OOC: Just moving swims down with the rest of us.

Serosi was pressed up against the wall taking a glance back at Mercury and now Swims-in-Shadows that had come down the ladder. The inside was a lot more populated then he had thought. They would have to find a way to steer the Sunbird toward Lainlyn. Perhaps he could fight his way to the captain but with such little room to manuver that may prove difficult even for Serosi. He then thought of Mercury's speciality as an illusionist. He turned to her looking past Michelle which confused the blonde girl.

"Make an illusion of yourself as one of them and take us toward the captian's bridge as prisoners. Once there do what you must to immobilize anyone you can. Michelle, cover our backs. These corridors seem narrow so that should be easy for your servants. Don't do anything until Swims and I draw first blood." He spoke the last sentence coldly, more so then usual.

OOC: Illusionary if you want you can discribe the inside of the ship on the way to the captain. Or if you want I can post us moving through. Whichever you prefer.

So far, Akronos hadn't encountered anything that'd resist his reason being here. He'd meet with Chark immediately, assuring the door to the office was to be closed (with Chark's permission of course, and perhaps a very loyal guard or two of his).

"Commander Chark. I am Akronos of the Goraian Triumvirate, combatant. I wish to speak with you alone. ...A guard may take my weapon if you cannot trust me," he said in a business-like tone, adding that last line to counteract his truthful introduction. "Goraian Triumvirate" was never a good thing to hear for an Imperial, but neither was the forfeiture of a Triumvirate member's weapon to those that'd oppose Cyrodiil, temporary or not.

Dragon Grove
The General

Mago limped across the battlement and looked carefully to the south east. The fresh night breeze ruffled the strands of hair that tugged his pate here-and-there. In one hand was a crutch and the other a sword. The dark night was still for a moment, as if with bottled-up pressure. Then, away to the southeast a flash of light like an arcane flare. "What the..." he began in a low voice, then, with all speed, limped across the wall-top. "Oi, you!" he yelled to a guard in the distance, "what the [censored] was that?"

The watchman, equally surprised, jumped! "Uh, sir! I don't know!" He paused. "Your orders?"

"Wake some of the men... We don't know what that was..." Mago weighed his thoughts. What if that's Haroun come to take the city? Or the Empire pushing back? [censored], it might be a rebel army from Hegathe... Damn this!

OOC: Sorry for the poor post, but there's not much to do.

IC:

Sentinel, Palace

The throne room was filled with the Sentinel Court, tired and weary men pvssyred and filled the late night with a life it was unused to. One of them, an old Councilor who had lived through Thassad's reign, and even the end of Lhotun's stood from his seat. Answering the Elden Yokeda's and Regent Ator's call.

He raised his aged hand, skeleton like fingers with large knucles, as most of his frame was skeleton like.

"I will go. I am the senior Ambassador in Sentinel."

Character name: Enitan Kojo No-Shira
Race: Redguard
Age: 74
Height: 6'0
Weight: 120 lbs
Appearance: A patchy gray beard covers his face. Some hair dark grey, other hair white. His head is shaven, left with light stubble. His eyes are yellow and weary, and his entire body is very thin and lanky. The gaunt frame is made even more inhuman by his orange and black teeth, thanks to chewing the local narcotic Qat.
Profession: Councilman of Sentinel Court, Crown Lineage, and Ambassador to the Ilac bay.
Equipment: Flask with warm brandy, pouch of Qat, and tobacco pipe.

Other hands were raised in the council room, men began standing, agreeing to go the summit. Most elders, but a few of the younger men in the room volunteered as well. Some would come, others would wait. This was an honorable task, and of much importance. Hearts beat viciously, and men grew anxious already.

The message sent from the Elden Yokeda, concerned word from the Imperials, it was time for negotiation.

Imperial Legion, Baggage train
Septimus raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the newest turn of events. Jassan seemed to want something...or maybe he was sent by someone...

"Alright little one, though you'll have to explain my tresspasses to me first so i know what not to do." Aquila smiled as he spoke, doing his best to hide his inner fears. What does he mean accompany? accompany my orders? my dispatches? What if he's a rebel...He is a mercenary...Their kind have no loyalties. No, that's just stupid. The bastards helped you against quintus, they helped destroy that infernal machine. Is it so absurd? You only payed them twelve goddamned coins. that damned rebel king supposedly bathes in gold and women.

Aquila smiled weakly as he hauled himself out of the wagon. His bones snapped and popped as he began to stretch. He yawned, which opened the gash in his face to the point where he looked like a serpent, unhooking it's jaw to devour it's meal. You knew when you read Hellequin that the southern column would never make it back. Noone's heard from them since they left. what if they were destroyed. It's not too far fetched to have mercenaries change sides to save their own lives...

