Word from the creator:

First thing I want to say right off the bat is it is never too late to join this RP! I know in SoS there were many times people said "oh it's probably too late." That was almost never the case and even if we are on our last thread, if you can get yourself in a position I won't say no. So just putting this up there so when it gets copied and pasted into thread number something or other and people read the thread for the first time they know right away.

Well this has been a long time coming and at last it's here. I've enjoyed and learned much through Siege of Sentinel and seek to apply the lessons learned there, here. I want to say first and foremost that this is NOT a "military RP" but it has military aspects to it. Nor is it a "political RP" though it has political aspects to it. It has a large scale approach made even larger made by the fact that instead of having Tamriel be about the size of Australia, the scale would be more of that of Eurasia. This allows for much more RP fan made based regionalistic diversity and slows down also the military aspect of conquest allowing much more character development and intrique to be built up. The basic over all story line will follow the struggle between Elysana's (not so) united High Rock, the Nordic Confederation and the Aldmeri Dominion. But upon closer inspection we see the interesting aspects much better. A devious Queen who seeks to maintain her rulership by any means. A vengeful noble throwing his inheritence to the enemy of his enemy to undo the wrongs brought upon his house. A jaded warrior seeking to find life in death.

Suffice to say it goes a bit beyond war and politics but shows the results of the age old strife between elves and man in High Rock. These are the children of slaves and conquerors, old rulers seeking to take back what was once theirs, while others seek to do away with the old world order of the monarchy.

Storyline:

It's been almost a year after the terrible Siege of Sentinel when its walls roared as armor and flesh were born from the bones of those brave few. Although the Empire has pulled back its military machine, stability and peace are a rare sight in Hammerfell which has splintered into many independent lordships. To the north however Queen Elysana has not only managed to maintain the United Kingdom of High Rock but now seeks to expand it eastward into Skyrim, her husband Lord Woodborne leading the invasion against the barbarians. With much of the armies in the east, the Elves of Direnni through secret negotiations have opted to become vassals of the Aldmeri Dominion, a move which infuriated the Queen who was unable to do much with the main army away at war and the Dominion landing a large garrison force.
A blockade was set and an official protest was sent to the Dominion pointing out the violation of the Treaty of Anvil. The Dominion replied saying that they did not invade Imperial territory or force anyone into vassalage but became part of the Dominion on their own. To make matters worse, Lord Woodborne was handed a terrible defeat at the hands of the Nords on his way to Solitude. He managed to escape only by disquising himself as a peasant returning to Jehanna only to find out that the local noblility had decided to support a union with the Nords. Daggerfall being long time rivals of Wayrest and tired of being ruled by what they saw as an unfavorable treaty has offered itself as ally to the Aldmeri Dominion as well prompting a rebellion north of Norvulk. It would have escelated into the heart of Wayrest had it not been for a young noble known as Tudor who earned the rank of Marshall of Wayrest and has been the Queen's right hand man, and perhaps more, ever since.
Now facing an invasion from the Nords, and problematic foreign relations with the Dominion along with the internal strife that that has brought, Queen Elysana has decided to find allies where she can. The Orcs had been on friendly terms with Lord Woodborne for some two decades now and little could happen that seems to change that. Over the bay the Kingdom of Sentinel, although not completely stabalized may grow to be a problem if fully allied with the Dominion. To counter act this, Elysana has went herself to the Khan of Skaven to forge an alliance covering her southern border.

The die has been cast and all the men and women are acctors on the stage of the world.



Getting Started:

When joining an RP you have to have in mind kind of what you want to do. You can't simply make Joe the Argonian and wait to be spoon fed a role. Consider how often you can RP and how much you can manage. If you've been in SoS you kind of know how it all works out. Volunteer to get leadership positions if you can be active. Active doesn't mean post every day, but at least a half dozen times a week. I like having the slower pace to be honest. Roles can vary from nobility of a settlement, to a general of the army, to a court agent or sorcerer etc. I don't have a character limit. I myself can think of at least eight or so characters I plan on having. Hopefully we can get a sight up to host our sheets there so we don't have a huge wall-o-spam at the start of every thread. Anyway I guess i'm just reminding people of being thoughtful of their role in this RP. I ask new comers not to rush for the gold hills in sending me requests right away without knowing what's going on. I'd also like to see some of the good old time Daggerfall lore being used and implementing characters from there.

Rules:

1. Read Duval's guide. It's good information and if you have questions about the military aspect of what would go where feel free to PM me or Duval. Putting this as number one because it's going to be partly cloudy with a high chance of death.

2. I don't mean to insult anyone but I feel like I need to put this up there. Don't make DBZ characters. I don't have a problem with powerful or capable as long as it is done right.

3. Don't player control, you never RP how someone else reacts unless given permission. Like wise YOU need to keep in mind to post your own reaction.

4. Use good grammar and spelling. Type your post up in Word if you don't think you can do it. Everyone makes mistakes so I don't have anything against people who aren't good at the language. English isn't my first language either, but not using precautions such as Word shows you really don't care. Make your posts lengthy and descriptive. Even if it is just a boring conversation, describe, describe, describe!

5. I don't care of you have romance! Just don't get lewd with it. Yes I don't care if you RP six as long as you are tactful about it. I don't care it doesn't bother me, and if it bothers people they can just skip over it. Just don't obsess over it, make sure it has a point to the storyline and isn't "stupid."

6. Do NOT be all knowing. It's just stupid when you have a guy in the RP that just seems to be able to guess everything. RP your character unknowing of something if he really doesn't know even if it means his/her death.

*Special Notes about this RP:

1. I want to put this out there before it becomes an issue. Since we're going to RP with alot of Bretons I want to bring up certain concepts which need to be understood that is relevant to all the RPs in the "ImmortalBlood Timeline." Magic resistance of the Bretons (or any) doesn't equate to elemental resistance. What this means is if Bob the Breton gets shot with a fire ball, the natural resistance will thwart much of that fire ball. If Bob the Breton gets lit on fire with a torch, no such luck. Since magic will be prevelant quite a bit more perhaps than in SoS it should be understood that even in this world magic is pretty rare, and good magic very rare. It's a specialization and only the very talented and probably rich can afford to be top class magic users. Most people won't do much with it and most that do won't do too much beyond basic spells. I like keeping magic rare and special. In so saying that I like to add that it's probably my favorite concept and still hope to see unique uses of it written here.

2. Try not to dwell too much on game mechanics. For example in the game Bretons are mostly suited to be defensive mages usually physically flimsy and what not. But if you look at the lore, Bretons are amongst the best archers in Tamriel, individually perhaps less skilled than Bosmer and Dunmer, but most likley much more organized. They're also capable knights. So all the game mechanics mean is that for 50 percent + 1 of the time a Breton will be more likley to practice magic, be weaker physically etc than a Nord for example. But it should be hardly considered a norm. That's only one aspect of each race and this applies to all races. Another example I can think of is in SoS in which the nomads weren't the typical Redguard, but more like the Turkic-Mongol steppe people such as the Mamluks.

3. Keep in mind the ethnic/racial composition of High Rock. They are a place were man and elf were mixed producing the Bretons. To the north and east the Bretons will probably be more Nord like. To the west and south probably more elf (and imperial) like. I want to do away with cookie cutter understanding of the races in Tamriel and allow variation within each group. Anyway within this conflict there will also be of course propaganda. The pro Nordic Bretons will espouse their Nordic heritage while the pro Aldmeri Bretons will espouse their elven heritage. I want that aspect to be incorperated within the RP.



Politics/Military of the United Kingdoms of High Rock:

http://www.imperial-library.info/maps/cyrodiillargelowrescr7.jpg

That is the map we will be using. Jehanna will be in control by the Nords, Daggerfall and Direnni Island will be in control of the Aldmeri Dominion. Everything else belongs to Elysana at least in theory. High Rock is a fuedal coalition of Kingdoms coursed to stay together by Elysana's political ability and although direct control isn't established, she still holds sway as Queen of all High Rock. A word of warning, I don't want everyone to be the "genius mastermind that will change the regime." There is however discontent among SOME of the Breton "loyalists." Anyway I like the map we are using because it shows alot more settlements and they have 3 levels. Red, pink and white. There are also un named villages in High Rock that are not on the map but will be RPed out at our own disgression.

The red dots are huge cities. They'll have tall stone walls and towers, rich with trade and Guild HQs along with a fortress inside complete with a professional military of about 15,000 with 1/3 Knight to troop ratio. That means that with 15,000 soldiers, 5,000 of them will be Knights. In medieval warfare mounted Knights were the tanks of their times. Heavily armored, well trained and groomed for war and the courts. They don't have to be the typical knight in shining armor but 1/3rd of the force will be this nobility which will be skilled and well armed. Even so protect your nobility, if lost it could cause civil unrest. Also look up in the lore if your city has a Knightly Order such as the Knights of the Rose in Wayrest. Ontop of the 15,000 professional troops this settlement level is also capable of raising militia troops depending on circumstance ranging from another 10,000 to 20,000. These are somewhat armed troops with some basic training. A simple spear and shield or a club or a soft bow. Can easily rout if not supported and rarely mounted.

The pink dots are large cities although not to the level of the above mentioned. They still have stone walls although smaller along with a smaller castle for the nobility. These cities usually work as a mid way point of trade because of the lower taxes. Although having a smaller populace to draw from, they are none the less vital to High Rock. They are capable of raising 10,000 professional troops with a 1/10 knight to troop ratio. Along with that they can raise a militia force of 5,000 to 10,000 if needed.

The white dots are large towns. Usually more quiet than the larger settlements and surrounded usually by large wooden walls rather than stone. They usually survive on the farming and hunting that the populace does along with the many villages surrounding the area. They rarely if ever have guild halls although each has a temple to worship at. The rulers are minor nobility with a castle to match. Even so the settlement is nothing to scoff at. They are still capable of raising 5,000 professional soldiers with a 1/10 knight to troop ratio. From the villages and hills as well as within the town itself a force of up to another 5,000 of militia grade troops can be raised if needed.

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As you've noticied i've done away with completely static troop numbers and let people have a bit more freedom. You don't have to list each regiment and what each one specializes in. I just want a generality between archer/cavalry/infantry. I don't mind it if in one battle you have 100 of each and then you decide that you don't need any more archers and you arm them with infantry weapons if you can RP how you got them armed that is. Just keep in mind that not all the skills and abilities are interchangable. You're not going to take a swordman and make him into an archer. You can recruit troops again and again from your settlements but this doesn't mean you're going to be able to throw away 20,000 men and come back next tuesday with the same force ready to go at it again. And if you start levying your entire populace you may also end up with a rebellion.

In any case if you want to get super discriptive with it all and it's really your cup of tea *cough*Duval*cough* feel free to do so. I havn't specified the Aldmeri Dominion and Nordic military components but will do so with the leaders of either faction via PM.


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Character Sheets are optional and may be done in whatever way one wants to do them or not at all. Just have something so if someone asks you "who are you again" you can point to it and they know. I decided to do away with the sheets because they're just a pain to twenty some PMs in an hour and sorting out who to what. If you REALLY want to/need to send me something via PM feel free to. If not go here:

http://www.gamesas.com/bgsforums/index.php?showtopic=975126

And remember, limitless creativity doesn't mean stupidity.

South of the Bjoulsae River

Banesworth Fort

They had been trapped for almost a week now by the acursed nomads. The meeting between the Queen and the Khan of Skaven seemed to have gone well to Varulae but on their way back their small party along with the escort had had to rush to the fort just south of the river. The bridge leading into High Rock could be seen from the walls off in the distance over the flat terrain and the border militia tried to cross it but were beaten back by the numerically superior nomad force. Vile, short legged, stocky, almond eyed people, Varulae thought. Thieves that had crawled onto Tamriel's shores after the Redguards. No less than five hundred rode their horses around the small fort throwing insults as others had gathered wood to build a siege tower. They know what they had cought, probably a spy in the courts of Skaven. Capturing Elysana would gather each one a fortune if a ransome would be paid. Or she could be sold for even more to Helseth, or the Dominion or even Daggerfall.

Varulae looked over the walls down at them. Her warm light blue robe hugged her body tightly as the wind blew pulling it around her tall form a sign of her more elven heritage although her human ears made it difficult to be sure. Her long robe hid the fact that she wore no sort of shoe but instead wore enchanting rings to keep her just barley above the ground. Around her hips hung a belt holding up a quiver that kept enchanted arrows ready. No bow was present however.

