Imperial Legion, Prison Wagon
"The rebels are moving on Lainlyn? By which route? the direct one from Sentinel, or are they moving south via Hegathe? Do you know where the Lord Montrose is?" Aquila asked, surprised.

"The Lord Montrose Is probably dead by now. If not he should be in the desert north of Dragongrove, but I assume he's dead. It's an acceptable loss for the time we gained, the time we are now squandering!" Quintus sat up, his eyes ablaze with a mix of anger and resignation. "If you give the army to Aquila It'll be the deathknell of the campaign. The man is a drunken fool, give him a spade, fine, give him a hammer, fine, but don't give him my army."

"You shut your goddamned mouth you traitorous son of a [censored]. You goddamned worm, you piece of backstabbing slime! I should cut your goddamned eyes out you mother [censored]!" Aquila shouted angrily. Though his size was not imposing, the savagry with which he spoke gave pause to the young general. Without taking his eyes away from Cincinnatus, he spoke softer, and much kinder.

"If you let me out of this wagon and get me into a proper uniform, I'll lead this goddamned army. I will be the bloody sword of the emperor...just get me out."

Near Dragon Grove
Aldaril wanted to continue the argument with the Lieutenant so badly and show his views on the true meaning of command and where it should be done, but that was something for another time. To the man's credit, he formed up his men quite quickly and sent his scouts forward, almost before Aldaril had time to register that he should even be moving out. However, the Captain was quick off the mark as well, quickly spinning and gesturing with his blade. "Skirmishing lines! Form up, and prepare to march to Dragon Grove! Don't let the scouts get TOO far ahead, men, they may be telling us what we're going up against, but that doesn't mean we have to wait for em!"

He turned once more as the force of sailors and marines came rushing from the boats, which they had finally finished off, to form loose, long lines. Much like the scouts sent ahead, they formed lines that were jumbled together in a loose, stretched out column, men jostling for positions that were a few paces away from each other. They were attacking a city, after all, that were notorious for being defended with ranged units first. A looser formation meant that less men would be lost to missiles, especially if they came upon something that was siege... Much like those blasted cannons were like back at Sentinel. There would be nothing left to chance...

"The scouts have been given enough of a head start by now!" Aldaril ordered after the men had formed their column, nodding to the Lieutenant. "Your men should come with ours. We want to do this quick, with overwhelming force. In and out again, doing as much damage as possible. Got it?" With that order relayed, Aldaril's sword lifted, pointing into the sky to gather his men's attention. "MARCH!"

And so, the column began their flow towards Dragon Grove. It would be a fight worthy of legend...



OOC: Missed this, until FC pointed it out...

Vulnim Gate
"Tact?" Marietta repeated, rolling her eyes. "Yes, it seems most armies are the absolute masters of tact. As it is, however, I don't think these men have much of a choice in the matter. The moment the armies arrive, be it from Ra'Gada or Imperial forces, they will find themselves in a crude position. However, for now, there is no need for us to not be civil." She turned her head, nodding to the battlemages. "Weapons sheathed, at all times. They're only civilians here, so don't go losing your heads. We don't want a repeat of the Chasetown happenings... So I will expect you to curb that bloodlust."

With that, Marietta guided her horse forward, up to and through the gate with the cowardly guard, into the dingy little outpost that they called 'Vulnim Gate'. It wasn't really a town. More like a few wooden ramparts and ramshackle hovels crammed into the side of a mountain valley. There was little in the way of ANYTHING here, and she highly doubted that it could even support, much less contain, an army of the size of the Legion. However, with their smaller force, that wouldn't be a problem. Hopefully.

Jassan moved quickly after they rose their voices, his hands slipping under his ass and his feet kicking out. He'd spread them wide in a near man-hurting split as he did so, catching the both of them in the chest with his abrupt, though hardly intense, force. At best, they'd be knocked on their asses and winded for a minute or less.

"Both of you quiet." He hissed harshly as his feet curled back under him and his arms rested on his knees in a fluid motion. Sitting on his toes now the little elf glared between the both of them. "You are damn lucky that sounded like an argument between you two without a third party. Otherwise I woulda been caught, ya stupid fools." His voice never once rose from that hushed whispering, as if he was trapped at that decibel. He looked at them before looking to Aquila again.

"They were heading the Sentinel road route. Wherever Hegathe is, that wasn't their destination. Is there any force that could be behind this legion as a vanguard, like Helseth?" Jassan asked, before twisting at the hip and pointing at Quintus. "As for you, I don't trust you, for my own reasons. But the men are more likely to accept the both of you taking command illegally than just one of you, considering your states." He remarked, then flicked a dagger out of his waist sheath.

"Therefore I am freeing both of you, and you are going to work together on this army. Fifty-fifty it if you have to, but for the sake of your men and gods just work together. Even me and Ree'Ja can managed to work in tandem when the situation if grave, so I'm sure the two of you can manage."
-------------------
"We're only fifty, should hardly be an issue." Hukral replied to her, and stood by the entrance as the men began to enter. The Redguard gatekeeper looked at him worriedly. "I'll stand guard here, seeing as I can hardly fit into your door. No worries, sir." The Redguard nodded quickly, and quite gladly closed Hukral off from the rest of the unit. The rest of everyone.

It was dark, the only light coming from the moon, which was dimmed by the shadows of the rocky land around them and the sparse trees. The small amount of light that bled from the outpost also served a little, but overall was not helpful. The Nordic beast stood beside the door like a soldier at lax attention, hand pulled up to grasp the handle of his claymore on his back. He might have a hard time seeing things, but he knew he'd be able to see the flash of a weapon in the night; either the attacker, or his own as he struck, if the situation arose.

Wikrun was standing with Ree'Ja in front of the only inn around as Marietta and the Battlemages entered, the two's horses already tied to posts and being tended to. Marsha, being the last to enter along with the Dunmeri archer, guided her horse and Hukral's to the same post, tying them. "Where's Jassan's horse?" She asked suddenly, flipping her hair over her shoulder to look at Wikrun.

"It ran off at some point in the night. Couldn't find it. Not unlike he does, actually." The Dunmer replied, shrugging. Marsha looked at the ground, thinking, before grinning and shrugging as well. Wikrun looked to Marietta as the conversation ended.

"The inn can hold only so many, and I'm not sure how willing these people would be to house us in their own homes. If we do two to a room, we might squeeze half the force into the inn."

Imperial Legion, Prison Wagon
both men gave a small shout of surprise when they were hit, though Quintus was first to react, indignant as always.

