Written to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUVuaa-n9xM

Bankorai pass
"Loose!"

The crossbows snapped angrily from inside the abandoned imperial earthworks. There were only twenty five of them loosing at once, but the effect could be brutal. The windlass spanned crossbows fired a bolt as long as a man's forearm and shovels handle. The leather fletchings hissed as they cut the morning air, each one aimed at officers, leaders and anyone who might have looked important.

"Now go! Let's Go!" Jarkko shouted at his men in the thick Nordic accent as the cavalrymen sprinted down the thin and winding communication trench. The Nord was keeping watch at the enemy while he held his arm out to touch his men. He was counting them and waiting for that final one before he could leave.

Twenty-Four

Like a jack in the box finally released he hurled himself down the thin and shallow trench. The whole structure had been built in a day, and so it wasn't nearly as well built as the ones outside Sentinel. The large Nord's back felt perilously exposed as he ran. More than half his body was sticking above the ground. HE tripped and fell hard, his jaw cracking on the harened earth. There was a body down here, one of his men had caught a quarrel in his armpit. He was still alive but barely, the other men had already trampled him, pushing his face down into his own bloody mud.

As Centurion Koskinnen stumbled to his feet, he took the quarrel bag from the dying man before turning to leave. Most of the cavalrymen were out of the trench and running for their lives. Arrows hissed above, bolts hissed below. It was a murderous crossfire. Jarkko could see three more men cut down from stray missles. They writhed and squirmed in pain like wounded snakes, aimlessly thrashing against a pain they cant rid from their bodies.

"To the horses! get to the horses!"

Bankgorai Pass, Saladin's Vanguard
"Newford Wood!" Guillaume screamed his battlecry as he ran forward. Behind him were his archers, the mixed bag of crossbowmen, arbalesters and imprisoned bretons. They were moving steadily behind their shoulder high pavises. The heavy and cumbersome shields were pincusioned with arrows. The men behind were sweating and panting with the effort required to move the things. Here and there the unlucky few took hits to exposed bodyparts: Head, face, elbow, hip, foot. But the majority of the men simply ducked their heads and went on as if they were heading into a heavy rainstorm.

Guillaume was laughing...he was enjoying himself. A huge smile was spread across his face as he strolled, almost nonchalantly into the hellstorm. His shield was hairy with arrows, and his mailcoat had several spent shafts hanging from it's links. He could see blood shiny and reflective in the morning sun. It was a sight that made him want to dance.

A hop became a childlike skip that turned into a sort of rambling dancing pirouette.

Bangkorai Pass

The archer cavalry made their best speed up the road as bolts flew toward them. Many wore shields slung on their backs to protect against this sort of thing since a common tactic was a feigned retreat coupled with a shot. Some of the riders were unlucky and were hit, while others a bit luckier and protected by the shield and some were not touched at all. They rode their horses hard taking a few shots back. Aravas and the rest wouldn't stop until they would reach the top of the mountain pass where they had made preperations.

"Fall back and shoot!" The riders each yelled reminding any that had forgotten while others simply leaned forward on their horses wounded or even dead. Arvas sought to maintain Dres military doctrine of minimizing casualties and breaking the will of the enemy to fight, though the latter would be difficult with the Redguards that were so warrior like. Relief and yet a form of anxiety rushed over Arvas as he considered his next step. He would either play a vital role in the coming battle or he would be swept under the marching boot of the rebels.

OOC: Written to same song as Duval.

IC:

Bangkorai Pass

Eyes widened as Kizaam's fears were realized, crossbow bolts flew at them, shredding through the lightly armored Redguards just within yards of their foe.

An officer beside the Captain himself had a bolt penetrate straight through his leather buckler and land in his carotid, the spurt of blood gushed out to land on the tired Militiaman.

"Get down!"

Too late, ten of his men were down, others behind him were littered.

Renewed with the intensity and fearlessness of adrenaline, he picked up his pace and momentum, hearing the evil cackles of that Dark Breton...a man that a veteran like Kizaam could fear, made him thank the gods that he had such allies.

You'd curse them in peace, and praise them in war.

He didn't want to count wounded, all he wanted to do was find a safe position, while simultaneously burying his mace deep into another man's gut.

"REMEMBER PORTHAGO! REMEMBER THE CHILDREN! RIP THE ENEMY! TEAR THEIR HEARTS OUT!" he was conditioning his mind into a state of total war, of nothing but bloodshed, and intense aggression.

Nothing but the adrenaline of his wounds and the sight of his fallen comrades fueled him to continue on. He lifted the spear off of a man who had charged ahead of him, cheap and made of wood, he gripped it into a javelin toss position, chucking it with all his might at the fleeing enemy, all while mid stride.

Tears of anger flew out the corner of his eye as he leapt over the bamboo stakes, his leg getting caught on the mound and landing him into one of the cheap trenches.

A quick crunch and he felt two of his right fingers crack, blood busted through his right pinky and he howled from the sharp pain.