The clouds above were dark and slightly raining. Although They were a small group of about fifty the small fort would still present a difficult to breach. The rain would aid in keeping the tower wet from fire although they had members quite capable enough of dealing with that as well. Most of the people were inside quietly eating and considering their next move. Only a few such as herself, some Breton Elite Arcane Archers and the quiet Dunmer she had met in Hammerfell named Andrethi Octavius. It wasn't his real name, obviously the last one especially. They had not met on pleasant circumstances. They were taken as prisoners of war by the Ayuubs after the battle of Lainlyn, stripped of everything, tied up and thrown into small two wheeled horse drawn carts and to be sold wherever they would fetch a price for whatever task one had paid money for. He was bleeding and dying and she had healed his physical wounds. Mentally however he did not remember who he was.

"The Queen wants to speak with you." Kaasha's voice broke Varulae's concentration almost scaring her. Kaasha's feline ohmes raht ears were lowered somewhat and her tail didn't playfully slither in the air as it did usually. Unless a relief force would arrive soon they would be in trouble.

Andrethi turned toward Varulae as he saw her walk away. Kaasha however began working toward him. The sway of her teaseful hips soon matched her grinning lips. Andrethi pretended not to notice, instead looking out over the mass of nomads walking about their yurts, riding between one another transporting wood and seeing as the tower was built up bit by bit. It had been nine months since he had entered the service of Queen Elysana as one of her Elites. His first memory was seeing her, seeing Varulae, her unique eyes one blue the other green. Those months they had spent in captivity bonded them quickly. He may not know who he was but he was happy with her.

"Well that tower seems like it will be finished soon." The Khajiit's feline voice spoke to him as he stood still as a statue gazing at the obvious fact down below. She wore a pair of ankle high boots while her legs were wrapped in leather. A belt wrapped around her hips had a piece of cloth covering the front and back. A leather cuirasse hugged her body for protection while her hands were gloved with studded metal knuckles.

"I suppose so." Andrethi's reply was soft. His long legs seemed to be rooted in the stone wall he was standing on. Simple black shoes would allow his steps to be quick and soft. Loose comfortable fitting black pants and shirt were under a similarly dark robe. A light armor lammelar cuirass vest covered his torso while a round steel shield was hung over his back. Just under it was a quiver of barbed arrows. On his left hip a recurve nomad bow hung along with a quality scimitar, balanced and tempered. His shoulders were covered in steel plates. A wound to the joint could end in death. His hands grasped the end of his single braided tail wrapping it around his neck. A spiked steel helmet was what he pulled over his head. Mail hanged down from it to his collar bones covering his face except his eyes.

Main Character Sheet

Name: http://www.majhost.com/gallery/Anticlere/Timeline/manfred2.jpg (Credit goes to tayroc for the drawing)
Race: Breton (Anticlerian of birth)
Age: 39
Birthsign: The Steed

Physical Description: Manfred was always a fit man. Standing five feet five inches tall, he might be considered short by some, his muscle makes up for it. His strong, scarred arms reach down almost to his knees, which can sometimes give him the appearance of an oddly looking brute. His legs are muscular as well, and well-toned in proportion of the rest of the body (save for the fact they are rather short). Manfred's face is rather crude, furrowed with numerous untimely wrinkles and marks from past battles, the most notable of which is the fact that the tip of his slightly snub, small nose is gone, taken by a Dremora's sword. His medium-sized eyes of steel-grey colour are low in his face compared to his nose, thus he has a high brow. Above the thin, straight line which is his lips hangs a lush deep black moustache. Manfred's face is framed by very long, lush black hair that flow down on his shoulders, usually almost totally covering them.

History: Son of Lord Auberon Flyte, and heir to the title of Lord of Anticlere, Manfred had an unsurprisingly lavish childhood. He was somewhat forced into a friendship with Meniel d'Malvousin, the son of the Magister of the Knights of the Flame at the time, Chatelle d'Malvousin; this was done in order to ensure that the loyalty of the Knights of the Flame to Lord Flyte continued, since the Knights went with their Magister, and it was hoped that the Magister would not move against his childhood friend.

When Lord Auberon Flyte died in 3E 330 (at the time Auberon was 57), and Chatelle d'Malvousin committed ritual suicide, the Lorddom of Anticlere passed on to Manfred Flyte, and the leadership of the Knights of the Flame passed on to Meniel d'Malvousin. Manfred, after many difficulties, held Anticlere against the Daedric Hordes, and led it into the troubled 4th Era; he refrained from outer dealings, concentrating on stabilizing the Lorddom after the damage left by the Invasion. During this time, he married d'Malvousin's sister, Joan d'Malvousin, as a sign of great friendship, tying the two families. Joan gave birth to a fine son, who Manfred named Auberon in honour of his father.

With his family line somewhat secure, Manfred decided it was time to march out as an ally of Wayrest to the siege of Sentinel, an action which he was contemplating ever since the siege began. This action, however, did not go completely according to plan, as Manfred was captured. However, he somewhat befriended High King Haroun during his captivity, training the Ra Gada troops along with the rest of the Anticlerians that shared his fate.

Following the Battle of Lainlyn Forest, and the establishment of Sentinel as an independent nation, Manfred returned to Anticlere. The land was being ravaged by a three-side civil war, with none of the sides willing to see him return; however, despite the efforts, Manfred managed to convince the majority of the troops sent to stop him to join his side, and has reclaimed his capital, triggering a series of uprisings within the other cities.

The rest of the Anticlerian army swiftly flocked to the Flyte banner following these events; the civil war was swiftly over, although Meniel still remains free, having fled to Shalgora with a handful of men to try and assemble an army to claim Anticlere. Just how much a threat he is remains to be seen, however it is highly unlikely the former Magister could pose much of a threat to Manfred, who now firmly sat upon the throne of Anticlere, having called immediate elections to replace the entire Council of Nobles.

Weapons: A large, pitch black colovian highlander axe, wielded in both hands.
Armor: Manfred sports a richly silver-encrusted steel plate, with the lack of a helmet. Upon his oval shield, which can be strapped to his hand with two black leather straps, he proudly displays the Flyte family coat of arms - a dark green snake wrapping around a snow-white lily, on a background of deep grey.

Misc. Items: On his neck, Manfred always wears a small silver chain, from which hangs a small silver locket with a lily carved onto its lid. The locket is always locked, and the key to it Manfred keeps with himself at all times.

Companions: Wilfred du Lombard, 27-years-old Breton Male, Champion of Lord Flyte of Anticlere and the Magister of the Knights of the Restored Flame. Wilfred is a young and optimistic man, hailing from one of the few families of nobility that own land outside of the cities. Having been counted amongst the best of the Knights of the Flame previously, he is a skilled warrior, both on horseback and on foot.

Charles d'Artagnan, 44-years-old Breton Male, Admiral of the Anticlerian Navy. Charles hails from one of the many noble families that have their roots in the cities, which ensures good education and a practical thinking. Although he may not be the best admiral, Charles knows how to go about his duties with competence, and although secretly he'd prefer a life of a merchant to service in the Navy, this wish ensures that he defends the trade routes of Anticlere with fierce determination.

Faction Sheet

Faction Name: http://www.gamesas.com/bgsforums/index.php?showtopic=971916 (13420)

Rank: Manfred Flyte- Flyte of Anticlere
Wilfred du Lombard- Champion of Flyte of Anticlere, Magister of the Knights of the Restored Flame

Knights of the Restored Flame (20)- The twenty men that have been taken prisoners in the Outremer along with Manfred himself and Wilfred, they're the new knightly order of Anticlere, intended to replace the old Knights of the Flame that have followed Meniel in the civil war. Their functions are exactly the same as those of the old Knights, although their prowess with melee weapons is not as impressive (something that Wilfred is looking to fix). They wear mixtures of Ra Gada clothing and armor, and employ arbalests, their old weapons, along with scimitars of Ra Gada design.

Anticlerian Infantry (4000)- Given that Anticlere is a rather rich province, its infantry represents that by being finely equipped. The men have knee-long chainmails, their limbs are covered by iron plate armor, and they wear Burgonet helmets. Each man carries approximately thirty steel bolts, a crossbow, and a steel longsword, along with a small round steel shield. For every hundred of these men, there is a standard bearer with the Flyte Family Coat of Arms.

Anticlerian Arbalesters (5400)- Those men are of poorer standing in the society than the Infantrymen. They all wear knee-long chainmail, along Burgonet helmets. They use powerful arbalests as their primary weapons, each carrying a quiver of thirty steel-tipped bolts, and have large man-sized pavise shields to hide behind while reloading, which are carried on their backs. Each has either a mace, an axe or a shortsword of some sort for close quarters.

Anticlerian Light Cavalry (2100)- Mounted on simple horses that were not bred for war but rather for fields, these men are rich enough to afford a horse, and serve as skirmishers and general light cavalry. Each wears a padded leather cuirass and a leather skull cap, and carries either two javelins and a mace, an axe, or a sword, or a bow, forty steel arrows, and an iron-tipped spear.

Anticlerian Heavy Cavalry (1900)- Those are the richest (besides the nobles) of the society who, while not nobles, can afford sturdy horses more fit for war than those of the light cavalry. They wear knee-long chainmail and iron plate armor on their limbs, along with a Burgonet helmet. Each carries an iron-tipped lance, and a mace, a sword or an axe for close quarters. For every hundred of these men, there is a standard bearer who carries the Flyte Family Coat of Arms.

Manfred

"Anticlere, how I missed you..."

Lord Flyte of Anticlere, Manfred Flyte, smiled softly as he whispered this, looking at the city below from a balconry of his keep. In his hands he carefully held a baby - his baby, Auberon, the heir to the throne of Anticlere.

"Look, son! One day, this will all be yours. This, and more. Much more." Manfred looked down to his son; the warm expression looked quite odd on his face, weathered and mangled by campaigns. His son laughed, reaching up and pulling the Lord by his moustache.

Manfred bit his lip, chuckling. "Already warlike, I see! A time will come when you'll pull other lords by their moustache, and they won't enjoy it as much as I do now." He stopped speaking for a moment, looking to the Iliac Bay. Several merchant ships were docked in Anticlere, and off in the distance, he could see warships, his warships, returning home. Most likely Charles. I wonder, what news does he carry..?

"But you don't know anything about that, yet. You'll learn! With time, as I have. You'll grumble and groan at your teachers, but eventually you'll learn. And not only from teachers, but from your father as well. At very least, I could teach you not to trust women." The Flyte of Anticlere frowned, his gaze slipping towards the town square. Mere weeks ago, Joan had been beheaded there for her treachery. It was not a decission that Manfred wanted to make, yet he had to - to give his wife better treatment than Louis, a rebellious general of his and the third one to try earn something from the civil war, would be to encourage her for further treachery. And thus, barely older than a year, Auberon was left without a mother.

It was hard not to dwell on this, and Manfred found himself constantly returning to this matter whenever he was alone or with his son. The baby, on the other hand, didn't seem to be affected by the mood of his father, and continued playing with the lush moustache, finally forcing Manfred out of his depressing thoughts by giving it another strong pull.

"Oh, very well." Manfred chuckled again, lifting his son up carefully to give him a better view of the prosperous city of Anticlere. The boy stopped pestering his father's moustache, quickly becoming entranced by the movement and noises comming from down below.

Maybe Wilfred's wedding will brighten my mood and help clear up my thoughts... Manfred sighed. The young noble had invited his Lord to the wedding to be the best man, and it was supposed to take place tommorrow, in Wilfred's home castle not too far from Anticlere herself, which had passed on to him as, after returning from the War of the Wolves in the Outremer, Wilfred found his father to have died of old age.

Main Character Sheet

Name: Arslan

Race: Ra Gada (Ayuub Tribe)

Age: 27

Birthsign: The Steed

Physical Description: A young and fit Ra Gada man at his prime, Arslan is five foot seven inches tall, around the average height for an Ayuub. He is growing into what will probably be the 'ideal' Ra Gada ? a warrior of middle age, well built, but shorter than the 'ideal' Imperial. Life in a desert has made him a swift runner, as well as a good bowman, as is reflected on his muscular arms and legs. Neither his shoulders, nor his chest are very wide, making him around the same width everywhere, unlike with the Nords who get wider going up. A white tribal tattoo covers his entire left upper arm.

Arslan's face could be considered somewhat handsome, if it wasn't marked by his past few weeks with exhaustion and constant worry. Small, slightly sideward brown eyes, only a bit snub nose, thin long lips and a wispy black moustache define his facial features. His pitch black hair is kept cropped, one of the most common haircuts amongst the Ra Gada.