What if he's been sent to kill you?

Septimus began to walk casually away from the prison wagon, searching for Titus and Palatina. all around him, the costumed legionaires were gathering their equipment and fall back into line. Many still wore their garish and makeshift outfits. It seemed that the order to live off the land was a success thus far. Most of the men had at least one or more bits of native clothing or food. Head wraps and scarves seemed to be the most popular. The variety of clothing armor and weapons gave the men the wild look of bandits. Many men who caught Aquila's eye either looked away from his terribly mangled face, or ust stared, ignorant of their impoliteness.

Barely anyone recognized him by sight alone. The fact that he refused to wear any badges of rank exacerbated the situation. Certainly the Engineers knew him , as did those who served with him in Argonia, but his face had changed greatly since then. No right ear, a mouth that spreads three inches too wide on the left side, and his brown hair turned to a dirty grey from stress.

"Commander Aquila, sir? Your horse and armor..." Centurion Palatina said. The man was young and relatively thin, with a plain honest face an nervous eyes. He pointed over his shoulder to two other soldiers, one carrying an armful of equipment and a sword, the other holding a ratty mare. The animal was obviously a rebel mount, as well as a farm horse. Septimus nodded his acceptance, before he walked over to slip on all the armor.

"Commander Aquila, sir?" Palatina asked, his voice full of trepidation. The sickly nord looked up from what he was doing. "I just wanted to say...I served under you when you were a centurion an I was a simple soldier. I was there at Gideon..." Septimus froze, his whole body on pins and needles, a cold grip of fear crushing his chest, he found it difficult to breathe. Luther licked his lips before continuing.

"Commander Aquila, sir...I saw what happened. It wasn't your fault..."

Sentinel
The Council

A'tor nodded. There was little arguing to be done with the great veteran of the political battlefield - even at his great age. The old man was a seasoned debater... A'tor was not so experienced.

A young, rough hand shot into the air as soon as the offer of travel popped up. Qusay was a friendly Ra'Gada with a distinctive accent and air which followed him wherever he went.

Qusay opposed the Empire when it hurt Hammerfell, but when it built roads, bridges and brought civilization, Qusay was an avid supporter. "I'll take the spot you need, Regent!" He could be counted on to fairly represent Hammerfell, but to fairly examine the Imperial points.

A'tor looked carefully, at Sumeran. He's a bright lad... But pro-Empire when he comes to it. He's ruthless... That's how he got here, outplaying the Old Guard... He can go. No, the care was not some battle of wills. The skooma-svcker struggled to keep his eyes straight. "Alright, Qusay. And you can take your clever friend from the west parts... Eday, yes, that's the one."

Qusay was beaming.

OOC: I'll have a sheet for our young representative soon.

OOC: You can describe the inside of the ships. I wouldn't like to get it wrong.
IC:

The barely visible werefox arched one eyebrow at Serosi. "Whatever you say, boss..." she remarked in a bland tone. Her rebellion was, as ever, a subtle one. In her mind, she called images of the components she would need for the spell... the daedric letters fell into line in her head, forming first words, then phrases. When all was right in her mental image, it was as if a match had been lit inside her head, and fire bloomed from it.

Magic seemed to be svcked from the air around her, absorbed through her skin as she called on powerful magicks. It was cold, so very cold... but of a cold that burned like fire. For a brief moment, her eyes flashed as cool magicka curled around her tongue. "Pretend..." she murmured, but that word was layered as the part of her that was magic spoke a different language entirely. Indeed, she had often wondered whether she controlled magic- sometimes it seemed rather as if it controlled her, and she could but beg it to do as she wished.

Whatever the case, the magic seemed beyond a mere breton werefox, and there was a pause as the streams of illusion stirred in the air around her where it almost seemed like she was being refused... as if magic itself were considering the worthiness of her cause. But then the magic continued to swirl, and she shed her chameleonic image, appearing clearly as herself within shadows for a brief moment, perking an eyebrow up once more as she looked at Serosi, before she was engulfed by it, her image reforming as a male altmer, scarred and harsh in appearance, but distinctly authorative. The illusion was so perfect you could almost smell the salty sailor, and the faint scent of his sweat.

Though the casting of such a powerful spell took from Mercury, she felt invigorated rather than weakened. There was a rush of power that accompanied the casting of any spell that could not be denied. It was a feeling that could only be considered akin to godhood. It was a feeling of invulnerability that she relished.

