Dragonheart arrived at the shack, and checked inside. These last years as a fugitive had taught him the need for caution. It was empty, as it should be.

Still, he decided to wait outside. It was that cautious streak showing again. Sitting outside the building, he could see people approaching; but inside, it would be harder for him to spot anyone. He didn't want to leave himself open to being surrounded and taken by Ocato's men by a careless oversight.

He sighed, waiting for the Dumner to arrive. It would be dawn soon; they had maybe an hour or two of night at the most. He found his eyes drifting across the waterfront...the ships, the thinning crowd pouring out of the Floated Bloat, the more suspicious looking characters creeping back to their homes after an evening of gods-knew-what...the thieves, the pirates, the drunks and the dregs, all going about their usual early morning routine. His eyes turned to the coast itself, and that's when he froze.

Here was something very much out of the ordinary. He found himself pushing deeper into the shadow of the shack against which he leaned. He watched as an old man, bent with age and dripping with water, came into view. His step was hesitant and jumpy, and he seemed to avoid even looking at the brightly lit areas of the district. Dragonheart frowned. The moonlight was crisp and clear, but still it was insufficient to clearly make out the old man's features. And yet...there was something oddly familiar about him.

* * *

The old man walked slowly and silently along. He was unused to strenuous exercise after his long confinement, and so for that reason alone the hike had been hard for him; it was made only more difficult by his protracted years and feeble disposition. He had reached the waterfront district now, and he found that the lighted areas were painful to his eyes. All those torches and lanterns...Surely people did not need so much light just to see?

But then, he had been confined to darkness for a long time, and his eyes had grown used to it...he could pick out things in darkness that most men could not see. It was just such a thing that he noted at that moment, glancing at the darkened row of huts against the far shore. He frowned deeply. There was a hooded man watching him, pressed deep into shadow but not hidden to his sensitive eyes.

He felt a sense of panic sweep. Oh gods, they've found me! was the first thought to cross his mind. And then, reason began to return slowly. No, he's hiding too...if he was here to get me, he'd do it already.

Still, he could not be easy, and so hurried away, out of the other man's line of sight. He'd headed for the pier. After all, if he was going to get a change of clothes, a bath and a hair cut, he had to find someone who would offer him these. It was rumored that the waterfront was infested by outlaws of all sorts...surely he could bribe someone into helping him lie low? But then, who would believe that he, straggly, unkempt, bent and disfigured by time and hardship, would have access to gold? And even if they did believe him, what was to stop them from killing him and taking it themselves?

He wasn't sure -- in fact, he had very low hopes for how things would turn out. He'd never considered himself to be terribly brave, and these last years of harsh imprisonment had done nothing to change that...and yet, he was resolved to throw caution to the wind this time, maybe the last time he'd have such an opportunity in his life, and take his chances. Whatever happened, it was better than rotting in a dark, musty hole in the ground, wasn't it?

He walked as quickly as he could, looking for somewhere to go...somewhere that looked shady, and like it might take in someone like him. But, truth to be told, he had no idea what such a place would look like. He had never ventured into a den of criminals before, and the only information he had on the subject was highly suspect and third or fourth hand at best.

Then, all at once, his sore eyes caught sight of a ship, and his expression brightened. The "Lady Kali", a medium sized privateer vessel, was docked in harbor. He headed toward it with all haste. Here, he might have found his deliverance. He knew Captain Vickerson well...he'd saved the man from the gallows, and made him a friend and servant of the empire rather than an enemy. If anyone owed him a favor, it was Captain Vickerson; and if there was ever a good time for him to collect on that favor, it was now.

Zalphon headed to the shack and said to the champion "Now then, Ocato seems to be quite the thorn in both of our sides. You can work with me, or you can die, your choice."

If he refuses to assist me, then I have no problems searing his flesh to a nice crisp.

Dibella stared into the eyes of her latest victim, tied up to a chair in the middle of a dark room. A single light shone upon his spot, and one that was following her as well. The Imperial flailed about in his chair, yelling fruitlessly for help. From the darkness, a light fell upon another form. A slender body, filled out with a black leather corset and black leather pants [pictured here ? second image - ttp://pnmedia.gamespy.com/planetelderscrolls.gamespy.com/fms/images/oblivionmods/5148/1228620492_fullres.jpg] Her hair fell down her shoulders in wispy, straight locks of chocolate brown with lighter blonde highlights. The Imperial just so happened to be a corrupt Imperial Guardsman that had been her demise so long ago.