History: Born into the Ayuub Tribe, Arslan is a true child of the Alik'R. His father taught him everything about hunting in the desert, and his mother passed on to him several secrets of nomad medicine. As is usual in the Ayuub Tribe, Arslan was a good rider, and a better bowman. Cold nights and hot days made him stronger than many of the city dwellers, preparing him for the horrors he'd have to endure.

When Baibars became the Khan of the Ayuubs, Arslan rode out to war with the rest of the tribe. He took part in the Battle of Lainlyn Forest (however he recalls very little of it due to the injury to his head he sustained). Unfortunately, he was captured by a Bretic soldier, who dragged him off to High Rock in hopes of selling as a slave.

Arslan was supposed to be sold in Wayrest, however he never reached it. After several brutal weeks, the nomad managed to escape his captors, recovering most of his former possessions (which the captor hoped to sell off as exotics to some noble) in his escape. Now, completely lost in an alien land, with no friends or allies to speak of, Arslan is completely unaware of the fact that he's only wandering further away from his home, being on the road Wayrest-Evermore.

Weapons: A composite bow, along with 40 arrows, also a traditional nomad scimitar, which hangs from his belt without a sheath as is common amongst the Ayuubs. All of these he has managed to recover during his escape from the Bretons.

Armor/Clothing: As his captors didn't bother getting him anything that'd mark him as a prisoner, Arslan wears the traditional Alik'R nomad clothes ? flowing robes, designed for warmth at night and fending off sun at day. They're in a worse shape than is usual, with many scratches, also with a layer of dust and dirt, due to the things he had to endure during his captivity. His wicker cuirass, only armor he ever wore in his whole life, is also the same way.

Misc.: Arslan managed to steal a Bretic military canteen from his captors, along with a small leather bag for food.

Arslan

A lone wolf approached the creek. Blood was dripping out of the creature's wounds, of which it had plenty - obviously, it had just escaped from a fight, perhaps with a hunter, as the wounds seemed to have been made by a shortsword, and an arrow was sticking out from its leg. To anyone who knew at least something about wildlife it would be obvious that this was a lone wolf - banished or otherwise separated from his pack, struggling to survive out alone. Perhaps this was not even the creature's homeland - maybe it had wandered here from western High Rock, or northern Hammerfall...

Just as the wolf carefully leaned down to drink from the creek, without warning the silence was interrupted by the whistle of an arrow, and the hapless creature slumped to the ground, a fresh arrow sticking out of its throat. For a couple more moments, everything was silent.

The bushes rustled, and a man - a Ra Gada - crawled out of them, scurrying towards his fallen prey. Carefully pulling the arrow out, he washed it in the creek, before hauling the wolf on his shoulders and making off towards the same bushes he emerged from a few moments ago.

Arslan regretted having to slay the wolf - the creature was, after all, probably in a position not dissimilar to his - but in the land of the pale-skinned horseman of the north, an Ayuub had to do everything to survive. The Bretons certainly did not welcome him here, as he was a former prisoner of war, and of the race with which war was very frequent for the duchies of High Rock. Although the Ayuubs rarely if ever came into contact with any outsiders, Bretic or otherwise, the pale-skins didn't distinguish between a Sentinel city-dweller and Alik'R nomad.

Tall Papa be praised for letting me survive in these hostile lands... If I am lucky, the Gods may guide me back to my homeland. At very least, I am glad that, according to the rumors amongst the city-dweller pale-skins, the Warrior Wave has prevailed and Hammerfall is free... partially. Hopefully, the city-dwellers and the nomads can finish their work and drive the Heartlanders out of the Motherland completely...

I would give much to live to see that day, when the lands our ancestors won from the Orcs are no longer under the yoke of the Heartlanders and their 'allies'. I musn't lose hope as, like Khan Baibars and Khan Nur-din always said, it is something you give to yourself - the meaning of inner strength is to give yourself hope at the darkest times. I must take heart, and then I shall be able to return to the Alik'R... alive. And if I die in this land... I shall at least try to go fighting.

These thoughts were ever-present, they followed Arslan day to day, and they were the only thing that kept him from going insane and throwing himself at the pale-skins' weapons with a warcry. No, he couldn't do that... he had to survive. If this was his test before manhood, so be it - he would pass it, or die.

Main Character Sheet

Name: Rurik (pronounced Rhou-rek) Far-Stride (alternatively known as the Great North Bear to the Bretons and Dunmer)

Race: Nord (Solitudian)

Age: 42

Birthsign: The Serpent

Physical Description: Standing at six feet five inches, Rurik is not particularly tall for a Nord; however his build makes up for that. While his shoulders are not particularly broad, that gives him an overall better look, that of a well-toned, muscular warrior, lacking the 'barbarian brute' look to his figure that's so common amongst Nords. That's only so when his upper body is covered, however ? his chest and arms are decorated with blue Nordic tattoos, which depict the story of the coming of King Ysgramor from Atmora, with the word 'Shor' tattooed below it all.

Rurik's face is also tattooed ? a dragon's head is on his brow and below it the word 'Ysmir'. His face itself speaks of his many journeys and battles, with a deep scar running from his left ear to his chin. His eyes are deep, and sometimes seem world-weary, suggesting that the Nord saw much during his life. A large nose, below which are his fat, wide lips, most of the time invisible due to his lush, dark brown beard. All this is framed by his long, messy dark brown hair, which is long enough to reach his shoulders.

History: Rurik Far-Stride was given such a nickname for a reason. Before his conquests in High Rock, he has been to many places, starting with Solitude at his birth. His father was the captain of a Snekkja that was a part of an exploration fleet regularly making journeys into the Sea of Ghosts. Rurik joined his father's crew of rowers as soon as he was of age, and served there for several years, until peaking the age of 20.

A career as a rower wasn't to Rurik's liking, and he travelled to Winter Hold, where he came to the attention of a company of raiders. Rurik joined them, and it took him only three years to become the captain of one of their Drekkars. His name quickly became feared by the fishermen of west Vvardenfell, and soon Rurik was famous enough to assemble his own fleet, consisting of three Drekkars (one of which was his flagship) and nine Snekkjas, the crews numbering roughly at 450 men in total.

When the Nordic Invasion of Morrowind began during the Oblivion Crisis, Rurik was one of the many raiders that flocked to the invading army. He fought in most of the battles of the invasion, gaining valuable experience, learning much about sieges and open field battles proper. By the time the invasion was repulsed, Rurik had already managed to convince several other commanders to join him in carrying out the plan he had thought up. Contacting the King of Solitude, he also secured his help, and, with many men amassed under his banner, Rurik put his plan into motion.

The Duchy of Jehanna, the closest Bretic Realm to Solitude, was invaded and swiftly taken over. Farrun, feeling threatened by the Nordic host, and worried about the growing power of Wayrest, was made an ally of the now-Nordic Grand Duchy of Jehanna, although in truth it was more of a vassal state, controlled almost directly by Rurik. Now, the conqueror has stopped for a moment to catch his breath, however he and his generals are already plotting the next move against the Bretons.

Weapons: Rurik uses a massive bastard sword, large enough to count as a claymore for the common man. It is a fine double-edged blade, crafted of Nordic steel, specifically for the purpose of the invasion of High Rock, which was seen by many as another step towards rebuilding the Nordic Empire. A sentence is carved into the middle of the blade in old Nordic runes, which reads 'Alduin of the Bretons'. The blade has no sheath, usually hanging naked from Rurik's belt.

Armor/Clothing: Rurik wears the traditional armor of the Nords. A hauberk, with rings crafted out of Nordic steel, along with Nordic Steel Plate on his arms and legs, trimmed with silver. The hauberk is held by the waist by a wide fur belt that has a silver clasp, upon which carved are three names: Shor, Ysmir and Kyne. Rurik doesn't wear a helmet; however he has a large bear fur coat with a hood, which is a bear's head, which he puts on in battle, hence his nickname.

Misc. Items: A trophy rope, woven out of tongues as according to the old Nordic tradition. It is not a thing Rurik carries out in the open; however he ties it around his neck when going to battle to further inspire fear into enemies and encourage his Nordic troops.

Companions: Vytatus Great-Mouth, a Nord from Winter Hold and a companion of Rurik since the Invasion of Morrowind. Despite his nickname, the nearly seven foot tall, well built Nord appears to be mute, as he communicates by signs and no one has ever heard him speak. Some speculate that Vytatus is one of those skilled in Thu'um, the Way of the Voice; how true that is remains to be seen, although there are some amongst Rurik's men who claim that Vytatus shouted the Gates of Jehanna open. Following the 'alliance' of Jehanna and Farrun, and the mysterious death of the duke of Farrun, Vytatus has been proclaimed the new duke.


Faction Sheet

Faction Name: Grand Duchy of Jehanna (Velikiye Khnyazhestvo Jehannyja) (23410)

Rank: Rurik Far-Stride- Grand Duke (referred to as Velikiy Khnyaz by his Nordic subjects)
Vytatus Great-Mouth- Duke (Khnyaz) of Farrun

Men of Middle-Skyrim (10)- Skilled in the Way of the Voice, the gift of Kyne, these Nords are the very elite of the Nordic Armies, the warriors of legend. While they are not particularly well-built, and wear only haubergeons of Nordic Steel in the way of armor, their Thu'um magic is a highly formidable weapon. They can perform a variety of tasks, from frightening enemies to knocking down gates; however they need to be protected, as the tiny size of this unit available to Rurik makes them very fragile.

Solitude Heavy Infantry (5000)- Armored with hauberks of Nordic Steel, and armed with long pikes and axes for sidearms, these men are a very potent force, as long as they remain in formation. Usually they fight in pike blocks, nearly invulnerable from the front, but clumsy when the need comes to turn, they need to be protected by other, more flexible parts of the army to make full use of them.

Berserkers (1000)- Assembled from the Mead Halls of Skyrim, these men wear little in the way of armor, however their shock value is still huge, despite the relatively small size of this unit. They go into battle with a mad desire to kill; each man is one of the finest that Skyrim can offer, easily towering most other soldiers, even fellow Nords. Armed with large axes, they are at the tip of an infantry assault, inspiring friends and disheartening foes in their apparent invulnerability.

Druzhina (2500)- These men are one of the few powerful forces of cavalry available to a Nordic general. Mounted on sturdy (although slightly smaller than usual) horses, they're armored in the traditional Nordic Steel hauberks, only with the addition of simple iron plate to protect their limbs. Each man carries roughly 30 arrows, a simple smaller version of a Nordic bow, and a bardiche.

Nordic Archers (1400)- Although the Nords are not famed marksmen, these men are still nothing to be scoffed at. Armed with simple Nordic shortbows, thirty arrows with Nordic Steel tips, and an axe or a sword of some sort, they make up for what they may lack in ranged warfare by being capable of acting as melee infantry as well, being armored with Nordic Steel hauberks, and carrying small round wooden shields on their backs.

Bretic Bowmen (5500)- Armored mostly with padded leathers, these men are gathered from the lower class people of Jehanna and Farrun. Mostly, they are hunters, thus they know how to use a bow well, as shooting a running stag is not much different from shooting a running man. They use smaller versions of the Bretic longbow, supplied from the armories of Jehanna and Farrun to ensure their effectiveness, as the hunting bows they usually use are frequently largely ineffective against even the lightest of armors.

Bretic Sergeants (4000)- Bretons are not renowned for their infantry, but not everyone can, obviously, afford a horse, thus the farmers and the like are enlisted into the armies as these men. They have large wooden towershields, and are armored mostly like the bowmen ? with padded leather, some of the lucky ones managing to scavenge chainmail off of fallen foes after battle. Their primary and frequently only weapon is a spear, with which they can form the basic schiltron formation, very useful against cavalry.

Mercenary Bretic Heavy Cavalry (4000)- If there is something Bretons can do well, it's fighting mounted. Rurik has realized this, and assembled a company of heavy cavalry to aid his cause. Armed with lances for greatest shock impact, along with sidearms of some sort, they're a force to be reckoned with when charging on an open field. The backgrounds of the cavalrymen of this unit vary greatly, from landless knights looking for service to banditry serve alongside each other, and this is reflected in their armor ? while some may wear plate, others wear chainmail, with many options in-between. Still, despite the appearance they are nothing to be scoffed at.

Rurik

"We must press on now, while we still have momentum! Ride to the gates of Evermoor, shout them open, and strike at Wayrest immediately!"

Rurik looked at the roaring Nord with pity. The man, although large and a capable warrior, seemed to have little understanding of strategy needed to finish a succesful campaign, and that was why he never became more than a simple Druzhina commander - an honorable position, but only so.