"The Van is the front of an army, the rear is the back. The legions have the Van, then the Bretons, then the Dunmer...like Helseth in the rear. If your great army," Quintus said, emphasizing sarcastically the great, "is trying to strike at the legions, it has to go through the armies of our two allied nations first. "And the Army doesn't work like that. There is no fifty-fifty. We are an empire, not a damned republic..."

"I wish that it were..." Septimus said longingly. It was at that point that Aquila struck, A quick punch that flicked out to strike the Imperial in the throat. there was not a great amount of force behind it, and in trth, there was not a great amount of force in the Nord's body but it was enough to stun and silence the commander. He was reduced to a choking coughing fit, on the floor of the wagon. Septimus smiled broadly, showing his yellowed teeth through the ragged and elongated hole in his cheek.

"I thank you my friend. I thank you from the bottom of my wretched heart." Aquila said, his broad face wound giving a slight hollow sound to his words. "Lets go then. I'll come back for that one after I'm dressed properly. We need to get him a horse and some armor. Generals shouldn't be seen in their undergarments."

Forest south of Dragon Grove
The Skirmish line was thrown out infront of the rest of the landing party. They were the tip of the spear so to speak.

And Midshipman Betto Plotius was terrified.

The boy was young, very young when his father had enlisted him in the Imperial Navy. Betto Plotius, the senior had wanted his son out of their home town of Leyawiin. It's full of bestial thieves he would always say. No boy of mine is going to grow up with cats and lizards as schoolmates! It had been the one thing that his mother and father agreed on. So before he could even realize what was going on, or why he should fear the ebast races he was out in the open ocean aboard the HES Hjalti, a ruggedly built Imperial Heavy Warship.

It seemed that the joke was at his father's expense. Fully a quarter of the crew were made up of Argonians. And now, in the dark of the bamboo forest, young Plotius was leading them into battle. His heart beat in his chest as they walked. As far as he could see to his right and left were men, crouched over, stalking through the underbrush.

Betto tightened and loosened his grip on his cutlass, a nervous tick. To his right a twig snapped. The whole line went to ground, listening and waiting in the dark. No cry of alarm, not snap of a bowstring. They slowly stood and continued on.

The leather of the saddle creaked under the messenger as he adjusted his weight, sitting up staight in the saddle. With reins in one hand and the banner of his army in the other, he looked down upon Captain Gaston and gave a small salute. " I shall return soon with word, sir. " With that, the messenger turned his mare around and spurred her on down the road, heading toward the legion camp down the road.

The steady clippity clop of hoofs could be heard from some distance off as the mares hoofs pounded the hard, packed earth of the road. Mane and banner were caught in the wind and blew about, sometimes even smacking the rider in the face. Thanks to a night eye potion tooken earlier, he saw most of the terrain around him as he rode on.

About three or four minutes later, he arrived at the outskirts of the legion camp. Slowing his mare down to a trot, he continued to urge her foward. Once he neared about fifteen meters from the camp, he gave the reins a steady pull which brought both rider and mount to a slow stop. Making sure his banner was in a position to be seen, he shouted out in a loud, clear voice. " Message! "

http://www.imeem.com/people/fwmG41/music/xG8u6LkS/fellnothing_my_eternal_satisfaction/
IC:

The masked demon waited an eternity before even moving, its head tilting to the side. The fangs, and beard on his war mask were painted a crude brown, and the man himself was completely hidden within the cloak. Completely still, the clothing flailed behind him in the freezing night wind.

Slowly, a falchion slid out of his robe's sleeve, followed by a hook sword in the other.

The breathing under the mask began to rapidly quicken and grown in intensity. A step was taken, the frozen sand of the Alik'r crunched.

Fast eyes scanned the cavalry knight ahead of him.

"Move back you black skinned sunnuva [censored]! Drop the wea-" the man was cut off with his own scream as the hook sword flew towards his horse's leg, the sword attached to the Swordsinger's arm via chain and brace. The powerful steed's leg came off quickly, sending a tormented whinny into the air, and a beast and its rider toward the ground.

With unnatural speed and grace, the warrior closed the distance quickly, airborne, twirling as if an acrobat towards the Knight. Who panicked and faltered at unsheathing his weapon, he stumbled to get away but his foot was stuck into the panicking horse's spur, and the beast was kicking out wildly....one of the kick's connected with the Knight's legs.

The man yelled in pain as his knee had been kicked out of place and broken.

Fifty meters down, the other men spurred their horses forward, lances drawn. Behind them, another Swordsinger in waiting dashed with all the speed he could muster on to one of the Knight's horses, his Kris Kalis sword striking the brief area between curiass and neck, straight down, severing the spinal column and striking the heart, the technique was pulled perfectly. The other Knights turned to look in horror.

Back at the original Knight and Swordsinger, the breton still struggled with his horse, the Sword singer merely standing over him in silence. A slice that could not be followed or seen danced through the air, followed by a spray of blood and the horse was dead.

The Ra Gada under the mask tilted his head again, almost playfully mocking the Breton, attempting to act confused as to why he screamed so loud. The fearsome mask betrayed no emotion the Redguard showed underneath, finally the Breton withdrew his blade.

Once the weapon was drawn, the honor was upheld. The Hook sword flew from its resting spot on the ground, slicing through the amputated horse leg, and landing in the Breton's throat, the chain was pulled, but with enough tender care to yank the man's head up as the Falchion sliced the mid of his skull.

Hundreds of meter further down the road, and into the Breton Camp...Raza and the rest of the sword singers entered from the forest, weapons drawn...and one shehai unleashed.

The Song of the blade would be sang all night.

ooc: Those two breton deaths were approved by Crazy, at gunpoint but thats passed the matter.

Aldmeri Sunbird

Michelle climbed down bit by bit the best she could. She stared down between her nervous feet as she stepped, with Serosi climbing down below her. She tried her best to match his speed. The distance from top to bottom must have been almost 40 feet or more. The massive size of the ship had just begun to sink in as they entered into it's depths. Michelle's eyes wandered about along the walls as she climbed down. She had seen something similar like this in High Rock on her estate when she was younger. Her first encounter with necromancy was in such a setting. She felt comfortable and yet nervous at the same time.

A quick whisp of breath was heard being drawn in as Michelle gasped, her step firmly planted on Serosi's hand. She froze for a moment before quickly lifting off of his hand. "I'm sorry..." She whispered. She felt a bit ignored when Serosi did not look up to acknowledge her apology but then quickly remembering what she had worn which sent a surge of red to her cheeks, perhaps it was best he kept his eyes down she thought to herself.