When his eyes found her own golden hues, he immediately knew who she was. Her kohl-lined eyes narrowed, those eyelashes of hers were evenly spread out upon her eyeline. A smile grew on her lips as she saw the horror in his eyes. "Aren't you just glad to see me?" She said in a peppy tone. Her began to sob, and yell "I'm sorry!" Dibella smacked him right on the cheek. He huffed, and then looked to her again. "You're ok now! And that's all that matters!" The smile on her lips quickly faded into a sour grimace. "Do you really think I'm okay, Percius?" The Imperial's eyes widened, he didn't know what to say. "You stabbed me in the back, right through my chest. You buried me, Percius. All because you were too scared to stand up." As she said stand up, she punched him dead in the nose. His body toppled over, along with the chair he was tied to.

Her golden orbs looked down upon him as he lay sobbing on the floor. "You know what your problem is, Percius? You never finish what you start." Her fingers were moved into the air in front of her, and with a snap, his clothes caught fire. Her eyes were void of mercy; he had killed her once upon a time, and he was going to pay for it. By her hand. The screams grew in tone, but wasn't it so sad that nobody could hear him? Soon those screams faded as his flesh turned into charred pieces of her past. She was done here.

Turning on a heel, Dibella began to walk down the stairs. Each heel making its own clicking sound as it hit the surface. Gloved hands opened the door she was faced with, closing it moments later. She made sure nobody was around when she stepped out of the door, and when everything was clear she began to walk through the crowded main street, blending into the other folk.

The Champion's ears caught the sound of hushed footfalls, and he looked up. Zalphon was coming. He watched the Dumner approach. The other man's red eyes and straight black hair seemed to stand out in the pallid moonlight, which accentuated the gray tones of his skin. From this distance, Dragonheart could not smell the Dumner, and so his other senses gathered information about him. His clothes were very sharp, and very fine. Strange, he thought, that he dresses like that but smells as he does. Necromancer or not, you'd think he could take the time to bathe if he takes the time to keep his ensemble that fine. His ears, too, took note of the Dumner. A light, precise walk...he must be as athletic as he looks.

He nodded a greeting, despite the urge to recoil at the onslaught of rotting-flesh smell, as the other man neared, but Zalphon seemed to miss it. Likely, it was because he was still shrouded in shadow. Then the Dumner turned his red eyes to him, and spoke. "Now then, Ocato seems to be quite the thorn in both of our sides. You can work with me, or you can die, your choice."

Dragonheart grimaced. He didn't like this Dumner's condescending, challenging attitude and turn of phrase. "If you think that I would be so easy to kill," he responded very calmly, "I'm surprised that you even have want of my services...surely you'd be interested in the assistance of a more accomplished man than myself?" There had been no edge in his tone, and his posture was very nonchalant. But his steely eyes watched the Dumner closely.

Zalphon arrived and said "Champion, even Telvanni need pets... I'd conjure a Golden Saint to do this, but I feel it is not necessary, when I have you..."

If things should get bad, I can use him to be guard fodder, and if he survives, a few hundred gold, a morag tong writ, and a dead champion to experiment on...

"Champion, even Telvanni need pets... I'd conjure a Golden Saint to do this, but I feel it is not necessary, when I have you..." Zalphon sneered.

The Champion laughed and shook his head. "Ahh, Dumner...you should thank the gods that not everyone is as hotheaded as you seem to be. But, you did not come here to exchange...pleasantries...so tell me, what does a Telvanni have against Ocato that you would go to such trouble to seek me out?" He smiled in a pleasant but slightly mocking manner. "Or, for that matter, to conjure up a Golden Saint."

Then, he grew more serious. "I...oh, there is plenty that I have to hold against him. But you?" He shook his head again. "What is it that you have against Ocato? And what, exactly, did you have in mind that I should do about it?"

Zalphon said calmly "Archmagister Gothren wants him dead, also I don't like altmer scum being in command..."

If he asks why I have no problems answering...

"I see," the Champion replied thoughtfully. "And what does the Archmagister think that I can do about the situation?" He shrugged his shoulders. "I am not come to the city as an assassin, and, even if I was, it's impossible to infiltrate the palace." Technically, that wasn't true...he himself had done it, once upon a time. But that was before Ocato took control, and back when there was less paranoia in the air. Funny, he thought, people were easier back when there was a genocidal god on the loose than when Ocato is emperor.