"By Shor! If you're so foolish as to believe we can do that now, then you would do well to stay quiet and at least keep your rashness to yourself." The Velikiy Khnyaz of Jehanna slammed down his fist on the table. The approving mutters of the other Nords that rippled down the table after the Druzhina captain spoke disappeared immediately, and all the eyes shifted to Rurik.

"If we have been succesful in the early stages of our campaign, it doesn't mean the Bretons will all roll over and let us conquer them like that. Yes, we defeated Wayrest's army on the road to Solitude, yes, we have a firm grasp on Jehanna and Farrun. But our numbers aren't sufficient enough to risk pushing so far west as Wayrest, where the half-breeds' armies await us with open arms. We must await for word and, more importantly, troops from the King of Solitude until we can push forth."

"But by then, Evermoor will be more than ready to meet us!" Another commander stood up, however quickly fell back into his seat when Rurik turned to face him.

"Yes, they'll be ready to face what we have now. But they can't know what armies we may bring in from the east. They'll be fearful, uncertain, and that'll work to our advantage. Many may even flock to our side before we actually storm Evermoor; the city herself may surrender before any man can shout the gates open - that would be good. If the Bretons believe our numbers to be superior? That would also be good. If the Elven Dominion attacks them from the Far West and distracts their armies? Again, that would be good! But to throw our men into a battle they may not win, to risk all we have won by crushing the foolish Woodborne and taking Jehanna - that would be a course of action an utter idiot would attempt, I say!"

"An immediate march on Evermoor is what they expect us to do - let us not forget, they hold us for simple-minded barbarians!" Rurik laughed, slowly sitting down. "We'll see what they think once Wayrest's gate will be shouted open, and we will oh-so-gracefully spare their city from looting... At the mere price of the gates' weight in gold and silver. Wayrest is a rich city, that I know, and their merchants will need to open their pockets to keep it from crumbling like a card house."

Vytatus turned to Rurik, making several signs. The Velikiy Khnyaz of Jehanna nodded.

"Vytatus' words are wiser than all of yours', even if he cannot speak them. We must send a letter to Solitude and request assistance, if it is not already on the way. And in the meantime, more troops should be gathered from the Bretons of Jehanna and Farrun; there are enough people to draw soldiers from. The Druzhina shall march through the streets of the new Nordic cities with the wardrums, and assemble more men for war! And then, once the time is right, Evermoor's walls will tremble at the sound of Kyne's Sons, at the sound of comming of Alduin! We shall destroy their world, and remake it into a new one, a better one!"

As the lesser Nordic war chiefs and commanders roared their warcries, Rurik frowned slightly. For now, they should be motivated enough to go about their duties competently. I can only hope that the Bretons of Jehanna and Farrun are as devoted to our cause as their nobles say they are, and the call to the Great War will be answered by enough men. And that Solitude's army is going to aid us in this endeavour...

Anticlere

Parwen and Uurwen hated the water. The two elvish sister were too far away from their element ontop of which was their inability to swim. Their small boat had taken them along the coast of the Illiac bay almost up to Anticlere before they disimbarked. Heading into the port would leave them having to explain what they were doing in the city. Instead they made their way through the forests avoiding the road until they reached the walls of Anticlere. Normally they would infiltrate at night but instead the heavy fog was made use of. The two elven females each wore long dark green robes and matching shallow coned wide brim hats which coupled with their shorter stature made it easy to hide their golden faces. On their backs they wore in an x hooked elven swords. A dagger was hidden for each one under the robe around their leg. Along with that they wore a bow on their left hip and arrows on their right.

They both stepped toward the tall wall and placed their palms against the stone. Their delicate hands seemed to sink into the stone slowly with a bit of magic released. Then each lifted a foot out from under their long robes revealing simple black material surrounding their feet which they also pressed against the wall which in response gave way as their toes pressed in. They looked upward not being able to see further than five or so meters above them but slowly they began climbing following the same pattern. The identical sisters made no noise to be hurt as they picked up more speed. The wall seemed to melt around their touch, a testament to their mastery of the arcane. They were Dominion agents of the highest quality.

As they neared the top, they were as still as the stones they clung to. They used their ears to listen to the guard marching across. They waited until he had passed by a bit and side crawled toward the tower and continued up. Atop the tower however was another guard as expected. The slightly older-by-seconds-sister Parwen dipped her index and middle finger into the wall pulling out a small stone which she flung over the guard landing behind him. The next moment Uurwen ran her hand across the wall surrounding her entire hand in stone as if snow and lunged to the side, Parwen grasping her empty hand and swinging her over top the edge of the tower landing ontop the guard with her feet in his sides and her stone covered fist striking the back of his head.

Once they were both up the down spirited clouds were below them. It was as if they were riding top one of the Dominion Skybirds. The surrealness of it all would have the wait as the two had a mission to infiltrate and find out whatever could be of use.


Daggerfall

It had been so long since Armor Direnni had been in High Rock. Exile by Queen Elysana had allowed him to put things in perspective. He would now return for what was rightfully his. So far it had been a good start incorperating Daggerfall, the largest city in High Rock, into the Dominion. Even so Armor had to keep in mind not to over step his boundaries with the higher ups. The resources alloted for the Reconquest were meagre. The operation in Elseweyr had been much more difficult than expected. The key to it all would be the 'Balauri Sclavi' but of course one would also rely on the resources found on the front. Bretons were mostly composed of the slave bastard children of human mothers that the elvish nobility many years ago had indulged in. Female elves could reproduce much slower than the humans. While the elven females could hope to have three or so children over the course of her entire life, humans could spawn dozens. Ironic in a sense that the indulgance of human's over lords would make it possible for the humans to over throw them.

Short lived but many they could group together and stand up against the elves. Unless of course the short lived humans were tricked. They would be told stories of their elven kinship and incorperated as the Bosmer were. High Rock had a history of division and such stories would play up the Breton's vanity. Make them believe they are one of us instead of a crude nedic barbarian. See how 'Queen' Elysana would come to grips when her own nobility would rather liken themselves as lords in the Dominion rather than pawns in her kingdom.

"And so I say to the merchant: how are you going to get three thousand warhorses down to Sentinel? And he goes: 'Why, put them on a ship of course!'. Of course I can't agree with that, so I tell him straight: 'How're you getting three thousand horses on a single merchant ship?!'. He grins into my face, then goes: 'We've hired a mage. He says he can shrink the horses.'." The guard leaned against the wall, gestures with his left hand accompanying the obviously made up story. The other guard nodded, leaning on his arbalest. The midday guard was one of the most boring assignments a guard in Anticlere could've gotten - nothing ever happened during that time of day, thus the guards were forced to exchange whatever stories they could come up with. Not even the heavy fog could detract the storyteller from weaving his odd tale.

"You hear that, Gaston? He said they had a mage to shrink the horses! Can you believe the crap some of them are willing to buy?" He looked up, yelling to the guard that was supposed to be on guard above, at the top of the tower. However, no response came. The storyteller frowned slightly, taking a step back to get a better look at the tower, however the fog prevented him from seeing anything clear. Just that there was a figure up above there.

"Gaston? You good up there?" The frown on his face grew as, once again, no reply came. Gesturing silently for the other guard to be ready, he raised his loaded crossbow up, finger ready to release the bolt and skewer whatever was up there. Perhaps he fell asleep? Gah, this fog is getting on my nerves... The crossbowman bit his lip, trying to see through the suffocating blanket of mist. Alas, he didn't suceed, just like the first time.

"GASTON! Goddammit..." Yelling out louder, the guard took another step back. "SOMEONE GO UP THERE AND CHECK ON GASTON!"

Lord Francis de Guiralle, Northpoint

The large-gutted Lord sat on his silver throne, his left arm supporting his tilted head, and his right arm on its rest, fingers drumming annoyingly on the silver. A pair of Knights flanked his throne, standing stiff and still, spear tips reflecting the many torches light, while a half dozen or so more Knights stood at various points around the Grand Hall, including one who stood behind the two peasants before the Lord.

Francis listened half-heartedly to yet another argument of land disputes, ones that had become so heated, that he himself needed to decide the final verdict. Many such problems had arisen because of Sharnhelm's expansion northwards. Unfortunately, the expansion was completely legal and within their rights, and many farmers were forced to reduce their own lands to accommodate the rather preposterous new treaty.

Of course in return, Northpoint had received the shared mine east of Thorkan Park, but with the amount of complaints from these farmers, he began to wonder his wisdom in signing that treaty. He glanced over to the side of the Hall, where his son, Paurand stood, listening closer then his father to the situation in front of him.

Francis caught his son's eye, and Paurand just nodded to his father, and rose, leaving the Hall. Francis looked back to the old farmer in front of him, realizing the man had finished speaking and was watching him intently. Both of them were, and he gathered that the time for the verdict had come, though he truly did not know who it should be in favor of.

He knew he was generally disliked now amongst the farmers of his lands, especially with this new treaty, but with his connections with the Agricultural Affairs Office, he planned on promising a raise in grain prices for the next harvest.

All of this nonsense made his stomach grumble distinctly, so he hurried to his decision. "I have heard both of your plea's closely, and with much thought I have come to a decision." he started, glancing to make sure it was being written down by his scribe.

"The land you both covet so, will be split into half, and taken accordingly." he announced, wondering why the simple men hadn't thought of it first, and marveling slightly at his stroke of brilliance. "That is my final word, and if you would follow my scribe to the Agricultural Affairs Office, the documents can be written up if you so desire." he finished, waving his hand to signal their departure.

One of the peasants took a sudden step forwards, shouting at the Lord's decision, but the Knight grabbed his arm forcefully, stopping him dead. Francis' face fell into a frown, and he signaled for the man to be let go, thoughts of rebellion because of the "cruelty of Francis" forming in his head.

"That is my word. Take it or loose all of the land." he said forcefully, as he rose, and left the Hall swiftly, hearing a few grunts as the man was seemingly removed with some shoving. He sighed, as some days were tougher than others.

His two Knights followed behind him, as he made his way to the Dinning Hall, feeling a bit peckish after a hard day of ruling a land.



Edwinn Gaston, Old Gate

The reflection of the Breton brought his left arm up, and extended his index finger, poking at his "eye" teeth on the top, feeling how sharp they had become, and pulling back in shock when a small [censored] of blood appeared on that same finger.

He looked down at the red substance that leaked down his hand, and was thankful that he did not desire it. Not yet, anyways.

He had come to accept the truth, only recently, but still accepted it nonetheless. He had become a vampire, or was in the process, as his body slowly began dying, and he glanced back in the mirror again. He still recoiled at the pale red eyes that stared back at him, and now the teeth had grown in, showing his condition even clearer. His face had become much paler now, and shrunken in, leaving hollow cheeks in its place.

He had not appeared in public for almost twenty days now, and few knew about his new condition. In fact only Froulrund and his Lord, Francis de Guiralle knew of his new condition. He had feared to tell his Lord, unsure of whether he would be banished or not, or perhaps even killed on the spot. However, he found the man to be understanding, and even sympathetic, offering the Court Mage, Hubert Fraton to work on some way of concealing his vampiric looks.

So far the eyes were the biggest concern, as liberal amounts of make-up could bring the color back to his skin. Hubert had announced that he was progressing with a spell that would fix a colored disk over the red in his eyes, and would last roughly a day each. The process was slow going, and was taking a lot of gold from his own coffers, but whatever it cost, he would pay.

He knew the people would not be as welcoming as Lord Francis to a vampire.



Garend, Wayrest

Garend sat outside of a small, but nicely decorated tavern, a glass of wine on the small table in front of him, as he watched the people go about their business on the street. He wore a wide grin on his face, as he sipped his wine, taking care not to spill any on his clothes. Clothes that might have looked a little odd among the brighter colors in the area, as he wore a dark green shirt with black pants. Of course, the fine blade at his side marked him as a fighter, and anybody who thought about it closely might have suspected a killer for hire.

But it seemed like nobody cared about this one man sitting alone, sipping his tea, and that is what widened his grin at a job well done.

Only two hours ago, he had been hanging outside of a bathroom of a nobles house, preparing for when the man made his usual bathroom stop to fix his wig. All of that information had come from nearly three months of watching, waiting and of course somebody telling him it wasn't his real hair.

And so, like he had done to a dozen other, he plunged his fine blade into the man's neck, and laid the body to rest in a small alcove outside of the window. The body would hopefully remain unfound for days, giving Garend a good amount of time to arrange transport back to Northpoint to receive his pay from Lord Francis, and move onto his next job, wherever that may be.