The golden-skinned, roughed altmer looked at Swims, Serosi and Michelle. "If we have the time," he said in a convincingly low and arrogant voice, aided greatly by the spell but with a twist of that bardic talent. "I'd like to assume the form of an actual crewmember. More convincing, then. Knock him out, show me his face, and we can move on from there."

He bowed low before Michelle, giving her a rougish wink while Mercury cackled from within the shell of his spell-image. "Your Ladyship," he said politely.

"It wasn't your fault..." Jassan heard, and wondered as to the meaning behind those words as Aquila seemed to stop dead from their affect. The little elf was standing straight with arms crossed over his chest, and raised one slick eyebrow questioningly. One of the legionaires was eying him near the commander in wonder, and Jassan returned the inquiring gaze with a 'what-you-looking-at-punk' expression, rather funny on a man his size. The man shook his head and looked away, at which point Jassan turned on one heel to face Aquila. Or his back, anyways.

"Trespass one, your drinking. Everything in moderation, bro, or you'll outdo yourself and drink into a coma or be unfit to lead. Drink in peace; [censored], moan, order and fight in war. Trespass two, your condition. You look fit enough to qualify for a death certificate, man. Denying healing, starving yourself, whatever the hell you do to that poor thing you call a body. You've gotta keep yourself in better shape, mate, or you'll sway off the horse." He held up his two fingers, counting off. A third finger came up.

"Numba' three." He deepened his voice at this dramatically. "No close combat for you. More rule than trespass. You ain't exactly warrior-material right now. Let me handle your close-ups."

Dragon Grove
The General

"Alright men!" Mago limped across a swath of grass. Half a hundred good men, strong and bold, all urbanites who lacked discipline and training but responded with courage and enthusiasm, looked towards him. "If the Empire is out our gates, then this will be the greatest fight of your lives. It is objectionable to the heavens that you, in your youth and fervour, should suffer war... But it is so." He looked towards a sad face with a fire in his eyes.

The boy, scarcely eighteen, muttered some words. "The Empire burnt our farm. I have been in training with the Hall since... Just over a year."

Another boy looked around. "The Empire torched my parents alive in their house for "conspiring treason". I have fought amongst Crown rebels for the last three years."

"Forbears killed my Crown parents."

"Crowns killed my Forbear parents!"

Mago spat on the ground. "Cease!" Spittle flew from his mouth when he yelled. His red eyes widened and a vein throbbed across his head. "Put aside your grievances now. Fight for this place... For your lives and those you know... Fight for Dragon Grove. Those are my only words."

Mago was not a speaker.

"Let's march." Mago saluted the men and an adjutant nearby in a white tunic waved a tall flag. "Up the walls, then guarding the southern gatehouse. I want the men given bows, slings, throwing weapons... Nighteye... Whatever will give them an edge. I'll lead them." Mago looked back at the adjutant who moved to run for the nearest street. "Oh! And have the others begin constructing barricades of any kinds before the southern gatehouse. Barrels, sacks of grain, broken spears, doors, crates, furniture, fell some trees... Whatever you can find."

"Aye, sah!" The Cesparine disappeared into the darkness.

Forests of Dragon Grove

Aldaril marched almost silently, his rapier held lightly in his left hand, down at an angle to his body. The tip of it nearly dragged against the ground as he strode through the forest, his eyes narrowed on the path ahead, that was being cut by his men, and the men that had joined the fight from the Pinder. Here they were, coming running through the forest, their mission shattered, all because some fool of a man couldn't bear to actually hold up to his duty, and had come running down to the south rather than simply do his job and return to the Legion. Because he had gotten himself isolated, and then sent a frantic flag for help.

"That IDIOT Commander... When I get my hands on him, I'm going to tie the bastard to the mast of my ship, have him flogged until he can't even stand, then tie him to the bow of my ship as a figurehead..." He snarled under his breath, his eyes narrowing even further. It was nearly to the point that his eyes couldn't even be seen, just the crease of his brow where his eyes should be. "He shouldn't even be down here in the first place, and then he goes and signals to the entire Southern half of the damn continent just where he is, the fact that he's in trouble, and sidetracks us from our goals... Fool should have just died quietly."

Aldaril brought his rapier up in front of him, his hand tightening on its hilt so hard that his bronze skin flushed to a pale, sickly yellow around his knuckles, where his blood flow was cut off. "But, we can at least do some damage... Even if Dragon Grove is now aware..."

It truley was a work of art as the spell wrapped itself around the small Mercury transforming her into an Altmer. Few and far between would be able to tell it was a spell. Perhaps not even Queen Barenziah would see through it. Her request was well thought out and he gave a slight nod. It made sense after all but also made her wonder who exactly she was. Was he over estimating himself? No, he was the one under estimating himself all his life. Not anymore.

