeed.

Lord Francois Gautier, Lord's Manor

Wandering the gardens of his estate, Aleine's ruler pondered how he should be rid of his wife, and gain full control over Gauvadon. His intent in calling her was simply to bed her, for that was the best form of relaxation a man could find, was it not? However if the oppurtunity presented itself... everything would fall into place sooner rather than later.

Francois feigned love and compassion as Anne dismounted her horse some twenty metres away, closing the gap on foot. She showed a side of her none ever saw, a side that showed all qualities expected from a lovong wife, and none of the horrid Lady she often was. Embracing her husband, she gave him a light peck on the cheek and stepped back.

" I see you finally wanted to spend some time with me. I apoligise for being away so much lately, these merchants would destroy the whole marketplace if left to their own devices. " A smile crossing her lips.

" Shall we go for a walk, perhaps along the walls? I have sent the guards away from a particular section so we may walk in peace. "

Lady Anne simply nodded her head, and took her husbands arm as they crossed the garden, quickly bounding up the steps. Any who had any suspicion of Francois' intentions would know that the stage was set. Fog lingered on the stone, the ground was moist and slippery, and not a guard in sight. A slight push, and his power would double...

After walking in silence for several minutes, Anne turned towards him. " We should produce heirs, neither of us have any kin to take our places and... "

Cutting her off, Francois spoke up, " But of course, i have my cousin, and if some Tragedy were to befall you.. I would inherit your domains. "

All of this was said rather playfully on Francois part, a sinister smile crossing his lips. " Say.. You were to fall off of this wall, i would gain all of Gauvadon, correct? "

" Yes, but.. "

Before the Lady could speak further, her own husband and given her a push towards the side of the wall, and she seemed to be flung from the structure, letting out a wail just before a sickening splat could be heard as she fell to the Citadel's paved walkway.

A Legion officer hurried to the body, consequently, THE head of the Legion in Aleine, Captain Secundus Laetonius Metilius. He will need to be taken care of in due time as well.

Francois turned and hurried down the stairs, falsely screaming in despair.


Ghalib al-Suhim, Lord's Manor

Ghalib crouched in the bushes, awaiting the Lady's arrival. When she did come, and the two rulers turned their backs, Ghalib slid a pick from his pocket and began to work on the locked window before him. Thank Tall-Papa Khadir taught me how to do this... After several moments, he heard a Click, and felt relief as the window moved freely. With no worries of armor making the infiltration difficult- for he had been smart enough to cloth himself in a rough cloth similar to the servants of the house, the dark-skinned man entered the living room one foot at a time. He had just finished re-locking the window when a servant walked past, stopping to eye him.

" Hey, shouldn't you be cleaning the Lord's study!? Get to work, you know how his Lordship gets. "

Tossing a feather duster, the servant gave him a peculiar look and continued on his way. Thankful for the event that had made this infiltration that much easier, Ghalib hurried down the hallway. In recent weeks he had been secretely gaining the loyalty of some of the Knights, particularily those in the Manor, and had convinced the Knight guarding the study to provide him with a key, and dissuade anyone from coming down one of the hallways leading towards it.

A wary glance cast in either direction, the key slid into the lock, turning and freeing the door. Immediately the Slave warrior moved to the desk, doing what he had come here to do. Ha! He calls these 'spy reports'? I have gathered more information using much less resources, in a single mission. He thought as he ruffled through the many sheets of parchment littering Francois' desk. For years the Mamluks had secretely plotted against their masters, seeking to overthrow their tyranny and rule themselves. Throughout all this they had stumbled upon a few tidbits that could be used to blackmail other important persons, or implicate them in crimes they were innocent of. This was simply another information gathering venture, a single step towards ending the Bretic reign of Aleine and Guavadon, and another move closer to controlling the surrounding areas as well.

Although the study held little in the way of new information, Ghalib took a moment to review what he had learned, and how he intended to use it. While we head for Evermore to retrieve my fellow Mamluks, Francois intends to put an end to the formal Imperial presence in Aleine. Hopefully by then Khadir's deal will be completed.. Another point that proved the Mamluks had superior intelligence and cunning. Gold had been pilfered from the nobility, to buy back another three hundred men in Wayrest. Not much, but with the six hundred from Evermore and the hundred already under him, in addition to the Lord's own soldiers and Knights that had been won to his cause, overthrowing the Lord of Aleine would be an easy task.

Exiting the study and locking the door behind him, he was happy that everything was falling exactly into place.

Gibbet Rock, somewhere south of Aleine

Gibbet Rock was an informal name given to a small, little-known cave hidden deep in the forest south of Aleine. The cave itself was hidden by a great stone block and the only entrance was a short vertical climb, up behind the stone, and through a wide crack in the cliff-face. On the inside, Gibbet Rock was a chamber about 30 feet long and 15 feet wide. The ceiling was high, and the floor remarkably level. At the far end, a massive pile of blankets marked where the Highwaymen slept. At the near end, there was a poorly made table and a few rickety, mismatched chairs. the rest of the chamber was filled with all manner of odds and ends; furniture, bits of armour, stacks of books, paintings, and anything that one of the group's members had at one time thought valuable. Sitting in what may once have been a rather comfortable arm-chair, they even had their own mascot: a human skeleton with the antlers of a deer rising from his forehead that had come to be known as The Old Fella. Augie had found him in the back of a merchant wagon, and could not be persuaded to dispose of him.

Currently, Brutus and Gaius were seated at their usual places at the table, arguing over what to do with their latest find, while Augie was sprawled on a couch (that was never intended for a man of his size), lamenting the wounds to his leg.

"Do you know what we can do with a gods-damned cannon?!" Brutus all but screamed at the man he had come to know as a brother.

"Not a thing, Brutus." replied Gaius, "It is too dangerous."

"To them its dangerous! This is a gift from the gods, Vern. My time has come!"

"If so, it came directly from Sheogorath. This thing has made you even more mad than usual."