A group of guards on patrol turned the corner and began walking in his direction. Many novice killers would have been unnerved by the sight right after a kill, but Garend was no novice, and as the guards walked by him, he smiled, and rose his glass to the men.

"Good day." he said cheerfully.

One of the guards made a rude gesture with his finger as another gave him some choice words about where to shove that wine glass, which only made Garend happier. He was getting quite a sum for the job, and once he had collected his pay, it would be this Lord Francis who the body would be traced back to, not him.

Anticlaire
Simon Ozias came to a rise in the hill on the long and lonesome road. Before him lay the beautiful and neat rows of hedges, farms and orchards. Fog hung low on the ground, leaving only the tops of houses and trees to be seen in some places, Islands of domesticity in a sea of grey dirty haze. Under the steel mask Ozias' breath hung thick and hot infront of his face.

In the distance was that city that he had been seeking. The one where it would all begin. The dirty black smoke from thousands of chimneys smeared the sky like a charcoal drawing after it had been leaned on. Simon Ozias took a deep breath and sighed. He had finally arrived. Behind him his followers kept a silent and respectful distance, allowing Simon room to think.

Without a word, the man began to walk carefully down the cobbled path towards the main gate. Farmers and merchants paused from their work to look up in curiosity, worry and derision as the black robed monks passed. They didn't know him, yet.

Soon they will... Ozias smiled under the mask. Soon they'll come to love me...

Rurik

The streets of Jehanna were crowded with people, observing this unusual procession. Some five hundred fully armed and armored Druzhina, mounted on their horses, were marching down the main street, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHHkIb2R_is&feature=related (OOC: The drums of the first piece) and assembling the men to war. This was something new to the Bretons, however a rather familiar sight for the Nords - whenever a greater war would loom, the Druzhina would march through their cities and assemble men to war with the wardrums; this also happened before the Nordic Invasion of Morrowind. Rurik himself was riding his sturdy black Skyrimian horse a few steps ahead of the Druzhina, sword in hand.

At first, the people of Jehanna seemed rather unsure as to what was their part here; many cheered, as they had chosen themselves to renounce their Elven roots, yet the fact they were supposed to join this march didn't come to them. However, when a group of heavily armed knights on horseback joined this procession, a few of the more courageous commoners also stepped in behind their nobility. As the pace of the drums increased, more and more joined the Druzhina - individual nobles on horseback, who had been instructed by Rurik to show up prepared, joined the group of knights, while the commoners formed an increasing crowd behind them. Rurik smiled to himself. These people will make fine Nords... After a bit of time, that is. They'll learn, and once they do, Jehanna will no longer be a part of High Rock, and not only politically.

The success of this march would be good - in Jehanna and Farrun together, seven thousand Bretons would levy to their cause, two thousands of that nobility, the famous heavy cavalry of High Rock. The rest were simple commoners, who would have to be outfitted according to their lives. Still, Rurik was satisfied - especially considering that, as the drums of war were being beaten in Jehanna, a courier was making his way towards Solitude with request for more troops to support this invasion...


Arslan

Arslan may have known the land of Alik'R perfectly, but his knowledge of High Rock was sorely lacking at best. In Hammerfall, he could've easily gathered the right plants for setting up a fire that would've raised as little smoke as possible, yet here, in the woods of the pale-skins, he could never be sure - after all, there may have been plenty of wood, but he had no idea whatsoever as to how it burned. Best he could determine was if it were wet, and that didn't go quite well - most of the trees the Ra Gada found were so, owing the the rain that had passed earlier. Finally, he gave up, and instead decided to eat the wolf raw.

Wolves were not the best animals for edible meat, yet Arslan didn't care much for comfort or taste - so long as something was in his stomach to keep him going. As a nomad, he was capable of pushing forward to the very end of his strength, bypassing the limits that would've applied to most city-dwellers. Yet even a nomad needed food, drink and rest. And a moment's peace to think. In this case, perhaps it was good he didn't find any reliable wood for a fire - he would've been too worried about being spotted to be able to think clearly. Now, stuck in the middle of Tall Papa knows what forest, there was very little risk for the Ra Gada to be found and captured again by the pale-skins' soldiers. Thus, he was allowed to think calmly.

This journey will most likely not end well. Tall Papa is testing me - he has placed me in a land completely unlike the one our forebears were graced with. There is no desert here... Only woods, farmland. Walled cities stand everywhere, and they present the greatest obstacle to me - inside them hide many hundreds of the pale-skins' horseman. Thus I must stick to the woods... For if they spot me, and decide to chase me on their horses, my fate will be sealed on an open field. In a desert, I could avoid them... But not in those flat fields they work in.

Character sheet for The Queen's Waltz

Name: Ev?lyn.
Race: Breton.
Age: 19.
Gender: Female.
Date of birth: 14th of Sun's Dawn.
Birthsign: The Lover.
Occupation: Princess of Wayrest.

Appearence: These 3 pictures show her general appearence.

http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb127/oletolle/Evalith2.jpg?t=1239060468
http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb127/oletolle/Evalith3.jpg?t=1239060508
http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb127/oletolle/Evalith5.jpg?t=1239061152

Standing at 5'3", Ev?lyn inherited much of her mother's appearence, and carries the common traits of a well bred Breton. Like most Breton women, she holds the many of the same typical traits, such as the small facial structure and soft features. Her nose is well defined, and her rosebud lips stand out from her ivory skin. Ev?lyn locks of blonde hair falls against her back, and she enjoys putting it up in well done buns, or allowing it to hang freely

Hair: Her natural color is a more ash blonde tone, however over the years Ev?lyn has enjoyed using alchemy to cause it to appear more golden blonde. Ev?lyn's hair is long, reaching beyond her shoulders, though she keeps it loose at most times, she enjoys styling it in a well done bun or braid.

Eyes: Ev?lyn's eyes are deep grey in color, her eyes are not particulary large in size, but suit her face.
Height: 5'3"
Build: Ev?lyn holds a petite, yet quite full figure. A woman who has never been in battle or hardship, she possesses no signs of strength.
Skin: Fair, ivory skin.
Scars/Tattoo's: Has a scar on her left thigh after scraping it against a thorny branch as a child.

Personality: Despite being born into high nobility, Ev?lyn is not as arrogant as many nobles tend to be, though may easily appear as such when speaking to those who do not know her. Mischievious and charming, Ev?lyn loves being the centre of attention, and after coming of age, has begun to enjoy the attention of men. Ev?lyn posesses a sharp mind, and a tongue to match, and like her mother, will go to drastic measures to achieve her goals.

Biography: Being born as the oldest child to Queen Elysana and Lord Woodborne, Ev?lyn was met with high expectations. Winning the hearts of the people of Wayrest, Ev?lyn was raised with her sister in luxury, and from a young age recieved a fine education, being taught about history, religion, politics and of course, magicka. As a child Ev?lyn was always drawn into learning about the schools of mysticism and illusion, and had her own private teacher to teach her.

However, the young princess has always possessed a michievious side to her, and as a child she loved to play tricks on the servants, often testing her new abilities by hiding or moving items, much to the dispair of the maids and cooks. Not having many other than her sister to play with, Ev?lyn learned to amuse herself, and grew to become quite fond of alchemy.

As she grew into a fine lady, Ev?lyn clearly had recieved her looks from her graceful mother, the fair Elysana. As heir to the throne, Ev?lyn had to often spend hours learning about politics, and the laws which ruled the kingdom. She also had to meet with nobles and rulers, to maintain a relationship from an early age. Of course her parents are looking for a suitable husband for her, however the young princess is not betrothed to anyone at the moment. This leaves Ev?lyn to explore her newly found side...a more flirtatious side. As of lately, Ev?lyn learned that men love certain...aspects women carry. And after catching her mother, has learned what benefits it holds.

In recent events, Ev?lyn has come to disagree strongly with her mother's reign, and has a burning desire to take over the crown. However Ev?lyn is not foolish, and keeps this private, feigning grief and sorrow when her mother was captured. The people remain charmed by the princess, somethign she intends to keep lasting.


IC:

Wayrest.

Such raidiant beauty this morning. I wonder, how long will it last?

Deep grey eyes scanned through the tiny figures as they moved around. From this height, it was hard to see anything small in clear detail. As for the height itself, Ev?lyn did not care much for it. Ever since she fell off the tree in the garden, a slight fear of heights had attached itself into the young Breton.

The days in the castle of Wayrest were dull, to say the least. With Queen Elysana held captive, her loyal subjects had gone to rescue her, leaving the remaining guards and servants in the castle, to watch over her father, Lord Woodborne. It was an act of the gods surely, that he managed to disguise himself and come back to safety. Ev?lyn wondered if her mother had seen it as such. Perhaps she was embarassed by his failure? But Ev?lyn did not dare ask these things.

Stroking the wrinkles from her cream colored gown, Ev?lyn wondered across the grand room of the library. So much to do, but oh so little time! With the queen gone and all, she was mostly left to herself, as there war far less people in the castle. Smirking to herself, Ev?lyn ran her fingers against the back of the several books located on the shelves. Such a fine selection of books! There was little less the young woman enjoyed more than reading a good book. Snatching one of the heavier books off the shelf, she rested it under her arm as she begun to make her way to her own chamber. Yes, this was the perfect time to think over what to do. She would have to summon Parthia to her chambers soon, but not before her plan was...complete.

The guard on duty at the gates rose an eyebrow, watching with surprise and suspicion at the strange group of travellers approaching the gate. The hell... Frowning, he took his crossbow off his back. Following the return of Manfred from the Outremer, outsiders were regarded rather suspiciously, especially due to the build-up of tension between Anticlere that supported the Ra Gada Kingdom of Sentinel, and the surrounding Bretic duchies. Manfred had made no public proclamation about his alliance with the Ra Gada, but it remained a fact that the trade between these two cities was booming; patrolling Ra Gada military ships would frequently dock in Anticlere if need be, and vice versa. The presence of cannon-armed Ra Gada vessels was an useful thing for Anticlere - not many would've dared to go against the devices that defended the 'roaring walls' of Sentinel.

However, this alliance did much to heat the relationships of Anticlere and the rest of High Rock; Manfred had not been to the court of Wayrest since returning, however he was sure that Elysana would not be pleased that one of her former allies marched out to war on her side and returned on her enemies'. The fact that Anticlere was almost on the very edge of Elysana's territory also didn't help - it was a very real possibility that Anticlere would desert the shakey assembly of duchies. Thus, as tensions were high, Manfred made it clear to his soldiers that all strangers should be viewed suspiciously, be they Men, Mer or Beast.

"State your business." The Anticlerian guard took a step forward. His crossbow wasn't aimed at this masked traveller, however the weapon's slight flinch towards the mysterious stranger suggested that he and his companions better stop.


Manfred

"My Lord..." Charles d'Artagnan seemed a bit surprised as he climbed out of the boat. The admiral's ships were docked a bit further off, nearly at the mouth of the port; amongst them, Manfred made out at least two cannon-armed vessels - Ra Gada ships. Not only their armaments betrayed them, though, as their design was also different. In the past few months, Anticlere became the meeting point of Ra Gada and Bretic culture, thus no one was surprised to see these ships any longer.

"I see you've returned, admiral! What news do you bring from the sea?" Manfred inquired. Charles scratched his chin. Unlike his lord, the Admiral was cleanly shaved, and in general the two men looked rather different - Charles did not look like a man of battle, being even shorter, with a belly forming that could've only been the result of a job that required much sitting. The Admiral was also beginning to bald, whereas Manfred, despite all his troubles, wasn't.

"Not much. We've encountered a patrol of Sentinel in need of supplies," Charles gestured towards the Ra Gada warships amongst his own fleet. "And so we offered them that in Anticlere, just as your majesty commanded - greeting the Ra Gada with hospitality."

"Mhm. What of the Dominion?" Manfred frowned. The Dominion was a touchy subject to him - he hadn't yet established Anticlere's stance towards it, but if Daggerfall sided with them, the recent behaviour of his Lorddom wouldn't go well with the Aldmeri. Choosing between Wayrest and the Dominion was choosing between two evils for Anticlere, as he had great doubt whether his Lorddom could grow to be any kind of power under any of their rule. Most likely, the same story would repeat as with the Empire, and the wealth that was being amassed right now from the trade with Sentinel would go to fund the war efforts off in somewhere, while a large garisson would watch over his every move.