Michelle tilted her head slightly unsure of the new "version of Mercury" for a moment completely unsure if Mercury really had vanished and in her place stood an Altmer. She gave no reply but instead looked to Serosi as if he'd say something. She had the luck that he did say something, but a bit different then what she expected.

"That's fine." These were his only words for a moment as he looked at the effects of the skilled illusion. His cold yet handsome face had a youthful look about it with the exception of the lines under his seemingly tired eyes. If one knew how, even he could be read. He wasn't sure what he was tired of at the moment, but he knew he was tired of it. No there was no time for any of these thoughts. You do it or you die, there was no time to think. "If we have time." He already turned away by the time he said his last word and began walking down the hall toward the T intersection. His shadow kept pace with him against blueish green walls eminating a similar light. Hopefully the others would follow as well.

Dawnstar, Skyrim
"They won't come..."

"Gods blood, why couldn't this have taken place in Anvil or Leyawiin, someplace warm..."

"They will come, they have to..." The old Imperial councellor leaned forward, cradling his stoneware mug of warm mead. Even in the finest tavern in the remote city, even with the fire roaring, the gathered politicians could still see their breath. They sat around the table, clad in furs. Imperial guards, in their polished armor and crested helmets stood by the doors, bored.

"Another round sirs?" The serving girl asked, all smiles. She was amused by the southerners, and their inability to deal with a rather warm fall. Most of the Nords in the city still wore their summer clothes, enjoying the weather. The councellors smiled, eyeing the young girl while she waited for the order.

"Yes, I think...more mead..."

Forest South of DragonGrove
"We can do alot of damage, Captain, begging your pardon..." Lieutenant Timothee LaRouche said, tugging on his forelock and bowing slightly. He had fallen back some from his men to talk with the naval officer. "We just have to be fast."

The Breton looked up when he heard a sound from up ahead. The young Midshipman heard it too. He did his best to squint into the darkness. Shapes moved in the night as the skirmish line twisted and bent. The further they went in the dark, the more disrupted their formation became. Moving during the day in easy terrain was no problem, doing it at night, in a bamboo forest, under combat conditions was not. Through a break in the staves, an orange light flashed briefly then was gone.

The whole front of the skirmish line took a knee, nervously examining what was ahead. LaRouche watched as Midshipman Plotius worked his way back towards him and the Captain. He saluted as he drew close.

"Captain, Lieutenant....seems to be camp fires ahead..."

Saladin's Army
The leather of the saddle squeaked as Guillaume mounted his huge horse. Eustace was there, holding the reigns and doing his best to fight back tears. He was in agony, and habitually placed his hand over the empty socket. He wince and moaned every time it happened. Guillaume rolled his eyes every time. He yawned widely as he took his painted helmet from one of his sergeants.

"How much longer are we going to be?" He asked, annoyed. "Gods blood but you'd think these rebels don't even know the word endurance..." He was in a foul mood, and the burning desire in his chest didn't make it any easier. Every time I enjoy myself it seems to make the cravings worse. The Lord Molyneaux spun the pinky in his own. I need another. I need one soon. What's happened? Once a month used to be enough, then once a week, now it is almost every other day.

I need another

Black Horse Courier

We ask those who have been confused by the usurper that is known by the name of Hauron and proclaims himself King of all Hammerfell. Who is this man but a brigand who [censored]s and drinks his nights away? A man that had his own father killed so that he may be in power? If he is willing to treat a fellow crown in such a manner, what will he do to you forebearers? And whom does he fight for but himself when he proclaims such rulership but asks no one. He has summoned barbarian hordes from the deserts to fight his wars and uses slave soldiers of his own cities as shields against our heroic legions. How can this Hauron be trusted when he makes pacts in secret with foul loathesome tyrants such as the Aldmeri Dominion who fight their wars with goblins and other monsters. Tiber Septim, Talos has brought prosperity to the civil war riddled Hammerfell and gifted this glorious province with more rights to rule itself then almost any other. And in exchange for this prosperity he asked nothing but peace and loyalty. Who is this Hauron to squander away your gift and throw it back bringing the entire province of Hammerfell into war? Who is he but just an optertunist, a weasle, a murderer of his own father. And how many other of his political rivals will be assassinated. We at the Courier now want to ask the Redguard people from noble to peasant, can you bend a knee to such a war mongerer? How well will you eat if he manages to solidify this realm? You're children will be in the streets and your wives with his filthy barbarian hordes as slaves and concubines. This is the tyrant the Empire fights against, and the Legions will prevail with your help people of Hammerfell. You yourselves ARE the Empire.

Imperium Victoria!