"Plus I'm not sure that I understand -- or, for that matter, trust -- Gothren's motives." Dragonheart smiled. "Sometimes the enemy of your enemy is not your friend."

* * *
Captain Gabriel Vickerson was a strong, brutish sort of man, not unintelligent by any means and yet not at all emanating a sense of braininess. He was shortish, with a rotund, scowling face, pudgy, unshaven cheeks bristling with stubble and scars, and thick, dark eyebrows offsetting two rather small, dark eyes. His cheeks – what was visible underneath the layer of coarse hair – were a ruddy color, and his hair was a darkish brown that could almost pass for black in the right light. Altogether – or taken apart, for that matter – he was not a very pleasant picture, and certainly not a charming one. And yet the good Captain fancied himself to be quite the ladies' man.

So it was that the good Captain, having been rejected by a beautiful young lady of rather lesser repute, but with some standards apparently, was in a foul mood this morning. Indeed, Captain Vickerson had been in a foul mood since he'd parted company with his lady-fair, some eight hours earlier. Now, many mugs of bad ale later, he was in a singularly worsened mood. So bad was his mood, in fact, that the entire crew of hardened pirates and cutthroats kept their distance from him, steering clear of even the slightest chance of an encounter.

So Captain Vickerson, just swaggering onto the deck, had little difficulty in noticing how his men kept a wide berth of him. This served only to worsen his mood. At that very moment, however, the shrunken, hunched figure of an old man appeared on the gang plank.

“Ahoy there!” Captain Vickerson called. “Who do ya' think you are, old fool, to be settin' a foot on my ship uninvited?” His ire had risen at the very presumptuousness of the old man to dare step onboard the Lady Kali without his express permission, no doubt aided by the extraordinarily foul state of his mood.

“Captain Vickerson,” the old man began, his voice very calm and a touch refined.

The ruddy cheeks of the good captain grew slightly ruddier, and he seemed for a moment flustered. But he found his tongue soon enough. “Vickerson?” he asked. “That's my name! And this is my ship! So what in the devil are you doin'on it?”

The old man seemed to raise an eyebrow, but said only, “Yes sir, I'm well aware of that. I am a friend...perhaps you do not recognize me?”

Vickerson's beady eyes narrowed, not with suspicion, but simply because he was trying to focus. “Recognize you? Well, why should I recognize you? I haven't never seen you before!” Then he frowned. “But you do seem familiar...”

The old man nodded, and came closer. Captain Vickerson watched him with grave misgivings, his curiosity, however, getting the better of the bloodlust his rejection of earlier had spawned. He stopped only a step or two before the Captain, and then said, his tone again refined but very low, “When you saw me last, we were in very different roles, Captain Vickerson...you stood before Elder Council accused of piracy and treason, and I was intercessor on your behalf.”

The ruddy cheeks of Captain Vickerson went pale for a moment, and he blinked stupidly. “Ye gods,” he said at last. “Durad Iorgi? The Elder Councilman?”

The old man nodded in reply. “Former Elder Councilman,” he corrected.

Zalphon calmly says "I must admit, I do not like, Archmagister Gothren. However, if I do this, my promotion to magister is guaranteed, then his throat will be slit, and I will be Arch Magister. And champion, pull any tricks, and Dagoth Ur felt the wrath of the Nerevarine, Dagoth Ur will have felt nothing compared to what I will do to you. Just imagine me ripping out your heart, putting your soul in a grand soul gem, and keeping you locked up in a case for all eternity."

Zalphon then adds "You have connections here, the grey fox, the dark brotherhood, the fighters' guild, the mages' guild?"

Dragonheart listened to Zalphon's explanation and threat with a calm smile on his face. "Well, I see your motivation...self gain...but tell me what you have to offer to this cause of yours, other than attempting to amuse me into compliance..."

The Dumner struck him more as a man used to bullying lesser or weaker men into submission...but what value could he add to an attack on Ocato? And could it outweigh the sharp-tongued, generally combative nature of the man, so that he would be more help than detriment to any rebellion? Of that, Dragonheart really was not sure.