"I finally have enough power to claim something for myself. For us!"

"having a single cannon doesn't make you a king, Brutus. besides, we don't even know how to use it."

"We shall learn. You are the smart one here, Vern, you can figure it out."

"Easier said than done..."

"Then stop saying and start doing. We have been living in this cave for 6 bloody years and we have gotten nowhere."

"What exactly are we trying to do? If we had some sort of goal, perhaps things would be going smoother."


Brutus' grin widened, his eyes glinting hellishly in the candlelight.

"As a sign of friendship we offer Anticlere..."

"...the gift of Aldmeri protection..."

"...and in exchange we only ask..."

"...for use of your ship yards and docks."

The offer was flirting on the brink of a threat. But Anticlere was now on the front line of a possible conflict. The question was did they want to be facing both west and east, or just east. The betrayel and conquest in the east showed how truley fragile this unification Elysana forged was. Anticlere could continue its trade unmolested if they joined the Dominion. On the other hand they would have to make damn well sure such a betrayel could be backed up against Elysana's might. With a simple letter the Queen had the ability to mobilize an army assorted from all corners of Highrock to converge and crush Anticlere.

"The Aldmeri Dominion has shown...

"...friendship to Sentinel in the war..."

"...one hundred of its finest..."

"...halted the assault of the roaring walls."



Parthia sat rather bored in her expression as the Dunmer read over the letter. Under the brown robe she wore around her stomach a bit of leather armor, throwing daggers placed in an almost splint like fashion in case needed to be picked out and thrown. Her auburn hair she had folded into a single braid that ran down her back under her clothing. It would be best if she kept her distinctive features hidden. Aside from that she only wore her sandals under the robe, soft and almost as quiet as if she was bare footed.

"No I don't understand, this sort of job isn't my speciality and I find it awfully boring." She kept a straight face, as gentle as it was, her ankle brushed up against his, her delicate hand reached over grazing his as she grasped the letter. Her vibrant green eyes were as vivid as a Dunmer's were crimson. They glanced over at Rethan with the motions of her limbs. Even though the loose clothing hid her curves, her face was simply pleasant to see, youthful and soft, delicate but defined, expressive but reserved.

"So what are you to her? Someone to keep the bed warm?" Her hand slipped the letter down the front of her cloak placing it inbetween her stomach and the leather half corset like armor. It wasn't much but she prefered to remain light. She could still move with a puncture or slash across her limbs or chest but striking the tendons around the waist would slow her down worse than a drunk orc.

Afterward she leaned forward against the table between the two, her left arm on the table while her right hand was against her cheek holding her bored expressioned face up. Her legs were crossed under the table right over left, her right ankle moving back and forth against Rethan's. She was curious to see what kind of person he was. He couldn't be anymore dangerous than she was and with Parthia, the more in control her enemies thought they were of her, the closer to death they actually were.


(OOC: I keep getting forced off this computer since i'm sharing it with three other people. I can't make damn full good posts. Tomorrow i'm sending in my lap top and that should help solve the issue.)

Rethan Andrano, Wayrest.

"Why? Curious to know if there's room for one more?"

With a sly smirk on his lips, Rethan took a sip from his tankard, his eyes carefully studying the woman. Ever since she had approached him, Rethan couldn't help but feel some what amused by her presence, obviously this was not the typical "task" she was customed to receiving, but why then, would Ev?lyn take such a risk and send her to him? Perhaps this woman was in the way, and she needed a diversion. However, he was more so amused by the way she stroked her foot so gently against his, as if testing the waters.

What is it with this woman? Am I mistaken about her identity, perhaps Ev?lyn just sent someone else? This woman looks nothing like a guard, nor does she act like one. But she did have the letter. Pretty little thing too, and the way she's gesturing me with that lovely foot of hers, ah if only she was a bar wench. A woman acting *this* calm surely must have something up her sleeve.

"You know, my dear, usually when attempting to flirt with a man, looking at him as if you're about to fall over dead doesn't come across as charming."

Setting his tankard away, Rethan fixed his gaze, locking his eyes with Parthia's. Leaning in close, his lips brushing against her ear, Rethan softly whispered,

"If I were you, I would be careful asking questions such as these. If you must know, I am a personal guard for her ladyship, hired by the Lord Woodborne, her father. I am to keep my identity low, so that I can protect the lady more efficiantly. To make accusations such as the ones you are suggesting, could easily be seen in a dim light by him."

Pulling away, Rethan crossed his arms, resting them on his stomach. With his eyes still fixed on Parthia, he questioned her,

"What's your story then? You don't look like any town guard I've seen."

Ev?lyn, Wayrest.

"Ow!"

"Oh do be quiet my lady, suffer is the cost for beauty!"

With a firm thug, the maid pulled in the threads of the corset, much to the horror of Ev?lyn. The maid simply scolded her whenever she complained, whilst squeezing the life out of her. Ever since her hips and bust grew in size, getting dressed was becoming a pain. It was amazing how the older noble women were able to pull this off, particualary the ones keen on sweets.

Sulking slightly, Ev?lyn ran her hand down the side of her waist. Suffer for beauty? More like suffocate for a flawless figure. Sitting down on the stool besides her mirror stand, Ev?lyn waited as her hand maid went to fetch her comb. For years had Lissa been her maid, ever since she was an infant in fact. The round, rosey cheeked breton was a welcomed sight, and it was almost upsetting if she was away. Lissa too was fond of Ev?lyn, though could easily become distressed over her, who often fussed too much.

Mother has returned. I am actually...glad. Yes, I am. As things are now, if mother were to pass away, perhaps our allies would run with their tail between their legs, and seek protection with the Dominion, or perhaps even the Confederation. Hmph. Mother is so foolish! I bet she would only get captured again should Wayrest be invaded. I should speak with her though...not about this of course, gods know that that would be an act of suicide. But...it wouldn't look good if I avoided her completely, now would it...