She was glad to finally feel more substance under her feet then just the ladder. Her soft hands not used to any manual work were sore but she was more focused on Serosi who was facing the end of the short hall way leading into a T intersection. Michelle had known that more elves would be in the Sunbird, but she didn't expect what she would see next. Three goblins walked together across the intersection. Michelle had a horrible phobia of goblins but before she could make noise and react, Serosi had already pressed her back against the wall as they stood shoulder to shoulder to make themselves harder to see.

Vulnim Gate
Marietta looked with some skepticism up at the inn, the ramshackle building looking dingy to say the least. Two to a room, to fit half the force inside? There were only about sixty of them, including the BB, and the Scouts. And this place had barely fifteen rooms to its name? She sighted, not wanting to force citizens from their homes in order to make room for themselves. Though from the looks of things, that would only just barely make the other half of her forces comfortable, a thought that both amused and exasperated her. Some town Vulnim Gate had turned out to be... It wasn't even a defensible position, just a wooden rampart and a few buildings slapped into place.

She pondered for only a few moments, her hands on her hips. "Those of you that were wounded in the battle for Sunkeep, will have earned your right to a room tonight, sharing them two to a room. Then, starting from the lower ranked members of the Battlemages, and the Scouts, work your way up the chain, again, two to a room. We want to keep the majority of the people happy here, not just the officers. As a result, I would be the last to go, which means that I and the rest of the others will be spending our night in tents, pitched in the central square. It's probably the only place in this blasted town that would allow us to have enough room. IF, and I do mean IF, no forcing people into it, you can convince a citizen to allow you to share their homes with you, then by all means do so. However, if I receive word that you forced a citizen to do this, I will personally see to it that your punishment is severe. We are here as guests for the time being, not an occupying army."

Her orders given, Marietta turned towards the BB, nodding. "As for you group, you are welcome to a room if you so wish, as you are technically not a part of the Legion, nor subject to my orders. My men will just have to work around it." She didn't actually expect them to take her up on that offer. Well, perhaps Jassan would, at least until one of the others got their hands on him, but the others she expected not to. After all, they usually held themselves with a rather honorable poise. THough it had to at least be said.

Her eyes fixated themselves onto Marsha last, giving the Redguard woman a small smile. "And, Marsha, if you are ready to begin training, then I will be happy to begin teaching you. At least, after a bit of rest is had, as I didn't get a chance to wash myself, or even lie down in my own tent after we arrived at our previous camp. If my men aren't exhausted, then they should be getting pretty close." She pointed out, with a few murmurs of acknowledgment from the men that were shuffling like zombies towards the inn.

OOC: As for Aldaril, not much to say other than 'he continues to march'.

OOC:

Rebel leaders I need a response or someone to roleplay the Baron of Riverview.

Riverview (Rilan's perspective)

Rilan stood in the bustling market place in the town of Riverview. The river traffic was still dense, despite the war, full of ships going both south and north, the port a hand stretching into the wide river. Rilan hadn't been in the city long enough to learn the names of any local landmarks and instead had spent his time sending his officers to barter with local armsmen while Rilan sought out a rebel informant.

As far as anyone knew, Riverview was still an active vassal of the Kingdom of Sentinel and in all loyalties should have some sort of rebel presence. Rilan's men had camped two miles across the river, if the army at riverview expected any threats before he could make his case, there would be no choice but retreat.

Rilan no longer took the guise of a Lord, only the sword at his belt marked him as a man of wealth. His expensive clothing, jewelry and trinkets had been given to trade for weapons. The army was ill equipt and if the rebels were to "hire" Rilan's forces, he would have to have an able bodied force. Rilan on the other hand was looking for food and he knew where he was going to find it.

With Oli, Maxamilien, Vernard and Louis selling items in town and all buying weapons for the army it woudl reduce the risk that his men would be spotted. Rilan, now in a leather cuirass and common clothing made his way to the town hall. The town guards let him pass, not suspecting him to be of any threat. Rilan naturally assumed more would be waiting for him when he entered the portal.

A host of guards stood in the entry chamber to the small palace, almost akin to the noble's estates he'd seen in the countryside in the earlier stages of his campaign. The well dressed, if not over weight clerk waited behind a desk that blocked entry to what seemed to be a court or meeting room. " What buisness do you have here Breton?" the Redguard replied in a snotty, if not commanding tone. The guards replied faster than Rilan by standing to attention.

Rilan took a deep breath before he answered.

" I am Lord Rilan Drayen of House Drayen, betrayed leader of East High Rock, Crown of Jehanna and Farrun, Crusader of the North and proclaimed rebel to the Empire and it's nobility. I have been betrayed by my power hungry general, his forces serve the empire. The remaining men I have are willing to pit their sword against the forces of Cyrodiil. Over a thousand strong, my men are waiting on the outskirts of town, weary from our travel with little food and water and without weapons. I've given up everything of my own, even my signet ring to purchase weapons for my army."

The room was silent, the guards took their hands from curved swords.

The fat man behind the desk replied," My apologies, sir. I will inform the Baron at once. A fresh meal will be brought to you."

Rilan nodded," I do not require a meal, my hunger and thirst shall not be sated until my men sate theirs." many of the guards, honorable Ra Gada, seemed taken aback by such a statement. Surely no Breton could hold such honor.

" Very well." Replied the clerk, his cloak dragging along the polished marble floor in the opposite direction.

Thorstad (Daren's Perspective)

The long column of troops reached Thorstad, most of the fortifications still in place, the town still deserted. Daren smiled and turned to Luc " This will be a perfect base for our operations as well as depositing our wealth in the cave system underneath. Tell your troops to set up guards positions amongst the palisades. If we're attacked, I want you on the frontline. Inform the other commanders to organize the buildings, designate the barracks, the armories, the mess halls and the drilling grounds. If there isn't enough room, the men are to use tents. I'll be setting up headquarters at once, i'll have letters out to the Imperial commanders in less than an hour."

Luc stood silently, nodding in agreement and stroking his soft blonde goatee. " I'll have to request extra rations for my men, i'll be improving the fortifications. The flimsy wall will do little to stop any force worth defending against. I'll need shovels from the supply train for ditches and perhaps a few of the draft horses to pull boulders into place. I'll be using broken furniture as a barricade so we'll have to pull wood from the forests for fires. I'll have defense done by the end of the week." Calmly, the commander turned towards his destination and rallied his troops as he left.