"Nothing, yet. I haven't seen a single ship, in air or water, that would fly their colors..." Charles shrugged, also frowning. While the two spoke, several more boats approached the shore, these ones carrying Ra Gada sailors. Manfred turned to one of his guards, muttering something about preparing supplies, and the soldier was off to fullfill his lord's command.

"Calm before the storm..." Flyte of Anticlere turned to his Admiral again. This is nothing to take heart from. I'm balancing between two lions, and I can't keep it up for long. Neutrality... What a wonderful, yet tough goal to achieve. What a dangerous stance. Hopefully, I will manage to keep out of this war, as impossible as it sounds, and remain allied to Sentinel... And hopefully, I will not need to host a meeting between Elysana and the Dominion.

Menevia
Guillaume and His small band of trained professionals had been in the city for several days now. This had all been organized and planned long in advance. It would only take one swift kick and the whole rotted and decaying frame that was the Menevian throne would come crumbling down. The people were poor, they were angry, they had no clear leader. The Duke of Menevia had died overseas along with many of his loyal followers. Now the city and indeed the Duchy had fallen into lawlessness and disrepair. Ruled by the last blood relation to the dead Aphren, Pelayo Hunter, there was constant muttering of discontent. Aphren had been a good ruler, and with his loss went the confidence of the population. The streets bustled with the unemployed, with the disgruntled, and with the lawless.

Money. It was always money...

Guillaume stood in the foggy streets in front of the gates to the Hunter estate that made up the government. This was not the castle of Aphren, rather this was where cousin Pelayo held his court. Guillaume sniffed and looked into the sky, the sun was no more than a glowing ball in the dense, cold wet fog.

His men were in the crowd, dressed in rags and cloaks that hid their armor and weapons. The Lord of Newford wood squinted his eyes as he scanned the cloud of sullen faces in the crowd. It was possible that he might run into someone he knew. That might be disastrous. From down a side alley he heard heavy cart wheels grate across the stone. That was what he had been waiting for.

Now was the time...

The large and very awkward looking carts had high sides and a single axle. The driver sat on a iron wrapped crate sitting on wheels of it own, hooked into the cart. The two horses attached to each of the four carts were flecked white with sweat and had wild eyes. The carts were clearly heavier than they seemed. Guillaume stepped out from his place on the sidewalk and raised a beckoning hand to the first cart driver. The man smiled and nodded before whipping his way to where his lord stood, in front of the guarded iron fence that encircled the capitol.

Once the first cart stopped, The driver jumped off and unhooked his two wheeled crate from the rest of the wagon. Men in the crowd, who were previously engaged in sleeping, eating and reading suddenly dropped what they were doing and flocked towards the carts. It was as if the whole gathering were all attached to a common string, that was now being pulled to the capitol gates.

With a thud the first cart was heaved around, three more just like it were being unhooked and lined up in the streets. Guillaume smiled, things were working well so far. The guards had gone from indifferent to curious, raising their heads and stairing at the ever growing group of hard, determined men around the four carts. Guillaumes heartbeat vibrated in his chest as the time drew closer, he was smiling broadly now. A glance back showed that Eustace, his scarred and bitter servant had just finished tying Guillaume's blue and red stripped war banner to a long walking stick. Eustace nodded, and it was time...

"For Duke Aphren! Let fly!" Guillaume screamed the orders that startled the crowd of curious onlookers. The battle flag was raised, and the sides of the carts were torn away before the canvas floor was rolled up. There was nothing in the carts, except a single long black tube. Behind each stood a man with a burning match cord on the end of what was once a walking stick or staff. These were cannon, the dreaded weapon of the Redguards, weapons he had bought from Sentinel, and weapons that were double shotted. Each barrel held a twenty four pound stone ball, and a canvas bad filled with hundreds of rocks, marbles and nails. Cross bows and swords came out of dingy cloaks.

"Sans Peur!" Guillaume shrieked his warcry at the guards and at the gate of the capitol. The men hardly had enough time to shout or turn away before match chords plunged into touch holes.

The calm air of the city of Menevia was torn as the thunder of change rolled through it's streets.

http://www.gamesas.com/bgsforums/index.php?showtopic=975126&st=40#

Solitude-Jehanna Road

A ragged cheer went up from the long column when Jehanna appeared on the horizon, her towers winking mirage-like in the golden light of spring. Though men, though dusty and weary from marching, cheerfully redoubled the pace, dreaming of hot meals and warm beds. Somewhere down the line, someone struck up a bawdy tavern-song, which was quickly picked up by all the men, who roared out tunelessly. Only the Reachmen were silent, muttering sullenly to each other in their barbaric patois.

There was a clattering of horses, as a band of knights spurred their way to the front of the column ? the Duke and his staff. The Duke was speaking to his bright-eyed, youthful nephew, Alfngar.

"Take a herald and ride ahead to the city," he said, "to forewarn them of our arrival."

"Certainly, m'lord," responded the young knight. "I will do so." He turned away and signed for one of the staff's messengers to follow him. A moment later they were spurring off towards the city.

The Duke smiled, puffing out his small red lips.

"On, men! On to Jehanna!"


Jehanna

The city was thrumming with energy. Inside its walls, Alfngar could hear the beating of drums, along with cheering and the clattering of horses' hooves on cobbled streets.

"Gods!" he said to the messenger with him. "That's a Nordic war procession! Things must be going well here!"

"Yaar," murmured the messenger. "Rurik must be successful in integrating his troops with the locals."

They reigned up ten paces from the gatehouse. The messenger unfurled the banner of Karthwasten, and raised a hunting horn to his lips, giving it a stout blow.

"Open!" he bellowed. "Open for the messengers of the Duke of Karthwasten."

The gates of Jehanna creaked, giving in to their now-Nordic masters and opening slowly. Rurik had plans to replace the gate in long term - it bore noticeable signs of the siege of Jehanna, being slightly bent inwards in the very middle: that was where the Thu'um struck. Any other invading force would've probably ruined the gates in their attempts to get inside the city, yet the Gift of Kyne had many uses. This bend served as a good reminder to the people of Jehanna - what happens when you try to keep the Nords out. The last Bretic Duke of Jehanna and his small band of supporters tried to stop Rurik's forces from entering, despite the unspoken agreement of most the nobility and peasants that Nords were their best option now; he paid the price, and didn't do anything worthwhile to stop Rurik.

As the war procession was in full swing, Rurik couldn't attend to this meeting - it would've been a bad sign, if the general left before the procession was over, and some more superstitious Nords would say that this means the general's death during the upcoming war. Thus, after the noises of wardrums and cheers stepped out one of the lesser war-chiefs, Oleg Mer-Spear - a veteran of the Nordic Invasion of Morrowind, and one of the war-chiefs Rurik managed to convince to join this invasion of his; Oleg was somewhat famous for his unquenched hatred for Mer of any kind, be they Dunmer, Altmer or Bosmer. Dressed in Nordic chainmail, with a spear almost as tall as him, the six and half a foot Nord looked like your traditional son of Skyrim: big, tough, warlike. This was a somewhat decieving appearance, considering Oleg could be sly as a snake if he wanted to; at very least, he was creative enough to think up all sorts of disgusting ways to treat Dunmer prisoners.

"Velikiy Khnyaz Rurik would consider any Nord who takes up arms against 'Queen' Elysana and her ilk a friend of his. Is the Duke of Karthwasten intending to join the Great Reconquest?" Oleg boomed. Being born in Whiterun, his voice wasn't as strong as some of the Nords' born further to the north, yet it was strong enough to suggest this man was a Nord through-and-through.

The gates creaked open, and a large chainmail-clad Nord strode out. "Velikiy Khnyaz Rurik would consider any Nord who takes up arms against 'Queen' Elysana and her ilk a friend of his. Is the Duke of Karthwasten intending to join the Great Reconquest?"

Alfngar responded, "Indeed. We passed your messenger asking for reinforcements on the road near Solitude. My uncle, Duke Germanicus, is bringing over ten thousand men to the service of Lord Rurik." He grinned and dismounted, handing his reigns to the still seated messenger. "Although, from the sound of it, you'll hardly need them here. My uncle will need a place to bed his troops, either quarters inside the city or a suitable camp."

One of the horses snorted and shook its head. Alfngar brushed a few stray locks of his eponymous fair hair out of his eyes with a gauntleted hand, with sticking the other out for the man to shake.

"The name's Alfngar Fairhair."

"Oleg Mer-Spear." Oleg shook the younger man's hand. "Jehanna should have enough room to accomodate any number of men brave enough to join our army... And if we ever run out of space here, there's Farrun. And by the time we run out of space there, the rest of High Rock will be open to our lads." He chuckled, the innumerable scars on his face mirroring every change to his face expression.

"More are always welcome, particularly Nords. I don't know how these Bretons will hold up in battle against their own kin, although the nobility are enough to outshine our Druzhina. We'll see how they like having bloodstains on that pretty plate."

Behind Oleg, the noises of the Druzhinas' call to war got louder; the procession was approaching the gates, where Oleg knew they would stop, and Rurik would inspect the troops.

Main Character Sheet

Name: Ludovic Medinuois, the 'Gentleman Soldier'

Race: Breton (Wayrestian)

Age: 25

Birthsign: The Lord

Physical Description: 5'7 foot tall, Ludovic is a handsome man, a look he does much to retain. Stereotypical Bretic pale skin, his is very soft to touch; it's completely clear, with no scars, even the tiniest scratch, to speak of. Although he's not particularly muscular, he has a wiry strength to match most Bretons' capabilities.

Ludovic's thin eyebrows are slightly arched; brown eyes have a dim melancholic feeling about them. His nose is slightly snub, sitting right in the middle of his face. Lips are thin, above them ? a wispy moustache; otherwise, he's always cleanly shaved. His face is framed by slightly curly black hair that reaches to his shoulders.

History: Ludovic is a soldier through and through, much more so than other minor nobles. His father was the lord of a small village not far off of Wayrest; however, the income generated by it was pitiful, barely enough to buy Ludovic proper education inside of Wayrest. That was where the boy lived from as early as the age of six; he barely saw his father, and his mother was long dead, due to an accident as Ludovic was told. Exactly what kind of accident he never found out, but his father was crippled by his wife's death, so much he couldn't raise her son.

When his father passed away, the village was supposed to belong to Ludovic, however he only took whatever pitiful savings his father had hidden away in his residence, and committed himself fully to military service to Wayrest. He was barely 16 then; after four more years of learning about the arts of war, the young noble volunteered to serve as an infantry captain, a position many nobles would've considered far below their social standing to take up. However, as he had little hopes of becoming a noble in the traditional sense, Ludovic was forced to serve in such a fashion.

The last five years of service established Ludovic as a reliable captain, although his heritage prevented a promotion ? he never sought attention from his superiors himself, to be honest. Although he was not amongst the forces that fought during the siege of Sentinel, he was amongst the forces Lord Woodborne took to the invasion of Skyrim, avoiding death narrowly by being sent back to Wayrest as a messenger to Queen Elysana that everything was going well.

Currently, despite being looked down on by most nobles, the young Breton is doing his best to survive as a 'gentleman soldier', that being his self-proclaimed title.

Weapons: Preferring the use of agility and speed as opposed to strength, Ludovic carries a steel rapier. The handle has an intricate handguard attached to it, incrusted with jewels and silver and denoting the fact he is a noble.

Armor/Clothing: Given that his funds are not the best, Ludovic does not wear the characteristic steel plate of a noble; neither does he desire to, however, something that he is forced to repeat whenever faced with a more arrogant knight. Instead, he wears a simple suit, yet an elegant one, suiting the court as much as the battlefield (although the elegance may owe to the way the wearer carries himself).

A light grey shirt, the sleeves loose, with silver lacing at the very end. Over it, he wears a steel chainmail haubergeon, covering half of each his arm, and reaching mid-thigh. A simple woollen black yoke usually covers his shoulders and throat. His black pants, hanging rather freely, are held in place by a narrow leather belt with a silver clasp. They're stuffed into his nearly knee-high black boots, made out of tough leather. Usually Ludovic also wears a large hat, decorated with a large red feather.

Misc.: Although Ludovic may not come off as very wealthy from the first glance, the half-empty brown pouch that hangs from his belt is deceptive, being actually filled not only with money, but also a few jewels - his lifetime savings.

Ludovic

How long have we been stuck here? A week? Seems like a month... A lone figure paced back and forth atop the tower, casting a concerned glance towards the nomads once in a while. Smooth. Real smooth. First Lord Woodborne gets crushed by the Nords up north, now our queen's stuck in some fort, right off of High Rock, besieged by some damn thieves and beggars on horsebacks. What's the point in having thousands of troops if they're not here when you need them? I wish I had my lads down here... A few good longbows could teach these 'nomads' a thing or two about archery... Blast this all. Taking off his hat, Ludovic Medinuois stopped for a moment. He was still quite young, and had too much energy to sit in a fort somewhere doing nothing.