The other men behind him began piling into the trench, screaming their own obscenities, fury filling their hearts.

Kizaam attempted to stand before a halberdman behind him crashed on top.

"Egh!" the young man screamed, a fully armored man landing on top of an even better armored man caused lots of pain and damage.

His back creaking, the middle aged Redguard waved his fist to the direction of the Dunmer, "YOU'LL DIE FAR AWAY FROM YOUR HOMES! YOUR LIFE WILL HAD ENDED FOR NAUGHT!"

OOC: Sorry for the late reply, Tidus. Just. Away for Christmas, y'know, I didn't have time.

Dragon Grove

A servant fetched Bomilkar from the door and led him to Adonibal, through the corridors of the dimly-lit manse. The house was resplendent with furnishings, but they were simple and hardly a place fit for the Black Dragon. Adonibal approached Bomilkar with a smile on his narrow, olive face.

"Kinsman," he began as he dusted a double-briasted jacket cut in a trim Cyrodiilic style, "General Mago is taking some men south to Hegathe. Quick council has determined that we shan't let the upstart jump ahead. If initiatives are to be pushed east..." - Adonibal indicated Gilane on a map hanging next to him - "then the rear cannot be left unmanned while Kewan runs riot."

Adonibal stepped back to a straight chair and took a seat. He inclined his hand at a chair for Adonibal. "General Mago will reorganize the men and take the men in best condition to Hegathe. I will hold down the city. Something happened beyond the walls last night. I will not be privy to a siege... We don't have great stores for all the farming people about. But if Hegathe is delivered into our hands swiftly, we can ease pressure and possibly do King Ashir a favour."

Dawnstar

Enitan grumbled again, before grinning towards the man across him.

"It would be reasonable for you, as your armies are retreating, and have suffered horrible losses. It is unreasonable to our interests, freeing Hammerfell from Imperial grasp. I ask you Ambassadors, do you think the war can continue as is? Surely it cannot be won by your Legions...not on our lands, not in the Empire's current state." he finished spitting the rest of the Qat into his seed pouch, before continuing, "You have lost three provinces to the Dominion, who eye Morrowind, and Cyrodiil greedily, their garrisons on borders grow numerous, and they travel where they please. If this war does not strike the end of the Empire, then continuing it will give a chance for the Dominion to end it." his words were soft, he was doing his best to word things in a way that would seem more matter of a fact, then insulting, which may in itself be perceived as an insult.

"Know that I do not confuse your station with someone who could wield the authority to call an end to the war and withdrawal of Imperials from our lands, but I mean to show you the inevitable response that you invoke every time you ask us that question. There is no need for Hammerfell to settle for half of its land, our people are more resilient then you know, and we will not budge because the Legions tire of war. The Elden Yokeda has expressed no need to expand from our borders, or military movement outside of Hammerfell, but how long would it be in a pro longed war before armies marched on Cyrodiil's lands? This fighting. This desperate grip you wish to hold onto your former glory...it will only be swiftly cut down by the hands of our...'silly gods'.

Bangkorai pass
Centurion Jarkko Koskinnen was the last one to climb up onto his horse. The majority of his men had already fled, spurs dug deep into the sides of their mounts. They were but a handfull against the whole rebel army. It was foolish to try and stand to fight. He just prayed that the rebels got caught up in the trenches, otherwise this retreat could become a rout if they followed too closely. I have to buy time...

He wheeled his horse around in a swirl of dirt and earth. There was rebel screaming from inside the trenches, shouts and curses in their guttural language. Jarkko shrugged his shield forward to cover his left arm, while he drew his long cavalry sword with his right. He waited, hoping for the best but expecting the worse.

Bankorai pass

Lifting himself from the trenches, Kizaam wiped the sweat from his brow. As beads dropped down from his face and onto his cheap armor, he stared at a lone figure, defiantly standing against what would be sure death.

So I march, to ruin and doom.

With a primal roar towards his enemy, Kizaam began to walk forward. He didn't speak Cyrodiil tongue, but he'd talk in Yoku as if the man across him understood every word.

"The wind blows
I'll lean into the wind
My anger grows
I'll use it to win
The more you say
The more I defy you
So get out of my way"

His left arm gripped his mace, he bent over and reached for a dagger in his boot, gripped firmly with his right hand. The rusted Iron was rarely used, its poor care showed it. But any blade was better then no blade.

He hasn't charged yet....Asad...I will see you again....

He ran towards his fate, with hell on his face.

Wikrun and Marsha both watched as an innkeeper delivered a glass of milk to Marietta, his chubbiness bouncing out of the inn to give the gift. The red-headed darkelf turned to Marsha, nodding at the innkeeper. "This common?"

"For a small place like this, I wouldn't doubt it. They get few travelers, as Vulnim Gate has a reputation, based on my parent's tales." Marsha replied, vague enough to barely answer Wik's question. She shrugged as she answered, furthering the idea that she really had NO idea.