Flavius was a little man, a short, wiry Imperial with, oddly enough, thin blond hair. His green eyes were quick and cat-like, but his expression was cold and reptilian. He was not very old, perhaps thirty or thirty-five years at most, but there was a detached sense about him that lent him a cold, distant, aged air. His features were small, pointed and generally hard. With a gentler look in his eye, he would have been a tolerably good-looking man; but, instead, he seemed so cruel, sinister, and shady that the casual observer lost the fairness of his individual features in lieu of the greater picture.

When Flavius entered the King and Queen's tavern that morning, his green eyes scanned the place quickly. It was mostly empty, with only the die-hards still imbibing...except, there...there she was. He smiled, a thin-lipped, curving, repulsive sort of smile, and his eyes took on a disturbing expression.

She was there, Dibella was. He'd been following her for a while now. He'd seen her handiwork earlier that night, and he'd admired her for it. It was beautifully done, deliciously malignant. He wished he'd been able to watch her kill him. He could only imagine the screams, the suffering, the blood... His twisted smile grew a little wider as he watched her, thinking these thoughts.

She had not seen him yet, and he had a moment to observe her. She was lithe, graceful and beautiful, with long chocolate locks and golden eyes. Her hands were well manicured, and her clothes were perfectly kept. He smiled. She was exactly the sort of woman he fantasized about...in his mind's eye, he could see her there, dangling on the gallows. He could see the way those dark locks would move in the wind, he could picture the limp way that her body would hang from the rope...he'd closed his eyes for a moment, as if to absorb the mental image in all of its gory glory. Then he opened them, and, still wearing a smile that was alarming in its sheer intensity and malevolence, approached her table.

"Good morning," he said softly, the cold, sinister notes of his voice matching his appearance well, "I've looked forward to this meeting for a long time." He reached forward, touching her hand with his own pale, clammy palm. "And so has my master, Ocato." He smiled, a simpering, cold-blooded smile.

"My name is Flavius," he said. "And I know who you are, Dibella. I know what you do...I know what you did earlier...so does my Master." He smiled again, and looked directly into her eyes. His stare had the effect on most people of inducing an inexplicable mortal dread. It was his gift, and he loved it. He hoped it would produce that effect on her. "Which is why I'm here," he added, flashing his white teeth. "Because my Master has need of your inestimable skills."

OOC: I know this character is very...disturbing...but he's meant to be, lol.

OOC: wow this is on the second page. Anyways im not gonna be on the next day either so don't worry if i don't post fo awhile.

After a hard night's work, Dibella decided she would head to the King and Queen's tavern to relax herself. Her fingers moved through a lock of platinum highlighted hair in a bored motion. Her hand held that jaw of hers up, those manicured nails moving along the circular top of the mug before her. When she was about to get up and leave, a sudden chill came over her. She didn't bother to look back, however, when she heard the Tavern door open. The hand that rested her jaw was moved over her shoulder, sweeping the luscious and pin-straight locks over her shoulders. That soft sigh escaped her lips, but then she felt it again. That unforgettable chill she experienced when only dealing with one kind of person.

"Good morning," A soft voice spoke beside her. Her head turned, with her hair moving along with the movement. His figure was dark, his demeanor was even darker. She knew who he was, and who he worked with. A thin eyebrow raised, "I've looked forward to this meeting for a long time." His cold, clammy hands reached for hers. Immediately upon touch from him, Dibella drew her hand back. Her head turned, looking around the room for any eavesdroppers. "If you know who I am, then you know it's not a good idea to touch me."

The explainable feeling of doom surrounded her thought process. However, it did not shake her; that feeling was always around her. His mind would be temporarily probed ? Flavius's vision suddenly became different. Instead of a beautiful woman in his eyes, he saw the image of a horrid zombie, looking as if it was staring him dead in the face. [this - http://i29.tinypic.com/5d7w9v.png] When her mindbending was over, her beauty suddenly resurfaced. Her eyes narrowed when he spoke. "Which is why I'm here," He smiled at her. Dibella looked him straight in the eye ? that same feeling that he gave to others, she projected upon him. Once more, the zombie appeared in his vision, except this time it blank back and forth between Dibella's true form and the form of her decaying corpse. Chills would undoubtedly move up his spine, even for a killer such as himself.

"So, Ocato is in need of my skills? You tell Ocato that unless the price is right, to not even look my way. I'll tell you this.." She spoke in a seductive tone, with that same malicious intent. She knew she had all the power here, and it showed through that tone, her stance, everything she did. Those long locks moved over her shoulders and dangled in the air as she leaned over to Flavius. "You set up a meeting in the Palace with Ocato, I'll show up. We'll take it from there." She smiled coyly. Those plush lips gaping slightly, she looked over to the few drinks she had. She looked back to Flavius. "Pick up my tab." She slipped off of her barstool, and turned, walking towards the door. Those leather-clad hips swung side to side, that hair moving through the air; the next minute, she was gone.