Andarys looked over the bit of paper Voneri had handed to him. He thought some of the things that were said were right, others not so much, but much was unknown to him completely. The most disadvantagous peace is better then the most just war was something he had heard before but he was not sure he believed that either. He saw many parallels with his own people in Morrowind. The Crowns were a bit like House Indoril and Redoran while the Forebears more like Hlaalu and even Dres, while the nomads were like Telvanni, at least when it came to partiality. Great House Dres managed to maintain most of the Dunmeri tradition while also adapting the rulership of the Empire. The stubborn Redoran and Indoril like little children complained and pouted until they were weakened more and more while Hlaalu, like vultures, opertunists with the backing of the empire picked at the two. Some have accused of Dres doing the same to Indoril, but one had to be a realist when looking at the situation. Indoril would have to be absorbed even if Dres did not do its part. Instead they would be absorbed by Hlaalu who hated the Indoril with passion. Many Indoril nobles opted for loyalty to House Dres who were traditionalists. It was better then dying, which the Indoril had also chosen at times, and much better then serving the merchant house Hlaalu. In a way Dres was preserving Indoril the only way it could be preserved.

A flash of anger shot across Andarys' eyes. Why couldn't Hauron do the same and work within the system rather then fight against it? Were things truley that oppressive to the Redguards under the Empire? Why had Thassad not done more to help quell the rebellion in Summerset. Perhaps by now he could have been Emperor. I'm sure then Hauron would be more then happy to be prince. But instead he fights over his petty dreams ignoring the pleas and needs of his people. He prefers to drown the people in the blood he seeks to shed in order to achieve his ideals. What a selfish man Hauron is, what a selfish and arrogant man. Andarys dispised such people, and now Hauron also.

Voneri took a step back as she read Andarys' eyes. Often he was very non chalant but when something motivated him, he was undenyable. It was both exciting and terrifying. One of the most memorable times she had seen him in this manner was in Skyrim under General Cincinatus as auxillary commander of the Dres cavalry against the Nords. Would she see that side of him again the next day against the rebels? Their enemies would do well to pray to whatever meaningless gods they had tonight, that their deaths would be swift.

Imperial Legion, Baggage train
Septimus sighed. He had heard it all before, none of it was new.

"I'm glad you've decided to join me Sophia..." the thin, wasted nord said. It was a feeble attempt at wit, a joke made only for himself. Sophia...the B*tch! The middle aged Imperial City prosttute, and the closest thing he had ever had to love had always chided him, always told him that he drank too much. And you thought you loved her...only a fool proposes to a wh*re! He suddenly became flush with anger, at himself and at his past naivete. "[censored] it! When the hell do I have time to pamper myself? Why the hell am I so special that I should take more food than the men?! Why should I take the time of healers when my boys are bleeding out, dying on the ground?! Why am I more deserving of extra rations and extra healers, and extra protection? Do you know how many times I've drawn my sword in combat? Three times...Once on the Panther, once at Gideon, and once in the trenches outside Sentinel. I am the last person that you need to watch. I don't go looking for fights little one, and I'm a damned sight smarter than you'll give me credit for..."

"That's it! There's the Old Sepp I know and love..." Jean Molyneaux clapped slowly and ironically, mocking his old friend. "The Bosmer comes to help you, rescues you, and how do you react? You distrust him, you push him away, you insult him...Well done." The claps came loud, slow and regular, cutting through the background sounds. Septimus gave the corpse a stare that could fell an ox, furious. The thin nord gritted his teeth together until it was an audible creak. Veins in his neck rose to the surface as he strained to not lash out. Jean looked innocently around, searching. his pale and cold hands held shoulder height, as if he had no idea why the nord could be so upset.

"I...apoligize, Jassan..."Septimus kept his eyes locked on Jean's rotting body as he spoke each word, deliberately. "Your help is appreciated."

"Well don't do this for me Sepp, I'm not your schoolmarm, I won't write home to your parents if you act up. You're a grown man. Take some responsibility for yourself." Jean said with the slightest hint of a smile. As he spoke, the blood that was crusted around the hole in his throat chipped and flaked off, floating to the ground.

"If you'd like to join me Jassan, you can...I have paperwork to do."

"Time is of the offensive, prisoner scum..." the altmer replied to Serosi. It was almost impossible to tell, but was there a bit of amusemant there? Directed just at him?

Any listening would just have heard the altmer hurrying up his prisoners. It was a clevery crafted response- something Mercury had always excelled at.

The golden-skinned mer walked behind the group, as if keeping an eye on them. As Serosi made any change of direction, the altmer would call out an order that corresponded with that, so that it did not look as if Serosi were leading the group, but rather that he was being directed- which would make him look to be in the altmer's power.