"This one wonders how long apes take to prep in morning." Came Ree'Ja's scratchy, feline voice from above, and when both of the mercenaries looked up they found themselves looking at a Khajiit crouched on the wooden fortress wall of Vulnim Gate.

"Hukral cannot fit inside; he waits outside for Marietta to be ready." This statement was addressed to Marietta herself, and Ree'Ja seemed to be grinning as he said it. Though, with a Khajiit, one had a difficult time determining a grin. The cat promptly jumped down on the other side of the wall, where Hukral was indeed stuck waiting.
--------------------------
"No, Dres cavalry is indeed adequate. Which is precisely why I have them preparing now to fight and weaken Saladin's approaching army. They also have the flesh flies with them, which I did not hear of until Lainlyn." Helseth replied smoothly to Aquila, before taking the rolled up scroll from his guard that was Tartarus. He seemed to pause indefinitely to read this, before nodding his ebony clad helm in satisfaction and rolling up the parchment again.

"I see what you mean. Very well, I am sure that with the Legions behind them, the Bretons will behave." He did not look at the Breton messenger as he said this, but instead right at Aquila, his red eyes seeming to glow from under the slits of his helm. Helseth extended one hand to the Breton Messenger. "Inform your commander he is to follow Tartarus and proceed behind my men back along our trail. They are to be properly fed for an upcoming battle. Captain Delitian."

At the calling of the name one of the crimson armored guards approached Helseth, nodding. "Inform the captains their men are to rest. Breakfast shall be devoured and they are to be ready for battle in an hour's time. Formation instructions will follow shortly." Helseth snapped curtly, still looking at Aquila as if his eyes were clued to the man. Captain Delitian saluted crisply and made haste to deliver the orders. When he was gone, Helseth finally looked away from aquila and looked at the Breton messenger.

"You are both invited to breakfast with me, so we may discuss further on this matter, if you so desire. But if you must return to your respective troops, I am agreeable." Helseth offered.

"Well it's not every day you get to dine with royalty, eh Aquila?!" Jassan interjected with a lighthearted laugh from atop his chestnut. "I'll certainly agree to it."

Helseth turned to look at the hyperactive, childish diminutive bosmer, and beneath his helm there was a frown pulled tight. The immature elf was already getting on Helseth's nerves. "You were not invited." The words came out with a cool, chilling venom, making one think that having a poison cloud seep from his mouth in a mist of death would be very appropriate at that time. Jassan's smile when from ear to ear to jaw-corner to jaw-corner.

Centurion Koskinnen smiled as the rebel charged him. He was screaming and shouting in Yoku. The man was dirty and seemed like he was in pain. More bolts and arrows cut the air overhead, causing the Nord to twitch his head down nervously. He wheeled his horse, who took a complete circle before spurring ahead. His heart beat in his throat as it always did before a fight. No matter how many he was in, it was always the same way, always the same.

There was always fear...

"Saint Alessia!" He screamed the invocation as a battle cry before he raked his spurs back. The horse shot forward as he pulled it to the targets left. His far left. Jarkko leaned out of the saddle in a display of horsemanship that would have taken years to master. he had his sword arm speared forward, hoping to spike the enemy clean through while keeping his mare far from harm.

"ALESSIA!"

The court of the Lord Helseth
Septimus stood wide-eyed and uncomfortable infront of the lord of Morrowind. The dunmers pointed stare was uncomfortable and very unsettling, But the thin nord continued to smoke his pipe and wait patiently as orders were handed and passed around. The offer of a meal struck Aquila as one of politic rather than friendliness. It would be rude to refuse an ally so strong, especially one who would most likely take the brunt of casualties in the upcoming struggle. It's alright, time for them to bleed their share...

"I accept your offer my Lord Helseth, but I ask that my rather rude and excitable friend here be allowed to join. He is my bodyguard." Septimus asked, through a cloud of smoke. There was a pause before he continued. He had an Idea of the the possible rebuke he might receive. "The little bosmer has been assigned as my bodyguard by the Blades. As unlikely as it sounds, it's the truth."

Septimus always fancied himself good at lying. he just hoped that the wood elf would be smart enough to take up the ruse without hesitation. He then continued, as if to cut off any future disagreement.

"I thank you for your kindness my Lord.

Helseth's Court
"I accept your offer my Lord Helseth, but I ask that my rather rude and excitable friend here be allowed to join. He is my bodyguard." Septimus asked, through a cloud of smoke. There was a pause before he continued. "The little bosmer has been assigned as my bodyguard by the Blades. As unlikely as it sounds, it's the truth."

Helseth looked hard at Septimus, hard for a long time, piercing through the smoke to look upon the thin Nord's face. He's lying... there's no way that little runt could be a Blade! And yet, Aquila's face was smoothly impassive, as if he spoke of something that should have been common knowledge to the King.