Meanwhile, Daren had a letter to write...

Jassan balked at Spetimus Aquila, blinking at Quintus before looking back to the commander. "Good gods... the both of you are worse than me and that damned cat." he muttered, moving his hand towards the flap and lifting it. He peered out, moonlight casting upon his face. "Should we bother hiding from the men, or will they take a likely to you hoping out the back of this thing?" He inquired, though he guessed he already knew the answer.


"We have tents, we can manage. Your men are the ones who need the rooms." Wikrun replied, exactly as Marietta had expected. After giving her a quick, polite bow he moved towards his horse and began undoing his tent, moving towards the central square. Marsha remained where she was for a moment, smirking, before nodding to Marietta.

"Just give a whistle when you're ready hun, I sleep lightly." She smiled before turning around to follow Wik's example. Ree'Ja, however, did neither, and simply bowed to Marietta before looking towards the exit.

"This one will keep Hukral company, but thanks Marettah for the offer." The Khajiit either purposely said her name wrong, or had a hard time getting his tongue to pronounce it all the way. Regardless, he left little room for elaborate conversation as he darted off to join Hukral in the vigil of the night.

Gilane

Commander Chark stood as a monument to the Empire's resilience, the tall aged man standing atop the northeastern wall, gazing out into the night for the first sign of a torch or large congregation of movement so that he might alas put this antsy city to the task of defending itself, and hopefully by some miracle by the Nine, they might protect themselves. Gold encased armor was massaged by the light of a crooked moon, his large hands toiled in fists, eyes bagged but eyes sturdy as an oak. All was quiet on the eastern front, but for how much longer? He plucked a burning torch from the Imperial Watchman beside him, and began to pace along the top of the walls.

Manfred

With a slight nod, Manfred turned to Wilfred. "Go, alert the men that we move again. It is in my understanding that Saladin still desires for me to ride with him, so we will not likely meet until the next camp. I'll see what I can do about the banners in the meantime." Lord Flyte instructed the knight. The young Breton rose, then bowed, making sure to make it obvious that Manfred was the only one he was bowing to, before hastily departing. He did make sure to shoot an ice-cold glare at Guillaume, and his lack of helmet meant that it was unlikely it'd go unnoticed.

With a silent sigh, Manfred slowly began strapping the shield to his arm. Reflections of the fire danced on the coat of arms... His father's coat of arms. His coat of arms. The coat of arms of Anticlere.

I'll be damned if my men march under Sentinel's banners. My father wasn't Auberon Flyte if I don't give my best trying to convince Saladin that my views on this are correct... As these thoughts came to him, Manfred felt a surge of energy within himself. He was no court wuss - riding all night long was nothing new to him, even if his legs and ass felt like wood by the end of the march.

Main Character Sheet

Name: Manfred Flyte, Couer de Lion (as dubbed by his forces)
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 color are low in his face compared to his nose, thus he has a high brow. Above the thin, straight line which are 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 honor of his father.

Now, with his family line somewhat secure, Mafred has 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.

Weapons: Currently, none; his sword was left at the site of the Ra Gada ambush, since his rank did not allow him to be disarmed like his troops.
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 currently Manfred's closest friend and bodyguard. Wilfred is the unofficial second-in-command of Knights of the Flame, a famed jouster and a fine warrior in general, amazingly skilled for his age. While still wearing a set of steel plate armor, including a great helm, Wilfred has thrown his axe into the sea while Manfred gathered his companions, and his shield was battered during the ambush to the point of being impossible to use further.

Faction Sheet

Faction Name: His Lordship's Forces of Anticlere (20)

Rank: Manfred Flyte- Lord of Anticlere
Wilfred du Lombard- Champion of Lord Flyte of Anticlere

Anticlerian Arbalesters (20)- Those are the twenty men that Manfred took with himself by demand of Saladin. Although still armored with knee-long chainmail and Burgonet helmets, their pavise shields, arbalests, and melee weapons have been taken. In return for their loyalty, they have been promised initiation into knighthood.

Main Character Sheet

Name: Almalien (pronounced Aal mmalyan) Hlaalu

Race: Dunmer (born in Vivec)

Age: 118; appears as if somewhere around forty, maybe a little less

Birthsign: The Shadow

Physical Description: Quite tall, standing at around six feet three inches, and lean, Almalien looks rather attractive. His gaunt face reminds of an Altmer, if it wasn't for the traditional Dunmer features ? fiery red eyes (his being slightly sidelong) and ashen blue skin, even though Almalien's bears a slight shade of purple. A small snub nose occupies the middle of his face, below which, thin lips and a well-kept, slightly curved pointy red beard. No longer than mid-neck length, perfectly straight red hair, from below which, traditional pointy elven ears stick out.

Almalien is physically fit, though quite obviously not a warrior, at least not a rank-and-file soldier. His figure reminds of a scimitar, due to the slightly inwards-curved back. His fingers are a bit on the long side, as are his legs.

History: Originally a Morag Tong member, Almalien decided to quit the business after being issued a writ against a minor House Hlaalu noble, who just happened to be a good friend of his father, who was an otherwise House-neutral trader in Vivec with quite the influence, having frequent large-scale dealings with the East Empire Trading Company.

Of course, the Morag Tong were not ones to let their members simply 'quit'. Escaping an assassination attempt, Almalien listened to the advice of his father, and got himself into the Great House Hlaalu, as a part of its field scouts. Much to his joy, the Hlaalu army soon left on the campaign to Sentinel, and he along with it. He was almost completely sure that none Morag Tong members would find him there; however, he counts with unease the days until the army returns to Morrowind, either as winners or as losers, and he along with it ? given that he survived, and, despite having the Tong to deal with, Almalien intends to.

Weapons: A http://www.strongblade.com/prod/prodimages/sba-kilij1_m.jpg, made out of Orcish steel (think Damascus steel in appearance, durability, etc.); compound shortbow and a quiver with twenty steel-tipped arrows; several backup simple steel daggers, usually hid in his boots.

Armor: Leather lamellar armor, which reaches mid-thighs and covers his shoulders as well. Under it is a short-sleeved simple tan shirt. Light-tan leather pants. A leather belt on his lamellar cuirass, positioned slightly below his stomach, with a worn iron clasp. Nearly knee-high simple leather boots, with several spots to hide his blades.