"You're awfully quiet this morning. I would have expected you to be more relieved, seeing as your mother is now safely back in Wayrest."

Grey eyes crawled up the mirror, meeting the reflection of Lissa's gaze. Forcing her lips to curl into a smile, Ev?lyn nodded,

"Forgive me. I am happy, overjoyed in fact. I am just worried for what is to come."

And that is no lie, I am worried about High Rock, it's slowly but surely splitting into several pieces, and I fear how many of the pieces mother can salvage.

Anticlere, Waterfront

A mysterious man moved through the lively docks and the nearby warehouses, navigating his way through the crowd with the grace of someone who had been doing this all his life. The footsteps of his heavy leather boots were drowned in the noise of a trading dock that was recieving a healthy amount of visitors - haggling, yelling, commanding, simple conversing between merchants and common citizens alike. Perhaps Anticlere was not yet the largest trade city in High Rock, but it was certainly one of those who were most frequented. The docks seemed even more lively due to the mixture of yoku and various accents and varieties of bretic from some of the other duchies; Ra Gada merchants haggled with Anticlerians for their exotic wares, other Breton merchants attempted to seal a deal with Anticlerians for those same wares.

The War of the Wolves had helped the city prosper, and the man, dressed in an odd mixture of Bretic and Ra Gada clothing, couldn't help but admire this crowded dock. Trade advanced in giant's footsteps from the miniscule amounts of ships that passed through Anticlere yearly, more interested in Daggerfall, Wayrest or Sentinel due to the East Empire Trading Company and the taxes that came along with it; now that the Company's influence did not reach into the purses of the merchants of Anticlere, however, or the mountains of the Lorddom, wares were flowing through the city, circulating and passing on, some finding their way into Hammerfall, others staying in Anticlere or sailing towards some other port towns.

All the wealth that a healthy amount of trade brought would inevitably attract unwanted attention, but the army of Anticlere was nothing to be scoffed at, especially due to their affinity for fighting on foot. Defending the walls with their arbalests and crossbows, these soldiers, who were in the process of becoming completely professional, helped make Anticlere a place that would not easily fall. Aided from the sea by the strong navy of Anticlere, and the Ra Gada warships that frequented the docks now, the Anticlerians could hold out for a long time. Thus, for now the merchants of Wayrest had to be content with the fact that they had new rivals.

However, this man could not admire the dance of a city of trade. No, he had a task to perform, one that was given to him by the Flyte of Anticlere himself... Slipping into an alley between two warehouses, he slowed his footsteps a bit, fixing his turban and cloth facemask. Only the brown, lively eyes were visible, and the energetic footsteps also didn't help in determining whether this was a Breton or a Ra Gada. The grumble that came from beneath the clothes was muffled, although it seemed to lack the hoarseness of Ra Gada, at least those who lived further away from the shore.

Nodding to himself, the man sped up again, walking out of the alley and into the open. He was headed specifically there by instruction, thus it wasn't that hard to find the place for him; however, he had to admit not many could find this on their own.

A woman stood some distance ahead. Taking a good look at her back, the man nodded to himself again, producing what seemed a letter from the folds of his clothes. Hurrying up further, he was nearly running by the time he was next to the woman; dropping the letter into the crate, he whispered 'Here's some good places for Ra Gada wares; I hear the spices are extremely good, though you'd have to be fast to get to them' as he brushed past her, signifying that the message was important, and what was said in the letter would have to be taken up quickly. Without stopping or looking back, he disappeared into another alley, the short letter being the only trace he had ever been there.

'A person of your talents is required immediately. The game of chess has begun, and our guests brought their own pieces. I need to know what pieces do the Baron of Dwynnen and the Lord of Camlorn bring, and how they intend to play with them; do not waste a lot of time on Dwynnen, though, Camlorn is far more important.'

There was no sign or seal on the letter. But Manfred knew when he instructed this written down this very morning that Raven would know who sent it.


Manfred

This was what the Flyte of Anticlere feared. The time of freedom in the wicked game of politics was up; the question over which he had pondered for days and nights ever since the civil war was over had been brought up, and this time, he'd have to give an answer. And even though the two sisters presented it in a different way, Manfred realized that the Dominion would settle nothing short of having Anticlere become a part of it. Hopefully, as much independance as possible would be attained; and perhaps, things would take a different direction yet, and Anticlere could be free. For now, though, he had to give the answer he would've preffered not to, even though these diplomats claimed the Dominion supported Hammerfall...

"I will be glad to accept this great gift in the name of Anticlere. But carry to your master the note that I do not request Dominion troops within Anticlere, as seems to be the case with Daggerfall, by the decission of her king, carried out in his own free will. My soldiers are enough to guard the walls. Your passing ships will, of course, be offered supplies, rest and, if need be, repair in Anticlere; your soldiers will be allowed by my word to march through my lands and set camp legally, under no suspicion or damage to the relationship I hope will develop between Anticlere and the Aldmeri Dominion. And should another Bretic army step onto the soil of Anticlere with the intentions to assault any troops of the Dominion that may be resting there, they will be viewed as foes, requested to retreat immediately, and assaulted if they do not comply."

Manfred hated the words that came out of his lips, but they had to come out eventually; if not directed at diplomats in a time of relative peace, then to generals at Anticlere's gates in war. Wayrest will not take well to it; but then, the relationship that Manfred had been building up before the War of the Wolves was now muchly severed following the alliance with the Ra Gada. And hopefully, the common life in Anticlere herself would change little. There were very little villages in the countryside, and agriculture was never a strength of Anticlere, thus the outside did not matter much, except for the Silver Spine, which was guarded by a garisson of four thousands and a castle, enough to deter all bandits and looters that may've wished to loot the mines and seize them.