Jassan, however, played the part with such perfection he could have rehearsed it an hour before or less. He immediately shot a glare at Aquila. "You weren't supposed to tell them that you twit." Jas snapped with a sharpness that declared he was thoroughly displeased with the situation's turn of events. "How the hell are we supposed to remain undercover that way? Gods you are thick. No wonder I'm guarding you!"

A few of the guards chuckled softly at this, barely noticeable under their helms. Jassan straightened himself and nodded affirmation solidly to the King of Morrowind. "He speaks the truth. I am an agent of the Blades guarding Aquila. You weren't supposed to know I was Blade, but this one-" Jassan's sapphire eyes shot a glare at Aquila. "-spilled the beans."

Helseth sat there, perplexed by this, as his army began to settle down their packs and remove the looser sections of their armor, preparing for breakfast. For half a minute he was silent. "Very well. If he must." Helseth dismounted promptly after, a swirl of violet cloak coming from his ebony armor as he did so. One of the guards attended to his horse as the others followed Helseth to a makeshift tent. In the interest of time Helseth's men had not bothered with the actual royal tent, setting up a more simplistic one in replacement. Helseth had no issue with this though, as he saw and appreciated the reasoning behind it. He entered it as regally as if it was his own, and sat upon the bunk like any other soldier, his arms on his armored knees.

Slate grey orbs which were now tinted with hues of red from crying darted up as a voice soft as velvet drifted though the air. Locking eyes with those beatiful emerald jewels, he listened carefully to her proposal, remaining silent as she spoke. After she was finished, his mind drifted off deep into thought as he looked over the possibilities. She can bring her back! This is wonderful. I can have my beloved back and everything will be back to normal. Or will it? Will she remember what happened? I told her I would always be their to protect her and I wasn't. Would she forgive me? I think so....or do I? Will she even be the same. As much as I love her, I don't know if I could do that to her. Perhaps I should let her pass on to the far shores.

After several minutes that seemed like an eternity, Christopher spoke, his voice threatening to break as he did so. " Thank you, Simithara, but I do not believe I can take you up on that offer. As much as I want her back, I do not believe that is what she would want. For me to ask you to do that would be selfish, and I can't do that to her no matter how much I love her. "

Breaking his gaze from Simithara's, Chris bent over and softly kissed Priscilla on the head, stroking the hair from her face one last time. " You will live on in my memorys. " Gently placing her head back onto the sand, he stood up, grabbing his sword as he did so. His tone suddenly changed from warm and loving to cold and stern when he looked to his knights. " Stay here and protect her body. Nothing is to happen to her. "

....................................

Helseth's Court

The messenger inwardly chuckled when he heard the small bosmer proclaim he was a member of the blades. Ha! That is rich! A blade? If he's a blade, then I'm a purple argonian. The little bastard has some balls though lieing to Helseth like that. I admire that.

With Helseth leaving in such a hurry, the messenger didn't have time to give the king a answer to the invitation for breakfast, so following the royal gaurds in, he found Helseth sitting on the edge of a bunk. Coming to stand infront of the dunmer, he spoke up once again, having preferred to remain quite during most of the meeting. " Your majesty, I thank you for your gracious offer for breakfast, but I am afraid I will have to decline it. If the Glenpoint is to be ready to march, the message has to be delivered as fast as possible. Now if you will excuse me, I shall take my leave. "

Giving a polite bow, he returned his helmet to his head and secured the leather strap, which fit snuggly against his chin. Soon he was outside the tent and mounted once again on his swift mare. Digging spurs into sweaty flanks, he was soon galloping down the road back to his own forces.

Bankorai Pass

Charging fool heartedly towards the mounted swordsman, Kizaam began to second guess himself.

The moment the large beast began charging towards him, he felt a veil of fear and panic surround him. The creature was taller then Kizaam himself, and the man on top was no small one either, a Nordic man.

He wanted to close his eyes, to not be here, and at the same time he would rather be no place else. His most precious memories, his boy Asad, the wedding with his wife...before the harlet took another man to bed, his sister Kira....

He decided in a single moment, he was ready to die if need be.

The adrenaline rush that Redguards were famed for, the single racial ability that turned them into the most fearsome warriors on Nirn.

With the adrenaline running through his body, he was able to block out the pain his broken fingers were giving him, but the grip on his dagger wasn't the better for it.

He leapt forward, his mace swinging at his enemy's upper body and neck....

Time had stopped...

And so it happened. He felt the thrust of the enemy's blade, multiplied by the horses weight thrust deeply into his flesh. The same arm who used a mace against the Imperial Legionare, found the enemy's blade into his shoulder.

All the impact, all the adrenaline had caused a brutal thrust through Kizaam's shoulder, blood splashed on his face. His armor had obviously been penetrated along with his flesh. His world was filled with pain and scarlet, desperation began to creep in.

And then everything else just seemed clearer.