Misc. Items: Almalien always carries around a Morag Tong writ, which has sentimental value ? it's the writ which he did not carry out due to personal feelings. He keeps it tied to his neck with a golden chain, usually carrying it below his cuirass, a reminder to what feelings can lead to if displayed in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Companions: None.

Faction Sheet

Faction Name: House Hlaalu

Rank: Field Scout (One of the few non-thieves in the unit)

Main Character Sheet

Name: Baibars Ayuub of the Ayuub Tribe

Race: Redguard (Alik'R nomad)

Age: 37

Birthsign: The Steed

Physical Description: Relatively short, five feet seven inches tall at most, Baibars is a gruff-looking man, not someone you would wish the meet, and not only in a dark alley. Muscular, medium-length arms, scarred with countless scratches and deeper wounds. His skin tone is darker than most Redguards, due to the sun of the desert. Tense, dark brown eyes are usually the only features of his face that are visible, however he also possesses a large, slightly bent nose, thin, straight lips, a wisp of a moustache, and a slightly protracted jawbone, which gives him an overly hostile look.

History: Born to the Khan of the Ayuub Tribe, Baibars was raised in the ways of the Ayuub Tribe, making him what he is - harsh and hostile person, reminiscent of his desert home. His father had chosen not to engage in the war Sentinel waged against the Cyrodiil's Legions, believing it is not the war of the Ayuubs. Baibars, however, having realized that if Sentinel was suppressed, everyone else would follow, decided to walk the path of the Barcas and joined the battle for independency of Hammerfell.

Weapons: An iron scimitar, made in the traditional, somewhat crude fashion of Dune Nomads.

Armor: Baibars does not wear much in the way of armor; he prefers the usual Dune Nomad robes - flowing, lightly-colored robes that are long enough to drag after him slightly, with a scarf whirled around his mouth and nose and a turban on his head, those two things effectively covering all his features but the eyes; such robes are fit for deflecting the sunrays somewhat and defending against sandstorms in the Alik'R, and warm during the cold nights. On top of this robe, he wears a light wicker cuirass, fastened with two straps on his shoulders and a woolen band, which acts as a belt of sorts.

Misc. Items: A pendant made from the teeth of a mantya-khourana.

Companions: Shirkuh, Baibars's brother. He dresses in a similar fashion to Baibars himself, and uses a similar weapon; however, where the two brothers differ are their views. Shirkuh follows the views of his father - that the war of Sentinel is not the war of Ayuubs. The two tend to argue over this subject, sometimes extremely fiercely, however in the end, Shirkuh respects Baibars as the Khan of the Ayuubs and as his brother, and would give his life to protect him, knowing Baibars would do the same.


Faction Sheet

Faction Name: Ayuub Tribe (10220)

Rank: Baibars Ayuub- Khan
Shirkuh Ayuub- Chief Warlord of the Khan

http://www.tamriel-rebuilt.org/forum/files/lutemonster_173.jpg
The Ayuub Tribe, living all their lives in the Alik'r desert, have learned of its beasts, and tamed some of them for their own purposes. One of such beasts is the enormous Desert-Walker, as it is known in Cyrodiilic. Each of those beasts carries a mahout, and approximately fifteen javelineers and archers atop its back. They do not bear anything else from the Ayuubs - the nomads believe the beasts are their comrades, and not possessions.

3400 Ayuub Horse Archers
Even though Ra Gada as a race are not particularly skilled bowmen, these men are an exception to this rule - a lifetime of training is the cause of that. Quick as the wind, mounted on speedy desert horses, they are armed with fearsome compound bows and a quiver of 30-40 iron-tipped arrows. Most of them are dressed in the usual dune nomad fashion, and wear only wicker cuirasses, using axes and scimitars for close quarters combat when necessary. These men are famous for the so-called 'Ayuub Shot' - turning around while fleeing their foes at full gallop and firing a volley of arrows.

2800 Ayuub Lancers
After the Horse Archers disorganize the foes with a storm of arrows and tire them out with relentless hit-and-run tactics, it is time for these men to move in. Armoured with iron lamellar cuirasses with leathers beneath, armed with lances for maximum charge prowess and axes and scimitars for the melee, these men can pack quite the punch for an unsuspecting foe (which is usually the state of their enemies after the horse archers have done their work), while being able to evade heavier opponents.

2100 Ayuub Infantrymen
As much as they rely on cavalry, the Ayuubs are not without infantry in their armies, particularly to engage heavier cavalry than their own. Armoured with iron lamellar cuirasses and leathers, along with spears, axes and wicker towershields for combat, they usually fight in a square schiltron, a formation particularly effective against horseman.

1700 Ayuub Archers
Having lost their mounts, or just preferring to fight on foot, those men are significantly heavier than their mounted counterparts. Armed with compound bows and 30-40 iron-tipped arrows, along with axes and scimitars for close quarters and armoured in iron lamellar cuirasses and chainmail, along with small round iron shields, they can hold their own against most other infantrymen, except, of course, the professional soldiery, such as the Legionnaires.

200 Ayuub Noble Kataphraktoi
Like all societies, the Ayuub Tribe has its nobility who, like in most societies, fight in the role of heavy shock troops. Escalating the word 'heavy' to a new level, the Ayuub Noble Kataphraktoi are armoured from head to toe in iron lamellar, horse included. They have two-handed lances for charging, along with axes or scimitars for close quarters, also having oval iron shields strapped to one of their shoulders (the ones of the opposite hand than the one that holds their close combat weapon), protecting their neck, a part of their back, and their upper arms. Each of the men wears a mask of some sort, designed to resemble some sort of a mythological beast to scare their foes.

Behind Andarys' troops stood a militia of near 5,000 dunmer and Nords, preparing themselves in their own way. Steel and iron gleamed as the Nords set to work sharpening their axes and spiked clubs, testing their swords and their armors. The Ashlanders worked in a similar fashion, making sure the deserts had not damaged their chitin equipment.

It was the Telvanni Adepts that prepared in the most interesting of manners. The Adepts sat in circles of five to seven, facing each other and eyes closed, meditating as the Experts walked around amongst the troops, giving magicka potions and scrolls to some of the adepts.

One Expert, however, remained near Andarys the entire time, one arm behind his back and the other holding his staff at his side. Dark red eyes glared into the night at the retreating Argonian figures as they worked, and the desert breeze rippled at his robes, revealing in the folds sections of armor beneath. He looked to Andarys seriously. "As Helseth commanded, my men are yours. We have orders from him, but you are in charge of this battlefield. One thing, however; I intend to keep as many of my adepts alive as possible. The Nords, do with them what you must."