Mercury worried what might happen should any look too closely at her. Hopefully, they would meet few other high elves, and see mostly goblins, who would surely just look at the golden face and assume he was their master. Mercury, for her part, hiding in the magical skin of the altmer, was a little tense. Her spell had taken much out of her- although not all. It shouldn't take long for her magicka to replenish- her will was iron, and quick to gather magicka- but all the same, if this plan failed she would be far less prepared then she could have been.

What if I release the spell? she mused. I can perhaps make use of the magicka trails that will be the dispersing magicka when I dispel this image... that will give me more strength. Besides... it should not be very long... Drawing in the dispersed magicka of kept spells was something Mercury had been doing for a while, with varying degrees of success. Recycling magicka was a wonderful thing that she had thought about as a young girl, but it was questionable at best. A spell of this strength, however, should be easy to catch at least some of its residual power.

But, though it would take little time to regenerate, it would also take very little time to get into a fight, should their plan prove unsuccessful. Within her illusionary shell, Mercury shrugged mentally. When that happened, she'd just have to deal with it. Such was the way of the world.

Desert Scouts

Fashi set on a small stump near an oasis while his camel drank from the pool of crystal water. The night air was cool and steadily dropping..he could feel an icy shiver shoot down his spine as he pulled his robes tighter around him. Several of the other scouts we're scattered out around the oasis as well, their beast of burden slanking around the pool. It had been several hours since they had left, and covered amazing ground in that time..the lights from Hegathe could be seen shining, ever so lightly in the distance.

:ooc: short, crapy, but Im trying to get back in

Dawnstar
The Emissary

Dawnstar was a nice enough place for the end of the world. The sprawling metropolis sunk its stony teeth into the stony coast and its rooftops looked up to the stony grey sky. The weather was warmer than Qusay anticipated, but still shiveringly cold. His guide around the city, a "Skaal Nord" - whatever that was - by the name of Suoibud, agreed. His cold blank eyes knew the lay of the city and when his eyes failed, his cold worn hands felt the way across the pale stones.

Up in the chamber where the meeting was to begin, Qusay, announced by Suoibud, made his way down the corridor, towards the room.

OOC: This the right time?

OOC: Squidy where art thou!

Serosi wasn't sure if Mercury was playing around or was taking her role a bit too seriously but it made no difference. Serosi was the first followed by the quiet Swims-in-Shadows and then Michelle who made the perfect nervous prisoner. The elven glow eminating from the walls of the corridor lit their way. At the T intersection the pair of globlins saluted their "Altmer overlord" wordlessly. The mere sight of them was enough to almost cause Michelle to wet herself but she simply shut her eyes tightly and walked straight after the right turn. Another twenty or so feet and they entered a larger room which resembled something of a mess hall. Different Altmer and Bosmer stood against walls or sat around tables discussing matters urgent to them. The appearenced of the Serosi and Swims, a Dunmer and Argonian as they entered first caused some to stare quickly in their direction. As they saw Michelle and then their "keeper" walk behind them most stopped paying attention.

"What is with these prisoners? The confinment quarters are back where you came from and below. Are you new here?" A rather annoying stout and overly prideful Bosmer said with a serious look over his face that was almost comical for someone of his stature.

Serosi had already begun to count everyone in the room, their armament and allowed his senses to register the arcane abilities of many of th ose there. One way or another he would get to the captian. He had no intentions to go further north then Lainlyn...yet.

Dawnstar
The Emissary

"Lords of the Elder Council... I present to you, Qusay Denka, an emissary from the court of King Haroun, Elden Yokeda of Hammerfell."

The air was tense. Qusay's throat constricted. This is the time... We can end the war... But who am I to go up against all these great rulers? And where is he? Qusay meant the ambassador, of course.

The herald sprang to life, and Qusay stepped into the room with his eyes shut... Not knowing what to expect.

If the ball of bright, magical energy that tore through the sky then exploded when it reached its limit didn't wake up the rest of the knights in the camp, the resulting sound and shock wave that followed certainly did. It sent the tired, and now confused men jumping around for boots, shields, swords, and whatever else they took off. It was a crazy, confused pile of metal and flesh to say the least, but after a few minutes all things seemed to settle down.

Ra'Kava, after letting his eyes close softly, opened them back up to reveal a reflective gleam that shined off both of his amber hued orbs. His night vision was now active, something that would prove usefull in the coming fight. Slowly, he brought his gaze over the Ra Gada as they stepped out of the forest, noting their positions, weapons, and various other things. The soil was sandy in some places and could be used to his advantage, but it seemed like he would have to put his scimitars to more use then in early battles.