[ OOC - I will be on vacation until the 15th, see you guys then ]

Flavius smiled as he listened to her. He could feel her trying to play with his mind, but his enchantments were far greater than her powers. He listened to what she said, and laughed softly. "If that's the way you want to play, my lady," he smirked as she swaggered out of the tavern.

He rose, an eager gleam in his eye. He was a hunter in this game, and she was the prey. She'd chosen her play, and he was only too happy to play her way...after all, it did make things so much more...exciting...when they chose not to cooperate -- at least, not willingly.

He walked to the bartender, and said, "Hey, didn't you see that woman? She just left, without paying her tab!"

The drawn lines of the Imperial's tanned face stared at him for a few moments, and then said, "Weren't you together?"

Flavius sighed. "I wish...no, I've just been tracking her for awhile now." The Imperial frowned, as if not sure how to interpret this news, but Flavius continued, "And, gods know I don't make enough on what Ocato pays me to get stuck carrying the tab of random thieves."

The bartender's expression changed very quickly, and he was at once more obliging and more trepidatious. "No sir, of course not. Well, I won't worry about the charge...it was just a few drinks, after all. I wouldn't want to interfere with your work or anything."

"No, no," Flavius insisted. "You have to do what you have to do...you should report her for the theft." He smiled, but his gaze was cold as ice. This was no idle request, but a direct order. The bartender nodded, seeming to tremble a little as he hurried out of the tavern.

A few minutes later, he and a tall, broad-shouldered Imperial in armor appeared. The guard had clearly been informed that Flavius was an agent of Ocato's, for he treated him with extreme courtesy, and little beads of perspiration formed on his weather-beaten face as he talked to the slight blond man.

Flavius observed his trepidation with an inward sneer, but was courteous enough in answering his questions. He provided a detailed description of Dibella, including her name, and made the "recommendation" that the guard put out an immediate alert for her throughout the empire.

"Yes sir," the broad-shouldered Imperial agreed hastily, his gray eyes downcast as if to avoid eye contact with the sinister agent.

Flavius nodded with a smirking smile, and declared, "That's very good thinking on your part, officer." With that, he walked out of the tavern.

He smiled to himself as he walked. He loved playing these games. People like her, they always underestimated him, didn't they? As far as Dibella had been concerned, she had had all the bargaining power. He'd seen it in her eyes and heard in her tone. "Set up a meeting with the Emperor indeed," he laughed. Those little people, they never ceased to amaze him with their blind impudence and their foolhardy arrogance. Posturing fools, they were...but, then, it was always just more fun when they played this way. And their arrogance and surety...well, it was lost pretty quickly amidst the screams of agony and terror when their foolhardiness caught up to them...when he'd caught up to them. Dibella would be no different, he was sure. Before he was through, she'd beg to do Ocato's bidding, to do anything, so long as the torture stopped.

He walked lightly, whistling a merry tune as he walked through the early morning air. Today would be a good day.

Zalphon was getting angry.

He cast a spell and two Centurion Spheres stood behind him, along with 3 golden saints.

He then said, "Connections in Vvardenfell, and my lovely women here, and my dwemer artifacts."

This should impress him, 3 golden saints, and two centurion spheres... Both are very difficult to learn how to summon, but I have mastered it. At least this may impress him enough to see I am no pathetic pauper squabbling in magic.

The Champion nodded slowly. "Alright," he said, "I see that you are skilled at magic...but, in this partnership that you are proposing, a few conjured soldiers aren't going to mean much. If there is going to be any hope of...affecting progress in Cyrodiil's government, we're going to need more than conjured fighters. We're going to need a strong network of spies, we're going to need the ear of those close to Ocato, and we're going to need the presence of men and women that the people of this empire know and trust. To risk their lives -- or anything -- for our cause, these people are going to have to be fully convinced that they not only have a just cause, but some hope of success."

He shrugged. "Simply put, anyone with a shot at doing what you're proposing doing would have to first raise support and undermine Ocato's strength before even thinking about anything else."