Ludovic

Back in the big city. Perfect. The young Breton rolled his eyes, fiddling around with the handle of his rapier. Leaning against the stone wall that encircled Wayrest, he might've seemed like a particularly bored guard, if it wasn't for the fact his clothes and armament were both obviously different from the outfits of the town guard. However, one making such a presumption would've been partially correct - Ludovic was very bored, even more so than his face suggested. Following the return from Banesworth, he was yet to be assigned to lead any number of men; his own troops were lost in the failed invasion of Skyrim, and he couldn't keep cursing Lord Woodborne under his breath for that.

Looks like all the pompous asses on horses decided to forget I exist. Veery nice. And very typical of them too. Just ignore the ones who have common sense and don't ride a horse... Oh, what is this? He doesn't even own a stinking village in the middle of nowhere? What a bastard. Feeling his back slide across the wall, the Breton sighed, pushing himself upwards again. He could've moved, but then, where would he go? Try find the garisson? No, it would be a waste of time, and he didn't want to take up garisson duty, that's for sure. Go straight into the court and demand to be asigned a new unit? The aristocratic pricks would probably just throw him out on sight.

What then? What's left for me? The tavern? I've struggled long to avoid such places, just to show the asses that have knighthood that an infantryman has the manners to match and surpass a mounted bastard son of some or other noble. That doesn't fit. Ludovic shook his head, sighing. And I thought the fort was bad. Can't they just throw me out into the meatgrinder and forget I exist then, not when I'm stuck here?

With another sigh and a shake of his head, the Wayrestian headed off, intending to wander around the docks aimlessly, perhaps buy some small bit of jewelry to congratulate himself on a succesful escape from the nomads.

Wayrest Streams
"Ah, I knew I heard the stream. Told you Wik." The Dunmer rolled his eyes at the Nord's comment, crossing his arms. Hukral moved off in the direction of the nomad's finger, his hefty steel frame destroying any underbrush in his wake. After the War of the Wolves, he was easily able to understand a Ra Gada accent, but still wished he knew Yoku so he could actually talk to the man. While his people generally did not hold much liking for the Redguards, there had always been an air of respect at their mention throughout the military. Renowned warriors, and even more famous swordsmen; if the Nords did not respect anything else of the dark-skinned men, they respected their ability to fight.

As Hukral went off, Ree'Ja followed, and Jassan seemed to contemplate the idea before he followed as well. Wikrun looked to Marsha, who nodded, and then the Dunmer left, his glowing orb of light following him, and returning gloom around the two Ra Gada. Marsha looked to the nomad, seeming to be anolyzing him. He had to be one of the rebellion factions, considering he was captured by a Bretonic force, as he claims. But Hukral and the others seem so at ease with this; like they don't care about the fact he was once an enemy.

So why do I care? It took her a moment, but then she realized; she knew her people better than they; the Redguards were hardy, stubborn, unyielding. Never pleased until the goal is attained. This man, he could still harbor ill thoughts against them for their alliance to the Empire by means of hire, and that was not good. But eventually he would find out, so sooner the better.

"We are a band of... mercenaries." It took her a moment to remember the Yoku word. "We were also in the War of the Wolves. We had tried to avoid the war, but ended up on the battlefield regardless; so the legion hired us." She knew he would not likely take this news well, but she carried on regardless, leaning her naginata on the tree and crossing her arms. "Probably the hardest job I ever had to do, fighting against my kin... I made sure the Legion unit we were with stuck to their word, though; if they intended to leave survivors, I made sure they left them with enough supplies to actually survive." She looked over to the nomad and frowned. "We did not choose a side, however; the only resentment is saved for Sentinel. Their warriors killed one of our members. We harbor no ill will against you; you were doing what you thought right.

What is your name?"

--------------------
"You are aware that guy's part of the group we were fighting a year ago, right?" Jassan inquired, looking over to the massive Nord as he dipped the canteen in the stream. The gloom of the fog had returned as Wikrun extinguished his light and began to gather firewood. Ree'Ja was sniffing at the corpse of a wolf, partly eaten. Jassan himself sat upon a large rock, twirling a dagger.

"Yes." Hukral replied curtly, picking up another canteen and filling it.

"And that does not bother you how?" Jassan elaborated, raising one black eyebrow above his sapphire eyes. Hukral sighed, turning to the little elf and tossing him his canteen, which was smaller than the others.

"One thing you must learn about being a sword-for-hire in the midst of a war; you cannot truly pick a side. At least, you shouldn't. It is bad for business." Hukral explained, dipping another canteen into the cold water. "Seeing as we had no initial alignment in the war-"

"-Until they killed Chris." Jassan interjected, and both of them fell silent. Ree'Ja looked up from the corpse of the wolf, curious caution in his yellow eyes. Wikrun stopped just above his pile of firewood, and looked over at Jassan with amazement.

Hukral's shoulders quaked, the aspis strapped to his back rattling against his steel armor and the claymore on his back. No one could see his face, and Hukral was deeply thankfully for that. Taking in a slow, deep breath, he turned around with all the sluggishness of a dying man. Jassan shrank.

"Christopher Morris died in battle against the Sentinel warriors, honorably and dutifully, fulfilling the job we had been hired for. When you are hired, you are on the side that purchased you, but only for reasons of money. Christopher's death made me no more willing to fight them than money." Hukral growled back. "That man was fighting for what he believed in, far more honorable than fighting for our paycheck. The war is over, and therefore I see no reason to harbor hate for him. Understand?" Hukral was towering over Jassan now, his face grim set. Jassan nodded.

Hukral turned away from the elf hurriedly and returned to refilling the canteens. It took a minute or two more before Wikrun worked once more on the campfire.

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

Glenpoint Coastal Caverns
"Lady Terrineth?" A man's voice, carrying a Colovian accent, called out through the wooden door that led into Simithara's private cavern quarters. She was already dressed in her boiled leather corset and belted silken skirt, which hung around her waist along with several pouches, and was slit along the sides, revealing her thighs and legs. Her crossed arms were covered from wrist to elbow in leather gloves that extended to a triangle on the back of her hand. Rising on high-heeled knee-high boots, she walked to the center of her room and looked to the door. Raza sat on the bed, chest bare and pale brown, his scimitar in his hand beside him. The pupils of the eyes that stared at the door were as cloudy as the whites that surrounded them.