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

The messenger, hearing no reply from the edge of the legion camp, decided to ease his mare foward. Making sure to hold his banner high to reveal he was from Glenpoint, and therefore an allie, he continued foward, stopping only a few feet from what looked like a makeshift gaurd station. " Ello? Is anyone on gaurd duty? "

Surely the legion would have someone posted on this damn road. Just where in the hell are they is the question?

OOC: Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I've been ridiculously busy in real life, but things have since calmed down for me.

IC:
Subird

Swims-in-Shadows looked around the mess hall with his usual deceivingly blank stare. I suppose this is the part where the fighting starts? Maybe Michelle should have summoned one of her monstrosities beforehand. Swims was not surprised in the least that this happened; there was no way on a ship this size that all prisoners were brought to the captain. Of course there were cells for that purpose. Serosi has a habit of making things seem too simple. He may be gifted in combat and spellcasting, but he really doesn't have even the barest understanding of how people think. And now, here we are, outnumbered vastly and outflanked. Let's see what he comes up with now.

To deal with any attackers, Swims still had his hidden dagger, his light crossbow, the enchanted bolts, four darts, some poison, and, best of all, the enchanted gauntlet. However, the darts would be ineffective without their poison, and the crossbow would take too long to load. I fought that assassin with less. Then again, I also lost.

Jassan grit his teeth, and the apology glanced off him like a sword does Hukral's shield. When Septimus spoke of paperwork, Jassan moved in swiftly to block the Nord's path. Sepp was still taller than him, but he was sword thin compared to Jas. The tiny Bosmer looked positively fuming, and jammed a finger into the armored chest above his head.

"Listen and listen good you selfless piece of [censored]!" Jas' voice rose a few decibels and lost its childish tone; he took on a sudden demonic visage. But even in this state, one would call it a demonic child. He would never escape the 'child'. "I didn't say you should take more food than your men, or more of your healer's time, or whatever [censored] you just spouted! I said you should take better care of yourself! Your men look like fat nobles and you look like a [censored] pauper! They have as many scars as I do feet in my height, and you're missing half of your gods-forsaken face!" Jassan removed his finger and took a step back, crossing his arms and slouching to one side.

"I'm telling you to even the score, Aquila. Treat yourself like you do your men. Right now, I see you treating yourself as below them. You need to be equal to them. Don't pamper yourself; be a soldier, not a martyr, capeesh? Because I am sure most of your men don't like seeing you in this condition. I know I don't, and I'm not even on your payroll." He jabbed his thumb at himself, before crossing his arms again.

"Do you understand me now, thick-skull?"
----------------------
Hukral jolted, turning in place with a clank of steel armor as a shadow moved above him and dropped to his side. The claymore slid out in a ring of steel and came down without hesitation, but the shadow moved to one side, golden eyes glowing as Huck twisted his wrist and lifted the sword from the ground diagonally, slashing at the figure. It crouched, back-stepped, and spoke.

"Greetings." Hukral tensed his arm, the action halting the motion of the blade as it extended away from his side, and frowned at the figure. He bent his arm fluidly and sheathed the claymore, his other hand moving his shield in front of him as he sat down again.

"Don't scare me like that again, Ree'Ja." Hukral rumbled, looking at the ground. "I could have killed you."

"This one knows Hukral knows he cannot kill this one." The Khajiit flashed a toothy smile at this, moving to sit beside his sell-sword comrade, tail flicking. "Ree'Ja seeks to give Huck company."

"Well, I thank you for it. I don't know how well I like this place, and the darkness isn't helping with that. The gatekeeper's reactions to us don't help ease this at all." Hukral looked out at the darkness of Vulnim Gate, the moonlight reflecting off his bronze aspis. His hair looked like a ragged mop-top of blond, having been neglected a wash for some time now. His armor actually felt like a second skin now, the inner linings clinging to his flesh from the sweat of travel. And as he looked out, one could see in their sapphire gaze he was tired; physically and mentally. Ree'Ja sat beside him on his hunches, arms placed on the ground and making him look like some sitting lion. Unlike Hukral he had recently bathed, and it showed in the healthy sheen of his fur in the moonlight.

"Jas-san thinks he has made Hukral and Marettah a couple." Ree'Ja remarked into the silence, and it prompted Hukral to laugh. It was a deep laugh, from the chest, sounding strong and making his shoulders shake slightly. He turned to look at the Khajiit with a smile.

"First Wick, now Jassan and you. Why is everyone thinking that?" He inquired innocently. Ree'Ja shrugged.

"Maybe Hukral acts like a gentleman around Marettah, and we assume. Huck does look at Marettah fondly."