I wish we could take to the field... One doesn't need to be a military genius to crush these scum, I'm confident we could do that... If we had ten times as much fighters as we have now. Aren't reinforcements ever going to come? I didn't think there'd be a time in my life when I'd actually want to see some five hundred knights charging down the field in their beloved plate, on their beloved horses... Damn ponies. What's so special about them anyway? Is it some sort of disease, where your brain and common sense is stuck in your ass if you sit on a horse? After standing still for a couple of seconds, he began walking in circles again. I almost wish I was with Lord Woodborne when those Nords killed most of us off... Maybe I would've found a nice death there, instead of rotting in some stinking fort some time later!

Damn this all... They're going to try take us by storm soon. I almost hope for that... Then we'd either die, or hopefully kill enough of them off to break this siege and get out! This damn fort is getting to me... Ludovic rubbed his temples. The feather on his hat flinched slightly as the wind changed. I may be an infantry captain, but I'm a man of the fields, not tall walls and closed spaces... I'm going to get claustrophobic soon, if we don't get out.

Jehanna

"Excellent!" said the young man enthusiastically. He turned to the messenger. "Bjorn, hurry back to the Duke and give him the good news."

Bjorn nodded, and handed Alfngar's reins to him before turning his horse and cantering back along the road. Alfngar look back at Oleg and asked unabashedly, "You don't mind if I come in and watch the procession, do you? We don't have them often enough in Karthwasten."

Solitude-Jehanna Road

Duke Germanicus stared down at Otto Lonnrot. With his short stature, grim squinting eyes, and greasy blond hair, the grizzled Reachman was one of the few fellows in the entire force uglier than Germanicus himself. Nonetheless, he was the man the Reachmen had decided to represent them. Perhaps it was merely because of the man's years, but Germanicus wondered if there might not be more to it.

"Why so glum, Lonnrot? Your people seemed unhappier than ever when we spotted the city."

The Reachman shrugged, beads clinking in his braided hair. "My people are not fond of cities. They are unnatural, uncomfortable. We are more suited to fens and hills and peat bogs than cities. And besides?" He broke off suddenly, glancing at the Duke out of the corner of his eyes.

"Yes?"

Lonnrot shrugged. "You took us from our homes and our fields. This we do not mind, really, for your people have always done so. But this is not how you fight a war, marching and marching. One should strike quickly at the enemy ? and return home with much plunder. Where is the plunder in marching?"

The Duke chuckled. "What do you know about fighting a war, Lonnrot? You Reachmen are barbarians."

"Perhaps. But perhaps we prefer it that way."

"So I've heard. Some talk your uncle rules more like an Imperial than a true son of Skyrim... I do not know, and I will not speak as if I know for sure; t'would be foolish, to rely on rumors as true sources." Oleg looked over his shoulder. At the far end of the street, the Druzhina appeared from behind a turn, Rurik ahead of them. After them were the finely armed and armored Bretic nobles, and at the very end of the column - the commoners. Oleg motioned for Alfngar to step out of the centre of the street, retreating towards the wall of a nearby building himself.

The procession came into full view of those at the gates; it was an imposing sight, and truly reflected what was going on in Jehanna. Many Nords that watched this off the walls had fresh memories of the Invasion of Morrowind, preceded by a similar march in every larger settlement of Skyrim; many prayed to the gods to bless this war, so that it would be more succesful than the one with the Dunmeri. However, a mistake was done in the Invasion of Morrowind - underestimating the opponent. Rurik was confident that he would not make such a mistake - he may have enjoyed some early successes in this war, but so did the invading force in the east. Their end was not pleasant.

The pace of the drums started slowing as Rurik and the Druzhina approached the opened gates, their gathered men close behind. The Bretic Nobility enjoyed this - it was a good chance to display their superiority over the commoners, and it boiled many a knight's blood to march like this to the sound of the war drums, like they would soon against their enemies - the armies of Wayrest and its allies. The same applied to the commoners, and Rurik knew that this was a good chance to let the two races bond, to 'Nordify' the Bretons of Jehanna further. Many had already renounced their Elven ancestry, and now they would embrace their Nordic side further than just accepting a leader from Skyrim.

Finally, Rurik brought his horse to a halt. Behind him, the Druzhina stopped as well, the Bretons following close. It took a few moments for the war drums to finish, but finally, silence fell over the street.

Riding forth towards the gate, Rurik looked up to the bend, made by Thu'um. He stood up in his saddle, pressing his hand against the broken wood; a smile came to his face, then turning into a grin.

"By Shor! The Gods granted us a great victory here, and a mighty ally." As he spoke this, the Nord fell back on his saddle, turning his horse around. Silence still reigned, interrupted only by the clanging of armor as some of the knights lifted themselves to get a better look of their new general.

"What was begun at the gates of Jehanna will end at the gates of Daggerfall, or the gates of Sovngarde!" Rurik continued, his voice booming in the silence. "This war is not an invasion. It is a reclamation of what belongs to us by birthright! It is a reconquest! High Rock and Skyrim - those are just names. The Bretons and the Nords shall be one once Alduin comes, and swallows Wayrest! We shall take what is our birthright - your birthright! - and remake it into a better plane! Like Ysmir, we shall descend from the north with all our drums beating loud and clear, and shout their gates open! Kyne's Breath will be at our backs, and our foes will scatter like wind, wind hitting against an age-old rock that are our peoples! Not Nords, not Bretons, but Men! Men of the North, Nord and Breton alike, will be their greatest fear!"

"The Elves say they are your brothers! They are slave masters! Their ancestors thought us slaves, they think us slaves! But who were once slaves have risen, and taken their fate! Long years have passed since our forebears cowered at their yells and whips! Now, they shall learn to cower at our yells! Let no Elf, nor the fool who would ally himself with an Elf, stand straight when the war shouts of the Men of the North fly over hills and vales, over the mountains, shattering their gates, scattering their troops!"

A loud cheer went up in the air, many weapons were lifted up, their owners lusting for blood. Nords and Bretons alike were cheering - brothers, as they thought themselves to be now.

Anticlere

Parwen and Uurwen heard the guards below. Winding stone stairs on the interior of the tower were the only obstacle between the two. Their goals were to study the harbor and walls, not to kill any of the guards. Quickly both of the sisters punched a fist into the edge of the tower sending two large blocks over the guards through the cover of fog only to crash onto the wall behind them. Their delicate bones did not snap only due to their arcane ability of terramancing. All the ability of a mage capable of siege engine destruction with the speed and stealth of agents.




Parthia couldn't believe he could have misplaced the princess. She was suppose to be acting as a bodyguard but in one inatentive moment Evalith had slipped away. Her mind had been scattered since Andrethi had left. At the same time she was always stressful around the Dunmer. She knew him by another name in Hammerfell, there she had had to kill him. For months she had been playing around with the idea but unsure if she should follow through. Parthia ran her thin fingers through her auburn hair that reached down mid way her back. Her bright green eyes seemed rather dim today as she looked inwardly considering what she should do. For now she would have to keep up this act.

As she walked through the halls she took note of the guards. Her sandaled feet made no sound on the soft carpet as she stepped. Both of her hands were innocently clasped behind her back while her red robe embraced her body tightly. She was un-armed, something a bit rare for her but in the castle it was frowned upon even for her. In any case she was quite capable even with no weapons.

"Stupid girl..." she muttered to herself.



"Already fixing your helmet on?" Kaasha questioned Andrethi as he had his back at her. She was deeply curious about him always and found his and Varulae's love affair interesting. When Varulae's ransom was paid, a reply came that she would not go unless they paid for Andrethi as well. Since then the two have been inseperable. She was glad that Varulae had found someone but something was just mysterious about Andrethi.

"They could loose arrows at any time." Andrethi lied, he simply didn't like being in a social situation with anyone. Putting on the helmet was a way for him to put himself in a military scenario instead. His long legs seemed rooted into the stone wall he was standing on.

"They couldn't reach here, you just like to hide from me." With that the Ohmes Raht Khajiit stood up on the edge of the wall finally drawing a reaction from Andrethi who turned to look at her. "See?" And Kaasha was right. A few yells were heard from the nomads but no arrows. They knew to keep their distance. The Bretons were few but they knew they were deadly accurate with the few longbowmen they did have.


OOC: Small and crappy ive been busy today.

Somewhere between Wayrest and Gauvedon

A portly merchant trundled down the road upon his cart of wares, blissfully ignorant of who and what he was approaching, and so, by the time he registered the Highwaymen's presence, it was too late.

Gaius and Brutus were sitting high in the saddles of a pair of nearly identical bay horses. Gaius' expression was businesslike and professional. Brutus wore a wolfish grin.

"Hail, sir!" Gaius called to the unaware merchant, "A moment of your time."

The merchant looked up from the road with a start and the two brigands trotted their steeds toward him, closing the distance quickly.

"Who in oblivion are you?" the merchant snarled, staring fixedly at Brutus' scarred visage, "And what claim have you to a moment of my time?"

"We are tax collectors," Brutus said calmly, his grin growing wider, "we are here to collect the tax of Safe Passage on behalf of the Lord of Wayrest, may his beard grow ever longer."

The merchant seemed to calm a little at this, but he remained on guard. He seemed more curious than alarmed.

"Tax of Safe Passage?" he inquired with a raised brow, still staring at Brutus' markings, "what is this tax of Safe Passage?"

Brutus ignored the question, his grin disappearing immediatley, "Do you find me attractive?"

"Wha-? No! No, of course not! I mean, thats not to say... "

"I think you do. Why else would you be staring at my face like that?"

The merchant was now becoming visibly distressed. Sweat began to appear on his brow and he struggled to regain his composure, "I wasn't, i was looking at your... er..."

"Say it."

"What?"

"Ask me."

"Ask you what? i don't understand."

In a fraction of a second Brutus drew his shashka and placed the point of it beneath one of the merchant's many chins. "Ask me where i got these scars."

A single tear rolled down the merchant's cheek. "Please don't kill me just let me go i'll pay double the tax anything just let me go!"

Gaius, who had been watching the whole scene in silence decided to take this time to speak, and he did so in his soothing, slightly raspy tenor, "Brutus, let him go. He hasn't done anything."

Brutus looked his friend in the eye, sheathed his shashka, and wheeled his horse around. "AUGIE!"

A giant in a dirty woolen shirt stepped silently out of the shadow of the forest with a burlap sack over his shoulder and wielding a massive wooden cudgel.

"Check the cart, Augie. Take what you like, as well as the usual staples."

Brutus kicked his horse hard in the flanks, his spurs jingling faintly. The beast took off at full tilt down the road, heading in the direction of Wayrest.

Gaius watched him go, then turned to face the now thoroughly terrified merchant. "How many drakes are in your purse, approximately?"

"a-about a h-h-hundred," stammered the nearly hysteric salesman, "You aren't going to kill me, are you?"

"I won't, but he might." Gaius nodded to Augie as the massive Nord struggled with the tie-downs of the cart. "Depending on what he finds under that blanket."

The merchant slumped lower into his seat as the Nord finally managed to free the wagon's cover and began to rifle through the boxes of wares that were stacked underneath. One by one he broke them open and examined their contents before shoving them aside and moving on. Most of it was useless rubbish: silverware, dishes, random odds and ends...

and then Augie found it.

He shoved a crate of spoons aside to reveal what looked like a wide, slightly rounded piece of black steel. He cleared away a few more small boxes to reveal a long, cylindrical black pipe, about a foot and a half in diameter.

"Vern... This looks like a..."

The Merchant cackled wildly and pulled a small lever attached to the seat of the cart at his hip. a massive wave of force rocked the small wagon forward and a plume like the breath of a dragon belched forth from the cannon in the back, pushing before it ball of knives, forks, and all manner of other small metal doodads. The majority of the blast missed Augie, but several knives and a spoon embedded themselves in his thigh. He roared out his pain to the world.

The merchant turned to examine the carnage he had inflicted on the mighty beast of a man, hoping against hope that the wounds would be fatal. Gaius moved like a snake. In less than a second he had pulled the straight razor out of his sleeve, flicked it open, lunged at the merchant, and opened his throat.

The merchant of death turned limply to face Gaius once more, his head lolling grotesquely from side to side. His body was coated completely in a sheet of blood and his tongue poked out from between his whitening lips, but his eyes were very much alive. They stared into Gaius' soul, memorizing every contour of his face. In seconds, they too faded.