"Come in." At the command, the man opened the door, revealing himself to be an Imperial clothed in a plain black robe. He genuflected before standing and speaking.

"I come with report from Menevia, and other lesser counties." Simithara raised an interested eyebrow at this, and moved to her desk. Calmly she sat herself down on the worn wood of the desk. The man kept his composure, head turn to always look at her as he spoke.

"The man you requested we watched, Guillaume Molyneaux, has taken control of Menevia. There was little bloodshed." Simithara's pleased look dipped slightly at this news, but was otherwise pleased with the information. "There have been further discoveries, as well, of killings of Priests of Arkay throughout the Western regions. More suggested gravedigging involved, but upon investigation, necromantic magicks of high skill were indeed utilized. It is the same man." Simithara took immediate interest in this, her half-heartened attention now much more involved.

"Anything else on that matter?" She inquired, leaning towards him slightly with eagerness. Her brilliant green eyes glittered with a thirst for his knowledge.

"We detected traces of mystic magicks as well; Soul Entrapments were attempted, but the residual magicks suggests a failure." He explained, still sternly business-like despite the new view of Simithara he had. "And Daedric summonings. Just like a few other times. But nothing further could we find, as we had to leave before the moon fell."

Simithara looked away, her lips pursed. She slipped off the table and paced the room, thinking. "When was this?"

"Just a few weeks ago." The Imperial replied, uncertain why she asked.

"So... he may have struck again already, at the pace he has been keeping." Simithara murmured. "That may be the energies I had felt... But why can he not take their souls? Are they guarding themselves from his Thralling spells? Is he too weak to combat those guards?" Her voice was soft as she thought to herself, continuing her pacing. The man just stood there, waiting for her orders.

"Continue investigating, sweep the western countryside; but keep low as the Dominion is gaining power. He may have struck again." She told him, still contemplating. "And keep an eye on Menevia. We may have to visit there soon. That is all, thank you."

"May the God of Worms bless you always." The man told her with another bow, and proceeded to leave the room.

"Likewise." Simithara whispered, looking at the small cistern in the corner of her cavern room. The water rippled as she approached, reflecting the sunlight from a small hole in the ceiling.

Arslan

"Mercenaries?" Arslan responded swiftly, his eyes narrowing. The word was not well-liked amongst the Ra Gada, at least the Ayuubs; fighting was an art, like tracking; just as trackers had to listen to the desert to find their prey, the fighters had to listen to the world around them to fight effectively. It was crucial for survival in Hammerfall, and to sell it off to someone, most likely the Heartlanders, was a shameful thing in the Ayuub Tribe; men who left to fight for gold of the Emperor of the Heartlands were not mentioned frequently in the tribe after such an act, if ever.

"You fought for the Heartlanders' Iron Men..." This was not news he welcomed. Arslan did not know well the mindset of people other than his own; if they fought for something, the Ayuubs would commit themselves fully, and fight until the bittersweet end. It seemed madness that someone would be willing to change sides just for gold; that, however, was what he had heard of mercenaries' behaviour. At least she seems to have Ra Gada honor. Arslan could, at least applaud her for preserving that notable feature of a Ra Gada at war - honor. In battle, a Ra Gada warrior was quick and cunning; after battle, the warrior was expected to be humble and gracious in victory, and respectful in defeat. After a few moments of silence, the nomad spoke again:

"If you hold no hatred for the Ayuub Tribe, then I will treat you and your comrades with respect; I give my word for that." The fact nomad Ra Gada did not like the city-dwellers, even if they fought alongside them, played a part in this decission. Although he held respect for men of Sentinel, they were still city-dwellers - they had left the Old Path. "Honor in a war like this is, when the mortal enemies lock, is no simple thing; and my tribe values honor as much as skill at arms." He bowed slightly. "My tribe called me Arslan before I was taken; so should you. Make it known to those you travel with that they should not fear ill from Arslan, for I wish not to bring shame to my people by breaking my word. I would ask the names of your companions as well."

Wayrest forests
Marsha almost sighed relief at this news, but contained it. She had no intention of displaying hefty amounts of emotion before this man; he needed to know she was all business. Marsha returned his bow with a musical jingle of golden bands and beaded hair, and smiled friendly. "I am Marsha." She picked her naginata up from leaning on the tree and used it like a staff, walking towards the direction of the stream.

"The Khajiit is Ree'Ja, the Dark Elf is Wikrun, and the massive Nord is Hukral; they're good men, like family to me." She explained as she led him towards the stream. It wasn't until they reached the 'camp', however, that Marsha noticed a fire burning. Wikrun was standing over the campfire with his hands splayed out over it. He was whispering something gently, and each mutter made the fire flicker. No column of smoke belched from the fire, and the light did not extend past the clearing, magically manipulated to do so. Wikrun lowered his hands, and the fire remained in this perpetual state of smokelessness, brief flickers of what might have been a magical shield surrounding the fire. Ree'Ja was hefty the corpse of a slain wolf over to the fire, to cook the remainder of the meat.

"And the kid there is Jassan." She finished, pointing to the Bosmer on the rock.

"Hey, I ain't no kid!" Jassan cried back, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. "I'll have you know I am a full grown Bosmer."

"Oh shut it." Marsha spat, before turning back to Arslan. "We call ourselves the BB."

"Band of Bastards." Jassan quipped up. "Since we have no father country, no place of residence."

"Like a very dysfunctional family." Wikrun added, watching as Ree'Ja put the wolf shreds of wolf meat he had sliced with his claws on a spit. Hukral returned from the stream, tossing Marsha her canteen, which she caught easily.