He stared right into the Dumner's red eyes. "So, if you're sincere about this, I've got an idea how you can help." His expression was serious, and he was watching the necromancer closely to see his reaction. "I need someone close to Ocato...very close. If you want this to succeed, go to him. Tell him that Archmagister Gothren has sent you with information of a possible assassination attempt on his life that was uncovered somehow. I'll let you fill in the details. Make it believable. Gain the Emperor's trust. Then I'll contact you." He turned, not willing to argue with the Dumner. This was what he needed done, and if Zalphon could do it, all the better...if not...

But, before he left, he offered one more tidbit. "Oh, and Zalphon? If you double cross me...well, you will rue that day." He smiled and nodded his farewell, and, casting a powerful invisibility spell, disappeared.

OOC: Sorry for rushing this Zalphon, but I need to progress the timeline a little bit. We're going to move into the day, or a little later, depending on what you folks post.

Durad Iorgi stared into the looking glass. His eyes were not as clear as they had once been, and were still very sensitive to the light. And yet, he could see well enough. That was the trouble. That man, that peculiar, unfamiliar creature, that he saw was not him...yet it was him.

After a thorough washing, a strategic shave and haircut, and being dressed in rough, sailor's clothes, he could barely recognize either the councilman or the prisoner in his own reflection. He was an old seadog, maybe on his last legs, maybe ready for a dozen more years of hardy seafaring.

The ruddy, singularly more sober, face of Captain Vickerson appeared in the glass with his, and it nodded approval. "Alright," he said sharply, "you'll pass."

"Yes," Durad agreed, his elegant tone hardly matching the image of the scallywag in the reflection, "I dare say I will."

He saw Captain Vickerson's eyes roll in the mirror. "But not if you talk like that."

Durad blinked, and turned to look at the other man face-to-face. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

The dark eyes closed, and Vickerson grimaced. "Look," he said, "you'll be able to pass as one of my sailors alright enough, but you can't talk like that!"

"Like what?" Durad asked, his expression one of puzzlement.

"Like that," Vickerson replied agitatedly. "That tone...that pronunciation...it's too...well, too refined and snobby."

Durad's eyebrows rose. "Snobby?" he asked, his voice taking on an offended air. Captain Vickerson glared at him, and he felt slightly embarrassed. "Well, perhaps you might have a point," he conceded.

"You're still doing it!" Captain Vickerson told him. "You're pronouncing things like...well, like a stuffed-shirt! It doesn't have to be so fancy-schmancy, so elegant, with such careful attention to every sound and inflection."

Durad studied him, thinking that the pirate, for all his coarseness, possessed rather an intelligent and perceptive mind. [i]Not to mention too large a vocabulary, for one of his kind...[i] he thought.

"Listen here," Vickerson said, "you've got to add an edge to your tone. Your words have to be less polished; they have to sound gruffer and coarser." He shook his head. "I had to learn the same thing when I took to the seas -- and I wasn't even hunted by the Emperor, then anyway."

"You?" Durad asked him, his tone expressing all the refined amazement that he could muster.

Vickerson grimaced. "Yes, me. You get eaten alive by a crew like this --" Here, he jerked his thumb upwards, to indicate the crew overhead, and then continued, "if you sound like you do. And, in your case, if anyone comes on this ship looking for you and they hear you speak, they're going to know right away that you ain't no pirate."

Despite the fact that he was curious as to why Vickerson needed to disguise his own accents, and where he'd originally learnt those accents, he decided it best to stick to the topic at hand. "Well, what can I do?"

"Listen, and I'll teach you," Vickerson declared, sighing. "But gods know this is probably just a waste of time, and we're both going to get strung up for it..."

Zalphon has his entourages follow as he walks to the white-gold tower.

Disgusting! These imperials, living in ayleid ruins, I would vomit if I did, the moronic highland elves are long dead, but for now, I need to forget that and speak to Ocato, gain his trust, and perhaps do what Jagar Tharn did to Uriel Septim VII, then I would send the guards to exterminate the Champion for High Treason. Then I will transform back and take this land in the name of House Telvanni, my royal guard will be enslaved golden saints, my standard guards will be dremora lords, and my assassins will be wraiths, mwahah! For now though, I need more time...

Zalphon looked at the guard watching him and said, "Keep staring, and my pets will gladly make sure you never stare again..."

The guard turned his head and muttered under his breath, "Wizard Scum"

Zalphon grinned as one of the golden saints walked up to the guard and whispered, "Speak to him again, and even Mehrunes Dagon will feel sorry for you."