South of Laynlin
Helseth sat upon his horse once more, looking out upon his army through the slits of his helm. Around him were, as customary, his Royal Guard and the Ordinators, and he sat within the center of the army's marching formation. The pikemen had been kept at the rear, just in front of a line of Light Infantry, in case Andarys failed and their rear was attacked. Half the skirmishers, archers, and his Knights also stood in formation behind the king, ready for battle should the need arise. The rest of them marched in the fore, with the Cavalry flanking the formation. While the Legion insisted leading with the Cavalry, Helseth trusted the fleet-footed speed of his scouts, and the petty thieves of their ranks were far more expendable anyways.

The King turned in place as the marching proceeded, looking back towards the North West. He gave a small salute -that from this distance would never be acknowledged- to Andarys. If the man succeeded, he would regain some stature in Helseth's mind. If he failed, well it was one less possible traitor to worry about.

" Wha..what in the hell are they? " Asked one stunned knight, amazed and terrified at the same time. Beads of sweat collected upon his pale face before rolling down his chin and dripping off, leaving dirty smudge lines. If one was to look closely, they could see the visible tremors that seemed to hold control over the mans sword arm, a sign of just how scared he really was. Those bastards killed Bernard and Fredrick...and they...they have been in the order longer then I've been. We're all doomed. Maybe I can make a break for it.

As if reading the thoughts of his scared companion, the knight who firsted spotted the lone figure spoke up. His tone was one of confidence, with tremors of anger flowing under the current. " We have to stay close together, no one make a run for it. We have to fight as a team, alone, we are no match. I know who these bastards are. " He stopped, glancing from one of the demonic figures to the other. They were pinned between them, not a place he would have wanted to be in a million years knowing their skill. " Those bastards are Swordsingers....and are more trained then any of us. "

" I don't give a [censored] who they are! They killed Bernard and Fredr.."

" Stop! " The confident one spoke up again, dropping his lance to the ground so he could draw his sword. " Push them and their deaths from your mind. They are dead now and will be of no use in this fight except to distract you from your goal. " With one fluid motion, which seemed almost impossible for one with so much armor on, he dismounted, landing on the ground with a soft metallic clang. " Dismount, this fight will be easier on foot. "

With the horses already frightened, pawing at the earth, letting out loud snorts, and chomping at the bits, they would be harder to control. The Swordsingers already showed a spectacular amount of agility, spinning through the air and moving around with amazing speed, and would have been able to move out of harms way with ease.

Following the knights lead, the others began to dismount, throwing their lances to the earth in favor of their swords. Everything seemed to be in complete silence. No creatures calling out to each other and not even the howl of the wind. Then it happened. " Charge! " Came the shout, and with it, eight armored knights running as hard as they could in their heavy armor.

Three went to the their right, charging the second Swordsinger who had stabbed Fredrick. As first, they stormed in quickly, but as they neared the figure, they slowed down and appeared almost like wolfs, stalking in on their prey. Quick glances was cast between each other before they decided to press the attack...which soon came in a flurry. The knight in the middle, and the biggest of the three came in with a feint, swinging his sword in a over held chop that stopped short as he brought out his shield infront of him to block a possible attack. The two on the outer edges came in just a mere second or two behind the one in the lead. One came in high, stabbing out straight towards the Ra Gadas heart, while the other came in low, sweeping his sword towards the Swordsingers stomach.

The others meanwhile stalked in slow, with only one charging in at first while the others began to take up positions around the Swordsinger to try and press the attack from all sides. The one who moved in first, was also the one of the most scared. With a loud gulp, he brought his shaky sword arm up, only to drive it down a second later towards Swordsinger.

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

" What was that? " Priscilla asked after being woke up from a deep sleep by the screams of terror and pain. Soon she was running towards Christopher to be wrapped in his comforting embrace. She tryed to remain tough, but it just wasn't in her. She visibly shook as she pressed in closer to Christopers warm body, laying her head upon his chest. Something about the steady beating of his heart comforted her and helped calm her nerves.

" What I was afraid of. Either the enemy we battled earlier outside of Dragon Grove has followed us, or another force coming from the north has arrived. Either way, we."

" We are in trouble. " Phillip said, finishing Christophers thought with a solemn tone and a grim look. His sword was already drawn as he continued past Christopher and Priscilla with a slow, but determined walk. Behind him, Ra'Kava along several knights that was already up and ready followed closely behind, weapons drawn ready to meet the threat head on.

" I know that, I heard the screams also. " Christopher spoke up, having to push Priscilla away so he could grab his sword from its belt and sheath that was resting upon the ground. Sword now in hand, he turned and began to walk the direction all the men seemed to be heading, not having the time to replace his cuirass and pauldrons.

" No, my friend. Look! " Ra'Kava said in a low growl, pointing one curved scimitar towards several figures who were now entering the camp from the woodline. All seemed to be wearing demonic masks of one kind or another along with robes. Then there was the swords in each of their hands and the one shehai...the one thing Christopher did not want to see right now.

" Swordsingers....." He whispered, never breaking his stare from the spirit sword which showed in stark contrast amid the blackness that surrounded them. Clenching his sword tighter, he spun around with a smile quickly forming upon his dirty face. He just had a brilliant idea. " Priscilla! I am going to need your help! Back at Sunkeep, there were a group of Imperial marines that aided us. If their ships are nearby, perhaps they would see a large fireball shot straight up into the air and come to investigate. Its our only hope. "

Still shaking, she managed to give a quick nod to show that she understood. Seconds later, she went into her spell casting, whispering arcane words as she closed her eyes, feeling the magic as it flowed through her. She was merely a conduit for its awesome power. Slowly, she raised both arms into the air and extender her fingers. Seconds later as the powerful spell reached its crescendo, she opened her eyes and looked up, releasing the large ball of pure, bright energy into the air.

It climbed higher and higher before exploding about two hundred meters in the air, bathing the entire area around the camp in a pale light for a few seconds before fading away.

The swordsingers were not the only things of silence in the forests around the camp, however, and behind each mighty swordsman the sand and dust began to shift, as if small dust devils kicked them up. It has hardly noticeable, but the clouds grew taller slowly.

As the men of the camp began to take up arms against the new attackers, Simithara walked into the camp almost as if nothing was happening, an innocent blankness on her face. She looked around at each of the masked men from her position in the center of the camp, and looked for a long time in the one wielding a Shehai. Her eyes went wide in innocent fright.