"So, who's our new friend?" Jassan asked, jumping from the rock and walking over to the fire.

"He calls himself Arslan; I've already introduced us so don't worry about that." Marsha informed them. She moved over to the campfire and sat on the ground, motioning for Arslan to follow.

"Pleasure to meet you." Both Hukral and Wikrun nodded to the nomad, and Ree'Ja simply nodded wordlessly. Jassan gave him a wave.

Tudor came to the balcony with his usuall swagger. He wore clean cut black pants, a white shirt tucked in and a blue fest over it. Along with that he wore a long grey coat, black boots with a strip of metal going across the front of the toe and black gloves. His eyes were a greenish blue color and his hair short, blonde and sweapt back. Tudor was young but very capable in battle having been a cadet for the legion's battle mage contingent he showed quite a grasp of the destructive arcane. Stubborn, arrogant, reckless it was some sort of "miracle" that he was appointed Marshall of the Armies, at least for the time being.

The familiar sight of Elysana put a wiley grin on his face. He was familiar with her and her daughters and devoutly served the Kingdom with anything that was asked of him. In return he at his disposal arguebly the most professional military in High Rock. Tudor wondered what the Queen wanted with him. Perhaps she just missed his presence or he would be deployed to the east. If the latter was the case he hoped perhaps one of the daughters could accompany him.

"Yes your Highness?" Tudor bowed down to one knee before her and waited there waiting to be called up. Hopefully Emmen would also piss off. He didn't really care for the man in any form or really almost anyone else in Elysana's reutine.


OOC: Short post showing up. I'll reply for the others when I get back from an appointment. I might also edit to expand this by a bit more if it hasn't already been replied to.

Arslan

Clenching his left hand into a fist, Arslan tugged it into the left sleeve of his flowing robe, then extended the left palm into a perfectly straight vertical line, giving a bow. This was the formal Ayuub greeting; the clenched fist symbolised the respect the one bowing had for those he bowed to - the vertical palm. He was still mistrustful of the Mage ash-skin, Wikrun; the Northman, Hukral, seemed like a warrior worth at least something, thus respect for him was in order. The beast-man, Ree'Ja, had earned Arslan's respect already by being cappable of such detection displayed earlier, and Jassan, to whom Marsha reffered as a child - as a decent sneaker.

Eyeing the magical fire suspiciously and with a hidden bit of curiosity, Arslan sat down next to it; he was rather impressed by the qualities of this flame, but still - it was magick used by the enemies of the Ra Gada. He wanted to say something, however his poor dictionary when it came to Heartlanders' tongue prevented that. He could understand it fairly well, so long as it was spoken slowly and clearly, however using it was a whole different matter. For now, he'd have to rely on Marsha to translate his yoku, and try to improve his Heartlander (to which the 'Band of Bastards' apparently reffered to as Colovian; Arslan didn't know what were the Colovians, but from the look of things that might've been a different name for the Heartlanders) by listening.

As things seemed to have calmed down, and he was no longer under threat, Arslan decided that the best activity for him now would be to inspect his weaponry. Slowly, he unsheathed the scimitar that hung naked, held in place by the ragged cloth band that acted in the stead of a belt for him. Placing the weapon in his lap, he began untying the quiver that held his bow and arrows. It was fixed firmly, the knot intended to keep the quiver in place even when riding at high speeds. Riding... How he wished he had a desert horse right now! The nomad had always valued the horses his tribe used, given they were quite smart beings, and from them often depended the life of the rider; now, one would've been priceless.

Sighing silently, Arslan took his scimitar and instead focused on the weapon to keep such desires at bay. The weapon could've seemed odd to those who had never seen an Alik'R nomad warrior; it was a crude iron weapon, with a sharp single edge, only very slightly curved. Spikes decorated the inner edge, all of them perfectly straight. The handle was made out of bone, with cloth wrapped around where the wielder would hold it. Curves were made to put fingers into, so the weapon wouldn't slide out of the warrior's grasp in the heat of combat; the size of each rise matched the gaps between Arslan's fingers nearly perfectly, making it obvious that the weapon, or at least the handle, was made specially for him, maybe by himself.

Castle Jehanna, the main hall

Rurik looked around his new main hall. Despite Jehanna's status up until recently as a Bretic duchy, the hall was built in the Nordic style, although it did have a Bretic touch to it. Shields, weapons, furs and animal heads lined the stone walls; two stuffed bears stood guard at both sides of the main entrance to the hall. The room was dominated by two tables, one long, with trunks, benches and chairs of poor quality placed on both sides of it; it started a few steps away from the entrance, and ended at a slight rise of two stairs.

There, the second table stood, forming a T with what was obviously the servants' table. Ornate wooden chairs lined this table, and it was obviously for the nobility, with a grand wooden throne placed in the very middle on a small rise - the Duke's chair. Behind it, the coat of arms of Jehanna used to hang; now, it was replaced by a round shield depicting two crossed bardiches and a laurel wreath, the coat of arms of the new Velikiy Khnyaz of Jehanna. Off to the side, there was a smaller door, leading to the corridor behind the hall, which in turn led to the rooms that once belonged to the nobility of Jehanna, including the Duke himself.

Now, the hall seemed quite empty, given that only the upper table was occupied. The Nordic generals and war-chiefs sat around it, those who had joined Rurik during or after the Invasion of Morrowind, and those who joined after had just fallen. Several seats were still empty, left for Rurik's commanders who were still absent; two of them belonged to Germanicus and Alfngar, who followed Rurik into the hall. Germanicus seated himself at once and cleared his throat politely as he cast a critical eye at Rurik's other generals. Alfngar, mindful of his station, waited for his uncle to seat himself before taking his own chair. In contrast the Duke's relaxed posture, Alfngar was tensed and excited, his eyes shining.