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

Hammerfell, Outside of Thorstad

Daren and Luc led 5,000 shining helmets from the now ransacked village of Thorstad. Daren's army was working for the Empire now, and somehow reports had come in from the South. Rilan had rallied his army, the few scouting parties that Daren sent out brought back skirmish reports, as well as casulties. Rilan was setting up ambushes on Imperial supply lines through the river basin for a week now.

Daren was moving his forces to reinforce King Hlaalu Helseth of Morrowind, Daren was a Breton and unlike most people enjoyed the company of Dunmer. They were quite intriguing to him, their almost innate secretive nature gave them strong personalities. The cavalry had offered to take up the rear, and Daren was left leading regiments of infantry on the dusty mountain road...

Riverview

The sun shone ferociously down on the dirty troops, they were not nearly as thirsty as they were hungry. Food was becoming scarcer and scarcer to come by, most of the Ra Gada in the west valley supported Sentinel. Rilan as well as his men had come accustomed to calling the locals "Ra Gada" it was a more respectful term. The walled river port lay just over the hill, and two hundred men accompanied Rilan, the rest lay in camps scattered across roadways and key tributaries, ambushing Imperial supply lines where they could.

Three assassination attempts had been repelled by Rilan's men, two Dark Brotherhood and one independant. They obviously were not well paid, but still the thought frightened him. These men were sent by Daren, blood for his lost patrols. The studded ropes used to trip horses caused much havoc during an ambush, followed by falling trees and a shower of arrows. Rilan had honed this strategy quite well.

After the time raiding Imperial supply trains they had ample equipment for their forces, anything extra was sent to Riverview in crates for the armory, stores and for sale. His men went to ambush camps in shifts, leaving a few troops in Riverview to solidify Rilan's presence. His forces were mainly Breton, Nord and a few Redguards and Imperials, but they were all marked by the red band on their arm and the leather armor.

Louis troops had effectively collected a platoon's worth of legion armor, which made road stops and check point ambushes much more effective.

The Mayor of Riverview, Charon Camasn, was a respectable man, good with a sword like most Ra Gada. Dressed in extravangant white silks and gold, the man held himself with a noble eloquence that Rilan had considered only short of Imperial High Court. Rilan bowed his head upon meeting the Mayor, during their few meetings it had become established that they were something of equals.

" What is that you need, Rilan of High Rock."

Sometimes Rilan could not believe how he had gotten into this situation, fighting the Empire, fighting his brothers.

" I want to know when the next army is moving through here, my reports suggest troops from the south. Gilane, and some locals, other than that informants in Riverview know little." Rilan stood as a soldier, his hand on his hilt, the round shield on his back made him seem wider than he usually did.

" All I know is that Saladin is in Bangkori pass, to the north. I'm sure you know that the Imperials are moving about near Lainlyn as well as their allies from Morrowind." replied the gold clad noble.

" My men won't be here for much longer, I will be marching north to reinforce Saladin. Your guards will have to keep the Empire out of Riverview."

" This is understood, I cannot express how I will repay you for your service"

The Mayor's voice droned out as Rilan turned to leave.

Battle near Dragongrove

For all the moments to pause and ponder, Christopher chose one during battle.

The marines saw fit to leave as the immediate threat was crushed, yet all forgot in the heat of this moment, Malik, and 73 of his charging swordsingers.

The warcrys and shouts had halted, all that was left was the thunderous drums of hooves hitting the ground, the earth grumbling beneath them.

With no mercy, the Swordsingers charged and crashed right into what was left of Christopher and his men, hacking and cutting, and slicing. The swordsingers outnumbered them, and the train of warriors would fight them all to death, up and until the last man. Malik's blade caught a man's neck, scarlet leapt into the night, landing on his leather armor, his war mask contorted into an awful expression, hiding the face of anger and fury underneath.

He continued charging passed them, his men following with him, straight into the flanks of the Marines.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

The chant exploded out their ranks, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" in the Cyrodiil tounge.

"Kill!Kill!Kill!"

As Swordsingers, the worlds greatest swordsmen, and naturally talented warriors, they were tasked with missions and tasks that would be deemed suicidal, that was what they offered to their lords. To exact vengeance, damage the enemy irreparably, and to die for their Lord.

And tonight, they were not looking to die....


-----------------------------------------------------
Bankorai Pass

As Kizaam battled the horseman, others charged up the hill, looking to see if any of the enemy Dres still lurked around, and many of the others were in pursuit of the Imperial soldiers attempting to escape.

Seeing their leader in need of help, a handful of men, four to be exact rushed over, pole arms in hand, and screaming.

Others, seemingly unsure what to do with their commander not shouting orders, they looked to each other, and stayed in the trenches.

Discipline, something to say for it. These militia were completely at a loss what to do once a commander went down, and following their last order was something they didn't place on their priorities.