She'd heard merely tales of the Shehai and the Swordsingers from the occasional social situation she got into, and she knew them to be of near legendary talent and power. She also knew the Shehai translated roughly as Spirit Sword. A fact that was evident from the essence she could feel thrumming from that ethereal blade.

Perfect. Unwittingly, the Ansei had entered Simithara's realm of mastery; the soul and its connection to the body. There was no doubt the Shehai was connected to the swordsman, as they both thrummed with that intense magic. All she had to do, was manipulate it.

Perhaps a necromancer was exactly what these Bretons had needed.

Forests near Dragon Grove
As it so happened, a change of plans was in order. One minute, the men were walking ever so quietly through the forests, in a low combat crouch as though they were hunters sneaking up on a particularly elusive prey, and the next, they were all standing almost in awe, looking up into the skies as a fireball rose from somewhere nearby, washing the forest with crimson and orange light. Higher and higher this fireball spiraled, leaving a nearly invisible black plume of smoke that trailed and twisted behind it, exploding into a fiery brilliance as it ascended. Well... That was either a cry for help, or some mage really needed to learn the meaning of subtlety.

Aldaril's own eyes were suddenly bedazzled as the ball of energy exploded in the middle of the air, sending out bright light in every which direction that even made a few men cover their eyes. Yeah, that was definitely a signal... Which meant, that there was suddenly a change in the direction that Aldaril and his men would need to go. Cursing to himself, Aldaril turned his back on the light that had spiraled into the air, thinking hard. "That display of fireworks means that there are probably some men scattered somewhere in this forest... ANd likely means a battle is going on. They just gave away the element of surprise, anyhow, as they could likely see that damn thing all the way to Dragon Grove!" He snarled, clenching his fist tight.

"It's our duty to help them, sadly enough... I don't know what they are doing here, nor do I truly care, but if they are in need of help, and they are close to Dragon Grove, then we can swing by and bail those men out before torching the city. If we simply leave them... Well, who knows?" With a sigh, Aldaril turned to Timothee and his men. "Call back your scouts. We now know our destination, and that there is a battle waiting for us. Skirt all forces towards that beacon, we're going to get our hands dirty before the city."

IC:
Royal Army of the Elden Yokeda

The entire army was preparing for battle, their fury over ruling any fear they would have concerning the Imperial forces. After Chasetown...Porthago...and Sunkeep, they were ready to dirty their hands in the enemy blood.

The Jewels of the Crown, Haroun's personal bodyguard were busy suiting themselves for the upcoming battle. Raza, their leader along with a few speedy scouts from the group had gone ahead. They would be fighting the enemy, while the Elden Yokeda's army stomped in amongst the chaos.

Maalik, one of the senior Swordsingers from the elite unit prepared his weapon in a practical ceremony dedicated to the Gods, and to cleaning the blade.

He mixed flux and Jamba, a native liquor pressed from rice. He poured out the liquor over his http://www.oriental-arms.com/photos/items/35/001835/ph-0.jpg forged by his own hands. The blade was perfectly balanced, its edge perfectly honed, and all the impurities it contained were now being cleansed of. The Gods would find this pleasing, the Unknown deities of War did not take kindly to a poorly conditioned blade ending the life of its sacrifices.

His black leathered hands gripped the blade and placed it within its sheath, which was situated onto his sword belt. He clasped the buckle around his waist. From head to toe, he wore the black leather of the unit, symbols in Yoku adorning it dedicated to each of the main gods in the Pantheon.

Maalik was a handsome man for a warrior, 28, styled sideburns, a thin mustache and goatee and a the sign of the No-totambu tatooed under his left eye. He had a defined jaw, and like most other Swordsingers was in extraordinary physical condition. his only set back was his height, 5'5...standard height of most Bretons. The sound of sand crunching behind him and the man turned instantly.

"Kayla, what do you want?" he barked, his voice was solid, not gruff...completely clear...but very deep.

The woman behind him, another Jewel of the Crown, bowed in respect to her senior and replied, "We're to move ahead of the rest of the army, cause as much chaos as possible."

He turned around, his stance exuding strength and complete confidence, no fear of being greatly outnumbered.

"Then tell the rest of of the Order to complete their rituals and prayers within the next twenty minutes. We'll arrive at the battlefield within the hour."

For those whose lives were War, it would be a hard night of living....

ooc: Crazy, Duval, my bad I know you guys were expecting my next posts to be directly related but I have a bad ass kid who can't go to sleep, and I'm pretty tied up here. Will post in the evening, day is going to be full of shooting [censored]. Also, I'll reply to all the Vulnim [censored] too.

Of course. That is what Andarys was here for, Voneri thought to herself. Helseth was here for the politics, Andarys was his general for the war. "I intend to keep as many soldiers alive as possible." Voneri was pleased with Andarys' response. Typical Telvanni who's interest did not go beyound his own nose. She didn't mind seeing a dead nord, but the mage's attitude was disgusting toward soldiers of any race. In any case it was good to have whoever could fight in this battle. Even the Legions had had to retreat in the face of the Redguards. Her 'Redoran insticts' kicked in at the possibility of such a challenge. She'll get to see how the "most naturally talented warriors of Tamriel" faced against her.

As Andarys looked to Helseth's forces at his back he couldn't help but feel that Helseth was setting up not only to fight the Redguards but also him. The King sure was paranoid but perhaps with good reason. If he would betray him it wouldn't be in the middle of battle. His survival counted on Helseth as much as Helseth counted on his own.


OOC: Slow day...

Forest near DragonGrove
Lieutenant LaRouche got a terrible feeling of fear and nervousness in his chest when he heard the command. Haroun's army is close...I don't want to get tangled with them.

"Aye sir, moving towards the beacon..." Timothee said, his voice full of resignation. He looked forward to where the crew of the Hjalti was just a line of shapes. Midshipman Plotius waved a hand and pointed towards the direction of the fireball, a sign that he had heard the command. Commands were whispered hoarsly in the night, and soon the long line of skirmishers twisted and curled like a dying snake, before finally straightening again, realigned.

The men began to walk faster and grip their pikes, axes, cutlasses and crossbows tighter. Ahead was the inky dark of death.



Imperial Legion, Prison Wagon
Septimus smirked at the surprise from the small elf. He nodded his head rhythmically as he spoke.