Rurik stood next to his seat, eyeing the assembled commanders who fancied themselves various figures - war-chiefs, khnyazi, generals, ealdormen... A colorful, Nordic bunch with equally colorful backgrounds. At least this was better than a Bretic court with stuck-up nobles and treacherous servants, or so Rurik thought to himself. Had he voiced this, most would've probably agreed to that claim.

"My commanders!" Rurik didn't bother with naming all the various titles they all went by. "We are gathered here to discuss the newest developments in this war for High Rock. Namely the letter of the King of Solitude, which demands expansion to be carried out soon; the arrival of a fresh force from Karthwasten;" The Velikiy Khnyaz nodded to Germanicus here, and the Karthwastenian Duke responded with a slight nod. "And the need to decide our next move, now that Jehanna and Farrun have been succesfully incorporated into the lands of Skyrim. We shall hear all voices now."

With this, Rurik sat down, the wooden throne creaking under the weight of the Nord and his armor. The was a moment of silence before Duke Germanicus rose.

"My Lord Rurik;" the Duke addressed himself to the Velikiy Khnyaz and "Noble men of Skyrim;" to the other commanders. "I would first like to thank you again for your hospitality. You have been extrodinarily generous, and on behalf of Karthwasten I thank you."

He paused a moment before continuing: "Unfortunately I must ask for still more generosity. I fear I need to re-stock my supply train from Jehanna's stores. I sought to do this in Solitude, but the King issued only enough provisions to reach Jehanna. He told me to appeal to Lord Rurik for more stores."

Rurik nodded. "Of course, of course. There is enough in Jehanna to fullfill the needs of an army on campaign." He stopped there; it seemed like Germanicus had more to say.

"My gratitude knows no bounds," said Germanicus with only the slightest trace of irony. His nephew, on the other hand, was grinning at Rurik warmly behind his back, and waited to catch the Velikiy Khnyaz's eyes to mouth the words Thank you.

The Duke continued: "Now, I have not been debriefed on the latest situation here, but from what I have heard, our enemies are divided and squabbling among ourselves. Chief among them, of course, is Wayrest and her Queen, but to reach her we have to pass through the lands of Evermore, which, as far as I know, is still loyal to Wayrest. Evermore, if given the chance to mobolize, will be tough to defeat. However, if we can strike quickly and desicively at Cloud Spring and Raven Spring, the path to Evermore will be open to us. Therefore, if I might make a suggestion, we should send a force to Cloud Spring at once. Hopefully, Cloud Spring will capitulate immediately, but if siege is required, so be it."

Germanicus bowed to no one in particular and resumed his seat.

Rurik nodded. "Indeed, the capture of Cloud Spring would go along with the wishes of the King of Solitude. However, my men have already had the honor of battle in this campaign; would our guests from Karthwasten wish to try their arms and resolve, or shall they pass the honor on to us..?"

"It would be a pleasure to lead my troops against Cloud Spring," responded Germanicus with great formality.

"Excellent." Rurik nodded. "It is settled, then, that the Duke of Karthwasten shall have the honor of leading our first offensive action against Evermore; a messenger shall be sent to the city itself immediately and announce our intentions to attack and wipe them out unless the Duke of Evermoor agreed to capitulate and become the vassal of the Nordic Confederation."

"And, Duke Germanicus... I will ask of you to be gracious in your inevitable victory. If the Bretons are ever to become convinced we are their allies, not some far-off tyrants, we will be forced to treat them with grace in this campaign. That applies to every commander present in this room."

Germanicus bowed his head in assent, while the other commanders responded in a chorus of "Ayes".

(OOC: Nordic super-post. Oh, yeah!)

Wayrest

The Queen turned to face Tudor, her expression impassive as he prostrated himself before her. She could show no favouritism, no playfulness when both Tudor and Emmen were present. Now she had to remain every bit the diplomat, the Queen. And oh, how she loved it.

She studied the Marshall. He was handsome, in his way, and she had toyed with the idea of taking him as a lover and binding him further to her, although his philandering with her daughters had changed that. She had no wish to shake Evalyn's life- indeed, she had great plans for her oldest daughter. If the harlet could only stop plotting against me for long enough that I might tell her so, she thought. She would not take vengeance against her daughter for this; it was in her blood for it to be so, and she was young yet. Elysana had been putting off telling her, disliking the notion that times were changing, but changing they were. She would have to make things clear to her eldest before she wasted all her energies against her mother; afterall, it was the kingdom that was most important.

And how we are remembered by it, she added mentally, but she banished such thoughts for now.

Her eyes went to Emmen. The assassin was stone-faced, as ever. He was not as [censored]-sure as Tudor, his maturity and profession contributing to this. But Gods only know, he has the right to be.... she thought, and could not help but smile ever so slightly at the thought. It would infuriate Tudor, she was sure; ever she had flirted with Tudor, and might have done more if her daughters had not gotten there first. There was no benefit to all of them sharing his bed; for then surely, he would be the one with the power.

And sometimes, I enjoy being the one who got away... And how she was. For age had not diminished Queen Elysana, no; she was more queenly than ever, her features now dignified as well as beautiful, appearing more mature but never older. Magical unguents had, of course, aided in that, but Elysana had no wish to appear entirely youthful, or youthful forever; age had its own benefits, she was beginning to see more and more. And of course, there was the future to look forward to...

Thankfully, her thoughts passed more quickly than time would show, though even had it not, it would be outrageous to mention it. Having completed her assessment of her marshall, she said at last, "Rise, Tudor, for I require your assisstance this day." The formality of the court tongue, the subtle beauty of the game, sent thrills through the Queen. She had never, for one second in her life, entertained the idea of being a commoner. This was what she lived for. However, at this time the game-playing would have to be minimal; there were serious matters to attend to. "All went well with the Khan of Skaven," she said, giving a perfect, wry smile. "Although perhaps the journey back might have gone better."