"I am a gentleman around all women, Ree'Ja." Hukral remarked back with a grin. "And a man is not a man if he cannot look at lovely women approvingly."

"Ree'Ja would not know. He never sees Hukral with women, and not all women get Hukral's fond-gaze." The Khajiit replied back, and Hukral fell silent.

OOC: sorry for the delay, I had to build a Machinegun bunker at our world war 1 site...rather time consuming

IC:


Dawnstar, Skyrim Province
The Imperial Emissaries looked up at the newcomer, bemused. They stayed huddles in their fur cloaks and comfortable chairs, barely deigning to turn their heads to see see the Emissary Qusay Denka. One of the men, a Dunmer raised his hand from under his cloak and beckoned the Redguard to an empty wooden chair.

"You should know better Qusay Denka...The elder council would never come in person to a place like this. We're emissaries, nothing more. Now come, have a seat. Leave your Nord outside." The Dunmer said, his voice raspy with ash. An older, grey haired imperial took a sip of warm mead before he too opened his mouth to speak.

"Now what, pray tell is so important about your rebellion that you and your prince find it unessicary to even make a shadow attempt at diplomacy? There must me some rush..." He asked both with genuine curiosity and a hint of superiority.



Dark Road, Unknown location
There was a sound of crackling and snapping off the right size of the road as an imperial soldier raised his crossbow to is shoulder. More sounds in the bamboo signaled the rest of the 24 men in the patrol as they moved into a firing position. They had been surprised, but were moving quickly to counter that advantage. The man in the road was flying a banner, but in the dark of night, it was impossible to tell what it was.

"Tallow!" Came the challenge.

Imperial Legion, Baggage Train
Septimus' anger rose as he was being manhandled by the bosmer. He hate being told what to do and why to do it...It was the same reason why he found it nigh impossible to work for Cincinnatus. Yet he knew when it was pointless to argue, they could have gone on like this all night, and that would be wasting time that the Army didn't have. Biting his lip to try and keep his temper down, Aquila made an overexaggerated bow, showing that he conceded. His face was as calm as it could be, but his eyes burned.

"Of course...I'll have one of the men go fix me a meal. I assume you'd like something as well. We don't have much meat, but I'll see what I can find for you." Aquila said, his voice scraping through the quiet laughter of Jean.

"Sepp, only you could be overpowered by a bosmer...You should command children, they at least you could beat in a fight..." Jean gurgled through the hole in his neck.

"[censored] you Jean, I cut you open with ease!" Septimus snapped back over his shoulder.

"And a fine job you did at that, you truely did silence me forever." Jean tipped his head back and feigned a swoon. "A mighty foe I was too." The thin nord turned and spat a great glob of mucus at his ghostly friend. It was only then that he realized that all this had taken place infront of everyone. He straightened his back awkwardly, and looked sheepish before turning on his heels to leave.

"I'll see about that meat for you, in the meantime I have to find out what the hell has happened to my army."

"Actually, I prefer to hunt when I can, Aquila, but thanks for the offer." Jassan replied, smoothly transitioning from piping hot mad to composed. He watched the overdone bow, watched the calm expression of the ragged face and the burning of those eyes. He could tell he'd pressed buttons.

And one thing kept Jassan alive, despite his continuous annoyances and immaturity; he knew when to stop pressing buttons. Which was why, when Aquila turned his head to speak to someone over his shoulder named Jean, he said nothing. Even when the reactions of the men around them made him come to believe there was no soldier named Jean. Factor in his words, and Jas had reason to speculate something was not right with Aquila's mind. His eyebrow remained ever elegantly raised as Septimus turned, and then sheepishly headed off.

"I'll be off on a little hunt then. Where's your cargo stores, and how many am I allowed?" He asked this question not to Aquila, but to one of the men.

The skitish mare now began to chomp on her bits and snort loudly as she smelt, then heard the men hiding among the bamboo. The messengers eyes that were opened widely now from surprise scanned the dark bamboo on either side of the road as he heard the sound of dry leaves crunching under the weight of heavy boots.

" Ta..erm...tale. " Came the response, in a sheepish tone at first, deepening after he cleared his throat. His eyes still strained to see around him, feintly picking out a few dark outlines hidden amid the bamboo forest. No doubt the legion had several archers hidden in the thicket, likely with a few traps to boot.

Although he knew the legions to be allies, being surronded in the dark in the middle of a thicket in this god forsaken province sent a shiver down his spine. Slowly, his right index finger began to tap upon the pommel of his dirk, a nervous tick he had for as long as he could remember. " I come from the Glenpoint camp with a message for your commander."