"Well Jassan...That damned cat never tied you to a post and had you whipped in front of the entirety of the thirteenth Legion until you passed out from bloodloss. The moment the cat does that, you'll know the hate. As for the men...I can't imagine it'd be too much of a problem. Titus is out there. "Titus!"

There was some scuffling outside before the back of the wagon was thrown open. Soon Centurion Titus' worn and strained face appeared in the opening. He looked surprised, and somewhat taken aback by Jassan, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his gorgeous Redguard sword. He seemed worried, but the whole scene was made ridiculous by his knee length dress. The blue silk accented perfectly the huge pink flowers behind both of his ears. Behind him a young and thin looking centurion was carrying two huge axes and several swords tucked into his belt. Septimus stared at Titus blankly.

"Should I ask?" Aquila said, trying to hide a smile and appear official. Titus looked down at the ground sheepishly, pulling one of the flowers out of his hair to throw on the ground.

"I'm Mara, sir...."

"Where'd you get the dress?"

"Rebel farm, about three miles back..."

"And the flowers?"

"They were growing on the bamboo, sir..."

"You look lovely, who's your friend?"

"Centurion Luther Palatina, sir. Tenth Legion, he served with you in Argonia." Titus said, sheepishly, his face blushed red as if he were in the throws of a deep bender. Septimus, with the bewildered look on his face waved at Palatina, who waved back, equally embarrassed.

"I suppose your Talos?"

"Yes sir." Luther said awkwardly.

"Well Mara and Talos, when you get the chance, go fetch me some armor and a horse, This little one here is from Ocato...I've been reinstated." Aquila said, looking wholely sure of himself. Luther and Titus looked at each other, puzzled, then shrugged before walking off insearch of the requested supplies. Aquila grinned as the walked off, widening his raggedly cut mouth, and exposing the yellowed molars on his left side. He slapped he elf on the back and managed a gutteral laugh.

"You can get people to do or believe anything you say...you just have to act like you know what your doing."

At a far distance from Gilane, Akronos leaps from his mighty black horse and lets it free. He'd never need him again, and it did him well to bestow upon an innocent soul the freedom he so desired from the Ra'Gada's chains.
Surely there were others... others wrongly imprisoned and persecuted. Akronos sought to remedy the situation that resulted in his captivity... and so there, at Gilane, he would merge with the gaggles of war-refugees to gain access to the city he'd find a safe haven, for the time being. The guards at the palace would be quick to learn that this particular "ash-skinned devil" had intended to speak with the representatives of the fair Empire of Cyrodiil. It only seemed fitting, after recent experiences... He just wanted to help others who have endured his fate on a more frequent basis.

Gilane

"Bring the Dunmer to me, immediately. Don't even let him piss before I learn of his business. Go." Commander Chark commanded whilst marching amongst four of the more capable legionnaires after organizing a guard troop around Occato manor. He was their most prized resident of sorts, and he had to do what he could to make sure his head didn't end up on the wrong end of a pike. Chark steadily devoured a fatigue potion that kept him from passing out from sleep deprivation - three of them and he was good to go another two days without some Zs. He felt dirty, his beard was rugged and now cover the entire lower region of his face, and during these days his temper flickered on and off at the slightest disturbance. Yet, somehow the stalwart leader had the soldiers and people of this city, and with good reason, that he had their best interest at mind and heart, and as long as they followed his orders they'd make it out of this alive. The bronze skinned warrior traversed the cobblestoned pathways until he entered the garrison he was stationed and he reached his office. He sat behind his desk, pulled off his helmet to let his dreadlocks free to frame his face, and the mighty lion awaited their visitor whilst re-reading a letter his wife and children had sent him the week prior.

Yeah but you don't have an eternity of past reasons to hate a Khajiit, do you boy? Do you have ANY knowledge of the rift of mer and beast just south of your own province? Jassan thought to himself, keeping this opinion silent as Aquila called out for Titus.

When the man, dressed as Mara, appeared, Jassan burst into a fit of laughter, rolling back onto the floor and clutching his chest. As the two men spoke, he slowly regained his composure, just in time to look professional enough to bid for the position Aquila had claimed. He kept his mouth shut, recognizing the reason for the lie the moment it was made; Jassan was childish, but he knew when to trick, and when to tell. Now was the time to trick. When Jassan was slapped on the back, he barely even shifted, which made him frown.

He's weaker than me in this state... I'm going to have to keep with him, make sure nothing happens to him. Otherwise he'll be dead in first battle. What have I gotten myself into? Jassan wondered, but then smiled.

"Well, then, here's part 2 of your reinstatement, Commander Aquila. I am to accompany you to ensure your trespasses are not repeated again." Jassan said confidently. "Ocato's orders."

OOC: Still waiting for a reply from raven777

Mercury climbed down the ladder nimbly, avoiding any weak or difficult areas. Down was always easier than up, and she had gotten into the hang of it now. As she climbed, she wondered at why she had joined this group. What had been the point of it? They meant nothing to her, she knew nothing of what was going on, and yet still she continued alongside them. Why?

Because it is better to be involved than to sit at home, doing nothing, not caring... she thought. Because I prefer to be involved. Because somehow, I think they might be able to repay this to me someday- self-centered as Serosi and Michelle are.

But how far can I take this? She withdrew into the shadows as goblins patrolled past. She was not surprised to see them: altmer employed all manner of dumb humanoid beasts. While she watched them, her mind continued along its line of thought. Spelling and climbing are all very well, but what if it came to an actual fight?

Michelle looked as if she were about to have a fit, and Serosi wisely pressed her against the wall. Arrogant and rude he might be, but at least he was practical. No... she thought, her mind turning to Serosi, Michelle, and Swims. I will not kill for a cause I do not know or understand. I cannot fight for what I cannot know the worth of. I could fight for them, and not their cause, but they have done little to endear themselves to me. They are just like all mortals- a peculiar brand, I'll grant them, but still. Short-lived. Short-sighted. And careless of those around them.

It was just as well they were going below level: being above deck could prove fatal- to her, but possibly to any others there. As they had not bothered to learn anything of her, they were unaware of her unique condition, and the dangers of moonlight to her immortal skin. True, she was a weak, unnatural creature, but she was dangerous in her own cunning way.

She looked at Michelle. Perhaps like her. Though she is stupid, there is power in her; that much is clear. But I would be wary of her company: she seems largely driven by her own whims, and that she is so and also so powerful is dangerous company. She gave a mental shrug. But I'm quick, and her undead minions cannot harm me. It is not my folly, but theirs.