"I feel we need to better defend our eastern border- though the Dominion poses a threat, I feel the danger is not imminent- I will speak of that presently. Skyrim, however, may well strike back, and I am given to believe that many are sympathetic to their plight. This is intolerable; our people should know that we only have their interests at heart. Thus, when you go, be sure not to impose yourself on the settlements on the way, as was custom. Offer reasonable prices for goods and rations- do whatever is necessary to harbor goodwill and inspire loyalty in our subjects as you pass. They must see our army as their beloved defenders. It will be more costly, but worth it."

"As for the Dominion... well. We will treat their infringement as they have asked us to- this they will not expect. I wish to travel to Daggerfall, on an 'official' visit to deal with their farce. So long as they wish to pretend that they we are not at war, I see no reason not to take advantage of it." They might play at stealing the hearts of her people, but at this, Elysana excelled. "The downside is that it will give them some manner of dignity, but of course, it also requires that they meet me, non-aggressively, and that Daggerfall will be forced to see what they have given up on. There will be some discontent with their decision, of course, and I can play on that." Fire burned in her dark eyes. "We will see who's side they truly decide to sit upon. I will require protection, of course, but I will not bring more than prudency dictates. I have no wish to appear hostile- we wouldn't like to intimidate our elvish cousins too badly."

She gazed at Tudor. Emmen's face would be as unreadable as ever, but Tudor was much easier to read. "Your opinions, Marshall. I value them greatly." She knew she was being quite brazen in looking to deal with the Dominion and the Direnni betrayal in this manner, but then, daring was not something she lacked. It would be risky, of course, but that was why she needed to speak with Evalyn before she left.

Camlorn

Blaise wove his way through the crowd and stopped with a click-clack of his boots. "You sellswords?" he cut to the point, not bothering to lower his voice. The shrill sounds of the promenade stung his ears like needles in his skull. Ah, maybe too much to drink before. Either way, the prince in his silk shirt put his hand to the hilt of his longsword and took a bow. "My name is Blaise, but you can call me sir. How much for the three of you, then eh?"

The one with the blue shield smiled languidly and gestured. Before he could say anything, his companion put his hand to his katana and loosened it in the scabbard, ready to draw. Instead of unsheathing his weapon and killing the prince where he stood, the mercenary replied in broken Middle Tamrielic. "Yes, we're... sell-our-swords. What is it you wish us for?"

The prince smirked, "I need a few bodyguards, that's all. Good soldiers, experienced soldiers. Soldiers better than whatever I can dredge out of the army, and less conspicuous than any knights I could ever get. And your exotic weaponry is good as well, no doubt. We will need a ship too, but that can be arranged. Again, how much?"

On the right hand, the third sword-for-hire stepped forward. Slung across his back was a strange, crossbow-like contraption which appeared to have room for multiple bolts where a Western arbalest would hold only one. "10 Septims a day, traveling. If we are passing through territory where we are constantly in danger, the price will rise. Take it or leave it." The man might have been part Breton, with Bretic inflections in his Akaviri accent. He looked directly at the prince, and his hand ran anxiously to his belt, where a variety of bottles rested.

Blaise stepped backwards. The men were serious. They aren't going to take [censored] from nobody, not if this one's reaching for poison and I haven't even patted him on the back. Gods above... With a forced smilke, Blaise gestured to shake a hand. "Very well, if you'll return with me to the castle... Then we shall talk further about your payment and where we will be going."

North of Tulune

A regiment of swordsmen had arrived from the Isles yesterday Lord Ancalimon was not particular about their arrival, they would only slow the march. Dominion http://www.playonline.com/pcd/topics/ff11eu/detail/540/540_5.jpg were marching three abriast in a long line towards Glenumbra, their gold feathers fluttering for at least a mile. The road from Tulune to Glenumbra was little more than dirt, most trade from Daggerfall flowed along the south coast to Anticlere. Any lord however could clearly see the importance of farm and forest land, and staples of food came from the north in Tulune and Glenumbra and Shalgora, to feed the masses of Daggerfall.

The importance of this mission was stressed by Ancalimon's superiors and advisors, the rebellious town of Tulune would have to once again submit to Daggerfall's royalty. Their secession from Daggerfall after their agreement to the Aldmeri Dominion was rather racist in origin. No doubt Tulune had a large, if not untrained army under their command and in the roads and taverns Illessan was fully supporting Tulune against the Dominion.

It would only be a matter of hours before they reached Glenumbra. The Dominion troops would wait a day for surrender after that, they would be obliged to take the town by force.

OOC:

Sorry short post :/

Gates of Aleine

Light glanced off the knights shiny steel armor, the high class soldiers a sharp contrast to the dark and wilder looking Mamluks. Many wagons lined up behind them, laden mostly with the knights gear. The Mamluks traveled light, so to speak, with much less lavish accomadations and requiring wagons only for food. Francois was nowhere to be found, he still remained in his quarters 'grieving' over the death of his wife. In fact he was making slow and silent preperations to oust the Legion presence from his lands.

Ghalib rode his lean, muscled horse back and forth between his men, the small contingent of the Lord's army that would be accompanying them regarding the Ra Gada with curiousity. As Ghalib slowed to a stop, Khadir rushed over to his master on foot. Dismounting, they began to plot for their return.

" Any news on our men in Wayrest? "

" Yesss, " Khadir often spoke in a snake like tone when uttering any words containing an s, " good newsss in fact, there may be more than we expected. At the moment only one hundred more that would be ready ssssadeek. "

Ghalib smiled at this, more Mamluks was always a welcome sight in his eyes, especially amongst these pale skinned nobles.

" Any word on my family? "

A while ago rumours had reached him, that he had brothers in Hammerfell, and possibly even relatives within the Breton lands themselves.

" None yet ssssadeek. I remain ever vigilant in sssearching. "

Pleased with the results regarding more slaves available in Wayrest, Ghalib mounted his horse once more, thanking his friend and returning to his men. Soon they would be on the road to Evermore and all his machinisations would be in place.