Bankorai Pass

Arvas and his horseman had gained quite a bit of distance. The rebels were chasing the hidden legionaires and it was only right that the Dunmer horse archers take shots to cover their retreat. Arvas groaned slightly as he twisted in his saddle, the wound provided an annoying and painful sensation. Even so he lined up the arrow with his target and let loose. The Dres shot at full draw, for accuracy and power. The rebels would be foolish to continue their persuit uphill as the whip of arrows was heard being flung through the air. The arrows had momentum and gravity on their side because of the altitude giving them even more piercing power.

"Hurry up Imperials!" Arvas yelled at the men. He knew that there may be a time when he would be fighting against the legion themselves. But for now he would fight with them, not for their sake, but to maintain his loyalty to Lord Andarys.


OOC: Blah...

Shouts of surprise and fear sooned turned to anger as the cavalry made up of Swordsingers charged into the small group of knights, trampleing Priscillas body and slaughtering without mercy. Some were trampled underfoot while others were blasted back as hundreds of pounds of horse flesh slammed into their body as they fought to stand their ground, scattering them like ragdolls. Meanwhile, others met cold steel that painted streaks of scarlet and crimson along the openings in their armor.

The thundering of so many hooves was deafening. So was the screams of the dieing.

Much like the Swordsingers, they were willing and as ready as possible to lay down their lifes in service to their lord. Most were scared to die, and none could blame them. They would bare this heavy burden with honor if it was asked of them though, and with no retreat in sight, that seemed to be the request.

Christopher meanwhile wasn't fairing much better then the men he lead, taking a hard hit to the face mere moments into the fight. A normal man should have been scared at the sight of so many mounted warriors with demonic like visages, but fear quickly gave way to the rage that washed over him due to his loss.

As the Swordsinger nearest to him came into range, his right arm pumped out, bringing his dark blade into direct contact with the Ra Gadas knee, creating a deep streak of vermillion as most of the blade passed over. A split second after he made his strike, it was his turn to dodge as another Swordsinger passed, his wicked looking katana passing mere inchs from Christophers neck as he leaned away from what would have been a deadly blow.

Then it happened.

" Kill me! Kill me! Drive your [censored] sword through my heart you black scum! " He screamed, almost believing the words he was shouting through the tears. As much as now longed for death, he still feared it, and that fear along with a bit of luck is what kept him alive during the next few minutes. As he tryed to recover from the near miss of the second Swordsinger, yet another came riding by, and although he didn't strike out with his blade, he did strike.

A hard, leather boot shot out from the stirrups, smashing Chris hard in the face. The crunching, sickening sound as his nose gave way was terrible, but not as much as the brutal pain that assaulted his now. As he was blasted backwards and to the ground, the natural instinct to preserve his life kicked in which resulted in him rolling off to the side, barely missing a hoove that would have came crashing down on his head.

Phillip seemed to be fairing better though, having just killed one of the bastards instead of wounding him. The warrior had come in fast, using his sabre to stab a knight through a opening in his armor. What the demonic looking bastard didn't count on was the fact that it would get caught on the armor on the way out, giving the aged breton close by a chance to strike. With a swift strike of his own sword that flashed silver in the bright morning light, Phillip painted a crimson line under the mans chin, causing him to fall from his horse and this life.

Ra'Kava also seemed to be fairing better, although he had yet to make a kill. At the moment, he was busy using his natural feline agility and grace to dance around on the outskirts of the cavalry charge, using his curved scimitars to bat away strikes that was aimed for him or the occasional surviving knight that he neared.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVDkwSTt3L4

Bankorai Pass
Jarkko felt the blade pierce then tug on the rebel's shoulder. He held a firm grip and followed through, swinging his arm backwardsand up over his head to wretch the steel free of the armor. There was a scrap, and a splash of red in the dawns orange air, and then he was past, riding on further into the enemy. His horse cried in alarm as more rebels began to swarm around, either rushing to the aid of the first man, or charging up the hill towards the Dres.

"NOW! Third Squadron! NOW!" The Nord bellowed the command deeply, so the throaty resonance of his shout carried into the scrub brush and rock on the right side of the pass. "NOW!"

There was a cold numbing pause where for a moment, the nord thought that nothing would happen. Then dust began to swirl and a whole squadron of cavalrymen thundered down the hill and into the flanks of the rebels, who were now caught in the open. The twenty five horseman took up the fight with energy, hacking and slashing at any target they could find. They were tired and strained. They had been waiting up behind boulders and scrub trees since the previous night. Now, set loose, they were eager for blood.

Jarkko just prayed that the Dres would have the sense to cease their firing. His men would be kicking up dust, and any arrow fired would probably be just as likely to hit friend as foe.

Helseth's Court
Septimus followed the King into his tent. Fatigue and the beginnings of a migrane wore heavy on his thoughts. The thin nord coughed and hacked before he spat a gob of mucus onto the sand. After he was inside, he straightened his back, and stood motionless, unsure of where to sit.