Augie was still screaming.

Gaius' throat hurt, but he screamed too.

The hooded figure of Simon Ozias halted the moment he was addressed. He was still a good ten yards from the guard, so far away that he had to raise his rough voice to be heard. It was however, out of courtesy rather than fear. Most people, upon finding out his condition were impelled to draw away from an unfounded fear of contagion or disgust.

"I am the Abb? Simon Ozias of the Monastic order of Saint Seryn. We are all brothers serving the order of Leper Knights of said saint. We mean you now harm, and indeed intend to help. I come bearing medical knowledge, wisdom and faith. We are here to serve in the wards of your hospital, defending the patients and offering spiritual and medicinal care to any who might require it." Simon said in a loud voice, though muffled by the mask. He placed his hand deep into his robe to produce a worn envelope. With his hands clearly visible in a sign of peace he walked forward a few steps and placed the letter on the ground, holding it in place with a rock before withdrawling to his original position.

"In that envelope you will find papers stating the validity of my mission, as well as permission for me to enter your city. All this is signed under both Imperial and Bretic authority." Simon said in a lilting tone, hoping to soothe the guards fears and anxieties. "You may inspect it to your hearts content, under my assurances that you will be safe and free from any contagion."

Simon bowed low in a supplicating manner before raising his head to follow the movements of the guards.

"I trust you will allow us to pass..."

"The hell was that?" The tale-telling guard looked behind himself worriedly. No other noise came from that direction, but then whatever - whoever? - was there could've been standing perfectly still, waiting for them to dismiss the noise as nothing... Damn this stupid fog! The Breton muttered, motioning his comrade in arms to keep aiming at the top of the tower, while he himself crawled slowly towards the source of the noise, crossbow aimed into the mist before him. Several other nearby guards, attracted by the shouts, were already running up the stairs, swords at the ready in case something was wrong.




Taking the envelope, the guard only briefly skimmed over all the papers inside. He wasn't the best when it came to reading, although it was a miracle in itself that a rank-and-file soldier knew how to read anything; the wealthy middle class of Anticlere was to be blamed here, because the infantrymen were drawn mainly from it. It came in handy now, because, after a bit of struggle, the guard made sure that indeed - the papers were signed by authorities, in fact authorities to match Manfred, as he was, after all, just another Lord in the Iliac, of which there were dozens. The Imperial seals didn't interest the guard much - Anticlere was only technically a part of the Empire now, and considering the alliance with Ra Gada, those technicalities would probably be done away with as well. Same was true for the rest of High Rock, particularly the western and eastern-most lands, which had, supposedly, fallen to foreign invaders.

"Alright... Seems good." The guard grumbled finally, still suspicious as to what was this man's meaning if he managed to get such seals on those papers. The Anticlerian was educated enough to know that Seryn was likely a Dunmer name; obviously a saint of some sort, because that was confirmed by this Simon himself. What he wondered about was why would a handful of members of some or another Dunmer saint come to High Rock, and Anticlere no less? It was certainly not the land closest to the border, in fact it could be considered quite far from it, except if heading by boat from Sentinel. Still, there was nothing he could get picky about, so the guard had no choice but to gesture the men to carry on into the city.

"Your papers." With one last glance, the guard folded the papers, stuffing them back into the envelope and outstretching his hand. Still vary of the title 'lepper knights', the guard made sure to touch the envelope only with three fingers, despite the fact his hand was armored.


Ludovic

"JOG ON, YOU STINKING BASTARDS!" Ludovic yelled out to the passing nomads, who were currently unable to do anything but throw insults at the fort, lacking the devices to throw rocks at it. Engaging in a shouting match with some rogue nomads wasn't very dignified, but at least it was better than doing nothing, as the young Breton told himself, waving to the nomads with his hat as an added taunt. The nomads could yell at him all they want, though - the longbowmen that were present in the fort had a height advantage to add to their already superior range over the nomads' shortbows. Come on, close the range... You know you want to. He frowned, looking as the horseman swirled around like wind, unwilling to throw themselves at the fort.

Putting his hat back on, Ludovic leaned on the paraqet. Sons of goats... They could very well just jump into the river and save relief forces the trouble... When they decide to show up, that is. 'Oh dear, our Queen's in danger! Whatever shall we do.' 'I don't know, perhaps we should sit here and try to figure something out while they're in the process of dying.' Is this the impressive Wayrest military machine? No wonder we lost to the Nords... Probably we were deploying about as fast as our reinforcements are assembling.

Grumbling under his nose, the young captain reasumed walking in circles, looking below at the walls from time to time. He didn't care much for most the inhabbitants of this castle; of course, Elysana was his queen, so his concern was mostly for her fate, but as for the others... Most of them he barely knew, being from a circle the queen's current retinue rarely interacted with - namely the simple soldiery. And Ludovic didn't intend to go looking for connections, either.

Wayrest

Let's see now...chapter one...dull. Chapter two...not of any significance. Chapter three however....yes, I must rush to my chamber at once to study this further.

Shutting the heavy book, Ev?lyn smiled to herself, quite pleased with what she had found. Usually it was nearly impossible to get enough priavacy to find certain types of books from the library, especially with guards on her heels. The thought of the guards made Ev?lyn laugh quietly, surely Parthia was wandering around looking for her. It had been so easy to slip away too.

Just as she was about to turn around to go to her bedroom, Ev?lyn caught the glimpse of a robed woman strolling casually down the hall. The aurburn hair was a dead give away, and the young lady smirked as she tucked the book under her arm once more. The long golden embroided sleeve covered most of the book, hiding the title. Facing the woman, Ev?lyn softened her expression as she greeted the figure,

"Why, good day Parthia. What's with the face, you look as if you've not slept for the past 3 days."

Though she did not change her expression, Ev?lyn couldn't help but curse inside her. She was still not sure whether or not Parthia could be fully trusted, however nothing so far had led her to suspect anything. However, one must be cautious when dealing with matters such as this. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ears, Ev?lyn spoke once more,

"I do apologize for sneaking off like that, however I simply had to go to the library! And you seemed so...thoughtful. I did not wish to disturb you. Besides, I am perfectly safe, as you can see."

Alfngar shrugged. "He was raised in the Imperial Province, after all. And Karthwasten's not like the northern cities. Most of our people are not ethnic Nords. But, blood ties aside, we're still loyal citizens of Skyrim."

He followed Oleg into the city, absently passing his horse's reigns to one of the Bretic gate guards, who mshot him a nasty look and cursed under his breath. Alfngar didn't even notice. "Still, I do sometimes wish my uncle would recall his heritage with a little more reverence." He chuckled loudly and flashed his flawless grin again. "I tell you - some things are going to change when I'm in charge!"



Alfngar followed Oleg out of the way as the war procession spilled into the broad street. As he watched the martial splendor of the riding Druzhina, his face lit up with boyish enthusiasm, and his blue eyes opened wide full of patriotic zeal. But it was the Lord Rurik who received most of the youth's admiration. Jehanna's new Velikiy Khnyaz was a real Nord's Nord, with his warrior's figure and woad tattoos and inflamed oratory. He listened with rapt attention as Rurik spoke stirringly to his Nord and Breton subjects, and cheered as loudly as anyone when the speech ended.

"Quite a speaker, isn't he?" Alfngar, full of questions, turned back to Oleg. "Is it true he was born a rower in Solitude? Shot up in the world hasn't he?" And then more conspiratorially: "Do you really have Greybeards among the force? We've heard rumors, of course ? but I didn't know ? wasn't sure if?"

He broke off to catch his breath and waited for his guide's response.

Solitude-Jehanna Road

Bjorn Windheart, the Duke's messenger, returned to the Duke's column with a clatter of spurs, Karthwasten's colors flapping gaily at his side. The Duke turned his ice-blue eyes on him and said, "Ho there, Bjorn! How were you received at the city? And where is Alfngar?"

"We were received well, m'lord. The Velikiy Khnyaz is delighted by are arrival and has room to quarter all of us within the city. Lord Alfngar remained at the city. I assume he was planning to watch the war procession that was being held."

The Duke's expression grew dark, storms gathering over his brow. But to Bjorn he said only "Good work man."

Otto Lonnrot, the lumpy misshaped Reachman glanced up at Germanicus and grinned, revealing a mouth full of mossy, crumbling teeth. "Now you're glum," he cackled.

Germanicus fixed a stern stare on him ? and sighed. "I fear that I shall have to make a choice before long. A choice between the Empire and Skyrim, between the land of my childhood and the land of my ancestors. The prominent men in Skyrim today are like Rurik ? traditionalists, nationalists. They're bringing back the old traditions. War procession ? pah! I though we'd left the Dawn Era! I've even heard rumors of the Thu'um being used." He sighed again. "But why should I tell you this? You're only a Reachman."

The wily woodsman snorted. "That I may be, but I'll tell you this ? the Empire is ended. The Septim line has ended, and the Elder Council controls things now in name only. The rebellion at Sentinel was only the last nail being driven into the Empire's coffin. I may be a Reachman, but I can see this clearly ? your loyalty to an abstract Empire is far more out-moded than Rurik's war procession."

The Duke gave Lonnrot a single surprised, betrayed look before spurring away, shouting, "On men! On to Jehanna and warm beds!"

Behind him, Lonnrot cackled like a crow on a corpse.

"You'd best be off asking the Velikiy Khnyaz himself, but as far as I know, he was born in Solitude... and not in the nobility. When I met him at the East, Rurik was a raider, with merely four and half a hundred unruly bandits at his disposal. From humble beginnings... His ideas got the support of many, including the King of Solitude. And defeating Woodborne also didn't hinder our popularity, now did it... Jehanna was taken out there, on the road, not at the gates." Oleg spoke, his gaze turning eastwards, then shooting quickly to the gates when Alfngar mentioned Greybeards.

"Rumors are nothing to be relied on... But anyone can tell you that that mark," He motioned towards the gate with his head, a small grin forming on his face, which suggested a positive answer to the young knight's question. "It wasn't made by a ram. The late Duke of Jehanna was a bit surprised, to be honest... They may have expected us to bring mages, but that... I wish I had seen the look on their faces when their precious gate popped open. Although," The Nord's eyes moved from the gates, slipping over the whole crowd in front of them. Vytatus wasn't here; he was leading the war procession in Farrun, as it was, after all, his city. "No one is sure whether there are ten of them here, or eleven. My oppinion? If the Duke of Farrun gives his troops a speech, it will likely be even more shaking than Rurik's."

Wightmoor Castle, Barony of Dwynnen

Olwyn sat in the solar of his great fortress, Wightmoor Castle. The room, once used as a place for the Baron to rest and receive important messages in private, had been converted into a council chamber. The walls were bare of all amenities except torches, currently unlit. Upon the floor was a fine rug, obviously of Hammerfell-make. All the shutters of the windows were flung open, letting in the cool air and the sounds of some of the Baron's soldier's drilling some militiamen down in the inner bailey.

In the middle of the great room sat a large table, with all manner of maps, plates, winecups, scattered upon it. At the table sat Baron Olwyn's most prominent vassals. He had called them to his citadel to discuss how Dwynnen could weather the approaching storm.

"My Lord," a burly man stood from his seat, "The only thing that we can hope to do is align ourselves with the elves. Daggerfall has always considered Dwynnen apart of it's territory, and if we don't accept elven rule, we could see an army in our borders within a month." This was met with general jeers and taunts, and it looked as if a the council would breakup ere it ever got down to real business.

Holding up his hand for silence, Olwyn sat quietly for a few moments before finally speaking. "Otho," said he, "I understand your fears, but they are ungrounded. Anticlere itself sits much closer to Daggerfall, and they remain free. To break faith with my ruler, to whom I have sworn homage and fealty would be a dastardly act, one I would not take lightly. But know, gentlemen, that I will only act for the greater good of Dwynnen, and right now that sits with Elysana and Wayrest." Standing from his highbacked chair, Olwyn leaned over a map of High Rock, and pulling a dagger from his side, began to mark upon it, "Here, the Nords threaten Her Majesty. And here," he made a slash closer to Dwynnen, "We have the Dominion, who will be constantly threatening us. Luckily, Anticlere ought to be able to deal with all but the most determined attacks, and if that was the case, then I would gladly help Anticlere's Lord, for I have heard good things about him."

Sitting back down, Olwyn motioned for a servant. "Bring my Sir Geoff le Tanner," then, turning back to look at his vassals, he said, "Leave me. Amuse yourselves in town."