The guard gulped and the saint came back to Zalphon.

He continued walking.

Slaughtering the thugs in the cave was quite amusing, and Keijinx smiled as he saw it was night through a crack in the door. He exited his shelter and walked out into the open, calling over Captain Otun and Currux.

"Captains, so good to see you managed to make it through the evening," snarled the vampire with vehemence.

"Uh, yes, sir Keijinx. We should get a move on if we want to make it to the temple," stammered Otun, who returned to his company.

"You have done well, Currux. I will put in a good word for you with Ocato. I'm sure he will reward you plentifully."

"I-uh-thank you, Gauj. It will be a pleasure serving under you in battle, as it always has been," said Currux, who saluted and trudged away.

Rising from a squat, Keijinx leaped onto a rock and into the trees, and called back, "I'll wait for you at Cloud Ruler Temple!"

OOC: Rachel, you can decide when the army gets there

Zalphon slammed open the doors and said to the palace guards, "I have dire need to speak with Emperor Ocato, let me through."

If they refuse my pets will have fun tearing them limb-from-limb...

Marcus looked over the imperial city holding his wife's necklace that she gave to him when they married he keep it ever sense he found it when he was reanimated in the sewers by a necromancer "Ocato when I find you ill will have my revenge" Marcus said with a blank face when he was done looking over the city he made his way to the to the cities water front.

Kale slowly began his usual walk back home. He had locked up the bloated float and was now on his way to his small hovel on the edge of the waterfront. He looked at each of the beggars who littered the streets. Ever since Ocato was in rule more and more of these guys have been washing up on the waterfront. Each and everyone one of them were homeless, jobless, and had no where else to go. I was ceartin they were going anywhere any time soon. "Ocato doesn't care about these people", he thought to himself, "If anything he thinks they would be better off dead". But for now he had nothing to do but wait for a miracle, "maybe some brave army like hammerfell or elsweyr would come in and end his rule once in for all. Then that would be the day", he actually enjoyed this thought. Someone else to finally rule the empire, plus it doesn't make since why he should be the leader of cyrodil if he's a high elf. Hopefully that dream would be a reality. And with the way things are it also seems very likely.

OOC: Sorry for the lack of posts everyone, this week has been really, really crazy...

IC: The Emperor's Steward, Murad gro-Taz -- an orc whose astonishing refinement was renowned throughout the empire -- surveyed the Dumner quickly. Magician, he thought. And, as the man's stench reached his nostrils, he added, Necromancer. Then, as he spoke, Murad listened. Hmm...that accent...foreign...Telvanni...

Aloud, however, he said, "Indeed, sir. I will inform the Emperor of your presence. What name shall I give, and what business?" Murad was always polite, and always obliging -- at least, outwardly. Inwardly, he was calculating the relative difficulties of destroying the Dumner's miniature army, if it should come to that, and what magical prowess he might posses. At the moment, however, he had every intention of announcing the Necromancer. His Emperor would decide whether to hear him out or not -- although he knew already that his creatures would never be allowed admittance to the royal personage, even if the smelly necromancer was...

* * *

Dragonheart frowned. He'd searched all over the waterfront, and had had no luck locating Armand and -- what was more worrying -- no luck locating any information about him. It was as if he had simply never existed, or else everyone was too afraid to talk about him.

He'd had to be very careful, too, when he went out in the daylight...but, thankfully, he was not un-gifted at disguising himself, and could pass as most any sort of person, noble, common or criminal. Now that it was approaching evening again, though, he could be a bit less fastidious in regards to costume. Plus, he just might have more luck locating his friend. Otherwise...well, he had a lead still that he'd not yet pursued...

* * *

Currux and Otun marched in silence. Neither was terribly comfortable marching through the mountain terrain in evening, nor were they terribly happy to think that they might be under constant scrutiny from their commander. After all, he'd disappeared, but that didn't mean that he wasn't watching, did it? It just meant that they couldn't see him...and anything beyond that was anyone's guess. As strange as it sounded, it was less stressful to have the peculiar vampire in sight at all times.

Then again, Captain Currux thought, he might be scouting ahead...or planning to do what he did to those poor bandits in the cave... Here he shivered. ...to whoever's at Cloud Ruler Temple. Then he frowned. But who IS at the fortress?!

[ i'm back everybody :] i'll be posting soon. ]