"I trust your men are in good shape for the fighting?" He asked awkwardly. He was trying not to pry, as Helseth was a social superior, but he needed to know these things for command. "Most likely your dunmer will bear the brunt of the next round of fighting. Is there anything they might need to ease them along? I can probably spare some healers for you..."

" So we are to act as support for the king Helseth, huh? Well, thats fine by me. With any luck, most of our forces will remain intact and the duke wont end up hanging me from the castle walls. " Captain Gaston said in what seemed like his best mood yet. Once again, he was in a meeting with his officers and the messenger that just returned. War would be upon them soon and last minute plans were being drilled into the officers heads.

After a sip of juice that tasted like it was starting to ferment, Gaston continued, pointing to a man small by even Breton standards. " What are the reports? Are the men ready to move? "

Wiping the sweat from his wrinkled brow with a dirty piece of cloth, the short officer took in a deep breath before he started, knowing well the captain wouldn't like what he had to say. " Well sir, the Knights of the Owl along with the spellswords and sorcerers are ready to leave when given the command. The rest of the army will need more time, sir. Most are awake as we speak eating their morning rations, but the others will need to be woke up and fed. I would say another two or three hours atleast, sir. "

If looks could kill, the officer would have dropped dead. " Damn it! There is no time for this [censored], do you understand? I want them up and ready to go in two hours at the latest and sooner if possible. " Gaston growled, his hard gaze falling upon the small man as he slammed his right fist into the small oak table covered in maps and notes. " Get out! All of you get the hell out! "

Without hesistation, the line of men quickly left the tent before they invoked any more wrath from the moody, old Breton. Soon they were passing through the camp, shouting out commands to get the men motivated and ready to move out.

Written to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUUDPvQLJ70

IC:

"[censored]! [censored]! We're dead!" screamed a middle aged militiaman running next to a youth who had fancied himself invincible the night previous.

Upon sight of the cavalry charge from their right, the man had dropped his polearm, with arrows firing over head he had lost the will.

A route.... Kizaam thought to himself, with life and energy leaving his body.

I have completed my failure...a failed commander, father...husband.

He wouldn't see Asad, he couldn't keep his men in line...after all the blood...he couldn't tell his wife how he didn't blame her for choosing another man....

With the sound of a bone breaking, and flesh and steel being ran through, the cavalryman's sword cut through his shoulder joint and the upper bit of his arm, dropping him to the ground. The same arm being trampled by a horse's hoof a moment after.

He gritted his teeth from the extreme pain, he was dying, life had already left him...and he couldn't save those of the ones he wished.

The militiamen began retreating, some dropping their pole arms in the process, clashing into the professional Crownsworn, who tried shoving them out of the way. Fights broke out as the horseman encountered the rear of those routing.

A runner dashed through from the forest cover towards one of the few officers left standing in the front.

"Commander! Orders from the General, the Knights of the Scarab are on their way, if the route pervades any more of the front line, fire the windlass at all enemy cav-" he was cut off as soon as a volley of Dunmer arrows pierced the area and ground, by the time the commander eased himself from the ground, the runner was gurgling and drowning in his own blood, an arrow pierced his throat.

"Damn it!" The officer wouldn't like firing on the enemy from here, the result would be both enemy and friendly fire. They'd found themselves in a meat grinder, and no matter the size of the enemy, the front line routing would intrude on every other damned rank behind them.

-------------------------------------------
The Hall was a beautiful thing, all stone, desert lotus petals adorning the floor and chambers.

After having made sure Roxanna had been laid to sleep, Master Vega relinquished his bag of swords and unique weaponry.

He smoked his pipe along with the Ansei in charge of the Halls. The other Ra Gada was a man in prime physical condition, it seemed every single part of his body popped and bulged in muscle and vein. His cleanly shaved head was tattooed in the native markings of the sect of Swordsingers he hailed from. They both enjoyed their pipes as they felt the battle miles away, near Dragongrove.

They knew by the sword tremor that Swordsingers were fighting....against many...and had lost their lives.

Even an Ansei's shehai was felt...and had fallen.

"The damned King had better win this war..." Vega grumbled.

The other Ansei simply looked in bewilderment, "He is your student no?"

"Once, before he studied under that bastard running the Order of Leki."

"Your first student, Dorian. He seemed antsy at our arrival...I haven't seen him since..."

"That one had my blessing to leave for war after he saw your arrival...he has chosen the walkabout."

Fui-net's eyes widened at this, as a puff of green smoke left his estate pipe. A man who was willing to go on a walkabout, the righting of wrongs and constant challenge and battle, during a war was truly insane...or brave.

"He may just study under me one day."

Simithara looked disappointed that Christopher did not take up her offer, but that disappointment washed away as she felt the pounding of hooves on the ground and looked up to see the charging horseman.

Some of the initial attackers thought they had cut into the living, but instead the liquid that streamed from their kills was not blood, but the watery remains of bodily fluids of the dead. Few were cut down, but several lost appendages that could be considered vital or hardly so. But the loss of servants came with the death of many others, and Simithara grinned widely. The Swordsingers were bringing about their own doom.

One hand slipped to her pouch, where necromantic ingredients resided. A single black stone the size of a hand came out, and she cupped it, whispering softly as she remained kneeling over Priscilla's body. A tiny glitter of light, a minute trace of magic, and the deed was done. Just in time for a cold body to slam into her. Breathless, Simithara looked into empty eyes, seeing her savior to be her own creation. Raza got up, having saved her from death when a horse trampled over Priscilla's body. Simithara looked at the shimmering black stone in her hand, slyly grinning, and adjusted the grip on her dagger, slamming it into the sand with a screech of inhuman speech.

The sand around her rippled, akin to a rock tossed in a pool of water, the ripples glimmering with unholy emerald light beneath the sand. The waves were small and inconsiderable; no one would lose their balance from the slight shifting caused. But that was not the point. The emerald magic stopped whenever it reached a corpse, fresh or otherwise. It clung to that corpse, a parasite of light. Ra'Gada and Knight alike rose again, turning to face the horseman that had been their death for a second chance.

She still had a few of her swordsinger dead remaining, and these few stood before the renewed undead army with their swords at their side. They emptily stared at their former comrades, jaws gaping from their lax facial muscles. They moved their swords before them, and then as one mass of decaying flesh, thirty five corpses charged forwards, weapons rising to claim living flesh.

The steady thundering of hooves and snorting could be heard in the distance as a stallion as white as the freshly fallen snow of Skyrim raced across the Alik'r, taking its lone rider south towards Dragongrove. The rider, whos black cape whipped about behind him in the wind stood out in stark contrast compared to his swift mount. Leaning down closer to his steed, he touched bronze spurs to sweaty flanks, urging him to go faster.

" Damn it! " Dorian growled under his breath as he gazed off into the distance, moving one hand from the reins to shield his eyes from the bright, morning rays. " I should have left sooner! I just hope I'm not to late! " As he continued to push his horse harder, he had to raise the scarf that rested around his neck to cover his mouth and nose from all the dust being kicked up.

The sword tremors that washed over his sences earlier had all but faded, meaning his brothers of the sword had met their end. They were quickly replaced with others though, which were more violent and intense, meaning more Swordsingers had joined in combat against the invaders. What bothered him the most though was the shehai he had felt earlier. Compared to the other sword tremors, it stood out like a shining beacon in the dark. It to had faded away, only twenty or so minutes earlier.

Dorian knew the distinct tremor that particular shehai produced, knew its wielder well. It was a man Dorian looked up to more then anyone else besides Master Vega. Wanting to live up to this mans legend was what made the young ra'gada push himself harder and harder. The mans name was Raza, and if he had passed on to the far shores, the Imperial bastards would have hell to pay.

OOC: Let's wrap up the skirmish.


Bangkorai Pass

Arvas and the other horse archers ceased their barrage as the Redguards were pounced upon. Hitting their own troops in the back while in combat would be foolish to say the least. The horse archers made their retreat. They had bloodied the rebel's noses in this skirmish but the battle itself would be solved further north. The Empire's forces had yet to come all together, as did all of the forces of the rebels, but by night fall at the latest the two sides would clash. Arvas wondered how the Empire would manage ruling Hammerfell even if they did manage victory. It seemed like a pit where one would lose much more than just resources and gain nothing much in return.

"Let's go!" Arvas yelled, the horses of the Deshaan riding north toward their general and king.

IC:
Bankorai Pass
Mogaba shouted out to the soldiers shuffling in front of him, they were hampering the movement of his Knights straight into the enemy cavalry.

"Out of the way dogs! Spread your damned ranks!" The constant shouting and chaos of the front ranks was beginning to spread confusion. Soldiers who were perfectly fine, and away from danger were beginning to panic and begin moving out of rank and file.

In the distance, an angered Saladin watched as the Knights of the Scarab were literally barred from moving to the battle up ahead. Those fighting the cavalry were routing and those behind them were beginning to believe that a larger force was up ahead.

Saladin knew this was a mess that would get worse unless it was dealt with swiftly.

"Blow the damned horn." he said harshly, he tried numbing his heart to what he had just ordered. The officer next to him blew the notes that the Crownsworn officer expected.

Within a minute of the order, the Windlass Arbalests snapped forward, they would be cutting through the few routing Ra Gada left alive, and the cavalry as well.

--
Saladin began shouting orders to his officers, "Snap into ranks! Snap into Ranks! The enemy has fallen!"

The same exact things were shouted by all officers and commanders throughout the entire army, even amongst those that were not in any form of panic.

A few militiamen running and not in any formation at all slammed into the shield wall of Sentinel Swordsmen, shoved down, and wrestled before quitting their maddening run.

The controlled chaos of the battlefield was a fragile thing, and steps had to be taken in order to keep it under control.